2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 1

It all started with a girl in a hurry.

Neatly stacked, two pans of lasagna chilled in the refrigerator for the teacher dinner that evening.  She jimmed them out of the crammed space and cautiously carried them out of the apartment to the car.

“The back, yes.  The back.  It would be better for these pans to be in the back of the Jeep,” she declared with split-second reasoning.  A flat space welcomed the cookie sheet base of the two perched casseroles.

“Careful on the ramps and around the curves,” the girl reminded herself driving quickly down the straight stretches to make up for it.  “The lasagna could slosh and spill.  Then, it would be no good to bake for my meal.”

Speed.  Drive-thru.  Stoplight.  Traffic line-ups.....and a wish.

(A wish that she'd drive into the parking lot at the same time as a colleague who could let her in the building.  The electronic key lost in last weekend's purse shuffle really served to annoy.)

Pulling up beside a newly parked Ford, the girl bolted out of her car to keep her peer from waiting as she unloaded each dinner detail and made plans to  maneuver everything inside.  The last step...the lift gate; which, without fanfare (or really any preparation), swung open.

A flash of light.  

One foil-covered baking dish flew through the air… 

SPLAT.  Meat sauce on leggings.  Meat sauce on shoes.  Meat sauce on asphalt.  Noodly layers askew.  Now for a millisecond, she wondered if anyone witnessed this embarrassing gaffe.  But those thoughts were quickly preempted by musings of how fast the disheveled dinner could be reconfigured.  With speedy, tomato-stained hands she found out.

“Awwwwww.  Can I help you?”  her key-holding colleague asked empathetically while getting an actual glimpse of this real-life cautionary tale,

“No, not at all,” she recovered, “I’m just rushing around this morning.”

And this girl in a hurry learned, yet again, the virtue of slow and steady wins the race.

Write on, 

b

Epilogue:

The lasagna was saved and baked beautifully.  She fed all her guests and even had a half-pan left over.  No one was any wiser; only the security officers who may have caught the debacle on tape. :) 

My twenty-seventh slice-of-life story...

You know those moments where you feel like your soul is about to leap out of its tent and your heart handsprings around inside your chest?  The kind that connects you...in some strange way...to yourself?  I experienced this last weekend and I'm still smiling. 

Sunday morning's routine was, well, routine.  Drive to church, drop Reid off at the toddler class, traipse up to the balcony where we slide into 'our row' a few minutes late, greet others, sit down, sing hymns, listen to special music...but, this time, 'even keel' ended here.

A silver-haired soloist strutted up a few steps to the front and the orchestra began with jaunty, fancy chords.  {If I would've been playing "Name that Tune", I would've been in the finals on this one.}  "EVERY VALLEY SHALL BE EXALTED!!!" my very heart wailed with joy and even a little pride*.  (*yes, pride at church...)  The tenor, with depth and intensity, launched into a familiar chorus from "Messiah," the famous seventeenth century Handel oratorio. 

You know that moment when you might be mere seconds away from making a complete fool of yourself by blurting something embarrassing out in a quiet room?

Yep.  That's me.  I almost sang.  You see, I know all these lyrics.  I know where the soloist paints pictures by how he crafts each word of "the crooooooked straight and the rough places plain."  I know the piano accompaniment and how its mood matches the biblical text's content from Isaiah 40.  I know all these things because, growing up, my Mennonite church performed Handel's "Messiah" each December and I sat between my mom, my aunt, and my grandmother in the choir loft (because with years of experience they knew the ins and outs) as we'd appreciate the beauty of each solo number and rise to perform the many choral pieces.  These memories weave together my family, my faith, my love of music, and my ear for magical harmonies.

Sunday my heart swelled and my fingers tapped rhythmically with my toes as the soloist ended "Every Valley..." and transitioned into "And the Glory," which any "Messiah" maven knows is the first whole-choir number of the oratorio and begins exclusively with my beloved alto section.  Even though it's been a decade since I participated in my home churches' rendition, the four-part harmonies and lyrical scriptures are written on my heart like details of Reid's birth day or our wedding day.  They are me.  They are my past.  My present.  My future.  They're what I want to share with Reid as he grows his own musical memories.

Out of nowhere, my routine Sunday transcended time and space. And, I'll admit---it felt good to experience heart handsprings and it's still laughable how much energy I had to expend to control myself while enjoying these two numbers.  But, as my soul connected past to present and future, I felt love and joy.  I felt energized.  I felt grounded.

I felt like me.

Write on,
b

My twenty-sixth slice-of-life story...

What is enough?

Teetering on tiptoes, I reached overhead...into unknown compartments stuffed with, well, stuff...to find the dry ingredients for chocolate chip cookies Sunday afternoon.  In a slight sweat, my pulse raced in anticipation of almost-empty bags of flour and sugar.  (After all, it has been a long time since those items had resurfaced on my weekly shopping list and I just promised my toddler we'd make a special treat.)

"Uhhhh;  I hope we have enough," my sing-songy voice rose and then fell pancake-flat as my normally heavy canisters felt dauntingly light.

"What is enough?" Reid asked, not skipping a beat.

Like a unbalanced seesaw, my thoughts soared and bottomed out.  Philosophical response or easy
one...philosophical one or easy one?  The great parental debate.

"Enough is when you have exactly what you need," I replied sensing an immediate connection to his query..

"Enough," my little parrot chimed in.

Measuring out first the sugars and then the flour in full, I felt blessed beyond our mother-son baking experience.  For months now we've been in a small, temporary apartment while we search for a new house.  For as many days and nights, my husband and I have been at odds over where we'll grow our family.  For many mealtimes, I've grumbled about not having all my utensils and bakeware and containers with matching lids for leftovers because most of our housewares are in storage.  And, for many daydreams, I've pictured us...walking out of this experience fulfilled and richer for the struggle.

Even though our situation isn't exactly what I want right now, our needs are met.  We're warm.  We're clothed.  We're together.  {We're not stressed out by cleaning because our apartment is so small.}  We have just the ingredients we need.  Enough.

Write on,
b

 

My twenty-fifth slice-of-life story...

Invitation

There's a table with an extra chair
My writing spot, I'd like to share
With you, your notebook open wide
Like writers we'll journey side by side

Today's the day my little one
Our pens to paper, it's so much fun
Let loose your thoughts and watch them make
rainbows and ballgames and bright cupcakes

In our softly-lit spot I sip my tea
(And you're convinced the mermaid is me)
It's quiet in a purposeful way
Inviting our minds to come and play

First one page and after that more
Creativity flows through this little store
That's why, my dear, it's my favorite place
My mind hungry then fed; a magical space

Today's the day, my little one
Your writing journey has just begun
Take hold, my dear and notice it all
To the page your special thoughts will fall

Like mist at first before the rain
Then in rapid succession ideas will sustain
The writerly work you came to do
With head, heart, and memories too

The words you'll create, their swirl and swing
You'll find your rhythm {my heart will sing}
You'll know what feels right plus a little more
Simplicity reigns the writer's core

So, continue our travels and grow my dear
Keenly observant in advancing years
What a treasure trove your mind will be
A writer, at heart, just like me

There's a table with an extra chair
My writing spot, I'd like to share
With you, your notebook open wide
Like writers we'll journey side by side

Write on,
b

True attentiveness...

So, many posts have been written about conferring and the power in really listening to a fellow writer describe his work in order to promote growth, independence, and confidence.  But this morning, while I'm at Starbucks gearing up to work on a couple school presentations, I am privy to a remarkable display of true attentiveness --- one that speaks to my heart as a writing teacher.  You see, from across the store where my coffee shop office is set up on the comfy banquette, a pair of fifty-something ladies showcase that language extends far beyond the spoken word.  They've arrested me with the strength of their silent conversation.  Let me invite you into this coffee date...

• Eye contact: Both ladies eyes never leave the other; there seems to be mutual affection, respect, and care in each deep and knowing connection.  With no concern for anybody else's goings-on, their gazes are glued and centered in the store's most removed corner.  
• Body position: Knee-to-knee, these friends sit squarely facing each other...despite the beckoning of the comfy, slouchy leather armchairs they've snagged.  With amazing posture, they hang on precious conversational snippets.  Later, their hands clasp beneath a casual slump with elbows planted on knees.  But always, the positioning of these two friends is reflective; a true mirror as one echoes the other.
• Proximity: Even though Starbucks' well-loved chairs are arranged in a right angle near the glassy store corner, these friends sit on the edge of their seats to catch the next thought or make the next connection.  Toes nearly touch, hands almost hold. 
• Head tilt: Left, [left]...middle, [middle]...right, [right].  Wherever the one goes, the other follows.  Not in a weird, synchopated conversation kind of way...but in the manner of a pair truly listening.  An angled head classically conveys attentiveness and even empathy.

What's inspiring today about this pair is their complete focus.  My favorite barista, Deb, could've walked around offering free drinks and they wouldn't have noticed.  President Obama, flanked by a band of suited Secret Service, could've slid in for his daily joe and they wouldn't have raised an eyebrow.   An over-caffeinated guest could've yelled "FIRE!" in this under-crowded space and they wouldn't have run.

These ladies beg me to consider how attentive I am during a conference...  Am I putting most of my mental energy into managing the other writers who are supposed to be deep into their own projects?  If the principal or another adult joins us during workshop, am I more engaged in their response quotient?  If I notice a particular student behavior emerging that I'd rather squelch to increase productivity, do I let myself fixate on it?  Each of these scenarios is costly to my current conference and counter-productive to the respectful, engaging, fruitful workshop I desire to nurture through these individualized interactions.

Am I really listening to the writer I'm sitting next to?  Where's my gaze?  Does it let him know I'm hanging intently on each word?  How's my body positioning?  Does it tell everyone else in the space that I'm completely and totally into this specific writer?  How's my proximity?  Does my closeness build the connection the writer needs to grow?  How's my head tilt?  Am I sending this writer signs that I'm truly processing his words and thoughts?

Friend to friend or writer to writer, our interactions --- small or large --- chart the course we'll travel.  If it is rich, these four nonverbal dimensions will be prominent and will encourage the special person we're with to grow.  When I sit down next to a writer in the coming days, my mind will always travel back to Starbucks on this warm January morning...and the lessons I learned by watching the silent conversation of two old friends.

Write on,
b

My twenty-fourth slice-of-life story...

Toddler World

I've been caught;

in toddler world.

No baby.

No big boy.

No sink bath.

No shower.

No mystery crying.

No silence.

No stroller.

No walking the whole way.

No complete dependence.

No complete independence.

No crib.

No twin.

Just a new toddler bed.

[And, thanks to this transitional piece, no naps either: three days straight.]

I've been caught;

in toddler world.

So, I guess we'll just bake cookies instead of rest.

 

Write on,

b

My one little word...2012!

So, last year zoomed past...much like my son's matchbox cars along our antique carpenter's chest in the living room.  And, as I reflected yesterday over chai at Starbucks...so much happened in 2011.  Selling our house.  Moving into an apartment while we search for the perfect new house.  School.  School.  More school.  Conferences.  In my mind, events wiz by blurry from their speed and my lack of focus.  

This year, I vow to focus.  To savor.  To relish.  To enjoy unhurriedly the moments that make my life.  I've been blessed with a family I love...with a school community that I enjoy working in to grow readers and writers...with a faith that holds firm when I'm at the mountaintop or in the valley.   

Now, I know myself well enough to recognize that this will be a challenge: I'm driven.  I'm task-oriented.  I'm goal-oriented.  I'm a perfectionist.  {There, I said it.}  Savoring isn't necessarily my style because I could be tweaking, building, tinkering, or starting something new.  But, I want to commit to it.  A life of savoring will invite me to slow down enough to enjoy all the small things I miss while manning TASK CENTRAL.

Yesterday I serendipitously stumbled upon Thomas Newkirk's quote above.  It resonates with me not only because I heard him speak with Ellin Keene at NCTE, but also because it melds so seamlessly into the notion of savoring.

I will not live life like it's a to-do list this year.
I will take my time and accept that well done doesn't have to be perfect.
I will focus intently, lovingly on the lives of those I'm gifted to have around me.  
All things, little and big, are important and worth celebrating.

And, on that note, I think I'll savor some chocolate mint crinkles and drink in a little toddler laughter...

Happy New Year!

Write on,
b