Keeping It Real

Posted on October 3, 2011 by Sandra S. McRae

The thing I love about my life, no matter how much it hurts or how crazy it gets, is that it is REAL. I am happy to say my life is truly a deeply engaged human endeavor, a spiritual journey, even a humbling ride, but not without its moments of euphoria. Let’s be clear: I’m glad I lived large, dined well, and traveled much in my youth. This current phase is no flaky party scene, no glam movie-star life, and vacations have grown fewer and further between (ocean, I miss you). This is the real middle-of-my-life, fueled-by-grit-and-true-fierce-love deal.

            To wit: aging parent, younger children, economic crisis/political mind@#$%, career changes, peri-menopause meets teenage hormones, I-need-new-carpet, all-my-friends-are-getting-divorced EMOTIONAL SQUEEZE. So yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve blogged.

            In the last 9 months I’ve had no less than three careers: freelance marketing consultant, full-time creative writer, and part-time teacher. Yes, I’m making that transition from business woman to teacher, so that I can write more and be inspired by my day job to do so. It’s been interesting, starting over at 47 and applying for jobs I could have gone for straight out of grad school, but I truly believe you are never too old to start something wonderful, new, and exciting. (Except piano…I don’t know that I’ll ever have the bandwidth for that one.)

            Recently I started substitute teaching in a local school district. It’s a small district and I can teach kindergarten through high school, but so far I’ve only worked in elementary schools. It’s been an amazing experience. There is nothing better than inspiring kids to try their best. And of course, elementary school is where kids learn how to be part of a group, how to exercise self-control, and how to behave in socially acceptable ways, so there are lots of opportunities to teach them life skills, too. The teachers I work with rise to this noble task with grace and skill that’ll make your jaw drop.

            Some highlights so far:

  • My first day subbing, I am teaching second-graders the difference between there, their, and they’re. I tell them a secret: Many grownups still don’t know the difference, so if they can learn this now, they will be smarter than many adults. A boy in the first row asks me: Do your grandkids know the difference? Humbling moment, to say the least, since I am only 47. But given that many women my age in this particular town are indeed grandmothers, I smile and tell him sweetly, Well, I don’t have grandkids just yet, thanks for asking.
  • One day I came home from work and told my husband that today I got paid to tell people to please be quiet…for about 6 straight hours.
  • Today a young student who has been working hard on his behavior not only followed instructions perfectly, working independently and without disruption, and finished his work early, but then helped a fellow student complete his work. He was my best worker all day and earned a special reward.
  • Every day after teaching, I have driven home and thought, I did something really important today. I can honestly say I have never written a press release, an ad campaign, or even an entire website (aside from this one) and had that same thought. Never.

So to anyone out there who may be thinking it’s time for a change, a do-over, a make-over, a spiritual revolution, or just a change of pace/perspective, listen up: It’s never too late to make a difference, and you will never regret making a change that blesses the world. When you want to make the most of your life, it all comes back to the first rule of writing: revise, revise, revise.

Posted in kids and poetry, Revision Process, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Blood, Guts, Glory: A Fish Story

Posted on July 26, 2011 by Sandra S. McRae

This past weekend my family took full advantage of living in Colorful Colorado and traveled to the tiny town of Almont in Gunnison County, where the East and Taylor Rivers join to form the mighty Gunnison. For decades, various groups of us have visited the same string of cabins on the Gunnison, but this year my husband’s birth family and all the spouses and offspring gathered to celebrate my in-laws’ birthdays (80 and 75). We reveled in fishing, boating, horseback riding, hiking, grilling, and savoring more than a couple local craft brews.   

Today my skin is a crazy patchwork of tan lines. My feet are a mess of mosquito bites, fly bites, scratches, and a certain amount of ground-in silt that can’t be scrubbed off. I can’t remember when I’ve ever managed to get so filthy, even as a kid. I can’t wait to do it again.   

The snowpack in parts of Colorado was about 300% of average this winter, so many rivers and reservoirs are still at the high-water mark. Fishing in September and October should be epic. July was pretty good too—I’ve never caught fish this big.   

Not a bad way to start the day (well, for me, not the fish).

 

Captain Papa is at the helm.

 

We always fish Taylor Park Reservoir, Spring Creek and its reservoir, and the Gunnison (right outside the cabins). The menfolk fish the Taylor from pontoon boats every fall, and this time the kids and wives finally got to see what the big deal was. We couldn’t have wished for a better morning: clear blue skies, warm weather, calm waters, and Papa at the helm of the “Party Barge.” Is life good or what?   

My sister-in-law Karen caught the first two lunkers of the weekend, which got the excitement going early. I caught one and my sister-in-law Judy almost landed another. My brother-in-law and husband sacrificed their own fishing opps to help the rest of us with lines, worms, tackle, and whatnot. Thanks, Marty and Joe! Back at the boathouse we relaxed in the sun, ate lunch, and watched the dogs splash around in the water.   

For some reason I had a serious fishing bug this weekend and couldn’t wait to hit a couple favorite fishing holes. Maybe because creek fishing requires a meditative mode and I wanted to Zen out. The banks are narrow; overshoot your cast and you can snag your hook on any number of branches, shrubs, and logs. You have to study all the obstacles, aim carefully, and drop your line in just the right spot for the current to take it to the calm areas where, if you’re lucky, it’ll swirl gently, tempting some fat trout who can’t resist. The key is patience.   

Patience is not my forte. But persistence is. Yesterday I was pretty much a nuisance until I had persuaded several others to try a spot we’d spied earlier. Loaded with gear, I slid down a small but steep slope, sloshed through a swampy area, and slopped through bugs and weeds to a square foot of mud that didn’t sink. (Only then did I think about snakes and leeches.) When my first cast landed on a branch of a log, I realized I should have done more “fishing yoga” before casting–that little stretch I did on the dusty road wasn’t intentional enough, evidently.   

Most people would have snapped the line and left the gear. But me? I had created this mess, and I could see how to fix it. So I crawled out across the creek on the log on all fours until I could bend the branch closer (not easy) and free my lucky red hook. The whole time I was out there I was thinking “This could be really stupid”—the same thought I had right before I cut my finger last month.   

Then I thought about poetry and how you have to “go on out on a limb” if you want it to be any good—no one ever surprised a reader without taking a risk. Most often I take my biggest risks in the revision process—when I can see how to fix any mess I may have made. And yes, cutting—deep editorial slashes to rid the poem of lines and images that aren’t working or aren’t necessary—is often the key to success.   

Revision is also about knowing when to give it a rest. Backing up and letting time and your subconscious work out the bugs. So after freeing the hook, I carefully reversed my silly trajectory that I hoped no one witnessed (Karen did but had the sense not to distract me by asking me what the hell I was up to) and packed it in.   

We traveled on to what I now consider my lucky spot on Spring Creek Reservoir. I once caught a fish there from the car, in the rain, while my husband packed up the gear. (That day had been so awesome I couldn’t stop.) We had just fished there the day before, where I caught two decent trout for that night’s buffet.   

14-1/2" rainbow

 

Yesterday it was my sister-in-law Mia’s turn; after several bites, she landed the fish she’d been taunting all afternoon. I caught a couple and on our “last cast of the day,” our daughter landed a 14½” beast. It was a good day, indeed.   

It was also a good meditation on writing and revision. As I crouched by the lake to wash the fish blood and worm guts off the bandage protecting my healing knife wound, I realized the blood and guts and cutting that are part of fishing—and the glory that the lucky fisherwoman sometimes gets to enjoy—are really no different from the risks and editing the poet endures, and glory she sometimes is blessed with when a line hits the sweet spot.

Posted in poetry, Revision Process | 7 Comments

And That’s That

Posted on July 5, 2011 by Sandra S. McRae

It’s been a huge month. And it’s only the 5th! Had a visit from a cousin I only met once when I was 2, so that didn’t count. Got to ask a hundred questions and learn more about my dad’s side of the family. My dad died when I was 11, and we rarely saw anyone from that side of the clan, though my mom kept Ma Bell in business chatting with his mom and sibs over the years. I was so excited to learn more about my aunt, my grandmother, my cousins. Really, my heart is full.

This was a very big deal for me, as a person, as a little girl who lost her daddy too soon, and maybe someday, as a writer. But it’s a lot to process and there are still so many questions to ask and stories to hear. I have decided that it’s time to go into absorption mode. Steep and stew a bit. I have a lot to process and process I will. For once I will let up on “doing” and just sit with it all a bit. And since I can’t really type very easily with a splint on my left hand (yes, I have been very accident prone this year), it’s a good time to just be.

Being and letting happen. Two things we don’t do well in our culture any more. At least I know I don’t. My cousin’s visit prompted my mom to dig up a pack of articles and letters my uncle had once sent her and the other sibs, family lore I must have read when it arrived but had forgotten about. Reading letters from my grandfather and great grandfather (interesting that the men in my clan were such letter writers–I don’t know that any men in my birth or marriage families write more than emails), I see a people who described more than analyzed, who lived life without self-pity or much fuss, and they were hard workers. My great-grandparents ran a boarding house, a restaurant, and a bakery. They were busy, exhausted people, I’m guessing, but what the paper had to say about my great-grandma when she died? That she was gentle and compassionate and sweet. What a beautiful legacy.

I also learned that my grandfather, who was a wood shop teacher, wrote a poem for a conservation effort to keep a developer from building a resort on Pine Island in Rib Lake, Wisconsin. His poem was published in the local paper and I guess the developer was sent packing. So my grandfather was a conservationist poet whose poem inspired a community. I am so proud of him.

I also learned that my grandfather was the kind of teacher who inspired his students. My cousins had a business professor who became a teacher because of the way my grandfather taught and inspired him.

As I mentioned, I can’t type very easily right now and that, too, is a gift. I learned a lesson about slowing down when I sliced my finger open with a grapefruit knife the other day. (If you’re going to cut your finger, this was the way to do it. I missed the artery by 3 mm and the nerve and tendon, too. Lucky strike!) Five stitches and a splint are a bit cumbersome, but they are a gift. A gift of slowing down. And so I will use this tool like the monkey that I am. I will use it to slowly open the gift of reconnection with my clan.

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