SOLSC Day 10: A Dog Who Can Sing

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

My kids are nine years old and thirteen now. When they were babies, any time one of them cried, our little dog, Indie, would howl along with them. When they cried, he cried. Sometimes when one cried, the other would also cry, and then Indie would cry too. It’s funny to us now, but at the time it was terrible. Everybody wailing and howling away.

Indie also sometimes “sang” along with us. If we sang a long “Ooooo” sound he would do, “Awoooo!”

When Lily was a toddler she went through a harmonica phase, and in a way, so did Indie. Here they are:


SOLSC Day 9: After the Miscarriage

This one was difficult to write, but I think I need to. I’ve never written or really even spoken much about my miscarriage - unless you count my therapist. Miscarriages are common, but rarely ever written or even talked about. It took me a lot of time to get this down on paper, or in this case, the screen. I hope that some of you read this and will maybe get the courage to talk to someone or maybe even write about your experience. You are not alone.

I’ll start with an old memory I wrote a few years ago. It’s about Lily, my first child, not my miscarriage:

The alarm goes off. It's early. The sun isn't quite up yet. My eyes are blurry. My head hurts. My hips hurt. My back hurts. My feet are swollen. I feel slightly sick to my stomach. Only four more weeks to our due date.

My hand touches something fuzzy and warm next to me in the bed. Indie! He's got his furry little head resting on my belly, using it as a pillow--so cute! I wonder if he can feel the baby moving around in there. How did I not notice him sleeping on me? He's warm and soft, and suddenly I don't feel so sick anymore.

I pause for a minute to give Indie some pats and some love, and then I gently slide him over to the side so I can get up and start the day. He lifts his head for a moment and gives me a look that says, "Hey, I'm snuggling here!" (I've always imagined that Indigo has a Brooklyn accent) and then he flops back down with a giant doggy sigh and goes back to sleep.

* Originally posted November 19, 2023–Tuesday Slice of Life Challenge.

A few months later:

The night Lily was born, my contractions started suddenly and painfully. We called the doctor who said to wait a bit before coming to the hospital Better to wait at home, then in the waiting room at NYU.

Indie stuck very close to me while we waited at home. We were playing soft, calm music, just like the birthing classes said to do. Nora Jones.

Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song

Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can't tempt us with their lies

And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I'm safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me

I sat on the couch as my husband rushed around to pack a suitcase. I was crying, but trying to do the breathing they taught me, but hardly succeeding — stopping to wince at the jolt of a contraction. Indie leaned his warm furry body against my legs, and I felt loved. He didn’t cry, he didn’t whine, though he could tell I was hurting. He just doggy-hugged me. I was so thankful for him. He knew just what to do.

Later that night, Lily was born. It turned out to be a close call - her life and mine. But that’s another story.

Four years later.

I had a late-term miscarriage. I was sixteen weeks along. I was on a work trip, in Florida. I was staying with my grandparents, and my mother and sister were there too. My mom drove me to the hospital, and left shortly. The doctors kept me in the hospital for three days. All I wanted was to go home to Vermont and be with my husband and daughter.

My mom picked me up from the hospital, I spent one more night in a bed at my grandparents, and they dropped me off at the airport. An airport agent took me in a wheelchair me through security, then to my gate, then I got out of the wheelchair and I wobbled to my seat. I flew home to Vermont, stunned and battered. I would never be the same after that.

When I was finally home, I spent the next three months in a deep depression. I didn’t go to work. I canceled everything. I wouldn’t let any people to come to our house. I only left my bedroom to tuck my three year old daughter, Lily, into bed. Brinton had to take care of everything - dropping off and picking up Lily at preschool, taking care of her, packing lunches, doing bathtime. Everything. I don’t know why I didn’t get help from my doctors. I think I was afraid to tell them everything.

All day, every day, Indie stayed next to me. He was warm and furry, and gentle, and sweet. When a wave of sadness or anger washed over me, I pulled him close and hugged him, feeling his little heart beat, and. He never pulled away. He never left my side.

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

SOLSC Day 8: Sitting Backward in the Car

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

My husband, Brinton, and I lived in New York from 2002-2012, about ten years. We would make frequent trips home to Vermont, where we both had grown up. In the early years, we would fly JetBlue, which at the time was super cheap. I vaguely remember that we could get a ticket for $99 to Burlington, and a “booklet” of tickets for even less — but maybe that wasn’t true and just my memory playing tricks on me. It seems impossible that it was that cheap, but I must have gotten the idea somewhere?

When our dog, Indie, joined our family, it turned out he was too big to carry on the plane. But… by then we had an old beat up Volvo station wagon. We would pack up for a long weekend, or a school break, and head home to the mountains whenever we could.

It turned out driving home to Vermont was a lot easier than flying. Before the car, we had to either pay for a car service to pick us up and deliver us to JFK, or we had to schlepp all our baggage on multiple subways, LIRR, and then the airport shuttle to get to our terminal. Then once we got to Burlington, we had to either pay for a car service or have someone pick us up at the airport—and then do the entire journey again on the way home.

Driving, we could just hop in the car and go. No getting to the airport early, no flight delays, no shuttles, subways, or car services. Just go!

It was easy-peasy to drive. Except for one thing.

Indie.

Indie hated the car. In the beginning, he would constantly climb into the front seats to be with us. He especially would try to get into the lap of whoever was driving, making it a struggle to get anywhere with him. Eventually we discovered a doggy-seatbelt, which was basically a little strap that clicked into a seatbelt buckle, and clipped to his collar.

Amazingly, he didn’t seem to mind the doggy seatbelt. But he always, always sat backward, quietly facing the back of the seat. Eventually he didn’t seem to need the seatbelt, and would just hang out back there, facing backward, contemplating the passenger seats.

The only time he would face forward was when someone was holding him. I guess he felt safer that way. He always wanted someone to hold him. I love that he loved being held. When I was holding him in my lap, it felt like he was holding me right back. I guess I can’t blame him for not wanting to sit all by himself in the car. I didn’t really want to either.

SOLSC Day 7: The Big Hike Part 2

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and I can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

It was 2008, and our little dog, Indie, was just over a year old. My husband and I had dreamt of having a dog to go on adventures with, and he was finally old enough to go on a longer hike. We had been walking for days and days, and had already survived thunder and lightning, a day of climbing two steep and rocky trails aptly name Profanity and Hellbrook, and had learned that our packs were waaayyyyy too heavy for such a long backpacking trip. 

Lessons learned, we headed out to hike the part of the most familiar part of the Long Trail, crossing Sterling Mountain, Madonna Peak, and Morse, the three peaks of our home area, Smugglers Notch. It was a beautiful sunny day and we were sure the rest of two week trek would be smooth sailing.

When we reached the peak of Madonna, we sat on the chairlift platform to have lunch. Indie was still a baby to us and we cooed and oohed and ahhhed over him, admiring his puppy eyes, and his adorable little mannerisms. Brinton was holding Indie and scratching his belly, when he noticed something strange. 

Spread across Indie’s belly were little bumps, similar to insect bites. But—there were bright, fluorescent pimples with orange goo oozing out, forming little crystals on each bump. 

“Oh my god!” Brinton shouted standing up with Indie still in his arms. “Look at this! Quick!”

We panicked. We walked around in circles, passing Indie from one to another, repeating “Oh my god! Oh my god! What do we do?! What do we do?!”

Eventually, we sat down with Indie and examined it more closely. I pulled out a booklet that had been included in the pre-packed emergency first aid kit I had packed. I flipped through it and found a small section on pet care. The page included a long list of warning signs for pets — my memory is foggy, but I remember spots… bites… inhalation of mold… infection…

“Hike’s over. We have to get him to a vet. Quickly.” 

Cell phones didn’t exist back then —or if they did, we didn’t have one. So we stood up, packs weighing us down, bodies aching form seven nights sleeping through storms, humidity, and a dog keeping us up all night. And we ran, ran, ran, down a trail named F.I.S., an incredibly steep trail. 

Indie loved it. He flew down the mountain, like a deer leaping across a meadow. Brinton moved quickly, jogging easily over holes and boulders. Me… I stumbled, fell multiple times, tipped over by the weight of my unnecessarily enormous pack, fell into holes, barked my shins on rocks. It didn’t matter. I clambered my way down as fast I could.

I don’t remember how we found a phone to call Brinton’s dad to come pick us up — maybe the ski lodge was open? Maybe Brinton flagged down someone in the parking lot? Maybe cell phones actually did exist and we had one and used it? I don’t remember, but my father-in-law showed up somehow and drove us to the nearest veterinarian.

At the vet, the doctor was mystified. “I’m going to take a biopsy to see if we can figure this out. May I take photos of this? I’ve been a veterinarian for 30 years in Vermont. I’ve seen everything. But I’ve never seen anything like this. Do you mind if I share these photos with my colleagues? I’m sure they would be interested.” This did not sound good to us. Indie was our baby. The vet took a small biopsy on one of the pimples (god I hate that word), and sent us on our way. we left the office, dazed.

Weeks later, we got a call from the vet’s office. They still didn’t know what it was. Their best guess was maybe a rare spider bite.

Maybe Indie had discovered a new species of insect. Maybe that orange crystalized goo contained the cure for cancer. Maybe the goo contained magic. We’ll never know.

For the rest of his life, we would never rub his tummy without thinking about the time he had the magical pimples.

SOLSC Day 6: The Big Hike Part 1

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

It must have been about 8 or 9 years ago years ago, so I guess it was 2005 or 2006 (wow, time flies). Our little dog, Indie, was only 2 years old.

On my 30th birthday, Brinton gave me camping gear, in anticipation of someday moving home to Vermont. As part of my birthday gift, we planned a two week adventure hiking the Long Trail. We packed up all our brand new new gear and our little dog, Indie, and headed off into the wilderness. 

The only problem was that we had not checked the weather very carefully. iPhones hadn’t been invented yet, and the weather forcast had changed since we had checked that morning.

As we approached the rocky, exposed summit of Mt. Mansfield the sky suddenly turned dark. VERY dark. The wind picked up and we could hear thunder rolling in the distance. Indie started to whine and pace protective little circles around us instead of bounding straight up the trail. We were too far up the exposed part of the trail to turn back in time to beat the storm, but we knew there was a bypass near the peak that headed down the leeward side of the peak — a safer place to be. 

It started to rain. At first just heavy drips, and then it picked up and we could hear thunder getting closer. Indie started to go right under our feet, not to protect us, but because he was scared. We were pretty close to the summit Mt. Mansfield —-literally the highest point in the entire state and the most dangerous place we could possibly be when lightning strikes. We held Indie in our arms, and started to jog instead of walk. 

It started to pour, hard, and the thunder was upon us just as we reached the summit. We sprinted across the bare, rocky trail and dove into the a tree-lined bypass trail and thankfully reached the tree line a few moments later. We continued running on the slippery trail not knowing what to do. We crouched under a tree, with Indie squirming and barking in Brinton’s arms. After what seemed like forever, the storm began to slow down. We scrambled in the heavy rain to find the flattest little patch of ground we could find and pitched our tent as quickly as we could. It was flopping in the wind, and staked down on top of bumpy roots and small rocks, but we ducked into it, grateful to be out of the rain. 

As if the storm weren’t enough to worry about, I immediately began to worry about animals. A few minutes later, I made Brinton go back out to string our food from a small tree, far away from the tent — to keep us safe from bears, wildcats, and other animals looking for food. Then, finally, we crawled into our sleeping bags to warm up. Soaking wet, Brinton pulled poor Indie into his sleeping bag and held him close. 

Eventually, the rain stopped and I think we all fell asleep. I swear I heard an animal’s heavy footsteps in the night. But… we woke up in the morning to bright sunshine, and continued on our trek.

SOLSC Day 5: Doggy Haiku

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.

Starting from the day Lily came home from the hospital, Indie slept next to her, no matter where she was in our Brooklyn apartment. In the beginning it was next to her bassinet or car seat baby carrier. Then it was next to her crib, and later when she was a little older and we had moved to Vermont, he slept on top of her feet, in her bed. 

I loved this about him. When Lily was just a baby, I wrote this poems:

Doggy Haiku I

A furry soldier

stands guard just outside the crib.

Waits... Listens... Sniffs…Wags.

* Originally posted Day 5, 2010 — KidLitosphere Poem-A-Day Challenge for National Poetry Month.


Doggy Haiku II

He rests, chin on paws,

Puppy-dog eyes are alert,

Always on the watch.

* Originally posted Day 6, 2010 — of the KidLitosphere Poem-A-Day Challenge for National Poetry Month.


Doggy Haiku III

Baby moves. Cries, then coos.

Doggy stands up. Stands guard.

Furry protector.

*Originally posted  Day 7, 2010 —of the KidLitosphere Poem-A-Day Challenge for National Poetry Month.

SOLSC Day 4: Indie At the Dog Park


My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.  

Our dog, Indie, was just under a year old, so it was fall of  2007 or maybe 2008 in Brooklyn. We had been warned, by various friends, and nearly every dog-owner’s book, that small terriers suffered from “little dog syndrome” and were notoriously snippy with other dogs—unless they were given plenty of socialization. 

Socialization was not going to be a problem because we lived just a few blocks from a dog park. There were separate areas for small dogs and big dogs and I couldn’t  wait to make new dog-park friends, and spend all of our spare time there. I dreamed of whiling away the time, reading a good book, sipping coffee, while my dog happily played among the pups.

I also attempted to be a perfect dog owner. I read every dog-owner advice book and website. I made sure to wait until we had started obedience school, and he knew some basic commands like “come,” “sit,” “stay,” and “look.” He LOVED obedience class and learned everything easily, so I figured we were ready for the park. Woo hoo!

We arrived at the park and I could barely contain my excitement. It was happening! After taking a peek through the gates of the small dog park, I decided Indie (at 19lbs) was too big to hang with the little dogs. So, we headed for the big dog park. I opened the first part of the gate and Indie sat patiently while I fumbled with the second part. I was so proud of him after watching another owner struggle as their very large dog barked and lurched at the owner and the gate, trying to get in. So far so good, for Indie and I.

I kept him on the leash, so he could get used to being surrounded by so many dogs. He followed me around on his leash, not pulling or anything, being such a good boy. After walking around the perimeter of the park, I paused to watch the other dogs a bit, scanning the crowd for potential bullies. Everyone was playing peacefully.

“First time?” said a man nearby. “Gotta let ‘em off the leash sometime.”

I unhooked the leash, and Indie began sniffing the ground, following a scent. Soon he found another dog’s toy and picked it up. He shook it, attracting the attention of a dog a bit bigger than him, and the other dog made a playful jump, inviting Indie to play. Indie made a move like he was about to play, but then ran away, which led the big dog to chase him for the ball. They chased around a bit and then other dogs joined in, then more dogs, and more. Soon there was a train of dogs, all chasing Indie - his little ears were flapping, and I had never seen him run so fast, flying around the park. I swear he was smiling, if dogs can smile. (They can.)

And just as I was beginning to relax a little, SNAP. Indie spun around and bit the first dog nearest him.

“NO!” I screamed running toward him, dogs barking, growling. I had an instant stress reaction to the noise of a dog fight and owners yelling at their dogs. My heart heart pounded; my head ached. Sweating and humiliated, I snatched Indie up into my arms, grateful he was small enough, and apologized profusely over the sound of the remaining dogs still barking and growling and lurching at each other. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

I carried Indie out of the park, tail between my legs, and *never returned again.

* Except on more time, to the small dog park, just to see. It did not go well.

SOLSC Day 3: Baby Lily

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.

My daughter, Lily, was born in October of 2009, thirteen years ago. New York City was having one of those extended summers, perfect temperatures all the way through September and into October. When I went into the hospital, it was till summer. I was wearing a thin cotton dress. When I walked out of the hospital doors with baby Lily in tow, it was fall—and chilly. I wore my puffy jacket over my summer clothes on the way home.

Lily was only three days old. Our dog, Indie was two years old, and had been staying with our dog sitter (whose name escapes me). She had dropped off just an hour or so earlier, so he could meet Lily for the first time. 

We opened the door to the apartment, loaded with a suitcase, diaper bag, and tiny Lily, all bundled up for the temps in her brand new carseat carrier.

Indie scuffled to the door like always. We had trained him to sit instead of jump if he wanted pats, and though he could barely contain himself he sat and got all the love from us and sniffed everything we had set on the floor, taking in every scent. 

My memory is a little fuzzy on the exact details of who was holding Indie or the baby carrier, but one of us picked him up and held him up, and one of us set the baby carrier on the couch, so he could see her for the first time. I have a vivid memory of Indie’s fuzzy face seeing tiny, newborn, baby Lily for the first first time. He gently sniffed her carrier, not realizing there was a baby inside, and then his surprise when he saw her squirm. His little nose started to sniff even faster with interest — and that’s the memory I have.

I remember, and can still feel, the feeling of excitement and relief. We were all home, safe, together, and beginning a whole new chapter. 

SOLSC Day 2: That Doggy Needs a Jacket

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.

Indie, our dog, was about nine months old, so that means the year was 2007. I was working impossible hours—full time in the doctoral program at Columbia, and somehow also working full time. The only time I ever spent outdoors was when I was walking Indie. He was still a puppy, and the cutest dog I had every seen. He was a tiny, scruffy little brindle coated terrier, and the name Indiana Jones suited him perfectly. 

Indie got at least four or five good long walks a day. I walked him early every morning, before getting on the train to go to work. My husband or a dog walker would walk him mid-day and afternoon. Then I would walk him again when I got home from work and classes, at night. 

Every night, when I walked Indie around our block (we still lived in Brooklyn back then), there were always other people walking their dogs. Often I would see many of the same people from the neighborhood and we would wave or chat about our dogs. We all knew each others’ dogs’ names — but not the owners’ names. Isn’t that funny how that happens?

Every single night Indie and I would cross paths with one man in particular. He was a little old man, with olive skin and a thick black mustache and think black rimmed glasses. If the weather was cold, he might wearing a motorcycle jacket, or a leather vest. His dog was a small, thin dog, with black fur, and a long skinny tail that waved happily. His dog was always wearing a different little outfit - a pink, sparkly puffer coat, or a knitted daffodil-yellow doggy sweater. That sort of thing. The man was always friendly, commenting on the weather, or changes in the neighborhood.

And he would always end the conversation with, “That doggy needs a jacket! He’s gonna get cold!” 

And I would always reply the same way. “Thanks, but he’s already wearing a coat!” And we’d continue on our way. 

I still don’t know if the little old man meant it seriously, or if it was our little joke. 

SOLSC Day 1: Duplos

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 16th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

This year, the SOLSC gives me a chance to record memories of our little dog, Indie, who died in January. I want to write these down while they are still fresh, so that my family and can read them later and remember not only Indie, but little slices of life across the years.

Lily was two years old, so that means the year was 2011. We were still living in Brooklyn. Indie, our dog, was five years old. I had purchased some Duplo’s (giant legos) at the Babies R Us in Union Square. I remember lugging toys, sippy cups, and baby wipes home in a giant shopping bag on the train.  I forgot that shopping in the city was such a pain in the butt. 

We dumped all the legos out of the bucket on to the hardwood floor and they scattered all over. Indie scooted away from the mess with his tail between his legs — maybe he thought he had done something wrong. He began to cry and wimpier. Poor doggy!

“S’okay Indie,” Lily said to comfort him. “It’s just my new toys.”

Broken Body: Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are host the Slice of Life Story Challenge every Tuesday. Join us with teachers around the globe, sharing stories from our everyday life. Become a teacher who writes!

I broke a rib a few days ago. At least I’m pretty sure I did. I didn’t get and x-ray because I didn’t want to wait an hour at the ortho office. (Who’s got time for that?) I’ll see the doctor in a few weeks if it’s not better. It hurts to breath. I can’t twist my body or raise my left arm. I can’t lift anything, or bend over. BUT, I can walk, I can even pedal my bike as long as it’s flat. I went for a hike two days after I did it. So maybe it’s not broken.

Either way, I’m stuck not doing much for a while, which really sucks. I seem to always be the one in my family and in my friend group who is broken. Whether it’s a broken wrist, surgeries for skin cancer, sprained ankles, being pregnant, or post-pregnant, or whatever - there’s always something with me. So I’m kind of angry with myself for letting this happen.

So, the way it happened was that I flew over the handlebars of my mountain bike - like… actually flew. I had time in the air to yell OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD before I actually hit the ground, hard, flat on my stomach. I would have smashed my face if the brim of my helmet hadn’t broken the fall. I was lucky that I hit the ground on leaf covered dirt, rather than the rocks a few inches further.

I lay on the ground not moving for a really long time. Maybe I blacked out a little, maybe I didn’t. I was alone so I guess I’ll never know. When I finally tried to move, I just… couldn’t… and slowly became aware that the entire left side of my torso was in agony. So I lay there on the ground for an even longer time wondering if should call somebody. But finally, very, very, very slowly I rolled to the not so painful side and ever so carefully stood up. I felt relieved that I could stand up, thinking, “Okay, it can’t be THAT bad if I got up by myself.” Then I stood there not moving for a long time.

Eventually I began to push my bike… alllllllllll the way down the steep twisting trail. I’m not going to lie. It really really sucked. There was a lot of cursing, stopping, breathing hard, and maybe some tears. But by the time I got off of the trail and to the paved road that lead back to my car I was feeling a little tiny bit better and actually pedaled my bike about a half mile back to my car — which also sucked.

Now I’m a few days out and it still hurts, but it’s getting… better? Maybe? Wish me luck I don’t get hurt again any time soon.

Crafting: September 6 Slice of Life Story Challenge

As a teacher, I’m used to sharing things I now with kids. I’m even pretty comfortable sharing with other teachers and coaches.

I’m less comfortable sharing things I don’t know.

The past few months I’ve learned to do a few new things—things I didn’t previously know how to do at all. And now, a few months in, I really recommend learning something new for every teacher.

I started with macrame. I was shocked at how quickly I learned to make the simpler designs just like I saw on Etsy selling for $50, $60, even $100. When I tried some more complicated patterns, I had to work a lot harder - I spent more time undoing stitches than doing them correctly, but I persisted. I wound up with wonky versions (like on the TV show Nailed It) but it was fun anyway and really for the first time in my life I enjoyed an activity purely for the process and not the product.

Even with writing, I can’t help but hear that little voice in my head second guessing, and wondering what readers will think. But with macrame - I’m totally in the “zone,” in the moment, not thinking about anything but tying knots and counting stitches. It’s lovely.

The next project was friendship bracelets. While my kids and husband played in the ocean in Maine, I spent our vacation lounging under an umbrella, making a zillion friendship bracelets. You should have seen my first few. They were just a mess of string with no discernible pattern. But unlike the macrame which got worse as I progressed to more complicated patterns, the bracelets got better and better. I can make wide woven bracelets now! I made them for all my family members, friends, I’m still going. I have no idea what I’ll do with them all, but I don’t really care.

Lastly, I started making beaded bracelets. These are my favorites. When I was about 10-12 years old I loved making beaded bracelets and could even do daisy chains. I picked up a needle and thread for the first time in 30ish years and it all came back to me! I dug around in my basement and I even found my old tackle box with the very same beads and unfinished projects from the 1980’s, preserved like a time capsule! Unlike the other two projects I started with something I remembered and got better at it. I can do daisy chains still, but after watching a few YouTube tutorials (which are awesome, by the way) now I can do elaborate designs I didn’t know how to do before.

All this is to say, go find something new to learn. I promise you it will make you a better teacher of all things. When you put yourself in the position of learner, it helps you appreciate how important these things are: process (not product), choice (not assignments), and time to get better (not being rushed).

March 21 Slice of Life Story Challenge: Planning My Garden

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

It’s another grey, drizzly day here in norther Vermont. Not quite spring, not quite winter anymore.

Today, I’m hoping to start planning for my garden. The ground won’t thaw enough to plant anything until after memorial day (end of May), but planning for it this time of year keeps my mind off how gross the weather is.

This year, instead of a full vegetable garden, I’m planning to focus mostly on flowers , with just a few vegetables. It tried that plan last year and it was lovely having the cut flowers all summer - and they seemed a lot easier to take care of throughout the busy summer.

Last year I planted a few varieties of daisies, bachelor buttons, zinnias, and sunflowers. Some did pretty well, others didn’t do well at all and I’m not really sure why. Maybe someone will read this and have some advice for flowers that do well in the chilly, windy, weather of Vermont. Our soil is fairly sandy, so it drains well—but I have been amending it with a lot of compost most years because I don’t think it has a ton of nutrients.

Maybe there’s a fertilizer that I need to sprinkle on during the summer? I didn’t do anything like that last summer - I just planted the seeds and waited to se what would happen. I did do a pretty good job watering though, with a sprinkler on a timer, so I don’t think that was a problem.

I also love to grow gourds - little mini pumpkins and squash. They’re always ready right before Halloween and MUCH easier to take care of than full size pumpkins. I grew pumpkins one year and they took over our yard!

I’ve got strawberries too, they come back each year. And an asparagus patch that comes back every year as well.

Any suggestions, fellow slicers, for some flowers or plants to try this year? Planning my garden helps me get through the dreary Vermont mud season!

March 20 Slice of Life Story Challenge: We Call This Mud Season

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

Today it rained all day long.

Most of the snow in our yard has melted.

All the dirt roads are complete mud.

My daughter skipped ski team practice.

We watched movies all day.

I shopped for new plant pots.

I wore sweatpants all day.

I snuggled with my dog, who also did not want to go outside today.

It’s 35 degrees outside. It’s stay that way for the next month.

In Vermont, we don’t have spring.

We call this mud season.

March 14 Slice of Life Story Challenge: Cool Mom

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

Yesterday some friends and I were sharing stories of things our middle school kids have been saying and doing lately. My friends had lots of anecdotes about their kids being embarrassed by their parents, and I said, “Yeah, I think most kids probably feel like anything their parents do is automatically un-cool.”

And then, my daughter, Lily, who is twelve, chimed in and said, “Yeah, but not you, mom. Your like the only cool parent I know.”

All my friends simultaneously went, “Woooooooah!” They made a a big fuss over how cute Lily’s comment was, and how cool I am—which of course was totally embarrassing for Lily, and very, very un-cool.

March 13 Slice of Life Story Challenge: Healthy Eating (?)

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

My husband has been on a salad kick lately. He’s been experimenting with different kinds of lettuce and olive oils, trying to find the perfect combo that we both like to eat. I appreciate it since I am TERRIBLE at grocery shopping. I just stick to our same old, same old. I just don’t have the energy or the interest in trying out new salad ingredients.

So anyway, the point is he bought these crispy onions that are supposed to be a fun thing to add to salads.

But instead of eating them sprinkled on a bed of healthy lettuce, I’ve been sneaking fist-fulls of them straight from the bag.

A salad with a teaspoon or two of these fried onions is healthy—but a fist full of fried onions all by themselves is definitely not healthy.

So, once again, I have found a way to beat the system, when it comes to healthy eating.

March 10 Slice of Life Story Challenge: "Alexa, Play Spa Music"

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

My son, Jackson, loves to take relaxing baths. He’s eight years old, but sometimes seems like a little old man trapped in a child’s body. At bath time last night, he filled the tub on his own and added some lavender bubble bath. I was in the hall putting away laundry when I heard the water stop, and Jackson stepped into the tub.

“Ahhhh this is the life,” he said to himself. “Alexa, play spa music,” he added. Sure enough, ambient relaxing spa sounds began to play. A flute playing along to a babbling brook and a whooshing breeze.

How does he even know what spa music is? I thought.

When I was eight years old, I hated taking baths. I hated washing my hair especially, and I hated being wet and cold afterward. I definitely didn’t know what a spa or spa music was.

If I’m being honest, I still kind of hate baths. And I can count the number of times I’ve been to a spa on one hand—all before my kids were born.

After a while, Jackson got out to the tub and emerged from the bathroom wearing his fuzzy bath robe that he got for Christmas, looking more like a little old man than ever.


March 9 Slice of Life Story Challenge: My Ancient Little Dog

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

My dog, Indie, is fourteen years old. He’s a cute little border terrier (he looks a little like Benji). He’s very old, and he lost his hearing a few years ago. He’s got cataracts, and his legs shake a lot but… even though he is ancient he still gets frisky and playful. He still brings us his toys to toss, and snuggles up with us to watch movies, and visits each bedroom during the night, taking turns sleeping in each bed.

Today I was doing work on my laptop and he brought me one of his toys, a heavy rubber ball that lights up when you move it. It’s his least favorite toy and he doesn’t usually choose it. I suspect that it’s too heavy for his teeth, which cause hime pain sometimes. So, I was surprised that he brought me the light up ball.

I don’t want to hurt his teeth, so instead of pulling it from his mouth like we used to, I hopped out of my chair and tapped my legs. Whenever I do this, he gets all excited and hops around like a bunny, even though his back legs are stiff and straight.

Then I chased him around the house, which he loves. Sometimes I catch him and gently scratch him all over, and then he hops away again, growling playfully with the ball in his mouth.

He can’t play tug any more, or chew on his toys, but he’s still a puppy at heart. Right now he’s in the backyard, barking at squirrels. He’s old, but he’s still himself. I hope to be like Indie when I am very very old.

March 8 Slice of Life Story Challenge: Rambling Autobiography

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

Do you see the way that tree bends? Does it inspire?
Leaning out to catch the sun's rays... a lesson to be applied...

~ Eddie Vedder & Mike McCready

I grew up in Monkton, Vermont, a rural town full of dairy farms and logging roads. I spent time every day in the woods. We had many animals, a small farm, some might say: always a few cows, a horse, a pony, lots of rabbits, hamsters, guinea pigs, a dog named Bob, a long series of indoor and outdoor cats, parakeets, and a donkey named Pegasus. I played clarinet and saxophone and went away to band camp every year. I loved skiing and my parents found hand-me-down equipment and signed my brother and I up for the discounted school ski programs every year. I loved clothes and art and spent hours drawing and writing, filling up notebooks with song lyrics and poems. I made zines in high school. My first job was picking apples and filling jars of honey at an apple orchard and I loved it. To this day I am both a city person and a mountain person, equally comfortable taking in museums and art and restaurants, or backpacking for three weeks on the Long Trail. I wouldn’t want to live in a place that doesn’t have winter, and I’m honestly quite fearful of the ocean—not because of the water—because of the creatures.

This post was inspired by Elisabeth Ellington’s Rambling Autobiography, which was inspired by Angela Fulhauber’s Rambling Autobiography… which was inspired by Linda Reif’s Quickwrites!

March 7 Slice of Life Story Challenge: Pearl Jam

My Two Writing Teachers colleagues and I are hosting the 15th Annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge, in which teachers from around the world participate by posting a story per day.

When I was thirteen years old, all I cared about was music. I wanted to be a musician when I grew up. I played several instruments and spent hours and hours writing song lyrics in spiral bound notebooks. I loved the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Michael Jackson. I loved the Beastie Boys and Wilson Phillips, Aerosmith, and Guns N Roses.

Then… Pearl Jam came along. I first heard Pearl Jam at a friend’s house. Their older brother had a bootleg tape of a live concert. The sound was grainy and you really only got the gist of each song, not the full sound… but still… our little twelve and thirteen year old brains exploded. We had never heard anything like it. We all started dressing in ripped jeans and plaid flannel shirts — just like Eddie Vedder.

When the album Ten was released, my mom drove me and three of my friends to “Pure Pop,” a record store in Burlington for the midnight release. My mom stayed in the car while my friends and I waited in line with fifty other teenagers, in the dark, for the doors of the store to open.

When we got back to my house we put the CD on immediately— on the brand new CD player I had just gotten for my thirteenth birthday (the other kids had purchased tapes because CD players were a new thing). We played the album over and over and over, on repeat, even as we slept through the night. For months, I slept with Pearl Jam Ten playing. (Then, that fall when Nirvana’s Nevermind came out, I switched over to that).

The other day, I heard Eddie Vedder interviewed on the podcast Smartless and I was reminded how much I loved Pearl Jam. I’ve seen them live multiple times over the years and have always loved them, but I hadn’t really listened to them in years. After the interview I immediately put on the album Ten and have been listening to Pearl Jam for days now.

The music that I loved so much when I was thirteen brings me back to a time when I was still just a kid. I hadn’t made any huge mistakes yet, or had anybody break my heart, or felt the crushing stress of getting into and then going to college and working and being an adult. I had barely even started high school. Pearl Jam brings me back to a very specific moment in my life when I had just enough of a sense of identity to know I loved this music, but everything was still possible.