books

The Gift of the Trowel

| Shari Daniels

My youngest brother, Christopher, died suddenly on December 11, 2024. He was 47 years old, 12 years younger than myself. He was full of life, mentored and trained by my father as a mason and followed in his footsteps, as one who builds things of stone, brick and cement, with the work of his hands. He left behind a daughter and son, a mother whose heart is broken, four older siblings, and hundreds of people who loved and admired him and his work.

As when my father died five years ago, I struggled to make meaning of his leaving this earth with the rest of us behind. There must be something that is to be done to carry their legacy of who they were forward. What is it that he wants me to do? To be?

I held one of his treasured and very used cement trowels in my hand and I knew. Everything he made was out in the world for all to see – it would last for decades. Centuries perhaps. Banks, homes and schools. His work is a gift to be admired.

I wasn’t doing that.

I filled notebooks of writing, every day pages filled, rarely sharing with the world my work. A blog with long seasons of neglect. A few academic articles published. He was telling me, after his death, put it out there – before it is too late. I’m 59 years old. Get to work. Get-er-done. He would be my guide, my biggest cheerleader, my mentor and teacher.

So, here I am, writing poems for my brother so he knows what he’s left behind. So, he knows his influence. So, he knows he is loved and will not be forgotten.

The Gift from the Trowel (poem #1 for Christopher)

What can I make of all this?
All that he left behind?
His daughter, his son.
A mother whose prayers
gave the wrong answer.

All the tools of the maker - 
concrete crusted saws and rusty blades,
missing drill bits and duct-taped cords.
Scattered and strewn here and there.

His trowel sits alone . . .
now out of the dance.

Like the brush of a painter,
the pen of a poet,
or the knife of a Maplewood carver - 
this tool of the artist,
now idle and still
is nothing without the art-maker.

My fingers embrace
the gray, faded, handle,
curling tightly where his would've been.
I feel his soft hand blanket warm over mine
as he decides to take over as guide.

His voice whispers so calmly, so wise and so brave - 
and says - Shari-boo - Big Sis -

it's your turn.

pep talk from shel sol24~7/31

| Shari Daniels

I needed a little pep talk from Shel Silverstein, my Poet Guide for March, to put something out there for the world today. Here’s how the conversation went:

Why Hello Mr. S, 
How silly should we be?
I'm not known for having fun,
so please lead the way for me!

I'm going to need a guide
One who knows just what to do.
Thank goodness, you're the one!
The one I choose is YOU!

Now, Shari, don't you worry 'bout a thing! (that's Shel)
I've seen you have fun before!
The only advice I have 
is to add a little zing!

A dash of zip!
A splash of zap!
and you'll be sizzling all day long! 
Now, listen to me, Gurl. . . .
I'm hardly EVER wrong!

So. . . I gave it a little go. 

#poetguideconversationpoem

I’m doing the 31 Day March Slice of Life over at Two Writing Teachers along with many other fabulous teacher-writers and others who just wish to challenge themselves to 31 days of writing and sharing with the world. If you’d like to read a few lovely posts from others, head over to today’s entries!

the year of fun-terventions SOL #2/31

| Shari Daniels

I needed an intervention of the serious kind.

My children grown and grandchildren far away. A husband giddy and entertained with his outdoorsman hobbies. Days and days of “meh” as background white noise pestered me as I attempted to distract it with the things I distract myself with. 

My husband urged me to DO more “fun” in my life. I told him I DO have fun! – scribing and playing in my notebooks, reading and writing poems. “That’s my idea of fun!” I’d argue.

He’d roll his eyes and head off to the woods with our lab, or up to the lake to fish with buddies or out to the golf course with his father and brothers or sons. 

I filled my notebook with pages of “My Ideas of Fun”, yet afterwards, still, something was missing. Often, the words that came out of my pen wrote, “…but what if I’m wrong and he’s right?” (I despised when this would happen.)

It felt necessary to investigate this definition and essence of what “FUN” is (because, research is on My Ideas of Fun List) , and magically, a book found its way to my front porch, via the UPS truck. It was titled, The Power of Fun, by Cathrine Price. (receiving a new book is also on My Ideas of Fun List).

Here’s what she writes in the FIRST chapter:

“We spend too much time on FAKE FUN. These are activities and possessions marketed to us as fun. . . but they are numbing and leave us empty when we’re done. TRUE FUN, on the other hand makes us feel nourished and refreshed (p. 17)”.

The FAKE FUN she was talking about was Netflix binging, Insta-reels and buying stuff (did I really need more books?). Apparently, TRUE FUN has an energy that is produced by the …

“Confluence of playfulness, connection and flow”. Let me draw the image for you.

I’m not gonna lie, I argued with Miss Price when she said, “Most fun moments do not occur when you are alone (p. 33).”

But, I’m trying to bite my tongue, and set aside my introverted-hermit-wanna-be-right self and give this a go, committing to 2024 as the Year of the FUN-TERVENTION. 

Because I can be FUN.

“My Idea of Fun” (click on the link)

I’m writing this month with other writers in the March Slice of Life Challenge. To see what others are writing about, head over to Two Writing Teachers and check out some lovely blogs and writing inspiration from other writers.