Friday, November 21, 2014

lost grains...

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I find them everywhere, the grains of sand. In the slots between the wide wooden floorboards in the kitchen. Mid July finds me swearing at the grains. They stick to my feet and get dragged from room to room. The annoyance of sand on my feet, fresh out of the tub... bits of sand finding their way into carpets and shoes. 

But by February, even November, I long to find stray sand. Hanging out in a bucket, or a coat pocket. The bottom of a fabric grocery bag that was used to lug sand toys and beach towels to and from adventure days on the beach. The grins put smiles on my face as I remember the cry of gulls, and the warmth of the sun on my skin, the salt soaked bathing suits and SPF 30 drenched faces. The memories bring warmth when quilts won't do. The glimpses of sunshine, or the sunset of a perfect August evening. 

So next summer I will not dust my sandals off, clapping them as a call to forget, to leave it all behind. The grains... I will not sweep each one. I will remember, each summer, the cold of winter and the grain of sand... poetry for the hope of spring.

Monday, November 17, 2014

Walden with Mr. G...

We went in the name of irony. On a November night, with rain in the air, the signposts dark. He was from Canada, a guest at the hotel I where I was working. He was there every few weeks on business. Mr. G.... Mr, but he was only a few years older than myself, a college senior, living off campus and working 40 hours a week.

Walden, he said. Is it nearby?
Not far, I told him, let me look it up.

And then we hatched a plan, we'd go after my shift ended at 11:30. We rove down 95 to 495 in my little blue Saturn, windshield wipers furiously doing their job. I forget what we talked about. He made fun of how I said college. The Moulin Rouge soundtrack played through the speakers. We passed the parking lot on the left and barely saw the sign. I pulled over and hit the hazards. We jumped out, camera in his hand.

Take a picture of me in front of the sign! Laughter was on his voice.
Why are we doing this, again? I asked.

Back in the car he explained, his friend despised Thoreau. Mr. G... was indifferent to the writer, and always wanted to be contrary. And so years before Instagram selfies, we took his picture to send along to one of Thoreau's supposed biggest critics. A picture of Mr. G.... giving a thumbs up at Walden. It was then that I knew that there'd never be an us...who poses ironically at Walden? And it was that thought that was my final mental argument when I said goodbye for the last time to Mr. G...


{Written during one of the Writing Naturally workshops. I'll be revisiting pieces I've written during the in person workshops and the online course... and sharing here.}

Thursday, November 6, 2014

grey sky

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November is like this. Grey skies. Lots of grey skies. Darkness comes so early in the evenings... it always surprises me, every year. How it can start getting dark, the shadows changing, by 3pm is a mystery to me. It doesn't feel natural, and yet on the other hand it feels comforting and cozy and perfect.

NaNoWriMo is going well... I'm plugging along. The first day began and I struggled to work my way to the word count with my story from last year. It tugged at me, and not in a positive way, for the rest of the day. Sunday came and with it brought a bit of snow, and a lot of relaxing, and finally I was all tucked into my bed with flannel sheets and my laptop and I was ready to write. And then I couldn't. So I scrapped the story, last year's that I was so excited to work on and through, and then I started over. I easily caught up to the previous days word count and kept going. 

There's something to be said for resistance, absolutely. It's always there to help you. The trick is navigating what it means. In some cases it means "yes, the struggle is worth it." In others it's a true sign to let something go. 

I'm still learning those how to navigate the brutal honesty of resistance. 

{can you tell I'm reading The War on Art by Steven Pressfield? There are parts I love and parts I'm just kind of meh about... but it's worth it. I just wish the book were a little bigger because I find it truly award to hold... have you ever read a book like that? It just didn't physically fit... hmm...}

Back to the work, my friends...