Overworked, MisUnderstood and Feared

This post was written in response to a Red Writing Hood writing prompt from the Red Dress Club. This week's prompt is as follows:
The most frequent advice I come across for amateur writers is, "Write what you know."

"What you know" doesn't necessarily always mean "your comfort zone." For this week, take what you know out of your comfort zone. Try a new genre, a new time period, a geography you've only dreamed of, fantasy or historical instead of contemporary fiction, try the male POV if you usually write women. Or vice versa.

Switch it up. See where it takes you.


I switched it up. Here's where it took me.

Here I am again. On every notebook page, in the textbook, on the whiteboard, projected onto the SmartBoard  and even in the classroom decorations. The teacher gets me, but these kids, oh these kids, every single year they get so stressed every single time I am around. I keep hoping they’ll start using someone else in my stead - the pressure is too great, the feelings of hate, fear and anxiety all pointed in my direction are more than I can bear.

I am only a letter. Why am I the one given all the responsibility? Why am I the one that has to represent all of the lost numbers of the universe?

“Find x,” they say. “Solve for x,” are the directions from others. Don’t they know I AM RIGHT HERE! It is not I who needs to be found! And I am smart enough to solve my own problems!

I mean, sure, sometimes y gets called to action, but everyone knows which one of us comes to mind first when humans are having their post-traumatic stress disorder flashbacks of Algebra - no one is getting fooled here! I understand that e and i have other responsibilities in the realm of mathematics, and that o, l, and t are often avoided for their ability to be confused with other members of the mathematical symbol army, but that still leaves so many others to choose from!

ANY LETTER CAN BE A VARIABLE! Why is this lost on so many?!

I am one letter, I stand for whichever number you want me to. I also represent the horizontal axis of the coordinate plane (I recognize I can give that responsibility to no one). I am feeling overworked, misunderstood and feared. I did not agree to this.

I became a variable to expand my horizons. I became a variable to stand in for numbers. Numbers that could be anything -  a measurement, a monetary amount, a place in space, a quantity, or anything else that you can quantify. I did not become a variable to become the trigger of the math-phobic’s nightmares!

Through it all, though, I love my job. I just wish more people could understand it... could understand me. I have so much to offer and I am not scary. I just show up when I am needed to stand-in for a missing, unknown, or ever-changing value.

It is really exciting work. I have seen the world, heck, I’ve seen the universe. People who don’t understand each other’s spoken or written languages can still share me when I am in my role as a variable. I have been doing this for a really long time, so I’ve seen what humanity is capable of and, I am proud to say, that I have played my part in some fabulous discoveries.

So please don’t take this as my resignation. Just try to understand where I am coming from. It’s a really big job and sometimes I feel like I’m all alone out here.

I am a letter, but I can represent any quantity in the universe. It’s a big idea to pack into one little x, but that’s it in a nutshell. Don’t over-complicate me, I’m abstract.

My Book Is On TV!!

This post was written in response to a writing prompt for  RemembeRED from The Red Dress Club. This week's prompt is as follows: 
TV is something that people either watch a lot of or have definite feelings about. This week, we want you to think about tv show from your past. Maybe you watched it, maybe you didn't and it was just something that everyone else talked about.

What feelings does the show evoke? What memories does it trigger?


Stories. They are my passion. Whether I hear them, read them, watch them or create them - at all levels I have always loved them. This is the story of when I first began to understand that a story can be more than just words in a book.


It was 1986. I was ten years old.


I loved the Mets, the outdoors, playing softball, my family (especially my six-year old brother), and I loved books.


My school was involved in the Troll Book Club. When we got a catalog I'd come home with my favorite selections circled to show my parents and begin the ritual of begging for books. This is how I got The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary. When I read the book I was captivated - it was fun, hilarious and I loved Ralph. The book was such an adventure. I told my brother about it explaining how this little mouse would ride around on a little motorcycle and I would see his eyes light up. "I can't wait until you can read this!" I would tell him. At school we'd talk about it too. We all loved Ralph.

Of course, in the bumbling brightness of childhood all things fizzle and new things captivate. Ralph was remembered, but no longer center stage. Then, a little more than a week after the Mets World Series win, my brother and I shuffled down to the basement to watch the ABC Weekend Special. That week's special was called "The Mouse and the Motorcycle"!
 

I had never seen a book becoming a movie. On the screen I saw my visions, my imagination, the pictures, the movements - all there to share with everyone. My brother could now share in this fantastic story with me. He understood what I loved about it, he could SEE how Ralph could ride a motorcycle - not a BIG one like people ride, but a mouse-sized motorcycle.

I yelled up the stairs to my parents. I told them they had to come down and see it as I held the book in my hand. I flipped through the pages as the movie went on - I couldn't believe it was happening - the words had become pictures. 

My parents were amused by my excitement and told me about all of the other movies I had already seen that were books first: ALL OF THE DISNEY MOVIES, The Wizard of Oz,  and even TV shows like The Little House on the Prarie!


How did I miss this? Every time I had seen a book with a movie title, I thought the book was made after the movie - I had it backwards! This was wonderful! As I sat with my book on my knee, imagining all of the universes I had visited through my pages coming to life on the screen, my brother sat on the floor with a toy motorcycle zipping it through the legs of the chairs, the table and throughout the house.

"It's just like you said, Nicole!" He was right, because it was just like I had imagined.

My book came to life. Someone read the book, imagined Ralph and then MADE HIM - not like Beverly Cleary did, which was the first act of creation, but made a physical, photograph-able, talking, moving form of him - just like when I drew him, but 1,000 times better! And, according to my parents, this was happening all the time.


One thing was for certain: I would never read a book the same way again.

[Flash Fiction] This Beautiful Life

This post was written in response to a prompt from the Red Writing Hood. This is my first-ever flash fiction writing. It WAS fun and forced me to think about the storytelling in a completely different way.This week's prompt is as follows:

Flash Fiction can be fun and a real challenge. This week focus on the words and the strength of each to contribute to your story. Write a 300 word piece using the following word for inspiration: LIFE.

"Let her burn," came a voice to her right. She turned to see a horrid face with a toothy grin shrouded in a hood. The man looked like a caricature of death, but when she felt his warm spit on her face and saw the angry mob before her, she slipped easily into the reality of her surroundings. "Hang her!" came one scream with cheers of ascension. "Give her death! She deserves no more!" others yelled. As she looked out into the crowd she saw hate, fury and anguish. Some even brought signs carrying their messages of doom.

Forgiveness was nowhere to be found. As the shackles hung heavy on her wrists and ankles, two men pulled her up onto a platform where she thought, "I deserve this." She caught a glimpse of the noose as a hood was placed over her head and the crowd roared. The rope first slung loosely around her neck as some official statements were read - to her, it was just a mouse squeak amid the cacophony of death calls from the crowds - then a slight push, the rope tightened and

*SNAP*

She was awake. The sun was up, the birds were singing and from where the sun fell onto her face, she could smell her wildflower garden. She and Angie had been working on that for two years now.

She laid there for a moment more.

Life. It is a beautiful thing - it smells beautiful, it sounds beautiful and, just like that morning stream of sun, it feels beautiful - she thought, "I don't deserve this."

Forgiveness was still nowhere to be found, nor did she seek it - being sentenced to LIFE, even if it was behind bars, seemed more than she could ever ask for.

Find Out What You Should Know from the I Thought I Knew Mama Blog

Most of us have some idea of what we want to do with ourselves - who we want to be, how we want to spend our time and what is important to us. However, life, with all of its twists and turns and new challenges, very often throws in some new factor that opens our eyes, our ears and all of our senses to a piece of life that trumps it all. So, it seems, was the case with Charise from the I Thought I Knew Mama blog.

As you read Charise's post answering the question Why are you called "I Thought I Knew Mama"? you get a real sense of this kind of enlightenment experienced by Charise and her husband with the dedication of their son Jac. It is beautiful post and a great story behind a blog's name.

I Thought I Knew Mama is another blog that I had pleasure of "discovering" through my StumbleUpon group. Charise's posts always catch my eye from her emotional writing (she is a fellow participant in The Red Dress Club prompts), to her healthy, green living and neat product reviews and giveaways in line with those ideals. Charise also has lots of information and inspiration for moms looking to raise their children in a more ecologically conscious, healthy and natural way.

Some of my personal favorite posts from I Thought I Knew Mama, so far, are:

• What is BPA? Why is it bad? What can I do?
• In Loving Memory
• Soundbites from a Miscarriage Journey
• Antibiotics: Are they overused in my food? What can I do?
• 5 Easy Steps for Creating a Healthier Home

I Thought I Knew Mama is a great blog to explore if you are a mom, if you are a writer, if you are interested in going green or, at least looking for healthier/more organic lifestyle choices for you and your family, or if you are looking to get some cool new stuff from one of the many giveaways Charise hosts!

***

This post was written as ta part of my continuing series on My Stumble Buddies. To be a part of our StumbleUpon party to read and stumble week by week, come visit the Kludgy Mom community in Blog Frog!

Other Stumble Buddy Posts:

• Are You Reading Read Aloud Dad?
• Get a Clue With Kludgy Mom
• The Perfect Formula for Learning at Old School with The Damsel  

**Don't forget Rivera Runs Through It now has a new FaceBook Fan page waiting for YOU to LIKE it!!**

4 Great Ways to Get Your Blog Writing Going

You are sitting in front of your computer. You are ready to write for your blog. You've even managed to carve out a nice space of "me time" to accomplish this task, but then it hits you - what the HECK am I going to write about today? Since you have little time to waste, let me tell you about some of the fabulous resources out there to get you juices flowing.

Share Your Knowledge/Learning 

Do you have a skill, a hobby or something else you can teach your readers? Have you just gone to a class, watched a movie or read a book where you have learned something? Take a post to teach us! Here are some examples of some great teaching posts that I've run across:

• 6 Ways to Start An Art Collection Without Breaking the Bank Using what she knows from being an artist's wife, Ginger teaches us some tricks of the trade so we can all add that glitz and glam to our spaces no matter what our income is!
• 4 Heartstopping Myths On Drowning Every Responsible Parent Should Know When Alison learned about what drowning really looked like, she knew she had something to share. It was an extremely important post and, because of that, it went viral. Do you have some important knowledge that you should be sharing with the world? Don't take it for granted that everyone knows what you do!
• Lemonade Pie Kristl of The Budget Diet blog had a fun, yummy recipe from her childhood that takes only four ingredients and some chill-time. She shared it with her readers who are always interested in fun things to do, make or get for a bargain!
• How to Wash Windows from The Damsel of the Old School - Self Reliance 101 blog. The Damsel is one of my great online teachers, this is just one example of her fun and funny teaching style that leaves you begging for more. ...and this is a post about washing windows. Moral here: inspiration can be anywhere - you just have to be up to the challenge of writing about it!!

Challenge Yourself

Pick a challenge, either for yourself or for your blog and write about it. This can be a lot of fun and an easy path to finding material to write about. Here are some challenges you might want to think about:

• Go Meatless! This past November I found out it was World Vegan month and decided, in honor of that, to go meatless every Monday for the entire month. I documented it on my blog Searching for Sustenance and it gave me an easy day of writing for six weeks of Mondays. I also couldn't help but occasionally refer back to it from time to time, so it continues to be a source of writing inspiration. Here is my wrap up post What I Learned from Meatless Mondays.With this challenge you'll examine ethical eating and your blog will benefit from it as well.
• 31 Days to Build a Better Blog Do I write about this enough on this blog? I love this challenge. I am going through it again right now. If you participate with a community like I am (shout out to the SITS Girls!), then not only does the eBook give you tons of ideas for writing, but so do your fellow participants! You will be improving your blogging skills and you'll have something to write about every day! Here's a fantastic look at one of the most content-heavy days in the challenge From Eileen of the Web Design School blog: Tips and Tutorials for Bloggers Day 6.

• Couch to 5k Program This is a nine week program to go from couch potato to 5K runner. It is a program designed for people who have often thought most exercise, especially running, is a far away dream. Dream no more! MAKE IT HAPPEN and take your readers with you on the journey! You will transform yourself, inspire others and be able to write about the program, your ups, your downs, your runs, your falls - there is SO much to write about here... (I keep dreaming of the day my IIH takes enough of a back seat for me to try this one!)
• 30 Day Challenges In general there are a lot of various types of 30 day challenges out there - fun ones, fit ones, financial ones, a quick search on Google will send you on your way to finding one that fits for you. One post about 30 Day Challenges that caught my eye was 10 Thirty Day Challenges No One Wants to Take.

Causes
Many causes need people to be talking about them. If you have a cause, or an action that is near and dear to your heart, then get writing! You'll feel better about it and you can engage your readers in discussing important issues. Here are some examples of blogs writing with causes in mind:

• Conversations on Giving  This is a segment on the Do Good blog where the act of giving whether through charity, kindness or self is discussed. It is a simple idea that can be written about in so many different ways.
• 365Give This blog fascinates me. It is about giving every single day. It doesn't have to monetary, it doesn't have to be huge, but it is making the commitment to giving at least once every day and then writing about it. Imagine you made this commitment. Imagine you had to write about it. How would this change you? How would it engage your readers?
• One-Shots Stay in the loop with your special causes to find out if there are any special events or petitions floating around that need some publicity. Don't forget that your blog can be your podium when necessary. For example, this week I am trying to get people to let the Girl Scouts know I would like some gluten-free cookies! To that end, I wrote this post: Tell the Girl Scouts How Big the Gluten-Free Market Is! (if you have a minute, you should totally check this post out and sign the enclosed petition!).

For the Art of Writing

• The Red Dress Club Every week these ladies provide two writing prompts. The prompts could be as simple as a word or a picture, or they could even be specific lines to be included in the writing - they change all the time and I check in every week. If you write on one of the prompts, you can return to the site to link up your post to share with the Red Dress community for concrit. It's pretty awesome.
• One is called the Red Writing Hood prompt and can usually be either fiction or nonfiction and is typically limited to be anywhere between 600-700 words. Here are some of my prompt responses: Detour in "Off My Trail", Someone who drives you crazy in "One Lucky Turtle" and Fightin' words in "Someone Stole My F-ing Car" (*warning: this one is angry)
• The other prompt is called RemembeRED and is a memoir prompt and has the same types of length restrictions. Here are some of my prompt responses: Forgiveness in "I Forgive You", A positive from a negative experience in "Wash Away My Normal" and something you are proud of in "My Teaching Appreciation Day" 

• The Writer's Toolbox This is an offline resource that I actually found in the Barnes & Noble bargain section years ago. The box comes with a timer, a number of different tools (sentence sticks, sensory cards and the protagonist game, for example) and  book describing different ways to use them in conjunction with each other to find inspiration.

There's More!


There is definitely at least second post in here about how you can write about what's going on in the news, how you can join blog communities like Blog Frog or SITS Girls or even Twitter parties like #CommentHour to see what other people are writing about and write a reaction post to it and link up. There's still even more, but to be honest, I think I am taking up too much of your time because you really need to get to writing!
 

I Just Want a Letter

This post was written for the Red Riding Hood Prompt. This week's prompt is all about character development.

We'd like you to write about what your character wants most. 




 We got together back in July 2006. I remember it well. I loved her, and, my God, did she love me. She was in school then and we were inseparable. I worked for her - whatever she was looking for or needed prepared for her classes, I would make sure she'd get it done.

As the Fall approached she began teaching again. I couldn't believe that she got permission for me to come into her classroom with her. It was a whole new role for me, "teacher's assistant", but if that's what she wanted from me, then I wanted to provide that for her. Everyone had questions about the arrangement. Students, teachers, even administrators wanted to know how I was doing in the classroom, if she regretted the decision, what types of things I could and couldn't do. It was cute how proud she was of me, how she would show me off and gush over the simplest of things I did for her.

The years passed like this and doors seemed to burst open for us. We applied and were admitted into the Google Teacher Academy. We were granted permission to visit my home town of SanFrancisco for MacWorld. We presented everything we learned to the school staff when we returned. Then, for her classes and for her own personal use, we began blogging.

I was happy that she was writing and that I could be there with her as she began, but at the end of last year, after a year of her being so sick, I, too, fell ill. She couldn't help me in her state and I couldn't help her in mine. We both escaped to our respective quiet hibernation until the time was right.

About a month ago, after her own respite, she found me and rescued me from my solitude. She brought me to professionals who could set me straight again. It worked, and although we were both out of the classroom due to our respective disabilities, we got back to work on her writing. We started blogging together again and, with it, began to feel useful.

But I have a secret that I don't want to tell her. I think we may be losing our E. I feel her tap and I want to respond to her every wish as I have always done, but I keep failing her when it comes to this ever-so-prevalent vowel. She must be starting to notice. Her proofreads are taking longer. I know with her limited vision a missing e in the word "the" is exactly the type of thing that can go unnoticed. How can I repair my own ravaged key so that she does not have to worry about such mundane details in a swirl of creativity?

We have had such a beautiful love affair. But can she accept that my "lov" is as deep as my "lovE" has always been? The last thing I want to be is another broken thing for her to fix, so I keep hoping, wishing and praying to the Apple gods that my E will come back.

You ask me what I want. It's so simple and yet so complex - I would like 1/26th of the alphabet. One letter, a vowel. It's actually a number, too. On my keyboard it also controls the accent mark. It is all these things, but what's more, it is the key to a seamless relationship of shared joy over the creative process. It's an E and, yes, it is that important.

Someone Stole My F-ing Car

Here I am locked in this office
chained to these keys
staring into a screen swearing it is my fucking window to the world...

But I know someone else is driving my car,
out on the open road
with windows down, music blaring and winds blazing through his hairs.

What the hell happened?
That's my car. That's supposed to be me.
Running from the fury and enjoying the freedom of the outside.

This is abuse of the worst kind - it is self-mutilating.
I handed over the keys, I said, "Drive for me, please."
And, at the time, I meant it. At the time, I needed it.
But honestly I let this shit go on too long.

I want to fucking DRIVE.

Now we've had a fight and HE gets to flee?!
Oh NO... that is simply UNacceptable.

Stuck here with my limited vision,
my god-damned limited health
and with it I can't even express fury the way I used to.

Justice is lost...

I am limited even in my humanity.

Is there anything else that can be taken?


The tears flow hot and heavy.
I lost this battle, but it's not with him.
Now I know it was never with him.
I still hurt over my body's betrayal to this soul....

So much more to heal,
still battling with the fact that, "I can't drive,"
Go on... say it again, the dogs aren't listening,
"I CAN'T drive."

You know why, too, of course.
"...it isn't safe..."
But, Nicole, that doesn't mean you can't LIVE.

Now remember why you love him,
remember what the hell HE'S been through.
He's just about the last person on the planet you should be fighting with.
Let him drive,
he'll be home soon
and he'll be bringing back your car.


This post was written for the Red Riding Hood Prompt. This week's assignment was:

This week, we want fightin' words.

Write a piece about a fight. What happened? Why? Who "won"? What were the repercussions? 

I actually had half of this written raw, in the middle of a fight (as you can probably tell) with no intention to post it, but when I saw this prompt I thought it must be kismet.

Wash Away My Normal

Water is the building block in our survival, but as I'd seen many times in news footage around the world, it could just as easily unleash its wild force to devastate nations. She's a tricky one, our liquid love, but I've learned one thing in my dealings with her - no matter how she travels your way, whether through a peaceful pass of a glass to quench your thirst or a ferocious flood to level your status quo - it is her journey we are on, not vice versa.

My lesson came quietly on a Tuesday morning in March 2010. We heard and saw nothing until a single splash. We both stood.

"Something fell."

"No, I heard water."

We discovered we were both right. There was brown water past the first step of our basement and a bag of laundry had fallen into it, but there was so much more down there than laundry. It was a finished basement with a living room, a bathroom, an office and the laundry room with a pantry and a workbench.

As a child, the basement was the realm of my brother and I. The office was a playroom with a floor to ceiling bookcase. In the living room we'd watch cartoons and Star Wars over and over again. We'd play hide-and-go-seek, build enormous forts, play video and board games and hang out with friends.  Besides our backyard and the outdoors, it probably holds most of my childhood memories.

Here it was in all of its disgrace.

I had to look at it. I had to know what was going on. Where did this water come from? How were we going to get it out? But through it all one question kept penetrating my brain:

How did I let it get this way?

Because without all the sewage and water causing things like The Monster At The End of This Book, to float by me I was faced with one harsh reality - this basement was a mess long before the flood. 

In fact, truth be told, I was a mess.

Besides storage bins my husband moved in with and had yet to deal with, the basement was largely filled with my memories. Memories I was hanging on to with a clasp of desperation that no longer held sentimentality or love; only fear. Fear of complete and utter loss of all that I ever loved. This house and all it contained was the last place that evidence our family of four ever existed.

During the cleanup I was on a turbulent ride down memory lane, filled with happiness, nostalgia and loss. I had no idea how to face everything, or what to do with it. Then, without warning, I found two  bins of baseball cards that my father and I had collected together. That was our thing.

I stared into one bin. How could I let this happen?  I remember collecting all of these... and yet, I haven't looked at them for years.

More water came - salty, cleansing tears - I realized that's what I had always been missing. Seeing and holding the cards didn't make the memories any more real than they already were.

Memories and relationships are forever - things hold no domain over them.

There was so much water that week - rain, flood, tears - but it was all cleansing. It was a painful, brutal and merciless cleanup (my wedding dress was destroyed), but, without question, I needed it. The year that passed since has been one of change, renewal and upheaval. Learning to let go of my past in order to embrace my present was exactly the lesson I needed.






This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt.
This week we want you to recall something in your life that seemed terrible at the time, but looking back, brought you something wonderful.

A positive from a negative experience.

Permission to Say "No"

Driving home I simply couldn't believe how sunny it was. It must have been an amazing day to be outside to enjoy the end of the Spring. It was June 1998. I had graduated college only a couple of weeks before and started working as a substitute teacher.

When I pulled up to my house I saw my mother. She was in her denim shorts, a tank top, flip flops and, of course, she had a bandanna tied around her hair.  She was watering the grass, the bushes, the flowers and trees. This was a sure sign that I had missed one great, sun-filled day.

My mom saw me, "Hi Honey," she was so happy and shiny, I imagined she must have been gardening in the backyard all day, "how was it?" All smiles.

"Well," I smiled back, "today I will say I got paid for that."

 "Oh! You got a check already?"

That would have been nice. "No Mom, today is the first day I wouldn't have done this for free. Today is the first day it was a job. It was so sad and horrible. I know I am not supposed to, but if that school calls again, I think I am going to say no." I sat down on the front steps. I was exhausted by the mere thought of my day.

"Were the kids that bad?" Mom put the hose down in the grass and came over to me.

"It wasn't the kids. The kids were... Oh God, I didn't like that school." I had somehow made it through the day without allowing myself to feel this, "OK, here it is. I had Special Education classes all day. The kids and I got along and we got work done, but they were numb and I couldn't blame them - by the end of the day I was too. Mom, they had all the Special Ed classes in the basement. I had no idea the sun was even out until the day ended. How could they do that to those kids?"

I think I would have cried if my emotions weren't stunted from my day in the dungeons. There is a special kind of joy that comes from sunlight, from seeing the outside world. I could not conceive of the fact that I was deprived of it for one full school day. However, in the end, I still had my escape. These children, who, for one reason or another, had already been deemed as having difficulty with school, learning, or development were going back the next day and had been there all year.

"They had no windows?" my mother loved the sun and being outdoors no matter what the weather. (She once had me go sell school candy during a hurricane when the eye of the storm passed over. She said people would be desperate for something sweet, and it would be like an "adventure." She was right, on both counts.)

"They had one stupid small window like we do in our basement, but I think something was covering it, because it did not look sunny at all."

"And what school was this again?"

"No, Ma. I need to find a job at one of these schools in September." I could tell her wheels were spinning. She was planning  a letter writing campaign, a furious phone call, or, perhaps, some visit to the next PTA meeting from a "concerned citizen."

"I guess you're right..." I could see a little fire go out in her eyes, "but you will not go back there! You say no the next time they call and do not give them your resume."

I had the folder in my hand, "I didn't. I couldn't."

"That's my girl," her fire reignited this time with pride, "they just lost their chance at best math teacher on Staten Island! Now go get changed, dinner will be in about a half hour."


I did exactly that. I grabbed some shorts, a t-shirt and, shoeless, I walked around the freshly watered grass. I was filled with glee, my mom had agreed with me: I would say, "No."




This post was written for a RemembeRED Prompt. This week's prompt is the photo of the hose in the grass. Here are the instructions:

In 700 or fewer words, show us where your memory takes you.

Remember that this image is merely inspiration. Your piece needn't have a hose in your piece, but we need to easily see how you were inspired by it.

Off My Trail

It was summer. I don't remember what year, but Mom was still alive and cancer wasn't on anyone's mind. I was getting back into the swing of things - I was getting back to my run.

The "run" has never been an intense one. It is three miles from my kitchen door, to the baseball field and back. It's my route. It's what I do when I am ready to get back to me. I had a good routine going, but as it was getting warmer, I realized it was time for me to get up a little earlier to ensure my continued success.

I woke before my mother, grabbed my iPod, put my sneakers on and told my dog (Chewy, at the time) that these sneakers were not for her this time.

Out the door, ear buds in, pick the pace. One - two - one - two - one - two... there it is. Breathing is steady and the early morning dew helped the air coat my lungs. I thought, "Getting up early was a great idea!" The music blared in my ears, but the neighborhood still slept.

As I turned toward home I felt like a well-oiled machine, I was at one with every muscle in my body, with the air around me, with the ground below me. It was a beautiful morning, a magnificent run, and I didn't want it to end. It is for this reason, I chose to take a slight detour off my regular route just over a quarter of a mile from my home. I had reached the block that borders the Greenbelt Natural Reserve. I decided on this morning, I should complete my run with dirt beneath my feet instead of asphalt. I wanted to feel the Earth.

I jogged in, at first watching my feet closely, fearing I would trip on a fallen branch or slip on a muddy patch. Then I stopped and realized I needn't worry if all my senses were attuned. I grabbed my ear buds and, as the silence of the world enveloped me, I looked up into his eyes.

He was five feet in front of me and entirely too comfortable with my presence. I was a gawky, bumbling two-legged human who had mistakenly believed she captured grace during this morning run until I was caught in his gaze, looking upon his majestic antlers and witnessing his regal stance. Without understanding my own movements, I bowed to the young buck and backed out of his realm. He watched me take a number of steps before continuing to graze.

As I emerged from the dense woods, the sun seemed much brighter than how I had left it and, with my ear bids out of my ears I could hear that the neighborhood had risen. The magic of my morning had already passed. I looked over my shoulder, squinting back into the woods to see if the buck was still there, but he was created to be unseen in such situations... The physical evidence of my beautiful moment was gone, all that was left was a euphoric feeling throughout all my limbs.

I stepped back onto the the asphalt, put my ear buds back in and picked a new pace. I floated home as the neighborhood continued to dream away in a reality that missed the natural beauty in their midst.



This post was writ­ten for the Red Writ­ing Hood Prompt: This week's Red Writing Hood assignment is to write - fiction or non-fiction - about a time when you took a detour.