nine notations

Scrolling around on Instagram, lazily watching the Insta-Stories, I stumbled across Alisha Sommer taking note of the day. She had listened to an interview with the poet, Marie Howe by Krista Tippett on her podcast, On Being. In it, Marie Howe spoke of asking  her students to observe, be present, record what they see without attaching meaning to it, without using metaphor.

 ... I ask my students every week to write 10 observations of the actual world. It’s very hard for them.

MS. TIPPETT: Really?

MS. HOWE: They really find it hard.

MS. TIPPETT: What do you mean? What is the assignment? 10 observations of their actual world?

MS. HOWE: Just tell me what you saw this morning like in two lines. I saw a water glass on a brown tablecloth, and the light came through it in three places. No metaphor. And to resist metaphor is very difficult because you have to actually endure the thing itself, which hurts us for some reason.

MS. TIPPETT: It does.

MS. HOWE: It hurts us.

MS. TIPPETT: You naming something.

MS. HOWE: We want to say, “It was like this; it was like that.” We want to look away. And to be with a glass of water or to be with anything — and then they say, “Well, there’s nothing important enough.” And that’s whole thing. It’s the point.

MS. HOWE: It’s the this, right?

MS. HOWE: Right, the this, whatever. And then they say, “Oh, I saw a lot of people who really want” — and, “No, no, no. No abstractions, no interpretations.” But then this amazing thing happens, Krista. The fourth week or so, they come in and clinkety, clank, clank, clank, onto the table pours all this stuff. And it so thrilling. I mean, it is thrilling. Everybody can feel it. Everyone is just like, “Wow.” The slice of apple, and then that gleam of the knife, and the sound of the trashcan closing, and the maple tree outside, and the blue jay. I mean, it almost comes clanking into the room. And it’s just amazing.

Alisha has been posting observations on her blog. It is glorious. I am settling into the practice and will be posting here each Friday, nine notations, because of course, I have to put my own spin on it. 


1. The dog next door leaps and lunges at my cat who meows just out of reach.

2. The moon has little space to shine on me here in the city. I miss our big, dark skies in the country but that's the only thing I miss.

3. It is too hot to drink bedtime tea tonight but I drink it anyway. 

4. I long for silence but there is always noise. The fan hums loudly but rhythmically. 

5. My husband's foot is swollen and tender and his eyes are shaded with pain. Our mighty man stumbles. 

6. The purple ink I spilled on my dress has stained my belly with a splotchy and dark artistic bruise.

7. The door squeaks and squeals as my son goes in and out on to the back porch. His girlfriend just stormed out the front door. 

8. I have a lighted fall tree that I bought on clearance at Target two years ago. It sits in the corner of the dining room. Sometimes, I forget that it is there and it catches me by surprise.

9. My grandsons smell dirtier than I remember my sons smelling after a summer afternoon of playing.