In January of 2018 I've been inspired to once again share my writing. Instead of starting a brand new blog page, I'm using this site to once again share my thoughts. Recently I've engaged in some writing experiences with Julie Jordan Scott and some of her creative friends. So, some of my writings here are the direct result of her prompts and occasionally I'll come up with some others, giving credit when due. So enjoy!
"What color makes me feel the best?" asks my writing friend JJS. Different colors at different times. Recently when participating in a visualization exercise with my life coach Amy, we came upon yellow and orange. I had a need for warmth and the images were the sun, fields of sunflowers, bright orange and banana yellow. The next week I went into a favorite fabric store to get something for a friend and the yellow yarn screamed at me to buy to make a blanket and even though I have another crochet project in the works and don't need another blanket for me, the yarn went into my cart. And bright yellow/orange is much different to me than the winter tans of the desert in which I live. The tan is more of a dormant, hibernation, cuddle up inside with a book color for me. The bright yellow says summer fun. On other note, I love sitting on the beach or a ridge overlooking the ocean, generally where or when it is warmer outside so the natural breeze from the water is refreshing not chilly like on a northern coastline. So, then the color would be blue as it is an inspiring and healing color for me and I find myself writing. I also like greens, as in the many shades of a forest, as memories of the smell of the forest are triggered and I have fond memories of family activities in that kind of environment. Camping is no longer something I long to do as my body prefers a real bed and shower but as a kid, I didn't care about those things. Driving through the California Redwoods, like we did last summer as a family, is always reflective and rejuvenating. Then, if you look at some of my personal accessories you will find purples. A purple bag for my laptop, a purple day planner, a purple watch band. I don't know, it is a fun color and appears to reflect my organization tools (I also like to write in purple ink). If you look in my closet you will find I wear particular colors in different seasons, for example the school color of burgundy during basketball season. So, JJS, there you go, I'm a chameleon of sorts I guess, or maybe just an eclectic of color.
A Memory of Second Grade
"It does not so much matter what happens. It is what one does when it happens that really counts." Laura Ingalls Wilder
Today I was challenged by a writing prompt by Julie Jordan Scott. It began with a quote from Laura Ingalls Wilder. And then Julie pushes with: Make a list of 5 memories where something significant happened. Write for 5 minutes what you did as a result. I focused on writing on one memory from my list that I believe shaped me as a learner and teacher. It was in the year 1975 in Bozeman, Montana.
It is my first day of second grade at Longfellow Elementary and the school year had already begun. The students were on the carpet and the teacher was in a wooden rocking chair. I cannot recall her name but I remember her face. She was reading a story and paused when we entered. After the office secretary introduced me, the teacher brought me to her, almost putting me on her lap as she placed me close to her. The scared girl inside suddenly felt secure. It was as if her arms had been waiting for me, wanting to comfort me, attend to my insecurities. I have a memory of thinking this teacher must be a wonderful grandmother. While I had been an early reader, attending a progressive kindergarten, I had also attended two schools in first grade in socio-economic-diverse schools in the Los Angeles region of the 70's. This school, this classroom, this teacher showed me a very different way of being a student. Somehow I knew I was in a safe place, that one room school settings like I read in the Little House books may have actually existed. Clearly not everything was perfect in that school I know as an adult. But, I realize that my love for school, the learning and teaching environment, how a teacher had the power to create that space, encourage a love for books began that day. And for those who do not know, I chose teaching, loved teaching first and second grade, creating the lessons and space for learning. School for most of my life was my safe place (until it was not and that is a memory for another day).
Below is a response from a prompt selected by Julie Jordan Scott and her 5 for 5 Brain Dump Writing Retreat in July 2018.
(Part 1) Peace looks like this almond tree growing in my back yard, a desert terrain with a little TLC. Peace smells like the summer evening breeze. Peace tastes like a light glass of blush wine after a full day of work. Peace sounds like the birds chirping in the morning and evening.
(Part 2-written after more prompting and reflective thought) I remember peace during a few precious moments in time during my turbulent teen years when I sat with a girlfriend (Julie Johnson) on a fork of the Clearwater River in the green north Idaho forest. We slid our bare feet onto the river's edge cold dirt, splashing the clear cool water on our warm skin. We tossed pebbles into the shallow water asking the questions about life we didn't have answers to. We were independent thinking young women who were also still required to be semi-dependent on others. We could laugh at the simplest things, or let the tears silently roll if needed. We were alone in many aspects and yet our friendship has remained after nearly 38 years. We both wanted more that summer day of the unknown. More peace within. More peace with others. And for that blip on the continuum of our lives we found much needed peace through each other. And we can still capture that in a few simple words while living 300 miles away. Thank you, my friend.
What Color?
Prompt from Julie Jordan Scott (JJSWritingCamp on Facebook)
A Memory of Second Grade
"It does not so much matter what happens. It is what one does when it happens that really counts." Laura Ingalls Wilder
Today I was challenged by a writing prompt by Julie Jordan Scott. It began with a quote from Laura Ingalls Wilder. And then Julie pushes with: Make a list of 5 memories where something significant happened. Write for 5 minutes what you did as a result. I focused on writing on one memory from my list that I believe shaped me as a learner and teacher. It was in the year 1975 in Bozeman, Montana.
It is my first day of second grade at Longfellow Elementary and the school year had already begun. The students were on the carpet and the teacher was in a wooden rocking chair. I cannot recall her name but I remember her face. She was reading a story and paused when we entered. After the office secretary introduced me, the teacher brought me to her, almost putting me on her lap as she placed me close to her. The scared girl inside suddenly felt secure. It was as if her arms had been waiting for me, wanting to comfort me, attend to my insecurities. I have a memory of thinking this teacher must be a wonderful grandmother. While I had been an early reader, attending a progressive kindergarten, I had also attended two schools in first grade in socio-economic-diverse schools in the Los Angeles region of the 70's. This school, this classroom, this teacher showed me a very different way of being a student. Somehow I knew I was in a safe place, that one room school settings like I read in the Little House books may have actually existed. Clearly not everything was perfect in that school I know as an adult. But, I realize that my love for school, the learning and teaching environment, how a teacher had the power to create that space, encourage a love for books began that day. And for those who do not know, I chose teaching, loved teaching first and second grade, creating the lessons and space for learning. School for most of my life was my safe place (until it was not and that is a memory for another day).
(Part 1) Peace looks like this almond tree growing in my back yard, a desert terrain with a little TLC. Peace smells like the summer evening breeze. Peace tastes like a light glass of blush wine after a full day of work. Peace sounds like the birds chirping in the morning and evening.
(Part 2-written after more prompting and reflective thought) I remember peace during a few precious moments in time during my turbulent teen years when I sat with a girlfriend (Julie Johnson) on a fork of the Clearwater River in the green north Idaho forest. We slid our bare feet onto the river's edge cold dirt, splashing the clear cool water on our warm skin. We tossed pebbles into the shallow water asking the questions about life we didn't have answers to. We were independent thinking young women who were also still required to be semi-dependent on others. We could laugh at the simplest things, or let the tears silently roll if needed. We were alone in many aspects and yet our friendship has remained after nearly 38 years. We both wanted more that summer day of the unknown. More peace within. More peace with others. And for that blip on the continuum of our lives we found much needed peace through each other. And we can still capture that in a few simple words while living 300 miles away. Thank you, my friend.