Writing With Abandon

Reflections and ramblings about life as an educator, writer, reader, knitter, and over-thinker. Trying to do the writing only I can do.

recent posts

about

I’m Amy. A born and raised New Yorker, currently living in Miami. Here to reflect on my experiences as an educator and learner, working things out as I write.

  • The Spell of the Yukon

    This evening, at the end of our last full day in the Yukon, Quinn read Robert W. Service’s poem, “The Spell of the Yukon,” to the 37 students we’ve had the pleasure of getting to know this week.

    Everyone was silent as he read in his booming voice, taking us through the mountains and valleys we’d become familiar with in our short time here.

    “There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,

       And I want to go back—and I will”

    What can I say about my time here? About this place that can absolutely spellbind you.

    I think I’ll borrow our debrief structure: Rock, Stick, Leaf.

    What rocked?

    The views. Mountains everywhere, blue sky, frozen river, deep canyons.

    The weather. We got lucky and the sun came out every day except today, which was a snowy wonderland. It reflected off the white snow and made it glitter. It showed a different side of the mountains with each passing hour.

    The hikes. I love sweating in the cold. It’s why I liked training for a half marathon in the winter. Start out cold and end up warm. We hiked Miles Canyon, we hiked Kluane National Park in the Alsek River Valley in Haines Junction, we hiked the trails by an off-grid lodge camp at Marsh Lake.

    The people! Our local guides. Harold, the Champagne Aishihik elder in Long Ago Peoples Place. Keith Wolfe Smarch, a Tlingit master wood carver, whose workshop in Carcross we had the privilege of visiting. Lu and Mel from Lumel Studios, where we each got the chance to work with a glass blower to make our own piece to take home. The 18-year-old kid at Mount Logan who chatted with me the whole way back about philosophy and what it’s like for him to live in his own off-grid cabin, alone.

    What will stick with me?

    The silence and vastness. It’s so quiet out here when you get out of town. Incredible and powerful.

    How important it is to connect with people and nature. How nature can heal you. How hearing others’ stories can make you feel more connected to yourself and each other.

    A desire to come back, like Service’s poem says. “I will.”

    The importance of learning from First Nations people, especially Yukon First Nations. “Together Today For Our Children Tomorrow.” The Yukon as the bottleneck through which all the ancestors of the Indigenous groups in the Americas had to pass in order to find their way elsewhere on the continent.

    How much I love my person and my pup and how I’d like to share this beautiful place with them on a trip one day.

    What will I leave behind?

    My long johns.

    My snow pants.

    Martha’s boots (though they were AMAZING! Thank you, Martha!).

    Hat hair.

    Wearing a backpack all day every day.

    Hotel pillows.

    – – –

    Anyway, just feeling very grateful as I rest my feet up at the end of the night before I pack my things for our departure tomorrow. Next stop: Atlanta for a conference, and then home on Saturday!

  • I’m Still Standing

    An airport at 5:30am is a sleepy place. Luckily, Miami isn’t seemingly experiencing the same TSA delays, and there certainly weren’t any ICE agents supporting with security. I don’t want to think about why that is right now.

    There’s music playing low, a kind of soft pop. I can hear the sound of coffee grinding, the portafilter tap-tap-tapping against a metal bucket to get out the wet grounds. My mind wanders to when I worked at a coffee shop just after college. Tasting the espresso in three different spots of the shot — top, middle, bottom — to make sure the grind was the right size, packed perfectly. Not too sour, not too bitter. That taste test’ll wake you up in the morning!

    It’s day 31 of this slice of life challenge, and I think this year is by far the best it’s ever been. Joined by so many friends and former colleagues, we built a community that I didn’t really see coming. Did you know you can get closer to someone you hardly had time to say more than a few words to during Tuesday PDs or passing quickly in the hallway? A slice of life gives you a glimpse into someone’s world, their mind, their hopes and dreams and worries and woes. I feel like I’ve hung out with so many of you this month, even if we haven’t seen each other in person! What a blessing! What a gift!

    Writing got easier each day, too. I started by scheduling my slices ahead, methodical, organized, anxious and careful about what I wrote, and then I found myself just slicing each day as it came. Sometimes in the morning. Sometimes in the evening, after the day had gotten away from me. Both valid.

    And reading! Oh! They don’t talk about how much reading you get to do during this challenge. I’m on my phone a lot more this month, but it’s because I’m reading all of these incredible slices. I barely touched my knitting project this month (sorry, Yukon, I guess Australia may have a better chance than you), because this Jetpack app took over. Instagram’s been off my phone for a while. Just Jetpack. I think I’m gonna feel a bit sad when I open my app tomorrow and there aren’t many new posts. I wonder how many slices will fill my reader on Tuesdays.

    “I’m Still Standing” just started playing on the speakers. An apt song for this moment. We’re all still standing after the daily writing challenge!

    Looking like a true survivor.

    Feeling like a little kid.

    Maybe that’s what it is. Something about this challenge brings with it a sense of childlike joy.

    Congrats to everyone who rose to the challenge! I can’t wait to see you next year. And I promise, I’ll try to show up some Tuesdays ☺️

  • Slicing While Waiting For Dinner

    It was a busy day.

    Woke up at 6 — so tired! Why? I got almost 8 hours…

    Phoebe’s grooming appointment at 8am. A new mobile groomer. He was great and she came back looking spiffy.

    An 8:30am call with a new client in Cairo. From Iowa just like Tim! Three proposal requests.

    10am meeting with my little east coast team. Touching base on what’s coming up while two of us are out.

    Go into the living room and smother P with hugs. “I’m gonna miss yoooou!”

    12pm call with J to talk about a Morocco proposal.

    12:30pm lunch call with R. Just for fun.

    1pm pre-departure call with a Seattle school heading to Iceland on Monday.

    Emails, emails, emails.

    Cc, cc, cc.

    Slack, slack, slack.

    Hug P! “I’m gonna MISS you!”

    3:30pm call with R and F. Reviewing my list of things to cover while I’m out.

    5pm finishing up. Set my OOO. Trading the Miami heat for the crisp Yukon air ❄️🏔️.

    Hug P! Grab a snack. “What should we have for the last supper?”

    Log back on to send a final client email.

    Take Phoebe out.

    “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!!”

    Run back inside.

    Plop on the couch while P makes us dinner. TJ’s kung pao chicken.

    I. Am. Tired.

    Cue up “Shrinking.”

    Write this slice.

    “Here we go!” P says.

    Packing can wait.

  • Toilet Trees

    “I still need to paaaaack,” I say.

    We’re sitting at a table at Books & Books. The waiter has finally taken our order and I’m hangry. V is coloring a blue bed on the paper we brought from home.

    “You still have tomorrow though,” P says.

    “Yeah, but I work, and I don’t want to be scrambling on my last night.”

    “Right.”

    “I at least want my clothes and toiletries packed by tonight,” I say.

    “Toilet trees?” V interrupts. “What are toilet trees?”

    P and I laugh. One of us starts to explain what toiletries are, while the other asks what kinds of toilet trees the others are envisioning.

    Toilets growing on trees? (Me)

    Trees growing out of toilets? (V)

    A toilet made from a tree trunk? (P)

    I grab a piece of paper and fold it in half, then use brown, green, and black to draw the first two types of toilet trees. My illustrations get a lot of giggles.

    “You could write a story about the toilet trees!” V encourages. “You can fill these other pages.” She taps once, twice on the inside of the folded paper.

    “A story? Hmmm…

    “Once upon a time there was a little girl named V. She was walking along in the Land of Toiletries when she had the urge to go #1. But in the Land of Toiletries, there are no bathrooms!

    “So she looked off into the distance and saw a tree with fresh toilets glistening in its branches. She ran to the tree, climbed up its trunk, and shimmied down a branch to a perfectly 6-year-old-sized toilet.

    “‘Ahh,’ she said with relief as she relieved herself.

    “Then she climbed back down and went on her merry way!”

    “Write it here!” V exclaims, delighted, tapping the inside of the page with her blue pencil.

    So I write it down.

    “That’s a lot of words,” V observes. “Don’t forget to put ‘The End.’ You need to add a picture too.”

    I draw a picture of a little girl in a pink dress climbing up into a toilet tree. This gets more giggles.

    Alysia arrives at that moment and joins us at the table.

    “What’s this?” She asks.

    “Do you want to read her your story?” P asks V.

    And so V reads us the story of the toilet trees.

    “That should be your slice,” Alysia says to me. “With no other context.”

    I had to give some context though.

    Now back to that packing I need to do…

  • Friend Family

    Starting the morning with so much gratitude.

    Even though last night’s wine makes me feel groggier than I would have liked, kept me from sleeping in later than I would have wanted.

    An unreal balcony, like a whole separate room, seemingly custom-built for this couple.

    A delicious dinner, barbecued with care by Jason.

    A table setting with new plates, curated by Gi.

    My love smiling at me across the table.

    Laughter.

    Oscar cuddles.

    Playful teasing after four years of friendship.

    I smiled and looked at them all — Jason, Gi, P, Osqui — and could see us a couple of years ago, us right now, and us in the future, with little ones running around. I could see it all at the same time.

    This life.

    This rich life.

    In spite of all the obstacles (because there will never not be obstacles), there is so so so much to be grateful for.

    And this little friend-made-family is one to savor.

    The hostess with the mostess
    Jason and I are slipper buddies
    As candid as I could get, after dessert

  • The Hour Before Writing Group

    Ana sends the message to our Slicers WhatsApp chat on Wednesday: “Hi slicers, I’m hosting tomorrow’s writing group on Zoom. If you feel like writing together, I’d love to have you!”

    The last and only other time I came to the Thursday writing group was on a Thursday that I worked late and was super distracted. I think I was trying (and failing) to file my taxes online (I ended up going to H&R Block, and good thing I did, cause they got me a refund versus the thousands TurboTax was gonna have me owe). I hadn’t eaten much. I didn’t engage the way I know I can. I didn’t write the way I know I can, either.

    So this week, I was determined.

    “Can you send a reminder tomorrow at 7:40?? I will try to make it!”

    And right on cue, she did.

    But I’m getting ahead of myself. Because tonight’s prompt is what we did in the hour before logging onto the Zoom.

    At 7pm, I was lying back on a bolster for a supported savasana in my Thursday yoga class with Susie, my favorite instructor. Vinyasa with sound bowl ending.

    At around 7:15pm, I was putting my props away and rolling up my mat. I said goodbye, and headed out into the evening air.

    At 7:20pm, I was crossing Alhambra Plaza, looking at the three random cop cars with their lights flashing, double parked against the median, where three women were on their phones looking concerned. I wondered what had happened, but didn’t see any signs of an accident, so kept moving.

    As I walked along Alhambra Circle towards home, I read a few texts from our CRT chat, and then opened my Jetpack app. It had been glitching in the morning, not letting me leave comments. So I cautiously read a few slices and commented. Gi’s about girl dinner. Vicky’s through the perspective of a rooster. Sophie’s middle-of-the-night slices. Jesu’s síndrome pre-viaje. Carol Ann’s about missing her dad.

    At 7:27, I glanced up and saw my building aglow. I went to snap a photo, but saw it wouldn’t showcase the golden light in the same way. It would just look like a random photo of a street. Whatever. I love my building.

    At 7:28, I went to cross the street. A woman crossed with me, pushing a baby stroller with a newborn. She was wearing a t-shirt that said MOM GROUP DROP OUT. I walked on the side of the cars as an extra layer of protection for them.

    At 7:29, I entered my building and waved to Jon. I needed to walk Pheebs and feed her too, then feed myself. Would I have time to shower?

    At 7:33, I got home. Phoebe jumped down from her perch on the couch to greet me. I slid the harness on her and left my phone on the table as I brought her down to pee. I riled her up in the elevator as we came back upstairs. I fed her.

    7:36pm. What to eat, what to eat.

    I opened the fridge. Nothing.

    I opened the freezer. Frozen meatballs from a few weeks ago? Nah… Frozen Trader Joe’s tamales? Yup.

    Wrap in a wet paper towel, microwave 3-4 minutes, let stand 1 minute.

    Could I shower in that time? Maybe not. I was too hungry.

    I scrolled more on Jetpack. Con’s slice. Ana’s about Thursdays.

    Ping! Ana’s text reminder came in, right on schedule. 7:40pm.

    My tamales were ready. I ate them while I continued to read slices.

    At 7:53, I gathered my laptop, my reading glasses, and my water. I reset the dryer that I’d put on before yoga because our loads usually need a second run.

    At 7:54, I determined that I did have enough time to shower.

    At 7:58, I put on my pajamas.

    At 7:59, I determined that I did not have enough time to wash my face.

    At 8:00, I clicked onto the Zoom link and met the other ladies here tonight.

    We all decided to slice about what we did in the hour before arriving to the writing group. I wonder how their hours unfolded.

  • Soft-Boiled Goodness

    When I read Consuelo’s slice, The Egg Thingy, I knew I’d already been influenced. An easy, no-clean method for perfect-every-time soft-boiled, medium-boiled, and hard-boiled eggs? Sign me up. And they even made a smaller version. Perfect.

    I ordered it last Saturday and it arrived Sunday morning, just in time for breakfast.

    I was so excited to unbox it and get breakfast going. I sent the WhatsApp group updates for each stage:

    Turning it on
    OoOOoOoOooohh
    😱 “Oh. My. God.”

    They were PERFECTION.

    I couldn’t believe how easy it was.

    P got excited too when I sent him the picture.

    And all week, I’ve been enjoying my soft-boiled eggs on toast with avocado for breakfast. No more pans to clean up, just shells, in with the compost. A quick wipe-down of parts and then the Egg Thingy goes back in its corner.

    Egg Heaven, really.

    Until this morning.

    “Trying the omelette feature,” I texted P. Casual.

    It had already incurred more work than just piercing the bottom of the eggs, but oh well. I was gonna get my greens in!

    The Egg Thingy started chiming as I finished washing my face in the bathroom.

    “For a drier omelette, leave the eggs in the Rapid Egg Cooker for an extra two minutes,” the instructions manual had said. No rush.

    When I took the top off, it looked promising:

    But when I tried to transfer it to a plate?

    I guess you can’t have it all with a $17 kitchen appliance.

    But at least I have my trusty pan, so I could salvage the remains.

    I guess I’ll have to stick to what the Egg Thingy knows best: soft-to-hard-boiled goodness, nothing more and nothing less.

  • What’s On My Fridge

    Last Friday, at our slicers meet up, Caro greeted me with a hug and told me that morning, while she made her coffee, her eyes lit upon a card I’d written her last year that she now has on her fridge. Later in the evening, when discussing the ever popular topic of “what to slice about,” I went back to Caro’s comment: we could write about what’s on our fridges!

    “I don’t have anything on my fridge,” Cande said. But then—“wait, we do have four small magnets for each of my family members.”

    “That’s a slice!”

    And that’s my slice tonight, as P gets his dinner ready and I wait for him so we can keep watching “Shrinking” on Apple TV (we’re obsessed).

    My fridge in all its glory! (With all children and babies’ faces blocked for privacy)

    So, what’s on my fridge?

    • A big KLA magnet
    • A dollar bill with a “SAY GAY” stamp on it (important here in Florida!)
    • Last year’s school photos of V, JH, and Emmie
    • A card from my student E last year
    • A card from my (basically) sister- and brother-in-law from when I got my new job
    • Thank you cards, Christmas cards, cards of appreciation
    • Post-its of appreciation
    • V’s drawings
    • Photo booth strips
    • Magnets from Italy, Mexico, and the UK
    • Our Brick (which I haven’t used in a while, but Instagram has been off my phone so it’s fine)
    • This year’s Valentine’s cards
    • Mini printed pictures
    • A postcard print with “ways to say I love you” that a former coworker made back in covid to support the US Postal ServiceM
    • Magnetic photos from Ariel’s wedding
    • A meat thermometer
    • Two post-its of a cartoon hair called Seamus (it’s an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it)
    • P’s wish for kind resolutions to all conflicts
    • The tasting menu from our celebratory dinner this summer after I got my job
    • A Husky light courtesy of my dad this Christmas
    • A thank you card from a friend’s wedding
    • An appliance repair company’s magnet
    • Ana’s letter to us slicers and the magic orange stickers

    Everything on my fridge brings me so much joy. It may not be neat, but it’s a mess of love.

  • Dust

    The sun rises every morning and shines its orange-pink light through our apartment windows, illuminating the room and everything in it. It lights up the dust that seems to settle on every surface and float in every pocket of air I glance at.

    I dusted and wet sprayed the apartment this Sunday. P swiffered, vacuumed, and mopped the floors last night.

    And yet.

    The dust still reigns.

    I do not think I will be able to conquer it.

    Not when I see it on my iPad keyboard, wipe it off, and watch more settle on it instantly in the sun’s spotlight.

    The dust is relentless.

    Has anyone, anywhere managed to get a handle on it? Do I need to be spray-wiping every day? Every few hours of every day?

    It comes from the vents, it comes from the pollen outside when I open our balcony doors, it comes from my hair and Phoebe’s hair and P’s hair and all of our skin and also the dryer and the lint and our clothes, and the soil from the plants, and the dirt from our shoes when we come inside.

    There is always construction outside, no matter where I live in Miami, so if it’s not pollen, it’s construction dust making its way through the air outside and into our apartment.

    I want to be like Martha, dancing with my vacuum cleaner as I suck up the hair balls and dust bunnies that creep along the floor. Or like Kim, whose apartment surfaces shine like they’re in a commercial for a cleaning product.

    But right now, I’m just me, surrounded by dust, staring at it sticking to the iPad keyboard as I finish typing out this slice. Wondering if it’s even worth trying to get rid of at all.

  • Phoebe’s Famous Boat and the Juice Palace

    “Can I borrow Phoebe’s bed?” V asks me, walking into our room as I finish folding the clothes from the drying rack.

    “Sure!” I say. I think she’s just going to pick it up, but she hesitates and lays down in it. “Do you fit in it?”

    I walk around the bed to see that she’s curled up. “You do!”

    V laughs. She notices Phoebe’s puppy blanket by her head, and claims, “I need this,” then grabs it and brings it into the living room, announcing that it is a boat. She lays it flat on the floor. Pauses. Folds it in half and lays it down again. Phoebe climbs on, filling the boat in full.

    “Actually, this is part of the boat. I need another blanket!”

    She runs off into her room. P is sitting on the couch, watching the imaginary play unfold.

    “Whose boat is this?” He asks as she comes back out with a large blue fleece-y blanket.

    “Phoebe’s boat!” She replies without hesitation. “Phoebe’s famous boat!”

    “So Phoebe’s the captain. That makes you first mate!”

    The blue blanket is a bit too big for her and she’s trying to fold it. “Can I get a little help please?”

    I step forward from the doorway and grab the other two ends of the blanket, helping her lay it down. Then I sit on the couch with P.

    “She would love a Nugget,” I say, imagining the forts that would grace our living room.

    “I used to have a futon growing up that folded into a chair,” P says. “It wasn’t a very comfortable chair though.” P pulls open Amazon. We start to browse play furniture.

    I look back up a couple minutes later and V has decked out her boat to the max: Phoebe’s bed and blanket at one end, her pillow and duvet next to it, and then both ottomans on the other side. Her new book lamp lays next to the sleeping area.

    “Who wants to play with me?”

    We both stand up and head over to take a seat on the ottomans.

    I love this girl’s brain.

    For the next half hour we are on Phoebe’s Famous Boat, Disney songs playing in the background on Spotify (water-themed, of course: The Little Mermaid, Moana, Finding Nemo). I give V the Swiffer duster handle as a fishing rod and grab a blender cup to bail out any water. V scrounges through Phoebe’s toys for the ones she’ll “fish” for, designating the dolphin, the stegosaurus, and the crocodile as pets. We can eat the red squid, which keeps inking all over our faces, and the piece of candy she finds floating around, but the rest are off limits. Phoebe can’t seem to keep it straight though, and manages to make off with Dolly the dolphin whenever we’re not looking, chewing on her floppy fins.

    We have a moment for bedtime and are given floating sandals from V so that we can visit the islands for more materials. P almost falls overboard but V saves him.

    Then we get a bit hungry and I check the time. Not too long before Ana picks me up for book club.

    There’s a hole in the boat, so I use the opportunity to suggest we leave the boat for repairs while we make a pit stop at the closest island and go to the Juice Palace.

    V’s eyes light up. She loves juice.

    At first she thinks it’s part of the imaginary play.

    “This is a real juice palace,” P explains. Once she understands, we leave the boat at the dock and head off the four of us.

    The drive is short, and soon enough we’re parking at the juice palace, aka. Palacio de Jugos, with its aggressively red and yellow striped awnings. V wants to hold Phoebe’s leash, but decides against it after Phoebe doesn’t quit pulling.

    As I’m the Spanish speaker in this crew, I lead the pack to the different ordering counters.

    First stop, juice. Guava for V, soursop for me, and mango for P. Plus two actual mangos. $7.

    Next up, tostones. I pick up 10 giant, smashed tostones for book club, and a side order of sweet plantains for V. $7.

    Third, fried rice for P. I order a ration rather than a plate because I know they’re going to pack it in. They do. The server perfectly crafts a mound of fried rice to fit inside the clamshell. $7.

    Finally, we go for the tequeños. You have to order them at the juice counter, so I’m back there again. Four tequeños and one chicken empanada, please.

    “Solo tenemos dos de queso,” the woman tells me.

    “¿De qué son los otros?” I ask.

    “De guayaba y queso.”

    I turn to V: “Do you like guava and cheese tequeños?”

    V nods vigorously. The woman and I laugh.

    She goes off to grab the guava and cheese tequeños and hands me the bag, before sliding the card reader over for payment. $7.

    I take the other bags from P so he can wrangle Phoebe, and we start marching out of the juice palace and back to the car.

    V has already finished half of her guava juice.

    We pile in, ready to enjoy our loot before climbing back aboard Phoebe’s boat.