What Does Place Mean To You?

Tara Smith at A Teaching Life is starting a new meme, Social Studies Wednesdays, which can touch so many kinds of teachers.  In some way or another, we all teach some social studies in our classes.  Please join her by posting your blog with ideas of work with students.  

       How hard it is to escape from places.  However carefully one goes they hold you - you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences - like rags and shreds of your very life.  ~Katherine Mansfield


When I taught my middle school classroom of mixed 6th, 7th and 8th graders, we spent a great deal of time exploring the sense of place.  This includes characteristics that are unique to that place, involving what humans have brought, their local knowledge and folklore.  It is important for humans to identify oneself in relation to a particular place on Earth.   

Trying To Put All The Best Words In The Best Order # 23

 The March Slice of Life Challenge at the Two Writing Teachers blog - Thanks Stacey and Ruth.  Poetry Friday Is at A Year of Reading - Thanks Mary Lee for hosting.

          As I said when I first talked about this project here, I'm working on a series of poems at different stages in a life, saying goodbye each time.  I hope to put them together in a book with pictures of my grandchildren (10 ½, almost 3, 7 months) at the particular stage I am describing in the poem.  Much of this involves my observations through the ten years of my grandson's life, and now of the younger grandgirls--all growing and changing so fast.  I love telling stories through poetry, and I have long collected poems of goodbye, so this is my way to combine both passions.  Someday I hope to put it all together in a book for my grandchildren.  As we often say, it’s nice to have a goal and an audience to write for.

Real feedback is welcome.  I appreciate it.  Here is number two:

For SOLSC 16 and for Poetry Friday - I'm going to the Poem Farm

    The March Slice of Life Challenge is with Ruth and Stacey at the Two Writing Teachers blog 

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Greg at Gotta Book.

Amy Ludwig Vanderwater, a poet who creates the wonderful blog The Poem Farm, read one of my blog posts about teaching memoir a few weeks ago, and invited me to write about the process a bit more if some of the students wrote memoir poems.  Three of the students did do that, so you will find a post about me and my class at Amy’s blog today.  Enjoy the poems; they are special.
If you would like a beautiful poem by Amy to inspire your writing, here is a link to one of her poems.  

photo credit: Olivander via photopin cc

Weeding The Gardens of Our Memoirs

Tuesday Slices of Life are enjoyed with Ruth and Stacey at the Two Writing Teachers Blog.

Last week, in my final, I’m sad to say, memoir class, we discussed finishing up the pieces.  We’d already done some revision and they were ready to say ‘done’, but I wanted one more conversation about narrowing down to exactly the words they wished to say to their audiences. 

Valentine’s Day is today and to me that means flowers and spring are on the way.  Despite the fact that there is much snow on the ground at my house, and icicles are hanging from the eaves, I am receiving a few seed catalogs online (I’ve gone paperless!) and beginning to imagine my flower beds.  

How does this connect to the above revision lesson?  Well, I thought of the flower beds and weeds, and how flowers look so much better without weeds crowding them.  I must tell you that this is not an original idea.  I wish I could give credit to where I have read about it in my reading, but I’ve used it with success several times in the past years, so know it’s been a while since I first saw the idea.

I talked to my students about words that crowd the important messages they wished to communicate in a memoir.  As we cut out the weeds to make room for the flowers, we remove the words that are unnecessary.  However, sometimes we like the weeds that grow, and although they fill in spaces that seem bare, weeds choke the flowers eventually.  Just as we sometimes fill in spaces with wordy sentences, as writers we need to find the unnecessary and delete them.  We made a short list of words that might be considered “weeds”.  They are words like “very” and “most”, that only weaken the word (just as weeds weaken flowers), and we also determined that the writer personally must choose longer phrases that don’t fit. 

I hope the lesson was helpful to the students.  I have them just for a short time since I am teaching the group as a part of three different writing experiences their teacher wanted them to have.  They will return to their homeroom classroom and write other things, hopefully remembering the weeds in their gardens.

                                                -------------------------------------------

Finally, last week, for Poetry Friday I shared several antique Valentines I have from my mother-in-law, who was one of those teachers who, after leaving high school, taught in a one-room schoolhouse in the 1920’s.  She rose well before sunup, saddled a horse, and left for the country building where her first duty was to start the fire.  I love these special Valentines, quite different from the ones we see today, and wanted to share one with all of you too as my Valentine wish. 

Oh let’s make life

a jolly lark

A picnic if you

please.

And it will be just

this for me

If words you say

are these:

I Love You!

                               Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

Poems Can Be Memoirs

This time, Poetry Friday can be enjoyed with Elaine at Wild Rose Reader!

        I wrote a poem of introduction this week.

I’m teaching students how to write memoir,

to write their lines, a knit of who they are,

with tiny rows that knit one, then pearl two

in colorful skeins of yarn.  They can do

a word or more, sew them all together.

Lay the pattern well, it really doesn’t matter

what they choose as long as some truth weaves part

and most that’s kept comes finally from the heart.

There will be prose and poetry written in this class, and I wanted to share a few poems that I will share with students to show them possibilities.  We’ve started to find the seeds of what memories we want to write about.  Now we’ll write, but then choose the audience we’re writing for, and finally the style, or genre to use to communicate our choices. 

Here are some poems I’ll share with my students that have pleased me as memories of the poet’s lives, all different looks at someone’s tiny moments.

Another View of A Backstory

                  The Tuesday Slice of Life Posts can be found at Two Writing Teachers.

According to Writer’s Digest, online, In Hollywood-speak, a character’s "backstory" is what happened before he or she leaped onto the silver screen.   It’s   considered wise to spend time and energy working at the backstory of a fictional character, but I’d also like to introduce this term as a part of lesson planning.  This kind of backstory includes the work that either has already occurred  or that needs to be introduced before a unit of study begins. 

Perhaps it’s an investigation in a study of fiction writing.  Maybe you’d like to introduce your students to literature circles.  Or poetry group is starting and one idea you’ve read about is that art postcards invite wonderful word images, a motivating introduction to the poetry unit.  Students will need at least part of the backstory of whatever topic is being introduced in order to fully participate in the learning, and sometimes different students need different backstories.  

Every time I believe it’s time to create a new unit of study, I back up to see what specific skills/experiences are important to include.  How do I do that?  I begin with working out what I see as the end goal.  For example, I will be teaching a group who are choosing to learn about writing memoirs in January.  For this, I would consider my goal, and then list all the background skills that seemed important for students to bring to the lesson.  As I work, I also list what has already happened during the year that might give support to the experience, too.  Since it is not my classroom this time, I will confer with the teacher so I can find this information.

Here’s one way I plan when I want to consider the backstory, and examples of the notes I would take:

The end goal:  a written memoir, as opposed to a personal narrative.  A memoir differs from the narrative in that although it is a story, it includes the writer’s personal view of the impact of the event (or events) on one’s life.  Usually it’s about just a few events.  Before starting, I will have discussed with the teacher that students in the class are ready for this kind of writing, different from just narrating an event from their lives. This time they will need to make a personal connection of life learning to the event they will write.  It invites a deeper thought process.

Skills  & experiences I believe are important in order to reach the goal: 

*Ability to write an organized piece in some story form; and to include plot, characters, setting and dialogue if needed. 

            *Understanding the need to choose an audience for which to write & use a certain style for that audience

            *Use of different kinds of sentences in order to make the writing more interesting

            *Deeper examination of different memoirs

*Leads are important in all genres, and if students have not had previous lessons in ‘reeling the reader in’, a lesson in this is important. 

             *Setting is another way to firm up the background of one’s memoir.  An examination of the way it works in memoir compared with fiction is important.

             *Transitions help the ease of reading any kind of writing, and in the memoir genre, transitions are important because one must lead the reader into both time and place as smoothly as possible.  An examination of authors’ style of transitions will add to the students’ skills.

Skills already taught & experiences that have previously occurred: 

      *Students have written about different memories from writers’ notebook entries and mini-lessons/conversations held in class

      *Completed specific lessons in fiction-both reading and writing.

      *Read multiple samples of memoirs created for various audiences.  (I might introduce some new examples from Ralph Fletcher’s new book, Mentor Author, Mentor Texts)

     *Teacher has read aloud memoir samples for discussion. 

      *Students have worked in a variety of ways with word work, looking both for kinds of wording that authors use, and for different words that appeal.

I realize that one can’t teach every single skill, like how to craft a sentence or how to use more sophisticated punctuation, but by the time I am ready to begin a new genre study, I should know the students’ abilities well, and know what the next step in each individual’s needs might be.  Planning some parts of what I call the backstory  (in this case for the memoir unit) aids students to move further in the study than if we just jumped right in.

Note:  As I gather and organize them, I’ll post a list of sources that are useful in teaching this unit.

Still Memories of My Family

Saturday, July 16, 2011


              My Uncle Morris

My mother’s oldest brother, Morris, was the only one in this side of the family who lived far away from all of us, in Chicago.  He usually came to visit on Thanksgiving and I remember being a bit frightened, (or intimidated) by him.  He was sharp with the question asking, and I was often unsure if I had answered correctly in his eyes.  All the rest of the year I felt loved and appreciated by all my relatives, and if you have read some of my other writing about different uncles, aunts, and grandparents, you would see what I mean.  I spent great time with them, learned from them, and did not feel judged. 

As I look back on the few moments I had with my uncle Morris, I think that my feelings were mixed because the time was so short, and I wanted to be noticed, to be approved.  I remember as a very young little girl, I show him that I can tie my shoes.  I remember reading to him, showing how I could read.  And, linked so much with him, I remember his wife, Dolores, who was purely a city girl who hated the little town where my grandparents lived, and was afraid of all things outdoors.  She mostly stayed in the bedroom upstairs when they visited, only appearing for meals, and eating very little.  She remained a curiosity to me most all my life.  In my early teen years, one visit, she took me aside and asked if I’d like her to show me about make-up.  She wore lots of make-up, a topic of talk among the family after their visit, and I of course loved the idea of trying to be more beautiful.  That visit remains a highlight in my memories of Uncle Morris and Aunt Dolores visiting.  My mother was kind enough to let the make-up adventure stand as that, an adventure.  She knew I’d return to my un-made-up self when the weekend was done. 

One other memory stands out for me and I wonder about it still.  Uncle Morris was a golden gloves boxer, and one visit he showed me and other older cousins several moves that could be used for self-defense.  These older cousins were boys, so maybe he included me just because we were a group, and I suspect the lesson was meant just for boys.  My mother had much love and told many good stories to me about her older brother, and the way he took care of her as his ‘little’ sis.  He was an intense, successful businessman in a place so foreign to us in rural Missouri.  I am interested in him because he was so loved by my mother, and he died in his early fifties from a heart attack, so I never really got to know him when I became an adult.   I think I missed something special.

Summer Memories - Again

Friday, July 1, 2011

     I was the oldest cousin in a rather large family, and often spent weeks in the summer with various grandparents and aunts and uncles.  One of those aunts was my Aunt Barb, who married a farmer, and when I was young, lived in two rooms on the second floor of her in-laws’ house.  During that time, there was no bathroom, only an outhouse, no running water, and she was raising three young girls in those rooms.  As I reflect on this part of her life, I am astounded that she let me visit for at least a week at a time, and we had such fun.  I had always had in-house plumbing in my own home, and my own bedroom, but I don’t remember being crowded, or missing a bathroom.  What I do remember is swimming in her pond, picnics down by the creek ending with servings of her yummy chocolate cake, and reading stories at night before bedtime.  She was a dramatic reader, and I loved hearing her read from the books available.   Taking care of her chores, both inside and outside; along with mothering her children that included sewing all their clothes, and cooking amazingly wonderful meals can’t have been accomplished easily in her circumstances, yet she made me know that I was a loved niece and welcome always in her home.   As a housewife who has griped about unloading the dishwasher, I wonder about her resilience, and about mine.  How did she accomplish so much with so little?  It’s a reflection to ponder.  

Trip Snapshots

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Snapshots of Our Trip’s Tradition

      When we’ve taken trips with our grandson, we have often developed a routine, usually according to a place we’re visiting, and what’s available nearby for the evening activities.  For example, last year, on the Oregon beach, we were near only one small town, so ended up visiting a variety of small towns in the area, eating the catch of the day for lunch, and spending quite a bit of time watching boats at the docks.  It was a prime interest for an eight year old to see what the sailors were up to.  There were other daily things, like finding each town’s best ice cream cone, and building a fire in the cabin fireplace each night, & having s-mores.  (It’s cold in Oregon, even in July!)

            This year of course, we flew the other way, to the Gulf in Florida, and shared different experiences, always close to our place on Sanibel Island.  As I wrote in the two previous posts, most of this time was spent watching animals and playing in or by the ocean.  We chose outdoor activities like visiting a nearby refuge, learning about an animal rehab hospital, and taking a sunset cruise on a bay – hoping to see dolphins and manatees, and we did!  This trip’s tradition ended as a simple, but grand one, one we looked forward to every day after the first evening.  We ended each day down on the beach to swim one more time, to play a little more in the sand, to look for one last good shell, and to watch and photograph the sunset.  This was the time of day we saw more people than any other time.  There were never many people, but more were there in the evenings to see this spectacular vision of the sun.  It was like being at a fireworks display on Independence Day, lots of ohs and ahs.   Each night the sky offered a particular different look to the sun, and we began to try to describe what was happening, as in ‘the clouds above are shading it enough that it looks hazy’ or ‘the wind earlier cleared the air, so it’s pure sun tonight’.  It became like little poems and I now wish I had written them down.  However, I did manage a good photo each night.

          One definition of the word ‘serendipity’ is “The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.”   I love how our trips seem to fall around us, delighting us with the usual because we are really noticing this time; and holding us in the particular place, a little group of three experiencing a small part of our world.

My Writing LIfe - then & now

Monday, June 13, 2011

     I was inspired by Ruth’s posts both yesterday and today to get writing, and stop all the voices in my head that say things like “no, you need to do the wash” or “the weeds are back again” or “it’s time to plan the grocery shopping”.   In the late Saturday post with things from Etsy, two of the pictures featured old typewriters, of which I own two, my grandmother’s Royal and my college typewriter, an Olivetti.  My grandmother wrote many things during her life, some stories for me growing up, to which she added music because she was a pianist, too.  Later in life she wrote one of those town life columns in the local newspaper that included who visited whom, announcements of births, glowing descriptions of weddings as well as obituaries.  She wrote these on the old Royal, sitting in a small office-type room in her old two-story house, papers surrounding her like the nest that Kim of Goldilocks And The Perfect Desk described. 

 My mother wrote poetry often and one of her happiest moments late in her life was a little book of her poems published, and given as gifts to family and friends on one of her last Christmases.  She used journals for her writing, and my brother helped her by putting them into his computer so the poems could be published.

     Just now, I sat at my college typewriter and typed a couple of lines.  It took much finger strength!  I marveled at the hours I’ve spent at that machine, clacking out pages and pages of reports, stories, poems, mostly for professors, but sometimes for me.  I have taken the typewriter in to let my students see how they work, to try out a bit of writing on it, and have also told them how lucky they are to have missed out on re-typing pages when grave errors had been made or having to estimate just the place to stop in order to add footnotes.  They too noticed their lack of finger strength.  However, that machine was certainly a friend, all through my undergrad years, and needed only new ribbons to be renewed.

      As for my own current writing life:  It seems to ebb and flow like the tide.  I have always written in journals and with my students, but lately, have been more active because of this blog, and the inspiration of the Two Writing Teachers and the Tuesday Slice People. I am determined to write every day, and mostly sit at the sofa in the picture, writing on my trusty MacBook Pro, loving every minute.   I still make lists in journals, but more and more am using sticky notes on the desktop for idea posting.  The tech world is taking me on new paths.  Happy Writing!

Keeping Cool At Grandma's

June 10, 2011


        Keeping Cool

My grandmother had beds put out

on her summer porch, where we’d lie

on cool sheets

those summer afternoons with our books.

We’d fan ourselves with church pictures,

And Grandmother would shake her hankie at her face,

saying “Pshaw!  It’s not as hot as last summer,

just a bit close is all.  Have some more lemonade.”

She’d send my uncle down to buy a nickel’s worth of ice chips

at the ice house.  He’d stay there long as he could,

in that  coldest spot in town,

filling his body with smells of sawdust and ice blocks. 

By the time he’d returned, we’d tired of turning pages, and

started on the games. 

The sun had begun that downturn and we could feel

the thermometer slide too. 

Time to start supper,

lay the table,

And wait for Grandpa to come in from the fields.

The Promise of Summer

June 9, 2011

       I set the goal of writing with each sense lately, and I've come to the visual this day.  I'm finally on vacation and have been working all over the yard, weeding mostly the grass out of the beds.  It brings me to the memories of one of my grandfathers, stooping over in the evenings, pulling weeds and grass, grumbling a little about the work being never done.  As I lean over, I remember him so well, and here I am, doing what he did years ago.  I see the perennials already in bloom and thought I'd take some photos.  Since they are up so much faster than the annual seeds I plant, it seems they give the promise of summer to me, saying 'here we are again, we said we'd return!'  Many of these perennials have come from family members-my mother and mother-in-law, an aunt;  and some from friends, brought in from Missouri on visits.  I am grateful for the blooms, and what they represent from loved ones, as well as that promise of good things to come all summer.  The one pic of the squirrel and the swing is another promise, of fun observations of our little friends that live around our backyard, and the granddaughter who comes to visit.

One Way To Say Goodbye

Slice of Life Challenge #31 - March 31, 2011

Wow! Can't believe I managed the whole month. What a wonderful time!

Most of you who have read my posts perhaps have realized that I like poetry, a lot! I am excited that April is almost here, and I am writing and creating some ideas to do with students and for other teachers to do during poetry month when we return to school after break.

One of the things that I will miss this school year because I’m not in my own classroom anymore is finding and preparing a goodbye poem for my class. I collect poems with a ‘goodbye’ theme. Most of the time I have used them for the end of the year, but I also just collect them in my journals. For class, I have typed them, copied them onto colored tag, and laminated them to give on the last day of school. It’s part of the traditional closure activities that all of us do in one form or another. I realize that some students may not keep them, but students through the years return and ask if I am still handing out poems, and that she or he still had them.

So many of you have been kind and gracious enough to read and reply to what I’ve written that I am thrilled, grateful, and more than a little sad that the month is over. I have loved reading all of your posts, learning new ways to say things, learning that to dig deeply into feelings may be much of what writing is all about. It’s a wonderful trip that Two Writing Teachers has taken us on, and I appreciate it all.

I have written a goodbye poem to you all, to send you on your way back to your lives, wherever your paths take you. Best of my wishes to you.

Transition

They say it is a passing

of one condition, form, stage, activity, etc.

to another.

They say—for grace—

to show kindness, flexibility,

and again and again,

to be civil.

Yet movement

of any kind

requires

muscle

that I resist

exercising—

when saying goodbye.

In this exertion

I find myself

weak, flabby and uncoordinated.

I stumble, sigh

and finally cry.

Forgive me.

Here also are a few goodbye poems from others I have collected – some are found in anthologies, but I was unable to find a link on the Internet.

“Thoughts That Were Put Into Words” - Karla Kuskin

found in Paul Janeczko’s The Place My Words Are Looking For

“Goodbye” – quote from Dr. Seuss

http://thinkexist.com/quotation/how_did_it_get_so_late_so_soon-its_night_before/202976.html

“Sometimes Goodbye” Mandie McDougal

http://www.makinglemonade.com/newcreative/creative_goodbye.htm

“You Reading This, Be Ready” William Stafford

http://www.williamstafford.org/spoems/pages/youreading.html

“The Gift” Gregory Denman

When You've Made it Your Own... Teaching Poetry to Young People

“On The Other Side of The Door” Jeff Moss from the book by the same name

“Leaving” Judith W. Steinbergh

Paul Janeczko’s Looking for Your Name : A Collection of Contemporary Poems

“Gather Ye Rosebuds’ Dorothy K. Fletcher

Life's changes are not always good

Slice of Life Challenge #30 - March 30, 2011

This is the first time I’ve written about this, and it’s not easy to put into words. In January, my son, daughter-in-law, and 9-year-old grandson moved out of state. I still feel tender about the move, wanting so much to be supportive of my son and his need to find the next opportunity of his career, but still missing them so much. Because they were selling their home, my grandson and his mom stayed here from September when my son left, and I picked my grandson up from school three days a week. He has stayed with us often from babyhood, so it was an easy transition, just more regular than usual.

I loved the time, and there were even some whole weekends with him. I love his easiness to be with, his enthusiasm for nearly everything we proposed, and the crazy fun things we did, like getting ice cream at Baskin Robbins on Fridays, then walking around the parking lot while eating, looking for dropped coins and interesting rocks in the landscaped areas. We played endless games of a silly card game called Ruckus, and ate quite a bit of apple pie. I took lots of photos, mainly of funny faces, sometimes with his grandpa, and sometimes of him throwing the football, which he loves to do. One is in this post. I’ve actually learned to pass pretty well myself during the hours we’ve spent together.

My grandson has always been in my life, and now he isn’t. We are e-mailing and calling, keeping in touch, but it isn’t easy with a young boy-can’t pass a football across the miles. We will go on our annual summer trip together and visit as often as possible. I hope our new kind of relationship will be strong, and fun, long distance. But I do miss him very much.

So-from another source, my newest inspiration: “If you want something you’ve never had before, you have to do something you’ve never done before.” I am working hard to learn from this, especially because of today’s story. Life isn’t so easy some of the time.

Some things I know I'll never give away!

Slice of Life # 22 - March 22, 2011

Books and articles can be found often today about cleaning out the clutter. The web site e-how contains tip after tip for getting rid of “stuff”: tips to reduce, organize, feng shui, clear, and clean your clutter. So do About.com, and a myriad of other help sites on the Internet. There are lists of books on Amazon.com that offer the same kind of help, even more detailed, entering the psychological motivation of saving stuff. And if you still haven’t been convinced to engage in a battle with your belongings, just watch the TV show Hoarders, a true-life lesson in what may happen if you don’t start the fight now!

My husband and I have lived in our current home since the 1970’s. We both accumulate things and like lots of stuff, but we are organized and are not over the top yet. We take items to second-hand stores, I routinely give away books to my colleagues at school, and we have given quite a few things to our children. Yet, we have so much more to do. We are finding homes for things we no longer find useful or needed. My husband did a lot of beadwork earlier in his life, but he hasn’t for years, and he would like to find a person who would use and enjoy the materials. And-my mother was a knitter. I have saved her knitting basket, with yarn and needles, hoping that someday I would learn to knit. I don’t think it’s going to happen. When I spend time sitting, I’m always going to be reading or writing.

This is quite a long introduction to my point. Although we have a goal of cleaning out the clutter, keeping only those things that are meaningful to us, I want to emphasize that we are never going to give away the LL Bean, ragg wool cardigan that hangs in the back hall. It’s old, has holes in the elbows, but it still zips and is very very warm. Everyone in the family, as well as guests, has worn it at one time or another. Sometimes people fight over it. My grandson has grown old enough to wear it. There are things that mean something because they’re valuable in dollars, and there are things that are valuable because they create a thread of memory. My children come for a visit, say “there’s the sweater” and somehow feel comforted that although there are new cabinets in the kitchen, the house is a different color, and a new car is in the driveway, the sweater remains—a comforting and ‘warm’ memory of their past.

Oops! Time Passing

Last night - full moon
March 20, 2011 Slice of Life # 20

There was a moment yesterday when I paused to capture the afternoon in my mind. A group of photos wouldn’t have been enough. My husband & I were visiting our daughter, son-in-law & granddaughter because they were re-staining their fence & needed help.

The sun shone, it was the day before spring, we talked & laughed. Painting along, amid words of “oops, I’m dripping all over my shoes”, & “how are you getting between the cracks?”, my daughter & I talked, about her work & the new baby coming, along with important although small decisions like how they might arrange the baby’s bed in the same room as the older sister.

My daughter mentioned that the baby was moving, it was almost halfway to the birth, & we both said “oops”. It may seem like an odd response, but it is thought-filled, of time passing so fast. It is difficult to believe that they already have an almost two year old-walking & talking & climbing, are about to celebrate their ten year wedding anniversary. The cliché, seems like just yesterday, holds true again. I am reminded of the poem, “Little Girl Grown”, by Arlene Mandell. Oops.

Our granddaughter woke up from her nap; we walked all over the yard, looking for tiny green things poking up. She says, ‘green’ & ‘flowers’. I say, ‘let’s look some more’. We meandered, my daughter joined us, & her daughter showed her ‘flowers’, ‘green’. An afternoon of work & visiting ended with talk of how good the fence looked, plates of pizza & bottles of beer. Tired we were, time had passed again, but in a beautiful way. Oops!

Happy spring everyone!

The Earthquake Touches My Memories

SLICE OF LIFE, MARCH 11, 2011

I had another topic to write, but the Japan earthquake trumps all. Lately, I’m thinking about so many things in my life that might be good for a ‘slice’ of writing that the topics whirling through are those I don’t ordinarily focus on, life’s experiences that touch on events today much of the time. Hence, the news of this earthquake in Japan carried me back to an early memory of a tornado tragically striking my neighborhood, but not my house.

I grew up in a place where springtime, while often beautiful, often meant tornadoes. Also, I am old enough to remember that in my early years, there were no tornado sirens, even special TV news alerts. We watched the sky, knowing when it turned a strange greenish color and the clouds seemed to be boiling, we’d better head for the basement. At the end of one of my middle school years, I think the last week, a terrible tornado ground its way through our city. My family was one of the few in the neighborhood that had a basement. There were twelve people crowded into that southwest corner (tornadoes moved northeast), and I can still hear my father calling out, “oh, my god, here it comes”. A neighbor joined us with her children and was crying. My aunt, who lived across the street, but also had no basement, had her eyes squeezed shut so tightly. Her children, my cousins, and my brother, seemed unaffected. So was I. It seemed silly even to crowd us into such a small space. It never occurred to me that anything bad would actually happen, so typical of the untouched adolescent.

There was a large wood behind our house, about a couple of blocks away, which had a deep ravine leading down to a creek. We kids played there often. As my father shouted, ‘here it comes’ I peeked out the window, and saw the funnel, big, dark and making the noise just as people say they do, like a freight train. The funnel hit the dip of the ravine, and headed south, missing us and the block behind our house. It moved on, tearing up other people’s houses, and a little later, my school.

All the adults spent plenty of time hugging us, saying their ‘thank gods’, and ‘we are so luckys’. We went out into the outside, saw our trees stripped of leaves, lawn chairs blown across the yard. I remember that sirens had taken the place of the freight train sound. Later that day we went to look at the destruction; my mother made sandwiches, offered other help to those who were now homeless. And of course, this went on for days. People stayed with us, we gave them things, or loaned them. My father helped with the clean up.

The funnel had cut a large swath in its travels of over a mile. There was much gathering together to help, and even more complaints that there had to be better communication of danger. That is when the alerts began to be more reliable on the radio and TV: thunderstorm warning, thunderstorm watch, tornado warning, tornado watch, etc. But it really didn’t help always; the biggest problem was no shelter, no basements. The aftermath was horrendous for many. Loss of lives and homes was devastating, and we had a big path cut through the woods that lasted for years, like what happens in avalanches in the mountains. As for me, in early adolescence, I liked the excitement and the fact that the school year had ended early. Hurrah summer. I also became an even more avid watcher of adult behavior, inwardly choosing how I might want to behave when I grew up. Those thoughts I remember so well, thinking things like “I would never do that, especially in front of my children. I would be braver.” Of course, also as an adolescent, I didn’t understand the import or possibility of disaster, and the future implications.

I am in sympathy with those at this awful time in Japan. My heart goes out to them in their loss and terrible circumstances today.