One Month Later

A month ago, I sang duets each morning with Mandisa as her voice boomed in my bathroom while I curled my hair.
               Today, I was too busy brainstorming ideas for future slices to notice any of her words.

A month ago, I was a careful driver, mindful of every twist and turn I needed to make on my way to sub at a new school.
               Today, I nearly missed my exit because I was lost in contemplation of the lessons I have learned from daily slicing,
               how this challenge has changed me, and how I want it to keep changing me.

A month ago, I thought blogging was an individual, isolated hobby.
               Today, I smile at how wrong I was, having experienced first hand the support, camaraderie, and even friendship that
               abounds in this wonderful community of writers.

A month ago, I was terrified to click "publish" on my first blog post.
               Today, hints of fear still resurface, but I now know that it's okay to be afraid, as long as it doesn't keep me from
               trying.

A month ago, I thought that only people who led interesting lives wrote intriguing slices.
               Today, I recognize that the best writers can transform even the most mundane, menial event into a beautiful,
               descriptive, thought-provoking "slice of life."

A month ago, "surfing the web" in my spare time meant perusing Facebook and Pinterest.
               Today, I find myself less interested in DIY crafts and more engrossed in exploring the writing craft of other slicers.

A month ago, "writers block" was an excuse not to write.
               Today, it is an opportunity to persist.

A month ago, 31 days of consecutive writing seemed like a daunting, even insurmountable, task.
               Today, it is an accomplishment I'm proud of.

One Day, One Sentence (plus a little more..)

For better or worse, I've always been a girl of many words.

Well, let me add a caveat to that claim. In settings where I am comfortable, I'm one of many words. Put me in a large, unfamiliar group of people and you might forget I'm even there. My extreme introversion means that in groups, I would rather listen than talk, prefer quietly observing to being observed, and always choose blending in over sticking out.

But I change into a completely different person when I'm with people I know and love, in settings that are familiar to me. Get me comfortable, ask me a question, and you had better get a cup of coffee, because we are going to be there for a while. Happily, I will chatter away, having no sense of time whatsoever, until I look at the clock and realize, "Oops!--I've been talking for far too long."

This has become something of a running joke in my family. My mom recounts days when she would sit at the kitchen table with my sister and me, enjoy an after-school snack with us, and ask us about our days. While it was often like pulling teeth to get my sister to say much of anything beyond, "Fine," my lengthy responses could very well carry us until dinner time. Even today, my parents know that they need to rest up before I visit, because we will inevitably be on the couch until midnight every night, talking until our throats are too sore to continue. My husband tells me that he always knows when I am really happy or excited about something, because I won't stop talking about it.

For this reason, my interest was sparked when I saw a few slicers (Kevin and Lisa) challenge themselves to create a description of their days in just one sentence. Although it seemed easy at first, it proved to be much more challenging than I originally anticipated. I can barely do anything in one sentence. I attempted this task on a few occasions this month, but each time I started, I felt like my sentence was either extremely long, or completely insufficient. So I stopped and just went back to my old, verbose ways. A "Day in a Sentence" was fine for them, but I just couldn't do it. I told myself that they had a gift for conciseness that I just didn't possess.

We are in the final days of the Slice of Life March Madness challenge, though, so I'm trying to stretch myself in new ways. Yesterday, I tried poetry for the first time. Today, I'm going to try out this Day in a Sentence adventure.

And yes, I realize that I've completely cheated by writing quite a long introduction! I couldn't help it. I swear. It just happened. It must mean I'm comfortable and happy while blogging...

Without further adieu, here is my Day in a Sentence (just ignore the 28 sentences above!):

My heart is full after being fed from the Word this morning, 

and my body is excitedly anticipating a blissful Sunday afternoon nap. 

Poetry, Writing Goals, and "The Good Old Days"

Throughout this Slice of Life challenge, I have read and enjoyed quite a few poems from other slicers. I am always amazed at the creativity that flows from the words in each poem and always find myself wishing that I had a similar poetic gift. However, ever since I was a kid, I have felt like poetry and I just don't get along. I sometimes struggle to appreciate (or even understand) it fully, and I always struggle to compose it. I vividly remember loathing poetry projects in elementary, middle, and high school. Visions of Little Laura standing in front of large audiences at obligatory poetry recitals or competitions still haunt me. So, needless to say, poetry wasn't something I anticipated experimenting with during this March challenge.

But then I woke up today and read Anna Gratz Cockerille's post for the Classroom Slice of Life Story Challenge. One of the questions she posed to readers, "Have you met your own personal writing goals?" unsettled me. I started thinking about the reasons I committed to the March Slice of Life Challenge, and remembered that two of my primary goals were to: (A) improve my writing craft and (B) be able to better relate to and assist my future ELLs.

Poetry is not something I am comfortable with. It scares me. I feel inadequate and untalented. And that's just how my future ESL students will probably feel when I ask them to write in English.

So, today I am going to attempt to take one more small step toward achieving my goals listed above, as I try Anna's idea of using Ralph Fletcher's poem The Good Old Days as a mentor text. As she did with her rendition of The Good Old Days, my first and last stanzas are exact replicas of those Ralph Fletcher used in his original poem.

The Good Old Days

Sometimes I remember

the good old days.

Riding bikes on summer vacation with Dad, 

wondering if my legs would ever be as strong as his. 

Pedaling fast to feel the fresh White Mountains breeze on my face

and slow to hear Dad's directions and careful warnings. 

Feeling my legs burn with fatigue, 

but pressing on to make Dad proud. 

Stopping to savor a thick chocolate milkshake, 

from our special father/daughter ice cream stand. 

I still can't imagine

anything better than that. 

Sprinting to the Batu Caves

Beads of perspiration dripped off my brow as my legs propelled my body forward with force and celerity. My brain must have stifled the part of my nervous system that detects pain in order to focus solely on my end goal, because the only feeling it registered was the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I had already dashed through a Malaysian airport and raced passed the Petronas Towers, allowing myself only seconds to marvel at their grandeur. As I did, visions of visiting this landmark in another life flashed through my mind.* I immediately pushed them out, not permitting daydreams of past memories to cost me precious time in this race for a million dollars.

It had been a grueling journey to get here, but I was now in the final segment of this leg of the race. After hurling myself out of a taxi cab at the entrance of the Batu Caves and throwing some ringgit at the driver without bothering to retrieve my change, I poured every remaining morsel of energy I could muster into my final sprint.

As I neared the entrance of this monumental shrine, I spotted Phil Keoghan standing on the familiar mat. Its bright red and yellow hue beckoned me. Were my competitors nearby? I didn't look behind me, for fear of slowing my pace. Moving my legs as quickly as I could, I watched the distance between Phil and me decrease until finally, my feet jumped on top of the mat.

I waited in anticipation for sweet, congratulatory words to flow off of Phil's lips. My heart hammered against the walls of my chest with such force that its beats echoed in my ears.

"Congratulations, Jet and Cord, you're team number one!" Phil announced.

Wait a minute. Jet and Cord? Hearing these names, and not my own, jolted me back to reality.

I looked around me. Suddenly, the awe-inspiring scenery of the Batu Caves had vanished, and in its place were rows upon rows of treadmills, stationary bikes, and ellipticals. My eyes returned to the small screen in front of me and The Amazing Race credits scrolling across it.

It dawned on me that I hadn't been sprinting through the exciting metropolis of Kuala Lumpur as a contestant in a million-dollar competition, but had merely been watching one of my favorite reality TV shows, completely engrossed, as I ran alongside scores of others at my gym. Disappointment ensued.

My brain released the hold it had temporarily placed on my nervous system earlier in its deceived state, and suddenly the flood gates of pain opened, my body feeling all of the effects of an intense 50-minute sprint.


Anyone else like to make indoor exercise more interesting by letting your imagination run wild? Maybe it's just me...


 *The visions that flashed through my mind while running on the treadmill came from my trip to KL in 2012. Check out some of the beauty of the city! 

The Petronas Towers by Day and Night 

The Entrance of the Batu Caves

Revisiting Thankful Thursday

Last Thursday, I modeled my post after Janna's Thankful Thursdays. I like the idea of pausing each week to reflect on what I'm thankful for, so I'm going to do it again! 

Today, I'm thankful for...

• weather forecasts with mentions of sunshine and temperatures above 50. Could Spring actually be here to stay?
• random text messages from friends that have no purpose other than to remind me that I'm being thought of and prayed for. 
• this strange, transitory phase of life I'm in right now, and the lessons it teaches me about waiting, trusting, and blooming where I'm planted. 
• moments when I realize that I'm "thinking like a writer," and the satisfaction I feel knowing that my choice to stop avoiding blogging was a great one, even though it's often difficult. 
• the opportunity I will have tomorrow to enjoy a farewell dinner with one of my former M.A. classmates, who will return to Shanghai on Saturday, and the friendship we have formed over the last year and a half. 
• subbing assignments, like those I had on Tuesday and Wednesday, when I actually get to teach real Spanish and/or ESL lessons. 
• subbing assignments, like the one I had today and will have tomorrow, when I don't feel like much more than a glorified babysitter, but I do get to catch up on some reading. Too many of these days would drive me crazy, but I will admit that they are pretty relaxing and enjoyable every now and then! 
• first period "preps" as a sub, and the extra time they give me to read through plans, get to know a new building, and review emergency procedures. 
• "Spring Break" cancellations of some of my regular weekly activities, and some extra "me time" at night. 
• these rapidly dwindling numbers: 7, 37, and 72, which mark my countdowns to the days when I will visit my family in New York, watch  my husband graduate from business school, and embark on a Grecian adventure. 

For all of these blessings, and so many more, I am thankful! 

Could've...But Didn't

8:00 on Tuesday Night

I could have...
...worked on job applications,
...replied to the emails that have been lingering in my inbox,
...researched for our Trip of a Lifetime 2.0,
...washed the dishes,
...baked some cookies for my husband,
...called my sister or my mom on the phone,
...started compiling pictures for our annual photo album,
...brainstormed ideas for my next slice,
and
...kept myself busy until midnight.

But I didn't. 

Instead, I...
...put on my most comfortable jammies,
...crawled into bed,
...started a new book,
and
...read until my eyes burned with fatigue and refused to stay open any longer (about 30 minutes).

6:00 on Wednesday Morning
I feel...
...refreshed,
...alert,
...ready,
and
...thankful that I put all of the "could have"s and "should have"s out of my mind for one night.

After all, they will all still be there waiting for me tonight.

The Case of the Lock That Refused to Open

"Come on....please!"  I pleaded.

I had exhausted all reasonable options already. I had calmly spun the dial back and forth in the appropriate fashion, just as I had almost every day for the last several months. When that didn't work, I gave the black knob a few extra twists and started again. Seeing that my efforts were to no avail, I resorted to begging, yes, begging, an inanimate object. I stared at my gym locker and the combination lock that seemed determined not to allow me to access my phone, my car keys, or any of my non-sweaty clothes.

"Three, seventeen, twenty-seven," I muttered under my breath. "I know that's right! Why won't you open?" I wondered aloud in frustration as I twisted right, twisted left, twisted right one more time, and then  yanked the silver gatekeeper with much more force than I knew was required. Nothing happened. I was quickly losing this battle to my combination lock. I had always trusted him to keep my belongings safe while I exercised in peace, but today my former friend was now my foe. And not just any foe at that, but one keeping me from everything I needed and from a doctor's appointment that started in less than an hour.

I could feel eyes on me and I wondered if curious onlookers thought I was trying to break into someone else's locker. I felt the need to defend myself, but resisted and instead tried to focus on how to solve the problem at hand.

Suddenly, an image of a poster I'd seen hung on the locker room walls flashed through my mind. For months, I had ignored its warnings, but today, I took comfort in its words: "Locks that are not removed by the end of the day may be cut off by Planet Fitness staff."

"That's it! I'll just go ask someone at the desk to cut my lock off," I thought to myself, relieved at discovering a potential, though not ideal, solution.

Deciding to give him one final chance before ending his life, I pleaded with my lock yet again. I spun to the right, stopping at three; I spun to the left, stopping at seventeen, and I spun to the right, stopping at twenty-seven. "Here goes nothing..."

Nothing was right. He didn't budge.

With no other option, I made the Walk of Shame to the front desk to explain my predicament, ensuring the associate that the locker was, in fact, mine, and that if they called my phone, they would hear it ring inside. The look of desperation on my face was enough to convince her, and she reached behind the desk to retrieve a massive tool that almost seemed like an unfair match for my poor little lock.

Together, we returned to the site of the battle. "This one right here?" she questioned, motioning toward locker 20.

"That's the one..." I replied, trying to hide my embarrassment and simultaneously wondering if I'd ever be able to show my face at this Planet Fitness branch again.

She opened the jaws of the giant lock-cutter and slowly put its mouth on the silver neck of my lock.

"Wait!" I cried, stopping her. I'm sure she already thought I was insane. She was definitely going to go home and tell all of her friends about me tonight. Maybe she'd tweet about it. I didn't care. "Will you just try it for me...just to be sure?" 

I recited the combination for her out loud, and watched her fingers twist the dial carefully--right, then left, then right again.

Once again, it refused to budge. Still not wanting to completely destroy my lock, I gave it another "last" feeble attempt. If it did actually open at this point, it would be downright humiliating, but I had to at least try. He was a committed little bugger, though, and so, as he refused to open, his life had come to an abrupt end.

I gave the associate a nod and she raised the Jaws of Death to his shiny silver neck. With one snip, the battle was over. The gatekeeper had been removed from his post, and I was free to access all of my belongings.

After thanking my rescuer, I immediately checked my phone, where I had stored the combination to my lock in case of a momentary brain lapse (don't ask why I locked the phone, which held this essential information, IN the locker...). "Did I just remember the combination incorrectly?" 

I peered down at the screen. "Three, seventeen, twenty-seven," I read. I had been right all along.

Shaking my head in confusion, I slung my backpack over my shoulders and walked out to my car, grateful to be holding the keys that had seemed so far away only moments before. It was, and would forever remain, The Case of the Lock That Refused to Open.

Ten minutes later, I found myself wandering through the aisles of Kroger, approaching yet another sales associate. "Excuse me, ma'am. Could you please tell me where I could find the combination locks?"