In 7th grade
I saw my first body
from the window of my school bus
as we rounded a grassy corner on
the back road where
Scarborough becomes Cape Elizabeth.
It was an old man,
his wispy gray hair was 
billowing lazily in the wind,
his body mostly hidden in the
tall grasses, lay on his side.
His motor scooter, sea-foam green,
upside-down beside him,
a wheel still turning slowly.
The bus driver swerved
so he wouldn't hit him again.
I could hear sirens coming
as we continued on our route.
No one else saw the body,
or the scooter,
except for Pete,
the bus driver,
​and me.

Day 22 is first because that's the newest one, then Day 21, then Day 20.

In my Writing Capstone class,
fall semester of my senior year,
six months ago,
I did research on the traits of
ADHD, Autism, Depression, and Giftedness.
There are a lot,
and new ones I hadn't seen before.
Some of them overlap.
I have a lot of these traits.
A lot.
One of them is about making lists.
I am going away the end of this week.
I have been packing since May 1.
I need to make a written list
because I am starting to forget what is on
my mental list.
I have five notebooks packed,
for more writing.
I have rolls of different kinds of papers
for paintings with watercolors and inks.
I have various wood panels
for painting with egg tempera.
I have wooden frames
for weavings with yarns.
I have books
for reading late into the night.
I have mittens and note cards 
to sell at the gift shop.
I have my computer
to listen as background noise
while I work and
to finish typing out my last
eight days of Writing for 30 minutes a day
for 30 Days in May.

Day 21:

I almost forgot!
Almost 3 hours left
to Day 21.
It's been a crazy day,
meeting young friends from school,
a new breakfast place in town.
Mixed feelings of taking down
my senior thesis.
Excited for this summer,
for school being over,
for being able to do my own work.
Then off to pick up Ajax
to clean out the dining room,
to make space for him.
Grocery shopping.
I am not a huge fan of it.
But it must be done,
and so we did,
as quick as we could
and it still seemed to take forever.
I am watching thriller TV shows on Netflix
while I am vacuum sealing snacks,
proportioning out serving sizes
so I don't overeat when I am bored or
while I am painting,
when I get lost
in my work,
when I am not fully aware.
It has been a long day,
but I did not forget
Day 21.

Day 20:

Soooo tired.
I almost didn't write today.
It has been a long day,
an unproductive day,
sitting in an old gym,
watching disinterested people
wander by,
looking at our tables,
failing to make eye contact
because that means a one-sided
conversation of me trying to sell them something.
They look,
murmur it's beautiful,
your work is lovely,
what a neat idea,
but,
(I already know the answer)
(I didn't bring my wallet)
I didn't bring my wallet.
(Big Smile)
Oh, that's okay.
Did you take a business card?
My friend, Sebastian, comes through
the door shortly before noon,
saving me from sheer boredom.
He makes me laugh
and buys some of my note cards.
​My only sale of the day.

I sold one!
First big piece ever.
I usually sell
small stuff,
two inches by three inches,
maybe a six inch by nine inch,
if I am lucky.
I want to sell
the bigger pieces,
the different pieces,
the not-so traditional pieces.
It is hard,
figuring out the best
prices, now that I am
a Professional,
according to my professors.
I sold one!
I didn't sell it through a store,
or a gallery,
or an agent.
I am trying on my own,
so I don't have to pay
so much out to someone else.
It isn't easy,
but I did it,
​I sold one.

This entry will have the last 3 writings I did while we were gone. The first one will be Day 18, the second one will be Day 17, and the third one will be Day 16.

Day 18.

There was a frost last night.
The temperature got down to 20 degrees.
Farenheit.
It used to be that cold all the time in May,
forty years ago.
Going to Islesford
over Memorial Day Weekend
to open the house for the summer.
It was always an adventure.
The mornings were so cold
no one wanted to get out of bed.
The musty, old wool blankets we had piled
on the night before,
at least five each,
sleeping with our socks on,
and our sweatshirts
over our pyjamas.
In the morning we could see our breath,
we could hear the crackling fire
in the big stone fireplace
in the living room downstairs.
Get up!
Pancakes are ready! Get up!
Or you will miss out,
butter oozing down the sides,
mixing with the syrup,
warmed in a small saucepan
on the stove.

Day 17. ISLAND PACKING

Let's see.....
Three large plastic bins.
One is filled with gray unspun sheep's roving
so I can use it all up
to make dryer balls.
One is filled with frame looms,
and lots of yarns to make small weavings,
knit fingerless mitts and
full-sized mittens, all to sell
in the gift shop, on the dock.
The third is filled with books,
magazines to read,
and smaller boxes filled with
bottles of inks, alcohol markers,
watercolor paints, pens, and pencils,
and paintbrushes.
I have three large, green Cabella plastic trunks
for all my rolls of medium-sized watercolor papers,
my Japanese papers,
my small Yupo papers,
my art boards.
My big papers are bound in cardboard.
Wait....
I am missing something....
I have a big bag of cat food,
I have a big bag of cat litter,
and the Fancy Feast petites she likes.
I even found the scratchboards she likes.
I ran my list past my husband,
who nodded in agreement,
it was all necessary,
for how long I was to be gone.
Yup, he said, You have planned well.
But, he said, You have forgotten a few things.
I wracked my brain,
rechecked my lists,
peeked in all my boxes,
but I could not find what was missing.
Food.
He said.
And clothes.
Yes.....I suppose,
they are important as well.

DAY 16.

     I did my writing last night from midnight to about one in the morning, until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. I was going to post it today, but my husband and I are on a little celebration/much needed two-day vacation. Plus, when I read it over, it wasn't post-worthy to me. I've been trying to edit it, and rearrange parts of it, but this piece is deciding to be stubborn. It doesn't eant to come any better than it is, so I have set it aside for now.
     My husband and I are in a beautiful, older hotel about twenty minutes from our house. It's in the town he works in and the hotel hosts tea in the afternoons. He is sleeping right now. His schedule is all messed up as he usually works nights. We are headed downstairs in about half an hour for tea, scones, molasses cookies, and egg salad sandwiches cut into petite squares with their crusts cut off.
     Then, we are walking into town to a book store we love and a famous store everyone goes to when they visit our state. We are looking for maps, a good compass, and a better way to identify trees by their bark, not their leaves and flowers.

I am running out of steam.
I feel i have nothing left,
although that cannot really be true.
I have 50 years of living
to write about.
There is still a lot of good stuff,
and bad stuff,
to write about.
There is still stuff that made me angry
and stuff that made me happy,
or sad
to write about.
There are those "fun" high school years,
the first time in college during the late 80's
and getting married,
and being a mom with three kids
to write about.
I have to get it all in order,
make my lists,
put it all in a timeline,
give me fodder,
give me ideas,
​to write about.

I've been going through some of the stuff I wrote while at Maine College of Art & Design these past four years. This one has been edited from January, 2021.

SHOW YOUR WORK

I don't get it.
I never get it.
x+y=c²-y over rb+2+? divided by @=who cares-I don't get it.
My train traveling 253 miles and hour
faster than your train traveling 159 miles an hour
crashed into John's train 20 minutes ago,
when it rounded the corner and slammed into
his caboose because his train was stuck.
I can feel my father's disappointment
because I don't see it the same way he does.
Show your work.
Circle your answers,
this is how you solve the problems.
If π times radius squared gives you the diameter,
then figure out the angle to an isosceles triangle,
minus the square root of four and a half rectangles,
cut in half diagonally, plus the mud
in your 2-quart lemonade container.
Show your work and circle your answers.
We see your answer is right,
(because I circled it)
but we don't understand how you got there.
We can't follow your train of thought.
We see your arrows,
the maze you created,
where did these numbers come from?
These numbers weren't even part of the original problem....
how did you do this...???
We see your thought process.....
but....we don't get it.
We will give you half credit
because you got the answer right,
but you didn't do it the way we showed you in class.
​Show your work.

GRADUATION

Day 12 is here.
Day 12 is a big day.
Day 12 means
Everything I have worked for,
every paper I have written,
every artist I have researched,
every late night,
staying up until 3 am
to finish a painting or
a project or
an essay for a teacher
has come to an end.
My family will be here,
except Ajax,
who has to work.
There are 126 of us
walking across that stage today,
shaking the hand of the president
of our school.
We have made it.
Day 12 is our final assignment.
Day 12 is our accomplishment.
​Day 12 is here.

 This one is yesterday's post, for Day 10.
     Today was rehearsal for graduation. This is my second graduation from college. The first time was in 1990. I graduated from Hood College in Frederick, MD with a BA in Studio Arts. It's a silly degree, gotten from teachers who were angry and bitter because their art careers hadn't gone the way they wanted. The first day in my painting class, Mr. Russo grumpily complained to us he was a master painter and NONE OF US would EVER be as good as he was. I never once saw him smile or be happy. Ms. Gates always came to school with a huge tumbler full of "juice" that reeked of no juice I had ever smelled. She tottered around a lot and no one could ever understand what she was saying. Art school now was so much better. These past four years flew by so fast, I can't believe it's really over. I didn't want it to end so soon, but man, I am so excited to start painting.

This one is for Day 11.

I'm cleaning,
trying to get the next four months 
in order.
I am giving my husband his list,
the house is his until August.
Get rid of everything.
If it isn't in my bedroom,
or I didn't take it up to my studio,
it's good to go.
Get the kids to help you.
They are merciless.
I can't do it,
I've tried.
I always think I need it all,
for a project
I haven't even thought of yet.
Empty the house
so when I get back
we can fix it up,
so we can decide
if we want to try something new,
​or we stay right where we are.

     It's getting a little easier to block out a 30-minute window to sit and write, as I listen to the construction of new apartments being built behind my house. I could throw a rock and hit one of the buildings, that's how close they are. We used to have deer, fox, raccoons, and all kinds of other creatures come eat the pears from the pear tree next to our house. When we first moved in 21 years ago, the house next to us wasn't there. It used to be a nice, big yard, not only where my kids played with their friends, or I trained Cooper, our beautiful, big black lab who was here one day and gone the next because the huge, secret mass of cancer hidden behind his ribs decided to burst, but the deer would also bed down for the night. We would turn the lights off in the dining room and the kitchen and sneak to the windows off the back porch. I would carefully slide the window down, trying so carefully to not make it squeak. The kids would be giggling and pushing at the lower window, trying to get a good spot to see because when the window was down, and I shined a flashlight in the yard, a dozen glowing eyes would pop out of the long grass near the wood- line and stare at us.