Following a recent trip back to visit my father's family in Madisonville, TN, many memories were awakened. We'd spent a lot of time there, he and I. I was reminded of it in Tuesday's writing group.
In writing group, the poem was "Once," by Tara Bray.
I wrote from,
". . . It's a dull world.
Every day, the same roads, the sky,
the dust, the barn caving into itself,
the tin roof twisted and scattered in the yard."
It used to be a dull trip.
Same winding road thru the fields.
Turn at the country store.
Wind the narrow road.
Watch out for the oncoming cars.
I know the road by heart.
Destination the small house,
the barn, the spring where they get their water.
Turn in the driveway.
Don't let the chickens peck you.
Here they all come to greet us.
Aunt Hazel with open arms,
Tall and gaunt Uncle Ern,
Cousins Charles and Gene waiting on the sidewalk.
(The other four boys/men had already moved out.)
Daddy and I walk up the steps.
Oops, gotta find the outhouse pretty soon.
Walk into the house,
see the loaded table,
met by the wonderful aromas of country cooking.
Biscuits and gravy, fried chicken, and fried okra,
green beans, and fried green tomatoes.
"Dinner's ready," she says.
To me it was lunchtime,
but they talk funny here.
"You'uns," and "we'uns," a different dialect.
But what was clear was the love--
Love that filled the house.
Always one or two of the other "boys,"
come by in time for the meal.
Most of them live "down the road a piece."
Daddy's family,
Different lifestyle,
Same love.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Word Prompts
In writing group, the leader gave us a new word every minute. The assignment was to immediately switch to the new word and write, then switch to the next, etc. Some of the participants were able to bring continuity to their new words. I was not, but just changed directions with each.
Bread is the staff of life. Homemade bread is really the staff of life. Anyone who ever lived the hippy lifestyle made their own bread. It was a necessity. Hallie used to call store-bought bread, "muff-muff bread." I loved that term. I thought it said it all in just one term. She had an old woodstove that she used, and her food on that stove was fabulous. We were in our 20's living on Vashon Island.
Bumblebees used to scare me to death. All bees did--especially yellow jackets, wasps, and hornets. We have them around the apartment now, and I'm still afraid of them. What's the difference between all those critters? I used to get Nick to kill them for me, but now I have to do it myself. Gives me the willies to hear them buzz around the window, and the lightbulbs.
Nourish is a word that has a nice connotation. Isn't there a song that starts with "nourish"? Maybe I'm not remembering correctly. Which is the story of my life right now. Word retrieval has gotten worse and worse lately. And the worse it gets, the more upsetting for me. Getting old isn't fun, let me tell you. Back to nourish--food, happiness, love, and health.
Earth Day is on my birthday--April 22. They started it back in the hippy years. I don't know why I keep turning back to that time period. It was a happy time in some ways--very unhappy in others. It was one of the times of political upheaval--generations at odds with each other. Somewhat like now, I guess. I used to think of myself as "earth mother."
Cut is what I used to do with patterns and sewing. I sewed for myself, and for my daughter when she was little. I even made her a Holly Hobby doll and matching pinafores for her and the doll. Later, as I quit sewing so much, I would cut out the patterns, but never get them finished. That was after she grew up though. When we lived in Idaho, I made mother-daughter dresses for us both.
Give is a word I'm running out of ideas for. Give me a break. Give me some hints. Give me liberty, or give me death, said Patrick Henry. Give me some ideas. I'll give you one, if you'll give me one. Nope, I really don't give a rip this time around.
Sorry--no giving today.
Give money
Give love
Give food
Give care
Give a thought.
Bread is the staff of life. Homemade bread is really the staff of life. Anyone who ever lived the hippy lifestyle made their own bread. It was a necessity. Hallie used to call store-bought bread, "muff-muff bread." I loved that term. I thought it said it all in just one term. She had an old woodstove that she used, and her food on that stove was fabulous. We were in our 20's living on Vashon Island.
Bumblebees used to scare me to death. All bees did--especially yellow jackets, wasps, and hornets. We have them around the apartment now, and I'm still afraid of them. What's the difference between all those critters? I used to get Nick to kill them for me, but now I have to do it myself. Gives me the willies to hear them buzz around the window, and the lightbulbs.
Nourish is a word that has a nice connotation. Isn't there a song that starts with "nourish"? Maybe I'm not remembering correctly. Which is the story of my life right now. Word retrieval has gotten worse and worse lately. And the worse it gets, the more upsetting for me. Getting old isn't fun, let me tell you. Back to nourish--food, happiness, love, and health.
Earth Day is on my birthday--April 22. They started it back in the hippy years. I don't know why I keep turning back to that time period. It was a happy time in some ways--very unhappy in others. It was one of the times of political upheaval--generations at odds with each other. Somewhat like now, I guess. I used to think of myself as "earth mother."
Cut is what I used to do with patterns and sewing. I sewed for myself, and for my daughter when she was little. I even made her a Holly Hobby doll and matching pinafores for her and the doll. Later, as I quit sewing so much, I would cut out the patterns, but never get them finished. That was after she grew up though. When we lived in Idaho, I made mother-daughter dresses for us both.
Give is a word I'm running out of ideas for. Give me a break. Give me some hints. Give me liberty, or give me death, said Patrick Henry. Give me some ideas. I'll give you one, if you'll give me one. Nope, I really don't give a rip this time around.
Sorry--no giving today.
Give money
Give love
Give food
Give care
Give a thought.
Memories from Idaho - Written 5/18/10
In writer's group, we worked from paintings. This one the painting of a woman and child, walking together. So it's part truth/part fiction.
As my daughter and I walked down the sidewalk away from the house, I wished again that my husband hadn't taken our only vehicle for his trip out of town. It snowed last night, and the temperature was now dropping quickly. We were barely within walking distance to the school, where she was in kindergarten and I worked in the office. But the colder it got, the harder it would be for us to make it the whole distance. I'd wrapped her up all nice and warm, and bundled myself up as well. But the 1-1/2 miles to the school would be a difficult walk for us both.
By the time we reached the school, we were both just about frozen. I took her to her class, and her teacher helped her out of her coat, scarf, and mittens. She took her in and sat her by the warm stove to thaw.
I went on to my office and unbundled myself, while at the same time turning on the small radio on the shelf next to my desk. The announcer's voice came through: "The time is now 8:05, and the temperature has already dropped to 10 degrees. There is a winter storm warning for today and tomorrow."
"Nuts!" I fretted. "He always picks the worst times to go out of town! He's notorious for leaving us in the worst possible weather. Now, we'll have to get a ride home this afternoon. And maybe I can get some help to keep the pipes from freezing. This always happens when he's gone. How frustrating!"
As my daughter and I walked down the sidewalk away from the house, I wished again that my husband hadn't taken our only vehicle for his trip out of town. It snowed last night, and the temperature was now dropping quickly. We were barely within walking distance to the school, where she was in kindergarten and I worked in the office. But the colder it got, the harder it would be for us to make it the whole distance. I'd wrapped her up all nice and warm, and bundled myself up as well. But the 1-1/2 miles to the school would be a difficult walk for us both.
By the time we reached the school, we were both just about frozen. I took her to her class, and her teacher helped her out of her coat, scarf, and mittens. She took her in and sat her by the warm stove to thaw.
I went on to my office and unbundled myself, while at the same time turning on the small radio on the shelf next to my desk. The announcer's voice came through: "The time is now 8:05, and the temperature has already dropped to 10 degrees. There is a winter storm warning for today and tomorrow."
"Nuts!" I fretted. "He always picks the worst times to go out of town! He's notorious for leaving us in the worst possible weather. Now, we'll have to get a ride home this afternoon. And maybe I can get some help to keep the pipes from freezing. This always happens when he's gone. How frustrating!"
Bipolar Nonsense--6/1/10
Words I drew, and tried to use them all: dainty, weather, springs of grass
So just went off on a tangent of nonsense.
What is dainty weather anyway?
Is it light and fluffy, like snowflakes?
Or raindrops sprinkling on the pond?
Interesting concept.
What would be the opposite--heavy, menacing weather?
("Menace" is the word I put back last time. Then I drew it
again today.)
Oh no, that takes us back to the flood weekend.
Let's change the subject.
Sprigs of grass--reminds me of Walt Whitman's
"Leaves of Grass."
Which reminds me of the book I just finished,
"Eden's Outcasts."
About Alcott and Alcott--Louisa May and her father Bronson,
who were contemporaries of Whitman--but poles apart.
I'm skipping from thought to thought today--
So much heaviness has necessitated light, frothy,
inconsequential ponderings.
I'm through.
So just went off on a tangent of nonsense.
What is dainty weather anyway?
Is it light and fluffy, like snowflakes?
Or raindrops sprinkling on the pond?
Interesting concept.
What would be the opposite--heavy, menacing weather?
("Menace" is the word I put back last time. Then I drew it
again today.)
Oh no, that takes us back to the flood weekend.
Let's change the subject.
Sprigs of grass--reminds me of Walt Whitman's
"Leaves of Grass."
Which reminds me of the book I just finished,
"Eden's Outcasts."
About Alcott and Alcott--Louisa May and her father Bronson,
who were contemporaries of Whitman--but poles apart.
I'm skipping from thought to thought today--
So much heaviness has necessitated light, frothy,
inconsequential ponderings.
I'm through.
Pantoum
From writing group, the assignment was to write a "pantoum." It's a poetic form from long ago, in which you repeat specific lines in a specific order. So here's my first attempt. (Turned out to be fun.)
1. I'll be right here,
2. Waiting for you.
3. Don't forget to call,
4. So I won't worry.
5. Waiting for you,
6. Thinking about you,
7. So I won't worry,
8. I'll know you're OK.
9. Thinking about you,
10. Wishing you were here,
11. I'll know you're OK,
12. When I get your call.
13. Wishing you were here,
14. Don't forget to call,
15. When I get your call,
16. I'll be right here.
1. I'll be right here,
2. Waiting for you.
3. Don't forget to call,
4. So I won't worry.
5. Waiting for you,
6. Thinking about you,
7. So I won't worry,
8. I'll know you're OK.
9. Thinking about you,
10. Wishing you were here,
11. I'll know you're OK,
12. When I get your call.
13. Wishing you were here,
14. Don't forget to call,
15. When I get your call,
16. I'll be right here.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
This Beautiful Place
Carmel Point
by Robinson Jeffers
"The beautiful place defaced with a crop of suburban houses--
" . . . Meanwhile the image of the pristine beauty
Lives in the very grain of the granite, . . . ."
From ""The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers" (1988)
first published in 1954
The most beautiful place we ever lived was the Pacific Northwest.
Driving up the west coast highway--northern California, through Oregon, into Washington,
Destination--Seattle, and a job with Boeing.
The tall evergreens on either side, forming a lush canopy as we passed through,
We'd dropped our friend outside San Bernadino, letting her find her own way to home and job.
We made it through Snoqualmie Pass, then dropping down toward the huge city.
The most beautiful city I'd ever seen,
Cascades on one side, Puget Sound on the other, and Lake Washington running through.
Mercer Island connected by its floating bridge--now to find a place to live.
First home on Mercer Island, an apartment overlooking the water,
the small shopping center and popular nightspot close by,
"The Islander," fun place for my pool-playing husband, and dark beer with our new friends.
Mercer Island was also where the rich people lived,
with their seaplanes and sailboats and big yachts parked on the water beside their homes.
No little fishing boats to be found. What had we moved into?
On a clear day we could see Mt. Rainier in the distance,
Stunning scenery everywhere we looked.
And lush gardens, with the "rhodies" and "azzies" as high as the rooftops.
And no one seemed to think there was anything odd
about all the wealth and blatant consumerism,
Water sports and mountain climbing in summer, ski slopes in the winter.
In the wintertime, the highway through the Cascades had snow higher than the Jeep top,
Poles along the way to guide the snowplows.
Oh yes, don't forget the rain--from September through May--the sound of tires on wet streets.
It was a magical city for us, beautiful beyond belief.
But a chance encounter in the library a few days ago,
the lady told me that it's different now--suffering from urban blight.
I'm glad we saw it then, in its good years, leaving happy memories.
Our first adventure as young marrieds, birthplace of our daughter.
Our first real home together--and perhaps the best of them all.
by Robinson Jeffers
"The beautiful place defaced with a crop of suburban houses--
" . . . Meanwhile the image of the pristine beauty
Lives in the very grain of the granite, . . . ."
From ""The Selected Poetry of Robinson Jeffers" (1988)
first published in 1954
The most beautiful place we ever lived was the Pacific Northwest.
Driving up the west coast highway--northern California, through Oregon, into Washington,
Destination--Seattle, and a job with Boeing.
The tall evergreens on either side, forming a lush canopy as we passed through,
We'd dropped our friend outside San Bernadino, letting her find her own way to home and job.
We made it through Snoqualmie Pass, then dropping down toward the huge city.
The most beautiful city I'd ever seen,
Cascades on one side, Puget Sound on the other, and Lake Washington running through.
Mercer Island connected by its floating bridge--now to find a place to live.
First home on Mercer Island, an apartment overlooking the water,
the small shopping center and popular nightspot close by,
"The Islander," fun place for my pool-playing husband, and dark beer with our new friends.
Mercer Island was also where the rich people lived,
with their seaplanes and sailboats and big yachts parked on the water beside their homes.
No little fishing boats to be found. What had we moved into?
On a clear day we could see Mt. Rainier in the distance,
Stunning scenery everywhere we looked.
And lush gardens, with the "rhodies" and "azzies" as high as the rooftops.
And no one seemed to think there was anything odd
about all the wealth and blatant consumerism,
Water sports and mountain climbing in summer, ski slopes in the winter.
In the wintertime, the highway through the Cascades had snow higher than the Jeep top,
Poles along the way to guide the snowplows.
Oh yes, don't forget the rain--from September through May--the sound of tires on wet streets.
It was a magical city for us, beautiful beyond belief.
But a chance encounter in the library a few days ago,
the lady told me that it's different now--suffering from urban blight.
I'm glad we saw it then, in its good years, leaving happy memories.
Our first adventure as young marrieds, birthplace of our daughter.
Our first real home together--and perhaps the best of them all.
A Sheep Named Goddess
The prompts--A picture of an English sheep with long curly fleece, covering her eyes, and the word I drew was "goddess." A fun fantasy.
Just call me "Goddess." In the photo, they named me "sheep," but that just doesn't come close to doing me justice. What a mundane boring label; please, surely you can do better than that!
Notice the curly locks? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? And the little white ears, sticking out, ever so pertly, from the long, flowing fleece. And the stately white muzzle--amazing! I must say, in all modesty, I'm the picture of statuesque beauty.
My mistress has quite a time when fair time comes. She spends hours grooming me, making me ready for the show. I've won lots of ribbons, of course. See all the blues on the wall over there? And some "Best in Show" trophies as well. I'm her top prize winner. No surprise there!
I've presented some children to her line of champions, but none yet that has surpassed my record.
My mistress absolutely adores me, of course. It's good to receive such well deserved appreciation. Even if she does decide to retire me next year, she says I'll have proven myself the best of my breed--champion forever!
My name is "Goddess." Appropriate, don't you agree?
Just call me "Goddess." In the photo, they named me "sheep," but that just doesn't come close to doing me justice. What a mundane boring label; please, surely you can do better than that!
Notice the curly locks? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? And the little white ears, sticking out, ever so pertly, from the long, flowing fleece. And the stately white muzzle--amazing! I must say, in all modesty, I'm the picture of statuesque beauty.
My mistress has quite a time when fair time comes. She spends hours grooming me, making me ready for the show. I've won lots of ribbons, of course. See all the blues on the wall over there? And some "Best in Show" trophies as well. I'm her top prize winner. No surprise there!
I've presented some children to her line of champions, but none yet that has surpassed my record.
My mistress absolutely adores me, of course. It's good to receive such well deserved appreciation. Even if she does decide to retire me next year, she says I'll have proven myself the best of my breed--champion forever!
My name is "Goddess." Appropriate, don't you agree?
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