March 31, 2011

Final Thoughts on Slicing

Ruth asked us to reflect on this month of slicing.

First off is the commenting.  Given the increase in our numbers, I no longer could post on everyone's site like I have liked to do in past years.  Today/tonight I have been reading and posting for close to 5 hours, and every time I refresh TWT's site, there are two more blogs to visit.  I'm determined to do everyone at least once: I apologize to those whose blogs I couldn't comment on because their spam-getter-thing didn't like my spelling somehow.

Like any teacher worth their salt, I like the give and take of this brilliant little community of slicers that Ruth and Stacey dreamed up.  You know--you see all the students on that first day of the year or semester and you are so pleased with each other and so eager to share and to invest in.  But the real relationships begin when that first assignment is handed out--and then handed back.  The conversation begins.  The give and take, the ups and downs and the hard roads to climb all start there.  Ours began on March 1st and for some of us the conversation continues.

I've got a new Facebook friend, another Slicer is coming west and we plan to meet up.  A Slicer in Canada read my travel blog when I was on a trip to her country and I loved that our relationship continued (and that she liked my assessment of the food in Canada). Tracey's sheer determination to write every day both shames me and inspires me.  I love looking in on different people because their lives fascinate me (Bonnie, with her travels is living my alternate life, I'm convinced). And I've come to enjoy reading Wanda from Maine's blog.  As grandmothers, we seem to think just alike on so many things.

But most of all I love returning to see some of my old Slicing Friends every March--to catch up on the Quidditch competition or see how life is faring Down Under.  I've missed Stacey this year, but look forward to next year when she rejoins that community that she and Ruth began.

Thanks, guys.  You're the best.  Happy Slicing!

P.S.  You can visit me at my regular blog if you like.  I sometimes forget to keep posting here.

P.P.S.  I visited EVERYONE's blog in the last 24 hours just so I could say that I did.  That's over 70 blogs, 70 comments.  What a way to end this thing!

What Binds Us

For my last slice, I thought I'd offer a poem I've been working on.  


When I think about quilts I see
Patches flying free, held fast
By lines of even stitches;
Patterns, colors,
Mathematical designs finding order
In radiant angles and languid curves.
Cut the cloth into parts, like the tumbling glass
Of a kaleidescope, glinting broken dishes
Or the strokes of time: ascending with the constant task,
And my everpresent anonymity in the washing, folding,
Chasing dirt, wiping tears, turning taunts to reason. 
Ancient kneading of bread replaced with endless driving,
Idle sojourns on sun-splashed fields, musical drills,
Homework.  Morning repeats, and sun up
'Til sun down, what holds the heart
In the re-doing?

Purposeful lines holding
These patched-together pieces
Of our lives.

My mother, when talking about our family, always quoted that famous saying about what binds us together is stronger that what pulls us apart.  And what binds our little community of slicers?  A love of words, enthusiasm, a limited and an achievable task, fearless leaders, and a sense that what we are doing--and daily re-doing--has in many ways, contributed to each of our lives this past month.  Thanks for all your comments; I'll see you now and again on TWT and for sure, next year!

Click to return to the Ultimate Day of Slicing: SOLSC--Day 31. 
P.S.  You can visit me at my regular blog.  I sometimes forget to keep posting here.

March 30, 2011

happy happy happy gone gone gone

happy happy happy Mr. Plagiarizer dropped and is gone gone gone

That's the big news.  It was not before I spent close to 2 hours putting together copies, and writing the letter to the VP of Student Services, but at least it was before I had to grade his (potentially plagiarized) research paper in three weeks.  He pulled another 43%-er out to sea with him (they always walked together), and she dropped too.  I talked with the third 43%-er today, and he thinks he'll drop because quite frankly he doesn't really care if he can write because he just wants to pass my class (I kid you not.  He said that.)

The last 43%-er started crying when she looked at the score of her latest essay (not an illustrious showing, shall we just say.  I stopped grading her errors on page two after the count hit 26).  She waited for me outside the classroom, and we talked about her paper.  She became angry, accusing me of stupid requirements that "no other teacher on this campus" would require her to do.  Some of these (there were a few) were:
  • writing in a consistent point of view (POV) I don't allow them to use "you" in their papers--call me old school but I think formal composition is a good skill to have tucked away
  • requiring a thesis (which she kept referring to as a topic sentence)
  • insisting on structure in the paper.

She's a dynamo in front of the class--always poised and able to speak clearly and keep the class' attention.  I don't like to make the students cry.  I certainly don't grade their essays thinking "I wonder if I can make them cry."

The final shot was she pointed to her paper and said, "I could turn this paper in anywhere else on campus and get an A, but you?  you?"  She sputtered.  "If it weren't for you, I'd have an A in this class right now!" 

There were a few other things said, and I felt bad for her.  Bad that her meager effort was not getting her what she wanted.  Felt bad that her 9th grade skills were not enough to help her pass a college-level English class.  Felt bad that a young woman who had missed roughly a third of the class sessions and was nearly 15 minutes late every day thought that just wanting it would  get it done.

I can't help a lot of things.  Her grades stand.  I'll be in that classroom again on Thursday minus two and maybe four students.  I'll show them MLA and thesis construction for argument and formal POV and topic sentences and insist on proper spelling and punctuation and sentence construction.

Just like the rest of you.

March 29, 2011

Grading Avoidance

We start the Research Paper grind tomorrow, when their first assignment comes in.  For one of the examples, I suggested the topic of street art--graffiti gone upscale, which led me to explore lots of different art by Banksy.  It's a nice controversial subject, and one of his renditions is shown above, the gleaner taking a break.

I sat down at the desk today, and except for a short break for lunch and quick errand, I graded.  And graded.  And graded.  Pizza for dinner.  Back to grading.  Finally at 8 p.m. I finished the last paper--a rousing 38%--and said (like the gleaner above), I need a break!  So I stitched on my flower quilt and watched another couple of episodes of Doc Martin (BBC-TV) downstairs with my husband.

Grading Avoidance (GA) is an art, and each of us has to find our own way in this world of teacher-generated procrastination.  Since most of my grading is done at home, my list will have that particular flavor.  Here are some of mine:
Call Judy (friend and teacher colleague)
Call Dave (husband)
Make sure the fridge is working by checking its contents.
Call Mom.
Call Barbara, my daughter.
Tweeze eyebrows.
Get some of the pretzel-type snacks from the back of the cupboard.
Sync the iPhone.
Download an audio book for later.
Facebook to see if anyone commented on my update.
Read the paper standing up at the kitchen counter.
See if Judy sent me any mail.
Answer it.
See if the Slicers have written any comments.
Read them.
Write on their blogs.
Think about what I might write for the next day.
Check to see if mail has come.
Check to see if there are any more comments.
Shuffle the papers.
Update the grades.
Pick out the staple holding the essay together.
Work up the gradesheet for the essay.
Eat a cookie.
Decide what we're having for dinner.
Bring in the trashcans.
Print out the rubric.
Sigh, and realize that it's no good to wait any longer. . .

March 28, 2011

Spring Wildflowers

Today was filled with spring wildflowers--first found by my husband in the hills around us.  

And secondly by me, pinning the final flowers on the quilt I've been working on since last fall.  It's been a long slog, with moments of joy and moments of When Will I Ever Finish--kind of reminds me of teaching.  I began quilting when I was twenty and pregnant with my first child.  I wanted something that would stay done--as laundry, toilets, and dishes never did stay clean or done.  I still have my first quilt--it's laughable--but I like having it around to show my progression as a quilter.  I hand-stitched around a yellow Holly Hobbie print, and not knowing what to do with the knots, I left them on top.  I've improved since then, coming to learn applique when I lived back in Washington DC as all the quilters there know how to do handwork, brining little baskets or bags of their handwork to meetings.  So I learned.  
Spring Break's over.  Back to serious grading, the research paper, dealing with Mr. Plagiarism.  But the flowers will await me in my brief moments of free time.

Three more days to go until March Madness is finished for another year. 

March 27, 2011

Sturm Und Drang

Lest you think my life is all Sturm und Drang (loosely translated as Storm and Stress), I present some photos taken in a little slice of a day I had on Thursday.  My husband and I ducked out of our responsibilities and went to Los Angeles.  First up: the Urban Lights outdoor sculpture at the LA County Museum of Art.  This is an assemblage of vintage streetlights, tightly arrayed in a square.

We had fun ducking in between, photographing all the different varieties--it was like a streetlight forest.  I want to go back when it's night, to see them all lit up.

Next we went up to the Griffith Observatory on Mt. Hollywood, right near the Hollywood sign. It's so weird being near all these famous landmarks which we so rarely see.  Then a visit to Galco's Soda Shop (over 200 varieties) and our "soda cellar" is all filled up with strange and wonderful kinds of sasparillas, creme sodas, root beers and spicy ginger ales.  Lastly we stopped for Chinese dumplings: the juicy pork and crab bundles were brought to our table all steamy hot.  Perfect ending for a day that started sunny and turned rainy.

Lastly, I've finally started on those papers that have been waiting all Spring Break.  Yep.  Mr. Plagiarizer lived up to his moniker--nearly his entire paper lifted from a website.  It took me the better part of 2 hours to prepare all the copies and write the letter to send on to the VP of Academic Affairs for when I return.  Incredible to think that I warned him on his rough draft and he still turned in a fully plagiarized paper.  Sigh.

Back to the Sturm und Drang.
(from Elizabeth, who did not plagiarize any of this post)

March 26, 2011

Blank Brain

It's not necessarily that the brain is blank, but maybe that it's too full?

I've got a bit of a saga.  It revolves around, and involves my daughter who was diagnosed with peri-partum cardiomyopathy last year, for those long-time readers.  Barbara, with her husband and family, have been on a long sojourn through their own personal wasteland for the last year. They were living in a mountain town in Arizona where he was finishing up his undergraduate education.  He came late to the idea that he should be anything other than a partner in his father's house stucco business, but when he did awake to other possibilities, the first choice was to be a doctor.  The first round of applications yielded no spots in med school.  He got a part-time position with a dentist in town, and they stayed there for another year, living month-to-month, on faith and prayers and this-and-that.

But the landlord wanted them out, so they left there in May, pulling their oldest daughter out of school two weeks before she was to be Cinderella in the school play, and moved in with his parents two hours away in a small Route-66-type town, with a diner, a KMart and a Home Depot (but not much else).  Dental school was the new goal, and he placed well on his tests.  Within a few weeks, they found a small home to rent, and they landed a couple of options for dental school.  He accepted the one in Phoenix.

Trying to get out of their year-long lease of their rental, they offered complete flexibility as to the end date.  Unfortunately, it came too soon, so the end of February we drove up to help them pack up and move out.  But to where?  They'd placed an offer on a house, because to rent was $1100 dollars/month and to buy was $550. With the limited financial assistance they'd have in dental school, buying made more sense.  His parents helped, we helped.  The offer was accepted, the bank sat on processing the loan.  So, they put all their household goods in storage, and moved in with my son, his wife and their four children. More nudging (in the only terms a bank can understand: more money) and soon they--we--had nearly everything in place.

She came here for a week, and why you get this long tale is that every junction in this lengthy tale of displacement involves multiple phone calls, minutes and hours on the phone, trying to help.  For that is the lot of a parent of grown children: you can't effect any changes in your child's life, but can only be a support, a sounding board, be that someone on the other end of the line who will listen when their loan papers are stuck, when they feel like they're intruding, when they pack all the kids in the car and go rent a hotel room with money they hardly have, just to try to squeak out and find the tiniest piece of place, of peace.

But today?  Today the papers are signed, the loan has funded, the rental truck is at the storehouse loading up their earthly goods to move to their little house and they are on their own, blessedly, again.  This part of the saga--like the wandering around in the desert like the children of Israel, like the pioneers coming West, like Job, like so many trials in our lives that seem to go on forever and ever while we're in them, but seem like an uncalled-for time for growth and an unpleasant interlude ever afterwards--is over.

So my mind is too full to write.  Too full of thanks and relief and happiness and papers to grade, and do the things left undone while I listened and anguished and rejoiced with one of my little families.

May all your sagas come to a fruitful end as well.

March 24, 2011


How do bananas make me feel so. . . guilty?

These particular four bananas had been going darker and darker and softer and softer until they started to kind of get sticky underneath.  I should just throw them out, I thought.  Into the trash.  Off the counter.  But I have a hard time throwing away bananas because I know they turn into fabulous banana bread.  And what a shame it would be not have that for breakfast tomorrow.

So the bananas sat another day.  And another.  And I certainly wasn't going to do anything with them on my sad, bad day.  But today was better.  The sun was out.  It is my husband's "speed limit" birthday (55).  I was going to bake a cake and it would take no time at all to mix up a batch of banana bread to slide into the oven when the cake came out.

But I do have to confess that I can throw out nearly everything else. Moldy yogurt.  Gone.  Leftovers from the back of the fridge.  Gone.  Stale bread from the cupboard.  History.  But bananas. . . what can I say?

And P.S.  Thanks for all your kind comments yesterday.  You're the best.

March 23, 2011

Partly Cloudy, Partly Sunny

Well, as I read all your blogs, you all seem to be having a marvelous time.  You are teaching, forging new links and relationships, making new discoveries, writing writing writing on a seemingly superhuman plain.  I, on the other hand, felt very mortal yesterday.  In fact the day began in tears.  The storm had been gathering for a couple of days, dark clouds rolling in, then clearing, then rolling in again.  I didn't know if it was going to rain inside me or if it would all pass over.  Winter blahs?  Maybe.  Downtime from a busy visit from my daughter? Perhaps.  Dysthymia? Possibly.  But whatever it was, the tears persisted into mid-morning, when I finally shook them off doing the mundane: ordering a cake at Costco for my husband's office party.  Back into routine, the bluesy feeling left, and the emotional skies cleared.

My husband called and asked me out to dinner, knowing my day was on a roller coaster.  We took the really long way down to the restaurant, finding some new vistas on a road we rarely travel on.  The sunset, shining through the clouds, was beautiful, so we stopped and snapped some photos with our phones.

The reality of my life is this: my career will exist in a tiny community college, one classroom at a time.  I'll never grace the cover of Vogue.  I'll probably never find the answer for the world's troubles.  I won't solve the problem of cancer.  And when I compare myself to others, or expect the same production level that I had when I was younger and more filled with hope and idealism, or try to accomplish what only a staff of six could do in one of those fancy shelter magazines, I will probably have a stormy day.  I can, however, when I work my way back into my routine, find peace within--one moment at a time.

One quiet sunset at a time.

March 22, 2011


I don't know I how I discovered TED talks. TED, which stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design, is about spreading ideas.  I listened today to Hans Gosling talk about the first time his mother
 used a washing machine "even grandma was invited to see the machine"--which he then parlayed into the idea of those who have versus those who have not. 

I had my class watch Jill Bolte Taylor's talk (the talks range from 20 minutes to 4 minutes) about the morning she--a brain researcher--had a stroke.  We then used this as an exercise to talk about the idea of summary--and how would they summarize in four points what she said to the audience?

David Brooks, a columnist for the New York Times, talked recently about the idea of emotional connections, saying that we as a nation have failed in our attempts to solve the problems of education, because current policy ignores that the fact that we learn from those that we love, and until we examine the relationship that teachers have with their students, we are bound to fail.

These are little brain teasers--tiny talks that open up my mind to something new and fascinating and ingenious, explaining a little part of my universe just a little bit better.  I love TED talks and plan to use the washing machine talk to teach this current crop of students about the idea of a precis--of distilling what someone says down into a little slice of life.  Like what we do every day on March.

March 21, 2011

That's How I'm Operating

My nephew's wife, Jamie (is she a niece-in-law?), has started a new blog, Found While Walking, and I like to look at because it brings new ideas, new connections and a different kind of art into my life.  Jamie is an artist--a modern artist who works with fiber and found things in a new way.  She's a tonic for me, who has been geared to the idea of production:
Produce, or you fail.  
The product is the thing. 
Publish or perish.  

All of these thoughts ricochet around in my head most of the time, the little Writing Gremlin sitting on my shoulder torturing me at all times.  So going to her blog is like sitting on the top of a hill overlooking a city, taking in the vista, breathing in the air, letting the mind drain clear of all its detritus, and allowing it to fill again with a different flavor of thinking.

Here's a sample of one of her posts:
Last night my husband was telling me about this painter Thomas Nozkowski he found.
He was right to think it would be right up my alley.

I was so tired but I sat quite long zoning out on the computer looking at his work and reading. My mind is a swamp with everything that's been going on.  
I've got nothing insightful or clear to say - 
But I like looking at these two artists and pairing their works together.

It feels simple and that's how I'm operating.  
Just looking. 

Thanks, Jamie.

March 20, 2011

Partly Windy

We've been expecting the rain here all day, but other than a few sprinkles it's only been that feeling of "something's coming."  One woman in church suggested it was negative ions in the air, that feeling we call anticipation of a storm.  I think it could be that--or anything--as we Southern Californians generally have pretty boring weather: mild in winter with an occasional rain, and hot and mildly humid in summer, for weeks and weeks and weeks.  Thunderstorms?  Could count them on one hand.  Snow?  Only once, and it was a trace amount.

So when my son moved back to Washington DC at the beginning of February, the day after they arrived it started to snow late in the evening.  Midnight found those two Californians in the parking lot of their new apartment, playing like little kids in the snow.  I'll only see extreme weather when I head to wintery places, so for now--the wind, the anticipation of a good cloudburst--the moving of the palm fronds in the wind looking like a teenager flipping their bangs out their eyes--is good enough for me.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 20.

P.S.  The rain has arrived--buckets and buckets pouring out on my roof in huge splatters of noise.  Terrific!

March 19, 2011

Spring Break

A little treat from the bookseller this afternoon bringing some reading for my Spring Break.  A slim slice today--much to do.  I call it "erasing the company." It's when I wash towels, change sheets and clean up, restoring our life back to itself, in all its mundane boring glory as our company leaves and leaves us a quieter house.

I was once in my daughter's place, visiting my mother with my whirling chaotic life of children, and mess and crying and giggling and water play and ice cream cones dropped on patios and trips to the park and corn dogs on a stick.  I'm sure she took time to erase the company, but maybe also did what I do now--leave some fingerprints on the glass door for a bit of a longer reminder of small wee hands.

Life is slower now--I'm slower--and I don't have the busyness of that earlier time. The children are raised, they visit, then leave.  My life is quieter, filled with books and too little time to read them, filled with hope and dreams yet wondering if I'm too late. It's a leveling time, a thoughtful and creative time.  It's a different season--and I'm living it as best I can.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 19.
P.S.  My books are below.

March 18, 2011

Ping-Pong with Mr. Plagiarizer

It was like a game of ping-pong, the conversational ball moving back and forth.

No, it was more like a game of handball, the conversation ricochetting off solid high walls, the sounds thwapping in my ears.

No, I think it was like cat and mouse, he pouncing on my careful words.

This game of teacher/student is never easy, especially when the student is a smarty-pants who thinks all the rules apply to everyone but him and he seems to have forgotten that I hold all the cards. I tried to counsel him, gingerly, to drop the class, but he's adamant he wants to finish, and he's just doing the best he can.

My father always says the university is bigger than any one student.  I keep that mantra tucked right in front of my teacher brain just for situations when I'm tempted to throw over all the carefully written rules in my syllabus and cave under the pressure of the sassy twenty-nine year old, heavily tattooed male with a baseball cap on his head which is two sizes too big, and who is standing before me, asserting that he has it rough because he's only late because he has to do his air conditioner calls before he comes to class--got to keep those customers happy because he has to pay the mortgage--wouldn't you say that's important?  And wouldn't you, Ms. Teacher realize that I'm doing the best I can?  That I have ADHD?  That I had a hard life?  That it's just me and my Dad trying to keep our business afloat in these hard times?  That I didn't know the rough draft was supposed to be turned in with the final essay?  I couldn't know that because I lost the assignment sheet?  And I can't print out the new one because I only have the computer there in the air conditioning shop? That you should cut me some slack because I'm just doing the best I can?

That makes two of us, Mr. Plagiarizer.  Have nice Spring Break.

P.S.  I was pretty discouraged at the end of the day today, after our "conversation" at the end of class.  Then I logged on and saw all your nice comments, encouraging me to carry on, to not give up.  I really appreciate you all.  Thanks so much.

March 17, 2011


I caught Mr. Plagiarizer on the rough draft of his second paper.   I prepared a copy to send to the Vice President of Academic Affairs, if and when Mr. Plagiarism turned in the final draft.  He never did.   The zero he received on the assignment was the same score as if he'd plagiarized.  Not knowing what to do, I filed the rough draft away and did not send it up.

Tuesday was our peer edit, where rough drafts for the third paper were due.  He did not bring me a copy (as is required) so as he and his partner worked by my desk, I asked to see his paper in a lull in the editing action.  I glanced at a phrase, quickly typed it in on the internet, sandwiched between quotes.  He did it again. There was a one-to-one correspondence between his paper and the article on the website.

After most of the class had thinned out and gone for the day, I said I needed to speak to him.

Me: "Something extraordinary has happened."
Him: "What?"
Me: "Someone has stolen your paper and posted it up on the internet, word for word."
(Long pause.)
Him: "Not word for word."

The interesting thing about this experience was that his peer reviewer waited outside until he saw Mr. Plagiarizer leave, then came in to see me.  This student wanted me to know that he knew that the paper he'd seen in peer review was fake. 

In a day, one student lived up to my worst expectations. And another student soared to my highest.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.  In honor of this, I'm using one of their green logos!

March 16, 2011

Halfway Through

I decided to fill up on your posts today, sampling and reading and commenting in between the chaos that is our home now, with my daughter and her three kids visiting.  I could really relate to those who talked about looking for the slice each day, and esp. Ruth's post about Just Enough.  Wanda talked about showing her class her writing, teaching them that teachers write, too.  Kevin's Parts of Speech post made me eternally grateful to his diligence.  I know his students won't languish in college remedial classes.  Deb wrote about snakes (brave woman), Elsie about a cedar sapling volunteer who got yanked, and Bonnie's post about popcorn, grandchildren and digital games was an echo to what I'm living here. And I've many more to sample, but dinner prep calls, and I should probably clean up a bit before my husband arrives.  Thank you to you all for your writing!

Two tiny slices:
I couldn't find my car keys (if you saw my house, scattered from here to there with little toys, you'd know why) so I grabbed my husband's.  Riley, the four-year-old asked me, as I headed out the door: "Are you late, Grandma?"  "Yes!" I said vigorously.  He paused.  "Are you SO late?"  I laughed and said no.  I guess there are degrees of lateness in their house.

That night Keagan, the eight-year-old, looked at my quilt in progress, smoothed up on my pin wall.
"Oh, Grandma," she said.  "I think that's your best quilt ever!"

March 15, 2011


Not really a real tornado.
It just feels like it.  I had four children, and lived in the middle of cyclone for years and years, and only now recognize--when the grandchildren come home--what that experience really was like.  Of course, I'm much older, and can't go as long or as fast as I used to be able to.

But the whirling of small bodies and "Grandma?" and spills and giggles and watching them skip around Costco just for the sheer joy of it all makes me laugh, makes me more animated and I work hard to keep up with them, and to keep my patience at all times.  And while my house may be tilting slightly, like the one on the left, and there's more cracker crumbs littering the table and floor, the energy in these children is infectious, although tiring.  Yep--dualities abound.

Lovely, sweet & smiling dualities.

P.S.  I bought them all Easter outfits today.  Maybe we'll get some photos up here at some point.

March 14, 2011

It's Monday again, folks.

It's Monday again, folks, and I start again with the week.  I teach twice a week at a community college which is 30 minutes from door to door, and if the parking lot Gods are smiling on me.  Once a week, I have office hours, where I sit and grade papers.  I don't have an office, but instead seem to be able to find a place in our new library where students could find me if they wanted to.

Twice a week, I pack a lunch and drive to a classroom so I can stand and teach while trying to cajole and encourage my students to engage.

Twice a week, I give myself an internal grade: A+(never).  B?  F? Occasionally and that's when I come home and wonder what the heck I'm doing in a place where the reading isn't done, where students flunk quizzes, where the news if filled with people saying I make too much (such a funny line) and how my classroom of two hours a day, twice a week should cure all of society's ills.

Twice a week, I meet brilliant students who impress the socks off of me with their erudite comments.

Twice a week, I meet a bunch of idiots who cause me to long for deep, dark, almond-studded chocolate on the way home.

Twice a week I reinvent myself, working always to deliver the best of me to (hopefully) the best of them.

Happy Monday, folks.

March 13, 2011

A Day of Rest

I took the day off today, this day of rest, and went to church.  Then I came home and we grilled salmon and ate it with a tossed salad, Israeli couscous (with pistchios and sultanas).  I made cookies--my husband's favorite of chocolate chip.  I sat down and started to stitch on the applique for the quilt, and just now am getting up, having nearly finished the long border.  Oh yes, we had snacks in there, a friend visited us, we watched two episodes of Doc Martin.  After my husband went upstairs to putter around, I watched Julie/Julia, or is it Julia/Julie?

A day of rest.  I'd better take it because tomorrow around noon my daughter and her three children arrive.  This is the daughter I blogged about all last year.  The baby is now two-plus and the oldest is eight-plus.  Riley, a boy, clocks in at four years old.

No rest for a while!

Click to return to SOLSC--day 13.

March 12, 2011


Sometimes when the news is so bad, like today's sorrows from Japan, all I can do is walk and think and be sad.

I came out of a building in downtown Lima when I was 13 years old, the ground shaking.  My friend gripped my arm, her face white, and we watched as all around us the buildings swayed, the glass cracking and tumbling down.  "Let go, let go," I pled.  "I've got to run."  But she held on and in our terror we lasted out the nearly minute-long 8.1 earthquake.  While there weren't many lives lost to the quake, it triggered huge mudslides in the mountains that wiped out entire towns.  After that experience-- my first earthquake ever--whenever we'd feel an aftershock, no matter where we were in our house in Miraflores, we'd tear downstairs, fling open the door and stand--all of us--in the doorway, waiting out the temblors.

I live in California, and occasionally I'll feel an earthquake--a shake, a crackling of the wood beams in the walls of my house, a sudden unsettling of the floor.  I go very still and I wait, poised to run down my stairs and stand in the open doorway.  My house is a frame house and we are perched on granite, so my rational mind knows I'm in good shape.  But when you feel the vibrations, no matter where you are, you go very still while your mind races on and on.  When I moved to Wisconsin, people kind of thought I was funny to have lived in California with all its earthquakes, but after a particularly bad tornado season--and after spending a lot of time in my basement--I wondered which disaster is worse: the one you anticipate or the one that travels through the earth unbidden and unannounced.

A disaster is a disaster, no matter what form it takes.  I watched the news all day long; my thoughts and prayers and hopes and courage go to those suffering at this time from the earthquake and tsunami devastation, far far away.

March 11, 2011

Poets and Writers

I started subscribing to Poets and Writers I think when I was an undergraduate.  I really have no idea--maybe I read it in the library?  Or maybe someone connected to my dreams suggested it?  I think somewhere I have this issue with Anne Lamott's face on it, but I know I have the issue with an excerpt from Harriet Doerr's book Stones for Ibarra.  I remember being excited not only by the beautiful writing, but also the fact that she was nearly 70 when her first book was published.
This newest issue--this month's--is the first one I've read in more than three years.  Five years?  Sometime after grad school.  The magazines would come every month, and I would write the yearly check for renewal and send it off.  It was like my one tenuous connection to the Writing Life with a capital W, capital L.  If I stopped subscribing it would mean giving up on that idea, that dream.  So they came, piling up.  Sometimes I'd look at the cover and think: I really need to stop this nonsense--or, on better days--I really need to read about this--or--I should write something.  Yeah.  I'll write something.  Then the lesson plan would be due, or a child's child would be due or bills would be due and I'd let myself be distracted.  

The first article in this month's issue caught my eye, about the reverence with which we hold writers' houses.  Mark Twain's home.  Emily Dickinson's home.  I remember touring Beatrix Potter's home with my mother and father when I went with them to England.  The article, with quotes from A. N. Devers who runs the Web site,  gives us insight as to our fixation with these places, and it also sheds light on the writing task:

" 'Writers often do a complicated dance around sitting down and writing, ' says Devers about why she started the project. 'We are obsessed with other writers' processes and behaviors--with a writer's space: The room, the desk, the tools are all a part of the equation.  Seeing the place where a successful author created her work can be encouraging and grounding.  The writer's space is proof it can be done.' "

So is this March Madness of Slicing.  Carry on!