Mixed Berry Pie

Yesterday I attended the most beautiful funeral. My cousin Minda died Saturday, and the rest of this week has been a blur.

Did I mention that we’re celebrating her niece’s bat mitzvah this weekend, and that there will be 70 people at my house Saturday night in her honor? The occasion was moved to a synagogue here in Detroit from Southern California a few months ago because Marcia, the bat mitzvah’s mom, knew her sister would likely be too ill to travel, and might even die. Continue reading

Friday Poem – Accident, Maryland

Yes, we really did spend a week in Accident, down the road from Deep Creek Lake. Until recently, I didn’t realize that a slice of Maryland was sandwiched between Pennsylvania and West Virginia. Maryland Map

See if you can spot Accident in the top left corner of this map. I can’t help wondering why there’s such a narrow bit surrounded by other states. Whatever the reason, someone also thought it would be a good idea to bring Highland cows to Accident. We learned a lot about them… and which were the best ice cream flavors at Lakeside Creamery, and how to play our own version of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. We had a whole week with our dear friends – 4 adults and 7 children in a rambling house in a beautiful part of the country. I even started this poem while we were there.

Family Vacation
Accident, Maryland

I did not expect cows
beyond the driveway fence
content to take pancakes
and stale baguette
from our hands after breakfast

I did not expect our boy
to navigate waterfalls
so casually, the current
dragging him down
so he could climb again

I did not expect guitar music
and whiskey in the dark
or your hand
slipping into mine
whenever I walked by

Swings

The problem with being a writing teacher is that sometimes you forget to write.

Or maybe that’s my problem with being a writing teacher. I like to believe my colleagues find time for their poems and essays, carving out precious minutes at 6 a.m. or after everyone else goes to bed.

At 6 a.m. I’m running through my dark neighborhood.  At night, I sleep. In between I work and shop for groceries and make sure everyone gets to music lessons on time. Except for a few lines in my journal before bed, writing moves to the back of the line – behind the dog, behind camp registration forms, behind laundry and doctor appointments and scrubbing tomato sauce off the stove. Continue reading