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?

Slice of Life: A Safe Secret

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

  

A lot of people had morning coffee on their agenda this morning, making a quiet spot at The Coffee Spot a tough spot to find. My friend and I ordered our drinks and peeked in various rooms on a quest for a place to sit and discuss some ideas for research and work. We settled on a corner table. 

For a while, the corner table was perfect. Several other coffee-drinkers chatted and worked around us, and we were able to focus on each other and our conversation. But things got a little trickier when she wanted to record my responses to her questions for a research project. The women next to us weren't exactly monitoring their volume. 

After perusing the room possibilities, we gathered our bags and coffees to head into the back room where two men were settling in, clearly with similar intentions. It was an almost perfect place until we realized that our corner, out-of-the-way spot was directly beneath the speaker...and the music was loud. 

"Do you think you could reach that volume button?" I asked my friend. 

She didn't need any encouragement to step on a chair and hit the "-" button. The volume decrease was far from gradual, and the room was suddenly silent. The two men looked at us. We weren't sure what they'd say. 

Then...

"Thank you," the one said. "What a better way for a conversation."

"Maybe keep this a secret," I said. 

"That's part of my job," he said. 

I hadn't noticed the black and white color around his neck. 

Our secret was safe, and both our conversations were had with a quieter background. How lovely. 

Slice of Life: Inspiration for Winter Planters

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

  

Last week, winter planters sparked my curiosity, and I spent time looking at different combinations of greens that could color up the grayness of my outdoor spaces. Lo and behold, facebook offered video after video of creative approaches for arranging white pine, cedar, and holly. Those digital algorithms were working in my favor. 

My mom loves flower-arranging, so on Sunday morning, I brought over an arts and crafts project that included several planters, vases, floral foam, dried hydrangea blooms, and six yards of mixed green roping. With clippers in hand, we pilfered her backyard evergreens for additional offerings. Her gardens are spectacular, even in late November on cold gray mornings, so it didn't take long to have a pile of rhododendron branches, leucothe stalks, andromeda sprigs, weeping hemlocks sprays, red twig dogwood branches, and holly swatches. 

"Think about heights and textures," she said as we clipped. I've grown up as a gardener thinking about heights and textures because she always thinks about that in her gardens. "But don't take any of the branches with berries on them. Those are for the birds." I've also started to plan my gardens around birds and butterflies, inspired by her commitment to nurture the backyard wildlife. 

Back in the kitchen, we went to work. 

"How about a border of the hydrangeas?" she suggested. 

I sat on the floor, clipping and snipping, aware of the mess I was creating, but also with a vision of planters and vases. 

By the end of our arts and crafts session, I had planters, vases, and pots that were rivaling some of the facebook videos. 

I used to love being on the lookout for the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon has to do with the concept that once you learn about something, you keep seeing that something or something to do with it all over the place. Social media has messed that up. Now, once I see something that's new to me or curiosity-sparking, I'm apt to google it. And then, that something shows up all over the place. I've learned the importance of selective googling. 

Turns out that googling holiday planters produced some inspiration for a memorable November morning and some beauty for the gray spaces of home.