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The Bro & Sis Would Be Laughing

The Bro & Sis Would Be Laughing

I’m so glad the bro and sis weren’t here this morning, sitting in the audience during my workshop this morning. They would have been rolling on the floor with laughter, and that would have been way too distracting.

Why?

Well, the topic was how to organize research and writing. During our mutual childhood, my reputation was more space cadet than organizational maven. I could not keep track of either time or toys as a kid, so their soda pop would have squirted out their noses at the thought of their middle sister (who also reversed the letters d, b, p, and q with reckless abandon) teaching writers how to stay organized.

Gross, but true.

So the bro and sis need to take note of this: the workshop was well-received and my true confessions of past space cadetitis gave the organizationally challenged in our group great hope. You two can snort Pepsi out your noses all you want, but my charts and forms made more than one writer’s eyes light up. If either of you want copies, let me know. Ditto for cleaning your closets, sorting your files. I draw the line at folding underwear. I don’t even fold my own underwear. No sense being too organized.

Gross, but true.

Internal Debate

Internal Debate

Last night, I sat at our monthly writers’ group, barely able to stay awake. After two days of traveling to speaking engagements, exhaustion weighing on my shoulders and eyelids. Finally, too tired to follow the conversation and critiques, I excused myself and went home.

A spirited internal debate kept me awake for the drive home. The government side proclaimed, “Traveling was the right thing to do.”

The opposition sliced that argument to bits. “The trip was a waste of time. Monday night’s engagement was poorly attended.”

“Only because of bad weather,” the government countered.

The opposition ignored the outbreak and continued. “And Tuesday at the lunch meeting, all the women were over the age of 60. Not even the right audience for you book. For effective marketing, you should focus only on potential readers. Stop wasting your time.”

I steered the car up our driveway and declared the opposition the winner. My efforts over the last two days had resulted in a fog of exhaustion, nothing more. What was I doing, frittering away precious days like this?

A good night’s sleep didn’t improve my outlook. Discouragement dogged my steps as I began my morning walk. So did the faces of two women who’d introduced themselves after I spoke.

“Thank you for telling your stories,” one said. “I lost my husband earlier this year. And today’s been a bad day.”

“How long were you married?” I asked.

“62 years.” Tears filled her eyes. “I hoped to make it through the meeting without crying.” She squeezed my hand and hurried away.

“This is the first time I’ve been here since my husband died two months ago,” the other woman confided.

“How long were you married?” I asked again.

“67 years. And I’m not complaining,” she added with a smile. “I’m not worried about where he is. Over and over he said he knew where he was going.” Tears wet her smile. “But he didn’t tell me how lonely it would be without him.”

I blinked away tears and looked around, orienting myself before walking any farther. Ah, the soybean field. Then I did a double take. The plants were gone, the field harvested. The vines and lovely purple flowers twining up the bean stalks and captured by my camera a few days earlier were no more. To think I had almost walked past them on Monday. If I hadn’t retraced my steps, the picture would have been lost.

My eyes spied a puddle of purple in the bean stubble. I pulled out my camera, and in the viewfinder saw the faces of two women. Perhaps, I thought as the camera focused, the opposition hasn’t won the debate. Perhaps the trip was not a waste of time.

Third Grade

Third Grade

Yesterday, I spoke to a group of third graders here in town. I last taught kids that age a dozen years ago before I moved to fourth grade. But not much has changed in the intervening years. The halls still smell of floor was and books, the teachers still work hard, and the kids still get bored after fifteen minutes.

Most of all, third graders still think the same. They’re devoted to their families. They think everybody should follow the rules. They all have stories to tell – about pets, vacations, brothers and sisters. And third grade is when they gain enough skill to put some of their ideas into practice. It’s a very exciting age to be.

I’d forgotten how much effort it takes to contain the excitement and energy of 20+ students. My feet hurt when I got home, and I was tired I slept really well last night. But I was happy too, for the hour spent in a world clearly defined by pets and family and rules. I was thankful for the teachers who show those students how to navigate their way into a much bigger world.

I’m pretty sure their feet hurt a whole lot more than mine did. And I’m hoping they slept well, too. They need it.