What Writing Does

This is the last week of my PCLOWC! I can hardly bear it and realize some may find it startling that I can feel so passionate about the lives and writings of these nine women whom I have never met face to face.

The site message board is "lit up" with posts about our future goals and promises of staying in touch. It is much like the end-of-the-school-year flurry as seniors pledge to never forget one another -- to stay in touch -- to return to visit -- to write. Their words are honest, and their intentions are good, but having been a teacher for a long time, I know it won't be as they picture it.

New adventures bring new settings, new friends, new concerns, new commitments. Some of them will follow through for a time; many will not follow through at all. That is just the way life is. Some of us are participating in an advanced parent-lit class, so that helps ease my sadness, but still it won't be exactly the same.

I used to ask my students at the end of the year, "All of us will never be together in this place, this way, ever again. Don't you feel a bit sad? "

They would all stare at me and then respond in a unison, "No!" I would smile at their lack of sentiment -- especially knowing I am the queen of nostalgia.

Still, that is how I feel this evening. I have a vested interest in each of these women. I can't help it. We have written together, and that is what writing does.

Firsts

I am 56 years old and never think about ordinary "firsts" being part of my life. Of course, there are many extraordinary things I've never done like shaking hands with a U.S. President, publishing a book, or flying in a helicopter. But I'm speaking of the every day type of things.

This week I've had two "firsts": I made navy beans and ham. (That's unbelievable considering how easy it is!) AND, ta da -- I wrote my first pantoum.

Perhaps writing the pantoum needs to classified with the extraordinary. After all, it is a challenging form of poetry!

The Men in Her Life

On frosty winter mornings when the sky was black velvet,
Oatmeal bubbled on the stove while
Daddy turned the dial to WDAF 610
And crooned a tune with Harry Belafonte.

Oatmeal bubbled on the stove while
Daddy brushed the tangles from my hair
And crooned a tune with Harry Belafonte
"Day-oh, Day-oh -- Daylight come and I wanna go home."

Daddy brushed the tangles from my hair,
Rinsed the breakfast dishes,
And crooned a tune with Harry Belafonte,
"Workin' on banana boat all day long -- Daylight come and I wanna go home."

Daddy rinsed the breakfast dishes
And turned the dial to WDAF 610:
"Day-oh, Day-oh -- Daylight come and I wanna go home."
On frosty winter mornings when the sky was black velvet.

Melodrama!

Suddenly, she realized she would never write a novel the caliber of To Kill a Mockingbird, much less a decent short story, so she ripped the mouse cord from its connection, threw it across the room and collapsed on the floor in a sobbing heap.