Tag: writing

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March 9: 9:16-9:47 Clap if You Believe in Fairies!

Late-to-Rise Leprechaun: A Modified Limerick

a leprechaun sat ‘neath the shamrocks

with buckled hat, red beard, and striped socks

his faeries he queried

am I late? I’m quite w’erried

so ye be, chimed the three,

(one with book upon knee),

even fairyland can’t turn back time clocks

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya! I took a spur-o’-the-moment trip south to visit my family as my brother and sister in law and I try to help Dad tackle some tasks he can no longer do on his own. Chemotherapy has zapped all of his strength, and we (and others) continue to try to help where he will allow it – which is not nearly enough for any of us to feel satisfied, but that will take the luck o’ the Irish and a lot of prayer to change. He’s testy with us, seems skeptical, and wants to be left alone. He’s made it quite clear.

Before my brother and I visited him, I had a little extra time to check out the Ace Garden Center on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and I’d spied a little leprechaun in the robust fairy garden section that I’d planned to go back and get after visiting with Dad. I was there to look for spider plants, known for improving air quality by giving off oxygen in their transpiration process. But leave it to fairies to lure me down the aisle of wonder and intrigue. While I don’t have a dedicated fairy garden, my whole front porch is filled with fairies in their own plant container homes.

Imagine my delight when my sister in law, Jennifer, asked me to swing back by the house after visiting with Dad. She’d known just the medicine I’d needed – – a little fairy magic to cheer me up! She’d read my blog yesterday morning and beat me to the fairy section, choosing the perfect assortment of fairies – and the leprechaun – to sit on the edge of my shamrock plant as a gift – – making them so much more meaningful. Each time I look at the leprechaun, I smile. And what she didn’t know was that I would have picked the fairies dressed in green – – for an extra sprinkling of Irish fairy dust!

When I opened the gift, a black nose appeared out of nowhere – – JoJo, one of their black labs, sensed the magic and joined the fun, studying this leprechaun and his trio of fairy friends, as mesmerized as any dog has ever been. Her fixation on them – even trying at one point to take the leprechaun by the beard and run off with him – lightened the mood and made us all laugh.

Sources say that there are no female leprechauns, and that these little magical creatures are the unwanted children of the fairy family – – grouchy, closed off, and untrusting. With their stubborn, curmudgeonly, cranky attitudes, even leprechauns need someone to show them some love – trouble is, they have a hard time accepting it.

I have reasons for understanding the close relative of the leprechaun in folklore – the Clurichaun, drunk and surly beings who are known for clearing out entire wine cellars. And I must admit: I, myself, a mere human, along with my brother and sister in law, had broken into some wine over the weekend. But let’s be real – – the leprechauns drive them to it.

There comes a time in life when all children can do is clap if we believe in fairies, to envision Mary Martin as Peter Pan rallying us along, to hope the lights don’t fade too quickly.

Jo Jo checking out the leprechaun and fairy trio
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March 8: 8:44-9:15 I Met a Most Convincing Leprechaun

they’re everywhere, these fairies

sprites, gnomes, pixies, elves, imps

even leprechauns

a whole aisle in Ace Garden Center

devoted to miniature magicians

and I’m in trouble, I know

I need to get out of this place

at least off this aisle

because nothing thrills me

more than a fairy garden

and I might spend too much

so I buy two spider plants

the best plants for

improving sleep

for clean air in homes

and leave the fairies

for now….but

I may be back this afternoon

for some of them

who seem to want

to live in my plants

on the front porch

with the others

especially this one leprechaun

who whispers that

he can’t be left homeless

this month, says he knows

I have a shamrock

and promises extra good luck

if he can come join my wonderland

of fairies in my porch plants~

friends of his, he claims

then springs up to my shoulder

murmurs in my ear a well-known

fact: I know your weakness

…..your one little word doesn’t

work on fairies.….

you can never have enough

yes, I’m deep in fairy trouble

because I’ll be back

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March 6: 7:40-8:11 a.m. Workday Arrival in the Cubicle

My work space

One of the most beautiful things about a writing group is that you often know the people in your circles better than those who work ten feet from you every day. And when your groups intersect so that you slice together, take on The Stafford Challenge together, and write poems at Ethicalela together too, you look forward to your small group Zoom times where you write and share face-to-face from the east coast to the west coast and two states in between.

That’s what happened last night. I didn’t join a small group for The Stafford Challenge last year, but when Barb Edler suggested that we form our own small group with more flexible scheduling, she took the lead in setting up our Zoom meetings so that Denise Krebs, Glenda Funk and I could all meet to write, share, and keep in touch. So in our Zoom last night, Glenda introduced a prompt that invited us to write definition poems. A special thanks to Glenda for the inspiration – and to Denise, Barb, and Glenda for suggesting a better ending for the second definition! Cheers to writing friends who inspire us and keep us writing in community. Since I’m slicing through increments of time throughout the day, I chose to write about my cubicle today.

cubicle (n.) – 1. an open place where I always feel I’m being watched. There’s no privacy here with two on-screen llamas, a whispering plant, the eyes of the family photos, everyone who walks by, the general webinar population, the parking lot parents who can see in the windows, and probably, probably cameras everywhere. 2. a limiting space to sit and work the day away but never, never my home away from home.

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March 4: 6:36-7:07 A Schnoodle Mom’s Morning Gratitude

they know how I am

about my babies, my three

boys I’ve rescued through

the years, and that’s why

I thank the good Lord this morning

not only for my children and grandchildren

and husband and all my

people blessings

but these schnoodles, too

because when I enter the vet’s

office they all greet me

by name and gather around to talk to my

sweet Fitz (not just “patient 7101”)

~they know my Fitzie well~

and pet him in my arms

before scooping him up for his

CUPS Disease treatment

(another cleaning and more extractions)

and it’s why, precisely why, when I picked

him up yesterday the technician came out

cradling a groggy Fitz

and handed me a little bag with

six tiny teeth, bloody, on a bandage,

smiled apologetically and

whispered, I knew you would want these,

then my heart skipped a beat and I almost cried

because yes, yes, yes,

I am that dog mom

…….and it shows

Fitz’s Christmas Picture 2024
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March 3: 6:04-6:35 – The Brain Awakens to Face the Day in a Septuple Nonet

(scroll quickly, vertically, to catch the brain wave working)…….

just finding two matching shoes to wear

or not spraying the walls with the

Water Pik, …..and Cranberry

Orange breakfast scones with

piping loose leaf tea

awakenings

are hallmarks

of bright

starts

plus

Wordle

Connections

Spelling Bee for

a brain-charged challenge

keeping synapses sharp

– these are my routine morning things

right here in rural middle Georgia

and writing friends across the nation

who inspire me to do new things:

like humbleswede, whose camper

postcards will now be mailed

and Glenda Funk, who

inspires me to

travel the

world with

new

eyes

(and to

hug my old

rescued Schnoodles),

Margaret Simon

whose baby ducks on jump

day always bring a teared smile,

and Denise Krebs, whose Mojave

desert hikes are calling my name now…

Fran Haley, my birdwatching sister

one state north in a same-named town,

wordancerblog’s March food fest

keeps tempting my tastebuds,

Sally Donnelly’s

city sights and

book talks make

me want

to

read

on a

sunny park

bench, Barb Edler

whose slam poetry

competitions inspire

me to buy tickets to a

poetry event on a stage

in Atlanta this coming April

and so many more fellow writers

whose blog are a source of daily

inspiration this month, all

awaken my brain, inspire

me to get out and live

to try new things I

wouldn’t have done

without a

friendly

nudge

Cheers to. you from my mug of green pomegranate tea

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March 2: 5:32-6:03 a.m. Goodbye, Little Guy Max!

Goodbye, Little Guy Max!

This morning we roll out at 6 a.m.

to meet your new family halfway ~

they’ll take you across this

great country to see new sights

experience new adventures

you’ll embrace a whole new crew

shelter them from storms

blanket them in warmth

love them as much as

we have loved you!

Happy trails, Max!

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March 1: 5:00-5:31 a.m. – Awakening All Sense

Handmade soap from Green Willow

Welcome to the first day of the 2025 Slice of Life Writing Challenge, where bloggers post each day of the month. You can find the home page with links to blogs across the world here. I’m writing about things that happen in time increments this year, described in yesterday’s post.

Awakening All Sense


I smack snooze a time or two

reluctantly rise

feel the sweat of the night

still lingering from the

warmth of our

blue velour blankets

piled three layers high

smell the morning citrus soap before

I ever see it, the

exhilarating orange

cream bar that

heightens all senses

awakens all sense

our nation needs this orange

not the other

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My Slice of Life Plan

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com


A little over a decade ago, my adult daughters and I went to the Bodies exhibit at Atlantic Station in Atlanta, Georgia. We drove the short distance from our rural farmland into the city and spent the day examining every part of a human body, all preserved behind clear plexiglass cases to show how bones, muscles and organs function as parts of systems, all packed into the skin-covered suitcase of a lifetime. 

We entered one room where an entire body had been cross-sectioned, sliced in horizontal sections from head to toe the way one might casually slice a carrot coin-style while preparing dinner. Knowing the bodies had all been donated to Science and were real people at one point in time, I was in the rabbit hole of endless wondering: when was this person born? What was her name? what did she do for work? did she have children? did she ever, for one second of her life, have any inkling that millions of people would study every inch of her dead body, parts she herself had never seen, all preserved and on display in such an arrangement as this? I wanted to scan a QR code and see a video of what she’d looked like on the playground when she was 5 years old, her mother pushing a swing from behind as her dress sash rippled in the wind, little Mary Jane shoes and lacy socks pumping to keep momentum. And after wondering all these things about how she’d lived, I wondered how she’d died, ruling out the obvious impossibilities: she wasn’t eaten by a shark or crushed by a falling rock. 

The dark, shadowy fascination of that day has stayed with me for all these years, and I often find my mind transferring the concept of cross-sectioning things that I never would have considered cross-sectionable: a bird, a plane, a castle, a car, or even time itself, like some Stephen Biesty book that my son used to enjoy when he was young. I have even wondered what the waking hours of my day would look like cross-sectioned here in my little corner of rural Georgia.  Perhaps, even what those same exact cross-sections of time would look like cross-sectioned across our country by fellow bloggers from points across the map – or even the world. Throughout March, that’s my plan as I participate in the Slice of Life Writing Challenge at www.twowritingteachers.com. I’ve created 31 equal increments of time from 5:00 a.m. to 9:30 p.m., and I’ll write a poem for a blip of living during each sliced segment of a part of my day throughout the month- emotions, senses, mundane or fascinating work or home tasks, and maybe even a daydream or two. 

who knows what the days

will bring? Let’s all live

and find out – – ready, set, write!