Slice of Life Tuesday: Memorial Day and Memories

Today is a Monday on a Tuesday. With yesterday being a holiday. 

Yesterday we took a moment to honor family who have passed on. My Dad, who did not pass away in combat, but who was a veteran. And my grandparents and my "real" grandma. Of course, my grandma was my real grandma, but my dad's mom died when he was 8. 8?! What a burden to carry. Or lay down, but I think mostly he carried it, tucked away deep inside his soul. 

 Anyway.... we had a quick visit to the cemetary yesterday evening and put some things on Dad's grave and visited the others. There is so much history in that cemetary. The Loewens, and Sudermans, and Hieberts, and Penners. And Leppkes. and more. But these are names that overwhelmingly fill the cemetary, and bring up memories of childhood. 

I wanted to stop and talk to Dad a little. But.... too many people. 

So I just acted like I was fine with simply decorating his grave a little and moving on. Shame on me for acting as if. But that's what my family does. We act as if we are fine when indeed, we are not. 

I remembered Dad and all the many times we went to the pond to fish on Memorial day. And times when he sacrificed his opportunity to fish in order to put the worm on the hook and take the fish off the hook and ride kids around on the 4 wheeler and prepare the fire for us to cook our hotdogs. 

Earlier in the weekend, we took part in a craft show to sell my daughter's crocheted stuffies, otherwise known as amigurumis. During this show, they played a lot of music featuring "America." America the Beautiful; the Star Spangled Banner; Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue; Proud to Be an American; and more. Many songs that made me think of my Dad, his patriotism, his love of our country and our state, and his pride in his citizenship, and probably in his service. 

Though he went into the Navy as a pacifist, and pursued things that would only involve peace, much of the community/church etc., did not appreciate that someone of a faith of pacifism served in the armed forces. We didn't really talk about his service until I was fortyish. When I became a teacher. But the American Legion did place a nice flag at his headstone and he had a lovely tribute from the Navy (?) at his funeral. They played taps, and ceremoniously gave him a flag. It was very cool. 

Memories. I'm flooded with memories. The good kind. I'm so glad there's so much to remember and so much GOOD in my dad. 

Dad's headstone. The flag was placed for his service. And we brought the rest. 

Grandpa and Grandma Suderman's headstone.

My Grandma that I never knew, this is her headstone. My Dad's mom, 
who passed away when he was a child. 

A poem of solace discovered

 This Space

Who is that? 

Chittering in the tree? 

I cannot see. 

It's not the cardinal 

or the robin

whose song I'm well familiar with.

I catch a glimpse

from the corner of my eye 

of movement on the sidewalk.

A toad.

Or maybe a frog.

I will only know for sure

if it rains a lot and I hear their song.

Currently I hear

the wind rushing through the green,

the trees, the grass, the newly headed wheat. 

I smell rain

though the sun is bright and the clouds are high.

No foretelling

of disaster to come. 

the calming drum

of the woodpecker

drilling away 

as he seeks to build his home.

Quiet chirps of all types of birds.

And always the rustling of the wind.

Calling me. 

Reminding me.

This is home.

-Carrie Horn

5/18/26

Love of Poetry

Poetry...

one of my passions;

a necessary evil,

a source of joy.

Part of daily survival 

for me.

Like rain to the crops

and hydration to my body,

poetry is a life substance. 

It inspires me

purges me

gives me  courage, strength: a voice.

A voice to shout

to whisper

to tell my story.

To rant and rage, 

to build my case. 

Poetry gives me purpose,

rights some mysterious wrong,

some feeling I can't quite touch.

Poetry gives me a voice,

reason,

a way to purge my thoughts. 

There's a beauty,

a majesty, 

a sense of certainty,

that lives in poems.

I hope the world can read

my emotion

floating 

between the lines,

in the breaths, 

the beating of my heart,

my passions....

my convictions,

my causes,

and quiet certainties. 

Poetry.... 

expressions of my soul.

-Carrie Horn

5/16/26

Open post; free verse Poetry

​Here’s what greeted me Monday morning in my plans. 

Two things I'm passionate about.... causes and poetry! 

Poetry. Free verse poetry. I mean…. How did they know I would be teaching 2nd grade this week?! Seems like maybe something is at work here that is bigger than just me. 

We spent an entire activity time planning our poems with word webs. I decided to have them focus on what they are learning about: Fighting For A Cause. The first lesson was about Susan B Anthony. 

So we carefully constructed our thoughts with her name in the middle. We decided our poem title should simply be Susan B Anthony. Then they were to use the ideas in the web to develop lines and verses.

That first day, every child wrote a prose paragraph. And followed those grammar rules to a tee.  

So the next day we talked about how the rules are different in poetry. That in some ways, there are no rules. But that poems pick up a rhythm. That you don’t have to use complete sentences, that sometimes you make your point by not using a complete sentence. 

Our Susan B. Anthony writing started to turn into poems. Some students realized fairly quickly how to structure the poem using their concept/idea/thought and then moving to the next line to move to the next thought. Some kids said, "I thought we couldn't start sentences with (this) word...." And I said, well, you aren't starting a sentence, you are just continuing your thought on a new line. And the rules are not the same in poems. "Ohhhh......" 

Some students started to pick up on the magic. Finding a rhythm. Picking up on a theme. Getting to express themselves. As I tried to explain to them about how to brainstorm and organize their ideas, I drafted a sample. 

my notes/brainstorming/main ideas

My poem about Mr. Miller's class!

There was only one student who said I did not have permission to share her poem with my poetry group. So I will honor that. But I am including a few Susan B. Anthony poems as well as a few of their free choice free verse poems.

Wolfs/Wolfs eat meat/wolfs travl in a pack.

Legos/they're so fun/they're plastic brick/
they're so fun.

Cat or my fafrit/because cats/ are cute.

Kiwi Bird; The Kiwi bird is a bird 
can't fly/the eat berrys and insects./
The Kiwi bird is fast and speedy./
Kiwi birds live in New Zealand.

And my personal favorite.... 

Ms. Horn
You are the best sub ever/you are nice/
you are cool/you live on a farm/with little dinosaurs.

Saturday thoughts in a 9-5 world

 Happy Saturday my friends. This has been a whirlwind of a week and emotional and spiritual ups and downs. Where to even begin.... 

I am in the middle of a three week sub gig. This has stirred up all sorts of things inside of me and brought some stuggles at home. I am feeling the tug of teaching like I haven't felt since I was a "teacher." I love the connections. I love feeling like I make a difference in the lives of kids. I like feeling like my life has purpose beyond the daily farm life purpose. Here is where it gets tricky. This feeling of purpose is something that lacks when I rely on nature and animals for my sense of self. BUT.... my farm life is insanely important to me and gives a different kind of purpose. It is a peaceful one. But that human connection is lacking. Sometimes I forget how important this human connection is. 

My youngest child has always faced some things that other kids don't. Ummmm.... writing about these things are raw and painful. I find it difficult to share because it means I failed. But I also believe in facing it. And I can't heal what I can't look at. 

This Punky of mine has some sort of attachment disorder. (This is diagnosed by Dr. Me... the one she's attached to). As well as some ways of thinking and processing that would most likely fall on the autism spectrum. The reason I include this has to do with her need to be understood, her need to control friendships and relationships in ways that don't work for the other person. This leads to her having fewer friends than the average person. Which circles back around to me, her main person in her life, and her best friend, her support. I can remember when she became aware that I was the only true constant in her life. That her dad was hit and miss. Mostly miss. And that there's just mom to take care of her. It was and still is a big insecurity for her. This stirs up a need to be with me and a feeling that she is alone all the time, sometimes even when we are together. The thing about that is that it's exhausting for me and it causes conflict with things that other people whose grown children live with them don't face. Like how it upsets her when I work full time. And she says things like "what about spending time with me?" To which I respond.... "You are an adult child living in my home, I should be able to work if I want (need) to". Because I don't feel like I need to check with my child before I accept a job. I don't feel like I should spend my days determining whether or not she will feel secure. But this circles around to.... Mom-guilt. All this guilt because of ways I failed my kids in the first place. I worked a lot when Punky was little. And had to leave her in care that I didn't always trust to be in her best interest. As well as being EXTREMELY human, and not always being a safe place for her myself. More mom-guilt. So do I owe her my time now in order to heal her childhood? Would that even suffice? Is there such a thing as healing? Mom-guilt. mom-guilt. mom-guilt. inner turmoil.... 

So back to other thoughts.... should I pursue a fulltime teaching gig? Reasons to do this: insurance, retirement, less financial stress, I am good at teaching... it gives me a sense of self and fulfillment. Oh, and I love being a teacher. I gain a certain prestige. Both in the community and in my own head. Reasons not to pursue this: losing my disability, less time for farm stuff, I come home exhausted every night, politics of teaching: planning to meet standards and district expectations, I don't know what my body needs or if it can actually handle teaching full-time. 

What I generally circle back to is this: I'm pretty happy being a sub, I can choose to work or not work, and this way I can give my knees (and my carpal tunnel) time to recover from working. I love working on my farm. You can't tell from driving by. Because I have limited time and limited energy to give to things like clean up, mowing, and so on. But I do. Love my chickens, ducks, goats, cats and even my damn dog. I love the sunsets (and sunrises which I seldom indulge in). I love taking a minute (or hour) to blog and think and chew on ideas and write and study the scriptures. I love this freedom that comes with my disability insurance. 

So (secretly) I know what the answer is. 

But these are thoughts and emotions swirling in my head and heart. So now I say again, Happy Saturday my friends. 

New month, new day, new you

​I freely admit my heartbroken-ness over the poetry challenge ending. I was prepared not to like it. I had an expectation that it would be an intimate group of writers who wouldn’t easily accept this strange one. The surprise was so pleasant. It was an intimate group. But so accepting and inclusional. So intimate in the best way. 

Where will I share my writing? My soul? Opinions? And who will comment and encourage me? I’m seriously asking. Because it’s so edifying. Ego boosting. 

Yesterday was Poetry Friday. Who knew there was such a thing?

Well I know now. So prepare yourself. 

Today has declared itself to be a day full of randomness. Randomosity. Not singularly themed. 

We’re at a suicide awareness and prevention walk. So my mind is overwhelmed with heaviness. Or is it my heart? I’m overwhelmed. There’s a lot of joy here among people. But there’s a heaviness as well. 

Talking with family about end of life plans. Like funerals. How I asked kids to play some certain songs at my funeral when I die. Will they remember? I don’t know about “they….” (The mysterious they), but Carolyn will remember. It would surprise me if she didn’t. But I won’t know. I won’t be here. When I say what I want I either begin or end with…. But a funeral or memorial  is really about you, the living, not me, the dead. So you do what you want! Oh…. If you’re curious, I did NOT request AC/DC, but I did request Amazing Grace. And there’s a Rod Stewart song Called Forever Young.  Not the Bob Dylan song. Oh…. I forgot this one: Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd. 

Oh, back to suicide prevention. I’m not suicidal today, but I do choose gratitude every day. Especially for the little things, like how we saw a little family of geese— the goose, the gander and 3 goslings. I saw some beautiful flowers this morning and they brought me joy. Im confident I’m growing old. I have started being reminded of something from my youth by nearly every mundane daily experience. The flowers remind me of my childhood and the peony bushes in our yard and when I was fairly small, we had beautiful irises in our back yard. 

Today I thank my god for joy. Joy in every small moment. Not every moment I live. But there are many glimmers every day. For this I’m grateful.

These were some of the lovely irises we saw today.

Ode to this Gathering of Poets

 April draws to a close

and the last period, exclamation point, ellipsis, question mark 

has been finalized. 

The last little glimpses of my soul

have been exposed. 

This is the end, 

the jumping off place, 

the place where it all starts to change. 

I'll write my little verses,

with no one to admire my work. 

I'll still think I'm so talented.

I will pine for readers,

yearning for responses. 

I'll miss the validation, the comraderie....

my new found friends. 

-Carrie Horn

4-30-26