One Wild and Precious Life

"A journey of a thousand  li   starts beneath one's feet." (Laozi, Tao Te Ching , Chapter 64). journey - 1. (noun) an act of traveling from one place to another.      Tomorrow night, 9 pm, JFK, NY, I fly to Morocco.  It is a literal journey of 3,647 miles to Marrakech (5,870 kilometers, as I'd better get used to calculating).  It is far -- far from my home, my family and friends, my work.  Yet, not so far, truly, since I can have instant contact by text or Skype.  I think of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family, her parents setting forth into the wide, wild prairie of undeveloped 19th century America, never to see their families again.  They might as well have been traveling to the moon. journey - 2. (noun) a long and often difficult process of personal change and development.      Figuratively, this journey actually began three months ago when the seed of an idea began to germinate.  I feel the press of time.  It is finite.  It also is a blank screen, a nebula

Somewhere around age 10 I was still eating cereal on Saturday mornings and watching cartoons, in between which were broadcast the  Schoolhouse Rock  series of animations to teach children the basic points of American government, math, and language (to keep our brains from being too-far-rotted by  Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry,  and  Magilla Gorilla , I suppose).  Many of my own generation and even my daughter's can probably recall the lyrics to its  Conjunction Junction  or  I Am a Bill, on Capitol Hill ; in fact, singing one of those in front of my students will typically elicit a chuckle and a remnant of nostalgic recognition.  The more potent of the segments, for me, was the one on verbs:  I get my thing in action (Verb!) To be, to sing, to feel, to live (Verb!) (That's what's happenin') I put my heart in action (Verb!) To run, to go, to get, to give (Verb!) (You're what's happenin')* And so it goes, showing a small boy with dark skin, fluf

This morning, at the farmer's market, I picked some Kirby cucumbers, carrots, and a basket of bright yellow lemons. With a coffee and an egg sandwich, I parked myself under a shady tree near the trio of buskers covering Clapton's "Lay Down Sally." ...rest hear in my arms... I've been trying all night long just to talk to you... An appreciated bite of fluffy, homemade biscuit in my mouth, I silently watched a tiny ant crawling over my shoe and a hawk slowly circling overhead.  The light breeze cooled my neck as the buskers launched into the Stones: You can't always get what you want... but if you try some time, you just might find, you get what you need.... Chucking the last bits of biscuit to a little sparrow, I lingered, relishing the perfection of the moment.  I wondered whether my mother's people, when they made the arduous ocean voyage and joined the Plymouth Colony nearly 400 years ago, could have envisioned this morning.  I wondered if my f

Mary Oliver published the poem "The Summer Day" in 1992.  Some might be familiar with the final line, What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?  With that, you now know the origin of this blog's name.  Why did I choose that name? I love that poem.  I love writing poetry, and writing anything, in general.  Some of my writing has been published, but that is not my ultimate aim.  I write to express myself, to process my experiences, to steer the boat on which I am navigating life. I'm fortunate to not need to make a living as a writer because I'm a teacher.  I teach... writing!  It was my dream to become an English teacher, and I did, and I have been doing so for over 30 years.  So, why start a blog now? A few months ago, I traveled to Morocco.  My husband, daughter, and I have traveled frequently to many of the most wonderful places.  Again, I'm very fortunate.  However, this trip stirred something in me about my life.  Let me say tha