I have never missed a teaching day because of illness (knock on wood). Plenty of days I’ve awoken with a sniffly nose, a scratchy throat, maybe even a little cough, or I might feel inexplicably fatigued. Whatever. It could be a little cold; it could be nothing, just a reaction to the dry air, the woodstove, the dusty house, “something in the air.” It might blossom into “sick,” maybe not, but I don’t think about it much. This morning I was all packed up for a visit to my 9-day old granddaughter, but suddenly the uncertainty of my health plagued me. Am I getting sick? Is it nothing? The repercussions of being wrong are too significant. Reluctantly, I called it off. Now that I’ve acknowledged the symptoms, rather than trying to explain them away, I am convinced I made the right move. But it’s amazing, this ache to be with my daughter, my son-in-law, and this tiny creature who has such a hold on my heart. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 85: 166 words, TOTAL = 14,238; 45,762 remaining
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9:00pm rolls around. I sit down to meet my daily blog commitment, resigned, maybe even morose. By 9:00, I’m ready to let my brain go into shut-down mode, especially after I’ve enjoyed a couple of Jonathan’s gin gimlets and a lovely 2-quiche dinner: bacon arugula shallot, and broccoli onion tomato, gruyere cheese. There were several times today when I thought – oh yes! That is what I will write about today. Ideas buzzing with possibility hovered right there at the ready. But I missed those opportunities. Now it’s 9:00, and the birds of inspiration have flown; the coffers are empty; the well has run dry; the shop has closed down for the day. My aspirations only rise to the level of watching TV, playing cribbage, scrolling mindlessly through Facebook, or just slipping into bed with a good book. I guess I’ll only be able to fall back on this excuse once. I’d better try to get blogging before 9pm from now on, or just stave off that floating state of contented oblivion until I’ve done my job. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 84: 176 words, TOTAL = 14,072; 45,928 remaining From the Horn Book Magazine, July-August 1942 Pub date. It sounds like a hook up in a local bar, but for a first time author it’s even more exciting – the day my book is coming out. “You’re pub date is May 4, 2021,” wrote my editorial manager at She Writes Press. She also sent me forms to fill out – for the creation of my book cover and other publication details. Sometimes these updates come along, making this book thing feel increasingly like a real thing, and a little panicked fish flips wildly in my belly. I feel as helpless and out of control as that fish on a line, no idea how it got there or what to do now. It’s late. Not the right time to start thinking about such things… Put slack in the line, Robin. Remove the hook gently. Place the fish back in the water. See it swim away. Rachel Field got to the point where she called herself “a hardened old war horse” when it came to book publication. I will try to emulate her as best I can. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 83: 177 words, TOTAL = 13,896; 46,104 remaining A child enters your life, and suddenly the word “family” takes on new meaning. I love this photo of Fiona: each of her two tiny hands grasps one finger of the wedding-ringed hands of her parents. A covenant group, pledging their commitment. They were two; now they are three, and the tiny bundle of new life takes center stage. What a momentous launching into unknown seas of discovery. What a thrill to be here on the sidelines, safe from sleep-deprivation, but ready to step in as the B-team on request. What a privilege to be part of the insider team, or just to enjoy the magnificent unfolding story from a loving distance. This Grandma thing is going to be awesome. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 82: 120 words, TOTAL = 13,719; 46,281 remaining Included on winter’s list of assets is the visibility of animal tracks…well, visibility to humans. To dogs and others with keen noses, animal tracks are obvious all the time; maybe the snow actually obscures their olfactory view. Humans, sadly, are nose blind. We traipse over thoroughfares all year, totally unaware. When the snow falls, it’s as it someone coated the world in magic paint, revealing secrets in invisible ink that was there all the time. Crows leave trails of three-pronged prints, making crazy maps with their exploratory hoppings. A fox jumped up on a stone bench (for the view?), then, evidently, sat for a spell. A fountain of mouse trails fans out from the northeast corner of the goat barn, revealing a major travel hub. I’m reluctant to look around inside. I might be content to not know how much mouse traffic goes on inside the goat barn. So many stories are printed all over the ground. For us, it’s a seasonal publication, a limited edition to be enjoyed all the more for its rarity. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 81: 175 words, TOTAL = 13,599; 46,001 remaining I have not yet been given the go-ahead to post any Fiona news to Facebook. I’m also avoiding any posts of her dear little elfin face until Nellie and Mike have done their own social media announcing. Who knew it would be so hard not to plaster the world with her image and sing her welcome from the rooftops! Rest assured, pictures will come. I should have been grading papers or tracking down endnote references this afternoon. Instead, I played with words, one of my favorite activites. Here is some light-hearted drivel that I composed in honor of my new granddaughter: I’d like to intone a few words of Fiona, this girl who has grown a wee bit since I’ve known ‘ah. If you said you’d loan a big house in Sedona or that I could own a whole state – Arizona! I’d only say, “no, nah, just let me be shone a few peeks at Fiona, our new Lisa Mona.” My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 80: 160 words, TOTAL = 13,424; 46,576 remaining The pond iced over while we were away. A crusted-over mat of snow covered the car that I left outside the garage. Two coiled hoses sat barely visible under the snowcover by the kitchen garden. We left in a hurry after the 5:15am call. “Nellie’s water just broke…things are progressing along,” Mike said calmly, hoping his call wouldn’t incite us to careen wildly down the highway. Now we’re back home. The daily papers keep arriving on the doorstep. The dogs are waiting to be petted and fed and walked. The bus squeaks and hisses at 7:30 as it stops to pick kids up across the street. This week, Fiona arrived here on the Earth, sparkling clean, at the very beginning of a brand new life. One exuberant, extended family of humans is transfixed, transported, lifted temporarily out of the fray and into the miraculous. On the day that Fiona was learning how to breathe, a student of mine was poised to pass her Miss Maine Teen tiara to the newest pageant winner. Another local kid was expelled for having a gun in school. And a bunch of people in a bunch of places slipped into or out of life, sending seismic reverberations through a bunch of living souls. Our pond has iced over. Somewhere else, summer flowers are pushing through the soil, reaching for the sun. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 79: 226 words, TOTAL = 13,264; 46,736 remaining Dear little Fiona, today you left the halls of the baby ward for home. Portland, Maine has plunged into frigid, January-like temperatures, but the sun was dazzlingly bright on the ocean waters outside Mercy Hospital. Your super organized parents were so ready to be home with you, but they were patiently meticulous about the car-seat fitting check at the nurses’ station before departure. “Do you know how to click it into the base?” the nurse asked. “We did a few practice rounds,” your dad said. Once downstairs, he drove the car up to the front door, while your mom waited with you in the lobby. The sleeves of your little elephant outfit flopped comically, well beyond your hands. Almost nothing fits you yet, but the pink hat knitted by Aunt Tessa is perfect. Mom and Dad waited a bit for the car to warm up before whisking you outside – your first touch of sunshine! In no time at all, the three of you sat together on the sofa of your living room. I love your little squeaks and bleats, your tiny yawn, the smell of your head, the silken skin of your face, the grip of your tiny fingers around mine. Pops and I will stick around and fix dinner before heading home, then your little family will start your new life. We’ll be two hours away, but rest assured, we plan to become familiar faces. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 78: 236 words, TOTAL = 13,038; 46,962 remaining Your front yard You live a couple of hours south of me, so even though I’ve had first snow, you have not. The first snow of the year fell on your birthday, and it continued on into the next day. Your back steps got so icy that two of your grandparents had falls (they were both okay), so your Nana spread rock salt all around to keep everyone safe. Your family is referring to you as “Snow Princess” now. In fact, your Aunt Anna and Uncle Robert got their first snow in Michigan on your birthday too – 12 inches’ worth! I think you’ll have a snow child legacy, which suits your birth date, for now anyway. Who knows what climate change will do to November 11th in southern Maine by the time you get to the 22nd century. You continued to dazzle hearts today. Just holding the warm, swaddled bundle of you in our arms flooded us with…endorphins? memories? tingles? a systemic pulse of well-being, down to the fingertips. I could watch your shifting expressions for hours, knitted forehead, raised eyebrows, tiny mouth going even tinier into a round dot of a pout, sucking movements. Better than television. Your Mom recorded a minute of your hiccups last night. You are quite the celebrity around here. I love you more every day. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 77: 218 words, TOTAL = 12,802; 47198 remaining My darling granddaughter, I’m not sure if I’m free to share details today, so I’ll just say, welcome to the world, precious little girl. Borrowing from a friend’s sentiments: the world has become a better place with you in it. You and your mother performed beautifully today. You both have enormous transitions to navigate right now, so rest all you can. Your Dad and grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends here and across the sea, are already surrounding you, dear child, with concentric circles of love. You have a giant team, rooting for you. We’ve got your back. Go get ‘em. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 76: 100 words, TOTAL = 12,584; 47,416 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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