But Was it Life Changing?

But Was it Life Changing?

“Was it life changing?” my daughter, Zoe asked me this morning as I groggily sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. I’d gotten home from nearly three weeks in South Africa the night before, had managed a few hours of sleep, and was now on my third cup of coffee and it wasn’t even 7am. “Was it life changing?” “Yes and no,” I said. “Yes, of course, and no, not really.” And it’s not because I’m jaded by my recent travel to Bali last November, Nepal this past April, and the last many weeks in South Africa where I traveled with my 21-year-old daughter Ruby, and my 79-year-old mother Suzy. It was incredible to tool around in a jeep on a large private animal reserve in South Africa and to stumble into a herd of elephants taking down trees for breakfast. It silenced me to get as close as we did to the pride of lady lions whose faces were covered with blood – “lipstick,” our guide called it – after they’d just taken down an impala – a kill we’d seen them circling for, heard them attacking deep in the bush, and watched them emerge from afterwards. It was ridiculously amazing to watch a mama rhino and her baby lumbering along a shady dirt road, taking their time as our vehicle kept a safe distance behind. The closest I’d ever gotten to these animals – cheetahs, giraffes, rhinos, leopards – was in magazines or on T.V., and it was both oddly wonderful and disconcerting to be so close to them. One day we drove right up to a...
For Want of Slow

For Want of Slow

For Want of Slow is a piece of writing my friend and Wild Writing student, Lori Saltzman wrote in class last week. I asked her if I could share it here.

 

What I need you to know is

I feel like a temporary survivor of a fatal epidemic

Like walking the set of a horror movie

One of those deadly plague films

where everyone acts as if everything is normal

Suddenly there’s a look in their eye, a subtle change in the tempo of speech

The Parting of the Veils

The Parting of the Veils

I keep wanting to text my younger brother Wally, who is recovering from surgery in Los Angeles. I keep wanting to ask him, “What’s it like now?” to find out if he’s still standing in the light that shone when the veils parted two weeks ago, when a football sized tumor…

True Stories Series: Meet Lisa Sadikman

“Writing is how I round out my world, it’s how I unstick myself from the mud and make it across the meadow.”  – Lisa Sadikman Readers, when I made a list of people I wanted to interview for this column, Lisa Sadikman quickly came to mind. She’s been a Wild Writing student of mine for years – a solid writer, and someone who has had to juggle the responsibilities of mothering three young girls, running a house and taking herself seriously as a writer. No small thing. Lisa is still at my Wild Writing table, but when she’s not here she’s scribbling notes for stories as she sits in carpool lanes, or in the wee hours before her kids get up for school. Her personal essays on parenting can be found on her blog, in the Huffington Post and many other magazines. (SEE below for links) If I admire anything, it’s someone who’s willing to sit there in the midst of her mental gunk, her exhaustion, her excuses and fears and lay some ink down on the page. Lisa does this and I’m happy to share her with you today.     Lisa, I’ve been working with you for a bunch of years now and I’ve seen you go from someone who mostly wrote once a week in class — someone who knew she had more to say, but didn’t know exactly what that was — to someone who keeps a writing schedule, blogs each week and publishes regularly for the Huffington Post. I know a lot of writers who’d like to make that kind of journey with their work and I thought hearing from you would...

What Keeps Me Awake at Night

I may have time to get to the Girl Scout store to get the new troupe numbers and Girl Scout USA insignia.   I wonder if those jeans are worth patching?   Is this middle aged spread or have I been eating too many nuts?   Nuts are good, right?   229 days till summer. Still time to work toward that bikini   My feet don’t hurt that much.   You know, my shoulder feels exactly like it did during the racquetball days.   Damn mosquitoes.   I don’t need any more new clothes.   I should make some soup this week.   I loved Gina’s white t.shirt and long flowered jacket. She is so beautiful and neurotic.   I felt pretty at the party but no one mentioned it. Prettier than I’d felt in a long time. Are they just used to my prettiness or am I not pretty at all?   Do I have any underwear that he hasn’t seen?   We should be getting that call from the basketball coaches soon. I hope practice isn’t on girl scouts night.   Get to the bookstore.   If I don’t invite more than two people over at a time we can all drink wine out of wine glasses.   I hope they take those boots back.   Mosquitoes. Will they retreat as it gets colder?   What if I run out of money?   Chocolate bacon, who would have thunk it?   I can feel my hips.   My breasts are like puddles. Exactly like my mothers.   I think I said goodnight to him.   One day...