Irene Latham's Blog, page 36
November 1, 2019
A Gee's Bend Poetry Friday
Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit for Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference for Roundup.Last week it was my great good fortune to spend some time with students at Pelham Oaks Elementary. The 4th and 5th graders had read LEAVING GEE'S BEND, and wow, were they a great group! I was impressed by what good listeners they were, and also by what interesting questions they asked. This is a direct reflection on librarian Kristi Plemons and all the teachers, and the way they made this story come alive for students. What an honor to share time with these readers! Here are some pictures from the day:
some great readers, Kristi Plemons, Irene Latham (and Ludelphia)!
timeline of happenings in Gee's Bend... and here is maybe my most favoritething of all, found on a bulletin boardfull of "lessons or takeaways" fromLEAVING GEE'S BEND:
"That you don't have to follow the rules or draw inside the lines, to make something beautiful, and express yourself."
THAT is a poem! And: "Quilting is Art."
YES! And here's proof, in an autumn motif, from the recent Blount County Quilters Guild show held at beautiful Palisades Park:
Finally, I want to share a little from YELLOW KAYAK by Nina Laden, illus by Melissa Castrillon. It's a long poem about an adventure that begins:
Yellow kayak.Blue sky.
Paddle swiftly
Wave good-bye.
I'm completely smitten with this book! I hope you'll check it out. Happy first day of November to all! xo
October 30, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STEPMOTHER
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
STEPMOTHER
I have deep respect for stepmothers. I am not a stepmother and didn't have a stepmother. But I know stepmothers, and it can be tough! Which is why, some years ago, I wrote this poem about Anne Moynet, who was John James Audubon's stepmother.
Anne Moynet Audubon, Long before Birds of America
This boy would dart off before dawn,climb trees, examine eggs, take outhis little pencil and draw the birds in flight.
When I’d meet him at the arbor with teaand cookies, he’d share the bountyof pockets: egg shells, nests of curling
leaves, feathers of every color. So whatif his cheeks stayed smudged and he rarelymade it in time for supper? For those
of you who’ll say, he was not yours,I ask you: Does the earth not belongto the sky? Does the shore not love
the ocean, even as it crashes upon it?Does the bluebird not sit on the nest,even if the egg is speckled instead of pale?
- Irene Latham
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
STEPMOTHER
I have deep respect for stepmothers. I am not a stepmother and didn't have a stepmother. But I know stepmothers, and it can be tough! Which is why, some years ago, I wrote this poem about Anne Moynet, who was John James Audubon's stepmother.
Anne Moynet Audubon, Long before Birds of America
This boy would dart off before dawn,climb trees, examine eggs, take outhis little pencil and draw the birds in flight.
When I’d meet him at the arbor with teaand cookies, he’d share the bountyof pockets: egg shells, nests of curling
leaves, feathers of every color. So whatif his cheeks stayed smudged and he rarelymade it in time for supper? For those
of you who’ll say, he was not yours,I ask you: Does the earth not belongto the sky? Does the shore not love
the ocean, even as it crashes upon it?Does the bluebird not sit on the nest,even if the egg is speckled instead of pale?
- Irene Latham
October 28, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STAMP
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
STAMP
me and Papa, probably talking
about books or poetry or writingNo one has been a bigger supporter of my writing than my father. He's the one who introduced me to Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. He's the one who encouraged me with ideas and books and conversations.
When I was a teenager Papa paid for me to take a by-mail writing course. The first part was journalistic writing, and the second was creative writing. I'd complete an assignment, send it in, and then someone out there would read it and offer me feedback. I got some pretty nice feedback – so nice that I got a bit bored with it and never even got to the creative writing portion of the course. Or maybe I just got busy... there were many distractions during those (and all) years! I'm sure Papa was disappointed, but that's not the part I remember.
The part I remember is how he'd give me assignments of his own. One of the most memorable assignments was when he gave me an envelope from his stamp collection. The stamp was postmarked in Ireland and the envelope was addressed to Charles A. Lindbergh. Papa told me to write about what might have been in that envelope. And so I did! My father loved it, of course. He was my best cheerleader, the one who'd listen to me spin my wheels about anything and everything books and writing. I'm so grateful. I'm so lucky. I miss him every day.
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
STAMP
me and Papa, probably talkingabout books or poetry or writingNo one has been a bigger supporter of my writing than my father. He's the one who introduced me to Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. He's the one who encouraged me with ideas and books and conversations.
When I was a teenager Papa paid for me to take a by-mail writing course. The first part was journalistic writing, and the second was creative writing. I'd complete an assignment, send it in, and then someone out there would read it and offer me feedback. I got some pretty nice feedback – so nice that I got a bit bored with it and never even got to the creative writing portion of the course. Or maybe I just got busy... there were many distractions during those (and all) years! I'm sure Papa was disappointed, but that's not the part I remember.
The part I remember is how he'd give me assignments of his own. One of the most memorable assignments was when he gave me an envelope from his stamp collection. The stamp was postmarked in Ireland and the envelope was addressed to Charles A. Lindbergh. Papa told me to write about what might have been in that envelope. And so I did! My father loved it, of course. He was my best cheerleader, the one who'd listen to me spin my wheels about anything and everything books and writing. I'm so grateful. I'm so lucky. I miss him every day.
October 22, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STAIRS
<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br />--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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 <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Butterfly-Hour... BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.</a><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="font-style: normal;"><div style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbJRbgZiKH..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="231" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbJRbgZiKH..." width="213" /></a>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?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "roboto" , "arial";">For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on <a href="https://irenelatham.blogspot.com/p/th... Butterfly Hours</a> tab above.</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: roboto, arial;">This month's prompts are </span><i style="color: #222222; font-family: roboto, arial;">sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.</i><br /><br /><b>STAIRS</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The house on Burns Lane in Birmingham, AL had a staircase in the corner of the foyer that turned and became a small balcony that led to my younger brother's bedroom and one side and mine and my sister's bedrooms on the other side. One of my childhood gripes was how once we moved into that house, my father no longer came into our rooms to bid us goodnight. He was obese for much of my childhood, and climbing stairs was not something he could comfortably do. I'm not sure which I resented more – him (and his weight) or the stairs. I just thought if he loved us, he would climb the stairs anyway. And when he didn't, I felt unloved and forgotten. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another (happier) memory from the same set of stairs was my first date with Paul. I was in college, living at home, and when he rang the doorbell to pick me up on our first (blind) date, I was still (strategically) in my room. My mom answered the door, and I made my grand entrance coming down those stairs as Paul watched, smiling, from the foyer. With what happy faces we greeted one another! I remember how his cheeks lifted, how round and rosy they were, like a little kid's. And how his hair flipped up above his ears. Adorable! Of course I had to marry him! :)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Currently we live on a mountainous lake which offers an amazing view, and to get to the water, there's a 150-step staircase. Getting down there is not a problem. It's the coming-back-up! Our son uses the staircase like bleachers and runs them as part of his exercise regime. We, too, use those stairs with joy and pep in our step – who needs a gym membership? It's all in how you frame it... and it all balances out, because our home is 100% one-level living. It's not for everyone, but we feel like we have the best of both... and our “Overlook” is one of our favorite parts of the place. It's a giant rock right on the edge near where the stair begin and where we've got a couple of Adirondack chairs for looking out over the water and up in the sky at the eagles, geese, herons, clouds... lovely!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div>FYI: My <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nine-Nonet-Poe... book collection of nonets</a>, which are "grand staircase" poems, comes out June 9, 2020! You can find the first nonet I ever wrote <a href="https://irenelatham.blogspot.com/2012....
October 19, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SOUP poem
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SOUP
We were a Campbell's soup family. Alphabet soup, chicken noodle, tomato (for the grownups-- I didn't care for it as a child). Sometimes I would carry soup in a thermos to school. Sometimes it leaked. I remember loving the smell of homemade chicken soup simmering in the big pot on the stove. When the time was right, it was my job to dump in the noodles. Also, during our time in Louisiana, I recall church and other gatherings that included big pots of gumbo. Those cajuns can COOK! My mother-in-law Bobbie loved making vegetable soup and corn bread – and I do, too!
Because today is a soup day, I decided to write a poem.
Soup Season
When the wind curlsand the sky unfurls,pull out a big pot.Fill it with all you've got:onions, carrots, bits of meat. . .Wait awhile for it to heat.Breathe it in, let it steep.Ladle it into bowlsyou can cradle in your lap.Then blow, slurp.slop sop!Soon you'll be goodand warm and cozyfrom your earsall the way to your toesies.
- Irene Latham
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SOUP
We were a Campbell's soup family. Alphabet soup, chicken noodle, tomato (for the grownups-- I didn't care for it as a child). Sometimes I would carry soup in a thermos to school. Sometimes it leaked. I remember loving the smell of homemade chicken soup simmering in the big pot on the stove. When the time was right, it was my job to dump in the noodles. Also, during our time in Louisiana, I recall church and other gatherings that included big pots of gumbo. Those cajuns can COOK! My mother-in-law Bobbie loved making vegetable soup and corn bread – and I do, too!
Because today is a soup day, I decided to write a poem.
Soup Season
When the wind curlsand the sky unfurls,pull out a big pot.Fill it with all you've got:onions, carrots, bits of meat. . .Wait awhile for it to heat.Breathe it in, let it steep.Ladle it into bowlsyou can cradle in your lap.Then blow, slurp.slop sop!Soon you'll be goodand warm and cozyfrom your earsall the way to your toesies.
- Irene Latham
October 18, 2019
Pumpkins, Paint and Poetry
painted pumpkin patchHello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Jama's Alphabet Soup for what I am sure will be a beautiful- delicious Roundup!Each year my community has a Fall Festival with pumpkin painting, hay ride, petting zoo, inflatables, cake walk, silent auction, food, and more... it's a lot of fun!
This year it started raining about an hour into our festivities, so many folks packed up and went home. But we sure had a good time while it lasted! And it reminded me to share about a couple of pumpkin-y books I've read recently (which is kind of weird, because usually I am not so timely in my reading!):
PICK A PUMPKIN by Patricia Toht, illus. by Jarvis, brought to us by Candlewick is one long poem for the wee ones that perfectly captures the experience of visiting a pumpkin patch and choosing just the right one and turning it into a jack-o-lantern. Lovely!... and PUMPKINHEADS by Rainbow Rowell, illus. by Faith Erin Hicks, brought to us by First Second. It's a graphic novel about teens who work at a pumpkin patch. In true Rainbow Rowell style, it's also a sweet love story.
I also received in the mail a delicious cornucopia of Halloweenie treasure from Michelle Kogan! You can find them at her etsy shop.
I'm kind of enchanted by white pumpkins lately... you can learn more about them here. And here is a wee poem:
ghost pumpkinglows,smolders –spooks no one
- Irene Latham
October 16, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SOCCER
<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br />--> <br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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 <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Butterfly-Hour... BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.</a><br /><div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="font-style: normal;"><div style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbJRbgZiKH..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="231" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pbJRbgZiKH..." width="213" /></a>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?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "roboto" , "arial";">For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on <a href="https://irenelatham.blogspot.com/p/th... Butterfly Hours</a> tab above.</span></span><br /><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "roboto" , "arial";"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial";">This month's prompts are <i>sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.</i></span><br /><div></div><br /><b>SOCCER</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Soccer was not a part of my childhood. I avoided team sports at school, and certainly never joined a team outside of school. I don't remember ever even going to a soccer game until my younger brother MicaJon played in high school. He was pretty good at it, I think. He's always enjoyed pushing himself physically... his current passion is road cycling. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cxnixrQtm7..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="402" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cxnixrQtm7..." width="257" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">For soccer poems, be sure <br />to check out </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Soccerverse-Po..." style="font-size: medium; text-align: start;">SOCCERVERSE: <br />Poems About Soccer </a><br /><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">by Elizabeth Steinglass, <br />ilus. by Edson Ike.</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Back to soccer: I do have soccer memories from the thick of crazy-childrearing years. All three boys played soccer on a little league team at least a few seasons (and often participated in games held at the same time on different fields). At one point I even served as co-commissioner for one of my sons' age groups (though I cannot now remember which!). This meant setting the teams, game schedules, assigning colors, ordering and distributing t-shirts... I helped out for a couple of seasons, until our kids moved on to other activities. Daniel stuck with soccer the longest, but eventually we realized it was not a good fit for him. Better fits were karate and later cross-country. It can be difficult for shy compliant kids to find their place... esp. when they are good at everything, which Daniel was. But that didn't mean he wanted to be there! So even though it seemed a shame for him quit something he was good at, his happiness was (and is!) more important.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><br />
October 14, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SNOWSTORM
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SNOWSTORM
I don't have any childhood snowstorm memories -- I did love the descriptions of snow in the LITTLE HOUSE books, though!
As an adult I have wonderful memories of the snowstorm of 1993 here in central Alabama. Paul and I lived on a mountaintop in a middle of forty acres. The drifts were crazy-big and so white! Our power was out, and because our water ran on an electric pump, we were out of water, too. And we couldn't leave our property because of the whole living on top of a mountain meant a very steep driveway which was impassable for nearly a week. We cooked steaks in our fireplace. We camped out next to the same fireplace. We spent the mornings in the sun room where the windows warmed the room. We played Trivial Pursuit 80s edition, and Paul won. And then... it got old. I wanted it to be over. I wanted the snow to melt. It still took a few more days.
A more recent snow/ice event was the snowpocalyse of 2014 I was driving with Daniel to pick up Eric for a special lunch out, because school was being let out early. As we were heading toward Birmingham on Hwy 280, the traffic slowed considerably. By the time we got to the school, the snow and ice combined with everyone getting off work/school created an impossible traffic jam around the city. NO way could we get back home!
We hiked instead to my friend Jim's bookstore. Eric was in flip flops (due to have had an ingrown toenail removed), so we stopped at the shelter on the way to pick up some socks and other supplies. I asked Jim if we could hike and stay at his house, but he thought we'd be better off at Eric's school (a boarding school). Later, he said he thought we'd enjoy the adventure. Daniel didn't care for this plan, so he said he'd walk home.
Eric and I went back to the school to wait it out. We ended up staying the night and going to the Alabama Power building for supper. I think it was far more fun for the kids than the parents. It was pretty brutal sleeping on the floor. I couldn't wait for things to warm up enough the next day for us to try getting our car home.
We were the first ones to brave the roads, and we had no idea what we were in for! The roads were still treacherous, and now the roads were stacked with abandoned cars. It truly was like the apocalypse! We had to go like 10 mph most of the way. It felt like a miracle when we finally got home. We were jealous of Daniel who had walked and hitched his way home the night before. Andrew did some walking, too, after he wrecked his car coming down the hill on Caldwell Mill Rd. from school. He had to leave the car and walk the rest of the way home. To make matters worse, he couldn't get in touch with us because the phone service was down. Meanwhile Paul was stuck at work. He was able to get to WalMart to get some blankets and food for he and his employees. They slept on office furniture. What an adventure for all of us!
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SNOWSTORM
I don't have any childhood snowstorm memories -- I did love the descriptions of snow in the LITTLE HOUSE books, though!
As an adult I have wonderful memories of the snowstorm of 1993 here in central Alabama. Paul and I lived on a mountaintop in a middle of forty acres. The drifts were crazy-big and so white! Our power was out, and because our water ran on an electric pump, we were out of water, too. And we couldn't leave our property because of the whole living on top of a mountain meant a very steep driveway which was impassable for nearly a week. We cooked steaks in our fireplace. We camped out next to the same fireplace. We spent the mornings in the sun room where the windows warmed the room. We played Trivial Pursuit 80s edition, and Paul won. And then... it got old. I wanted it to be over. I wanted the snow to melt. It still took a few more days.
A more recent snow/ice event was the snowpocalyse of 2014 I was driving with Daniel to pick up Eric for a special lunch out, because school was being let out early. As we were heading toward Birmingham on Hwy 280, the traffic slowed considerably. By the time we got to the school, the snow and ice combined with everyone getting off work/school created an impossible traffic jam around the city. NO way could we get back home!
We hiked instead to my friend Jim's bookstore. Eric was in flip flops (due to have had an ingrown toenail removed), so we stopped at the shelter on the way to pick up some socks and other supplies. I asked Jim if we could hike and stay at his house, but he thought we'd be better off at Eric's school (a boarding school). Later, he said he thought we'd enjoy the adventure. Daniel didn't care for this plan, so he said he'd walk home.
Eric and I went back to the school to wait it out. We ended up staying the night and going to the Alabama Power building for supper. I think it was far more fun for the kids than the parents. It was pretty brutal sleeping on the floor. I couldn't wait for things to warm up enough the next day for us to try getting our car home.
We were the first ones to brave the roads, and we had no idea what we were in for! The roads were still treacherous, and now the roads were stacked with abandoned cars. It truly was like the apocalypse! We had to go like 10 mph most of the way. It felt like a miracle when we finally got home. We were jealous of Daniel who had walked and hitched his way home the night before. Andrew did some walking, too, after he wrecked his car coming down the hill on Caldwell Mill Rd. from school. He had to leave the car and walk the rest of the way home. To make matters worse, he couldn't get in touch with us because the phone service was down. Meanwhile Paul was stuck at work. He was able to get to WalMart to get some blankets and food for he and his employees. They slept on office furniture. What an adventure for all of us!
October 11, 2019
MOONSTRUCK! and a New Moon Poem
Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Catherine at Reading to the Core for Roundup.I've got the moon on my mind -- thanks, in part, to the anthology MOONSTRUCK! Poems About our Moon edited by Roger Stevens, illustrated by Ed Boxall. Lots of gems in this book, and proof of poets' continued fascination with the moon. (A couple of my faves upon this latest reading: "Three Short Poems" by Tony Mitton and "You" by Jay Hulme. Do check this book out!)
I mean, who among you has NOT written a poem about and/or including the moon? Which is what makes it so difficult, as Karla Kuskin so brilliantly addresses in her poem "Write About A Radish," which begins with this stanza:
"Write about a radish
Too many people write about the
moon."
So of course I decided to write a new moon poem. :) Enjoy!
photo by flikr from london, UK - flikr0114, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index... If the Moon Were an Onion
then stars could only bethe sun's teardropsas she halves, slices,slivers –preparing our nightfeast.
- Irene Latham
October 10, 2019
The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SNOW
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SNOW
ice storm, 5th gradeGrowing up mostly in the south (and partly overseas), I don't have a lot of snow memories. So I tend to romanticize snow! It's all quiet hush and magic to me. I remember making snow cream and snow angels and snow men. I also remember watching our boys sled down the hill on trash can lids. But my biggest cold weather memory from childhood was an ice storm when I was in 5th grade living in Folsom, Louisiana. This was a rare event in Louisiana, and school was canceled for two days. The icicles daggered from the gutters and the yard held sheets of ice. It was thrilling!
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 sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.
SNOW
ice storm, 5th gradeGrowing up mostly in the south (and partly overseas), I don't have a lot of snow memories. So I tend to romanticize snow! It's all quiet hush and magic to me. I remember making snow cream and snow angels and snow men. I also remember watching our boys sled down the hill on trash can lids. But my biggest cold weather memory from childhood was an ice storm when I was in 5th grade living in Folsom, Louisiana. This was a rare event in Louisiana, and school was canceled for two days. The icicles daggered from the gutters and the yard held sheets of ice. It was thrilling! 
