I listened to an episode of the #1000hoursoutside podcast yesterday. Alistair Humphreys was interviewed about his new book called Local: A Search for Nearby Nature and Wildness. In this book, he describes a year-long project to get to know the topography, the plants and animals, the geology, and the community where he lives in England. He spoke about having a “sit spot,” a place to sit on a log and just observe for an hour. No notebook, no phone, no agenda. Just watching and listening. I’m looking forward to reading this book and perhaps applying some of the experiences he talked about to my own life.

I recognize, more clearly than ever before, the benefits of getting outside. Even feeling the sun on my face for the minute it takes me to walk to my car after school has brought a renewed gratitude for something too often taken for granted. This afternoon, I walked under heavy cloud cover even though rain was imminent. The gray clouds seemed to intensify the quiet along the path. I could hear the ripples of water from the stream down the hill. As a cardinal flew out of the thicket, there was no sound, but the red flash caught my eye. The breeze on my face helped clear my mind of the clutter of the week.

As I begin this month of daily Slice of Life writing, I’ll be writing local. Right here.

Thank you to all who make this writing space

a place of safety, support, and beauty.

Thank you to my writing friend, Donnetta, who led the way to a commitment to show up with a Slice of Life piece today. I’m here, largely to honor that fist-bump promise, but also to give some time to maintaining a writing practice. I’m reminded of the social construct of learning, in that we learn best when we learn with others. It is sometimes easy to forget that as we plow through our busy lives. My writing matters to me, but sometimes I forget that I wouldn’t be a writer without friends who were brave and said, “Let’s do this.”

Another example of writing friends is the collaboration of Georgia Heard and Rebecca Kai Dotlich who have become close friends over many years of writing poetry for children. They write together, laugh together, and teach workshops together. Their newest book, Welcome to the Wonder House, illustrated by Deborah Freedman launched today. It’s a poetry book that explores ideas and questions which awaken our sense of awe and wonder. https://astrapublishinghouse.com/product/welcome-to-the-wonder-house-9781635927627/

I watched their launch “party” today. Georgia and Rebecca talked about how the idea for the book was born during a long car ride. Georgia scribbled notes as the conversation became more compelling. What followed were brainstorming sessions, topic choices, poem assignments (Georgia wrote about stars because she likes stars), phone-call revision sessions, and conversations with their editor who helped them shape the final version of the book. I loved seeing their writing notebooks and especially the illustrator’s notebook. Deborah Freedman has written and illustrated many books of her own, but this was her first collaboration with other author/poets. It was so interesting to hear how she looked for repeated words as a way in to the themes and images the poems might suggest; how she considered the purpose of the book and its intended audience as she drew and painted.

In my TBR stack, I also have Dacher Keltner’s book, Awe: The New Science of Wonder and How it Can Transform Your Life which I am looking forward to reading. It will be interesting to compare his writing with the impact of the short poems for children in Welcome to the Wonder House. (My copy arrives Friday!)

What has inspired awe or wonder in me lately? Well, there was this bug on my dining room door which was absolutely translucent. I’d never seen one like it before. The wings were so fragile and etched with a beautiful design. It stayed there for several hours. Sadly, I lack the photography skills to do it justice, but here’s a picture of the bug that filled me with more than a bit of wonder at this vast and diverse planet we inhabit.

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.