Move over Billy Shears
Shears are scissors, much the way a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. I thought a lot about this challenge, and quickly came to realize that writing about my amazing craft capabilities would simply be out of the question because I have absolutely none. That isn't a bold statement to get sympathy, just a real and honest appraisal of my (in)abilities! But upon deeper contemplation, it occurred to me that I do have some burgeoning, all be them meager, talents in the garden. And with this thought, I decided there was hope for me yet. I took creative liberties and veered away from crafts such as sewing, knitting, and painting, to instead focus on my penchant for small scale gardening.
Summer of Our Youth
With open heart, perfection without flaw You were the keeper of our childhood ease In innocence we feasted in your awe
Push and Pull
Red reveals my rage, with orange flecks of pain. The bleeding of a broken heart, the rust of longing long forgot; it brushes off but lingers after all else fades.
- Third Place in (No) Regrets Challenge
Local Teacher Sprayed with Poo on First Day of School
Of course, we all have those moments we'd like to un-have. Like when your toddler drops his sippy cup full of juice on the sidewalk, and then you pick it up and hand it back to him, and he kicks his little legs and repeatedly screams in his underdeveloped and poorly annunciated way, "No Joos", which sounds a lot like something else. And then you realize that there are people outside staring at you, and you feel like a terrible Mother because your child is being loud and tantrummy, but then you register that they are actually all standing outside a synagogue, and it's Saturday, and everything clicks into place, and you realize the horror of what is unfolding, and you start jogging with your stroller and declare, quite loudly, "Oh, you don't want any more JUICE", as if saying it more clearly and louder will erase what has just transpired.
I have grown to love the rocking. At first the incessant, rhythmic lapping bore into my mind, overtook my thoughts, and numbed my senses. With each subsequent wave a tightness grew in my chest, building a dread that couldn't be contained. I thought I was lost, and I would stay in this purgatory until the end.
I cannot be certain, but I suspect the first time I saw To Sir, With Love was on a Sunday afternoon when we were often allowed to watch the 3:00 movie on TV. My Mum tells me I was 5 years old at the time and enamored from the get-go. Much of it went over my head of course, but something stuck. Since then, I must have seen the film 50 times, most likely more, I own it on DVD, and when Sir joins the graduation dance with his class it still gets me emotional every single time. To me, this is Sidney Poitier, a Sir in his own right, both the character and the man; quietly dominating a narrative, laying the seeds of change one film at a time, and inspiring others to do the same.
Lost and Found
It was an unassuming backpack, and I didn't really give it a second thought. Sitting at a busy park, I was trying to catch some early Spring sunlight while writing a paper that I'd been putting off all week. I had vaguely noticed the bag by the tree near me when I sat down, but it hadn't really registered. About an hour later, as day gave way to dusk and a chill started to set in, I looked around the park and realized it had emptied out. I had started to pack up when I happened to notice the bag again and realized the owner was long gone by now. After gathering my belongings, I walked over to the tree to have a look. Nothing special; no markings, tags or pins. Just a plain black backpack. I decided to open it up and have a look inside, hoping there would be some ID so I could try to contact the owner.
Love, Loss and everything in between
If you have children in your life you know there are those moments of pure amazement and wonder. This little person might have come to you as a result of planning and conceiving, through adoption, fostering, in your role as Auntie or Uncle, or even as a teacher or coach. And it doesn't really matter what your connection is to that life, because regardless of how that bond was fostered, you have shared something special, a spark that binds you to them.