Month: March 2020

When a Poem Lands on You ~ SOL 2020

| Shari Daniels

As I pulled on the right leg of my black leggings this morning, around 6:00 am, leaning back in my chair, both feet lifting high into the air, as if gravity was going to lure these things on, the words of a childhood poem washed over me.

“Monday’s child is full of grace,” it whispered, as poems sometimes do.

Even though I know not the exact words of this nostalgic nursery rhyme, parts of it are lodged deep within me somewhere, and I thought,

“Wait, I don’t think Monday’s child is full of grace. It’s Tuesday’s child!”

But I’m telling you, Monday’s child needs it.

The words swirled and played in the dance of a new poem being born as I reached for my “Monday” dress, a free flowing knit, waist free, forgiving, stretchy, throw in the dryer, no-need-to-iron kind of dress. It wears on me whether I am a size 4 or a size 14. I hoover somewhere in between, depending on the day, the month, the season or the year.

Still – this dress embraces me and says, “It’s okay, I’m here for you, Shari.”

Topped off with my favorite black vest and knee high boots, Monday arrives in the comfort of my Friday jeans, even after a weekend of pizza, too many cookies and a little (okay, a lot) of laying around.

Gosh, I love a dress that can do that to a Monday.

Oh, the poem. It’s been marinating all morning. Here’s what I’ve got so far. . .

Monday’s dress is full of grace,

A thank you melts across her face,

None is there of shameful woes, or

Regrets of weekend diet foes.

With the stretch of lycra, loving and giving

Enabling her to go on with her living

A life that is so good and gay

A gift to savor on the morn of Monday.

Gosh – writing that just made me so happy! Poetry can do that, you know.

Writing Intentions: Making Connections ~ SOL~2020

| Shari Daniels

writing friends

“The most daring thing to do with your life is to create a stable community in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.”     ~ Kurt Vonnegut

It’s not that I forget to write a Slice of Life (or two or three even). I write every morning in my notebook.  My notebook writing is my life support. But, it’s not Slice of Life writing. So, then, I have to write twice in the day, which wouldn’t be a problem except I save it for the end of the day. And, at the end of the day, opening up my laptop is a dread when you’ve been looking at it all day.

I could write a slew a slices in one day and then just shoot them out each morning. But, that doesn’t feel authentic. What I write one day might not feel true on another day. Oh bother. . . there are so many other facets that contribute to my issue of putting writing out there for the world to see, but that’s too daunting to address in one Slice of Life. Another day . . . maybe.

I had to reassess my purpose of slicing in this challenge because for the last couple of years, I petered out after day 4 or 5. Sometimes I’d come back, sometimes not. I’m coming back this time because it’s only March 8th. There’s a lot of month left. It’s too early to jump ship.

But, if I’m brutally honest, I need the energy that comes from discovering new relationships and in keeping past relationships alive.

My writing friend, Elisabeth Ellingson at the dirigible plum reminded me about intentions of the challenge. For me, I don’t need to develop a habit. I don’t need to learn how to live a wide awake life most of the time (ideas are NOT my problem, choosing is my problem). I need community. A real writing community. So alone we feel in this writing life.

So alone we feel in this life sometimes. Period.

So, I’m not going to fret so much about what I put out there just as long as I’m showing up to join others in this journey, to cheer others on for being here, and to relish the new connections we make as we discover new like-minded writing souls.

Thank you for writing with me. And, reading – because sometimes it’s just as much fun being a cheerleader.

Shari 🙂

 

 

 

 

A Profound Thought ~ SOL #4 ~ 2020

| Shari Daniels

I drive 37 miles to work each day, which is good because I can listen to podcasts and audio books. And, I need the solitude.

Today, I listened to a podcast where the host interviewed a lady that died for 8 whole minutes and then she came back to life.

“What did you learn?” the host asks her.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Like, when you came back to life, what have you learned? Are you living differently here on earth?” he elaborates.

And she says, “What if I didn’t come back and I’m still dead. What if this is heaven?”

They said something like that, and I can’t remember the exact words, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March 2020 Slice of Life Challenge of writing a blog post every day for the month of March. 🙂 To read the posts of other Slicers, please go here.

Game #1 ~ SOL #3 ~ 2020

| Shari Daniels

“Are you ready yet, hon?” my husband has asked me for the third time.

I have promised him that tonight I would play our first game of Cribbage. I don’t know how to play Cribbage, so my loving partner of 31 years has so kindly offered to teach me.

“Not yet!” I holler from the living room, “I still have one chapter left to read in my book!” Reading requires brain power. I’m thinking that when I’ve mustered up all of my thinking for the day, we can play games.

He walks over to me and pleads, “Now?” like a little boy wanting to open his Christmas presents.

“Oh. . . kay. . . . “ I sigh.

He brings over the Cribbage board with cards and places them on the large ottoman in front of my chair. He gets comfortable in the adjacent couch.  I take deep breaths and set my books aside.

“Now, here are the procedures,” he begins. “We each cut the deck, low card deals. The dealer passes out six cards each and we need to discard two we don’t want. Those cards go in the kitty. The dealer gets the kitty.”

He continues with more procedures. Then, how you get points, “You want to try and get cards that equal 15 because they are worth 2 points, runs are worth 3, unless it’s a double run – they are worth 8 because 3 and 3 and then you add 2 for the pair.”

And, then he gives directions on how to peg for points. More procedures. And new words: pegging, double runs, fifteen-two, fifteen-four, flush, nobs, a Go, thirty-one for two. . .

“Are you ready?” he finally asks.

I am a little girl sitting in math class asked by the teacher to count backwards by 7’s from the number 3574. Tears stood in my eyes. There was a tightness in my chest. My hands rise to my cheeks because they are burning.

“I don’t know what the —- you are talking about,” I calmly tell him.

He pauses, smiles tenderly and says softly, “We’ll play for a few days with open hands, so I can help you,” recognizing my pain. “Don’t worry, hon, you’ll get it.”

I almost say no, I can’t do this. But, I need him to walk me back from the end of the plank. I signed my name on the back of that board. Relationship building. . . I kept whispering to myself.

I win the first game, with open hands. He praises me for my resilience.

Exhausted, I shuffle off to bed.

In the night, gazing out the window at the moon, residue from our game lace my thoughts . . . dread that I was going to have to do this again tomorrow.

Worse yet . . .

I had visions of the hundreds of students I’ve had in my classrooms over the last 30 years and I ached with remorse for all of times I probably put them through this.

I just lay there, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

And, the last line of Robert Frost’s poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Day” came to me like a prayer. . .

“I have miles to go before I sleep.”

Cribbage: A Relationship Builder? SOL #2~2020

| Shari Daniels

I’ve never liked playing cards. When I was young, my father would urge us kids to play cards, trying to convince us that learning how to play cards was a non-negotiable skill that all human beings should be adept at. I’m not sure if my four siblings recall this same experience, although, I think they probably played cards and liked it. Perhaps I was the black sheep of card playing. I’ll have to ask them.

My husband is a card player. He taught our four children how to play cards when they were very young. I resisted joining in, letting this be his territory. I stuck to Candyland. Now, our children are all adults and when at family gatherings,  the night often ends with a game of Hearts and cocktails. There is laughter, joking, lots of snacks, shouting and cheering in these card matches. I sit on the sidelines, taking notes, or I sneak off to bed.

In our mid-fifties, my husband and I are now empty nesters. The winter evenings are long.

“You should learn how to play Cribbage, hon,” my husband urges me one late winter afternoon, as we were both reading by the fireplace. “I’ll teach you. It would be fun for us to play Cribbage games in the evening.”

“But, I don’t like cards,” I reminded him. “I just don’t.”

“But, Cribbage isn’t a card game, it’s a relationship builder,” he tries to convince me. “Please, it will be fun.”

I felt a wee bit sorry for him for several reasons. First, because he has to adapt to a wife who does not play games. Competitiveness was a gene that I was missing. Second, because he has no one else to play with. Except Ella. But, she only likes dog games.

After much banter, I sighed and said, “Okay.”

He jumped up from his chair in triumph. “We’ll have to go to Fleet and buy a new Cribbage board,” he says, “I know just the one.”

“Don’t we already have a Cribbage board?” I asked.

“Oh, this one is going to be special. We need one to commemorate the beginning of this new journey in our relationship.”

“How much is it going to cost?” I asked.

“It’s 40.00, but I have a 20.00 coupon. C’mon, let’s go.”

Off we drove to Fleet Farm to pick out a Cribbage board. Already, I was regretting my decision. This felt like too much of a commitment. What if I seriously did not like this game? Then there will be a new unused Cribbage board to remind me that I quit. What will it do to the relationship if he feels so strongly about it being a relationship builder?

We brought it home, chose a location in the house for it to hang (alongside the fireplace), wrote the date on the back with a permanent black marker and signed our names. It felt big. . . like we got married again.

“Tomorrow we’ll play game number one,” he announced.

For the love of Pete. What have I done?

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March 2020 Slice of Life Challenge of writing a blog post every day for the month of March. 🙂 To read the posts of other Slicers, please go here.

 

Taking My Husband’s Advice SOL#1~2020

| Shari Daniels

Curled up in my writing chair, nestled by the fireplace,  words were being penned into my notebook. My husband sat in the adjacent couch absorbed in a Conservation magazine, while our dog, Ella, sprawled out on his lap.

“Hmmm,” he mumbled as his brows furrowed slightly.

Knowing he was trying to entice me into asking him what he was reading, I tried not to look his way. But, I could not help myself. He knows what he is doing.

“What?” I asked, interrupting my writing – nothing interesting had yet appeared on my pages anyway.

He began to read out loud to me from an article about how we should be eating more insects.

“No,” I said.

He went on. “Palm weevils taste like bacon and some ants taste like lemon drops.”

“You are lying,” I glared at him, “making that up just to get me riled.”

“Wanna bet?” he asked.

“No. You are,” I argued, quite sure this can’t be true. He will try to do anything to get my attention when I’m writing. I think he feels neglected during my morning writing each day.

“Put some skin in it – I’ll bet you,” he pressured.

“Well, now it must be true, otherwise why would you want to bet?” I continued.
“You only make bets when you know it is a sure thing.”

“Fine. I won’t show it to you then.” His eyes pretended to go back to his reading.

My writing time was being hijacked.

“I can just look at it after you leave,” I finally said.

“I’m taking it with me,” he smirks.

I say, “Fine,” and go back to my writing, pretending to be unscathed.

He hesitates and then flips the magazine around to show me the article. “See? It says so right there.”

My eyes scanned the page for the words he had recited. It was true. We should be eating more insects. They taste like bacon and lemon drops.

“That’s just gross,” I mumbled, defeated.

“Maybe you should write that in your notebook,” he advised.

So, I did.

I’m participating in twowritingteachers March 2020 Slice of Life Challenge of writing a blog post every day for the month of March. 🙂 To read the posts of other Slicers, please go here.

 

”

 

 

”