Finding Joy

 

she wakes

before dawn without waiting for the alarm to sound.

the dogs, dozing in semi-sleep until she is ready.

putting on her boots and jacket, they wait for her.

they know it's cold outside.

she walks to the end of the drive to fetch the newspaper.

she thinks of the woman she's never met who delivers that paper each and every morning on time, day after every day.

it's a quiet walk and the sun is slowly rising, wrapping the sky in pink pashmina.

thinking, who even gets their news delivered anymore?

setting the paper down, wipes the dogs' feet and sets about getting their breakfast.

listening to the quiet of the morning, the familiar creaks remind her of the many mornings lived in this house.

it's always been her favorite time of day, preparing for its reveal.

she grabs a pen from the cup, a green one today.

opening the paper, skims the arts section, reads the book review, begins the crossword.

distracted, she embraces her gratitude.

in the stillness, there is magic.

she is ready

The Beauty and Discomfort

"You don't have to know everything about the mountain in front of you to take the next step" 

~ Louie Giglio

Being retired means losing the daily connection with my students and colleagues. No planning for a lesson or my outfit each day. The morning rush to put the laundry away and empty the dishwasher becomes leisurely and mediative.  I linger with a second cup of coffee in a real mug.

The beauty and discomfort of this transition leave me with an abundance of time for my thoughts.

Why not write?

It's been a minute since I've written anything. Ok, maybe longer than a minute.

It's been four years since I've been a slicer. I retired from teaching last June and 

other than writing letters to some student penpals, notes in greeting cards, and emails 

I've pretty much written 

nothing.

And it seems that now, more than ever I have so much to say.

So grateful to the SOLC  community for welcoming me back. So looking forward to connecting with other writers.

Lacking the confidence that I I will (be able to) do it.

I just know that I want to.

Day #1 in the can. 

Yay me!

The bluest sky

It may be a little PTSD. 

I am truly stuck in a fog of Pandemic Fatigue.

Stuck in the muck and anxious for it, desperate for it to lift.

It will. . . especially when the bluest sky, the yellowest daffodil, and the barest tree begins to show off its 
green tempt me with hope.

I will write one word at a time, take off my winter coat, go for a walk, open my eyes, and feel.

But right now, I'm powerless. 

There are so many things that Covid brought to a halt without a proper warning.

I know I will not take them for granted when they return.

Hope

 

One year ago.

I would love to be able to write something profound

but I don't have the words.

The enormity of our world shutting down

one year ago today

 overwhelms.

I look for light in all the small places, 

spring arriving bringing another hour of sun.

And the not so small places,

the vaccine, our determination and perseverance,

learning lessons.

Hoping.

I am so over you

This was inspired by an especially long and snowy winter a few years ago when my class and I wrote poems called "Breaking Up With Winter." 

I am so over you, lockdown

We've gotta talk

I just can't do this anymore

I'm sick and tired of shouting "I can't hear you" through muffled masks

Dying to soften up my rough and chapped, hand washed and sanitized hands

I want to eat a meal in a restaurant,

be served, 

not to have to wash the dishes

I miss movies, shows, concerts, packing a suitcase

I need to dance at a party,

to celebrate a marriage, a birth, 

give a hug,

honor a life that has been lost

I can't pretend anymore

that this normal

Covid, I am so over you 

and have been for a long, long time.

I hate you

I hope you die

Those boots

I think I was eight when my obsession with clothes began. Maybe I inherited the gene (or jeans) from my mom and the women who came before her, or perhaps from her lifestyle.

Every August, before school began, my dad would drive me from the Brooklyn projects where we lived to meet my fabulous Aunt Florrie at her shop in Forest Hills. There, she would let me pick out anything, and I mean everything I wanted. If she thought my mom might disapprove, she'd let me have it anyway. They were best friends and they liked to poke at each other like that, for the fun of it.

The shop was called "The Village Set." Imagine sixties hippie meets urban cool.

\

At eight years old, my social life didn't call for such a wardrobe. And I certainly didn't need olive green suede boots. But I would die without them. I had to have those boots. And Aunt Florrie never said "no."

I loved the way the smooth nap changed its texture when I rubbed the suede. Putting them on made me feel special. I was obsessed with those boots.

On the day I wore them on my walk to the book mobile, major boot mishap. The book mobile that looked sort of like a trailer and sort of like a bus had a set of steps to get you in and let you out. I did my thing, picked my books, checked them out, and descended the stairs. What was this? Something felt terribly wrong. My legs felt weirdly uneven. Looking down at my feet, I saw that my heel had gotten free from the boot. 

I did the only thing I could do. There were no mobile phones to call mom to get me. I picked up the heel and hobbled home, feeling like Pippi Longstocking who walked with her one foot on the sidewalk and the other in the gutter.

Funny thing about those boots, I don't remember what happened to them. If the shoemaker repaired them or if they were retired to the bottom of my closet, or given away, I just don't know. But I will never forget them just as I'll never forget tottering home...as though it happened just the other day.

These I am

These I Am

A dog lover

A word writer

A yoga practicer

A coffee and tea drinker

A museum wanderer

A cozy couch sitter

A slipper wearer

A This Is Us watcher

A belly laugher

A lunch bringer

An herb garden planter

An audio book listener

A martini shaker

A music dancer

A sun worshipper

A puzzle unscrambler

A pool swimmer

A wave jumper

A poem ender.