Month: April 2018

Shaken, Not Stirred

This morning, I noticed that the notebooks I’ve been working in were missing. I take them into laundromats, restaurants, and libraries with me. One is a journal, and the other is almost full of works in progress: stories, poems, pieces in germination. I called the last restaurant where I last took them; they said they hadn’t seen any notebooks. You can imagine: I felt sick. It felt like someone took a scalpel and carved out part of me without my consent. Well, I always say, Life Is the Best Teacher. I will probably be paranoid about keeping track of my notebooks from now on. Or maybe I will learn to gracefully let them go. 

Posted on a trail map sign was a flyer for a lost dog. At least I didn’t lose a pet or a family member. It could have been worse.  

It occurred to me that I had wanted to experience what life felt like with nothing. (See this post.) Life: “Here you go!” What can you do but move on? You work with what you can muster. I remember getting anxious in English classes in college because I couldn’t think of anything to write about that fit the assigned topic. I might be stressed for days until suddenly I’d realize, I’m a writer; I can make up anything. What difference would it make if the subject and details of my essay were real or imagined? Who would know? I didn’t end up fabricating any stories for assignments, but it always made me feel more secure knowing the option was there if I needed it.

Photo: Indian Boundary Lake, TN

A Kodiak Moment

My great-grandma was maybe five feet and small-boned. During our holiday visits, she’d scooch over in her padded armchair and have me squish in next to her. She’d put an arm around me and start the chair rocking. Sometimes we’d just enjoy being squashed together. Other times, she’d ask me questions. Nothing personal or awkward, just keeping up like friends might do. One time, I had just gotten a lifelike stuffed bear, and she asked what I was going to name it. I hadn’t thought about it yet. She disappeared into one of the bedrooms and came back with a nature book that listed all different types of bears: brown, black, polar, grizzly, Kodiak- ooh, wasn’t that a neat-sounding name, Kodiak? I had to admit that it was unique and rhythmic. That’s how my bear became Kodiak, and that’s how I most remember my great-grandma. Did you share special moments with your grandparents?