Time was a favorite theme in Rachel Field’s writing, so it feels appropriate that working on her book sent me into reflections on time. I spent about four hours today, slogging through endless excavatory expeditions for my endnotes. Meanwhile, a refrain sang through my brain: “BABYBABYBABYBABYNELLIENELLIENELLIENELLIEBABYNELLIEBABY. Tonight? Tomorrow? When will I meet you, dear newest family member?” Once I became immersed in revisiting the world of my nine-year research project, those four hours slipped blissfully by. Time slowed down, muting the refrain. "babybabybabybabynellienellienellienelliebabynelliebaby." The re-immersion into Rachel’s world, the letters, the newspaper articles, her voice rising from the pages again…it animates me, absorbs me; I am lost to time, and time disappears. (babybabybabybabynellienellienellienelliebabynelliebaby). Unfortunately, re-immersion also elicits second-guessing, self-doubt. So many cool things, incisive quotations, fascinating facts leap from these thousands of photos, notes, and archives; I should have used this one! I must add that one! Maybe I ought to rewrite – gah! No!! One preoccupation was replaced by another. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 75: 160 words, TOTAL = 12,484; 47,516 remaining
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Clara barked a brief, light-toned appeal from the front hall the other day, the door that she has never passed through because her electric boundary forbids it. However, she knows all about passive solar heat, and she also loves the expansive neighborhood view, where she barks the authoritative tones that assure intruders of her prowess. Ever since the screen was replaced by the winter storm glass, she lingers longingly by the wooden front door on sunny days until I open it, flooding the hall with light and warmth. It’s like doggie television, with a blanket.
Kate, with her weakened hips, has had trouble on our entry stairs for weeks now. A layer of ice has made the steps even more treacherous. We’ve seen her splayed helplessly after a fall, a painful scene for everyone. She lingers at the top of the steps, bracing herself, glancing at me woefully. I finally figured out that if I loop a towel under her belly, I can support her descent. Now she waits for me patiently (is that relief in her eyes?), until I remember the towel. These dogs have me well trained, even if I am a slow learner. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 74: 196 words, TOTAL = 12,324; 47,676 remaining Heaped billows of underlit clouds stood quiet sentry for today’s evening walk. The first dusting of new snow added its own underlighting in the air all around. You never get too old to be excited by the first snow of the season, even if it won’t last. I feel like I’m walking through a Norman Rockwell painting, and a rush of gratitude floods in. Baby’s arrival is becoming more certainly imminent. The anticipation is making it hard for me to concentrate on anything else, but while I can, I’m determined to keep cranking out endnotes and grading student papers. Every day I think, is this the last sunset before the newest member of our family joins us? Will she be born on a Saturday? A Monday? Later? I hope everything goes smoothly. This is such a new kind of nervous. I don’t know how this is going to feel, how it might transform my outlook on my life, my age, my plans, my children…or maybe it won’t change much at all, the most natural thing in the world, just a new joy to share, like the excitement of first snowfall. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 73: 190 words, TOTAL = 12,128; 47,872 remaining Teaching energizes me, makes me feel useful, opens my eyes…sometimes. Other days, I look with dread at the ticking clock. The slump of my students seeps contagiously into my core, or maybe it’s my slump that is infecting them. Summoning up leadership energy from my well of enthusiasm requires a drill rig and a jackhammer. I recover in the quiet after-buzz of an empty classroom before I transition back to my other self, the one who only has to perform for two black dogs and a forgiving husband. Probably they can tell, but you never know. One of my quietest students, whose constant, unreadable expression perfectly emulates the human face at rest, has informed me that my class is his favorite. Huh. So maybe the student slump masks unplumbed depths of stimulation. They are brilliant performers. I hope my performance for them is as convincing. I love what I do. I can’t wait for it to be over. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 72: 158 words, TOTAL = 11,938; 48,062 remaining During my sunrise blog year, ten years ago, my photography was often shot in the dim light of dawn. I took many images of the moon, which never did it justice. Still I continue to try. Now my dusky times tend to be evening’s twilight, when I walk the dogs after their dinner. Today’s half moon – technically a waxing gibbous – seemed particularly vivid, maybe because of the quickening chill in the air, the bite of icy weather, slated to give central Maine our first snowfall on Friday, 3-6 inches. I am enchanted by the moon’s phases and it’s variable appearance. I’ve never paid enough attention to know when it will appear, or what state it will be in, so moon sightings are always a surprise gift, the kind that elicits a quick, internal flip. No surprise at all, however, is the knowledge that humans have long associated the moon with magic and mystery. Its pull on our planet is very real, so no wonder it exercises a pull on our heart and soul. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 71: 173 words, TOTAL = 11,780; 48,220 remaining Qualities of light and dark have always intrigued me. After the “fall back” of November, the transformation feels much greater than an hour shift. As darkness settles in, I feel this compulsion to get home, build a fire, turn on lights, make soup, batten down the hatches. It is the time of year for turning inward, slowing down; time to hibernate, even though it’s only 4:00 in the afternoon. I relish unconventional light sources out of doors. When I walk into the glade in the back yard, a gloomy evening is suddenly illuminated by bright leaves – on the ground and in the trees. My black dogs leap into sharp outline. Darkness too, is relative. From inside today, the world appears pitch dark at 5pm. Once outside with the dogs, I see that there is still enough light to navigate the paths around the field. A lit interior deceives. The outer darkness is never as bad as it appears from our protected interior spaces. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 70: 163 words, TOTAL = 11,607; 48,393 remaining The closest thing I have to a meditation practice is lap swimming. In order to keep track of my lengths, I focus on the numbers by association. 13: adolescence, teenage angst – is that why it’s bad luck? 17: Strangely, Sam on the high school soccer field. 18: A quarter done. 22: Couple o’ ducks! The refrain from our summer Bingo callers for I-22, their long, tanned legs swinging from the wooden counter where they sit. 23: Childhood underwater rhyming game that finished with “23-skiddoo!” 26: My father-in-law’s birth year, birthday, and age at marriage. 28: My birthday. 29: My cousin Elaine’s birthday, one year and a day after me. 30: Age of a lot of my kids and in-laws right now. 33: Jesus’s reputed age at death. I sing Godspell songs in my head. 36: Halfway! 39: Three times thirteen. 49: Mom in the old kitchen with turquoise, formica backsplash. She made up songs to help me memorize my times tables, “seven times seven is forty-nine, if the clouds come out then the sun won’t shine” 54: Dad’s historic class at Yale, baseball caps, football games (also ¾ done!). 60: What I’ll be soon. 64: I sing the Beatles’ song. 66: I sing Route 66. 69: not telling 72: DONE! My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 69: 210 words, TOTAL = 11,444; 48,556 remaining Hard to believe it was only yesterday morning that we left for the island. Sutton worked its magic, suspending time in the ethereal light of two brilliantly illuminated November days. It didn’t hurt that our amazing island neighbors exercised their characteristic hospitality. We had no power after the windstorm, but they have Queenie, a massive cast-iron cookstove that heats water, heats the kitchen, cooks everything anyone needs. Candlelight dinner, raclette, puttanesca, botanical gins by a roaring fireplace, and unmatched raconteurs to fill the evening. We hardly missed electricity. Water lines were drained in our house and two other family houses, mouse-proofing liberally applied, fridges cleared out, porch furniture stuffed into living rooms. We still had time for a leisurely breakfast prepared on Queenie, and a sweet, afternoon half hour in rocking chairs on the sunny end of the porch, accompanied by cheese and crackers and beer. This evening’s early darkness held a particular enveloping embrace, an island season hugging us goodbye. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 68 : 161 words, TOTAL = 11,234; 48,766 remaining The down side of island homes is that you can’t always get there. Wind gusts up to 40 mph deterred our ferry captains from landing at Sutton Island yesterday, especially since the winds were coming from the southwest, blowing straight at the town dock where we need to land. Even when it gets in our way, there’s something about being beholden to the tides and the winds that makes me feel exhilarated, more connected to the Earth that I live on. To be fair, even my Bangor university closed yesterday because of power outages from the winds. This was an impressive force, even for us inlanders. Our window of time to winterize three houses on the island has now shrunk to 36 hours. Instead of four of us, there will be three. The dogs were kenneled before we knew there was no boat, so we slept in an lonely, dogless house last night. Instead of a live view of Sutton, we had to settle for the painted tiles on the kitchen wall. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 67: 172 words, TOTAL = 11,073; 48,927 remaining This is the first year I can remember not having a jack-o-lantern for Halloween, probably because Jonathan is the carver, and he didn’t make it home until most trick-or-treaters were home counting their loot. We used to decorate the whole house, carve giant pumpkins, create full-sized dummies to sit scarily on the front porch, draped in cottony spiderwebs. We ate a light dinner to save room for candy. Elaborate costumes were another forte of Jonathan’s. He constructed a cardboard box fire truck, an ambulance, a unicorn, the Three Musketeers, Thing One, Thing Two, and the Cat in the Hat. We had the requisite ghosts, witches, and black cats, but also lions, fairies, devils, ballerinas, a Davy Crockett, a ninja, a gypsy, a mime, and a banana. Last night I sat in the dining room with the dogs, nursing a beer. An unsmiling pumpkin sat whole and round on the front stoop. Clara and I greeted a few neighborhood kids. Kate couldn’t hear them, which is just as well, since she’s scary. Maybe next year we’ll be re-energized. Perhaps we’ll head to Portland and celebrate with a tiny little girl, who will be starting the whole thing all over again. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 66: 199 words, TOTAL = 10,901; 49,099 remaining **NOTE** for every day readers: I’ll be off the grid this weekend, so I won’t be able to post my daily writings until I return. Thanks for reading! |
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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