I am the woman who . . . . (a collective list, part 2)

On Tuesday, March 8, 2016 (International Women's Day) a group of women met at the Tompkins County Public Library, to write in celebration of some of the important women in our lives. At the end of the writing circle there were still 10 minutes left, so we created this collective list in celebration of ourselves:


I am the woman who lives on Second Street where small flowers are already in bloom

I am the woman who loves being "retired" and now gets to do what I always meant to do — edit

I am the woman who always has a smile on my face

I am the woman who who loves her cat

I am the woman who doesn't give up

I am the woman who survived cancer

I am the woman who can't wait to start planning my garden

I am the woman who is so grateful for so many blessings in my life, including my nightly lavender-scented bath

I am the woman who would rather dance than eat

I am the woman who must stop watching those shows on TV that advertise houses for sale in Cancun, Nassau, the Cayman Islands, Aruba, the Virgin Islands, etc.

I am the woman who needs nothing but always wants more

I am the woman who embraces her nickname of Warrior Princess

I am the woman who loves to make people laugh

I am the woman who broke out of my well-worn shell this year and is saying yes to myself

I am the woman who has spiritual roots and is growing wings

I am the woman who seeks to connect all the pieces and make a whole life

I am the woman who can stand on her own two feet

I am the woman who is not afraid to use correct grammar

I am the woman who cries at parades and choral concerts

I am the woman who hears you cry, holds your hand, makes you laugh, built a house, wrote a book

I am the woman who lives my own life and carries my own pain

I am the woman who wakes up every morning and laces up her walking shoes, ready to step out into a new day






With gratitude to all the contributors:

Barb Rainboth
Dianne Ferris
Joan Lorson
Kim Zimmerman
Louise Vignaux
Patty Little
Ruth O'Lill
Sandy Ferreira
Tina Champion
Zee Zahava

I am the woman who . . . . (a collective list)

On Tuesday, March 8, 2016 (International Women's Day) the women in the Tuesday Morning Writing Circle created this collective list:


I am the woman who loves when softball season is fast approaching so I'm forced to get down on the floor to do my stretches

I am the woman who can take 10 minutes to decide which pen to carry in my pocket on any given day

I am the woman who could have been a Kansas farmer except for the fact that wheat and dust and ragweed and hay all make me sneeze up a storm

I am the woman who always has a crossword puzzle tucked away in my back pocket so I'm never bored

I am the woman who, more often than not, doesn't care what other people will think

I am the woman who got arrested for speaking out

I am the woman who wants to have children

I am the woman who chose today as just exactly where to be, not yesterday, not tomorrow

I am the woman who needs to be me

I am the woman who went away to another country to find a new life, and discovered that my life right here is the best there is for me right now

I am the woman who has learned to cherish the present because it is just that — a present

I am the woman who appreciates the friends I have now, since I kept friends at a distance until very recently

I am the woman who has been trying to lose the same  20 pounds for the last 20 years

I am the woman who wants to hold on tightly to my adult children as though they were still small

I am the woman who talks too much

I am the woman who has been told all my life that I am "too sensitive"

I am the woman who has mixed feelings about "growing up"

I am the woman who tries every day to have at least one spiritual moment

I am the woman who doesn't really like food

I am the woman who is only really myself when I'm near the grey waters of Lake Ontario

I am the woman who rode her bicycle across the United States

I am the woman who handles the money and is adaptable and flexible beyond measure

I am the woman who looks for the silver lining

I am the woman who has wandered the U. S., living in a motor home

I am the woman who collects rolling pins, but rarely makes pies these days

I am the woman who sits in a sunny spot on the porch and dreams the day away

I am the woman who thinks she got lucky and got the best girl in the world

I am the woman who loves glue guns and baubles

I am the woman who longs for stability while pushing against it

I am the woman who wishes I could have been a journalist for Rolling Stone magazine back in the '70s

I am the woman who has never found the perfect bra

I am the woman who could eat watermelon and peaches all day long

I am the woman who went wild in my youth and paid for it, but survived

I am the woman who left "normal" behind a long time ago, but I keep moving forward

I am the woman who looks for the good in everyone and doesn't judge others

I am the woman who understands what it means to love someone unconditionally 

I am the woman who loves my cats (one passed last August, but I still think I have 2 cats anyway) more than anyone else in the world

I am the woman who is the spinster companion to my mother but who also (finally) said "no" to her

I am the woman who didn't learn to cry until recently and now I cry all the time, about lots of things

I am the woman who hasn't ever had a long-term partner but I like to think that if Eddie, Benedict, Christian, or Mariusz came a-calling, maybe I could get me one

I am the woman who will never buy from Lands' End again — unless — until — they apologize to Gloria Steinem and every like-minded woman

I am the woman who keeps reinventing myself so that life always holds interest for me

I am the woman who calls myself a filmmaker

I am the woman who calls myself a feminist

I am the woman who loves solitude

I am the woman who used to collect china cat statues

I am the woman who starts looking at my garden in March, hoping to see signs of life

I am the woman who treasures my books, which surround me in my study, like close friends visiting every day

I am the woman who loves to wander alone in foreign cities

I am the woman who keeps all sorts of mementos of my life and wonders who will use them to assemble the puzzle of who I was

I am the woman who believes in snail mail and loves to write letters

I am the woman who has waited 5 long years to be able to wear my hair in a braid down my back

I am the woman who worries that I will run out of good ideas

I am the woman who feels ashamed every time I lose my temper

I am the woman who looks and sounds more like my mother with each passing year

I am the woman who reads the last few pages of a novel first

I am the woman who loves you


With gratitude to all the contributors:

Gabrielle Vehar
Leah Grady Sayvetz
Leslie Howe
Linda Keeler
Margaret Dennis
Marty Blue Waters
Nancy Osborn
Paula Culver
Sara Robbins
Sue Perlgut
Zee Zahava

Slowing, by Marla Coppolino

Moving distinctly and unconventionally,
  with deliberate, unhurried pace

A whispered Tai Chi dance
   in the nucleus non-worry

Now I see the spaces between the rain drops
   and the soft outer glow

Of seeds and sprouts
   and leaves and larvae

And the multi-colors of lichens
   and patterns on spiders

And cicadas whose calls that swell
   in pitch and volume

I calmly study ripples in the wake
   of the atmosphere

Of those who advance more quickly
    than I choose.

(c)2016 M. Coppolino

To the Blank Spaces, by Stacey Murphy

What happens when we, who love words,
come to find ourselves more alive
in the blank spaces 
between the words?

At first is seems like a clever trick —
a break from the flow,
something to freshen the mind,
to stop and attend
to the eyelash lull
between two words.
The pause.
The millisecond between
inhale and exhale.
A little frightening for those uneasy in silence
to have any moment
alone with oneself —
best just to run straight past it,
avert the eyes,
continue the babble.

The brook keeps running
though there are gaps
between the stones on the bottom
where things live,
very silent, very still,
holding the winning poker-hands of possibility
while the chunks of ice and twigs
race overhead,
as fast as they can,
making it happen.
Making the thaw happen.
Making sounds to ease winter-weary hikers who
stop for sigh of spring.
Keep moving, keep rushing,
all will be well.
Better is coming, perhaps downstream.
Perhaps the next meeting,
the next speech,
the next therapy session,
the next story,
the next chat,
the next poem
will advance the plot.
But look closer.
Breathe into those
little blanks of white between the lines
that let our eyes rest
even while the greedy brain
tries to stuff it all in,
believing it comprehends all meaning.
Our microbreaths add the subtext,
the backdrop,
as Paul Harvey might say, “The Rest of the Story.”
Perhaps as we learn to notice the gaps,
so soothing,
so lush and full on their own
that there may not be another word

for a few

moments.

Whole naps,
whole meditations,
whole peaceful planets
come to live in the blank spaces.
I have loved and lost and loved again in the space of a moment.
In the SPACE of a moment,
not the prattle of a moment.
In the electricity of potential
it has happened so fast I have not even realized it,
the joyful rubber-banding
of my soul
playing in those deep true

blank spaces.