Get ‘Em Up in the Back Room

• Whose woods these are …
• Kidding.
• I mean, I’m not kidding.
• Probably nothing better than starting a hot summer day with a little Frost.
• But no, I’m not cut-and-pasting that in here.
• I wonder how far I could get from memory …
• I remember taking a lit class in college.
• Lit 1? Lit 2?
• We had to memorize a poem, then stand in front of the class and recite.
• That’s the one I chose.
• Because I’d already had to memorize it once, back in high school.
• Obviously.
• I don’t remember what I wore that day, though I can guess.
• Baggy jeans, probably a Polo t-shirt of green or blue, covered by a giant plaid button-up that wore more like a jacket than a shirt.
• Brown Docs on my feet.
• I remember studying the poem the night before.
• And then I didn’t have to go the first day, so it got punted to the next class.
• Sitting here, I can remember the steps in the Classroom building, because my Lit class wasn’t in Morrill with the rest of the English classes.
• This was before I committed to writing.
• Before taking hours of creative writing and poetry classes and switching my major to Journalism.
• Clouds obscured the sky that day, shrouding everything in muted gray.
• Which made it darker in the classroom in the Classroom.
• I sat there staring at the poem on my desk, copied by my own hand into a notebook, repeating the words in my mind, probably paying no attention to anyone else’s rote recitation.
• Then it was my turn.
• I walked to the front, turned, and … did the whole thing in one take.
• Monotone.
• I stared at the back wall of the room, making no eye contact.
• Tried not to clench my hands into fists.
• To go slow enough so as to not skip words or lines.
• And then it was done.
• They actually clapped.
• Caught me off guard.
• I still love that poem.
• The atmosphere mixed with the profundity.
• Good stuff.
• I’m never ever going to be that good at words.
• Not bad, but never great.
• I think it’s important to keep that perspective.
• Helps remind you to stay within yourself, but also to strive.
• At some point, you’ll reach that spot mentally.
• Where you become okay with being as good as you are, with what you do, and that you don’t have to be Robert Frost or Ernest Hemingway.
• I did try to type it from memory.
• Botched the last two lines of the second stanza, but I got the rest.
• I’ll take it.
• I could go for watching the woods fill up with snow about now.
• Other than sitting by the ocean seeing waves crash, there’s nothing more calming than watching snow at night.
• If I won the lottery, I might spend my time volleying between those two things.
• You can get there with wind in autumn trees, too.
• Or through the tall grass.
• You sure af don’t get it from city traffic, though maybe if you were a born and raised city kid, I can envision you sitting on a concrete step, eyes closed, letting the traffic ambiance entrance you.
• There’s peace to be had in sounds is what I’m saying for the kids in the back row.
• “Get ‘em up in the back room …”
• (Name that song!)
• You know what is not a peaceful sound?
• The goddamn microwave.
• Our microwave sits above the oven, high enough you have to reach for it.
• I’m not sure how Steph manages sometimes.
• I heated up Mom’s coffee in it this morning.
• Popped the door open, sat the mug inside, closed it up.
• Then … I set it for 27 seconds.
• I almost never do even numbers with the microwave.
• Never multiples of five.
• Usually threes and sevens.
• I’m sure we could compare this to those of you who smash the :30 second button two or three times, then take out whatever it is when you’re good and goddamned ready.
• The microwave isn’t the boss of us.
• You can’t let the little battles you control out of your hands.
• It is important to keep winnable victories.
• Tons of books shout the importance of habits to our outcomes.
• Talking to Mom over coffee this morning, tai chi came up.
• Been thinking about starting that.
• Have to overcome the social anxiety.
• The noob anxiety.
• But.
• The goblin dog wakes us early every day.
• Used to outrage me, put me in a terrible mental place before the day even starts.
• Still find it annoying, but I’m trying to … get up and stay up when she wakes me up, even on occasion.
• Because that’s free time, right?
• And I dislike being mad at the dog.
• I have transitioned from being a night owl to getting in bed at pretty much the same time every evening.
• Reading to calm my brain for a bit.
• The routine established, maintained.
• While talking, I wondered if the secret to health …
• Nevermind.
• It’s not a wonder.
• Consistency is key in everything.
• Positive habits rather than negative.
• I sat there and imagined getting up early every day.
• Doing tai chi.
• Drinking my coffee.
• Then doing what has to be done.
• Could only help to have that habit.
• Could only improve my longevity.
• Or barring that, improve the quality of my Time.
• My. Time.
• Mine.
• Like these lists.
• The cat, lying next to me in a sunbeam, holds my foot with her paw.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

*Jerm, thanks for the hat.