Slice of Life- Olympic Moments as Writing Inspiration

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

During the two weeks of the Olympics, I'm a fan. Therefore, I was pretty excited when one of the students I tutor suggested wanting to write about some Olympic moments. How hard could that be? 

I gathered up some clips, and I started giving it a go. What I realized quickly was that capturing a moment in an athlete's life was tricky, especially when I didn't really know some of the key vocabulary. I started with a more complex skiing run, and dialed myself back to the more manageable ski jump, and I decided to write about Paige Jones. In full disclosure, I had to pause the video several times to zoom in on her form and body positioning. I also had to do some on-the-fly (pun intended) research to give some background information about her. 

A group of us have been Zoom-meeting on Thursday evenings in the spirit of being teachers who write. (All are welcome, and if this is something that interests you, send me an email or mention it in the comments. meehanmelanie@gmail.com) I was the "leader" last week, so I gave Olympic writing as an option, and we all agreed that it was hard to do, and great practice for close reading, careful word selection, and expanding a small moment. Anita, Giovanna, and Ana have generously agreed to share their samples. 

So maybe my morning slice will inspire you to bring some Olympic moments into your classroom. If you do, I'd love to hear how it goes! 

Slice of Life- How Lucky am I?

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

All four of my daughters share the endearing habit of calling when they are walking somewhere. Or driving. Or experiencing a few moments of nothingness. I will never not be grateful for the random call and the voice on the other end telling me "just checking in and saying hi." And also, I'm not sure that I will ever not worry until  I hear that line and know that all is okay. It really is a check-in. 

Tonight I had to laugh when Cecily, the youngest, checked in on her way home from classes. She has a fifty-minute commute a couple times a week, so someone is sure to hear from her. I was a little surprised to get her call, though, because I'd had a lengthy chat with her earlier in the day on her way to school. 

"You okay?" I asked before I said much else. 

"Oh yes, yes," she assured me. "I just tried a lot of other people first, and no one else could talk or would pick up." 

"Cecily," I said. "Did you really just say that? Way to make a mom feel loved and special."

"No, no," she said, realizing the error of her ways. "I didn't mean it that way."

We laughed. She went on to tell me about her classes and the books her professor was having her read for several miles. I think I got her through a few towns, and who knows... maybe someone else higher on the call ladder was ready to talk to her by then. 

But how lucky am I to have daughters who check in and even feel comfortable enough to admit my standing on the call ladder.

 I'll take it. 

Slice of Life: Smelling like stew spices

   On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

My last slice was about a pickleball match, and within it, there was another clear slice. 

Before the match, I stopped at a CVS. I realized along the way that it could be a long afternoon, and I was likely to get hungry. With snowy roads, I had left extra time to get to the away match. Given that it was my first interclub adventure, I was already nervous, and the last thing I wanted was to be extra nervous because of being late. (Full disclosure: I tend to run on the late side, and doing that one last thing often causes stress.) Today, I was early, so snack-selecting seemed a perfect solution. 

At the register, the girl rang up my nuts and mangos. 

"Were you cooking?" she asked. 

Oh no!  I thought. Besides being late, another anxiety-producing attribute was smelling like stew. 

"Seriously?" I asked. "Do I smell?"

"You smell good," she said. "Like stew."

I pulled my ponytail to my nose, trying to determine the strength of the lamb tagine aroma. Tumeric, cinnamon, ginger, and saffron are strong scents. 

So, yeah, I was on time for the match. But I smelled like stew. 

__________

I will say: This recipe is a great one... just schedule your shower for after meat-browning... or be prepared to smell like stew spices.

Slice of Life: The power of a little positive talk

  On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

I had my first "big girl" pickleball match over the weekend. Back when Ben asked me if I'd be interested in playing on the interclub team, I wasn't sure. I still feel like I'm in recovery mode with a new knee (TKR in February 2025.) I know the other people who play, and it's a tight (and friendly, very nice) group. I'm not used to having time to do things like this (but I do). 

There was a time in my life when I loved playing inter-club tennis matches, so I expected and knew the drill. I got to the away club a little early with a full water bottle and some decent snacks. 

(Side Note: I stopped to get those snacks along the way, and I have a funny slice to share from that stop. I'm saving it for next week.)

Nerves were at play when they announced the first matches. I'd never met my partner until that afternoon, and she didn't share much other than how much she plays competitive racket sports. I have a lot of theories about her. Maybe she was also nervous. Maybe she'd had a bad morning. Maybe she wasn't happy to be paired with a newbie.

We fell behind in the match through a collection of their good points and our mistakes. After they won a second (or third) point by hitting in the middle and capitalizing on our lack of communication, my partner communicated. 

"If it's in the middle, it's my ball," she said. "You go for it, and then we're out of position."

I made sure to clear out when the ball was in the middle, but I also had to work to clear out my self-doubt and negative self-talk. All part of the game. 

But man, if you're wondering about the power of positive for anyone who is on shaky ground, don't wonder. Maybe it would have made the difference of the three points between us in the final score. 

Slice of Life: Learning to Snowblow

 On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

My husband pulled his calf muscle a couple of weeks ago. The whole family feels his pain in one way or another, but I especially felt it when we had some unexpected snow accumulation. 

"I can do the driveway," I said. "No problem."

He's always made the task look pretty easy, and he has only complained a couple times when the snow has been extra heavy or deep. The snow I was facing was the light and fluffy variety. 

It's good no one videoed my first couple of passes. 

Garth had to explain and show how to aim the blower, so it didn't send the snow into the part of the driveway that I'd already done. And even when I tried to do it, my aim was a little off, so the snow came flying back into my face. My fingers didn't understand how to pull and turn, and our driveway is long enough that by the time they had to remember the move again, they'd forgotten. (IYKYK.)

There were several moments during the experience that I wanted:

• to quit
• to tell Garth to be quiet with his (helpful) coaching
• to blow the snow right in Garth's face with his (helpful) coaching

I was not terribly proud of my far-from-perfect final product. I don't really want to do it again. If I have to, I will. 

Possible spoiler alert: 

This story and this picture will become part of my presentation when I talk about early writers. All insights to the connections between first-time snowblowing and early writers are welcome.  

One Little Word for 2026

Ali Edwards gets the credit for beginning the tradition of One Little Word in my life. This year will mark the twelfth year that one word has been the focus of my intention. At the beginning of each December, I start to hunt for a word for the upcoming year. I’ve found that my favorite words– and the most powerful ones in terms of guiding meaningful and positive changes– have had multiple meanings. Present remains a favorite since it can guide attention, gift-giving, and even running meetings. One of my favorite things about the OLW practice is that each word stays with me, even when it’s not the chosen word of the year. My words have braided and twisted, winding their way around and throughout who I am and how I live. 

Heal has been the perfect word during 2025. I’ve recovered from foot surgery, and I’ve rehabbed a new knee. Having taken early retirement, I’ve also been nurturing myself with more time for activities I love. All good healing, both physical and emotional. Given the serious nature of heal, I’m going with a lighter 2026 choice. 

My new book, Foundational Skills for Writing, has a lot to do with brain involvement, so I’ve been thinking about the physiology of the brain a lot, as well as neurological chemicals and transmitters. Endorphins are hormones that boost pleasure, raise pain tolerance, and produce a relaxed sense of well-being. They spike when people laugh. Dopamine is an endorphin that is frequently associated with learning, reinforcing experiences and improving motivation. Success increases dopamine levels, and so does laughing. 

When I researched the benefits of laughter, I also found significant benefits. Just last night, we played family games that had me laughing so hard, it was hard to breathe… so it makes sense that laughter can raise heart and breathing rates, as well as oxygen intake. But, who knew that is also linked to improved blood vessel function, lower cardiovascular risk, stronger immune responses, and even improved bone density. What a perfect follow-up to my #OLW2025–heal!

During 2026, I’ll be on the hunt for opportunities to laugh. I may gravitate toward funnier books and movies, and I’ll notice and appreciate laugh-worthy absurdities in daily life. This upcoming year will be one for seeking out humor, and I’m looking forward to my One Little Word of 2026 being laugh. #OLW2026-laugh 

Feel free to send me anything that’s made you laugh!

Slice of Life: A slice of life from my dad's moleskin journal

On Tuesdays, Two Writing Teachers hosts the Slice of Life. Everyone is welcome to share writing and comment on others in this special community. 

  

"Would you ever consider a writing class for older people?" a woman asked me last week. 

Over the six weeks since opening The Writing Clinic, I've had several requests for various sorts of writing classes, and classes for adults has come up. Classes for people with dementia is very much on my list of possibilities. 

"One of the most special things I have in my office is the moleskin journal that my dad used to write it," I responded. 

The moleskin journal is green, and the first several pages contain entries my father wrote during the time when we were all suffering from his dementia. My four daughters were in middle and high school, and we had a family ritual of writing after dinner. For five to ten minutes, everyone stayed at the table and wrote a slice of life. (Yes, we really did that.) The girls complained at first, but it became another thing they had to do to keep their compulsive mother happy. They complied, sometimes more than others. To be honest, we didn't do this every night, but we did all write together on many of them. The girls laugh about the ritual now, and they are even planning some family write-nights next week when they are all home for the holidays. 

The woman's question about class offerings inspired me to open the pages of Doc's notebook. What a gift is was to read his words from 2013. How has it been so long? Weren't we just at that table sitting around and telling stories?