I am going to cheat a little today on this post. I didn't do my writer's prompt last week so I had to squeeze something in today. I already kind of did this prompt myself for a church newsletter. But I thought it would be fun. What is your favorite month of the year and why? Write something to commemorate your favorite month of the year.
Mine really is September. We are full swing into soccer and we also get to finish soccer. I love reaping the harvest. Tomorrow I will make salsa with a good friend, next week I will make peach jam with my sweet six year-old daughter and I have three kinds of pesto in my freezer waiting to be added to all kinds of yummy food. My Dad always had a garden and I love being able to have my own little patch of earth to grow things. I also love the weather in Cedar at this time of year. It usually stays in my ideal range of 75 to 85 degrees. To honor my "Write a Little" post I am going to share an essay/poem I wrote about two of my experiences last September.
Communion Lessons
Earlier:
“Stop yelling at your teammates or you are out of the game,” I scold five-year-old competiveness on the soccer field. I grieve the spoiled mother daughter communion. Didn’t I coach so we could remember goals together, run down the field together? I seethe against the stubborn self righteous set of her shoulders. How does the unquenchable drive for victory enflame my sweet little girl? Today, I insist, I’m more than just Mom. I’m the coach of a team full of flapping braids and flyaway ponytails trying to find their soccer groove.
Later:
We take fuzzy peaches from an overflowing cardboard box. Eager five-year-old fingers scrub away itchy film. The peach ritual begins. We plunge orbs from scalding to ice. Hers the covetous task of peeling slippery skins from golden spheres.
She exclaims:
“This one worked beautifully!” She admires rosy blush against gleaming, inviting, golden ripeness. We sneak “taste-tester bites” meant for jars. Proclaim it all beautiful. Set out amber colored peach jar rows cooling on the counter.
I regret angry disappointment on morning soccer fields, wish for more beautiful peach afternoons. Dreaming all our future angry words will peel away to glistening rosy patches of sweet memories sitting like jeweled invitations on the pantry shelf.
1 comment:
Oh, Rachelle, what beautiful writing. That last sentence is magical and has me in tears. Not because I coach soccer and make peach jam, but because I do math homework and sew pajama pants...and they are the same things, really.
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