Irene Latham's Blog, page 35

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: TENNIS COURT

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> </span><br />--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"><b>TENNIS COURT</b></span></div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"></span><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I do not have a lot of experience with a tennis court. Maybe I inherited this from my mother, because I remember a story of hers from college. She went to Florida State University, and she wanted to learn how to play tennis, so she signed up for a class – only to find out that tennis class wasn't about “learning” tennis at all! Grades were assigned according to how well you students performed in the “tournament.” My mother, not being a previous player, didn't do so well!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I do have one memory of meeting a high school (boy) friend to play tennis at the Samford University tennis courts. We were “just friends.” We also got together at the raquetball courts at Sportsplex (a local gym). Looking back, maybe he wanted us to be more than friends? I don't know, but he was extremely patient with my lack of playing abilities and seemed to enjoy himself regardless of my ineptitude! I'm so grateful – we all need friends like that.</div><i></i></span>

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: TELEPHONE

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.

TELEPHONE
When I was a teenager the person I talked most to on the phone was my best friend Jennifer. I had a phone in my bedroom, and at night, I'd lie in bed mostly listening to Jennifer. We laughed A LOT. One thing that has always helped serious-minded me is having funny friends!
When I worked at Disney during a semester in college, I left behind a boyfriend. So the phone in the apartment I shared with three other young women was pretty important. It was hooked up in the kitchen area, so to get any privacy, I'd stretch the cord down the hall and sit just inside the door of my room. We broke up, got back together, missed each other, got over each other, fell in love again – in short, we grew up. Or at least, I did – or was beginning to grow and change and become myself. I can't really speak for him. It was a confusing, important time for me, as it was my first time away from my family of origin, and the relationship with the boyfriend ended for good shortly after. He was a sweet guy – just not MY sweet guy.
I have a distinct memory of the first time I spoke to Paul on the phone – we'd never met, so it was really our first introduction to one another. I had been sick with a chest cold, and for whatever reason, I was lying on the floor of my room. We talked, and it was so comfortable... I remember giving him directions to my house and generally just feeling excited about our upcoming first date. From the first time I heard his voice, I knew he was something special. This coming April we will celebrate 30 years together since that first date!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: TATTOOS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.


TATTOOS
My first memory of tattoos are the anchors on Popeye's arms, courtesy of Saturday morning cartoons. As a teen my brother Ken loved Ozzy Osbourne, and at one point got his fingers similarly tattooed. This was quite scandalous at the time, and I believe it was a homemade job, which made it even worse. My parents were disapproving, and I, being a “good girl,” was also disapproving at the time. Ken acquired more tattoos as a US Marine, but eventually he got the finger tattoos removed.
I myself had a moment not long after giving birth to our third son when I found myself alone in a tattoo parlor on a random morning after dropping kids at Mother's Day Out. I didn't tell anyone, not even my husband, what I was doing. It was MY thing, and I knew what I wanted, and I wasn't interested in hearing anyone else's opinion about it. Was I afraid I'd get talked out of it? Maybe. Was I afraid others wouldn't approve? Definitely. But the great thing about being a woman in the US the very first year of a new century was that I could go get a tattoo, if I wanted to, and I didn't need anyone's permission to do it. So, now, that tattoo has come to symbolize freedom and independence for me – a tiny secret thing that reminds me I can think for myself, make my own choices. I can share it with others, or not. It has nothing to do with anyone else, and everything to do with me being ME. I suspect that's what tattoos mean to most people. They are part of one's identity, a celebration of self. And frankly, anyone else's tattoos are none of my business. Get them, or don't. Just be you!

Poetry Friday with Snail, Snake, Dog and Bat

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Michelle at Today's Little Ditty, where she is sharing about her latest Best of TLD Anthology. Congratulations to all whose work appears in the pages, and so many thanks to Michelle for her generosity and love. You can get your copy here. (My poem "Fishing for a Reader" is included in the volume.)

I'm a worker bee today and all weekend - in part getting ready for next week's NCTE - so I'm in with a quick look at A SWARM, A FLOCK, A HOST: A Compendium of Creatures by Mark Doty and Darren Waterston.
While Mark Doty is an accomplished poet, it was his memoir DOG YEARS that put paw prints all over my heart. I have read it more than once, and it earned a permanent place on my bookshelf! This book, too, includes some dog-verse, and lots of other critters, too -- as the title of the book indicates. Darren Waterston's art is all inky silhouettes that merge and converge... dreamy and dark. I'll leave you with a few short gems. Enjoy!


SNAIL
                                 exhales a silver avenue




SNAKE
whose black and yellow signature
unscribbling itself across the path?




BAT
How to translate the little bats'
nearly inaudible peeping,

The body was made to disappear

Or
I slip into we so swiftly was I ever here?

Little bats stitching up the dusk
with their superb crewelwork

marking the remaining hours
on an abacus of stars

- Mark Doty

2019 Books All Young Georgians Should Read

Good news: MEET MISS FANCY has been selected as one of the 2019 Books All Young Georgians Should Read! I'm honored and delighted to be included with so many other fine book creators -- visit the website above to read the full list. Congratulations to all!!

The awards ceremony is tonight. Yes, there's an actual Oscar-esque ceremony! Winners get to say a few words and are presented with a gorgeous one-of-a-kind glass statue -- I know, because CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? received this same award last year (though I wasn't able to attend!). Joe Davich surprised me by presenting the award to me a few months later at our annual SCBWI conference, which convened at his library.

Unfortunately I have other commitments that prevent my attending this year as well. (I know! So sad!) But I didn't want the day to slip by without expressing my gratitude to Georgia Center for the Book and members of the Advisory council who decided Miss Fancy should be on the list. THANK YOU! And so many congratulations to all the other honorees. Please eat a pimiento cheeseburger slider for me! Miss Fancy would, too, if she could. :)

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SUMMER JOB

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.


SUMMER JOB
My best summer job was as a babysitter for a family with four girls: Phoenix, Noel, Merry Lynn and Alaina. Actually, when I first started, Alaina wasn't yet born! My sister and I both babysat for them for several years, and I still hold them all in my heart. We read together and painted and played and made snacks... I didn't know it, but I was totally practicing to be a mother. Because the girls lived within blocks of the library, one of our favorite things to do was walk down with the wagon, and come back loaded down with books! I wrote a poem that includes some of the details for the anthology THE POETRY OF US, edited by J. Patrick Lewis.

I Give Thanks for Trussville, Alabama
For the boxy blue houseon Lake Street
the low branch on the chinaberry tree,perfect for spying
the rattle of the Red Flyeras we pull it empty
across sidewalks cracked and raised by the roots of ancient oaks.
For the library three blocks downand one block over
where we build a soon-to-beavalanche of books –
our wagon turned pumpkin turned carriage turned train.
For the one stop lightblinking caution caution caution
for the noonday bus wheezing its promise to carry us away –
someday,but not until we're ready.
- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STUFFED ANIMAL

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.

STUFFED ANIMAL

wee me with birthday stashI've had lots of stuffed animals over my life. (Pretty much all my birthday pictures include books and stuffed animals!) Some were made for my by my grandmother. Others were the store-bought variety. I remember an ultra-soft plush white polar bear, a little lamb with a black face. My sister Lynn, who is a Leo, had a fuzzy yellow lion. In recent years my middle son forgot my birthday when he was probably 16, and then he surprised me with a pink stuffed dog he got from the grocery store where he worked at the time. The dog wasn't anything like what I'd choose for myself, and I didn't really have a place for a stuffed toy that size, but of course I loved it! last shot of the stuffed dogIt lived a long and happy life until recently, when puppy Rosie took a shine to it. The damage was done before I could rescue the stuffed dog, and the real dog liked it so much, that I just let her enjoy it. This is more in keeping with my current more minimalist, in-the-moment approach to living... recent experiences like downsizing and losing my father (who was quite the collector) are helping teach me not to be so attached to THINGS. Even the son who gave me the stuffed dog was understanding when I showed him the picture of the now-destroyed stuffed dog. (He also said he'd let Santa know. :) And it was also that son who told me recently when I said after he'd gone, “I just wish I'd taken a picture of you” that I shouldn't worry, because I have him in real life. Oh, the fear of loss... like I said, I'm learning!

(and this is why I couldn't resist
letting Rosie have her way
with the toy!)

Still and Steady for Poetry Friday

Hello, dear Poetry Friday friends! Welcome to this week's Poetry Friday Roundup! I've just a couple of things to share before we get to the links.

1. NCTE is less than two weeks away! I look forward to seeing many of you there! Don't forget to rsvp Laura Shovan about the Thursday (yes, this has been changed from the earlier Wednesday plans. Now THURSDAY!) night Poets of Kidlit Dinner at Nick's Fish House, 7 pm. Here's a graphic with some of my events:



2. I've been thinking about how often our first impulse when upset or fearful or mad or whatever is to do something, when maybe what we really need to do first is pause and reflect... and then I was reading IN BEAUTY MAY I WALK... Words of Peace and Wisdom by Native Americans, edited by Helen Exley. This sweet, rich little book was published by Exley Publications back in 1997 and has been warming my bookshelf ever since. Here's a passage that resonates with me today:

I WILL BE STILL AND STEADY...
If, like a Cherokee warrior, I can look at the new year as an opportunity to stand on new ground, then strength and courage are on my side. I will remember that things do work out, bodies do heal, relationships mend -- not because I said it, but because I believe it.

But it is time to make things right, to stay on the path. As water runs fresh and free from the woodland spring, so new life and meaning will bubble up from my own inner source. I will be still and steady, because there is nothing to be gained by showing fear in a chaotic world.   - Joyce Sequichie Hifler

... and here is a poem that seems to come from that same place inside me:

Thanks so much for reading!

ROUNDUP
Be sure to visit all these wonderful posts to get your Friday (and any day!) poetry fix:

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!Click here to enter

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STUDIO

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.

STUDIO
I've written before about my own studio – the Purple Horse Poetry Studio and Music Room. I chose “studio” (over “study” or “library” or “office” or any other name because I identify as an artist first. Here's a quick poem:
If You Want to Know My Heart, Come Inside My Studio
one chamber:four walls to holdeighty-eight piano keysfive cello strings
two dozen shelves fat with booksand hungry for moremore more
a hodgepodge galleryof watercolor, collage,pen and inkthe exact same scentas woodsmoke
its heartbeat,a window carrying insidetree   mountainbluebird    lake
one light, pulsingand strungwith yellow-edgedpictures of loved-ones' faces
open-shut-opendoor taped overwith Dear __ greetings
two roomy closets where poems tuckthemselves betweenquilts   paintribbon    thread
the air aswirlwith dreamsmade red with words –
some silent and true as stars,others slippingwhispering, still:
                       dust beneath the door.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STRAWS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above.

This month's prompts are straws, studio, stuffed animal, summer job, tattoos, telephone, tennis court, test, theater.

STRAWS

July 2004 US Open Sandcastle
Competition, Imperial Beach
San Diego, CA (the guy on
the lower left is using a straw)A straw seems such a simple thing and yet it generates a lot of opinions, doesn't it? I like a straw because sometimes my teeth are sensitive to temperature. Also I read or heard somewhere that using a straw prevents stains on teeth. And since I drink a lot of tea... but then I was lunching with a friend, and she told me she won't use a straw because it will wrinkle the skin around your lips and mouth. Another friend is a proponent of reusable straws to cut down on landfill waste. At the zoo, straws aren't allowed, because they are potentially dangerous if ingested by an animal.
Some artists use straws to help them create their work. In particular I have this memory of watching sand sculptors use straws to blow away bits during a sandcastle competition. Cool!

p.s. My first thought when I hear the word “straw”: MILKSHAKE. Mmmmmm....''