Posts Tagged ‘snow’

Slice of Life: Pre-Emptive Gratitude

January 26, 2021

We don’t have a snow day today, and I’m about as happy as a wet cat.

Something deep within me ached for a day back at home, even if it still involved a full day of classes and meetings. The thought of getting up early, bundling up, clearing off the car, of navigating barely passable roads, and repeating the process at day’s end just seemed…disheartening.

But here I am, standing at my desk and ready for my first meeting of the day. And on days like this, it’s easy for me to give in to discouragement and crabbiness. Grouchiness fits like an old pair of jeans.

Unfortunately, that makes for a REALLY long day.

Instead, I’m setting my sights on the moments of gratitude and joy that I know await me today, in no particular order:

warm chai
colleagues who check in…and mean it
a women’s night with folks who ground and inspire me
fresh grapefruit
soft socks
the wisdom of eleven year-olds
the Slice of Life writing community
a dog who’s happy to see me
deadlifts in the garage
the perfect hard-boiled egg, dipped in salt
helping folks do what they do, only better
long, deep breaths

…and all of the surprises this day has awaiting me…

March: Blowing in Like a Poem

March 8, 2019

So many little miracles happened for me today. I got a hug from a reserved second grader. A tricky third grade class was beautifully behaved. And this morning the world brought me a seed for a poem, which I carried in my pocket and thought about through the morning. And when my fifth graders held their Freelance Friday writing time, I joined in the fun. Here’s what I wrote.

To Today’s Snow, Who Surprised Me This Morning On My Way To Work

I feel sorry for you
For coming on Friday
In March
When we were cold, and tired,
And tired
Of being cold, and tired
And people huffed past you
Without a glance,
Wishing you had been sunlight.

If only
You had arrived in October
We would have greeted you
In wonder.

If only
You had arrived in October
I would have gathered my class
To run outside,
Black paper
And magnifiers in hand.
And we would have seen you,
Really seen you
Marveling at your structure
And intricate detail.
There would have been squeals
As we caught you on our tongues
And you stuck
To our eyelashes,
Our hair,
Our not-ready-for-winter clothing.

But it is March.

So I hope it is enough
That I saw you today,
That I noticed
The delicate fluff
Of sparkle
You laid upon the world,
And that I spent a wistful moment

Before snapping a photo,
Starting the car,
Turning on the wipers
And pulling away.

(c) Lainie Levin, March 2019