I'm finally allowed to divulge some news.
My poem, "Mother's Day at a Distance - May 2020," won second place in the Writer's Digest annual competition - out of 500 entries in the rhyming poetry category! Between that and getting a commission to write a rhyming ghost ballad for Penobscot Theatre Company, I've had some wonderful boosts to my poetic aspirations this summer.
You can find the poem on my website, in the "poetry" menu.
Hello everyone - I didn't expect three non-blogging weeks to go by so quickly, but I've been barreling along through one of those stretches of time so rich and abundant that it has filled effortlessly, even overflowingly. We gathered on this exquisite island in the sea - Jonathan and I, four children, four kids-in-law, one granddaughter, 5 dogs, and the newest in-law extended family of the groom. We had an illness scare and much logistic juggling, but everything fell blissfully into place.
The bride and groom treated everyone to an emotional upwelling when their officiant (our eldest daughter) gently leaked out some unexpected news about Tessa and Chris:
“In some ways, they’re one of those couples who seem to live in their own little world…a world of ‘tonal stuff’, a world of Oscar. It’s not a private world - they are warm and welcoming to anyone who wants to participate - but it is a world they have built for them alone. Like a language only they can speak… or, sing. In that way, it’s fitting that although I’m performing a ceremony today, I’m not actually marrying Tessa and Chris. And that’s because they made the decision to do that, all on their own, six months ago today.”
So - there was an elopement! My youngest daughter has been a wife since March 12, 2020, and no one knew but them. Still, both bride and groom were deeply moved by the congregation of family, the power of ceremony and shared ritual. September 12 will truly be their anniversary day.
Now they've all gone, but instead of my usual melancholy after separation, J and I are thoroughly content. This week of escape from the world's troubles, this suspension of time and fear in favor of love and shared meals and hugging (and lots of pre-testing), has left us floating, untouchable, at least for this beautiful present moment lifted out of time.
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.