May 29: Imagination Station

Not all that long ago and yet a lifetimes ago, I wrote hundreds of heart-filled letters, knocked on many doors, and called lots and lots of people in an effort to raise funds so that we could build this state-of-the art, for its age, playground in our community. To be honest, my kids were already on the outskirts of playing on such structures, but a friend was chairing the movement, I went to a meeting, I became the financial chair, and the rest of the year was spent searching for money! 

Trust me, I was already busy teacher and mom with a do-it-yourself kitchen renovation happening.  Adding this to my plate was probably not a wise decision, especially in the days of floppy discs masquerading as word processors and toll phone calls adding up quickly. 

The "architect," came to talk to kids and parents and anyone who wanted to provide input and then, delivered an enormous pile of pressure treated lumber, gigantic screws, stair treads, rafters and who knows what else. As they had done in a zillion communities before, and after, they delivered instructions to our "community designed" structure that looked like a zillion other community designed structures. Then, in an effort largely chaired by my construction savvy father of my kids,and a zillion less-than savvy volunteers, this enormous structure somehow came to light in what had been an empty field. 

I know what you are already thinking, pressure treated lumber with all those chemicals? What were they thinking? Volunteers building this thing, what about insurance? We threw caution to the wind (although I know we did buy construction insurance), and it became a go to destination for many years, until it was deemed unsafe because of the chemicals in that lumber that surely will last forever in a chemical-landfill-somewhere.

I found this picture as I cleaned out an old album, and it spurred a host of memories.  Now the picture, like the structure, is part of history. I know there were splinters, many, over time; however, I really hope no one got cancer for playing on this labor of love. We really did want to make the world a better, safer, happier place for our children. Perhaps, in retrospect, we should have run for political office and really changed the direction of the future.

 

May 28 On the Shelf

I read mostly on my Kindle reader through the local Libby app; yet, I still love the feel and smell of a book in my hands. 

I walked into my magnificent public library to return a book, yesterday, and that is when I saw the librarians gathered around the new release shelf looking as if they had hit the lottery. I noticed the sort of distantly familiar face of a news reporter and slid the book off the shelf. I read the blurb and almost put it back thinking it was a bit too sappy until Bert piped up, "It's really well written with distinct stories of outside-of-the-box-heroes."

I started the book while I ate my dinner and continued after I settled into my bed for the night. I was still reading at 10, 12,.....and then replayed the stories in my mind as I slipped into a fistful sleep thanks to Martha Raddatz's tales of real brave acts that followed 9/11. It may have been the moms who spent years and years caring for their sons with life-changing brain injuries resulting from their deployment that left me tossing and turning.  It may have been the real-life focus of this book that shook my foundation to a core and made me focus on every breath that kept me awake. It may have been the news that the bombing in Iran has begun again with both sides trading those expensive explosives that have enormous potential to destroy the trajectory of lives that prevented my mind from shutting down for the night. Or, it may have been the masterful writing that brought the hopes, fears and dreams of these people into my life asking me to remember ALL who have served, rethink priorities and recognize my blessings.

Quite a few great books have passed through my life this year, this gave me pause.

SOL26: May 26: Just Like Annie Said

Today, I am sharing with the Two Writing Teachers' Community a small slice of my life.

The holiday weekend began quietly with a forecast that detoured plans for travel and outdoor activities and encouraged second cups of coffee followed by plunging temperatures that required turning on the heat, even on Memorial Day Weekend. I busied myself cleaning closets, donating clothes, reducing clutter dressed in sweats drinking hot tea just to stay warm. It was the kind of weekend where catching up on Virgin River became a highlight! 

The clouds still obscured the sun and I was still in sweats, still cleaning, when she called about heading to the pool as the long weekend was finally coming to a close. She assured me the pool was open and we were going as I sipped yet another cup of tea and piled excuses on the table. Just saying, "No," would have been easy if I wasn't a bit lonely and it hadn't been my persuasive grandchild who assured me her whole family was headed to swim.

The rain had ground to a halt as I finally headed out with a swimsuit under heavy sweats realizing the temperature outside was warmer than inside? The pool was pretty empty when we arrived; yet, as I sat on the edge, I realized others had also grown tired of life trapped inside houses and were also braving the pool which was not nearly as cold as my house had been! I slipped into a lane and began, slowly at first, stroke after stroke until my breathing matched the rhythm of the pool. Slowly, but surely, the clouds parted and the sun broke through as Annie had promised in her famous song. 

As I swam, lap after lap, I prayed for the families of those lost and hoped there was a bit of sunshine came through for their day as well. Then, I  smiled,remembering to reach outside my comfort zone and to be thankful for pushy grandchildren and wonderful gifts of modern civilization, like pool heaters!

May 25 Memorial Day

It's still a rainy Memorial Day weekend in these parts; perhaps, a reminder to stop and reflect on the sacrifices and risks of war as we hope for a solution to the current wars impacting lives across our globe.

Fire trucks, Girl Scouts, 

Fife, drum corps, join

Those who served marching 

Down Main Streets as

Burgers  sizzle, Frisbees fly.

Crowds fill beaches, 

Craft fairs, remembering

Loved, lost, left, missing

Many still follow orders

Risking life and limbs,

Hoping to ensure peace,

For future generations,

Rather than to enrich,

While we remember the 

Solemn tombs of

Soldiers, lost too soon.

Hope for a lasting,

Peace among people, 

Nations still elusive as 

Bombs, threats, risks still

Fly across our fragile planet.

May 24: Rainy Day

It's another rainy day on this holiday weekend, devastating local beaches and holiday plans; yet, perhaps this is a chance to reflect?

Dismal skies, soggy sands, somber moods,

Encompass East Coast environs, essential

Precipitation pushes people, parties to

Suspend celebrations, postpone plans,

Reflect on lives lost to wars, prejudice, as well as,

Illness, disease, limited resources, decisions,

Racism, intolerance, radicalism, isolation,

Ignorance, radicalization, self-serving decisions,

Bias, preconceptions, addiction, power plays,

Reminders, perhaps? that our beliefs and actions

Impact others, we are in control of our actions,

Not only our response.

SOL26: May 19: Angst?

It's Slice Of Life Tuesday and I am sharing with my writing community at Two Writing Teachers.  

The unusual 40 degree temps last week gave way to a few days of 90s this week and the hum of summer noise makers fueled my angst. 

I kept the windows of my car and house open and tried to be grateful for the first fresh air of the season even though it was definitively a warm breeze. I did sweat and I drank a lot of water as I worked my way through the day. I swigged an extra large drink as my blood boiled when I noticed the parked cars with air conditioners running full blast . Why aren't they thinking about the extra fuel they were burning?  I carefully watered the plants on my porch, by hand, while I watched sprinklers water driveways and sidewalks thinking about the valuable resource wasted  My bedroom was very warm, but my 2-minute-shower, damp hair, and a ceiling fan kept it manageable as I lay there sad to hear my neighbor's heat pump drowning out the excited crickets. 

I studied the ceiling, wondering if my own Rachel Carson-fueled-conservation-empowered-upbringing with a few window fans and push mowers had scarred me or if I was a dinosaur in a world where rising fuel and electric costs are managed with an extra large iced something at Starbucks, and extra swipe of the Visa and nary a concern for the future of our planet? 

Ethical ELA: May 18: Appreciating Sundown

Today's Ethical ELA Hosts, Jessica Wiley and Erica Johnson, ask us to go outside to fine flora, fauna, and other interesting things to share.  I'm going to reflect on last night, my first to sit on the porch this season.

The great oak's potential offspring drifted

Hopefully through the late evening sky, while

Dark red helicopters floated excitedly

In the gentle evening breeze while a

Cacophony of birds called to each other from

New-built homes, celebrating their potential

Offspring in a rainbow of colors and sizes while

I nestled into a worn rocker, noticing the need for

Porch mucking, pollen eliminating, paint repairing and

Solar lights flickering, joggers and dogs celebrating. 

Neighbors, of all species, appreciating sundown,

Proclaiming spring's arrival, after a long wait.

Ethical ELA: May 17 The Old Apple Tree

 Today's Ethical ELA Host, Erica Johnson, asks us to write a poem about a tree! I considered writing about my neighbor's magnificent, ancient Sycamore, lost in a recent storm; however, I am writing about a tree from my childhood that lurked in the old apple tree

We were excited to pick apples,

    Instead, we, picked Poison Ivy.

We were thrilled with the tree fort,

    Instead, the branch gave in to our weight.

We set up the tent in her shade, played checkers,

    Instead. oblivious to the cancer causing chemicals in that

Old apple tree in the orchard, lost to suburban bloom.

A random old apple tree!

Ethical ELA: Stormvile

Today's Ethical ELA Host, Jessica Wiley,  asks us to write Place Poems today by considering the backstory of a town or a landmark. I read the prompt early this morning and have been brewing ideas all day! I could write about a few fabulous towns that are etched in my memory with powerful native American roots, like Esopus or Kerhonkson; but I am going to write about Stormville, NY, named after the Storm family, where a mountaintop location means endless power failures and snow squalls that close the interstate regularly! While I no longer call it my home, it will always be in my heart.

Supposedly, the Storm brothers settled in 1730

Crops and houses at the base, hunting and fishing 

At the top of the fertile mountain

With the population growing slowly.

Enough to open a post office/general store 

The only business from 1826 to 1980,

When the interstate cut through the mountain,

A barbed wire encased State Prison came to town.

Then, there were a whole bunch of baby boomers

Willing to homestead at the bottom and even

The top of that snowy mountain at the end of the 

Power grid, more home for your dollar they said.

That's when I landed in town, blown away when

Freshly caught deer appeared in front yards,

While endless hikers on the Appalachian Trail,

Traipsed through back yards!

It's known still for its storms that close the 

Interstate, epic power outages,

Its flea markets that attract people

From afar, and its rural charm,.

May 15: Another Dinosaur

When I came home on Wednesdays, my mother would be watching some talk show (I think) on our tiny black and white TV. She'd have a stack of damp shirts, pants, and sheets, fresh from the fridge, neatly stacked in plastic bags on the edge of the ironing board, awaiting the tortuous process of pressing. Her top of the line adjustable height model was a prized possession and every piece of laundry, even sheets and undies, spent time on its belly. 

The image of my mom proudly ironing for hours each week popped into my mind during a conversation about trying to give away ironing boards during downsizing!  I do have one, used exclusively for pressing seams in sewing projects, that I plan to keep for now; however, ironing boards, now, fit in the dinosaur category.

I do have a dinosaur 

An old, wooden relic used to
Press shirts, blouses, never sheets, 

In times when pressed linen and cotton

Were expected for school and work, 

Now used to press seams in baby quilts,

Craft projects that will someday, if fate

Allows, go to an antique shop, or more likely,

Setting into retirement in a landfill where it will

Become toothpicks for the other dinosaurs.