Linda reif rambling autobiography

I was born in a state named for a queen, by a river named for a king, and in a hospital named for the river. I adore books, words, wind chimes, church bells, birdsong, the crying of gulls at the shore, ocean waves crashing, the utterance of my newest name, Franna, in my granddaughter’s voice, the aliveness in my son’s fingers dancing over the keys of my grandmother’s piano until the house and my soul burst with his music, and silences. I bought a white flannel nightgown and sheets with bright red cardinals on them at Christmastime because Grandma loved cardinals and Christmas, it is the season of her birth and her death, she is nearest then, so now I lay me down to sleep in heavenly peace. I have her wedding band; I wear it every day. I never dreamed of being a teacher. One of my sons became a teacher, too, then a preacher, like his father. When I was eight or nine, I had an imaginary black cat; one time after climbing from the backseat of Grannie’s car, I flung my hand out to keep the imaginary cat from escaping and Grannie slammed the door on my fingers (no one ever knew about the cat…sorry, Grannie, it wasn’t your fault). My favorite place is out in the middle of nowhere along an old dirt road where my grandmother then my father then I played as children, where cicadas in the woods sing as loud as Heaven’s choir about being born, living, dying, and the Resurrection. I can still smell Old Spice in the cool of those evenings when Granddaddy leaned down to offer me his clean-shaven cheek to kiss, Good night, I love you, see you in the morning. I dated the handsomest black-haired man I’ve ever seen for just three months when we decided to get married, thirty-seven years ago. I fainted at a funeral one summer afternoon but not from grief. I gave my real black cat to Daddy when I got married because I couldn’t take her to the tiny apartment that would be my new home. I once had a yellow parake

March 6, 2022

Elisabeth Ellington has been one of my blog mentors during these Marches from the beginning. Full of innovative ideas, one year I continued writing poetry throughout the month of April because I was fascinated by her ideas. This year, she has chosen a theme of using our fellow bloggers as mentors, assimilating their prose theme in her daily writing. As we come to Sunday writing, I am adopting her plan from yesterday, A Rambling Autobiography. You can read her carefully crafted version here. If don’t follow her yet, I highly recommend it. Having a couple of decades on her at least, I was hesitant to jump in, but the first line came right away.

Barbie and I were born in the same year. I had the first Barbie until along with my French Provencial Canopy bed, I was encouraged to give all of my Barbies to my younger girl cousin never to be reunited. I only had hair long enough for a pony or pigtails in first grade. The rest of my life has been relegated to some version of pixie hair. I had a paper doll party for my sixth birthday which I thought was amazing and the party goers thought was lame. In junior high I had a tangerine colored bed room. My favorite parts were a yellow gutter book holder and the garden spider that built a web outside my window year after year. Her markings match that yellow perfectly. My room was crowded but the closet size was amazing. I took lessons in nearly everything as a child: horticulture, cooking, sewing, ballet, gymnastics, tap, flute, voice. I was one in a earthquake at the Missouri Botanic Garden during one of the horticulture lessons. We had to stand in the doorway. I wanted a dog that looked like Toto in the Wizard of Oz, but somehow ended up with a Yorkshire Terrier that was really more my Mama’s dog and slept in her sewing basket in her closet. In keeping with my myriad of lessons, I joined nearly every club in junior high and high school, though I don’t have much of a talent

I’ve had a lot of trouble writing today, and then I remembered this. I don’t even know who to link to for this idea. I know Elisabeth wrote one – and Peter – and Carol – and… I don’t know who else. The prompt is from Linda Rief – that much I know. Here it is:

I was born in Cincinnati, but I don’t remember a single thing about it and as far as I know I’ve never been back. I don’t really remember Panama, either, but sometimes I can feel the memories at the edge of my mind, like the way I was fascinated by the iguana at the zoo in Texas – how I didn’t want to leave and pressed my face into the glass and no one else understood and I had to leave anyway because I was just a kid. Or like the day in France when I tasted mango again for the first time, and I was suddenly back in the jungle for just a second and I almost knew it, but then I was back in Strasbourg, and for the first time it felt like a disappointment. Which didn’t happen often because I loved almost everything about being in France. I remember that intriguing boy with the long hair talked about Paris and said, “even if your heart is broken, you’re broken-hearted in Paris and that makes it better” and I had never been broken hearted but I thought that made sense or at least sounded very romantic. And I remember the way that Justin’s cigarette smoke swirled back towards me and into my hair as he was driving us all home in the van when I was in college, and even though I didn’t smoke, and even though I knew I didn’t like smokers, the smoke seemed somehow sensual and I realized I thought he was sexy and I had no idea what to do with that.

We are in our second full week of school, so it’s time to start slicing. I am pleased with the daily routine I’ve started this year with my students. Today, they came in and found their notebooks, opened them up to a clean page, dated it, and waited. Ah, yes. Routine of writing every day is taking hold.

This morning after our quick write, Jaden pointed to Katie’s filled page and said, “She told me she didn’t want to write this morning.” The magic of Linda Rief’s The Quick Write Handbook. Together we have done the first two quick writes in the book, Rambling Autobiography and On Being Asked to Select the Most Memorable Day in My Life. These were great set ups for writing a Slice of Life post on our class blog. (Kidblog has morphed into Fan School and we are not happy.)

I write alongside my students. For the rambling autobiography, Linda Rief suggests using three phrases on their blank page, at the top, middle, and bottom, and write to them. (I was born…, I lied to…, and A friend once told me…)

Rambling Autobiography

I was born under the Perseids meteor showers in a Mississippi torn by racial riots. When I was six, “camping out” in our front yard, we set it on fire, an accident that left me with a fear of fire and deep shame. Our house had the largest oak tree on the whole block. I’ve always imagined my grandmother as my guardian angel. I carry her name with me every day. I lied to my mother about the fire. A friend once told me to trust my gut. I could create a timeline of my life with parentheses of hurricanes.  I secretly like to listen to choral music and sing along the alto part. I once danced with Marilyn Singer’s husband. I’ve won an award for teaching writing but not for writing. 

Margaret Simon, notebook quick write 8/19/21