poetry – Page 37

Family, Parenting, poetry, Transition, Travel, Uncategorized

Adventure in Transition

September 27, 2013September 30, 2013 Mona Alvarado Frazier

The frenzy of doing often keeps my emotions out of reach, until the doing stops. Action keeps the feelings sidelined, pushed aside so I can go on without dissolving into a blubbering mess. Such is the activity of the last few days.

The preparation to move the property of two young adults and a cat, across two states, California to Colorado, was an adventure. We drove my son’s small SUV with a jammed packed U-Haul from our city at sea level past Las Vegas and up through the mountains of Utah.

It was difficult paying attention to the drive itself when my eyes wanted to take in the creamy sandstone rock formations around me. With each 1,000 feet we climbed the more lovely the mountains loomed ahead. We made it to Springdale, the town right outside Zion National Park. Zion, place of sanctuary, proved its rightful name.

The park was a wonderous distraction from driving and feeling the emotions about the move. A shuttle bus across the motel took us to the park, where we boarded a larger open air shuttle that took us to several sights, a hop on and hop off scenic trip through the park to view high monoliths of rock. An impressive monolith, rising more than 2400 feet above the canyon floor, is the Great White Throne.

The next morning, with a full moon descending, we are on the road again through steeper mountain passes. At 7,000 feet and climbing, in 90 degree weather, the car overheated. A green sign on the road next to us said 58 miles to the next town (Grand Junction, CO).

My boyfriend knew what to do: turn off the air conditioner, let the car cool down for 30 minutes, check the engine, check fluid and oil levels. Everything seemed okay, and off we went again. At Grand Junction, we put in transmission oil, checked fluids again, ate an early dinner, and began driving again. I had to pay attention to the climbing altitude which was very difficult with the oxblood colored rocks, dotted with pine and colored blonde with Aspen trees.The moon rose as we climbed.

Nighttime driving is hard, doubly when it’s up a mountain. I drove through Vail, at 10, 800 feet in the dark, with road repair work every few miles, through winding roads of descents and ascents, checking in the rear view mirror to make sure the trailer didn’t sway. Like a pilot, I had to scan the car dashboard, checking on the engine temperature while paying attention to road signs that notified us of “careful wildlife ahead for 12 miles.”

“Sorry, daughter, if a deer jumps in front of this car it’s her or me. I won’t swerve.”

“Maaa-ooom, don’t say that,” she said.

After two hours of heightened alert, we see the twinkling lights of Denver spread before us. After a month, I got to see my son again. Hugs and kisses, not just from us but from his cat, who very uncat -like jumped and cuddled into his arms.

The next morning we went to the apartment leasing office to sign papers and get the apartment keys. While unpacking boxes, I think how long a year lease is and whether the kids will find jobs soon. I watch as my daughter sets up her household. Box by box, she removes framed family photos and covers the fireplace mantel with memories, images that will keep her family near. No mistake, this apartment is her place now. I finish washing her collection of cat mugs and then sit in a camping chair for a break.

“Mom, does this look good here…what do you think about this shelf here?”

She jots down missing items, can I ship these forgotten items to her? Space fills, blank walls burst with color. I feel on the verge of tears, a little numb, try to breathe. They’ll be all right, they’ll make their way, they’re smart. I look out the sliding glass doors to the balcony. Pine trees tower way past the third floor of their apartment. I’m reminded that this is the first day of fall. Seems appropriate.

I began to pray for my kids, to be safe, protected from evil. I talk to them about working together when it comes to the bills, rent, groceries, and household chores. To trust and rely on each other, and for my daughter not to be my sons mom but remember that they are two young adults living an independent life. I remind myself of these things too.

They’ll be here, I’ll be in California, two states between us. I think of letting go of what was the semi predictable to unpredictable, no control over their lives. I hope they will call me to help in important decisions, just to ask for my advice. That will help me through this time.

We hug. Boyfriend and I walk down the stairs, away from them. My mind floats to words, to make a poem. I scribble on paper, while tears seep onto my cheeks.

Little fingers,

small palms,

children’s eyes that look up.

Letting go

of hearing their laughter

every day,

their voices,

the parts of me.

How do you let go?

finger by finger,

loosening palms,

meeting their eyes as adults.

Another deep breath,

instills a knowing

they will be on an adventure,

making memories,

growing.

Making their own way,

without

me.

Fingers slip away,

let go,

and wave goodbye.

AROHO, poetry, Writing, writing retreats

Writing on the Edge

August 22, 2013August 23, 2013 Mona Alvarado Frazier

Five days after returning from the AROHO writers retreat at Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico I still have many memories swirling through my mind . One such memory is particularly embedded in my skin. I have 12 itchy scabs from 12 mosquito bites despite the mosquito repellant and itch cream.

On the second day of my arrival I began my small group, Writing on the Edge, taught by Jillian Lauren. She is the author of Some Girls: My Life in a Harem and Pretty Girls . Jillian proved to be an excellent guide and inspiration.

The blurb for her course caught my eye and interest:

Drugs, sex, violence…are you bored yet? Why is some of the juiciest material so hard to translate onto the page in a dynamic and engaging way?

I don’t know if Jillian chose the location for her class, but it was near the edge of a small mesa. I had to hike up a dusty switchback to get to class under 90 degree weather.

First day in group, the seven of us were asked if we knew yoga. All of them, sans moi, knew the poses. I lumbered onto the map, stretching and opening my ‘creativity’ as Jillian instructed. Plank, Downward Dog, and Pigeon stretched me beyond where I had gone before. I do have to say that the stretches, deep breaths and silence did make me feel better.

Conflict and tension is necessary in most stories, especially to keep the reader interested. But how do we do that? Jillian explained that the act itself may not be dramatic, but to

…look at the journey, the motivation, the fear of the character

The result of those thoughts is what has to be created and put down on paper. A way to do this is with a free write:

Warm Up: After you have stretched and opened up your creativity, pull out a pad of paper before your “real” writing begins. Think about what you’d like your next “edgy” scene to convey. You can use a timer to write for 10 minutes. Write without your pen lifting from the page, no cross outs, no self editing. You may find the words flowing right away on the page.

Jillian had us sit with our journals and gave us a writing prompt. We had to write for five minutes, again keeping the pen on the paper.

The prompt: How are you feeling right at this moment? Here is my response.

A very intelligent mosquito found its way to a patch of unsprayed flesh beneath my bra strap. He bit into my warm skin and drank like a thirsty elephant, leaving me with a swollen itchy blob of mounded skin. It is a testament to his prowess. Cortaid is too weak for the wound.

Scratching has released oozing fluid beneath the tender hill of skin. His creativity is to be applauded. He bit a spot that is difficult to reach. The itch will soon go away, leaving a brown scab on a red sensitive bump, a reminder of my time at the AROHO retreat.

Some memories are made from stuff like this, the sudden bite, the quick stab, the stealthy adventure in the dark. A surprise visit from someone or something you tried to avoid, someone you tried to keep safe from. The best laid plans sometimes need to be disrupted reminding us we can’t stay insulated from pain or danger.

Two days later we talked about our “shadow self. ” In Jungian psychology, the shadow or “shadow aspect” is a part of the unconscious mind consisting of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings, and instincts. This was the ‘edgy’ writing we came to learn.

We had a ten minute exercise to write to our shadow, then we burned the paper, mixed it with sand, straw, and water. Some of the shadows were lumpy blobs of clay, others smaller, holey, glittery, big and small. We released the dried clay into the Abiquiu Lake a couple of days later, bidding them goodbye.

The next day we were given another prompt. We could choose one of these: Fear means… Shame means…Risk means… I chose to write about shame.

Shame means…

Shame means inward responses to outward looks. Whispering or shouting responses that no one hears.

Shame turns inside, tight and tiny, steals whatever is near to cover up, look like something else. Only you see the shadows lurk, grow huge, come nearer.

Shame hunches shoulders, shuffles feet, has you fascinated with your hair or a piece of candy.

Shame has you move into corners, watch the world go by, carry a purse full of secrets, and lies. A wardrobe of masks and decorations.

Shame has you sweat inside when you see those particular set of eyes, a facial gesture, a mannerism.

Shame makes others use tools, hammers and chisels, to get to the real you. Tools very few people seem to carry or want to use.

Shame makes you fight, first with yourself, then with others.

If you’re lucky you fight the real reasons for that shame. You use the chisel to cut off the crap, move deeper, make something uniquely beautiful from a slab of stone. *

The yoga exercises, discussion on the “shadow self,” and prompts were valuable. You never know what you will find when you delve in deep. Thanks Jillian.

*The narratives are copyrighted and the property of Mona AlvaradoFrazier. Thank you for sharing and linking back.

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