Month: March 2021

An A for Effort

One student at the community college where I used to work had some issue where his legs didn’t work normally. He walked using crutches attached to his forearms, and even then, he limped down the hall, swaying and staggering, as if he were a marionette controlled by someone continually being stung by bees. Just seeing the amount of time and effort it took him to get to class put other students to shame. I’d see him studying in the hall, the tutoring center, the library, and the computer lab. This was while some other students skipped class and didn’t bother to do their homework.

He came to mind recently, and I used him as a measure of hard work and dedication. I had to take a look at my goals and ask myself if I showed up every day, if I was putting in as much time and effort as I could, if I kept going even when things weren’t easy, if I was living up to my potential. Not at all.  

Some days, the most challenging part of working on a project is getting started, getting in the flow. My new trick is that I vow to put the same amount of effort into my project as I imagine it took for that student to get to his classroom. After that, it’s usually smooth sailing.   

a bluebird swoops down 
frantically chopping its wings  
through the shallow stream 

the bluebird freezes 
doesn’t see the hawk’s beauty 
clings to his dead branch  

a hawk on thermals 
glides above forty pear trees 
loaded with blossoms  

a bluebird perches 
in the one tree that looks dead 
on the lush hillside 

heavy, warm, and grey 
spring lies under a blanket 
dreaming of summer 

Better Living Through Haiku

When I notice I’m living in my head too much- for example, if I start getting emotional about imaginary situations- I find that writing haiku is a good remedy. It brings my attention back to my senses and into the present. What do I see in front of me? What do I hear? How does the air feel against my skin? What’s happening right now? Write about that. Haiku is a good medium for capturing the immediate. Working on a haiku makes me feel more real. 

I start by writing down what I notice. All or most of these lines are dull. “lots of clover on the lawn,” “wet cement,” “white blooms.” But if I keep at it, a line or word might spring into my head that surprises me. A poetic phrase might appear. I might not even know what it means. Those are the rewards of creativity. Or work. The magic of thought. It’s what makes the sometimes excruciating writing process worthwhile. Poetry is the heat that transforms ordinary, mundane sand into stained glass.  

Surprise! Part 4

In the panhandle of Texas (and some other areas of the Southwest), I drove through towns where it was hard to tell which businesses were open and which had been long abandoned- both were crumbling to the ground. Towns looked like salvage yards, with buildings sagging, barns collapsing, metal water tanks disintegrating. A vintage pickup truck, the paint long gone, the body pure rust, might be settled on someone’s front lawn. The photographer in me itched to jump out and take pictures, but I wasn’t going to treat people’s homes and yards like a freak show. And I didn’t want to get shot.  

I’ve seen plenty of areas around the country that look like scrapyards- houses dirty and in need of repair, yards like trash heaps, sometimes graced with the classic toilet-bowl-turned-flowerpot outdoor decor. Although run-down, the houses still look inhabited. There’s something about the arid landscape of the Southwest that made those Texas cities look like ghost towns. Like not only had a few boards disappeared from the shed, and the paint had flaked off the Studebaker, but even the plants had left town. Part of the shock was seeing people running errands and going about their day in what looked to be a ghost town or movie set.  

I also noticed that people there seemed especially nice. It was refreshing to think that whoever lived there must not waste much concern over appearances or keeping up with the Joneses. Unless there was competition around owning the rustiest vintage car. 

Surprise! Part 3

I blindly chose a campground in Tecopa, CA, as a destination for the night. It wasn’t until I got there that I learned the water is undrinkable. In the whole town. My campground offered free showers and soaking pools for visitors, taking advantage of the spa-like qualities of the water: its naturally hot temperature and high mineral content. However, the high content of arsenic and other minerals makes it unsafe for ingesting. I can’t imagine living in a town -especially a desert town- where you can’t drink the water. It’s bad enough hearing stories about cities like Flint, MI, where the water becomes contaminated. But who would knowingly move to a town where the water is inherently undrinkable from the get-go?  

Surprise! Part 2

The Visitor’s Center in Calumet, MI, was also a National Historic Park filled with exhibits detailing the era when Calumet was a boom mining town. This would have been around the time of the Wild West, only it was the Wild Midwest. One of the displays listed crimes committed back in the late 1800s to early 1900s and the punishments that criminals received for them. For example, killing a baby was punishable by a certain number of days or months in jail. I don’t remember the number, but let’s say it was 68 days. [I’ve wanted to contact the museum for specifics, but it has been closed since the coronavirus lockdown in early 2020.] Whatever the number was, it was shocking- but also understandable. It’s interesting to see how crimes were ranked and dealt with when there simply wasn’t space to hold criminals or law enforcement officers to look after them.