Slice of Life 29 – Viernes Santo #multifri #sol24

29 March 2024 TwoWritingTeachers.org

Es Viernes
Santo y Bueno
Jesucristo
es muriendo
Jesús
Santo y Bueno
Cristo
Santo y Bueno
¿Por qué
llamamos
este día
bueno?

It’s Good Friday
Jesus Christ
is dying
Holy and Good
Jesus
Holy and Good
Christ
Why do we call
this day
Good?

En otra nota, esta semana yo he estudiado español para un mil días.

While on vacation when I passed someone speaking Spanish, my husband would usually ask, “Did you understand what they said?” Inevitably, my answer was, “No.” However, once yesterday someone went by and said, “No digas nada.” I told my husband, “Don’t say anything.” He wondered what I meant, and then I told him, “That’s what that guy just said to the teen.” This morning at the strawberry stand, a little girl was getting into her car, singing, “Puerta!” Then her mom came and asked her (while the puerta was still open), “¿Quieres una fresa?” (Do you want a strawberry?) It is nice to begin to be able to eavesdrop, not in a creepy way, but just as I always do without thinking about it in English.

I had made a goal to meet someone in March in order to share language lessons. Update: I’ve spoken to two people about it. No firm connection yet, but I have started to commit at last, and the month is not over.

Open Write July 2023

Saturday, 15 July 2023
“The Masks We Wear” with Mo Daley

In a golden shovel poem I used this striking line from Mo’s mentor poem called “Inherited Mask.”

living life hiding behind a mask
trying not to let the plaster crack

To My Mask

Living with you has made
life duller and fabricated–
hiding my depth. Who am I
behind the bluff?
A quiet, nice, wave-calmer is my
mask (that’s you). Yet I am a story of
trying on, opening, weaving through time. I’m
not quite content with me without you, but
to be honest, you can be an excuse to
let me off the hook. I can’t be hurt if
the truth hides. But once in a while the
plaster of pretense cleaves, and I rejoice in the
crack I am making in you.

Sunday, 16 July 2023
Fibonacci Poem with Mo Daley

sweet
bird
rumpus
gathering
dissonance of praise
consonance of contrasting calls
quail, jay, thrasher, finch, oriole, dove, woodpecker, wren
dozens assemble on our porch
bird feeders times four
emptied yet
again
sweet
birds

Monday, 17 July 2023
Venn Diagram Poem with Susan Ahlbrand

Tuesday, July 18, 2023
Places We Call Home with Shelby Sexton

To be home is to be in this place
With you as we finish the race
At peace, in love, holding hope,
Holy twists of life’s kaleidoscope

Wednesday, July 19, 2023
Where Were We? with Mike Dombrowski

Don’t hand me the microphone, I thought.
You’re doing fine for both of us.
When did the mom of the bride
have to start talking at
wedding receptions?
What do I say?
I should’ve thought!
Ready?
No!

Dumb
Quiet
Finally
I spewed a few
words I don’t recall
The important thing is
our precious couple’s ready
for life together. Now, let’s eat
and laugh and play and dance and dream hope.

Paralysis

This chapter about the Juneteenth celebration at Galveston Island has helped me walk further along a new path of truth in America’s history. This passage, written by a young black man, also speaks to me, an older white woman, who learned history in a similar way with white-washing and lies to hide the deeper truths of white supremacy that people didn’t want to say aloud. We are also seeing it in our lived day-to-day history in this, the 21st century.

I watched these young people read to the audience parts of history that placed our country in context. I felt, in that moment, envious of them. Had I known when I was younger what some of these students were sharing, I felt as if I would have been liberated from a social and emotional paralysis that for so long I could not name—a paralysis that had arisen from never knowing enough of my own history to effectively identify the lies I was being told by others: lies about what slavery was and what it did to people; lies about what came after our supposed emancipation; lies about why our country looks the way it does today. I had grown up in a world that never tired of telling me and other Black children like me all of the things that were wrong with us, all of the things we needed to do better. But not enough people spoke about the reason so many Black children grow up in communities saturated with poverty and violence. Not enough people spoke about how these realities were the result of decisions made by people in power and had existed for generations before us.

Smith, Clint. (2021) How the Word Is Passed, Little, Brown and Company. Kindle Edition.

Paralysis

For so long
arisen from history
lies told about slavery
lies about our country
Not enough people
spoke about
realities of power
for generations before us

I’m trying to find a balance in how to read these rich chapters. For the first few chapters, I highlighted things I wanted to remember on my Kindle. This time I took notes in a journal. After three pages of notes and two poems, I was still only half finished with the chapter. Hmmm…I’ll keep trying.

 

The Isolation Journals and Studio Visit with Nadia Bolz-Weber

Prompt 112 last week from Nadia Bolz-Weber was writing about “Things I’m not proud of…” Here is more:

Write a confession—something you did or said that you still carry with guilt and shame. Then write your own absolution, honoring the aftermath of your actions, calling in grace.

*Optional: Burn after writing.

This was powerful for me. I wrote and wrote about things I am ashamed of. Of words that I have spoken to my own children and my students. My tongue is  too sharp. Over the years, I have felt the millstone around my neck getting heavier and heavier, a sad reminder of the little ones I have offended. 

Then He said to the disciples, “…It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones. 

~Luke 17:2

I wrote my confession and then shredded, instead of burning, it (due to the smoke alarm in my flat).

As a result of Nadia’s prompt, I subscribed to the Studio Visits at The Isolation Journals. Tonight I got to go to my first Studio Visit with Nadia Bolz-Weber and Suleika Jaouad. It was a lovely hour spent soaking in grace and hope and peace.

God, I thank you that you understand that I am complicated, so many folded together layers of humanity. So much to be ashamed of, yet so much to rejoice in. So much fruit and life and joy and service. I thank you that you have gradually given me freedom to grow past my mistakes, actions, and words that shame me. You are never surprised by what I do, you love me and forgive me. Thank you. Thank you, Jesus, for picking up the pieces and patching me together with you, the living Word of God. Amen.

Human Complexity

Is there a person in your family who is the holder of human stories and conspiracy theories? I have a sister like that. Over the years, I liked to imagine that her rumors and theories were just that and not really true about the history of our family. I have always been a bit of a Pollyanna.

I prefer not to hear about the dysfunction of the humans in our family, but she seems to be a collector of these stories and is not afraid to tell them. She uses them to keep us all more honest and down-to-earth. Nothing shocks her. She has a much healthier appreciation of the complex truth of human experience than someone like me.

She is three years my senior, so I grew up with her and her stories. Most often I didn’t believe her about alcoholism, adultery, out-of-wedlock births, undisclosed gender and sexuality issues. How did she know all these things? She is a detective in her own right.

As a teen and adult, I began accepting that there were truths in her stories, and I have come to more greatly appreciate the complexity of human life.

Wednesday, Day 92 in Bahrain. This is Day 57 of The Isolation Journals with Suleika Jaouad.

Clean Towel Wednesday and Alphabetizing the Spices


My husband just came in and excitedly said, “I’ve changed the towels tonight.”

No response while I hovered over my computer.

“You know tomorrow is Clean Towel Wednesday, right?”

Oh, that’s right. We celebrate different holidays these days.

I had my own moment today, as well.

“I’m going to alphabetize the spice cabinet,” I announced after dinner.

And that’s what I did.

We have too much time on our hands.

This is only about half of the spice jars
Yes, I did start the alphabet at the bottom because all our favorites start with C. (My husband insists the peanut butter stays here too!)