Musings of an Ordinary Person in Recovery
Posting about life's journey.... recovery, addiction, teaching, loving, parenting, holding on, letting go. Sometimes there are answers, some situations have no answers, despite my efforts, good or bad, right or wrong. Sometimes the sanity lies in the pounding out the feelings on the keyboard and purging my addict mind.
Saturday, May 16, 2026
Love of Poetry
Open post; free verse Poetry
Here’s what greeted me Monday morning in my plans.
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| 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.
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| my notes/brainstorming/main ideas |
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| 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.
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| Wolfs/Wolfs eat meat/wolfs travl in a pack. |
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| Legos/they're so fun/they're plastic brick/ they're so fun. |
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| Cat or my fafrit/because cats/ are cute. |
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| 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....
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| Ms. Horn You are the best sub ever/you are nice/ you are cool/you live on a farm/with little dinosaurs. |
Saturday, May 9, 2026
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.
Saturday, May 2, 2026
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.
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| These were some of the lovely irises we saw today. |
Thursday, April 30, 2026
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
Wednesday, April 29, 2026
Music Describes my Life
“Welcome to the show
Step inside
Step inside”
This starts playing in my head
as I think about my life.
I think about
The chaos that described
2020; Covid.
This feels a little bit (lot)
The same.
I feel the mire
Pulling me down
I can’t breathe.
Someone laughingly says
“My life is sh*t show!”
And I say….
“Mine too. Mine too.”
I hear the carnival music
And smell the carnival foods
As the familiar theme
Plays in my head.
But this is real life.
And as I feel myself go under
Another anthem rings through my head
“Save my life I’m going down for the last time….”
-Carrie Horn
4-29-26
Monday, April 27, 2026
Poetry writing
I’m sad now
Thinking of how the days of poems
Are coming to a close.
Do I have to stop writing poems daily?
I guess not.
But the thrill of checking for a response
Or two
Will be gone.
What’s that? You’re hungry?
But of course you are.
How much time before kids come back?
Can I write and eat. Both?
Oh gosh….
I dunno.
10 more minutes Care
You can do this.
But I need to review plans.
Oh yeah
Where are those plans?
Wait.
You’re not done.
Are you done? With the writing?
The poems? The distractions?
Writings not the distraction….
Lesson plans.
That’s the distraction.
Really?
I need another coffee.
Maybe I should check the lounge.
I still have 7 minutes.
-Carrie Horn
4/27/26









