It’s the Last Midnight: Reflections on 2014

Tags

blogs, New year, year end reflection

Came home from Mount Rainier, and started to blog.

When my children were about six months old and three years old, I had one particularly bad day in which I had to change my clothes five or six times.  I got pooed on, peed on, sneezed on, thrown up on, and bled on.  That’s a lot of bodily fluids in one day.

This year has been kind of like that day, if you exchange physical manifestations for internal ones.  My husband has been treated for cancer, and I quit a long-time job with no idea about how I would spend my time in the upcoming year.  Our emotions have run the gamut from elation ( treatment’s over!, got a new job!) to gut wrenching fear and uncertainty.  While I know that other years will bring other challenges, I’m not sorry to step into a new year and call 2014 done. And that’s partially because in 2015, I can blog for twelve whole months.

When I quit my job, I knew I wanted to start a blog.  I wanted to write about my pause, and the new things I learned about the world during the 2014-15 school year.  I didn’t know much about social media (still don’t) and I felt like this missing knowledge was a good topic for exploration.  I’d write as I went, talk about what I’d learned and maybe in the process I could give someone else insight into the tapestry of the technological world from the viewpoint of a 55 year old woman.  I wanted to make myself do things that stretched me as a person, I wanted to touch what makes me uncomfortable, and write about what happened when I push myself.  I wanted to write about education.

And that’s pretty much what I’ve done, with a few dips into the world of poetry and fiction.  In the last four months, I’ve written thirty six posts, had 995 site views and 469 visitors.  Today I have 71 followers.  I don’t have a clear perspective about what these numbers mean to others, or how they compare to other people who start a blog.

Here’s what I do know:

I enjoy writing this blog. It’s the highlight of my day.  If I’m not writing a blog, I’m thinking about what goes in the next             blog.

I haven’t run out of things to write about yet.  I thought that might be a problem, but it hasn’t.  People hand me                      things to put into my stuck bucket, or they tell me to “take a picture of that for your blog.” The whole world is my                    fodder.

I am amazed at all of the talented, insightful, and unique points of view I can read about by reading other people’s               blogs.  I knew people blogged, but I never understood the scope of this world.  It’s like that time when I was six and             my grandfather tried to get me to understand why there would need to be a whole factory just to make gum.  Here               are a few of my favorites: The Carter Library, The Immortal Jukebox, James Radcliffe, idiotprufs, and                                 The Mashed Radish.

I never expected the whole-hearted support and kindness that I’ve received from my blog audience.

It’s the last post of 2014, and I’ll be wireless-less for the next week or so, but Ill be thinking about blog topics in the interim. Here are some topics I’m interested in:

• What do the symbols on Twitter mean?  Why can’t they just write words?
• Why does my left arm pit smell worse than my right one? Could it be that my right nostril isn’t working right?
• Why do people get tattoos?  Is this something I should consider at my age? What kind of tattoo would I get?
•  How long have I been touching walls when I walk?  What does this mean?
• I’ve never been up in the club.  What do people do when they go up in the club?
• How do I set up my blog so that it’s visually interesting?  How frightening will it be to take a basic photography course?  Will I be in there with a bunch of six year olds?
• What is HTML, and why does RSS sound so mysterious when it means “Really Simple Syndication?”
• Who should I interview?  How do I conduct a killer interview?  What happens when I come back and write about it?
• How can I gently break up with Professor McMonagle, who I said I liked on Facebook, but I don’t in actuality like her enough to hear from her three times a week?  When I say I like something on Facebook, does that always indicate a lifetime commitment?

I  let December go by without doing a poll or posting a song of the month.  I didn’t anticipate how much time the family celebrations would take and mine just ran out.  I hope to get to these two goals in January.

Have a great New Year everybody!  Happy Writing!

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Daily Discomfort: The Rose

Tags

Christmas, Christmas Music, Community, Grief

I know that Christmas has passed.  I am posting this anyway, keeping a promise to myself.  

The neighbor came to the door on the Tuesday before Christmas.  Our house was already full of relatives, and preparations for the big days were underway.  The list of chores was published on the refrigerator, both by day and time. Wrapping paper and cleaning supplies littered the kitchen counter. Like Hannibal’s march to Carthage, the elephants of Christmas had already been engaged and were being loaded with the accouterments of joyful celebration.

Her husband had died.  She had steeled herself to tell us this, putting all of her energy into making her words sound like an ordinary statement.  My mother is coming to visit.  Your garden looks nice.  My husband died.  He had surgery and then… complications.  Her voice broke then as she told us about the things she never knew before.  How fragile this life is, how someone should always be there for a loved one in the hospital.  Her grief skated just below the surface, and I felt bad that she should have to hide the storm inside.   If I just had a magic wand, I could sit her down, stop time all around her and say, “Okay, let her blow!  It’s safe, and you’ll feel better after this gale.”

I don’t have a magic wand.  None of us do.  All we have are the seeds of humanity.  The small kindnesses we can do for one another.  The smiles, the handshakes, the hugs.  Arriving on time, leaving late, popping round, and asking after one another.  We offer help, and we mean it.  We mow grass or pick up mail.  We lift up prayers. When we compare the hurt of losing a loved one to the insignificance of our actions, we feel helpless and inadequate.  Yet we can’t know how our actions have propped that person up.  When we act, we leave an opening for hope to peep through.

In the dead of winter, a rose…

Hope is the one thing we cannot afford to lose.  I don’t know if Jesus was actually born on December 25 or not, but I’m glad we celebrate His birth at this time of year, when the earth is cold and dark and gloomy.   As much as I detest the pomp and circumstance, the false emotion that sometimes surrounds Christmas time, I cling to this; He came so that hope might be possible.  The rose of winter; grant that I might keep it in my remembrance throughout the year.

Daily Discomfort: Christmas Star Triptych

Tags

Christmas, Christmas Music, creative writing

We crowded the steps leading to the baptismal pool.  I negotiated a maze of angel wings and halos to take my place with the other two kings.  The small area, the only backstage in the small wooden structure, smelled like sweat and candy cane.  Our high pitched voices grew louder as the time for the pageant grew near.  The Sunday School teacher placed her finger against her lips and zoomed her bottle green eyes in on each of us, the perfect silent “shh.”  As we quieted, the preacher’s sonorous voice spread over us like eggnog, and we all waited like marathoners at the start line.

Suddenly, the preacher spoke the code word; Glory!  Mary and Joseph entered with the plastic baby Jesus. Sheep and cows lumbered onto the tiny proscenium, baa-ing and moo-ing.  Shepherds sauntered in with their giant sheep herding sticks. The Sunday School teacher, now stationed on the front row, gave the shepherds a preventative glare, because she knew all about boys and sticks.  Angels flitted across the stage, halos wobbled.

Finally, finally, it was time for the three Kings to arrive.  I took a deep breath and entered stage left.  The other two kings followed apace.  We moved to center stage.  The pianist began playing arpeggios.  This was my cue.  I took a step forward and started to sing.  Silver glitter from star the preschoolers contributed to the pageant twinkled off the light of my uncle’s varmint huntin’ spotlight.

 

She’s wearing her princess costume today, with her gold glitter shoes.  Her mother carefully pulled her hair into a French braid this morning, but it’s clear that she’s played all morning, and the braid has sprouted little blonde chutes.  It’s one week exactly before Christmas Eve.  The line of shoppers waiting at the check-out is unreasonably long. She and her mother have finally reached the cashier.  While her mother pays for her merchandise, she hops on one foot, then pulls on her mother’s leg.  Mom picks her up and holds her until it’s time to sign the pay slip.  When Mom puts her down, the child slides down her Mother’s body, resisting the ground with all four of her years.

The little princess silently demonstrates her displeasure by raking her hand across the gift card display and knocking several gift cards to the ground.  Mom bends down to eye level and speaks into the princess’s ear.  Mom then says, “There are only five.  You need to pick them up.”

The girl’s answer is no.  It’s unequivocal and clear.  Mom puts her hand over her own face, and I think she’s about to give up.  Then, she removes her hand, all traces of frustration erased.  She kneels next to her daughter, gently coaxing her.  Shoppers walk around the two with disgruntled looks on their faces.  After a few moments, the little princess starts picking up the gift cards and placing them into their display case.  By the time she finishes, she has a smile on her face.

Mom picks the girl up, takes her package and walks away from the cashier stand.  The little princess pulls a starry wand out of her mother’s purse.  The last thing I see as they exit is the star perched over the brave mother’s head.

He knew nothing of nitrogen.  Hydrogen, gas, and light years were an as yet unraveled mystery.  He knew only the love of his wife and children, the gentle breeze along the hillside, the sounds of the animals, the cadence of the night.  He knew vigilance; wolves prowled these lands and sleep meant the loss of his precious livestock.

Then, fire split the night.  The voice of one who said, “Savior.”  He glanced across the hillsides. Others stood with their eyes upturned, watching, listening.  “Find Him,” said the voice.  He considered, thinking of his children, his wife, his animals.  A song arose, and he glimpsed the angel, hair flowing in a corona above him, backlit by the great mass of hydrogen and nitrogen.  His face turned toward the City of David as the angel sounded “Glory!”

A Pause to be Grateful

Tags

medical specialists, Medicine, Prostate Cancer, Radiation Therapy

At three thirty this afternoon, my wonderful husband Brian will take his last radiation treatment.  Some of you know that he has had prostate cancer, and that we’ve been working with doctors for the last eighteen months to enact a permanent cure.  I’m super busy today, but I just wanted to take a moment to express my thanks to the following people.

To the nurse at Christus Santa Rosa Westover Hills who made a bed for me in the hospital room at five o’clock in the morning after we’d spent the night in the emergency room to address the septic infection that resulted from the prostate biopsy.  I don’t know what your name is, but I hope the universe blesses you for your act of kindness to my weary soul.

Brian’s family physician, Dr. Lloyd Van Winkle, who consistently checked Brian’s PSA levels and referred him to specialists at the right time, but also knew when to intervene when Brian developed post-surgical Deep Vein Thrombosis.  His wisdom in this incident is especially appreciated.

For the insightful and wise advice of doctors from the San Antonio Urology Practice, with special thanks to Dr. Michael White, who performed the miraculous robotic surgery to remove the prostate gland. These doctors sit behind a screen and literally travel hundredths of an inch with the movement of their fingers.  In an area that is full of nerves and valves, a hundredth of an inch can make a real difference in a patient’s life.

Finally, to the doctors at the START center, who have made the discovery of left over cancer cells bearable for us through their willingness to give us their time and expertise.

Dr. Louis Rodriguez, our oncologist, spent a great deal of time talking with us about our options for treatment late on a Monday afternoon when he could have been home with his family.  After that visit, we started to feel a peace about pursuing radiation therapy.

Meeting our radiation therapist, Dr. Ardow Ameduri, was such a pleasure.  He took a great deal of time to explain what the radiation therapy would entail.  He even drew us pictures of the area so that we’d know exactly what the treatment would be like.  I sat in that appointment with a lump in my throat, and tears were dangerously close to the surface as the reality of more treatment sank in, but Dr. Ameduri’s calm and friendly demeanor settled my nerves.  At the end of the appointment, he provided us with his email address and his cell phone number.  Brian emailed him some additional questions after the appointment, which he answered promptly and with a level of technicality that satisfied my engineer husband’s needs. I don’t need to tell you how special and unusual that level of care and attention is in the medical profession.

None of us knows what the future holds.  Before we made this journey, I was familiar with the saying, but I now know it deep down in my bones.  Each day is a gift; and as we mark this milestone I want to publicly acknowledge my gratitude for another day with my wonderful husband, my family, and my friends.  I want to say to all of you that I’m thankful for everything God has given me.   I hope you have a blessed and peaceful holiday season.

Joni Koehler

p.s. Have your PSA checked.  I know it’s sort of a sensitive subject, but early detection and intervention have the best outcomes. Don’t assume that it’s just an old man’s disease.  Have regular checks, and women, the same message goes out to you.  Get those mammograms up to date!

paus(ed): Happy Talking and Writing with Academic Conversations

Tags

Academic Conversations, Write Around, Written Conversations

In my work with the Write for Texas initiative, I go to two San Antonio middle schools to facilitate academic writing in English classes as well as Science, Social Studies, and Math classes.  The book we use to guide our work with content area teachers is called Content Area Writing: Every Teacher’s Guide.  Authors Harvey Daniels, Steven Zemelman, and Nancy Steinke have filled this great text with wonderful ideas to promote student writing in all subjects.

One of the suggested activities is called a Write Around. In a write around, students read an academic text, and then work with a small group to have a focused written conversation about the text.  When one of the teachers I collaborate with tried the write around in her classroom, she said the students didn’t have much concept of what to write about the texts they had just read.  As a result, she found their writing to be an unfocused regurgitation of textual facts.  She stated her desire to have students move to a deeper level of understanding based on their written conversations. I told her I would think about some ways to support deeper understanding of the texts when students engaged in the written conversation.

After she and I talked, I developed a model lesson based on the conversational moves in Zwiers and Crawford’s book, Academic Conversations: Classroom Talk that Fosters Critical Thinking and Content Understandings.  While the book is about classroom talk, I thought that the framework would apply equally when asking students to write.  The authors created some visual and hand symbols related to different ways to respond to texts, and I showed the students these symbols and taught them the hand motions to go with them. We then completed the write around, in which they wrote responses to a text by elaborating and clarifying, supporting with ideas or examples, building on or challenging ideas, paraphrasing, and synthesizing.

I modeled this lesson in an 8^th grade Social Studies classes, 2 6^th grade Social Studies classes, and a 6^th grade Science class.  After I taught an example class, three of the teachers then used the graphic organizer and presentation material to continue the work with the rest of their classes.   One of the teachers told her students, “You know how you always like to pass notes?  Well, this is a way to pass notes that won’t make your teacher mad.”  The students really responded to this, and many of them stated that they liked the legal note writing in their reflection on the activity.

Here are some of the other things I noticed in my examination of the student’s work:

“How can potential energy store a lot of energy?”

All of the students generated interesting questions, but the students in the science class asked some high-level questions about this text related to kinetic and potential energy.  One student asked, “I wonder if when assuming its usual position, there is no energy stored in bow.”  Having this question in writing gives both the teacher and the student group a great venue for topic exploration.

“How potential energy stores a lot of energy.  Like a bear.”

Many students made the connection between the scientific concept of potential and kinetic energy to human or animal energy.  I thought this was noteworthy because analogy or metaphor building is an opportunity for the teacher to shape conceptual knowledge; knowledge that is fluid enough to be remembered and applied to multiple contexts.  In the Social Studies groups, many made connections to movies they’d seen (one student compared our text on WWII to the movie World War Z), books they’d written, and to their own lives.

Student 1: “It was a sad story.  Because kids died.”

Student 2’s Response: “You need to think about is what you think if it happened to you.”

Students responded to these texts with emotion, especially in the Social Studies classes.  When looking for mentor texts to use in my work with these students, I follow a couple of criteria.

• I try to find texts about kids their age. I want them to be able to see themselves in the place of the children in the text.
• I look for texts that speak to real life, either in the historic era, or in the contemporary society of a certain country.

I want to find text that will spark an emotion in students, because emotion and memory are tied.  If students know that in Bolivia, a law was recently passed allowing ten year olds to work, they are more likely to have an interest in the economy, geography, and important historical facts related to that country.  I constantly ask the question, “Why is it important for students to study this?”

“I never saw that there for (an) example.  I think you are getting confused.”

Finally, students encouraged and corrected one another gently and with great respect.  Anyone who has encountered a twelve year old knows that children this age display primitive levels of diplomacy and tact.  However, when given a framework to politely disagree with one another based on evidence within the text, they were able to do so in socially acceptable ways.  Perhaps this is the greatest reason to support conversations around texts; they learn the skill of holding one another accountable without tears or trauma.

“I know what you mean and I agree with you my friend.”

The children that I work with constantly surprise me with their generosity, openness to new ideas, and desire to learn.  I’ve said this before; when we give students the support they need, they will flourish.  This support is what will lead to happy times and happy talk in your classroom.

Thursday Stretch: Cows and Cleaners

Tags

Bissell Symphony, country life, free write, Marriage

Where’s Randy?

Ready, Set, Done!

Daily Post has given me ten minutes to write freely about whatever I want.  So I want to write about the pictures I took of cows this week.  I’m trying to learn how to use a camera, so I drove around all over the countryside and took pictures of cows for my Christmas post based on the word Low.  You know, like the cattle are lowing?  Anyway, I took this picture long range, and erm, missed the action going on right in the middle of the photo.  It didn’t make the Christmas post cut but I thought some might find it amusing.

I also read this fantastic article about what makes happy marriages, and I included the link below.  It got me thinking about the “bids,” the article talks about.  You know like when your husband says, “Come in the living room. C’Mon Man is coming on.” and you say, “I do not like C’Mon Man, and I’m reading my book.”  Well, that’s a non-bid, and couples who stay together do that less often than couples who either break up or live in misery.

Great article about how good marriages work.

I feel so fortunate that most of our bids to one another are positive.  Here’s an example from texts between my husband and me:

SH:  Three birds dancing in the garage this morning.  I think I will purchase a doggie door and install it to keep them out.  Will call you later. (Note:  SH had put a light in the garage attic and plugged in a radio, which has been playing classical music for the last week.  He had high hopes that it would get rid of the flock of birds who have decided they own our garage.)

Me:  Try heavy metal?  Maybe they’ll hate it.

Then this afternoon, I sent him this picture of my new Bissell Symphony mop head I sent him a message that said, “I symphonied the floors.”

He replied, “Oh, my.  It looks like you mopped the garage floor.”

So grateful that we can have these little moments.  The article says they are very important.

This pad was snow white when I put it on the machine, and I just mopped a week ago!

Note:  If I had two hundred million dollars, I would buy a Bissell Symphony for every woman on the planet.  

Anyway, my ten minutes is up.  I’m told not to edit, so I won’t.  Have a great day!

Daily Discomfort: Christmas Lows

Tags

Christmas, Christmas Music

We’re having the crew over for Christmas Eve this year, and I didn’t feel right about letting our Christmas bush stand in for a real Christmas tree, so Super Hub bought a new fake tree and brought it home yesterday.  I agreed to put the tree up and decorate it today.

All day long, the box sat in the middle of the room, mocking me.  I should have mopped the floors, done the laundry,  worked on student feedback and a presentation for my Write for Texas job, written this blog post, made supper, sent a holiday email to people invited to the party, made a Christmas card list, wrapped presents, and searched the internet for the final round of presents.  Oh, and put up and decorate the tree.  Here’s what I did instead:

• Got up
• Turned on the TV
• Drank Coffee
• Watched Dracula (The one with Gary Oldman – weirdly fascinating, kind of like the Jerry Springer show- you know it’s bad but you just can’t look away)
• Decided I hadn’t watched enough TV and found a sit com to serial watch for two more hours.  It was called Hello, Ladies, if you want to know.  I pretended that it was too engaging to stop watching, but who am I kidding?
• Read a book
• Took a bath
• Made the bed, cleaned the kitchen, did a load of laundry, cooked supper, and put the tree up just as SH was coming home from his Cancer treatment.  I don’t feel guilty at all that he was at work all day and I was home having the fall aparts. Not. I feel really, really, guilty, like put me in the chain gang guilty. But the tree, the tree kept sitting there so smug in its box, and I felt too paralyzed to get up and face the ornaments.

Why is it that this time of year always makes me feel- low? This is hard to admit in writing, and it’s even harder to tell people that I don’t like Christmas out loud. The last time I told someone about my problem, they looked at me like I had just committed an armed robbery at a Convent.

According to the Hallmark channel, and everyone I know, there is something wrong with people who don’t like Christmas. I keep waiting for the other stocking to fall, for God/Santa/ a wise old magical angel woman to school me in Christmas spirit via time travel,having to switch bodies with someone who lives under a bridge,getting arrested,missing my train, plane and automobile, or being left home alone. After my lesson, my heart will grow three sizes and I will seek out opportunities to slog through a crowded mall with grumpy, unwashed people so I can throw coins at them and wish them Seasons Greetings.

I would love to feel another way, I would.  I’m a nice person, I’m thankful for my life, and I generally get along with the world. I keep waiting, but so far no Angel has shown up at my door to earn his or her wings. The three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are probably always going to be problematic for me, because I just can’t meet the expectation of pep associated with socially acceptable Christmas spirit.

But I wonder, if Jesus were here with us right now, what would he feel about Christmas?  I mean, about what it’s turned into?  As soon as the canons of literature and song started to develop around this time of year, the idea of Christmas began to be mythologized.  Take the line from the song, “Away in a Manger,” that I used to guide my thinking for this post.

the cattle are lowing, the baby awakes

but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes 

If the cattle were lowing, that means they weren’t chewing their cuds.  They wanted something, so they weren’t content with their lot.  And no matter what the song says, the baby Jesus cried, because he was a baby.  His Mother and Father might have felt like crying, too. They were very young, and a long way from home. They didn’t have a place to stay, and they ended up in a barn, with dirt and hay, and manure.

The message they brought was one of hope, but it didn’t bang you over the head with candy canes.  Their kind of hope crept in and grew, as the baby grew. It sacrificed as the man Jesus sacrificed himself.  This hope was real, and grounded in love for the disenfranchised, the outcasts, the lonely, the plain, and the bad.  Naughty or nice, we are all on His list.  That’s a message I can get behind.

I hope that none of you, my dear readers, are afflicted with Christmas-itis as I am.  I hope the Christmas Season makes you feel warm and fuzzy. I hope your Christmas tree, turkey, cards, presents, and pictures make Martha Stewart look like a rank amateur.  I hope you love every moment, I do.

But if you don’t, I’m with you.  And I think it’s really going to be okay.

Paus(ed): Finding Poems at Christmas

Tags

Christmas, Christmas Poetry, Education, Found Poem, poetry

See the torn cover on this much loved tome?

Let’s face it. Students come back from the Thanksgiving holiday with one thing on their minds.  How long until the Christmas break?  This is not the time to assign the first thirty chapters of War and Peace or the fifteen Latin declensions of the root par including past, past perfect, and pluperfect iterations.

(Note: I wouldn’t know what a declension was if it bit me, but it sounds like the sort of snooze worthy assignment guaranteed to kill peace and goodwill among all nations.)

At this time of year, there is a delicate balance between providing enough cognitive load to ensure learning and keeping the content light enough to engage distracted, sugar laden young brains.

Writing poetry fits nicely into this time frame, because poems can be drafted, revised, edited, and turned in within two or three days, and because it gives the student an immediate sense of success and accomplishment.

I like using the literature we are already reading to have students create found poems. To produce a found poem, students borrow words or groups of words, rearranging to create their own poems.  When generating a true found poem, students should add punctuation only, and none of their own words. This is more challenging than it may seem at first, but almost every student can find lines, words, or groups of words that appeal to them, and almost every student will be able to complete this assignment.

I really liked this teacher’s explanation of the found poem.  It may give you some more ideas about how to get students to think of the found poem assignment as word play.  He even says that words are toys at one point in the video.  Students will listen to toy related talk any time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0czPlqh4DEo

I used Christmas literature during December, because there is no shortage of well written mentor text on this topic. I always had other literature available for students who did not observe the holiday, and it never presented a problem in my classroom.  If your school district has policies against using Christmas literature, just let students use the great literature you are already reading with them

Here’s the found poem I wrote last week.

With so much great Christmas literature out there, I’m sure you already have some of your favorites, but here are some of mine. . .

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson- Best first line in a book, ever.

Santa Calls by William Joyce: This book has a letter in the back of it.  You could also use this book as a springboard to write some Christmas letters.

Santa’s Twin – Dean Koontz

How the Grinch Stole Christmas By Dr. Seuss.

The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg

What Child is This? A Christmas Story by Caroline Cooney

Happy Finding!  If your students write great found poems, send them to me.  I’d love to see them.

Daily Discomfort: Fall

Tags

Autumn, Christmas, Christmas Music, creative writing, Fall, fiction, short fiction, short story, writing

Fall finally arrives.  The world’s gone yellow, orange, gray, the glory and decay of autumn.  When the morning air hums of cold, she feels as if she should be about something grand. This time of the year, she spends a lot of time hoping people will believe that she’s an enlightened, expansive sort of soul.

She sips her coffee and stares out the big picture window at the crescent of fog ringing the edge of the pond out back.  “This room needs a good cleaning before the masses descend,” she thinks.  She plucks a pair of muddy Converse off the dining room table and turns to the kitchen to get the broom.

The first child stumbles in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, talking of homemade waffles.  Her day begins.  Words like grand, words like expansive, they’re as defrayed as the yellowed light of the sun shining through the murky clouds.  She’s about car pool, she’s about the Brownie sleigh ride, not getting groped at her husband’s office party, writing the cards, the buying, the wrapping, the obligations of the commonplace, the ordinary.

At the post office, the clerk ho-ho-ho’s every customer. The customers stand in an interminable line, their faces reddened by the snap of wind outside.  They smile politely at the holly jolly clerk, and when it’s her turn she does the same.  That’s how you’re supposed to act at Christmas.  She sees people in this other gear, this Joyeaux Noel peppiness, and it’s like the language of Swahili to her.  If this cheer is a disease, she’s never caught it, but she doesn’t want to be known as a Christmas hater.  So she fakes.

Late in the afternoon, after she’s done three days’ worth of man work, she digs in her garden while the children play in a pile of leaves. They sing Jingle Bells.  The little one shouts, “Chipmunk style!”  They sing Jingle Bells again, their voices pinched and high.  At least they speak Swahili, she thinks. I can be proud of that.

She wishes it could feel different, without this fog of expectations she’s laid on herself, to make it perfect for everyone else. She kneels in the garden watching the leaves fall.  She reaches down to brush the dirt off her knees.

Coming in December…

Tags

Found Poem, Holiday, poetry

This month, I’ll write holiday posts, but each post will be based on a word that speaks to the time of year to me.  Here are my words:

Week One: Fall

Week Two: Low

Week Three: Star

Week Four: Rose

What are some words that you associate with Christmas?

I’ll also be writing about poetry and written conversations on the Paus(ed) label, and have some fun with the Thursday Stretch posts. Since one of my goals for the month is to play with different visual formats, I created a found poem today using a photo that I took this weekend with an actual camera.  Here’s a sneak peek at my visual–

.

It’s too small to read, so here is the script.

Fallen From Grace

A found poem by Joni Koehler

My sorrow, when she’s here with me against my ruins;

something of the grave almost, Fallen from God.

Bitter where it borders on the flame, the sword!

Containing depth within itself, darkness, shuddering, sinks lower and lower.

A fugitive running, where you feel it touching the first sounds that falter and fall,

as Lucifer fell.

She loves the bare, the death of sunlight, the withered tree.

Thanks to borrowed lines from Walt Whitman, T.S. Eliot, Alain Boubiel,  Rainer Maria Rilke, Robert Frost, and George Traki.