Theme Week 3 Scene Setting and Dialogue

After the Storm

I stand in my on my snowy deck, my flannel pajamas cozy under my ski pants. I am leaning on a shovel. I will clean off this deck, but first I need to enjoy the quiet that only comes when the snow is still falling, but the sun is just visible behind the milky clouds. Soon I will hear snow blowers and plows start all up and down my street. But for now, here I am on the dead end of my street, looking at the frozen river. The husband, the dog and the cat are just behind me in the house, but I get this moment.
“So, if you clean the cars off and move them, I’ll start snow blowing.” he says as the well trained Springer tumbles out the door in front of him, ready for whatever fun is in store.
“Do you think I need to roof rake this storm?” This is a job he has allowed me to take over as it gets harder for him. Not easy for him to admit that he needs help with these outdoor chores.
“Just take a little off the edges.”
I have just started on a small roof, not even near the main part of the house when I hear what sounds a lot like an avalanche. “What the hell?” Every piece of snow has come off the roof of the main part of the house in a big thump. Wow that was cool. Oh no, where is that little white dog. Is she under there? “Where’s the dog!?” I yell, but of course he can’t hear over the noise of that snow blower. Oh good, there she sits on a snow bank at the end of the walkway. Sitting so cute and safe watching the snow fly out of the end of the snow blower chute. My relief changes to horror as I see the big wing of a plow thundering toward us down the street.
“Come!” My voice more screech than command.
She calmly turns her head and looks at me as if to say, “I love you, but he told me to stay. I really want to come see you, but you know how he is about that whole stay thing.”
“Come now!” Another screeching command that never fails when he does it.
She now looks like she may be considering it. “Well maybe, but it’s really better for all concerned if I listen to him.” Her eyes roll toward the plow truck. “I’m pretty sure that big, noisy, plow thing is going to miss me.”
Of course it did and neither one of them realize how my morning has gone from peace to terror and back again.
“Hey, is this raking good enough? M.L. called and wants to go skiing.”
“Ya it’s great. How did you get snow off way up there?”
My friend and I are compatible ski partners. Our conversation in short bursts because we both know the zen of listening to just the swish of the skis and squeak of the poles in the cold snow. The snow carries millions of diamonds. The pine trees are latticed with snow.
I see something up ahead on the quiet trail. A red color seldom seen in nature and certainly not in the blue, grey and white of winter. My senses are confused. It must be a sled, even though I hear nothing. I yell, “Sled!” As we dive off the trail, it comes closer and becomes clearer to me. “Dogs!”
Four dogs pulling a sled with a lady standing on the runners. She is quietly saying, “Go by, Shane. Go by, Alice. Go by, Mable. Go by Riley.” The dogs roll their eyes at us and want to stop, but they go by. The lady says even more quietly to us. “One more sled coming with my little girl on it.”
“We see her,” We speak quietly also. The little girl has a smaller sled and two dogs that look heavier, older and more settled than the mom’s four. She too, speaks quietly to her dogs, “Go by Mary. Go by Sadie.”
It is a quiet magical moment.
“I think that may be my next sport.” I say as we step back onto the trail.

Theme Week Two Coming of Age in the Sixties

Rural Maine in the sixties was a lot like the rest of the country in the fifties. Families with a mom, dad and their children. Not many blended families. Dad went to work. Mom stayed home. For the most part, people stayed married. Parents expected that their daughters would work in an office after high school, get married, have children. Boys would go to college or the draft would grab them. The parents had done their part, raising them through high school.

Was it a rising social consciousness or a changing world that changed my television viewing from From Dick Clark's Band Stand to Laugh-in. They were so irreverent and caused me to question things I never thought to question. I didn't have much, but I did have to have those white vinyl boots. Not good in winter in Maine. From Leave it to Beaver to the Vietnam war in my living room, not knowing it was going to come even closer in my life. From Rin Tin Tin to dogs biting Afro-Americans. There were no black people in my town. Not one. I had no real reference, but couldn't imagine why I would be mad at them. My father told me years later that he thought I would end up married to some kind of minority. No, that was the other sister. I was stuck between loving Elvis Presley and Dean Martin when The Beatles hit town. Look at that hair! Simple songs. She Loves You, Ya,Ya, Ya. What was there about them that we loved? We did not know how brilliant they were. They grew and evolved with us. They never stopped learning about themselves or their craft.

Real life came off the television when I met the older brother of a friend. Newly back from Vietnam, trying to drink away the smell of Napalm and the sight of ruined villages. Drink away the memories of the armed guard walking him through the protesters in the airport. Trying to retain the memories of people he wasn't mad at who were just trying to farm their beautiful land. Retain the memories of the Catholic churches and the Mountanard people who befriended him. Retain the memories of an America he loved and respected that asked him to go do this thing. Trying to make this narrow minded, opinionated new girlfriend understand that he went there with all good intentions. Able to quit the drinking long before coming to terms with it all in his head.

The sixties. Ten years. Years when I went from ten to twenty years old. From an innocent child happy in the woods, fields, and rivers of my little town. Through high school with my basketball team and my cheerleader friends, my boy friends who were my age and just friends and the older boys that I loved. Married, still in the sixties, to the young man newly back from Vietnam. A whole life in one decade.

Theme Week 1 Know Thyself , Know Thyself?

Monday
Back to work for the week. Sixteen kindergarten children. Do no harm. They love school. They have so much to learn about how to be citizens of the school and still have to learn reading and math. They come in so happy to be part of the school system. What do we do to them to make them hate it by 5th grade? Work with a teacher that I love. I go between thinking she is whacko and thinking she is a brilliant teacher. Both true. Love her. Love the children. Love my job. Having a Merlot while I do my homework. Love this class.

Tuesday

Beautiful moon last night and walking across the parking lot into work was a beautiful sun and moon. Good day today. No crazy teacher. A sweet substitute. Too quiet, too sweet. Children turning to chaos. Tried to hang back and let the sub learn. Couldn't. Had to step in and take control. Better for everyone. The children appreciate boundaries. Went for a nice walk after school. Met my friend, unplanned. Had a walking visit. Met a boy and his Lab. Little visit. Going to the basketball game tonight. Watching my wonderful, beautifully mixed raced nephew play. Hope he gets some playing time. He's quietly good, not flashy.

Wednesday

Work was good. Getting really cold. Went to sister's house to siphon wine. Sacred Sisters winery has 12 more gallons bubbling. Really glad she's come home after 26 years in CA. Fun. Had a birthday visit with friends I don't visit with much. Love them, but not into the sitting and drinking coffee visit thing. Friends need to move to hang with me.

Thursday
Started a weight lifting class. Feeling good and strong. Joke is that I don't want to blow out a pec and end up with an implant near my belly button. Breast cancer, not enhancement. New exercise buddies. We had so much fun. Laughing, teasing. Something to add to my skiing, walking, snowshoeing, golfing, kayaking. Staying strong, staying healthy. Never take movement for granted. Home this evening, glad I don't have to go anywhere. Enjoying a Dean Koonz book. Just finished a Stephen King. In between, I read a book called The Shack, a novel about the Trinity and forgiveness. Still thinking about it. Haven't been to church for months since my priest shot himself after allegations of child abuse over 20 years ago. Loved and respected him. Looking forward to bed and book. When your body is tired exercise your mind, When your mind is tired exercise your body.

Friday
Yay, Friday! The forty year husband crashed his jeep into a tree. More like backed into a tree. Always bragging about never having an accident. (I have, of course, hit 3 deer) Always telling me I need to learn to use my mirrors. (I turn my head) My first thought was "deductible!"Cold, cold. The thermometer wouldn't even register this morning. The basketball game tonight was special, like a movie. The JV game. Mocha nephew having fun. Team losing by over 20 points. Small boy with Autism and no playing time in the game. Last minute of the game. The boy with Autism makes a beautiful 3 point shot. The first stringers on the bench go wild. The coach stations the boy on the 3 point line while the rest of the team work to get the ball to him. Beautiful fade away jump shot. 6 points in seconds. The team goes wild in the center of the court, piling on the boy, trying to lift him up, celebrating a 20 point lose, while the opposing team looks on bewildered, wondering who won.

Saturday
Too cold even for me to go out until around 11 that is. Went to another friend's birthday party. Beer, wine, pizza. I have so many friends that get me through so many facets of my life. Don't know what I'd do without them. Friends to talk over problems, mine and theirs, friends to cry with, laugh, with exercise with. A husband that is the soft place to land friend when I'm done flying around in my day. Sweet, simple guy almost always easy to be with. The birthday girl is the exercise friend. Then went for my weekly nursing home visit to my 91 year old mother in law. Aways enjoy my visit with her, but that is no way to end your life. She says she is living to long. I have to agree with her inside my heart.

Sunday
To the restaurant for coffee with friends, skiing with the exercise friend, sweating the zero degree. Husband and little dog ice fishing. Hope he doesn't let the babydog get cold. She's not like the previous big lab. Bread raising on the counter. No bread machine in this kitchen. Love the feel of the almost alive dough, the ancient ritual learned from my sweet mother, the smell of the grain sometimes reminding me of the bin in the neighbors cow barn when I was a child.
I've read over my week of journaling. The shallowness has fleshed out a bit. The pollyannaness is true and absolute and well earned. Whether it is surviving cancer 4 times or simply living long enough to learn what is important in this life, I never have a bad day. Interesting moments, but no bad days.

Week 1 Part 1 What's the story?

I must have been around eight years old. I remember that I had recently discovered reading real books, beyond Dick and Jane. Remember, I am an older student. I even wanted to read The Red Pony, by John Steinbeck. My mom told me I would not understand it. I remember reading it. I don't remember if I understood it. Because of the reading, I wanted to write. There was a book in my head about all the things I was doing in my day. It was all I knew. "She walked around the lilac tree on the lawn and there was her sister. She said hello to her." For a while, in my mind, I was a writer.

You are a student in Early Childhood. You are a writer. Your mom, dad, and grandparents have always loved your stories. They believe you are brilliant and one of a kind. They are amazed at your imagination. Last year's teacher loved your writing. She loved your ideas. She was interested in what you had to say every day in your journal. She talked about uppercase letters, punctuation and words you should know how to spell, but she mostly said what great ideas you had. She was enthusiastic to such a degree that you just stared at her, shaking your head. But you felt great. You felt like a writer. This year the teacher is different. She writes all over your page in red ink. She crosses out words and you don't know why. She writes words over your words and you don't know what they say. She says, "Don't use conversation. You don't know how to do it." She says nothing about the heartfelt story you have worked so hard on. She passes the paper back and says rewrite it with the corrections. You hate writing and you'll never do it after you leave this school.

She sat in an ITV classroom, a class of one. The teacher in the television was re-explaining an assignment that the student had already passed in. It was a psychology class. The student had written a piece on a subject she felt passionately about. She felt she might have been a bit preachy. She was bored with the re-explanation and booted up an abandoned computer in the corner. She was very involved in a solitaire game when something the teacher was talking about caught her attention. The teacher was reading her piece! It sounded good! The student threw her hands up and shouted to nobody, "It's mine! She's reading mine!" The teacher finished and said, "That, students, is what I was looking for in this assignment." The student felt like a writer for the first time.