#EveryDayinMay - Roadtripping Dreams

It started with a poem. Ithaca by Constantine P. Cavafy. This poem is the inspiration for my last assignment of the semester. Write a Journey poem - a poem that tells the story of your life; where do you want to go, what do you want to do, and how will you do it?

While brainstorming for this poem, I got a little carried away with ideas for a giant roadtrip across these here United States of America. This turned into the decision that I wouldn't be able to see everything I wanted to see if I made the suggested brief entry into every state. So I started at Bing maps to see how I could turn it into two trips, one to the west and one to the east. I showed The Husband what I was up to, and his face lit up Christmas tree style. I'm not kidding when I say this man would sell everything we have and head off into the great unknown, you guys.

Then I found Roadtrippers.com, which allowed me to enter in each National Forest or landmark I want to visit, and save the trip. Of course, this turned into the realization that what I really need is several trips, not simply two big ones. Now I'm on the hunt to create four trips. I'm sure this will devolve into several more trips. Because, why not?

I made it to City of Rocks, Idaho before becoming hopelessly overwhelmed.

Here is the original image I found that shows the quickest route across the United States:

Now, if you are the type of person that just wants the ability to cross "See The Lower 48" off your bucket list, this might be the trip for you. But if you're a wayward wanderer, an adventurer, a consumer of grand experiences, you might be looking for something else. Something molded around vast starry nights, snow capped mountain peaks, and waking beneath an endless forest canopy.

I know I am.

I mean, how do I zip through Colorado without seeing the Canyons of the Ancients, or ignore Mt. St. Helens in Washington? There is far, far too much to see in one giant circle around the states. Add to this the fact that The Husband and I want time to hop out of the car and do a little hiking at several points along the way, and well -- you see the problem. It's easy to get lost just in the planning.

For now, I'm enjoying the idea. It's a glimmer of good things to come, adventures on the horizon. It's a promise waiting in the not-too-distant future.

And a fantastic distraction from that Journey poem, which still politely waits to be written in my journal. Perhaps I should get back to that now.

Where would your road trip dreams take you? Share in the comments - I'd love to create a map of destinations provided by readers!

a wild and wonderful list

Since August has wrapped it's hot fingers around my hand and is pulling me regrettably forward, I've found myself daydreaming about the many irrational, fun things I would like to do before summer's end.

And thus, a list:

A Wild and Wonderful (and wholly selfish) List of Silly & Irrational Things To Do Before Summer's End!

A bold, new hairdo

A lovely tattoo: Not all who wander are lost

Write. Finish as many chapters as possible in my current work in progress.

Make many beautiful things

Spend a weekend somewhere beautiful.

Surely I'm not the only one that drags my heels kicking and screaming as I realize I'm running out of "me" time... so what would be on your list?

Slice of Life Tuesday: my scrambled august

Two Writing Teachers

It's August.
August is a scrambled month.
The last swirls of summer tug at me, begging me to swim, play, and laze about.
The first hint of school rolls in, urging me to plan and schedule and prepare.
I'm busy reading and writing; there is little time to finish up the last bits of professional development I wanted to do, but I begin to feel greedy with my time -- I want to hold fast to these precious moments.

Today I spent time at the pool with my nieces and nephews and my own two littles. They splashed and played while I watched, journal in hand, working on my current work in progress. Their giggles and screeches were warm and rich. You'd think a morning at the pool with six children that can't swim on their own might be stressful. But it wasn't. It was one of the last breaths of summer, and it was divine.

This afternoon I met with a student I'm tutoring. We worked on math facts and problem solving. It was quiet, just the two of us with heads bent over the table, talking and working together. Her hair was wet; she had come straight from her new pool. My skin still smelled of sunblock. We sat suspended between two worlds, both unsure which we preferred.

August is a scrambled month.
A good month.
A oh-this-is-living kind of month.
And I'm glad it's here.

Slice of Life Tuesday: A Midnight Adventure

Headlamps. Bugspray. Tubes. Drinks. The coldest river known to mankind. Six adventurous souls ready to claim glory and fame. Late last night, these components combined to create an unforgettable midnight expedition.

The boys' guffawing laughter wrapped itself around Isaac and I, pulling us quickly down to the dock. Their heckling smack talk was bursting up from beyond the veil of mist that separated us from the river, echoing throughout the campground. We stepped down onto the landing and I got my first glimpse of the starlit water. I could barely make out the faintest shadow of the treeline just beyond the opposite bank, and although the river seemed invisible, the babbling sounds of water against rock let me know it was there. My cousins stood alongside my two teenage sons and their friend; the five of them engaged in an odd dance through the ink-black waters, hopping back and forth as they beckoned us to hurry and join them in the river.

Pushing all misgivings aside, I grabbed my tube, slipped off my flip-flops, and braced myself for the shock I knew would come next.  With a stifled yelp, I hopped down into the knee-deep water. During the day the sun offers welcome relief from the breath-stealing sting of the spring-fed Boardman river. But under the curtain of night, I couldn't cling to my happy sun-baked security blanket. My yelp strangled and was reborn as a startled squeal when I jumped into my tube a little too forcefully and sank to my neck into the unforgiving water.

"Shit!" I gasped, correcting myself onto my tube as I sped blindly down the river to the first bend, leaving Isaac standing bewildered at the dock.

"Mom!" My oldest son hollered through the darkness, laughing at my failure to filter my language, his tube spinning past me.

In front of me, the other boys headlamps blinked in and out, seemingly in time with their hoots, hollers, and cheers.

I rounded the next corner, spinning with little control as I passed my son again. The lights from Isaac's headlamp zoomed in from behind us; two tiny glowing orbs in the darkness. 

My tube spun forward and I found myself staring down the first in a series of spiked planks left over from a long forgotten fence. On instinct, I flung my hand forward, hoping to grab the edge of the board and slingshot safely to the other side of the river. As my fingers neared the splintered board, a wave of freezing water came cresting over my tube from behind me. My oldest son's tube collided against mine, sending me sailing right into the graveyard of lumber I had hoped to avoid. A chorus of laughter sailed up into the night air, like birds taking flight, and the rest of our tubing party cruised by. I watched the bouncing red and white lights of their headlamps wave across the sky as their laughter floated away.

My son bounced merrily off of me as if this were a simple game of bumper cars, leaving me to work my way out of the brambles on my own. The Great River Gods smiled upon me though. Isaac floated by at exactly the right moment and I was able to latch on to him and let the current carry me down the river.

Our raucous party of six continued on our journey, cutting through the darkness like a drunken band of pirates, bouncing off every rock and tree we passed, our spirits stronger than the shivers that laced our water-logged bodies.

Each twist and turn held a new surprise -- warnings were called out as often as discoveries. It was just as likely to hear, "Watch out! Heh...sorry, too late!!" as it was, "Look! A satellite! The Big Dipper! Orion's Belt!" We tested out theories on the best way to use our headlamps. We predicted the reality behind shadows lurking in the dark. We almost missed our docking site.

In what felt like minutes, our midnight mayhem came to an end.  We stumbled from the water, laughing with ice-fogged breath as we rolled our tubes back up to camp and the promise of a blazing campfire, new stories to share, and memories that will never fade.

This was written as a part of the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Challenge.

Slice of Life Tuesday: The Secret Life of Names

Perhaps one of the things that makes the Appalacian Trail so appealing to me (beyond the thought of a challenging pilgrimage that takes me months away from my comfort zone) is the ritual of the trail name. You see, most everyone that hikes the 2100 or so miles of the AT in one season is given a trail name. I assume this began and survives because of the camaraderie that exists between adventures that spend 4-6 months climbing, crawling, freezing, sweating, and generally surviving their way through the wilderness together.

Last week I spoke of The Ranch, the yearly site of rejuvenation for my family. We are in the midst of preparations for this year's trip: making lists, organizing supplies, and packing everything we'll need for our short sojourn into our own wilderness. The Ranch has a happy familiarity to anyone that is lucky enough to visit. We have our inside jokes, learned tricks for easier tubing, and yes, in our family, everyone gets a ranch name.

Some people pick their own name; my cousin delightedly calls himself The River Goat, while others, like my oldest son, Dozer, gain their names through behavior: Dozer has a tendency to just bulldoze his way right through any bramble and briar that gets in his way, choosing not to steer his way to safety. But however your name comes to you, there is no happier sound than the raucous cheer from the river as everyone sees you coming around the bend and yells out your name. Ranch names are a silly and free-spirited key to the inner circle.

I love the togetherness felt at the river, and although I know the tight knit bonds that come from thru-hikers on the AT exist on a very different level, I believe we share some close similarities. In a few years my husband and I will step foot onto the AT for the first time, earning new names to add to our belt along with new stories to share the next time we fall into our tubes at the ranch.

Until then, I'll wear my ranch name proudly as I wade into the ice cold waters of the Michigan Boardman River.

A Chair for my Writer, or The High Art of Procrastination

I've created a happy writing space in our new apartment.

Wait, let's back up a minute, shall we?

It's summer, and that means a few things. First, I have much more some a little time to enjoy the things I love. For me this boils down to my trifecta of relaxation: reading, writing, and photography. Oh, and this summer I've added something to the mix -- sunning sinfully by the pool. Add a margarita and a good Kindle read, and I'm nearly foaming over with delight.

But back to the trifecta. Most of the time I write first thing in the morning or right before I go to sleep. Any guess what this means? Why yes, you're right! It means that ten minutes into writing and I am passed smooth out. Not the most effective routine for the budding author.

Enter the desk. Now, we've had this desk for a number of years, but it's mostly just a big hunk of furniture in the corner. The desk's main function is to:

1. Display pictures
2. Creatively display piles of mail
3. Collect dust

As you can see, it's a handy piece of furniture to have around.

I gave the desk a small pep talk today, explaining that things were about to change. Since it didn't respond, I figured it was in agreement and I set to work cleaning, clearing off, reorganizing, and generally prettying up the space.

Tah-Dah!

Now this looks like a desk that wants to partner up with a writer, wouldn't you agree? Nice clean surface, plenty of supplies, aesthetically pleasing environment ... ah yes, we're ready!

One problem.

There is no chair.

How could I forget such an important factor?  Now, I could have just sighed and wandered off slump-shouldered in defeat. But that just wouldn't do. I could have grabbed my journal and headed back to the couch to get some writing in. But really, is it right to pick up one project when another one is left unfinished?

Exactly.

So began Operation Perfect Chair. I didn't think this would be a difficult task. After all, my requirements are few:

• must be cushioned
• needs a tall back
• must offer ample leg room, as my favorite writing position is sitting criss cross or with one or both of my feet tucked under me
• must fit under the desk
• prettiness helps

That's pretty much it. So why then, dear reader, is this search so tedious? Why have I been adding pics to my pinterest "chair me" board as if I were an eclectic old chair hoarder?

I wish I had the answer. Until then, the search continues. And please, if you happen to find my chair, let me know. In the meantime, I have some writing to do.

Summer Slipping By

The past few weeks have been too full and too frenzied to summarize here, but I'll try with a list:

• Road trips, especially with 5 children, are loud and lovely
• It is possible to lose weight and feel better on vacation -- I have proof!
• The scritchscratching in the back of my head about what I "should" be doing is very loud when I am trying to relax.
• I love the just-before-dawn hours, the purple hazy grey hours, driving down the road, 5 kids asleep, chitter-chatter-laughing with The Husband as we go.
• Momster is still Momster.  I doubt now that she will ever change her eating habits, and it makes me very sad.
• Everyone should enjoy food from a farmer's market.  There is nothing else like it.
• There is still not much better than a tube to float on, a cold drink to keep you warm, and a spring-fed river to replenish your soul.
• It is possible for a 13 year old boy to break a 35 year old woman's heart.  Dos has decided to go live with his father.

There is much more, and the memories are like fish swimming about in my head, and maybe -- if I can get out the words about Dos, about my tiny boy -- my little monkey -- my rope climber, face licker, raspberry giver, misdiagnosed originally, hug squeezing little Aspie that will be sleeping somewhere else in a couple of weeks ...

Well, if I can get all those words out, maybe I will find something more to say.

In the Wee Hours: Day 4

Mentor text: If You Give a Pig a Pancake by Laura Numeroff and Twilight Comes Twice by Ralph Fletcher (taken from Corbett Harrison)

Poem formula: start & stop poem (first and last lines are the same)

Inspiration: Our wee hours of the night road trip from Iowa to Illinois

In the wee hours of the night,
a long white van filled with precious cargo
bounces down the road.
Music blurs with words, shared by
a yawning boy, a babbling girl,
and five snoring little ones;
moon gazes from her cloud-blanketed perch,
casts shifting shadows across
weary travellers,
in the wee hours of the night.


More student examples: www.writingfix.com

(And now, 37 hours later, I sleep.  Illinois is lovely, I'm ever so happy to be here, but I'm not even sure what I just wrote, and my fingers do not have a very good command of these keys.  Sleep, it seems, is nonnegotiable.)

Napping, Day 3

Today was a lazy day. While everyone played at the park, I stole a moment for myself to read, which ended in a cozy nap. So today's poem is about a nap, inspired by the rain poem in The Important Book.

Mentor text: The Important Book by Margaret Wise Brown
The important thing about rain is
that it is wet.
It falls out of the sky,
and it sounds like rain,
and it makes things shiny,
and it does not taste like anything,
and is the color of air.

But the important thing about rain
is that it is wet.

My poem:
The important thing about a nap is
that it is quiet.
It creeps up like a mouse,
and sounds like a mother's lullaby,
and it holds you like a warm hug,
and tastes like sea-salt air under the sun,
and is colored with dreams, big and small.

But the important thing about a nap
is that it is quiet.

Mentor text: House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

This was actually an older SI teaching demo from North Star. Since I decided to use mentor texts AFTER leaving for vacation, I've had to get creative!

I think this will be fun for my kids; there's a lot of opportunity for interesting descriptions here.

So, I give you Grandmama's House:

Northwood homes have personality.
An A-frame with windows like a chapel,
or a fat and lazy dog with his slow wagging tail
that thrums against a seasonal porch
as you walk down the flower lined steet.
Some have gardens with plump green tomatoes,
others are tall and skinny white skeletons,
paint peeling away with age.

But Grandmama's house,
Grandmama's house like rich toffee,
like hot maple syrup drizzled over sweet pancakes
all comfort and peace because she's filled it with love
wrapped her arms around you with hand-stitched quilts,
and steaming pastries, homemade cocoa
sipped from a collection of flower speckled china.

Grandmama's house
bubbles over with her laugh,
like the Fourth of July --
all jazz and warmth and brilliance.
And you can't help but snuggle deep
into Grandmama's home
embraced by the familiar creak of floorboards,
the pillows like marshmallows beneath your head,
the kitchen, where something scrumptious is
always just moments from your taste buds.

The pastries, the quilts, and Grandmama's laughter like the Fourth of July.

Grandpa Mogk's Farm (Day 2)

Grandpa Mogk's farm meant family.
It was Damon's silhouette running,
stick-sword in hand,
across a mile of hay bales;
Devin's giddy backstroke
through a pool of golden grain;
Steven, Ryan, and Daegan
climbing a towering pyramid of hay,
fists pumping in triumph,
adventure conquered.

It was octogenarians gathered,
swapping stories on the lawn;
children hop-skip-galloping around them
or bouncing along on Buttercup's back,
dancing into their own memories.
Rustling stalks of corn stretched out,
an emerald lake rocking with
the rhythm of the wind,
and horses whinnying a welcome
upon your approach.

Grandpa Mogk's farm was Frisbees flying
as we ran, laughed, tackled each other
to snatch them from the air,
a sparkling audience of bobbing kites high above us.
Sunshine warming our faces,
breeze across our shoulders offering comfort,
clouds lazy-sailing across a blue-blue sky.
It was Welcome! and Uff da! and Nice ta meetcha!
A place where the word "stranger"
was defined by the possibility of new friendships.

It was chocolate raining on strawberries and pretzels,
stuffing and turkey and warm wheat rolls,
soft lemon cake melting on your tongue.
Fireflies twinkling like Christmas,
the boom and the bang of pyrotechnics,
tiny shadows bounding through the dark,
calling, "Ghost in the graveyard!"

But most of all,
Grandpa Mogk's farm was laughter.

Poems on the Road, Day One

While driving last night I was thinking about a teaching demo on poetry at Summer Institute. We talked about the book Locomotion and looked at a list poem from the book to create our own list poems. In the book, the main character writes a poem that describes himself.

And that's how today's poem came about.

One big white van,
pushing forward.
Seven adventurers;
three grown boys,
two little darlings,
one gum-chewing navigator
and her Monster-swigging captain.
Some sleeping, some snacking,
all eager
for sunrise,
and fourteen hours
to slip by
quickly.

Road Trip 2010 Begins

The truth is, I'm a highly anxious, easily stressed lady.  Granted, if you see me out in public, you'd probably never notice this.  Throw me into chaos at work, and I can quickly come up with solutions.  If you aren't looking closely, you might label me as patient, diplomatic, clam.  Hence the chameleon.

Fling a whopper at me when I'm just around my closest family, most trusted friends, and you get a whole different monster.  Literally.

For the past few days, we've been busily preparing for our big yearly road trip across America.  This involves a ridiculous amount of strategy, given the fact that we have to take all our camping equipment with us up to the northern most part of Michigan -- and when I say "us" I'm talking about myself, The Husband, Uno, Dos, the two Littles, and Uno's best friend Dos #2.  Whew.

Since I don't like to stop at fast food places along the way, this trip also requires that I spring into Ultra Mom mode, and bake, make, mix, and organize snacks and meals and such for our journey.  So besides everything else we're bringing, we now need a huge cooler and a box for all the other food items.

Yipes.

Then there is my nonstop fear that we're going to have some terrible malady besiege us and drain every last dollar we have.

I won't even go into all the other worries and concerns I have before we set out.

All these worries, concerns, and craziness can easily result in what I lovingly call, "Ultimate Freak Out of Doom."

Trust me.  I've done it many times.  Temper tantrums, tears, you name it, I've done.

It's really rather embarrassing.

Luckily, last year something changed this.  For the first time ever (and dude, this is a serious accomplishment), I was able to plan, prepare for, and set off on our trip -- without a nervous breakdown!

This year, we've added three more kids and two more stops along the way.  I'm beginning to wonder if I have a desire to torture myself.

But, once again, I've been able to hunt and gather the necessities, get everyone rounded up, and in about 15 minutes, we'll be out the door.

The secret ingredient to my success?

The Husband.

He calms my fears, eases the tension, sets me back up on my feet when I topple over in a tizzy.

Granted, just thirty minutes ago I was standing in the driveway as he was zipping around loading things into the van, barking orders and looking a bit like a timebomb.  It just took a few words, and hand on his shoulder, and he visibly relaxed.  Things got packed, a little less stressed.

So off we go, Iowa bound (for starters).  I am so fortunate to spend the next 17 days surrounded by laughter, silliness, and definitely some good road trippin' karaoke.  But definitely, no ultimate freak outs. And that's a nice thing.