This morning, I really didn't want to be at school. It was too cold. It has been too cold to wear skirts since mid-October, but I wear them everyday regardless. I was not looking forward to going into my classroom today and teaching our kids again to spell and number their clocks with the 12 at the top instead of the 1. I didn't want to focus on keeping them busy, learning new cursive letters or writing two or three sentences over and over again. I didn't want to do it all again.
But as the sun poured over the mountains, my attention was drawn up to the top of a boney tree on our playground. In the highest branches sat one bird. Then three or four more arrived. Their little voices flew high and I felt sorry for how cold they must be. My mind started turning like it used to with ideas and images for poems I have never written.
I used to spend night after night writing poetry. I used to fill notebooks with ideas and get up early to meet classmates at 7:00am on campus. We would read and edit and write poetry. Then, we all graduated and moved away. Some moved far away and studied more poetry and some started families.
Here I was, in the middle of this playground in 20 degree weather, missing my old self.
It hit me hard today that I am still mourning a loss. I never got accepted to Grad school and life changed on me. I got married and went from teaching imagist poetry to asking six year olds what shapes they see in the American flag.
I have recently been introduced to a new series of books called the Mr. Putter and Tabby Stories by Cynthia Rylant. I love them. They are perfect for Kindergartners. The other day I read Mr. Putter and Tabby Write the Book. Without giving too much away, this one was about how Mr. Putter (an old man) decided to write a mystery book and ended up spending more time cooking his snack to eat while writing than actually writing. In the end, he takes a piece of paper and writes the title, "Good Things." Then he lists all the good things in his life and reads it as a poem to his neighbor Mrs. Teaberry. She tells him not to feel bad that he never finished the mystery story because not enough people write about the Good Things in this life.
Please, do not read wrong..... I am happier being married than I have ever been. But, I miss some of the old parts of me that are still here. I still want to write. My life will always change, but no one can change that I am a writer. I see things like a writer and I feel things like a writer. I may not be an excellent writer, but I need to write.
This job has wrung me out with both hands. Physically, I have never been as sick with colds or as sore in my back and legs as I have this first year teaching. Dealing with some students and understanding their needs for attention, has just about killed me at times. But there is one thing I will always love. I love reading to my kids. I love watching them sit below me, with their legs crossed and their eyes wide when I show them the pictures on each page. I love making voices as I read and I love making them laugh.
This was a good book. It was a gentle reminder to me that any writing I do, is good enough. I may not have made it into the highly competitive MFA programs I applied to all over the country. I may not ever get more than my Bachelors. But, I can always read and write about what matters to me... and best of all, I am learning how important it really is to read to my own kids.
So, no blog this inspiring should go without a resolution, right? Once a person gets married, they tend to start a family blog to keep friends updated on their ever-changing lives. John and I will eventually do this. Probably much sooner than later. But it won't be here in the refuge. He has already reminded me, this blog is for me and me only. I plan on making a resolution from here on to write a little weekly. Even if it is something small.... I need to write. Things here may not be finished or perfect, but they will be from me. And in the refuge... always feel free to read the little bits here. They will be genuine and everyone is welcome.
