One Little Word 2022: Changing Up the Intention

The irony of my blog's name and my One Little Word for 2022 is not lost on me. I've had this blog for a while now, and when I was trying to think of names for it, the Nike slogan inspired me. Just Do It is a phrase that has inspired me throughout many challenges. Just Write, Melanie seemed like a great mantra for getting my fingers going on the keyboard. 

But what if I'd gone with Write, Melanie instead? Somehow that one doesn't have the same cadence. Or, does it sound more emphatic? More assertive? 

Over the last several years, I've chosen words for the intention of paying attention to them, of living with them, of having them guide me. My first word ever, present, remains my favorite, mostly because of its multiple meanings. Since living with that word in 2014, I've worked to become a better gift-giver (inspired by present as a noun), I've tried to be more engaging in presentations, and I've nudged myself-- though still working on it-- to pay more attention to who I'm sitting with and what I'm doing. Other words have become part of my emotional fabric, as well, inspiring me to be braver, more appreciative, and kinder to both myself and others. But, maybe it's just as important to be less of something as it is to be always reaching for more. 

When I initially contemplated eliminating a word for 2022 as my One Little Word intention, it was because I realized that there was an element of arrogance in what I was saying when I use the word just. "You just..." seemed to undermine the effort someone was putting into learning or trying something new. And then, when I googled to see if anyone else had taken issue with the use of "just", I came across this post,  pointing out the hedging quality of using it. In addition to thinking about words to eradicate or minimize, throughout 2021, I've found myself weeding out what I don't prioritize. Earlier tonight, I had a conversation with close friends about how the pandemic has inspired me to think about risks the way I think about food. What is worth having, and what isn't? Some risks aren't worth taking. Likewise, some words aren't worth using, and may even be damaging or undermining. 

This year, in 2022, a year that I'd like to be different than the last couple, I've decided to try something different with my One Little Word. Instead of taking on a word I want to live with, I'm going to take on a word I want to live more or less without. I like the word 'just' as an adjective, and I'll use it to reach for fairness and equity, but as an adverb, I will be working just to just eliminate it. (See what I did there? If you read the Byrdie post, you'll recognize the confidence that rises without that four-letter j-word compromising the intention.) No more "just calling to say hi", no more "just checking in", no more "just one more thing." And definitely no more "you just do ___." 

So, for 2022, I'm changing up my practice. Instead of leading with a word, I'll be working on eliminating one, or at least paying attention to and lessening its use. Wish me luck!

Slice of Life: A Memory For the Long Run

    On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

When I was in college, I managed the men's lacrosse team. How that began is another story for another time, but during the years, I was there, the team was good. My first year as manager was the most memorable, and the season ended in the last 30 seconds of the national championship when Johns Hopkins scored the winning goal against us. My most vivid memory of my three years of managing remains the captains leading the team to stand below the fan section, tears streaming down their faces, clapping in appreciation for all of the students, families, and friends who had been there. 

I shared that memory with my daughter, Julia, as her Division 3 soccer team prepared for the national semifinal which was last Friday in Greensboro, North Carolina. Circumstances and COVID have led to Julia being a three-year captain of the team, along with one of her best friends. "Whatever happens," I said, "you and Emily are the team leaders. Everyone who is there could remember how you react, win or lose, for a long, long time."

I couldn't tell what Julia internalized from what I said, but I do know that she thinks deeply about her leadership and the legacy she is leaving. When the final whistle blew at the end of the game with her team losing 1-0, she couldn't have made me prouder. The team circled, arms around each other, supporting each other.

 As the cheering section continued to clap in support of a history-making season, Julia and Emily led the line toward the bleachers and clapped back. There were tears, for sure, and hopefully, as the days pass and the disappointment of losing lessens, there will be pride for an incredible career and an epic run. 

The lacrosse final was in 1987, almost thirty-five years ago. I hope that the memory of my girl leading the team in appreciation-- despite the tears-- will be with me thirty-five years from now. It's a memory that I will carry with me for as long as I can. 

Slice of Life: Sometimes getting started is enough

    On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

Over the last few weeks, there have been many conversations I've had about the importance of writing in the lives of teachers. Yep, I need to write in order to understand and empathize with the struggles writers have. Yep, I need to write in order to have authentic models and exemplar pieces to put in front of students. Yep, I need to write so that students understand and appreciate my identity as a writer. 

And yet... 

I know that on Tuesdays my job is to write a slice. I know that there is a community of writers out there who support me and look for my posts. I know that I will appreciate the words they've written and be inspired as a result of reading their pieces. 

And yet...

My last post was in October, and today is November 30 which means that it's been a month of no posting, and I am still struggling with deciding on a topic and a post to write that feels worthy. How is it that I can write a post every single day  in March, but am at a loss for a topic after an entire month. The struggle is real. Writing is hard. I might be writing and writing and writing other types of writing, but a slice of life??? There are times when nothing shows up, and I appreciate the struggles students have when I assure them they have stories to tell. Yes, I have stories, and sometimes it's just really, really hard to get started. 

Maybe next week will feel easier. 

Happy Slicing, 

Slice of Life: A Small and Special Moment Within a Memorable and Magical Weekend

   On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

During the last few summers, I took several trips up the Pawcatuck River, trying to spot the bald eagles my nephew talked about. 

"They're almost always in the dead tree across from Timothy Street," he'd say. 

One time, I saw a shadowy birdlike silhouette high in the tree, but it flew before I got close enough to know for sure that it was one of eagles. 

I've also gone for several hikes closer to home, but in places where other friends have spotted eagles. One friend reports that he sees them all the time at the bridge in Collinsville. All the time? Not the times I've gone! 

We spent this past weekend in Maine since our second daughter's soccer team played Bates and Colby. We stayed with many other parents at the hotel where the team stayed, and it was situated in an industrialized section of central Maine. When our friend Polly suggested a walk before Sunday's game, I envisioned navigating our way through Home Depot parking lots and busy roads. I should have known better given what I know about Polly. She had done a search using Google Earth and located a beautiful walking path along the Kennebec River within a ten minute drive from the hotel. 

In mid-October, Maine is colorful with changing leaves, but still warm. Four of us walked the path, analyzing Saturday's game, prognosticating the rest of the season, and appreciating the beauty. Walking back toward the parking lot, our conversations were interrupted with an unfamiliar bird call. 

"Did you hear that?" I asked. 

"We did," Polly answered. "It was definitely something because the people ahead of us are all looking up, too."

I followed their gaze toward the high branches of a pine tree. A white-headed bird made a quick movement. I pointed to it, describing to Garth, Polly, and Tracey where it was. 

"Is that a bald eagle," I asked the woman who was closest to us. 

She nodded. "There's a nest across the river. Sometimes we get to see him."

We stood and watched him for a while, and he seemed to watch us, as well, occasionally pruning or looking toward the river. 

I didn't have my phone with me, but Tracey took pictures, and maybe at some point, I'll insert a picture into this post, but for now, writing about it feels like enough. As we finished our walk and even now, as I think about the whole weekend, he was a special part of an overall magical couple of days. 

Happy Slicing, 

Slice of Life: The Bravery of a Kindergarten Writer

  On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

Above his mask, Taylor's eyes widened and brightened as his teacher explained my role and my hope for his task. "This is the lady who teaches writing to everyone in the school," Mrs. B. explained. "She's wondering if she could hear about your writing."

Taylor headed over to where the writing folders were kept, and he found his red folder with several pieces tucked into the pockets. We sat down, and he explained his filing system. 

"The ones on this side are the pieces I've finished," he said. "This one is the one I'm working on now."

Watching this young writer explain his system and then tour me through his pieces was exactly what I needed this morning. He had no hesitation as he read his word approximations and explained his pictures, and I thought about other older writers who get paralyzed in their writing processes when they aren't sure of how to spell a word. His confidence and lack of inhibition was so different! 

When Taylor got to the picture where he'd come out of a portal to visit his teacher in a secret place, he sparkled as he explained the magic that was at work in his story. I couldn't resist teaching him the power of labels. 

"I can write the word portal and then you'll know what that is," he said. 

"Exactly," I said. 

I left him working through the letters he could hear in the word portal, and I am holding on to the hope that he stays as brave and excited about his writing for as long as possible. 

Happy Slicing,

Slice of Life: 'Twas the Night Before Leaving...

 On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

It had been a nearly perfect week. Family meals, evening games, conversations... we'd had a lot of people in the house, and sisters, notorious for snapping and overreacting, had laughed and related. Everyone felt like friends instead of people I had to manage. 

Until...

On the almost last night, the dog got into a container of vitamins. (Winnie has been known to do that. She loves to chew the crotches of underpants, leggings, and even jeans, and she is a canine magician when it comes to getting tops off of anything. Fortunately, she seems to have a stomach of steel and a highly functional digestive system.)

"They weren't mine," Larkin snapped when Garth came down with the bottle. 

"No one accused you," I said. 

"Yes, you were," she said. 

We continued with a dysfunctional conversation that mattered much less than how worried we should be about Winnie (who, spoiler-alert, was fine). Finally, we stopped, but tension fogged the air. 

Then, at dinner, the comment between the sisters about driving. 

"I'll go with you," Clare said to Larkin, "but as long as I drive."

Background info: Clare is younger than Larkin, but has always regarded herself as the better driver. At 16 and 19, that probably wasn't the case. Now, at 22 and 25, I get more work done in the passenger seat when Clare is driving. Please don't tell Larkin. 

With the boyfriends in the audience, Clare's comment lit a fuse. Garth and I worked to change the topic. Quickly. For the moment, the fuse fizzled, but didn't go out. I don't even remember what set it off again later that night during a card game, but something did-- this time between Larkin and me. 

"It's the night before you're leaving," I said. "Can we just let it go?"

Neither of us could. Neither of us did. 

"Why do we always have to end my visits in a fight?" Larkin asked once we settled back down. "It's such a pattern."

At least this time, it wasn't exactly her last night with us since we were all together again for a night in Rhode Island at our house near the beach. And, as it turned out, that night was great. 

Maybe the fighting makes it easier for her to leave. Maybe it helps me miss her less. Maybe it helps both of us handle being a half a country away for most of the time. 

Maybe next time I'll make sure this doesn't happen. 

Happy Slicing, 

Slice of Life: A PSA About Cheese Selection

On Tuesdays, I write slices of stories from my week! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

For months, we've been waiting for the new Whole Foods to open, and Garth and I arrived at the new and finally open store, excited and hungry. 

With some out of town guests expected the following day, I headed to the cheese section. Sticker shock is a regular reality at Whole Foods, but I was ready to splurge. After all, we were celebrating a new store opening, having guests, and not going out to dinner, which costs a whole lot more than any cheese possibly could. 

As I perused the cheeses, resisting the urge to touch them unless I was sure I was going to purchase them, I watched a woman who was also involved in the cheese-deciding process. I didn't mean to stare, but I stepped back to allow her space to make her selections before I made mine. She picked up a cheese, turned it over in her palm, looked at it closely, then returned it. I was relieved that it wasn't one I was interested in at all. These days, who wants to buy a cheese that someone else has touched? She picked up another one and again went through her process. I made a mental note to avoid that particular one. And then... she picked up a cheese, looked at it closely, and tried to smell it through her nose-covering bandana (not a mask-- a bandana). I guess she couldn't smell it enough so she pulled the bandana down, brought the cheese right up to her nose, sniffed it, and then returned it to the shelf. 

Maybe guilt inspired her to turn and look at me. Maybe my wide eyes magnetized her. In any case, a single "Really?" slipped out of my mouth. Really?!?!?

There was a lot more I wanted to say. Don't sniff the cheese until you're buying it. Or better yet, until you've bought it. Or better yet, when you're home and about to eat it on a cracker!!!! I've developed a phobia over the last eighteen months and I don't want your nose anywhere close to anything I'm going to touch and eventually consume! 

"What?" she snarled back at me. (My one word, really, had been out loud...)

I decided to take a break from selecting cheeses and headed to the olive oil aisle without any further interaction with the bandana lady who liked to sniff cheeses. 

Consider this a PSA if you share any of my phobic tendency, and choose your cheese from the far back or extra high shelf!

Slice of Life: End of Summer

It's the end of summer, and I'm back slicing on Tuesdays! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

In her book, Baby, Patricia MacLachlan writes about the end of summer. Some of you may know my daughter Larkin, and her name came from this book. The fictional Larkin lives on an island that attracts many summer visitors, and at the end of the summer, Larkin notices all of the artifacts left by the summer people as the island quiets and residents reconnect. 

I am trying hard to find my joy at the end of August. On Thursday, I'll bring my youngest daughter to college. She deferred last year, so to say that she's ready is a bit of an understatement. I'm working on my own readiness. It's supposed to rain (a lot) on Thursday, so any tears will have great camouflage. As is the case for every summer's end, the transition is rough. I love ripe tomatoes, but not as much as late sunsets and the freedom to decide how to fill the blank pages of my days. And I love the presence of my daughters-- they're around much more during the summer. 

Today, I wore a skirt, but allowed myself the comfort of my summer shoes. There's joy in my worn down pair of Birks. I woke up early and worked out before leaving the house. There's some joy in knowing that's done for the day. And I have gotten my relocated office to a point where I can sit and do some work without being distracted by the boxes and piles that beckon me to unpack and organize them. There's joy in creating a work space. 

My return to work leads to my return to rituals, and I'm happy to be slicing. Full disclosure is that I've allowed myself some (several) Tuesdays off during July and August, and there's joy, for sure, in reconnecting. 

Happy Slicing,

Slice of Life: Raising the shoff for Paul's birthday

   I'm doing my best to keep up the slicing habit on Tuesdays! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

"So what's on your birthday list?" I asked my husband's brother, Paul. "Any wishes?"

Birthdays have been tricky for the last thirteen months for reasons we all understand. Mostly, 2020-2021 birthdays have been low-key affairs for our  family-- a special dinner and a cake with the family and maybe a few zoomed in guests. But Paul's birthday last week was a big one. Not forty. Not fifty. We'll stop there...

Here's what you need to know about Paul: he's busy. He always has a project, and we share a house in Rhode Island with him and his wife where there's never a shortage of things that need to be done. Especially in the spring, there's a lot to get the house into summer shape. 

A sly smile spread across Paul's face as he got ready to answer. 

"I want everyone in Rhode Island," he said, "working!"

Oh boy. 

Paul had decided that the back deck should be taken down and turned into a patio-- a decision we all agreed with. However, he didn't stop there. He also decided that the lawnmower shed should be demolished and the wood from the deck used to build a new structure: a two story shoff, he called it... a combination of a shed and an office. Somehow he'd gotten a permit, and he'd had my husband draw up plans. Paul, Garth, my nephews, and two other close friends who had passed the "pod" test would spend Saturday and much of Sunday concocting and pouring the cement foundation, then repurposing the deck wood into walls. I wish I'd taken pictures or videos because it was a little like a barn raising in our back yard. 

After a birthday dinner in Rhode Island, Paul happily wrote out a list for all attendants, having us sign up for the tasks we'd take on that didn't involve the shoff. Weeding, raking, sweeping, painting, sorting sheets, moving plants, fixing the stone wall, pruning... the list was big. 

By Sunday afternoon, there was a lot crossed off that list, a happy birthday celebrant, and a bunch of tired participants! Next year, I could just head to the store, pick out a present, and bake a cake. (Except the truth is we all had a really good time!)

Happy Slicing,

Melanie

Slice of Life: Do you not do Tuesdays? A slicing call to action!

    I'm doing my best to keep up the slicing habit on Tuesdays! All are welcome! Join us at Two Writing Teachers!

Do you not do Tuesdays?

Larkin's text had come through a while earlier, and I didn't understand it when I checked my phone. 

My response: ?

Slicing. 

Oh no. Slicing. And I'm even hosting. I've checked for posts that have slipped through into the pending pile throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning, I planned on posting. I even had a few good stories to tell. Somehow, it kept getting put off. A workout, a meeting, a friend for lunch, a daughter to pick up at the airport, more friends for dinner. (It's good to have a warmer day and vaccinations!)

Today got away from me, I texted back to Larkin. 

Happens to the best of us. 

Did you write?

Yeah. 

That settled it. It's well before midnight, and even more so in Denver where Larkin lives. I'm so happy that my daughter associates Tuesdays with slicing. Her text was my slicing call to action! Larkin, this one is for you!

Happy Slicing,

Slice of Life- 31 of 31: And SOLSC 2021 is a wrap

    It's March! That means that I am participating in the Slice of Life Story Challenge. I am happy to co-host this event with the team at Two Writing Teachers. Everyone is welcome!

Kelsey Sorum designed the above graphic as we prepared for a presentation, and as I think about my final post, the words and statements hold more true than ever. In March, I recognize what's hard, what I can try, my process, and I create a stash of writing that I can use for teaching well beyond the 31 says. I can also write some pieces that resonate with groups of learners. These are some of the reasons I write. 

I also write for connections. At the beginning of the month, I tried to explain to Nawal that she would develop relationships that would surprise her, recognizing the similarities, patterns, and vulnerabilities of other like-minded people. It's a special group that shows up every day with the commitment and bravery to write and share it with an unknown and often unseen audience. And even within this group, communities establish-- I don't think of them as cliques, but instead of clusters; slicers who show up at about the same time each day (sort of like the line of people in a coffee shop when we used to go to coffee shops), who write about similar topics, have children the same ages, teach similar grades. A camaraderie develops, and it's real and sustaining in so many ways. 

This month, I was aware of how I steered clear of vulnerability in my posts. I admire you slicers who share the raw, who weave the daily events into something deeper within your past. There were a few days when I thought about it. Those stories stay closer though, some in the pages of handwritten notebooks, others showing up in works of fiction, veiled and screened because they are happening to someone else. I am studying this pattern because I know it has implications for some of the writers I meet in classrooms. What stories do they harbor? Do they want to tell them but perhaps in a different form or through someone else? Maybe. And maybe it's okay to write stories that don't bare truths and souls. I like many of my slices, even though they're not often revealing and emotional. I recognize the complexity of this dilemma, and it's one I'll continue to think about. 

Yesterday, I wrote a six-word post about the almost-end. Yes, there's relief, as writing and commenting every day is pressure. (And there's the back end of the whole thing, as well!) But there's also sadness because I know that in March, I live with a greater awareness, paying attentions to events and conversations that could become the tapestry of a slice. Mostly, I am grateful for all of you for showing up, even in 2020 and 2021, when there are so many pressures and other things do do. This writing commitment and community has made me a better listener, writer, and person. 

Onward to Tuesdays and March of 2022. SOLSC 2021 is a wrap. 

Happy slicing,