Monday, March 28, 2011

I Can't Believe I Wrote the Whole Thing

I remember before we built our house here, we'd come out and stand on the land.  We'd pace off where we wanted our livingroom.  We climbed trees to see what we would be able to see from our windows.  And we would stand together arm in arm listening to the wind out here.  It was the only sound we could hear.
When I listen to the wind, I can imagine that we are the only people out here. It whistles and shushes through the tree tops.  It is my silencer. You have to be quiet when the wind talks.

 OR

I remember before we built our house here, we'd come out and stand on the land.  We'd pace off where we wanted our livingroom.  We climbed trees to see what we would be able to see from our windows.  And we would stand together arm in arm listening to the wind out here.  It was the only sound we could hear, except for the occasional hum of tires crossing the "singing bridge" about a mile down the road.  It would make a low humming sound as you crossed the metal grid, thus the name "singing bridge" to locals.  It could be heard from quite a distance.  But it was not an irritating sound.
They replaced the bridge a couple of years ago with one that is probably a bit safer for motorcyclists and bicyclists.  We live on an island with only one way on.  It's not like you can just take a detour while they build a bridge.  Thus they had to move the old bridge over along with the road to it so they could build a new bridge in the old location.
It was a couple of days before Christmas and my daughter and her husband were coming for the holidays.  The road would be closed to our island from 9 pm to 6 am while they moved the old bridge over and reconnected roads.  I remember her calling to give us updates on their travels.  We didn't want them to miss the curfew and have to stay on the mainland overnight after driving all the way from Tennessee.  At 8:50 we finally got the call that they were on the bridge! They had made it.  They crossed over and shortly after that they closed the bridge to all traffic for the night.  It was a strange feeling being isolated here out on an island with no bridge.
We can't hear the singing bridge anymore.  The new bridge doesn't sing. Pretty soon no one will remember a bridge that sang.

And here is the process I went through to get the two pieces above...
I have been toying with the idea of writing and keeping all my edits on this page, much like a writing journal.  I have little bits of writing everywhere.  So now commences rambling, which is sometimes how I get my best ideas.  Maybe something will jump out at me and say, yeah, write about me.  Remember me today?


I keep my ideas all cramped in my head and write them on scridges before I forget. 
(That was a scridge that I wrote down a while back.)

I collect titles of things I think I would like to write sometime.  Sometimes I hear something that strikes me or I say something and think it would make a nice title.  Then I try to write it quickly somewhere, or I have to repeat it to myself until I get to a pen and paper.  I'll write the rest of it some other day.

My phone has recordings of bits of lyrics to songs I've thought of when I'm in the car and can't write.  Actually that's better since I can get the tune down before I forget.  I can't write music anyway, so when I do try it's just a general up and down line to help me remember until I can get to the computer to record it.

I think my favorite writing to write is poetry.  I love rhyming poems and non-rhyming poems.  I love silly poems and moving poems.  I don't like poems that are too out there: like I don't have a clue what it's about and I can't relate to anything in it.  I don't like harsh.  I don't like crude.  I'm not about poetry that is borderline crude to capture the attention of kids.  I don't think things have to be so "true to life crude".  "True to life crude" is not my life.  Saying "underwear" for a laugh is way too easy...stop laughing!

Oooh, the wind.  I just heard the wind.  I remember before we built our house here, we'd come out and stand on the land.  We'd pace off where we wanted our livingroom.  We climbed trees to see what we would be able to see from our windows.  And we would stand together arm in arm listening to the wind out here.  It was the only sound we could hear, except for the occasional hum of tires crossing the "singing bridge" about a mile down the road.  It would make a low humming sound as you crossed the metal grid, thus the name "singing bridge" to locals.  It could be heard from quite a distance.  But it was not an irritating sound.  They replaced the bridge a couple of years ago...thus the "was"...with one that is probably a bit safer for motorcyclists and bicyclists.  In order to do that, they had to move it over  along with the road to it, so they could build a new bridge.  It was a couple of days before Christmas and my daughter and her husband were coming for the holidays.  The road would be closed to our island from 9 pm to 6 am while they moved the old bridge over and reconnected roads.  I remember her calling to give us updates on their travels.  We didn't want them to miss the curfew and have to stay on the mainland overnight after driving all the way from Tennessee.  At 8:50 we finally got the call that they were on the bridge! They had made it.  They crossed over and shortly after that they closed the bridge to all traffic for the night.  It was a strange feeling being isolated here out on an island with no bridge.
We can't hear the singing bridge anymore.  The new bridge doesn't sing. Pretty soon no one will remember it.
When I listen to the wind, I can imagine that we are the only people out here. It whistles and shushes through the tree tops, and it is my comfort and silencer.

I remember before we built our house here, we'd come out and stand on the land.  We'd pace off where we wanted our livingroom.  We climbed trees to see what we would be able to see from our windows.  And we would stand together arm in arm listening to the wind out here.  It was the only sound we could hear.
When I listen to the wind, I can imagine that we are the only people out here. It whistles and shushes through the tree tops. It is my silencer. You have to be quiet when the wind talks.


4 comments:

  1. Wow! I loved reading through your words, imagining what your place is like, what it must sound like. The part about poetry is a diversion, letting us the reader into your writing habits even more, into your 'voice', hence 'stop laughing'. Your 'scridges' proved so interesting, adding bits & pieces of your memories with the sounds of your place, but always back to the wind. I love the last line, really could be the title of a poem that tells part of what you just wrote. Thanks for writing so much!

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  2. I love this--because it's exactly the kind of thing that happens in my head so often...but you thought to record it. Very, very clever.
    I think it's so interesting to "see" the process of others, which is hard since so much in is the head type stuff. But you...you managed to get it out there for us to see. Thank you!

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  3. I'm impressed with the way you are able to catch your thinking. That is a hard skill. I mean, explaining the thinking behind the revision and yet trying it again. Excellent example.

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  4. @teacherdance
    I decided to try the poem. It went lots of ways until it finally stopped where I think it was supposed to go.

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