Category: Creativity

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On the Day I Was Born – July 8

During the last week of June, I had the amazing privilege of traveling to Portland, Oregon to visit the archives of the poet William Stafford at Lewis and Clark College as part of The Stafford Challenge Poetry Conference. I learned that people often ask to see the actual hand-written notes and poems that he wrote on the day they were born, and so I did the same.

Archive Haiku

William Stafford:

I visited his archives …

my birthdate writing:


Here is my best transcription of this page from his handwritten notes on the yellow pages in the photos that follow, below.

8 July

We thought leaves waited, without
winds. But their work flourished, then.
Lost as leaves are, in the fall, each
has all its guarantee: sun, air wind.
I take the fall.

Maybe someone found all this language
the world brings. Not a snake but a stream
through the air, or maybe little waves
nothing holds — anyone in this town fear
news the ants work on? News peeled off
the yellow car that left here this morning; news
trotted among sounds, under the bridge. I felt
the snake across my feet in the bus. And watched
the conductor act calm, as required by the state.
The fox I stole gnawed : inside my coat. Men
act so free: “No fox I stole has ever bitten
me.”

Forsaken liberal, I stamped the curb:
every cause I ever found

has had my vote. Now the animals
prefer their keepers to the kept or freed.


8 July 1966

Seasons mark the brain: a shaft
of spring has always hurt what winter
held. I see beyond the plate and
feel the foxes well. No angel, no
prophet rides with me, but animals.
Keepers are enough too and they live well;
To feed that fox I commit to walk through hell.

every day
Lizards and liberals both low and

adaptable, come back to their holes and love it there.

Such great song scared the birds;

they tiptoe – winged away

Pascal fell through a million windows,
a little kid too smart to be saved by
stupidity.

Though the handwriting is challenging to decipher and does leave some questions, I hang on the first two lines:

We thought leaves waited, without
winds. But their work flourished, then.

Yes, these periods of waiting often seem frustrating, challenging, and even pointless at times. Some days we feel we are merely holding on. But we wait, knowing our work is flourishing. Knowing that the best is yet to come.

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Chapel Allium

After six days of travel to Portland, Oregon for a poetry conference at Lewis and Clark College with Stafford Challenge members, I am back home in Georgia and attempting to transition back to my regular time zone. I made myself get up at 5:45 this morning for coffee and yogurt and a snuggle with my schnoodles. I stepped outside to check the world, and the birdsong assures me the harmony on the farm is still in tune here in the quiet hush of the rural countryside.

It’s my first day home being off contract for summer before I officially retire in August, and I have two goals: write/post, and get myself back in the zone. I might push it and do a load of laundry just to have clean socks. Memories are swimming in my head, full of the love and exhaustion of travel – the best kind of tired that tells you you made the most of it all and came home changed in a way that only travel and friends can change you. How truly Steinbeck the journey, the best kind that leaves you stumbling around with a cup of strong coffee trying to recover from one trip while simultaneously and secretly plotting the next.

But whatever the day holds, my heart and mind will carry all the fresh air and green trees and memories of the Pacific Northwest. I’ll read poems and remember my time there, holding it all close with a foot on both sides of the country today.

Allium at Lewis and Clark College near Agnes Flanagan Chapel – Portland, Oregon

Be

there’s a bench beyond the allium

nestled beneath a tree

beside the cobbled sidewalk

come sit and be with me!

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June Open Write Day 3: Souvenirs

Today’s host of the third and final day of the June Open Write at http://www.ethicalela.com is Leilya Pitre of Louisiana. She inspires us to write poems about the souvenirs we bring home from trips. You can read her full prompt here, along with the poems of others and the feedback given. I have written mine today as I await a flight home from Portland, Oregon to rural Georgia, fresh on the heels of a delightful writer’s conference trip with my friend Glenda Funk of Idaho. I’ve used the style of Ada Limon’s Instructions On Not Giving Up.

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Horsetail Falls

Souvenirs from Portland, Oregon

more than the t-shirts and canvas bags

more than the keychains and shot glasses

more than that obnoxious prayer request card

cussing to God about the souls

of His other children

in the pew back compartment

someone intentionally forgot

to put in the offering plate

that I claimed as a bookmark

so I can pray the same sort

of prayer for Sam, Gavin, Kellen and all of us sinful humans

(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)

more than the signed books of other writers

more than the leather shopping treasures,

it’s the photographs that really get to me

that keep the memories alive

stances of trees, slants of slate rooftops,

smiles of strangers and those we love

(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)

standing beneath waterfalls

in the bend of the rainbow

God’s promise of hope for all His children

cloaked in the prayer shawl of His grace and mercy

(yes, all of us !*(^ing %*m#@$$es)

yes, I’ll take them. I’ll take them all.

Actual prayer request found in a church pew back in Portland, Oregon
Bridal Veil Falls

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Summer Travel Companion for the Open Write

Leilya Pitre of Louisiana is our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the June Open Write. She asks us to write a poem about the person we would choose to ask to go traveling with us this summer if we could take someone. I’ve been awaiting the release of Lauren Hough’s Monster of a Land for months. She takes a Travels with Charley journey, modern day, with her dog, Woody Guthrie. So instead of pre-ordering, I waited to buy the book at Powell’s City of Books in Portland. This bookstore is an entire city block and when you’re waiting on a book about a monster of a land, it makes sense to buy it in the monster of all bookstores.

Let’s Go, Lauren Hough!

a Steinbeck-like is Lauren Hough
an author I would ask to go
to join my summer travel band
to see this Monster of a Land!

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Taking Notes in Portland, Oregon

I’m in Portland, Oregon for the Stafford Challenge Poetry Conference, and Glenda Funk and I have been out meeting people on the streets, taking notes of what to do while we are here.

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Glenda, Ellie, Me

Taking Notes

Glenda and I went people-ing

on the streets of Portland

asking folks

What’s your favorite thing

to do here?

then smiled for quick snapshots

to remember these kind souls

Ellie likes parks ~ waterfalls and Pioneer Square

Josh likes fishing ~ salmon and rivers

Joe likes running and showed us to a garden

Cheriss likes staying home (she attracts dead ancestors)

Arthur yawns ~ he likes sleeping

Higinio likes remembering Venezuela and Miami

Librarian poet Leslie likes reading and eating Ethiopian food

Matt likes adventure ~ camping on Mt. Hood (he has a feral cat named Big O)

Scott’s favorite thing to do is eat

we are all a human tribe~

how can we not be filled with

such a vast love,

this diverse and unified living of life?

Cheriss, Me, Glenda
Me, Josh, Glenda
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Family Pictures: Childhood Kitchen Table

Here we are, my brother Ken and I, November 1972. He was turning 1, and I was helping him celebrate at the round oak kitchen table where we shared so many childhood memories. Ken was the non-morning kid who hid behind the cereal box, daring anyone to look at him in the mornings and promptly growling at those who stole a glance. He turned out just great – – I couldn’t ask for a better brother, and we are blessed to be close siblings in adulthood when so many brothers and sisters aren’t. Even though he was the proverbial Grinch of his morning domain as a child, today he is in the top two percent of the most loving and giving adults I know. Kind, smart, and cool under pressure – – a very level-headed person, especially compared to me – – not always kind, not nearly as smart, and certainly not cool under pressure. Level-headed is debatable.

We’ve spent the past year cleaning out our parents’ home of long-held treasures (and some we found in seven storage units that were picked up at estate sales along the way for a retirement plan antique store they never quite got off the ground once Mom got sick). Somehow, I was fortunate enough to end up with our childhood breakfast table, and while not every memory right now with Dad brings warmth because there is a certain amount of anger in all the grief, the table is the ONE piece of furniture I can look at and actually smile and remember nothing but the happy times, including the way my brother grumped to the table in his “footer things,” pajamas with feet, slumped his blanket up in the chair, climbed up and moved “his” cereal box into a shield position like a morning cheerfulness boundary between him and the morning people family he was born into. It was an unspoken rule in our home to look anywhere but in his direction, because he was vigilantly guarding the air space on his side of the table, like a soldier in a trench with a growl gun propped and loaded.

And I think of all the coffee and conversations, decisions, laughter and tears throughout the years.

Table Tanka

today I sit here

with family history

faded memories

running my fingers along

the edge of present and past

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Family Pictures: Christmas Flower Show

Sometimes the picture speaks in ways we cannot. I’ve been sifting through tubs and tubs of family photos, digitizing them and organizing them in folders to share with family members who, like me, would rather have them on a flash drive than taking up prime real estate in photo albums in the back of the attic. In some cases, I’m sharing via Facebook Messenger if I find those taken with friends who would enjoy the throwback. On a random weekday morning last week, I sent this one to my childhood friend Nancy so we could both remember the years we created floral arrangements with the help of our mothers as we competed in the annual Garden Club’s Christmas Flower Shows.

My friend Nancy (right) and me at the annual Garden Club’s Christmas Flower Show, early 1970s

I wasn’t expecting this response, and it showed me how the power of the photograph can often reach back through the years and find the places that older generations can remember – – like trying to scratch an itch that you never quite can find, and then suddenly you find the sweet spot of relief. This is Nancy’s reply:

Screenshot

How to Make it Count

you’ve bought the shoes

you’ve worn the dress

you’ve taken the trip

now….

send the picture

tell the story

share the memories

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Family Pictures: Chick Fil A Drive Thru Night

On Chick Fil A Dogs-in-the-Drive-Thru night, we loaded up Boo Radley and Ollie and took them to get a free bandana, while supplies lasted. And supplies lasted long enough for us to get there between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. to snag two.

Boo Radley
Ollie
Well-behaved, loving Schnoodle
Behaviorally challenged Schnoodle with T-Rex tendencies

Instructions for Dogs-In-The-Drive-Thru Night

ask dogs if they “wanna go” and when

they act a fool and can’t contain themselves

put them in the car to go adventuring

be sure to put the windows down for Ollie

so he doesn’t get car sick

let them ride with ears flapping all the way

to Chick Fil A and assure the worker taking the order

that Boo is in fact an aberrant out-of-control schnoodle

and not a small T-Rex left over from the Jurassic era

then order chicken nuggets to share with the heathens for dinner

pull up and get the free bandanas that have now

managed to cost you your entire peaceful evening

along with any sanity you had before embarking on

the “adventure” for the “free” bandana along with half

your nuggets and fries then roll up the windows

and go home, muttering over and over again

we’re never doing this again……

but smile that you got the pictures of the one time

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Family Photos: Noah’s Ark

Then God told Noah, “Come out of the ark. And bring the animals with you so they can be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” So Noah and his family came out with all the animals (Genesis 8:13–19).

Mallory, 1989, holding a Calico Critter in the ark

When my children were little, my parents had wooden arks and every kind of animal you could imagine to go on the ark. They didn’t limit ark tickets to animals, either; they weren’t concerned about the Biblical accuracy of the species. We were an inclusive family who had the entire set of the California Raisins and Disney characters (and I think we really did have 101 Dalmatians) from Happy Meal toys, Calico Critters, Where’s Waldo figures, and even Pac Man pairs – in addition to the standard elephants, giraffes, monkeys and so forth on our arks.

The only things my oldest daughter wanted from the house when we were cleaning were the California Raisins. I managed to find several and send them to her, and today they sit in her home in Henderson, Nevada. These memories of ark days still bring joy to her, and in the photos I can see the grandmother/granddaughter bond of love as they chat and spend time – something my mother always did well. Mom could have taught a Masterclass on embracing all kinds, even those who may not appear to belong on the ark. She made room, just like I’m sure Noah did back in the day.

Calling All Animals: A Noah’s Ark Golden Hinge Poem

so Noah and his family came out with all the animals

Noah brought animals of all kinds ~ California Raisins, 101 Dalmatians,

and even PacMan and Waldo – – all kinds, not just

his own ideas of what was ordinary…..he surely looked at all his own

family and knew all their ways of belonging, then

came to decide that all creatures, even those

out of left field or from off the beaten path, and all those

with their own quirks and all their issues, yes,

all ….all….all….should be welcomed onto

the ark, for all of God’s children are, truly,

animals, after all……

Mallory playing with the arks, around 1990 (a California Raisin is wearing a Santa hat directly above her right hand)
Mallory and Mimi (my mother) talking, while my son Marshall holds Happy Meal toy Anne-Marie from All Dogs Go to Heaven
Mallory, smiling over all God’s animals

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Family Pictures: Seamstresses

My grandmother Haynes was a master seamstress. Georgia Lee Harris Haynes made most all her own clothes until her later years, except the Toughskins jeans for her wild-acting boys. Even Sears and Roebuck had to double down on strong threads for boys who ran the dirt roads of rural Georgia barefoot, fishing in creeks and sliding into the water on rocks. It was a skill that served all homemakers well back in those days, and as children of the Great Depression, these were the women who hoarded spools of thread like they were silver. Understandably. I would have been one of them, too, holding tight to everything I had.

Georgia Lee and W.F. Haynes, Sr. on a front porch in Waycross, Georgia late 1930s

I don’t remember my grandmother Jones ever sewing anything, but my mother sure did! She made us matching dresses throughout the years just like Maria and all those children in The Sound of Music wearing the living room drapes all through the town. She made most of her formals, including her own wedding dress and veil. Instead of carrying a bouquet, she fashioned a Bible with ribbons streaming down – the one thing I saved along with her wedding album.

And she tried to teach her daughter to do so much more than buttons and shoulder ties and elastic waists and bias tape for reversible wraparound skirts, but I threw my hands up in holy hell at zippers and cried real tears of frustration just like I did with piano lessons and the clarinet, and that was that. I made it through basic sewing training, but I never became a master seamstress in the footprints of the women before me. Now, I mostly make flannel rag quilts for my grandchildren on my mother’s prized Bernina machine, one of her most beloved treasures, and I think she’d be proud to know that it’s currently being used to make a stars-and-stripes-and narwhals quilt for her great grandson due to arrive July 4, 2026.

Miriam Ruth Jones marrying W.F. Haynes, Jr., on Saturday, June 20, 1964 – Waycross, Georgia
Easter Outfits Sunday, April 11, 1971 – Reynolds, Georgia – Mom was just a couple months pregnant with my brother, Ken, who would arrive in November
Christmas 1974, Blackshear, Georgia at my Jones Grandparents’ house in front of the tinsel tree in matching dresses

Sewing Zeno

wraparound skirts or buttonholes,

shoulder ties not

a hard

sell

elastic waists

serve me

well

I flee fast from

zipper

hell