I circumnavigated most of the island yesterday, probably about a two miles’ walk. It was a sultry, unsettled evening, one of those weather patterns where the sky feels like a sullen teenager. You’re not sure if you’ll get a long, lingering low, or something more electrified and explosive. Weak flits of sunshine poked occasionally through the heavy cloud cover; a sprinkle of rain began, then gave up, not worth the trouble. By sunset, the clouds had begun to lift, and the bright sun flashed its brilliance for a hopeful minute before settling down to bed. By 9pm, twilight, the world had cooled and the last dregs of light hovered over Sargent and Pemetic Mountains across the Eastern Way. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 329: 118 words, TOTAL = 53,375; 6,625 remaining
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One of my classmates from “Stonecoast,” University of Southern Maine’s MFA program in creative writing, published a book this year. I just finished it and found it prophetically timely and quite powerful. No small part of the story is that Munemo, a white American woman, fell in love with and married a black Zimbabwean man. But this complex memoir goes beyond the struggles that come with a mixed-race marriage and raising boys, whom the world perceives as black, in the racially-charged environment of today’s USA. The author’s web of history also includes a parent’s suicide, clashing Jewish and Protestant ancestry, and learning that part of her father’s livelihood came from writing pulpy slave-porn novels. Munemo goes to great lengths to discover, untangle, and reconcile her family’s past with her own identity, her own flaws, and her path forward. There are no pat conclusions, but a great deal of relevant food for thought for any reader interested in our society’s systemic racist past and present. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 328: 164 words, TOTAL = 53,257; 6,743 remaining My nephew Charlie snapped this photo of the Big Dipper and the comet Neowise, taken in the Adirondacks. My brother sent it around to his siblings yesterday. The comet is approximately 64 million miles away, which means it must be pretty dang big up close. We are very small, here on this little planet. But we have impressive cameras. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 327: 59 words, TOTAL = 53,093; 6,907 remaining The terrain beneath the spruces is emerald green, plush, billowing clouds of mossy contours, an interior echo of the blue sea’s ululations, out of sight, through the trees. My morning dog walk on Sutton. No kinder surface exists for old feet and joints to tread. What gives my island’s forest its air of mystery? Moss-muted quiet, accented by the hermit thrush’s haunting, echo-y song; hummocks of old trees enveloped by thick, lush moss, a regenerative blanket enfolding Earth’s old life into itself. Sometimes I feel like I should whisper, tiptoe through this sacred space where life and death and rebirth course through their millennial cycles, unperturbed by politics or pandemics, leaky roofs or leach fields. Oh moss, lend us your placid tranquility. Teach us what you know. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 326: 127 words, TOTAL = 53,034; 6,966 remaining We almost never patronize Dunkin Donuts, but as we pulled out at 6am yesterday morning, we hit the drive-thru for coffee. “Good morning, what can I get for you today?” chirped a voice over the speaker. “Uh…one large black coffee, and a small hot chocolate.” “Will that be all?” Do we want a donut? We never get donuts. Sure, why not. “We’ll get a donut.” “What would you like?” car discussion “How about toasted coconut?” “Chocolate coconut?” “No, toasted coconut.” “We don’t have toasted coconut.” “Okay, uh…” more discussion… “How about cinnamon sugar?” “We don’t have cinnamon sugar.” “Well what do you have?” Huge list of gloppy, frosted, cream-filled, sprinkled, grossness. “We’ll just get a glazed stick, I guess.” When we pulled around to the pickup window, a young woman handed us our drinks and donut bag. She addressed us kindly, patiently solicitous, like maybe she thought we were old or something. “Here you go.” Big smile. “and I just want to let you guys know that our lobby is now open, so next time if you’re having trouble, you can come inside and see what we have.” Oh my god. She thinks we are doddering old fogies. Wait. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 325: 199 words, TOTAL = 52,907; 7,093 remaining Why don’t I rise at this quiet hour more often? Cool air, dewy grass, peaceful pond ruffled by three landing sweeps – a trio of mallards have arrived for the day. Fog bank whorls over the Penobscot River, a face mask muffling the rising sun. When you have to catch a 7:30 boat that’s an hour and a quarter’s drive away, you drag yourself up and out. Makes me wish I had to catch a 7:30 boat every morning (sort of). My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 324: 80 words, TOTAL = 52,708; 7,292 remaining Victoria Cates, my niece, is a fashion designer with a unique line of vintage wear. She has designed a whimsical line of face masks. She may not be eye-smiling here, but you can see her lovely smile on the "about" page of her website, Potion23. https://potion23.com/pages/about-us The subtleties of eye-smiling went underappreciated before the pandemic. Now that everyone’s wearing masks, the importance of expressing welcome through the eyes alone has become an essential social skill. I encountered a young man at our local polling place yesterday who was a champion eye-smiler. As he directed me towards the exit with body language and a masked face, his smiling eyes – crinkled at the edges, shining with sunny friendliness – lit me up. I left with a bounce in my step. We may not always be able to hear or understand each other’s speech through the cloth, but genuinely smiling eyes can never be mistaken. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 323: 105 words, TOTAL = 52,628; 7,372 remaining Debby Irving’s book explores privileged white people’s tendency to consider their way “the” way to behave, to speak, to socialize, etc. Irving and her husband are both white, but she shares her realization/embarrassment that for years she expected him to “learn” the social niceties of her tidy, conflict-averse world. That self-centered view of “how one must be” leads (ironically) to conflict, not just racist conflict, but conflict with all difference. This, too, hit home for me. One of the things that attracted me to Jonathan was his forthrightness about speaking his mind. He’s a far cry from my familiar, conflict-averse conformity. I found his figure on a farm tractor – ripped t-shirt, backward-facing hat – far more appealing than business suits and briefcases. I loved how different he was from what I knew. There were also times, though, when culture-clashes between my spouse and my family made me cringe. Why was difference such a problem? This “waking up” thing goes way beyond race. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 322: 161 words, TOTAL = 52,523; 7,477 remaining I was deeply skeptical that a race-themed book written by a white person could be meaningful or useful, but Irving’s memoir shook me profoundly where I’d hoped to find it worthless. Certainly it recounts plenty of “no, duh,” old-news about race, culture, whiteness, identity, and privilege. But if I look back not so many years, I recognize much of the author’s naiveté in my own past. Irving and I share startlingly similar pasts – born in 1960 to prosperous, loving, WASP families; a sunny outlook on life and opportunity; raised to approach “the underserved” with respect and benevolence rather than solidarity; desperate to be “a good person.” The book’s definitions of “white dominant culture” may be foreign to many, but they hit home for me. I applaud Irving’s courage in publishing her story, her hard-earned, unfolding awareness of the depths of our systemic, centuries-ingrained, racist culture. If she succeeds in opening more white minds, her book is worth a lot. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 321: 159 words, TOTAL = 52,362; 7,638 remaining At the launching of my “turning 60 blog year” last August, three big highlights lay ahead: the ongoing publication process of my first book, the birth of my first grandchild, and September 2020 wedding preparations for my daughter. I’ve covered one and two, but COVID-19 wreaked havoc with #3. After months of anxious hoping and a few tears, Tessa and Chris made the decision to postpone their festivities for a year. Their marriage will still take place on Sutton Island this September, but instead of 140 partygoers, we will be fifteen family members. Two things arose from this decision: first, enormous relief; second, surprising joy and excitement in anticipation of a unique, intimate celebration. The obvious recognition that our family’s pandemic fallout is nothing to the global population’s suffering leaves us humbled, grateful, and determined to act responsibly, to appreciate our health and good fortune. Change is inevitable. Growth is optional. This feels like growth. What an excellent way to launch a marriage. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 320: 163 words, TOTAL = 52,203; 7,797 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
January 2024
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