"Oh, yeahhhhhhh!!!"

During this month of March, I have participated in the Slice of Life writing challenge in which writers blog daily and comment on their fellow challenge participants' posts. I did not "succeed" in the traditional sense of the word because my writing completely fell off around March 17th when I embarked on a 10-day family road trip. And then, upon my return, there were sleep disturbances galore (thanks Daylight Savings, time zone changes due to travel, sinus pressure, chronic pain, and out-of-sorts children) to contend with along with getting the household running back on routine. You see, normally I would view my "failing" in this writing challenge with frustration and shame. I am the kind of person who has spent her life Kool-Aid Man-ning through the walls of all my challenges; but in the past few years I've grown tired of what Darin Johnston, one of my fellow slicers, articulated so beautifully: “I’m exhausted from trying to be stronger than I feel.” And, I've spent the past couple of years trying to honor that exhaustion and let myself off the hook a bit. I'm not the Kool-Aid Man: I cannot continue to crash through brick walls with no physical or emotional fallout.

For folks like me that tend towards Type-A high expectations and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, these daily challenges have the potential to do the exact opposite of their intent if we let them: unleash our inner-critic that is the harshest of them all. I may not have blogged every day this month, but I have not failed in accomplishing my personal goals that were motivations for doing this:

• I have established more of a daily writing habit than I have had in years.
• I have felt encouraged and heartened by others reading and responses to my writing.
• I have connected with fellow writers and gained inspiration from reading their thoughts, including a small group of local friends that I hopefully helped to encourage through my reading and commenting during the first half of this challenge.

All in all, I'd say that's success!

Remember to be gentle with yourselves, friends. You deserve time, space, and lots of hugs.

Rainbow spotted on the last day of our family road trip;
a reminder to look on the bright side and celebrate all that you have accomplished
instead of dwelling on that which you have not.

Legacy of Grief (a poem)

 I became an orphan 

aged forty-two

Mother gone too soon

and stayed too long

Her limbs, trees bent at impossible angles

each joint unmoving, marked by gnarled knots

She clung tenaciously to this world, stubbornly rooted 

fear photosynthesized into obstinate will 

digging into earth turned soft 

Flooded by tears of pain, exhaustion, loss

Her sturdy scarred trunk waivered

as the ground she grew from eroded 

Sadness washing away the firmament

Worried winds of what-ifs and need-tos whipped through her leaves

pushing her crown askew and pulling her limbs

down and away

Come with me, they whispered

I held her hand 

bent my head down to rest on hers

my lips to her ear, I breathed

"Mom

It's okay if you need to go"

"But

I don't want to go," she said

"I'm not ready yet"

My proud tree of a mother

stood solidly rooted in this world, unwavering 

against the whims of nature

So the winds, now wailing

tired of waiting

heaved her over 

roots and all, mercilessly 

Torn from the tendered ground she lay

solid

branches still stretching out, beckoning

roots still clinging to earth

for life

Only Fate could fell this towering woman.

The groans of twisting wood 

the howls of angry wind

the suck of grit and strength 

wrenched from the slippery mud

are my legacy 

to remember and

to relive.

No longer a sapling

I possess wisdom in my rings

My branches have already begun to bend

in odd directions

mapped by small scars

always growing bigger

Until one day, when

the ground gives way and

the winds wail for me

"Come daughter,

it is time."

Springtime Whispers Awakening the Garden

For the past few weeks, spring has been whispering in my ear. I've found myself studying my back garden, mentally pruning here and clearing dead brush there, painting early blooms with sunshine. I imagine our three chickens pecking their way through my raised garden beds, keeping the heirloom tomatoes, little pickles, and sweet basil safe from pests.

Today we emerged from indoors, rebirthed after a long winter and a fallow summer. I hoed weeds from the garden pathways. My young son raked dead crispy leaves into a large crevice we will later plant with sunflowers. My husband puttered about organizing old lumber and picking up strewn trash. Even our teen daughter pitched in, scooping an entire season's worth of dog poop in exchange for some spending money. The family dog sat regally in the beam of sunshine beside the compost bin, keeping watch over our tasks as the chickens roamed the yard picking at bugs and weeds.

As we hoed and raked and pruned, I found signs that our garden is waking up. Fresh daffodil stems pushing out of the ground, their golden buds beginning to form. Tiny green fingers sprouting from the weathered clematis vines twisted about a rickety old arbor. A tender curled leaf, striped in shades of red, reaching up from decomposed rhubarb leaves like the hand of a small child.

Spring in the garden is much like nurturing a young child, waiting to see how she will thrill, delight, and surprise us next. We will tend to her needs and care for her with affection and patience until she is established and blooming, rooted deep in our love.