Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for hosting The Slice of Life

What She thinks about nobody knows

She stares into distance, where, over there

Her thoughts are many and they grow

She is a mystery, a girl and her woes

Or is she?

What does She think about when She looks out there?

The television on but through it she glares

Is it a future, a past or puzzle?

It’s not the present,  She is in another bubble

Maybe its joyful

A memory once lived

A focussed recollection She is desperate to keep

What She thinks about is hers alone

We only can see the outside, the eyes, the windows

She blinks and pretends she heard every word

She’ll return again

What She thinks about nobody knows.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

I have to start a new notebook today but I don’t want to. I like my old one. I don’t know which colour to choose for my new one. Will it be the red one waiting on my desk or would I rather another colour?

My notebook has been near me for so much of this past year. It holds many of my bullet lists of jobs to do, packing lists for our overseas trip, that one time I managed to take a carry on suitcase to Europe, and all the crossing out and re configuring it took to accomplish that.

It holds letters to my grandson and my feelings and observations of him as he grows and as his mummy, my daughter grows beautifully as a mother. It holds notes and feelings and records of all that she has had to endure, especially that operation on her little baby and the pneumonia last December.

It holds my teaching notes, sometimes, the ideas that strike me whilst out and about and little drawings I do to illustrate what my thinking is doing and looking like.

It has watercolor painted pictures, photos, business cards, notes form kids in my class, paint chip samples and a picture of a pushbike, a yellow one that I really like.

I don’t want to give this old one up. It fits perfectly in my hands and I love the way it feels a bit old and smashed up, lived in and loved. The way the elastic still fits snugly around it, keeping everything contained and safe. I like sitting in bed of an evening and flicking back through my year thus far, reflecting, after I have written what I need to for the day. I can’t do that with a new one.

I know today is the day I have to transition. I even went to the shop this morning to see if there was a better colour of the type of book I use. I’m not set on the red one, its too, well, red, office like. Maybe I could cover it, yes, that’s what I’ll do. Wrap it in paper and contact and really make it feel worn.

I’ll keep my old one near by, for comfort, until this new one feels like home for me. Until I can look back and reflect with my new one, until it feels like my notebook.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

Sunny days, bush tracks and fabric scraps of orange and lime green strewn over the pine timer floor, the evidence of a long night at the face of a whirring machine. These are some of the things, which immediately come to mind when I think about my first real interest in sewing.

We spent many summer holidays at the ‘holiday house’ where we walked down a beach track twice a day, zinc on our noses and towels slung over our shoulders. It was the time of the year my twin cousins and I got to see each other everyday and every night, sleeping in a dorm like room with out any plaster lining adhered to the walls properly, and using the bits of wood where the plaster is supposed to be nailed to as a place to keep our trinkets and new Christmas presents.

It was a time when my aunty and my mum, young thirty year old mothers would tend to our needs all day long, and then, when we were in bed the machines would come out to the kitchen table. There they would sit, sometimes nearly all night working on their newest creation. We would fall asleep listening to the zigging and zagging of the sewing machines and the clinking of teacups and laughter as they tended to their needs, their creative outlet, their relaxation. It was the time of mini skirts, the 70’s and I suppose it didn’t take long to make a short skirt, you could do a halter neck mini dress in a night ready to wear the next day, and they did.

During the heat of the day, when the daddy’s were at work, after that first early morning trip along the bush track to the beach, we would spend the time at home. We would relax inside the holiday house making paper patterns for our dolls and using the scraps from the many outfits our mothers had made to hand sew outfits for them.

Sometimes we would go down to the local shops to have an ice cream, but always the twins and I spent what seemed like hours in the fabric store waiting. Waiting endlessly it seemed for our mothers to choose their fabric, zippers and buttons for the sewing days at the holiday house. I remember I loved the crunch of the fabric on the timber bench as the sharp blades cut the required piece of seersucker or cheesecloth. I can still hear the clickity clack of the shop attendants long fingernails as they tapped the wooden surface and she wrapped the fabric in brown paper together with the new pattern, that’s where all that waiting time mostly was. Waiting for the mothers to thumb through those big heavy pattern books.

We would walk home ready to greet the daddy’s after they had worked outside in that hot sun all day, all excited for the afternoon trip to the beach and the fun game of cricket, then once again the mummy’s would look forward to the evening, when it was their turn to sew and we would drift off to sleep wondering what they would make, like little elves in the night..

Thanks to the team at TWT for the opportunity to write, share and grow. SOLC 2017

I left for work a little earlier today. It had been a busy week with meetings so far and still 3 more to go. My drive is about 2 songs on the radio long. I have to go through a school zone which requires me to slow down to 40km/hour which means I can look around me a little more, however even if I was going faster I would have seen her. Instantly I felt a huge smile form on my face and a light and bubbly feeling wash over me. She inspired me.

She was at the bus stop, dressed in black, earphones in, with a pink wig on. I had forgotten about her this past year, as I had been leaving for work later. She was dancing at the bus stop and I don’t mean just a little wriggle I mean arms in the air, twisting and turning around with lightness in her feet, bouncy.   She knew all the words to the song. She had a smile from ear to ear. I wanted to video it and make it go viral because of how happy she made me. I wanted everyone to feel that feeling.

Seeing her dancing for all she was worth, like nobody was watching but not caring if they were got me thinking.I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to hang out with her; she looked like she would always be having fun and looking on the bright side of things.

She helped me be a better person today. I let loose a little and lived like no one was watching, sort of, not full out like my wanna be friend, but it was a little step towards it.

I am going to leave at the same time tomorrow. I really need that kind of start to my day.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

We are 7 weeks into a new school year and as many of us do at this time of the year, we have been focusing on social skills, building community and co-operative team skills in readiness for all of the collaborative learning my teaching partner and I like to do.

I found an ant farm (empty of course) in my cupboard, which I had used many years ago for science, and thought that co-operation, team work and ants went pretty well together. I offered a few kiddos in our class the opportunity to set up the farm.

The small group scoped out ants nests during lunchtime, calling me over to get my approval for the soil and ant types. We didn’t really want the green ants because they sting when you get bitten, not to mention one child in this little group announced he was allergic to them.  Okaaaay, I probably should have checked that minor detail first.

The bell rang signaling lunchtime was over. The small group came back to class, finished off some work and then went out to ‘harvest the ants’ and collect the soil for the farm. The rest of the class was enjoying me reading a much loved chapter book when one member of the group burst in “Mrs B, we need the tweezers, the ants are jumping off the spoon, and we have only got 4 ants,” she announced. In my mind a picture formed, tortured ants with squished abdomens, death by tweezers, eeeekk, poor little guys, all in the name of science, social skilling.

The goal was to collect 20 ants and with 15 minutes until the home time bell I gave the tweezers to the messenger, secretly dreading the fact that I was going to be setting up an ant farm after school or worse, managing unruly ants in my classroom the next morning.

The group returned with minutes to spare and 2 bowls of soil and sand, not an ant in sight. Mission not accomplished! Thankfully!

Tomorrow the group will resume the harvesting assignment. The ant farm will be set up and we can observe the way the ants work in a team to accomplish their harmonious way of life. The kids are all so excited about it. I am hoping they can make connections between the ants and us and it will set the tone for our team for the year.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

I am not sure of this is a poem or not.  It was the dialogue going on in my head as I was searching for a friend ‘on the line’ and fellow slicers page.  I am so thankful to Stacey and the team for this event.  March is so wonderful.  Its like Christmas everyday as a grown up, being immersed in something you love heart,mind and body.  Making new friends and learning from old and new.  This truly is so good for the world.  Thank you to everyone who writes and makes up this amazing growing community.

Where are you Ramona

Where are you Ramona?

There’s 220 or more

Where are you Ramona?

It was easier before

Where are you Ramona?

I want to read your slice

Where are you Ramona?

SOLC is growing, and that’s nice

But, where are you Ramona?

I’ve forgotten the name of your page

Where are you Ramona this is taking me all day

I’ve started at the top

I’ve worked my way down

I’ve read lots of others

But yours I can’t find

Where are you Ramona?

I need another month

I need more time to read all this great stuff

Where are you Ramona?

Do you post early?

Where are you Ramona?

Another slice too tempting to pass over

Another comment to write

I’m distracted again

But still no closer

There you are, finally, I remember your name

At last I get to read your slice

And catch up once again.

Thanks to the team at TWT for the opportunity to write, share and grow. SOLC 2017

It was after the sun and before the rain that JB and I timed our walk. We had to purchase a few things from the local shop and so set off down the very steep hill, me already hating trudging the 30 steps of incline on the way back. The storm clouds were building and it was humid, of course!

We often walk around our neighborhood noticing things like gardens, building design and of course to complete our look, what dog we would like to buy. It takes about 10 minutes to walk to the beach, but yesterday we took the long way and then ended up down the front after we stopped to get a take away cold drink.

We sat on a corner of a triangle, a beach seat overlooking the beach, near the entrance to the walkway to the lookout, and the area where the wash off bay is located. There was a lot of traffic at this time of the day. Many beach goers were on their way home and exercise addicts were doing their daily run, most with their dogs. People were preparing for their evening plans, which included one particular family which JB and I got a lot of laughs just watching. Isn’t it great people watching? JB is a real watcher and I am what you might call a talker. I think that’s why he married me so he doesn’t ever have to say anything at parties etc.

Anyway, so this guy in his thirties came to the wash off area with two dogs, one very small and fluffy and the other black, happy and curly, medium sized. The guy unpacked an array of things on the grass and then proceeded to wash his black dog with shampoo in the little low shower, which is really meant for rinsing sand off feet. The dog flipped and turned on the lead whilst the other little one looked on, apprehensively.

Finally the black dog was done and the quivering small fluffy dog was taken reluctantly to the water source, the black dog was told to stay on his towel, and he did! The little dog took much less time. Once finished, still shivering, both dogs rolled and slid on the grass, you know how dogs do after a bath, relieved, happy, bouncy.

JB and I had been laughing at the guy and his routine with the dogs the whole time, from a distance of course and not in a mean way, just a happy entertaining way. I was doing a running commentary, we were sipping our drinks and we were really enjoying ourselves. But the funny part came next. We thought it was just a man and his dogs, however then came his wife and 2 little girls, and you guessed it, he had the same routine with them. The little girls squawked at the cold water and then had to sit on their towels when finished. They ran and jumped when they were finished too!  This whole routine took aver 40 minutes for the whole family to be de-sanded and de-salted.

I started to think about what it was like back then, when our kids were small and it was such a production line and so much extra time to get to the beach and back again. Now it’s just JB and I, we have time to stroll and to stop where we like then walk home sandy knowing we won’t whinge about it all the way home. But, I do sometimes long for those days with the kids, and of course the dog to wash after the beach.

The view from our bench seat yesterday. The wash off area is to the right, the Surf club to the left and the flags are generally slightly to the left on the beach.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

Where I live there are two seasons. Season one, well lets just call that season Hot and season two we will call Perfect. Right now we are in Hot season. Locals grumble and meet for coffee and talk about myths and tales about a time when we had four seasons. Lets just call them what they were in the old days Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring.

I live in the southern hemisphere, in a land down under, but it is in my particular part, and north of me, in this great southern land that two seasons are a reality. Our seasons are different to our southern countrymen. The further south of me you go there are some days when you will experience all four seasons in one day.

Let me do a little Y chart for you. You know, a graphic organizer of information about a topic, minus the actual graphic side of it because technically that is just too challenging for me to add to this post. I’ll use old-fashioned headings instead.

Hot

Looks like

• A red faced husband after the sun radiating off a new concrete slab all day
• Singlets,shorts and sunnies – a very limited capsule wardrobe
• Pool noodles faded in the pool
• The pool water level dipping below the skimmer box
• Ends of leaves of every plant inside and out scorched brown
• Shimmering waves above the road
• Sand through the house
• Beach towels everywhere including wet on the laundry floor waiting for the washing fairy
• Alfresco dining- but close to the air conditioner please
• Sweaty heads after recess, hair plastered to red faces
• Thunder clouds building in the afternoon
• Frizzy hair
• Blanketless beds
• Wrinkled toes from sweaty work boots all day (JB told me that one)

I could go on but here is some

Feels Like

• Oppressive
• Draining
• Fun
• Free
• Home
• Adventurous
• Frustrating
• Dry eyes- the fans and my contacts don’t get along
• Wet and sweaty- even on your eyelids and forearms, constantly

 and some

Sounds Like

• Birds chirping in the early morning
• Kids playing after school
• Fans whirring and squeaking rhythmically
• People talking and wishing it was Perfect season
• Life guard announcements
• Afternoon and evening thunderstorms
• Planes flying overhead with another sky jumper to land on the beach
• Splashing
• Ice cubes clinking in glasses
• Waves tumbling

We range from 26-40 degrees Celsius during this time, from September to April, sometimes the temperature stays in the late 30’s for weeks on end. We have Christmas day sweltering, most years.

It is supposed to be autumn here right now, and as I watched the weather report this morning there was a lovely sun icon with a little cloudy bit and raindrops coming out of it. Basically, it’s going to be 30 degrees Celsius, sunny with a chance of a shower (they cover all bases don’t they, they can’t be wrong, we can’t lay blame on them). Which in local terms translates to the following; today it is going to be really hot outside with high humidity, which feels like 98% and then, this afternoon it will get hotter as the evening storm approaches. After the rain, which you are so grateful to have, it will be hotter than before the rain because it’s the rain that makes it so humid. So, go down the road and get a hot chook from the chicken shop, make a salad and take it down the beach to eat for dinner because, it will be much nicer there, and you can stop talking about the heat and focus on something else.

And then there’s Perfect season. And it’s just beautiful one day, perfect the next!

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

My mum was a wonderful dressmaker and I was too young to appreciate her skill. I regret not asking all the questions and leaning over her bench as she drafted a pattern for my girls new birthday dresses, with layers of gorgeousness and exquisite trim and detail.

Yesterday I called in to see my daughter and grandson. I knew it was her catch up day with her friend Holly and her little 5-month-old baby Saige. I hadn’t seen her friend and her little girl in a few weeks, so I thought I’d pop in on the way home from the shops.

As I walked up the steep driveway  I heard Holly call out “Thank goodness, the master is here”  she then turned to my daughter and whispered “did you text her?” My daughter shook her head with a big smile on her face. My daughter was focused on the sewing machine, eyebrows knitted together. There were crackers and dip on the chair beside them, no time for a special lunch today, fabric scraps on the floor and not a toddler or baby in sight.

The girls had decided to make clothes for their little ones. Elise was making a long jumpsuit for her son and Holly some cute little bloomers for her daughter. They were past the exciting part of cutting out and thinking this is easy, they now had to think, and apparently I was going to do that for them.

I do sew; it’s a great past time for me as I am still required to give my total brainpower to the task. It is relaxing for me in a funny, frustrating kind of way, as I have no room to think or worry about anything else at the same time.

I began answering their questions, unpicking and giving little tips, mindful to not bombard them with too much information, I wanted them to have a learning journey and feel as though they had accomplished something. I was so glad and relieved I could help them, Holly could still think I was a master!

I did feel a tinge of regret though sitting at that basic sewing machine. I wondered how much better my sewing would be today if I had continued sewing when I was there age, just kept making mistakes and having things not work out but not be disheartened and frustrated and then leave it for months before giving it another go. When ever I sewed back then it was like the beginning every time, there was not practice in between.

I was so proud of both of them. I praised them for having a go and encouraged them to just jump in like this all the time and very soon it would come easily to them. That was my mistake, I didn’t sew regularly and I had the best tutor in the world, ready to help and encourage.

I left them to continue to make the most of the time whilst the babies were asleep and I knew I would be back later that afternoon to see and praise them for their creations, and have squishy cuddles with their babies.

SLOLC 2017 Thanks to the TWT team for the opportunity to write, share and grow.

Well, here we are all excited about the annual SOL, a fresh new page, a new challenge and the opportunity to connect with people all over the world. I think this is my 3^rd or 4^th time, and although I have only completed the 31 day challenge successfully the first year I began, I know that each and every time I grew as a writer and enjoyed my life so much more for the month of March.

There is nothing like the pressure to get that slice written everyday to help you find the wonder and inspiration which awaits your ever keen eyes for this month. Looking at every moment and thinking ‘Could I write about that?’ for it to be soon superseded by something else, better, funnier, more intriguing or even sad or difficult.

And so our writer’s notebooks are our constant companion, filled with scribbles and notes and to do lists and sentences and tickets and thoughts, all fair fodder for the next slice.

This month of writing helps me be a better teacher, a better person and I think it even helps my confidence grow in writing, actually, I know it does. The friendships ‘on the line’ are valued as we navigate life closely with each other just for a month, often in different countries, time zones, hemispheres and seasons.

So there it is, my first slice, not quite the 300 words yet, but not over the 700 either. I am aiming for a middle ground this time around and I am very excited to be reading everyone else’s take on life, just for this month.