Just Take 100 Steps

  Teacher's Write  7.2.16

          For the past three summers I have signed up to be part of the Teacher's Write  summer online writing community. Each year I have created some pieces of writing that I had no idea were inside of me. All credit goes to the wonderful guest authors who provide the encouragement and ideas for the creativity to happen. 

          This past week the prompt was to take 100 steps and simply write about what you see. I did that, stepping down off my back deck and walking to the corner of my back yard. I jotted some notes into a tiny notebook -- that had been part of the first day's writing about using notebooks all the time to capture important moments you may use later in your writing. I discovered that notebook was too darn small that day but, nonetheless, used it to record what I saw. Initially, I was doubtful. All I saw was my backyard. Then I started to look a bit more closely. I started to really see what was there. So I jotted down some notes

and decided to just trust the process. Once I was done, I returned to my computer to type up what I had just seen in my 100 steps. I ended up with the following passage.

Step #1: Write a paragraph about something you feel strongly either positively or negatively about.

100 steps took me to the northwest corner of my backyard. I looked around wondering what I might find to write about. It is a very typical suburban yard but as I stood there I began to really see. Along the hedgerow is a line of mature cherry trees that my family has picked for years. For the lawn mower driver the trees provide a juicy snack on a sweaty-hot, summer day. Today they are droopy with fruit seemingly waiting arms outstretched for that next sampler. Among the cherry trees is a silver maple interloper holding a double-decker tree house built painstakingly years ago by a tag team of boys.

The raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk has gaps and tips this way and that but remains for the next courageous climber to give it a try. In the northeastern corner are weathered tree trunk stools ringing the cement brick fire pit stacked high with crispy, dry brush ready for the matches, s\’mores, and song. Closer to the house is the silver and black trampoline, a few poles needing to be attached before jumpers can safely begin bouncing. The trampoline shadows the garden plot waiting for its plants. Just past the blueberry bushes, next to the raspberry plants is the grape arbor

with the determined leaves creeping steadily over the top and back down to the ground under which the grapes will appear in a few months. Looking out past our yard to the north is a smart, tidy cemetery.

My parents\’ gravestone marker looks back at me from its corner plot by the American flag reminding me I should drop by for a visit. If you have time. 100 steps to the north brings me to thoughts of happier times and sadder times, of faces I haven\’t seen in so long. George and Nancy. 100 steps

 I shared it with my colleague, Andrea Page (soon to published author -- yea!!!  Sioux CodeTalkers of WWII). She, as always, was very supportive and encouraging. I remarked to her that it seemed more like a poem than anything else and she suggested I work on it to make it a poem much like I teach my students to do. I chuckled because she sometimes knows me better than I do.I model a method of poem writing after a Nancy Atwell conference I attended many years ago. My "poetry haters" generally find some comfort in it. I ask them if they think they can write a paragraph which they, of course, (sensing this is a trick) reply yes to. There is much more to it but basically they choose a topic to write a paragraph about and then I show them how to turn that paragraph into a poem. So that is what I did.

Step # 2: Write each sentence as a line of prose.

Along the hedgerow is a line of mature cherry trees that my family has picked for years.

For the lawn mower driver the trees provide a juicy snack on a sweaty-hot, summer day.

Today they are droopy with fruit seemingly waiting arms outstretched for that next sampler.

Among the cherry trees is a silver maple interloper holding a double-decker tree house built painstakingly years ago by a tag team of boys.

The raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk has gaps and tips this way and that but remains for the next courageous climber to give it a try

In the northeastern corner are weathered tree trunk stools ringing the cement brick fire pit stacked high with crispy, dry brush ready for the matches, s\’mores, and song

Closer to the house is the silver and black trampoline, a few poles needing to be attached before jumpers can safely begin bouncing.

The trampoline shadows the garden plot waiting for its plants.

Just past the blueberry bushes, next to the raspberry plants is the grape arbor with the determined leaves creeping steadily over the top and back down to the ground under which the grapes will appear in a few months

Looking out past our yard to the north is a smart, tidy cemetery

My parents\’ gravestone marker looks back at me from its corner plot by the American flag reminding me I should drop by for a visit

If you have time.

100 steps to the north brings me to thoughts of happier times and sadder times, of faces I haven\’t seen in so long.

George and Nancy

100 steps

Step #3: Cross out, remove any unnecessary words. Rearrange phrases. Add sensory details. Make it look like a poem. Use mentor poetry books for ideas!

100 Steps

"If you have time"

mature cherry tree hedgerow

 juicy snacks  on sweaty-hot, days for the lawn mower driver

to snag on the way by

droopy fruity outstretched arms for that next sampler

"When you have time"

Among the cherry trees a silver maple interloper

double-decker tree house

built painstakingly by a tag team of boys.

raggedy board ladder tacked onto the trunk

gapped and tippy

this way and that

for the next courageous climber to try

"Sometime"

weathered tree trunk stools

ring the cement brick fire pit

stacked high with crispy, dry brush

ready for the matches, s’mores, song

"If you have time"

shimmery silver black trampoline poles

needing to be attached

before jumpers may bounce

"When you have time"

shadowy still garden plot

waits plants

weedy, prickly ,patient

"Sometime soon"

blueberry bushes blooming

raspberry plants ripening

grape arbor's

determined leaves creeping steadily

over the top and back down

September grapes

"If you have time."

north- a smart, tidy cemetery

American flag waving

My parents’ gravestone marker

looks back

reminding me

I should drop by for a visit

"Make  time."

100 steps to

 happier times

sadder times                       

faces I haven’t seen in so long

voices I strain to hear

George and Nancy

100 steps

"If you have time."

Step #4: Revise, Revise, Revise! Here is my final draft. I hope you like it.

100 Steps by Gretchen Breon

If you have time

mature cherry tree hedgerow

sweaty-hot days' juicy snacks

"Oh,never mind those worms-they won't hurt ya!"

to snag on the way by

"Friends share, you know."

droopy, fruity outstretched arms

Anytime

a silver maple interloper

double-decker tree house

raggedy scrap board ladder tacked onto the trunk

big gaps and tippy this way and that

"Yes, I do believe you might see to the lake!"

for the next courageous climbers

Sometime

weathered tree trunk stools ring the cement brick fire pit

"Big fires-sit back, small fires-sit close!"

stacked high with crispy, dry brush

ready for the matches, s’mores,

guitars and ukulele songs off key loud

If you have time

shimmery silver black trampoline poles

needing to be attached

"Sure that's safe?"

before jumpers may bounce

When you have time

shadowy still garden plot

weedy, prickly, patient

waits plants

"Did you get the onions in yet?"

tomatoes for sauce, zucchini for bread

Sometime soon

blueberry bushes blooming

raspberry plants ripening

"Need some jam jars?"

grape arbor's

determined leaves creeping steadily

over the top and back down

September grapes

If you have time

north- a smart, tidy cemetery

so quiet

American flag waving

their gravestone marker looks back

reminding me

I should drop by for a visit

Make  time

100 steps to

faces I haven’t seen in so long

"Hey, High Riga, stop by

when you get a chance"

Voices I strain to hear again

"Hey, give us a call

when you get a sec"

Take the time

Thanks for taking a peek. 

         

Let's Keep Our Stories

This whole blogging thing has me a bit intimidated. I return each summer vacation to my blog filled with hope and ambition that I will blog, blog, blog my heart out. I even bought a book on my kindle all about how to blog and have people want to read it. Haven't read that book in a while. So the problem is in that book it detailed all the things you must add to your blog posts in order to attract readers. I guess that is not really why I want to write. Yes, it would be nice for someone to read one of my posts and comment. That has happened once or twice. It is a rather nice feeling but the comments I have received have been from friends and family who know me. I feel like those don't count. They know I am an English teacher. They likely know I can write. Hard to imagine being a good teacher without being able to write.

No, the reason I want to write is because I love the way the page looks as it fills up with my words. I like to see my thoughts looking back at me from the computer screen. I want to tell the stories that I share every day in my classroom -- I want to write them down before I forget them.

Many years ago I worked in a couple of different nursing homes. I was an Activities Director. It was a challenging yet rewarding job but, ultimately, one that sent me back to school to become a teacher. But when I was employed at the nursing homes I met some of the most unique individuals. I was sure that someday I would write a book and tell the stories of the ladies and gentlemen that I had met. There were some strong characters to be sure. And some were sweet.. and some were .... well, just plain ornery. But the stories I could tell..... 

I do remember one story that I have told to my classes often. This year I mentioned that one of our pets at home is a goldfish. The kind you win at the carnival. I explained to my class that we had one of those that was over 5 years old! They seemed unimpressed but I pushed on to tell them that those fish typically live only a few days because they are bait fish intended to be fed to other fish. It is usually just a big sad story a few days after winning them as the ritual flushing occurs.

For the nursing home residents, throughout the year we would plan some big events that had themes. One time we planned a Bridal Fashion show and I and many of the other workers wore our own wedding gowns to the delight of the residents. Another big event was our Senior Prom. The residents really looked forward to the dancing, the music, and of course, the unique decorations we managed to pull off.

 For one special event we had an ocean theme. As we brainstormed decorations, the activities staff agreed we could place fishbowls on each dining table for a centerpiece. We would buy the inexpensive carnival fish to put in each bowl. The residents were amazed to see the tiny goldfish swimming around as dinner was served. The fishbowls were a colossal hit. The residents could not stop talking about those fishbowls.

After the event, we gathered up all the glass fishbowls onto a gray serving cart and rolled it back into the Activities/Bingo room. All the fish were moved into a large fish tank found in the craft closet. We didn't give them another thought until the next day when residents began arriving for  bingo. A few of the more vocal residents pointed out quickly that several fish were floating on the top. Bad luck for them, we guessed! They were plucked out and flushed posthaste.

A few hours later, residents gathered again in the Activities room for cards. It wasn't long before we were being notified of more fatalities in the fish tank. Not wanting to dwell on the sad topi, we again quickly removed the goners. The residents remained cheerful noting how much fun it had been to see them on the dining tables.

By the next day, there were many dead fish floating on the top of the tank. We all did our best to  remove them before anymore residents saw them! This was starting to get depressing! Day after day we scooped out the dead ones and before long, in spite of having purchased hundred of goldfish, there was only one left. This fish was hardy. He was the sole survivor. None of us could figure out why it was still alive but it was. Even the residents noticed. One of the maintenance men eventually asked us if he could have the fish for his apartment. We quickly agreed not wanting to have to share the gruesome tale with the residents when the final flush was needed. He named that fish Rocky.

I don't know how long that fish lived. I guess my story sort of stinks without knowing that but like our own fish, it wasn't supposed to happen at all. We really look at our fish with wonder. How is it still alive? No idea. But that will to live is something to think about.  It seems to be a powerful force. Maybe the residents took some solace in the fact that, in spite of all the others, at least one had managed to hang in there.

Those are the kinds of stories I don't want to lose. There were really special residents like Martie, who always had a white neck brace collar on, and my little piano player, Edna with the squeaky high voice and the slow, slow, shuffle, shuffle walk and Michael, who was the unofficial mayor of the home.

If we don't write down the stories, we lose them. I really am going to try harder to remember more of them. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. For now.