Irene Latham's Blog, page 52

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: COOKBOOK

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br /><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dF8FTWVrN..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dF8FTWVrN..." width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobbie, cooking<br />(from a page in the scrapbook-<br />cookbook I gave her in 2005)</td></tr></tbody></table>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 /><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">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;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ9pEXdr8h..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="231" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZ9pEXdr8h..." width="266" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">In January I wrote about: <i>apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><i><br /></i></div></div></div><b>Here are February's prompts:</b> <i>chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.</i><br /><b><br /></b><b><br /></b><br /><b>COOKBOOK</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-De6ygwf0yA..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="406" data-original-width="363" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-De6ygwf0yA..." width="178" /></a></div>While the primary cooks in my life during childhood were my mom and my Grandma Dykes, I probably learned the most about cooking from my mother-in-law. She loved cooking – and eating – the holiday feasts. But she was very much the a-little-of-this, a little-of-that kind of cook, seldom using a written recipe. So one year I shadowed her through the Thanksgiving meal preparations. I wrote down how much and what. From that I created a cookbook-scrapbook for her that contained recipes from her early marriage (she learned to cook using the classic <i>Better Homes and Gardens</i> cookbook) on up to the present-day. I included family photographs in the book, and also comments from family members about certain dishes. She loved it! And now, after more than a decade since her death, I still pull out her cookbook to make the recipes she brought into our lives. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So: for anyone out there reading this who enjoys a loved-one's cooking, maybe shadow them through a meal? They will love the attention, and you will be so glad you took the time!</div><br />

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CONCERT

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?
In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.
Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CONCERT The image I remember,
though my poster
was in color (purple!).
When I was in 9th grade, I was in love with Prince. And I wasn't alone – my then-best friend Michelle shared my passion. We listened to his music nonstop, and we had poster of him in our bedrooms. Mine was on the back of my door, carefully secured with tape on the back of the poster, so as not to mess it up. Prince liked purple –so did I! Prince was different – so was I! He was a great early teen celebrity crush, because yes, he was a man, but he was small and non-threatening. I wasn't ready for anything more. So, when his tour brought him to Birmingham, Michelle and I begged to go. By some miracle, my mom said YES – and she would be our chaperone. The concert was held at Boutwell Auditorium. We had seats on the floor, and it was LOUD. While we swayed and sang along to the songs, my mom sat straight-backed, her brow furrowed and lips a thin line. And then when the scent of marijuana drifted our way, my mom crumpled into her chair, head in hands. Later she told me it gave her an instant headache. I'm surprised she hung in there and didn't whisk us out of there right then. She did so much to make me happy! Midway through the concert when Michelle and I weaved our way through all the throbbing bodies to get to the bathroom, strange boys turned faceless by the dark auditorium grabbed at us. The concert wasn't as much fun after that. I don't remember attending another concert for a long time. Eventually the Prince poster came off my door. Michelle and I drifted apart. But my love of Prince's music remains.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHURCH

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br />--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S_2UPXv9xc..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="231" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S_2UPXv9xc..." width="213" /></a></div>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 /><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">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 style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">In January I wrote about: <i>apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><i><br /></i></div></div></div><b>Here are February's prompts:</b> <i>chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.</i><br /><br /><b>CHURCH</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I grew up in the Episcopal Church, and I have many warm memories related to my experiences at the various churches we attended in all the places we lived. (I have some not-warm memories, too, but today I want to focus on the “good.”) And because this prompt is bringing up so much for me, I've decided to use this space to simply catalog some of the experiences, without going into great detail. My intention is to come back to this post later and expand some of these memories.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Interestingly, I recently learned that my mother was a reluctant Episcopalian. She switched to the Episcopal Church upon marrying my father (at his request), and when she spoke of it, it was with some regret and a twinge of anger. This came as a surprise to me, as I'd always imagined religion was more important to my mother than it was it to my father. It shows you, doesn't it, how our childhood assumptions are so often faulty.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In Ft. Meade, Florida, I was part of a couple of church musicals – <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqWVr... Machine</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Owr7_... By theCreek Bank</a> </i>being the ones I remember best. It was my first taste of musical theater, which has been a lifelong love. I can still remember many of those songs by heart!</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1U-znaDm_t..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="961" height="269" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1U-znaDm_t..." width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Erin, Irene, Kim<br />Christ Episcopal Church<br />early '80s</td></tr></tbody></table>At Christ Episcopal Church in Covington, Louisiana, I sang in the choir and participated in the youth group. I had my first crush and broke my arm in the church parking lot. I was the first girl acolyte. One year we buried a time capsule, but by the time it came to unearth the capsule (which was such a great idea!), our family had already moved to another place. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">While I was in high school, we attended Holy Cross Episcopal Church in Trussville, Alabama. That's where I got my first taste of public speaking – on the topic of “Faith” at <i><a href="http://www.happeningnational.org/abou..., a teen weekend retreat. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Throughout my childhood my most cherished friend-groups came from my churches, not my schools. At Holy Cross it seemed to me we were a group of misfit kids from Irondale and Pinson and Roebuck and Trussville... and somehow we all fit in at our church group. It helped that we had devoted, inspiring youth leaders – 2 couples: Mary and Murray and Karen and Roger. We rode in Mary and Murray's “Blue Goose” to <a href="https://campmcdowell.com/">Camp McDowell</a>, which remains a favorite spot of mine to this day. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At Halloween we got in lots of trouble for attending a <a href="http://judgementhouse.org/">J... House</a> at a Baptist church (instead of a regular haunted house, which had been the plan). This was a big deal because Baptists and Episcopalians disagree on their beliefs about hell and salvation, and some parents didn't want their kids exposed to those other ideas. To us, it was just entertainment. We loved being with one another. I'm so so grateful especially to Jennifer, Jeff, James, Anthony, Bucky, Tommy... and to my siblings Lynn and MicaJon, too. I'm not sure how I would have gotten through those years without the love and support from all of you.</div><br />

"The New Puppy Promise" poem

RosieHello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Laura at Writing the World for Kids for Roundup! The big news around here is that we got a new puppy! Her name is Rosie. She's the second Aussie we've owned, and she is such a sweetheart. Among all the usual things, we've successfully introduced her to our daily walk (she went the entire way without a problem!); the stairs down to the dock (she was a little scared at first, but as soon as we put her little feet on the first stair, she was good to go); the lake (she put her paws in and got a drink; a boat ride (she let the wind ruffle her fur then curled up next to my feet for the rest of the ride). She's just an easy-going, friendly, doll of a puppy. I'm in love with her! And I want to do the best I can for her. And so, I give you "The New Puppy Promise."
The New Puppy Promise
Puppy, I promise to make a home for youwhere you will always be safe.I will be patient with you as you learnwhere to do your businessand what not to chew.I will play with you every dayand take you on grand adventures,so you, too, can see the world.I will listen to what your ears and tailand eyes are telling me.I will help you find your favorite spotto be scratched.I will let you be a dog who barks and romps,but I will also take the time to show youhow to be courteous to me and to others.Sometimes we may disagree.Sometimes we may get madand hurt each other's feelings.But Puppy, I promise to never give up on you.Please don't give up on me!I may be slow sometimes, but I will learn.I will do what it takes to keep you healthy.I will be generous with walks and hugs and treats.Each day we'll discover new things together.You will be mine, and I will be yours – forever.
- Irene Latham

Some Thoughts About Home

front porch chalk messageToday's Spiritual Journey Thursday is on the topic of "home is where the heart is." Please visit Donna at Mainely Write for Roundup!

Nothing makes me appreciate home as much as taking a vacation. :) Of course home is mostly being with the people you love, not a place.

But it IS a place too.

When Paul and I started out, we lived in a house he bought before we met, in a Jefferson County neighborhood that was a little too close to the place where I went to high school.

Before we were even married, we bought 40 acres on Beaver Creek Mountain in St. Clair County and soon built a house in the center of it. Talk about secluded! And we had these marvelous mountain views... we lived there for 5 years before deciding to move for better schools and to be closer to Paul's work. It was such a tough thing to leave that place! The things we do for our kids...

our 20 year houseFor 20 years we lived in the suburbs of north Shelby County, and yes, I was happy. Yes, we had so many good times! And it was a great house, for what (and where) it was. I mean, we raised a family there. And I wrote quite a few books there!

But no place has felt like home to me the way our current home does, here in rural Blount County.

"Love Shack" art,
complete with 2 blue birds (!),
a found treasure from Key West.
I love how it's a little wonky -
just like us!At first, when we weren't living here full-time, we called it "the lake house." Then it became the "Love Nest." Which, yes, is cliche, but it fit! Sometimes we called it the "Love Shack," too, but that just sounds so, well... you know.

Since we've moved in, we've wanted to give the place a more formal name. I guess we have, sort-of. We (well mostly I) call it the Happy Rabbit Hideaway. (The house came with quite a few real and not-real rabbits.)

To carry on the naming thing, my studio is The Purple Horse Poetry Studio and Music Room. (The name traveled with us from the last house... turns out creative studios move right along with their creators.)

the Easter Porch Also, we have a slab of rock at the top of the bluff overlooking the lake that we call not so originally "The Overlook." And we have a deck/porch mid-way down the bluff we've just christened the "Easter Porch" -- because the first meal we shared with family there was on Easter of last year.


So anyway, maybe a home is not just the people you love, maybe it's a place you can name?

Thank you for reading! Looking forward to reading everyone else's thoughts about home!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHLORINE

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?
In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.
Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CHLORINE


My friend Kim was a competitive swimmer, which meant her family had a membership at a country club (in Mandeville, Louisiana). It also meant Kim was at that country club several times a week, swimming laps and learning breathing and diving techniques. 
Photo by Jay Wennington on UnsplashOnce (when I was 11 or 12) she invited me to come to the pool with her – not for practice; just for fun. I'd never been to a country club, so I was enchanted by how fancy the building and the (indoor) pool was. I didn't even mind the thick, warm smell of chlorine, which made my chest feel heavy and like my lungs had to work extra-hard. I couldn't wait to try out the slide. First thing I did was climb the stairs, lower myself onto my belly, and push myself head-first down the slide. The heated water pressed against my eyelids and streamed through my hair. It was exhilarating – until my head scraped against the bottom of the pool. 
When I popped out of the water, my scalp was bleeding, and a clump of long blond hairs lay tangled in my fingers. The lifeguard rushed me to the first aid room where he applied pressure to stop the bleeding, antibiotic ointment to prevent infection, and dry ice to diminish the swelling. Kim stayed with me the whole time, and we were already concocting the funny story we would tell my parents. But as the life guard pressed the dry ice pack to my injury, the plastic busted. My breath caught and I held back a scream as the dry ice leaked out and burned my skin. “I just want to go home,” I cried. I recovered fine, but I never swam again at Kim's pool. 
So, kids, if you're reading this: please don't go down a pool slide headfirst!

Exploring the Florida Keys

The last time I visited the Keys I was a child. The biggest thing I remember is the Seven Mile Bridge -- I thought that bridge would never end!

This time I traveled with my Best Traveling Companion Ever (aka Paul). We flew into Miami, rented a car, and stayed in a waterfront home on Grassy Key (north end of Marathon in the Middle Keys) so that we could adventure both north and south from there. Also, we managed to miss the snow scare in Alabama, so our timing couldn't have been better!

We took an airboat tour (courtesy of Gator Park) of the Everglades National Park. We saw gators, turtles, and all kinds of birds!

We saw so many gorgeous sunsets... many right from our rental home's back door.


We learned about dolphin rescue at Dolphin Research Center, where they provide forever homes for animals in need -- animals who could not survive in the wild. It was touching to hear the way the trainers and all the employees cared about and were completely devoted to these dolphins and sea lions. I loved hearing about all of the different personalities. This is a nonprofit organization doing good work for the world.

We toured Key West. (Of course!) It made me feel close to my father, who traveled to Key West not long before he died. I loved thinking of us seeing the same things, walking the same pathways.

We met Hemingway's (55) cats at his former home - many of the cats are polydactyl (six-toed!).
Humphrey Bogart (I think!
All the cats are named after
movie stars from the
Golden Age of Hollywood.)
We ate LOTS of seafood... and a little key lime pie (of course!). Our favorite restaurants: Green Turtle Inn in Islamorada and Burdine's in Marathon.

Also: these key lime muffins from Hariette's in Key Largo... almost worth the trip all by themselves! (And so good that Paul actually ate his dessert first, which, if you know Paul, is saying something! :)

key lime muffin
And best of all? We took a sea plane out to Dry Tortugas National Park, where we explored Fort Jefferson, admired a gazillion shells, spotted so many birds, and dipped our toes in that glorious turquoise water.

It was a wonderful trip, but boy is good to be home!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHAIR

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Tabatha (whose posts alwaysalways inspire me!) at The Opposite of Indifference for Roundup. Is it really February?? 
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.  Thank you, friends, for reading and responding! You're helping me keep going. :)

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?
In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.
Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.
CHAIR

First: a poem from ARTSPEAK! 2015:

 This Old Chair
<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> </div></div>--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>- after “Sewing Chair” by Dorothy Johnson</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me, wait</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">for you?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">That's not</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">all I do.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Turn me</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">upside down</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">and you'll</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">find proof:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I am also</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Spider's</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">roof.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>- Irene Latham</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><b>... and now today's writing:</b><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I was a picky eater as a child. Maybe this wouldn't have been a big deal in some families, but in mine the rule was “clean your plate.” There were times when I couldn't – or wouldn't – clean my plate. (Word choice there is completely dependent upon whether you were asking me or my mom!) On those nights, while my siblings played board games or watched a family movie, I spent the evening hours sitting at the kitchen table staring at the green beans (or whatever) on my plate. On those nights the hard ladder-backed kitchen chair became a boat or cave or spaceship. I'd push the chair back from the table and bring my knees up to my chest – a habit I still have today. I imagined and dreamed my way through those awful hours. Eventually the chair would become a chair again, harder than ever, so I would quickly stuff those green beans into my cheeks and dash for the bathroom, where I would spit them into the toilet. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">---------</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For those of you out there who may be parenting picky eaters, I can tell you that this practice did NOT help me learn to love my vegetables. It DID make me super-compassionate when it came to raising my own picky eaters! The “clean your plate” rule was not one we chose to continue. And these days I'll eat pretty much anything – though I still don't lovelovelove green beans. :)</div><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br />--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-------------</div>Finally, a poem that appears in my out-of-print book of poems for adults <a href="https://www.irenelatham.com/color_rev... COLOR OF LOST ROOMS</a>, which includes a number of ekphrastic poems. Now you know exactly where this one comes from... and how poetry is often a blend of fact and imagination.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E6G521YgjG..." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="816" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-E6G521YgjG..." width="308" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> </div>--> <div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Alligator Pears in a Basket</b></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><b>- </b></span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">after the painting by Georgia O’Keefe</i></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Eat</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">, his mother said. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You must</i></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>clean your plate.</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He crossed</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">his arms and clamped his teeth.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sat at the table for hours.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">By bedtime his mother’s eyes</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">blazed. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You can’t make me</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">, </span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the boy said, and the pears</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">came alive, their jaws snapping,</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">their leathery skin slapping</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">against his tender cheek.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then they all went to bed:</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">the pears, the plate, the mother</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and finally, the boy. His eyes</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">half-closed, ever watchful.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><i>- Irene Latham</i></span></div><i></i>

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CAR

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?Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.


CAR
The Dykes Family, 1975As a family of seven, transportation was always an issue for us. I only ever remember us having a van (not a car) – and those never seemed to hold up for very long. (These were the days of the “maxi-van,” before minivans were invented.) One year, when it became necessary for us to get a new van, our parents – against their better judgment – took us with them to the dealership. Maybe it was a sudden thing, in that the old van stopped working, and we had to get a new van that very day. Probably there was no place else for us to go.
In the parking lot of the Dodge dealership while we waited for the salesperson to collect some keys, our father instructed us to keep quiet. We were to be “seen and not heard,” so that he could handle the negotiations. He expressly forbid us to voice our opinions about any of the vans were about to see.
We all nodded and promised to keep our mouths zipped. It was exciting to move in and out of new-to-us vehicles, some of them still sporting their new-van smell. Perhaps we were able to keep our promise through some of the vans, but when we got to a brown custom van complete with plush tan seats and beige curtains on the windows, we just couldn't stop ourselves from gushing. I mean, there was a sun roof. In a van! We'd never experienced such luxury. We happily settled into our spots, adjusting armrests and pulling levers, chattering the whole time about how much we loved it, and how much we wanted it.
As my father frowned, the salesman beamed. He had us just where he wanted us. And yes, we came home with that van. How our father scolded us! But it didn't matter. The van was ours – though I'm pretty sure the curtains didn't last more than a few months before a screw came loose or a rod broke. We never once used the sun roof. But we sure went a lot of places in that van! And when the time came to replace it, our father went to the dealership alone.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CAKE

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?Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

CAKE

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> </div>--> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Grandma Dykes was famous for her cakes – and for all her cooking. She was one of those brides who didn't know how to cook AT ALL when she got married, but boy did she master the skills over the course of her lifetime! It helps that she really enjoyed cooking, and nothing pleased her more than feeding <i>us</i>, her most beloved. By “us,” I mean my granddaddy, my father (their only child), and me and my siblings.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n91J6Jv77r..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1210" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n91J6Jv77r..." width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">some of Grandma's recipes<br />(in her handwriting)</td></tr></tbody></table>Each year for Christmas she would make a four layer <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/p... cake </a>that she iced with butter pecan frosting and wrapped in foil and froze... before sending it in the mail from her home in Port St. Joe, Florida, to us in Louisiana or Alabama, or wherever we were living at the time. On the day the cake arrived, we'd marvel at how it was still cold! Then my mom would proceed to peel away the foil and place it on a cake plate.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Grandma Dykes also made a <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/p... cream pound cake</a> (always in a tube pan) that was the perfect blend of crisp on the outside and moist and dense on the inside... I've used her recipe for years and even gave it to Mrs. Nelson in my book LEAVING GEE'S BEND.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Another favorite was <a href="https://www.coca-colacompany.com/stor... cake</a> – a chocolatey, moist, pecan creation which she made because my mother (her daughter-in-law) loved it. We all loved it! And now <i>I</i>make this cake for my mother.</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://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxmvjz-E4Y..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nxmvjz-E4Y..." width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Dykes' cake keeper</td></tr></tbody></table>When Grandma Dykes died, my father's wife (not my mother) gave me the cake keeper that Grandma always used and kept stored on top of the refrigerator whenever it was empty of cake. It was round and aluminum, with the word “cake” printed on the side – exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to find at a grandmother's house! As much as I wanted to keep it, I knew it belonged to my sister Lynn, who is named for Grandma Dykes. Now, when I visit my sister in her home, I love seeing that cake keeper perched on top of her china cabinet, like it was meant to be there all along.</div><b></b>