Sometimes: a collective list

 

Sometimes I find flowers under my pillow.

Sometimes I am surprised by an animal in my dream, a polar bear or a duck.

Sometimes I wake up laughing.

Sometimes I like to walk with no destination in mind, just to see what might happen and to discover where I might go.

Sometimes I photograph every rock I see on my walk.

Sometimes I wake in the night knowing the solution to a problem and I wonder why I didn't think of it sooner.

Sometimes I feel like I should call my mother even though she is no longer alive.

Sometimes I get bored and behave badly, blowing raspberries at people who think they know everything (and who never stop talking).

Sometimes I write out lengthy, detailed to-do lists, then doggedly ignore them.

Sometimes I am jealous of the shorebirds.

Sometimes I just want to bury my hands in cool soil.

Sometimes I miss people who never existed.

Sometimes my heart beats quickly all night long and I worry about that.

Sometimes I take slow deep calming breaths and sometimes I just hold my breath for no reason at all.

Sometimes I fear I won’t ever do anything creative again.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and give myself a really really really big smile.

Sometimes I wonder where all the time has gone.

Sometimes I need to go for a long walk in order to calm my mind.

Sometimes I am lost in familiar places.

Sometimes the past is more vivid than the here and now.

Sometimes I wonder: what is the point of everything?

Sometimes, just before I wake, I think that I’m falling.

Sometimes I say hello to someone on the street, thinking they are a stranger, but it turns out that I actually know them (or I once knew them).

Sometimes, while walking through the woods, I stoop down to stroke the moss.

Sometimes, if I listen closely, I hear trees whispering poetry.

Sometimes I think I will give up drinking wine. . . and then I laugh.

Sometimes I go to great lengths to avoid running into a person whose energy doesn’t click well with mine.

Sometimes I prefer a meal made up entirely of appetizers.

Sometimes I am so proud of myself.

Sometimes I wish I could be a child again.

Sometimes I try too hard and other times, hardly at all.

Sometimes I forget to proofread.

Sometimes I want to hit people who say mean and awful things, especially about people I love, but then I realize hitting them will not help, so instead I cut them out of my life.

Sometimes I wish I could be as brave and adventurous now (in my 70s) as I was when I was in my 20s.

Sometimes I notice there is no vacuum inside me, no empty time when inspiration could rush in.

Sometimes there is a silent explosion of small green laser lights that recreate the big bang on the porch across the street.

Sometimes I want to give away almost every material possession I own.

Sometimes I want to walk all day around a city I have never been to before.

Sometimes I change the shape of flower beds into curves and half moons.

Sometimes I bring home a basket of jams, ginger cookies, and blueberry muffins from the country store.

Sometimes on Saturdays I change the linens, vacuum the rugs, sweep the floors, and clean out a couple of drawers.

Sometimes I think of my mother and am overcome with tears.

Sometimes I sit in a corner of the couch for the afternoon and write haiku poetry in my spiral notebook.

Sometimes I need to take no medicine at all.

Sometimes at night the moon is too bright to look at directly.

Sometimes I sit in a room full of people and do a crossword puzzle while enjoying all the talk-talk going on around me.

Sometimes the chemo works like magic.
 
Sometimes the bananas have given up the ghost.
 
Sometimes rosehip tea gets you a whole winter with no colds.
 
Sometimes I send love both to the driver and to the cop who pulled the car over.

Sometimes I am Hologram Girl, slipping through key holes, discovering lost poems; sometimes my name is Wind Rider.

Sometimes I am Abuela Luna, Grandmother Spider, or “Wee Sister Strange.”

Sometimes I am “cloud hidden, whereabouts unknown,” living in a mountain hut.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be happy again.

Sometimes I can support someone in the best way by not saying a word — just offering love and deep listening.

Sometimes I just want to scream!

Sometimes all I want to do is bundle up in a cozy quilt by the fireplace and be still, as the snow begins to fly.

Sometimes I think I'm right and sometimes I know I'm right.

Sometimes I get lost in thought and turn off my ears.

Sometimes I wake up with a poem in my head that is demanding to be written down.

Sometimes I wonder if loved ones who have died can see and hear us but keep it secret from us most of the time.

Sometimes I wonder if he ever thinks about me and is sorry for what he did.

Sometimes, with the camera in my hand, I have no ideas and I simply point.
 
Sometimes I want one thing but with a clenched jaw I accept another.
 
Sometimes my own light is so dim that I am glad for the cloudy day.
 
Sometimes I am surrounded by the fog in my mind.

Sometimes I wonder if those times were better than these times.

Sometimes I choose to trash all the rules, and do everything my own way.

Sometimes I see a palm tree at sunset and sometimes I see the results of a PET scan.

Sometimes people offer me condolences for having been born.

Sometimes I burn the toast — well, actually, always.

Sometimes I pack up to arrive and sometimes to depart.

Sometimes I miss myself.

Sometimes I watch “Jeopardy!” and know most of the answers but I’m reminded not to get too cocky because I may not know anything on the next episode.

Sometimes I wish my brain could work like a salad spinner so I could pour out excess thoughts.

Sometimes I can sit and eat breakfast for 2-3 hours while listening to NPR.

Sometimes I run out of excuses and need to invent some, which means I can’t be trusted.

Sometimes I turn my hearing aid off to silence the cat's meows.

Sometimes I miss the small greenness of England.

Sometimes American English still surprises me.

Sometimes I wonder what would have been different if my father had come home from the war.

Sometimes I search all morning for my spectacles.

Sometimes I despair of ever having a tidy house.

Sometimes my left shoulder makes a popping sound.

Sometimes I open my box of Susan B. Anthony dollars and just look at them.

Sometimes I want to hide behind a pen name.

Sometimes I feel so confused I don’t know left from right or, for that matter, right from left.

Sometimes I have to remind myself (quite firmly) that it would be better not to have expectations of people and then I would not be disappointed.

Sometimes, like Alice’s queen, I believe six impossible things before breakfast.
 
Sometimes I wake up with a song I didn’t even remember that I knew running through my head –—with all the lyrics — and I wonder where that was stored in my brain and what I was dreaming to evoke it.
 
Sometimes I know exactly the words I want to write and then someone speaks to me before I can jot them down — and they are gone forever.

Sometimes I dream I will be healthier again and when that happens I have a list of the truly important things to do. 
 
Sometimes I meet someone and it feels as though I have known them for a very long time.
 
Sometimes I remember how I used to think I fell in love a lot (it was fun!) — and then I really fell in love and I knew it was very different.
 
Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a day I don’t miss you and I wonder why I still can’t cry.
 
Sometimes I know I need another lifetime because one isn’t enough to do all I want to do.
 
Sometimes I have a big “come-apart” (and for those who don't know, it is a giant step up from a “hissy fit”) but at least it passes quickly.

Sometimes I sit in the 3 a.m. silence with a cup of hot tea and I don’t think of anything, or maybe I do, but my thoughts are so fleeting that they almost aren’t there at all, and I wonder if this is a kind of daydreaming.

Sometimes I get myself into a situation that I quickly want to get out of.

Sometimes I wish I lived closer to train tracks.

Sometimes living with another person is nearly impossible.

Sometimes the life of a hermit feels appealing to me.

Sometimes I think things will get better.

Sometimes the mountain of stuff I have collected and saved is the treasure I always thought it would be.

Sometimes I'd like to go back in time and revisit my childhood era again.

Sometimes the world tilts ever-so-slightly under my feet.
 
Sometimes it is nice to be alone.

Sometimes I worry about being alone.
 
Sometimes I dance to the music inside my head.
 
Sometimes I regret not setting the oven timer.

Sometimes I can get a little dark.

Sometimes my dog runs and barks in her sleep and I wonder if I ever do that too.

Sometimes my goat looks deeply into my eyes while I am petting him and he lets out a long, satisfying buuuuurrrrrppppp.

Sometimes I play the piano, always when it is a composition by Ludovico Einaudi, and I make myself cry.

Sometimes I want to run away from home.

Sometimes I want to run towards home.

Sometimes my friendships with women make me feel like I have sisters again.

Sometimes I say yes when I want to say no and sometimes I say no when I want to say yes.

Sometimes I’m all about calamity and convince myself of the reality of dire happenings that never have, and never will, actually occur.

Sometimes I get ahead of myself.

Sometimes just getting out of bed in the morning feels like a tremendous hurdle.

Sometimes three amazing species of woodpeckers visit the feeder in the same hour!

Sometimes I have no idea what to do next.

Sometimes I feel small and insignificant.

Sometimes a rainy day can set things right.

Sometimes between the pages of a book is the best place to be.

Sometimes just the vastness of the sky can make my heart swell with gratitude.

Sometimes I hear your voice inside my head.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t leave things up to chance.

Sometimes I can hear my breath above the din.

Sometimes I read a poem that changes the way I see the world.

Sometimes I am so boring I even bore myself.

Sometimes at the New Year I am full of resolutions.

Sometimes I field test a bad habit.

Sometimes I fold myself into a gray day.

Sometimes I wish I would grow up already; 76 years is too long to be a child.

Sometimes I remember the time I woke up early and ran through the cool dewy grass, arms flying, feeling free, just for the sheer joy of it.

Sometimes I’m smarter than I think.

Sometimes I am so dense I cannot believe I have all those degrees.

Sometimes it is simply too late to do anything about what happened back then.

Sometimes I am shocked to realize I am reading the paper and eating ice cream late at night . . . just like my mother did.

Sometimes I forget that I lost my wedding ring 2 years ago and am surprised when I realize that it's still gone.

Sometimes the clouds look like melted marshmallows.

Sometimes even when I resolve very sincerely to be patient, I become cranky over the littlest things.

Sometimes when it snows I step outside in my bare feet just to feel the reality of its coldness.

Sometimes if I write a small poem that feels true to my heart, I am happy for the whole day, sometimes longer.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see my mother’s face and she is talking but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Sometimes I feel a giant sneeze coming on and I hold my breath to get ready for it but then the sneeze disappears and I’m left with only an “ahhhhh” and no “choooo.”

Sometimes I gently stroke the leaves of my house plants and understand they can "feel" my energy because later they look a little perkier in the afternoon sun.

Sometimes I add a little blackberry jam to my scrambled eggs, not just for the taste of sweet with salty, but also for the purple and yellow contrast on my plate.

Sometimes I surprise myself when I hear a French song on the radio or TV and understand every word.

Sometimes when I'm walking on the beach at night I imagine I'm a mermaid and what that would be like, always able to move freely through the ocean depths.

Sometimes I take out my old pink pumps from the back of the closet and put them on, but I always end up putting them back because they pinch my toes too much.

Sometimes the purple martins return to their condos in spring, sometimes they don't, and then I wonder if they decided to stay down in the verdant rainforests of Brazil.
                                                                                                           Sometimes I don’t know what to write.

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Thank you to all these wonderful contributors:

Alan Peat
Antonia Matthew
Barbara Sayre
Barrie Levine
Betty Spero
Blue Waters
C. Robin Janning
Carole Johnston
Deborah Burke Henderson
Dede Hatch
Ellen Orleans
Ellen Shapiro Wiernicki
Glenn Ingersoll
Jack Goldman
Jim Mazza
Joan Leotta
Joel Savishinsky
Judy Cogan
Kath Abela Wilson
Kathleen Kramer
Laurinda Lind
Margaret Walker
Miriam Sagan
Nancy Spero
Paula Sears
Pris Campbell
Rob Sullivan
Roberta Beach Jacobson
Sharon K. Yntema
Terri L. French
Theresa A. Cancro
Tom Clausen
Zee Zahava