Today I had lunch with Sally at a location in Arlington, VA dear to my heart. You see, it used to be the home of Gifford’s Ice Cream which my family visited every Sunday after church. Sometimes, we would “go in” for an ice cream sundae. My dad always got a banana split; my mom and I usually got a hot fudge sundae. They served the hot fudge in tiny little ceramic pitchers that were so fun to pour. I can recall rich smell of sugar, chocolate, and homemade candies almost as much as I can remember the feel of slightly sticky chairs and tables.

On Sundays when we stayed in the car, one of us would go inside with my Dad to help carry the cones to the car. Pistachio for Dad; Swiss Chocolate for Mom; Lemon Custard or Mint Chip for my sisters and me. My mouth is watering just thinking about this ice cream. In the summers, we had to lick fast in order to prevent our ice cream from melting all over our Sunday clothes, and in the winter, we would shiver as we ate and enjoyed it just as much.

Some years ago, it became Joe’s Pizza. Joe renamed his restaurant “A Modo Mio.” The building itself has not changed much on the outside and I enjoyed sitting near the big picture windows that face what was, until recently, Lee Highway (now Langston Avenue).

As Sally and I talked and talked and talked about writing, teaching, family, and change, I had the warm sense of being grounded in a place where friends and family have built memories over the years. Grateful.

July 1, 2022

A writing prompt from James Crews inspired this small poem. It is an early draft of a memory that has come often to me in recent weeks. Perhaps a longing for a more innocent world is the ground these words rest on.

Pop

Summers before air conditioning
slowed down time.
I sat on the hot pavement,
careful not to burn my bare legs.
I wore my short red sunsuit and
navy blue KEDS (you know the ones
with the square rubber toes).
Too hot to play,
we spent hours popping the black tar bubbles
that only emerged on the hottest days.
“Pffft,” they popped, a sound
so satisfying to my four-year old ears
listening for the popsicle man.

I hope your summer has some lazy days to just be.

Dear Piano,

I used to visit you every afternoon.
The hours we spent were sometimes frustrating,
But earnest in their striving.
Driven by dreams,
          I was young then.
Your response to my fingers was bliss.

Touch was a teacher of gentleness,
Of ferocity.
Weighted fingers from forearms or back
Lyrical caresses and sonorous pinched chords
          I loved the fire you stirred.
Thank you for teaching me that patterns
are beautiful.

Your black and white keys, so familiar,
remind me to use their pattern to safely navigate
the length, breadth, width, and height.
They give me a place to start
          Can I find you again?
Seated on the bench before you.

In my mind, I can hear the faint sounds we used
to make.
Music scored with memories of my lifetime.
My fingers feel the keys without touching them.
          Are you waiting for me?
I used to play you to please others.
Now, I have learned I must play first for myself.

I miss you.

I learned this morning that my oldest son’s best childhood friend passed away. I don’t know any details, but I don’t really need to. It’s a tragedy no matter what the cause. Only 42. The boys met in Kindergarten and became fast friends all the way through high school. Always welcome at each other’s houses. Always hungry. Always laughing, wrestling, listening to music.

I’ve been sad all day. I considered not writing, but I know writing helps. I’m sad my son lost a part of his childhood. I’m so sad for our friend’s parents. I think that is the part that I am carrying today. How do people go on when they have lost a child? One breath at a time.

It’s late. Be safe. Sleep well. All my love.

A friend introduced me to the Blitz Poem, a form you can read about here. I began the process with a simple line and was surprised by where the poem ended up. It was a lot of fun to play with. I hope you enjoy my first attempt at a Blitz Poem.

Read a book
Read a poem
Poem of love
Poem of joy
Joy in smallness
Joy in sound
Sound the trumpets
Sound the drums
Drums of gladness
Drums of warning
Warning against hate
Warning of storms
Storms inside minds
Storms clearing air
Air for breath
Air for space
Space for all
Space to be
Be just
Be brave
Brave to share
Brave to give
Give light
Give joy
Joy in sorrow
Joy in silence
Silence to honor
Silence to revere
Revere what’s good
Revere what’s true
True kindness
True to you
You are mine
You are song
Song of birds
Song of mothers
Mothers who walk
Mothers who run
Run to truth
Run to rivers
Rivers over rocks
Rivers through lowlands
Lowlands toward oceans
Lowlands looking back
Back to children
Children skipping rocks
Children playfully calling
Calling Hey Mom
Mom come see
See me

I think this exercise, or form, would be fun to do with small groups or even a whole class. There is so much unexpected pleasure in making the last word, the first word. The possibilities are endless!

In August, I asked my son if I could practice my teaching with technology skills with my granddaughter, Alice, who is a home-schooled 6-year old. I was thrilled when he and his wife agreed. Alice is the fifth of six children and has a spunky (sometimes sassy) personality. I figured I could help her with her reading as I became more comfortable with Zoom-style instruction.

We now have a routine to work together four mornings a week for about 40 minutes. I sent her a box of reading tools. She has magnetic letters and a tray, a mini-whiteboard, a “bumpy” board, crayons, markers, and a composition book. I also sent her some decodable readers and emergent readers to get her started.

One day last week, we were working with the word, “come.” I knew she would be needing that word soon. First, we tapped it on our left arms and said the letters, c-o-m-e/come. We repeated that several times. We wrote it in the air, on the whiteboard, and with our eyes closed.

I said, “Alice, can you build the word come?”

Immediately, she sat up tall. She pushed the laptop back a little. She moved some papers, and wiggled her bottom in her chair. Finally, she let out a big sigh, and said, “Okay, let’s DO this!”

Whereupon, she built it. I’ve never seen a prouder smile on a child’s face. She turned her tray to the camera to show me “c-o-m-e.” It was perfect.

Next, we got out our book for the day.

I said, “Alice. I think you know a word in this title.”

“Come!” she squealed.

A reading teacher grandma’s delight.