So, it’s been a minute. I’ve still been writing, but not in formats that seemed ripe to publish. Recently I made a new friend, Mary, who introduced me to a fun challenge: #1000wordsofsummer. Best selling author, Jami Attenberg, started a challenge back in 2018 to inspire her writing community to write 1000 words per day, for 14 days. Mary connected me to a Substack subscription group for Craft Talk and I decided, why not?

I haven’t been working on any grand writing projects, but I did have a book from the Toronto Public Library called The Butterfly Hours, Transforming Memories into Memoir, by Patty Dann. This book includes writing suggestions but also one-word prompts. Apparently Patty taught a class at the YMCA for many years where she would ask the students to write about a word that she selected. Through the book, she relays her own responses to these prompts as well as writing samples collected from her students. Somehow the fates aligned, and I made that my mission for the #1000dwordsofsummer writing challenge, which ran from May 31 through June 13, 2025.

Every day (except one), I made time to write about 1-3 of the prompts that I pulled, in order, from Patty’s book. I’m calling this piece The Moth: Snapshots, as they are all personal stories but not always a complete piece. Some of the one-word prompts included: Knife, Lunch, Bicycle, Perfume, Church, Office, Divorce, Scarf, Storm (and many more). Through the challenge I ended up writing about 24 one-word prompts and churning out 15,725 words. The one day I missed, I made up for the following day, which happened to be the final day of the challenge. As fate would have it, I was writing at a neighborhood brewery and who walks in? Mary – the friend who introduced me to the challenge, along with her husband, Alec! As I worked to finish my beer (and my writing) in time to do the evening soccer carpool, I checked the word count for that session and I was at exactly 2000 words, putting me precisely at the goal. It felt like the perfect synchronicity to end this fun challenge.

So, I may publish some of these “snapshots” here on the blog. As it turns out, I still remembered the login and I’m still a fan of The Moth and all the beautiful benefits of personal storytelling, which feels more necessary than ever.

Here’s my snapshot on the word Diploma:

I used to get annoyed by all the junior graduation ceremonies and fake diplomas.  My kids had kindergarten, grade 6 and grade 8 “graduations” that all seemed pretty bogus to me.  Like, is there really any chance or risk that you won’t move through those milestones?  What are we actually celebrating (and why)?

But then again, I am mostly a fan of celebrations – just not of participant trophies.  And so, by the time my baby, Alistair, was graduating from Kindergarten, I had started to come around.  Maybe I wasn’t quite as all-in as the parents who bought their children bouquets flowers for such an occasion, but I was excited to see the graduation hat Ali had crafted from a paper plate, construction paper and yarn.  I was excited to watch him walk across the “stage” in his classroom, shaking hands with the teachers who had loved and supported him the last two years.  Ali was fortunate to land in a wonderful classroom with one middle-aged man who played guitar and likely smoked a fair amount of weed.  Mr. O was an absolute gem, more focused on helping the kids develop empathy than drilling them with facts.  His co-teacher, Ms. B, was an older Muslim woman who would take the time to gently cut my kid’s finger nails if they were too long and never even mention it.  She mothered and tended to the kids like they were her own.  The first time he mentioned that Ms. B had cut his nails, I felt embarrassed.  I thought about how these teachers must be judging me and my parenting… but then something flipped, and I realized, this is what people mean when they say that “it takes a village.”  I definitely need help, with encouraging my kids to be kind and caring – as well as help cutting their nails when it’s been a particularly exhausting week.

During the kindergarten graduation, Mr. O read a story about rocks.  About finding and keeping a lucky rock, and how those rocks can change and mean different things at different times.  Sometimes there’s a rock that brings you back to a special memory.  Sometimes there’s a rock that you can keep with you to bring you confidence and it fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, or a rock that’s washed smooth by the waves to help remind you to go with the flow. Sometimes there’s a sparkly rock or a rock that’s great for skipping.  And then, Mr. O invited each kindergarten graduate to select a rock from his jar.  These were rocks he had personally collected and selected; rocks he had saved for just a moment like this.  He held a large glass jar of rocks, and each student could take their time, reviewing and selecting their perfect rock.

One student identified his perfect rock deep inside that large glass jar. I wondered what Mr. O would do, but he was calm and patient, as always. He found a way to dump out enough rocks to help the student reach that particular selection. Every student left that classroom feeling like they mattered. Like their needs and decisions and dreams were valid and possible.

And in that moment, I was whole-heartedly a fan of kindergarten graduation and all the reasons that those early diplomas might provide meaning and memories to the little ones who were lucky enough to be part of Mr. O and Ms. B’s class.