After 32 years of teaching high school English, I've started writing again and loving every minute of it. I enjoy bringing ideas to life and the concept of leaving behind a legacy.
Love Still Makes Our World Turn
Peeling apart the layers, love can come through looking unrecognizable. Through time love can morph into thousands of facets, a shiny diamond at times, and an ugly rock at others. It has the same elements, but like physical matter has different states, love has different forms also. It often starts with butterflies.
Birth alone does not a mother make. Those maternal feelings of love aren’t instantly there as we’ve seen in the movies. Weepy moms after 2 minutes of movie labor (and spritzed with pure water sweat) hugging and crying on their perfectly clean newborn were all lies. I supposed if movies depicted true births, the human race would have died off by now. After twenty-two hours of labor with no epidural, my son was born; he was cleaned by the nurses, wrapped up, and set on my stomach. I remember looking at him thinking, “So. Hello, you.” And then I told the nurse to get him off me because my stomach hurt from relentless labor.
A Mother's Love
I had just flown in that morning from Washington. ~ My mother’s recovery at the nursing home was slow, but it was still progressing and her health was improving. I felt that the trip I’d planned almost a year ago to see a friend would be ok. Mom was ok with it; my brother and aunt would be able to visit each day. I was at a northeastern tribal art exhibit in Vancouver with my friend John when I got the call.
He knew snow would be cold, but not that cold. Tom envisioned snow to be more like the white ice inside the freezer. His first time experiencing winter up north took him by surprise: his breath visible, wet socks, and layers of outerwear became more uncomfortable as the days wore on.
On New Year’s Eve in 1965, her parents were most likely at a local dance club, socializing, drinking, and most importantly, dancing the night away. Her father was a Ricky Ricardo look-alike, and her mom, with her bouffant up-do and elegant cigarette holder in her hand, was a classic beauty. Later that month, stars still sparkling in their eyes, a baby girl was conceived. It was there, I believe, I found where I would dedicate my being.
Dashing through the snow
“Dashing through the snow” is not as comfortable as it sounds. It was on my bucket list, so we decided to try it out. We called a local place that took people on sleigh rides, and the price was right. The ground, however, did not contain “a drifted bank.” It was white, but that’s about it.
Band of Gold
Sometimes you were just a few feet away from me. I was always there, right where you tucked me away three years ago. I remember the day, too. It was frightfully cold inside and out, snowing and icy, and you wanted to go snow tubing with the family. You looked at me, still faithfully around the ring finger on your left hand. The cold made your finger feel smaller, and you were so afraid of losing me on the snow slopes. You slid me off your finger and stashed me away in a pocket of some sort. I thought it was a purse or a coat. I heard the zipper.
My Writing Journey for 2024
Publish or perish. Although this phrase was birthed by academic writing, I don’t take this aphorism lightly. Writing is a vital component of the humanities, and the humanities endure, defining what it means to be human. I’ve always had a dream of publishing: at first it was a book of poetry, then perhaps a collection of short stories or even a novel. In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Mark Antony says, “The evil that men do lives after them;/The good is oft interrèd with their bones” (Act III scene II). This line resonates with me; I don’t want to be remembered by the mistakes I’ve made in my life or by the mundane or morose anecdotes that may be passed down. After I watched the animated Disney movie Coco, I don’t want to be forgotten by my family.
- Runner-Up in the Whodunit Challenge
Forever InnocentRunner-Up in the Whodunit Challenge
Headmaster Percy Blackburn took his spectacles off and polished them with a cotton handkerchief. He repeated this habit often, which signaled to the girls of the Chiller’s School for Young Women he was agitated, upset over a perceived transgression from one of his charges. Euphemia Wood, his assistant, would immediately fetch him a glass of absinthe in response. It was a habit that repeated itself often.