 Some things I wish I’d taught my children better by example: *writing thank you notes *making their bed in the morning *reducing clutter *volunteering/joining causes One teach-by-example category I feel pretty good about is compassionate treatment of animals. In addition to raising dogs, goats, hamsters, gerbils, mice, turtles, fish, a snake, a guinea pig, and one barn cat, we took care of a sparrow hatchling named Patrick, a baby raccoon named Michael, an unexpected backyard horse, and many lost dogs. We did whatever we could to find their home, nurse them to health, or offer a safe hospice haven. Anna and Robert’s dogs disturbed a rabbit nest. Mama bunny never returned, so A&R decided to nurse five orphaned bunnies. Certainly they might die, but they are warm and safe and getting the best chance two humans can offer. Probably their compassion is innate, but I like to think we set the stage for a heart open to possibilities. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 308: 158 words, TOTAL = 50,551; 9,449 remaining
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 For a decade or two, my Big Wolf summer visits have been in late summer, late July at the earliest. Now, the deep, sturdy green of August and September is weeks in the future, when undergrowth will stiffen and dry, berries will ripen and fall. June wanderings present a unique atmosphere, the fresh, limey green of springtime. Now the raspberry blooms have barely faded; hard, seeded berries brace for reddening. Here, just past solstice, the sun sets at it furthest north over Mt. Matumbla, lengthening twilight past 9:30pm. The delicate leaves of young foliage adorn the woods; early flowers brighten the glades. Birdsong, too, is of a different quality. Babies are just fledging, so bird parents are scolding and instructing. We’ve encountered two eight-duckling families. Duck mamas lead quiet parades across the water, teaching them stillness. What a treat to reacquaint with this beloved world in its tender, blossoming days. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 306: 150 words, TOTAL = 50,393; 9,607 remaining  After these months of isolation, there is something indefinably sweet about walking down the path, peering into the kitchen next door, and saying “Good morning!” to my son and daughter-in-law, busily prepping and chatting, background show tunes dancing in the air. It’s especially sweet when they serve up a brunch of shakshuka-inspired poached eggs over sautéed chard with onions, cotija cheese, fresh cilantro, and lime out on the front porch. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 306: 70 words, TOTAL = 50,243; 9,757 remaining  There used to be a clay tennis court here, inside this tennis-court-shaped rectangle of chain link fencing. Child Robin watched anthill activities in the sand while parents competed against aunt and uncle. “Dig in, Mouse!” yells Dad. I learned tennis here, sometimes in bare feet. I suffered raspberry prickers searching for lost balls, chased dogs off the court, invented ridiculous games with cousins. Jonathan and I played against siblings and in-laws while our kids sat on the old wooden bench, maybe watching anthills, fetching balls. Now it’s a dense, rectangularly fenced forest. I hadn’t tried walking through for years until today. 15-foot pines crowd so closely that I had to push and bend and duck, tripping on undergrowth. The dogs gave up. I pushed on, whipped by pine boughs, lassoed around the waist by twining bracken. It’s hard to plow through the grown-over past. It grabs you. You can get lost in there. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 153: words, TOTAL = 50,173; 9,827 remaining  I just finished Rosemary Wells’ first novel, less famous than “YaYa Sisterhood,” but similarly engaging, evocative, thought-provoking. Once again I’m struck by a book’s ability to illuminate, even reconcile, the coexistence of love and abuse. What a tangle it all is, the world of family dynamics, and what an overflow of gratitude I feel to have landed in a family whose dysfunctions were relatively mild, overshadowed by reason and compassion. I visited the Hill Garden today, a collection family memorials set in a subtly cultivated woodsy greenery. Even in death, my family gives me unassuming loveliness, peace under the gentle whoosh of wind in the treetops. Mom, Dad, Aunt Weezy, my grandparents, aunts and uncles – all offer quiet welcome to dogs and people who happen by. Hi guys. I love you. Everything’s going okay. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 304: 134 words, TOTAL = 50,020; 9,980 remaining  This is the place that links my life. My parents, myself, my children – all inhabited this place through infancy, child adventures, teen discoveries, maturing adulthood. This sparkling lake ringed by pines and birch and spruce and ash and beech is drenched in ancestral and personal history. I see my parents at the helm of a motorboat, wind baring their faces, radiant with the freedom of wind and water and speed, head lifted in laughter or song. Earlier versions of me run caped in a blanket, clamber over rooftops, race toads in a sand pile, vomit a first booze overload, conceive a child, sing over Mom and Dad’s graveyard memorial under the trees. Past lives inhabit every molecule of air, dragonflies, red squirrels, the sparkle of sun on wave. Longing takes my breath away. Lingering presence returns breath deep into my soul. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 303: 141 words, TOTAL = 49,886; 10,114 remaining  Four young duck tails bob and wiggle towards the sky while Mama duck keeps watch. Green frogs sound their resonant twangs, lingering on patches of algae. Tall grass waves and towers, sheds its prodigal seeds all over Kate and Clara’s black coats, like a coat of grainy snow. The glade where Anna and Robert married in 2015 was inundated by a massive blow down two years ago. It had turned into a tunnel-like passage, but Jonathan recently reclaimed the space with tractor and brawn – our little cathedral under the trees. I like it here. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 302: 94 words, TOTAL = 49,745; 10,255 remaining  It's like, at the end, there's this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid? -Richard Bach I’m idling in neutral right now, during this lovely ingress into summer. That’s a precarious position. I have no pressing book tasks – blurb requests have gone out, publicist’s survey complete – until late August. I have no fall class to prepare, only vague writing ideas without deadlines or expectations. What the hell am I doing? At 59, this feeling of meaninglessness is less destructive, but still difficult to navigate, a vicious, consuming, imploding spiral. Everything I consider seems stupid. Self-disgust translates into irritation with the world, globally, locally, past, present. My parents would say, “Do something for someone else.” But who needs me right now? Breathe deep. Move forward. Emulate dogs and daisies. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 301: 146 words, TOTAL = 49,651; 10,349 remaining  Kate and Clara say hello 300 days deserves a reckoning. Pros: Daily writing pushes me to notice – my surroundings, my doings, sensory and emotional responses to daily life. Limited word count requires a winnowing down to the grain of essence. Excellent writing lesson – cut, cut, cut. Unexpected boon – collecting images feels as important and creatively inspiring as the writing. I treasure the record of a year that might not have been recorded – family encounters new and old, travels, dogs, world happenings and reactions, vacillating states of mind, and the simplicity of day-to-day. Feedback and “likes” elate me. Cons: Many posts feel dull and uninspired. The brevity disallows a deeper momentum into a train of thought. It has not translated into consistency or “a writing life.” Addictive checking for feedback. Experiencing the present as fodder for a post discourages authentic immersion in the present. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 300: 138 words, TOTAL = 49,505; 10,495 remaining  Dala horse - traditional Swedish icon - used to decorate for a Midsommer fest Last night, driving home from a whimsically detailed backyard Midsommer celebration, I left the car windows down on the highway. The wind whipped and whooshed around my bare arms and legs, fluttering the fabric of my sundress, cooling my overheated body. In central Maine, there aren’t many nights in the year to enjoy that particularly delicious sensory immersion. Love and shout outs to fathers of all kinds today, especially to mine and to the unwaveringly devoted father of my children. Gratitude for a MUCH cooler morning! Today’s UUSB Zoom church service finished with a wonderfully upbeat tune by Leah Wolfsong. So I’ll spend the day singing: ♫I have Joy - down in my soul♫ My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 299: 114 words, TOTAL = 49,367; 10,633 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs. Archives
April 2024
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