SOLSC March 16th - Brother, Do You Remember?

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Brother, Do You Remember

Do you remember
Riding the broken old tractor in front of the neighbor's,
Going everywhere the inaccurate maps in our heads
Could take us,
The road dust rising with the
Occasional passing car,
Adding a layer to our grime and,
Spice to the smell of summer?

Do you remember
The chain coming off my bike,
As we raced on the same dirt road,
And you didn't believe me
When I said I couldn't stop?
You were surprised and angry
When my bike bumped yours as I bailed off
And landed in a cloud of proverbial dust.

Do you remember
Winning; for once,
When you pushed me into the laundry basket
By the laundry room?
You were lucky dad was there
To keep me in the
Turtle-on-its-back pose
As I fumed in embarrassment?
Do you remember if I got you back?
I'm sure I did
But I don't remember;
I'm sorry.

Do you remember
Dad burying
Snowball,
Nanook,
Rocky,
At the base of the rock,
As our childhood pets died,
And we made crosses from sticks,
Crying real tears into the dusty soil?
Some pets just never returned,
Like Ginger and Horse,
And we mourned their loss just the same
But with less finality.

Do you remember
Our road trip to New Mexico
Racing thunderstorms across the San Juan Valley
In the Toyota pick-up,
The smell of sage, rain and dust
Belonging only to us because of the
Absence of our parents?
At the Sand Dunes you drove
On the Primitive 4x4 road,
Even though you were just fifteen.
Do you remember the guilty joy as
We drank a smuggled Dos Equis
In our hot tent?

Do you remember
Telling me Annie was pregnant
Unsure, scared,
Growing up faster than
Any of us expected?
Do you remember me
Years later, having those same feelings,
Telling you IVF was our last hope,
Jealous of your beautiful daughters and family
In a way I had never been jealous before?

Do you remember
Going fishing for fishless days,
Exploring the world together again
As adults,
Finding that watching sea otters,
Crossing mossy trees high above rivers,
Wearing the same brand of shoe,
For the same reasons,
Bridges the too many years of
Missed adventures?

Do you believe
In the dust of our childhood?

SOLSC March 15 - Off the Cornice

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Uh Oh!

I was leaning way too far forward, my speed seemed to be increasing exponentially, and all of my weight was on my leg with the bad knee. As my body tried to recover, my brain implored, "Don't get hurt!"

Off balance after landing. Will Max recover or will he wreck? 

*  *  *  *  *

"Don't get hurt," was the last thing my wife said before I headed up skiing for the day. There may have been a "Have fun," and "Love you," thrown in there but it was 5:30 in the morning and she was still warm and sleepy while I was starting to sweat in my long underwear and ski pants.

I was excited! It was my first day up on the mountain this year and I would get to ski with my uncle and cousin who were finishing a week-long Colorado ski trip. The plan was to go meet up at A-Basin, ski, eat ribs cooked by my dad in the parking lot and have a fun day! The weather would be perfect for some low key skiing, even if the bright sun and bluebird skies meant sunburns and some icy snow before things got warmed up a little. 

Don't get hurt was a good thing to keep in mind. I tore the ACL in my left knee fifteen years ago and have had one other sugery on it. At this point, I have some cartilage damage and my orthopedic doctor tells me it's likely I'll need a knee replacement, eventually. I wear a brace when I do athletic things, don't jog any more and still, my knee gets tweaked every few months and hobbles me for a day or a week. Despite the fact that I ski only a couple of times a year, it's like riding a bicycle and after I warm up, I'm almost as good as I ever was. And I baby the knee a little, trying to put myself in good situations and not pushing myself by doing big jumps or lots of bumps.

The Basin was just as expected. We cruised around looking for the best snow, even hit a couple of double diamond runs, steep, bumpy and narrow. Lunch was tasty, the sun brilliant and the only three colors were white snow, green spruces, and blue sky. Now we were on the West Wall, a ridge along one side of the ski area, with a cornice along the top of it that dropped off two-to-eight feet into the steep run. I've been jumping off this cornice since I was five and have full confidence in my ability to land.

"You going to jump off Max?" my uncle asked.

"Sure!"

"Want me to take your picture?"

I handed him my phone and showed him where I'd be jumping off.

Take 1 - I skied along the top, took a quick speed check and gave a little hop off the cornice, mugging for the camera with a smile and a tiny mule kick. I landed cleanly after dropping 6-7 feet, turned quickly to the right and skied across the hill until I slowed and came to a stop.

"Missed it!" my uncle said.

We skied to the bottom and went up for another run on the wall because the snow was so good.

Take 2 - After showing my uncle how to just hold down the button for continuous shooting, I started down again. And now you're caught up.

Uh Oh!

I was leaning way too far forward, my speed seemed to be increasing exponentially, and all of my weight was on my leg with the bad knee. As my body tried to recover, my brain implored, "Don't get hurt!" I also didn't want to wreck in front of my uncle and cousin since it could be a potential yard sale where they would have to collect and bring me poles, skis and whatever else, if I "bit it." Plus, I might get hurt.

Bending my knees, I fought to get my weight on my uphill, and right, ski. With a lower center of gravity, I was able to eat up a couple of bumps and get my skis across the hill, slowing down one hundred feet lower than the last jump. My heart was pumping and my bad left knee throbbed. Breathing heavily, I did a systems check to determine if it was injured or just a little tweaked. Definitely tweaked but not injured.

Bob came over and said, "You were a lot higher than I expected. I might have missed it again." Looking through the pics on my phone, I found one of the bottom of my skis and the next showed me off-balance, fighting to remain upright.

Some good air and a cheesy grin (out of frame) 

Take 3 - We skied down to the lift and I tested out the knee. While it was a little painful I was sure I was fine. A little ice that evening and I should be good to go. We decided to give it one more run and I really wanted a picture so I decided to jump off the cornice again. I was confident I could hop off in a controlled way to stay safe, even if my wife's words Don't get hurt were ringing in my brain.

It went off without a hitch and my uncle finally got me nicely framed cheekily smiling at the camera before I spotted my landing and made an easy turn across the hill. A day later, my knee hurts a little but it's the kind of pain that will go away over the next couple of days and is well worth the great day and this final picture!

SOLSC March 14th - Awake

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Tonight was the second night of the Advanced School play (middle school aged students in our K-8 school). They performed The Miracle Worker and it was as powerful and awesome a performance as I have seen in my years at Logan. After the hugs and high fives on stage, my wife and I walked through the doors into the night air, which inspired this slice.



Awake 
by Max Maclay

It is different somehow.
On a deep fundamental level.
Something is new, yet...
Familiar,
Comforting.
Like the smell of cookies
As you step through the door.
You may not recognize it that instant, but
Soon you wonder
Why you don't bake cookies more often?

Tonight,
Outside the theater
It was different.
The darkness highlighting
That Smell.

"Did it rain I asked?"
"No. Did it dew?"
"What is that smell?"
"The Earth!"
Our teeth glinted in the moonlight.

The ground has thawed.
It is awake!

SOLSC March 13th - Remembered Pain Hurts Too

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Today I went to a neighbor's to pick up my four year old daughter from a playdate. The mom, her three young children, plus my Clara were all playing in the front yard, walking over the rocks and landscaping. From several houses away, I could tell they were all having fun and all seemed well. As I approached, Clara yelled, "Max!" and started towards me with a smile (I don't know why she prefers this to calling me "Dad" and the story about that is another Slice to write). 

Just about the time I noticed that she had a scrape the size of a nickel under her eye, I saw her remember it too. The smile dropped, her arms came up, and she started to cry like it had just happened. Apparently she had fallen on their treadmill and scraped her face. Of course, it had been almost thirty minutes before, but now she was so inconsolable I had to carry her home. On the way to our house, she calmed down but the moment we walked in and saw "Mom" (who only occasionally gets called "Susan") she started up again.  It took some silly stories and her dinner to get her to forget about it enough to be okay. 

And the part where she was fine until she saw me, and later Susan, reminded me of a story from my childhood.

FLASHBACK FLASHBACK FLASHBACK

Evergreen, Colorado - Early 1980s

By an early age, my brother and I had relatively free reign in the woods behind my dad's house, so long as we took a whistle and let him know when we left. The orange plastic whistles, on their orange cords, hung on a hook next to the front door. There were few sins greater, in my dad's eyes, than being in the woods without a whistle. We could use them to call for help by blowing three times, although I don't ever recall having a real emergency situation. But dad would blow a long toot on a whistle from the front door and we were expected to answer back, acknowledging that we heard and were coming home.

One day, at age seven or eight, I grabbed a whistle, waved to my dad in the yard, and headed out into the pine woods to track elk, follow squirrels, and look for raspberries. It was a hot August day (it must have been with raspberries to pick). Large grasshoppers buzzed and clicked away in front of me, the wind whispered through the pine needles above, and dust settled onto the quick sweat that appeared on my skin. I was running down the old fire road, headed towards the first patch of raspberries, when I tripped. 

I landed hard on my hands, elbows and knees, the rocks and pebbles, scraping a good amount of skin off all three areas. I remember looking around, seeing no one to cry to and taking stock of everything on my own. I may have had a few sniffles and I for sure examined my injuries, but I did not cry. The bleeding was pretty minor, although I had dug a good-sized chunk out of the palm of my right hand and the skin flap flipped back and forth over the welling blood. Being an active young person, I was used to cuts and scrapes. In fact, I already had permission to go into my school's office, to treat my playground wounds with hydrogen peroxide and bandaids on my own. 

I must have decided I was mostly ok because I continued on to the raspberry bush and proceeded to eat what the bears and raccoons had missed. After 'some time,' indeterminate to someone my age whose focus was on berries, but long enough for most of my bloody scrapes to dry, I heard a whistle from the house. I reached for the whistle around my neck and gave an answering WHEEeeeeeet!

As I walked back home, I must have been a sight. Bloody scrapes in several places, a dried trail of blood down my shin, from my knee, and probably smears of berry juice stains on my mouth and hands.

I was surprised when, upon sighting my dad, my eyes started to well with tears and my breath became ragged. As I ran to him with sobs starting to come from my mouth, I remember thinking it was ridiculous that I was crying. I had been gone for a while and fell at the start of my adventure, so why was I crying now? He gave me a hug, checked me over and then we headed inside for some of the well-stocked hydrogen peroxide and bandaids.

What is it about hurts that allows us to hold them in for so long and then suddenly release them, even after the real pain is mostly gone? Is it so someone can prove they care? Is it because it's safe to show only certain people the hurt you've suppressed? I don't have the answers but I'm glad my daughter can cry to me and share her hurts, even as I know some of them are only remembered pain and that she's probably alright now.

SOLSC March 12 - Attack of the Zombies!

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

The zombies surround me, eyes staring off into space, occasionally focusing on the world around them. The circle of bodies slump one way, or another, heads loose. Are their brains even functioning right now? Obviously there is enough activity to keep them "alive" but not much else seems to be going on.

A lot of people would feel fear in this situation, but I don't. I have my weapons, my resources and my wits. And while I'm tired, I can get through to this hoard of zombies and do what needs to be done.

"Alright everyone. I know it's tech week, the play opens tonight and you're pretty tired but we still have class today."

Middle schoolers, the week of their big play, the week after Daylight Savings springing forward, are pretty much zombies. But they're great anyway and I love 'em.

SOLSC March 11th - What Are You Reading?

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Lately, India has been involved in my consciousness as I read articles online, talk with students, chat with friends, and read books. Last week I played a round of disc golf with a man named Shyam whose family is from India or is himself (I'll need to play more rounds with him before I know his life story and he knows mine). It seems that no matter where I turn, India is there and I am gaining a greater and greater interest in the country and especially the culture of the people. Below is a review of one of the two books I've read recently that has a setting in India. It's Thursday, What Are You Reading?

No Country  by Kalyan Ray

This book blew me away for it wide scope in terms of geography, and the depth of the cultures it explores. It starts in Ireland, at the start of Irish Potato Famine, following the lives of the best friends, Padraig and Brendan. Their stories are told, intertwined with the people of their village as they fight poverty, landlords, the English and eventually the Potato Blight. Brendan ends up in India and Pardaig in New England by way of Canada, and the book is only one third finished. The rest of the book details the lives of their descendants, but also tells the rest of their stories with family stories and lost letters. Brendan's line faces adversity related to the the British rule and the religious differences in India, that led to the formation of Pakistan. The characters are so rich and real that the reader gets a clear view of what it is like to live there. As the 20th Century spins on, the two family lines come closer and closer  and the reader holds their breath, hoping and wondering if they will converge. If you are up for a long and wonderful read, full of vivid characters experiencing joy, disaster, dreams and trails, this is the book for you.

Here is an except from the introduction of the second chapter.
I was a small boy when the landlords' tax men came to deal with those who had fallen into arrears. I remember the fire. So lovely and terrible a hue. What God creates such a beautiful color and flickering shapes as it leaps and rules upon a cottage, completing its unroofing and ruin?

SOLSC March 10th - Sweet Choices

Join me as I participate in the March Slice of Life Story Challenge. Other "Slicers" can be found among my students in the comments of my class blog. There are also several hundred teachers participating at https://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com

Sweet Choices

I walked into the teacher's lounge

And there you were. 

I wasn't looking for anything special

But the moment I saw you, 

I had to have you. 

Basket of sweet choices, 

All wrapped up in 

Red and orange and brown.

I compare the memory of tastes

To what I want now.

The red is so sweet and

Berrylicious.

The orange citrus, 

A perfect contrast

to the Tootsie center.

There is only one 

Chocolate left.

The most popular,

And my Favorite!

Today though,

I choose Orange.

It was what I wanted now.

It was delicious!