Soon – Snow, Too Soon

Snowy Road 2012 by Tommia Wright

Snowy Road 2012 by Tommia Wright

These aren’t the trees bent over the road now

But give it time, Winter’s building up and how.

Today’s just a dusting, with that I’m just fine.

Long gone are the days of 32 flavors of snow to dine.

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1984 Clouds

Clouds by Tommia Wright

Clouds by Tommia Wright

Trapped in a room that is neither dark nor light,
A room completely devoid of sound and sight.
Like a stormy sky’s clouds drifting apart,
Describes the status of my heart.
To lose the Word, the Good Shepherd’s love serene;
1984 accusations and more, the Devil is mean.
No hymns to guide, no place to hide;
Every thought questioned, doubted or worse,
While like a sword, sins steadily stab with a curse.
Am I forgotten, forsaken, my prayers not taken?
Oh, blessed Son rise, Son break, Thank you Lord, my soul to take.

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This Learner’s List

Teachers' Gifts by Tommia Wright

Teachers’ Gifts by Tommia Wright

The writing prompt today was wonderful yet limited.

Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?

Select only one teacher? Anyone who has read the various ponderings here knows how ‘indecisive’ I can be about some things. The objection to the prompt isn’t in spotlighting one teacher, but the chance to spotlight educators who have crossed our paths no matter how early or late in our lives.

  • Mrs. S made an impact on me in pre-school, not only with her kindness, but in drawing me out of my preference of corners/hiding. She was the first non-family member to give me a book (The House that Jack Built, on the left). The storytelling time made my imagination jump all over the place, beginning with the belief that I could go to ‘house-building school’ to make my own house, just like Jack’s, each room devoted to the other things I’d do when I grew up.
  • Ms. J. opened the world of reading to me while trying to keep me focused long enough to finish a book – or pull my attention away from a book to do something else.
  • Mrs. C patiently helped me see things anew as I protested the notion of having to wear corrective lens for a time.
  • Mrs. R. encouraged me to play with words, no matter how many times I wrote some of them ‘my way.’
  • Mrs. B. gave me a reason to stay after school, to see what teachers did when we all left. Who knew how much work went into the next day’s art project?
  • Mr. K shared a personal side with us – his music. Nothing was impossible, he told us, if we were willing to try our best, help one another and be honest with ourselves, being fearless as we did it. Maybe that was why the entire class had an easy time recording his songs that he taught us, recordings he gifted us at year’s end.
  • Mr. W. was all about exercising the mind – and being mindful during dodge ball. After lunch, we were always greeted with a ’20-questions’ challenge, the expression ‘stupid question’ banned in his room. We learned a new way of looking at things, and that included a middle-school level of vocabulary.
  • Mr. O, Mr. S and Ms. W. prepared us as best as they could for  middle school, each in their own way. It didn’t help that Mr. O was one of my parent’s least favorite teachers for a variety of reasons (one major impact taking decades to overcome). I learned from Ms. W to question assignments calmly, to challenge unfair decisions and prepare to argue anything. Mr. S taught us to survive.
  • Ms. N, Ms. M. and Mr. F. were the core middle-school teachers, Ms. N refusing to let me keep my writing in the shadows (something I surreptitiously did then and again in high school when I was assigned to her once more). Ms. M taught me the value of holding on to break times (something this recovering workaholic lets slip by now and again) and the need for a good dictionary and spelling guide book – both of which I still have. Mr. F. introduced me to the greatest science fiction series ever: The Dragon Riders of Pern. We were, sadly/luckily, the last class with that opportunity.
  • Almost every high school teacher left a positive impact on me and a couple negatively so.
  • Most professors at university were competent and concise, many patient; every teaching assistant helpful and the peers in study groups a lifeline.
  • Grad school – most were fair, a few made me wonder and 3 were so inspirational and passionate – I would take the opportunity to learn from again in a heartbeat.
  • Every one of these teachers, from Mrs. S. to Professor B. set the markers I had used in beginning my first profession – a profession I knew I’d do the moment I left Mrs. C’s room.
  • I’m certain I learned more from all of the students I had taught over the years than what could ever fit into a textbook.

Saving the best for last – my Sunday School teachers. Mrs. O  made the old testament come alive and the miracles so easy to see. I treasure the copy of Luther’s Prayers Mrs. C. gave me. I felt humble getting a chance to teach along side her shortly after confirmation. I’ve been blessed with the bible studies led by different pastors, leaders, friends.

Am I still finding educators to connect with? Yes. And given the various, vibrant, talented artists found here, I’ve learned a great deal more, too.

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Monday Meandering

Susan Point's 'First People' (SAM) by Tommia Wright

Susan Point’s ‘First People’ (SAM) by Tommia Wright

“One out of four people in this country is mentally unbalanced. Think of your three closes friends; if they seem OK, then you’re the one.” ~ Ann Landers

I’ll have to agree with Ann about that one, no matter what state I count my various friends in.

Today’s entry is definitely on the ‘rambling rails.’

It is important to remember that the strongest connections we have with one another exists in the simplest of terms, be it by family, friendship, fellowship or some form in between. No matter how crazy the technical tentacles get in tangling people up (forty billion apps downloaded as of today, Social Savvy sprinting passed traditional modes of communication), a face-to-face smile goes a long way.

In the midst of twenty-four-hour tweets, umpteen updates, pings and other high-tech connects, when was the last time people actually listened to the person they were talking with before them? When was the last time a meaningful conversation contained more depth than a short-hand instant message exchange or 140-character-limit line? This isn’t to say that technology should be tossed and we return to the stone-age with limited, primitive ways to communicate, but to remember that face-to-face time has more returns – emotionally, physically, etc, than ‘facetime.’

Then again, the competent connector of both venues – human and technical probably has a saner grasp of it than I.

Posted in Ponderings | 2 Comments

Sunday Snapshot

Gnome on the Water by Tommia Wright

Gnome on the Water by Tommia Wright

In keeping with this weekend’s ‘water’s edge’ theme, I present to you ‘Gnome by the Water.’ My friend Sheri has a fantastic scene welcoming her and she kindly let me take the shot after a day of crafty activities.

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Saturday Snapshot

Camano Flyer by Tommia Wright

Camano Flyer by Tommia Wright

Combing through the ‘archives’ – this was a shot from a few months back – if your vision is sharp, you’ll see the ‘sailor’ just off the water’s edge.

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Friday Ficlet: Up in Smoke

Buddy by Tommia Wright

Buddy by Tommia Wright

This Friday Ficlet was inspired by a couple of challenges: the Daily Prompt: Quote Me and the Writing Prompt: These Four Walls.

The quote is one I’ve heard from a young age, one that seems so true no matter who makes up the company, what period of life you’re in, where you’re at, or when you think there could be an end in sight. There’s no point in asking ‘why.’

Up in Smoke

“There are too many open mouths and not enough open ears in society today,” Maurice said to the smoky smelling, ash-covered small stuffed bear at the foot of the couch, four legs of various lengths going in different directions and a florescent blue keychain around its neck. “You, Buddy, are part of the quiet, laconic few.”

Maurice’s coughing fit buried the sounds of the growling stomach, aggravating his sore back from the fall down the few frozen steps out front. That pain paled in comparison to his throbbing knee and bruised pride –the latter the only thing burning in the one-room cabin.

He refused to get a telephone, didn’t bother with electricity and insisted on keeping the clunker of a car that got him as far as he wanted to go, day in and day out –the town library, post office and grocery store, nothing less, nothing more. The ‘nothing more’ summed up the total count of matches he had in the tin box by the stack of firewood. Of course, he still had his lighter…by the pack of cigarettes on top of the postcards from his grandchild who gave him “Buddy” in the first place.

Maurice had lain on the couch for quite a while, the winter air seeping through the cracks like a snake, perfect to go with the blanket of gray and white outside. Watching the snow fall didn’t brighten or worsen his mood. He could force himself towards the card table where the propane cooker sat – a simple, small single tank setup just right for strong coffee, canned stew and soups. But that required effort Maurice didn’t want to spend, not on something that boring.

He made his way across the room in the opposite direction, slower than a turtle’s pace and resting against the wooden chairs once in a while. Sweeping some candy bars, water bottles, the postcards, the cigarettes and lighter into the shoe box with his good hand for easy carrying, Maurice returned to the couch, cradling Buddy in the crook of his arm.

Maurice grunted before putting his glasses on. Even in large, uneven print, he had a hard time making out the words on the cards once in a while. He read to Buddy, the highlights, the humor, the ‘harsh warning’ of ‘no more silly cancer sticks.’  The warning was included on the back of a photograph of the quilt that had been passed down for generations, too.

“You hear that, Buddy? Doesn’t matter if the child’s at home or in a foreign land, gotta warn me off.” He coughed again. When he could take a deep breath again (as much as his ribs would allow), Maurice re-read the sign-off/semi-wish. By the lantern’s light, Buddy’s tilted head had a scolding attitude to it. Muttering curses under his breath, Maurice pushed himself off the couch, Buddy in tow, and tossed the cigarettes into the fireplace, putting the lighter to the kindling inside.

Things could possibly warm up, he thought.

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Fun Finds Friday

Tune In by Tommia Wright

Tune In by Tommia Wright

There are some songs that sound fresh when a new spin is applied, such is the case with the Munsters Theme Song, a fun a capella version of another favorite, like Linus and Lucy, or indulgence such as  the 31 Days of Mozart.

Any particular fun finds musically or otherwise that you have stumbled upon?

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Small Hopes

That's the Ticket by Tommia Wright

That’s the Ticket by Tommia Wright

I have a habit of supporting various causes with raffle tickets. To date, I’ve purchased enough tickets that, had I only redirected the coin collection/cash, I might have had enough to buy material to make a couple of quilts. But where’s the fun in that?

Have I tossed the tickets from those and other raffles? No. To make matters worse, browsing in a crafting school, found a scrapbook collection of ‘antique tickets.’ What to do?

Put them to use in a ‘tiny hopes chest.’

I am not one for making resolutions, aside from the one made (several) years back: “Never make resolutions.” I’ve kept that one quite well, I think, but I digress.

Inspired by Jackie’s goals, stumbling upon Lesley’s list, and motivational images from: mac, Sheri, Shards of Dubois, and  wsj2day, to name a few (and this includes educational/entertaining readings from Belle Grove Plantation), I decided to actually write down my list of ‘hopes.’

Number 11 on that list: A long distance train trip.

I’ve enjoyed such a journey before (the header photo is of a sunset from that train trip), but I’d like the destination to be some place I’ve not gone to before and/or a different way to a place I’ve not been to in a long time. Will have to see how the savings plan goes.

What about the ‘previous ten’ hopes or ones that follow? Well, those are tucked away in the ‘tiny hopes chest.’ For now.

What goals do you have set? Is it worth taking the chance at last? Will you try it alone or do better with friends/family nearby?

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Wednesday Wanderings

Travelin' by Tommia Wright

Travelin’ by Tommia Wright

The first day of the year was spent watching the parade (well, channel-hopping to hear various takes on the same parade), listening to odd solutions to hangovers (granted, I would think most folks would do what they could to ‘avoid one if possible in the first place,’ but that requires logic), followed by ‘the best of this’ and ‘the best of that’ ending with ‘THE places to see year.’

I find I’m quite content just discovering the valley, such as the fun scene above in the town of Duvall.

Duvall Bookstore 1 by Tommia Wright

Duvall Bookstore 1 by Tommia Wright

Duvall Bookstore 2 by Tommia Wright

Duvall Bookstore 2 by Tommia Wright

Duvall Antique Store 1 by Tommia Wright

Duvall Antique Store 1 by Tommia Wright

What places do you wish to go to, want to return to, or create? What makes for the perfect getaway?

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