Irene Latham's Blog, page 53

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>

(Poetry Is) Practically Perfect in Every Way

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Tara at Going to Walden for Roundup.

This past weekend we saw MARY POPPINS RETURNS.  Mary Poppins, as you may recall, gazes upon her reflection and declares herself, "practically perfect in every way."

And she is!

I love how that kind of vanity coexists with her way of giving others exactly what they need, yet not needing any sort of credit for it. Mary Poppins just does what she does, and then poof, a door opens, and she lifts that umbrella and floats away on a breeze.

Magic!

The new movie is full of magic, too. There was one scene in particular that made me think:,poetry! Mary Poppins takes the children to visit her cousin (played by Meryl Streep) whose world, unfortunately, is "turning turtle." CLICK HERE for the fun, beautiful audio of the song. Ultimately it's about changing perspectives - how looking at the world differently can impact your life. Of course this is true for poetry as well... allow your world to turn turtle, and your poems (and readers!) will thank you!

And now a poem for 2 Marys: Poppins & Oliver. Can you find the bits in the poem for each Mary?


This Poem is Practically Perfectfor Mary Poppins & Mary Oliver
This poem knowsthe worst thingis a mind with its windows jammed shut –
that's why it isn't afraidto go flipsy-flopsy.Is there any better wayto get out of a rut?
This poem peers into mirrorsand smilesat what it sees.
It floats across daysand continents –through sleet or heat –with a cloud's ease.
This poem wakes earlyand takes twilight hikes.It finds musicin the moon – MOON Moon mooooon.
Whatever your troubles,this poem is hereto tell you:things will get bettersoon.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BUTTON

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br /><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yaedzscx6F..." 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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yaedzscx6F..." width="213" /></a><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;">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> 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;">Here are January's prompts: <i>apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.</i></div><br /><b>BUTTON</b></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; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-72pKnuYG_K..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-72pKnuYG_K..." width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">jar of buttons in my Purple Horse<br />Poetry Studio & Music Room</td></tr></tbody></table>As a child I often accompanied my mother to the fabric store. (<a href="https://irenelatham.blogspot.com/2014... HERE</a> to read a poem from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Brown-Girl-Dre... DREAMING by Jacqueline Woodson</a> about the magic of the fabric store.) I delighted in the mad array of color, the stacks of fabric in all textures and colors, the rainbowed racks of spooled thread and shiny bolts of ribbon and lace. Whatever we found, however plain, I knew my mother would create something beautiful out of it. I listened as she read aloud the recommended amounts of fabric on the back of the pattern envelopes and then proceeded to make her own calculations. She took great pride in her ability to conjure creative arrangements of the pattern pieces so that she might purchase less material. I learned from her to not just follow a pattern, but to think it out for myself. I also learned to save my scraps. You can create some beautiful, useful things out of scraps! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Something else my mother taught me was that one quick and inexpensive way to freshen up a blouse or dress is to change out the buttons. While the fabric was being cut, she'd send me to that wide wall of buttons to make my choice. The toughest part was choosing just one! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Such a small thing, a button. Yet so valuable. My mother was the one who taught me how to sew on a button – a skill that has served me well throughout my life. Even now my adult sons will bring me shirts or shorts that need a button replaced. (I also taught them to sew on buttons, but when they ask, I am happy to help!) These days I keep a jar of buttons, just for the beauty of them. I don't think we've ever discussed it, but I am sure my mother approves.</div><br />

Memory-Keeping, Memory-Making

Scrapbook Weekend 2019:
Irene, Mama, Lynn
(wearing Miss Fancy cricut
t-shirts made by Lynn!)Since the year 2000 (when we first got involved with Creative Memories), my sister, mother and I have gathered annually (or some years bi-annually) for a weekend of together-ness.

We call this our "scrapbook weekend," because for many years our focus was on scrapbooking, and those weekends often included other family members who also enjoyed scrapbooking.

But, as our lives have changed, our needs have changed, too. These days we like it to be just the three of us. We  journey from 3 different states, and we bring whatever creative projects we're currently working on -- maybe it's learning to use the cricut machine or how to transfer photos from a phone to a new computer. Maybe it's a sewing project. Or maybe it's scrapbooking. :)

The important thing is sharing the time together, renewing those bonds. Remembering, and making new memories. Living our poems together, at least for a weekend... that somehow, miraculously, carries us through the year.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BROOM

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure and visit Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for Roundup!
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.

BROOM
Before I get to my response, here is a broom poem by one of my favorites, Valerie Worth:

broom

It starts
Out so well,
Its fresh
Gold straws
Cut square,
Flared wide,

But so often
Ends otherwise,
With weary
Wan bristles
All stubbed
To one side.

- Valerie Worth


I guess I don't have a lot of "broom" memories, because the first thing that comes to my mind is a book with a broom: OLD BLACK WITCH! by Wende and Harry Devlin.

I loved this book. Basically it's about a boy named Nicky. He and his mom move into an old house they hope to turn into a B&B, only to find it's already occupied -- by a witch! The witch's broom features heavily in the story. :) With that in mind, I wrote the following poem:


Broom
Mama sayssweep sweep sweepto keep cobwebs at bay
sweep sweep sweepto whisk crumbs away.
But I'd ratherleap leap leap –
RIDE that broom!And maybe, just maybe
Varoom, kaboom!Zip like that old black witchall around the room.
- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BOAT

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br /><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-3ZFfUMP..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-3ZFfUMP..." width="213" /></a>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> 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;">Here are January's prompts: <i>apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.</i><br /><i><br /></i><div></div></div><b>BOAT</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Grandaddy Dykes had a boat, but most of my memories are of it covered and parked between the house Granddaddy built with his own hands and the sandy vegetable garden he somehow coaxed to bring forth the juiciest Better Boy tomatoes you've ever put in your mouth. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Living in Port St. Joe, Florida meant not just Gulf fishing, but also canal fishing. That's what I remember best: not trips out in the boat, but shore fishing. (Surely there were some trips out in the boat! But at this moment I cannot recall.) We girls couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 when he taught us to bait our own hooks with worms. I have always been a tenderhearted animal lover, but I don't remember feeling pangs for the worms, or for the fish. It was what we were there for: to catch fish for Granddaddy to clean and fry up in the deep fryer he kept in the yard. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My father would probably say this is the “Florida cracker” in me – a strength and practicality inherited from my pioneering ancestors. When you're fishing for your supper, it's easier to overlook any discomfort the worm may experience and simply thank the worm for its service. Which we did! We even kissed those worms sometimes, inviting their earthy dirt scent to mingle with the wild salty air – for me, the aroma of childhood and summer and love and home.</div><br />

Fun with MEET MISS FANCY at Avondale Library

Ms. Cass, Irene Latham, Carla Perkins
and Miss Fancy!What a thrill it was for me to launch MEET MISS FANCY at Avondale Library, which sits right next door to the park where Miss Fancy actually lived!

And wow, talk about some amazing librarians. I am so grateful to Carla Perkins and Cassandra Scott (aka Ms. Cass) and everyone else who helped make it a lovely time. There were elephant shaped tea cakes and peanuts and lemonade... and a giant Miss Fancy cut-out on the wall! They've been celebrating Miss Fancy all month, and I am now the proud owner of a Miss Fancy t-shirt, made at the library (thank you, Ms. Cass!!). I can't wait to wear it. I will share pics when I do. :) THANK YOU, Avondale Library!

And now, a little about the program...


Jim Baggett, the archivist who knows everything there is to know about Miss Fancy and who was essential to my writing process for this book, was there to share slides and stories about Miss Fancy.

Martha CouncilMartha Council, who is in charge of the campaign to Save the Queen by erecting a life size sculpture of her at Avondale Park, shared a little about her group's efforts. More on this soon!

Jim and Liz Reed were there, too, for moral support (as ever), and to share about the making of the short (10 minute) documentary film about Miss Fancy, which features residents sharing stories about their experiences with Miss Fancy, or the stories shared with them by older family members.

So many thanks to the friends who showed up, from both near and far... Diane, Linda, Joan, Jo, Tay, Marie (who sold books!)... and new friends, too! Your support and enthusiasm means so much! Thank you!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BIRTHDAY

<!-- @page { margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } </style> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4egdf-ORiu..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1340" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4egdf-ORiu..." width="267" /></a></div>First: Congratulations to Lisa Bowen, the winner of the "Elephant Book Pack"<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="5a7938913" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/disp..." id="rcwidget_gpglnn0m" rel="nofollow"> MEET MISS FANCY giveaway</a>! It includes the following titles:<br /><br />National Geographic Readers: Elephants by Avery Hurt<br />Meet Miss Fancy by Irene Latham<br />The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo<br />The Story of Babar by jean de Brunhoff<br />Horton Hatches the Egg by Dr. Seuss<br />Dear Wandering Wildebeest by Irene Latham<br />Chained by Lynne Kelley<br />Cousins of Clouds: Elephant Poems by Tracie Vaughn Zimmer<br />Eavesdropping on Elephants by Patricia Newman<br />Don't Feed the Boy by Irene Latham<br />An Elephant in the Garden by Michael Morpurgo<br /><br />So many thanks to all who entered! I'll be sharing about Sunday's launch event tomorrow. :) And now for today's edition of The Butterfly Hours...<br /><br /><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0.08in;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-3ZFfUMP..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UF-3ZFfUMP..." width="213" /></a>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> 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;">Here are January's prompts: <i>apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.</i><br /><div><i><br /></i></div></div><b>BIRTHDAY</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Of all my childhood birthdays, the one that stands out most is the year I turned 6. We were living in Lakeland, Florida, at the time, and the tradition was that age 6 was the year we got our first visit to Disney World. I was a huge fan of Cinderella, so I couldn't wait to see the castle. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At my birthday party (which was attended by family and perhaps a few friends, though I cannot now remember), my mom presented me with a Cinderella birthday layer cake. She'd baked it in round pans and decorated it herself (as she did all our birthday cakes). It had white icing, and perched on top was a plastic horse-drawn carriage with a plastic Cinderella in her classic blue ballgown. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I blew out my candles I wished for a doll that came in a mint green trunk about 2 feet long. When you opened the trunk the doll slept on a blanket on one side, and on the other side was a small wardrobe with hanging outfits and a drawer of accessories. I don't remember where I first saw the doll-in-trunk – perhaps TV? -- just that I wanted it so very badly! I was always a baby-doll kind of girl and never once played with Barbies. I was pretty much born a mother-in-training! </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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uU_Jz03wWi..." imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="301" data-original-width="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uU_Jz03wWi..." /></a></div>Everyone watched as I opened my gifts, and finally I came to the last one. I ripped off the paper, and there it was, the mint green trunk with doll safely nestled inside with all her gear. I <i>was</i> Cinderella that day. And even though Cinderella has lost popularity as a Disney princess, she's still my favorite. She worked hard. She talked to animals. Despite the cruelty she experienced, she still believed in miracles. When she had a chance for an adventure, for something different -- she took it. In so many ways she saved herself. And yes, at the end of the day there was a man with whom to share her life. That's pretty darn magical, if you ask me.</div><br />