Patchwork Prose and Verse
Many thanks to my friend and fellow writer Margaret Gibson Simon from Louisiana for introducing the elfchen poem, written in five lines where the first line has one word, the second two, the third three, the fourth four, and the fifth one. Our 3 rescue Schnoodles went for grooming this week and smiled for the camera (well, for the treats dangling in front of the camera) on our front porch.
Valentine
Schnoodles, groomed
heart neckerchiefs knotted
three sweeties smile (for
treaties)
It’s my daughter’s 37th birthday, and I wrote an acrostic poem for her today. She’s celebrating on a trip to Arizona with her boyfriend, and they’re enjoying their time together, exploring the sights!
My daughter’s birthday
Arizona gift trip
Loving the cactus desert weather
Living the good side of life
Out for adventure
Rock-hounding enthusiast
Youthfully energetic
*She sent me this picture of a random cactus with this explanation: “We stopped for a wee and a fill up. This cactus was at the gas station. We’re 20 minutes from Tucson.”Classic Mallory text. I’m so happy that she is celebrating her birthday today!
Our host today for the fifth day of January’s Open Write at www.ethicalela.com is Dr. Leilya Pitre of Louisiana, who inspires us to write Naani poems. Nanni poems are 4 lines of any topic, with 20-25 syllables. She challenged us to look to the texts on our phones to find a poem.
Naani Goat
William the goat
was a character.
The Sapelo cabin is a story.
The fireplace remains.
Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for Day 3 of the 5-day January Open Write is Dave Wooley of Connecticut, who inspires us to write WHY poems in list form, choosing a list of purpose and then explaining it in 10 because reasons. Hop on over and read his prompt and the poems that are born into the world today. I’ve chosen a prose poem to combine with the list poem just because I got rambling a little bit on the bird soapbox……
Why I Watch Birds
Because Eastern Phoebe, see, she’s the forest drunk and she hiccups and calls her own name like she’s forgotten who she is and where she’s supposed to be, and she makes me laugh first and then cry later like that time at the Atlanta Braves game when that lost woman looking for her seat stumbled down to the front of an entire section and yelled up to ask if ANYBODY recognized her
Because Brown-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s always in the middle of a domestic dispute telling somebody how it’s gonna be, telling her man he ain’t got a lick of sense and he ain’t coming all up in her tree stirring up no trouble, better carry his ass on out there and find another nest to be a deadbeat dad, and she makes me cheer her strength
Because White-Headed Nuthatch, see, she’s the Social Media Gossip, laughing like an evil circus clown at all the crap she stirs up in the woods, revealing her own true self in the mirror, projecting her sins through the rough-bared face of the forest trees, and she helps me see the weakness and insecurity of people who laugh at others like this
Because Great Horned Owl, see, he’s an all-nighter with all this early morning coffee shop talk across the farm, like he’s an old man sharing some great wisdom when all it is, is a ploy because let’s face it — the man sleeps all day and sheds no light on anything pertinent to school, so why they ever put a cap and gown on him baffles me, and he reminds me not to let his kind fool me
Because Wood Thrush, see, he’s a bird that blends into the scenery, yet his song is the most beautiful of all, kind of like those normal-looking people who step behind a microphone and belt out a song that’ll bring you to tears and give you chills and wonder to yourself, where did that come from? And who else am I underestimating?
Because Eastern Wood-Pewee, see, he’s always answering roll call, saying his name like he’s entered the building and the party can start, like a kid with a bad case of Senioritis who is perpetually late and wants to be sure he’s marked present so he’s not caught skipping
Because Northern Cardinal, see, he’s a woman-whistler, cat-calling at every woman who walks by, calling her pretty, pretty, pretty, just like some will do – some with good intentions, some with not-so-good intentions, but still giving me the gumption to tilt my chin up and carry on with the day
Because Ruby-Throated Hummingbird, see, she will ask for her food and thank me for it, then hover directly a foot from my face and look into my eyes like she’s blessing me with good vibes of peace and joy to feel like I can make a thumbprint-size difference, reminding me that all hope springs forth and wells up from a tug the size of a tiny thimble into a cascading waterfall
It was 13 degrees when I woke up to take the dogs out at 5:15 a.m. For three years now, I have risen well ahead of time to leave for work, just so I can get my daily writing done. My goal time is 6:00 A.I.S* in the living room chair where my lap desk, lamp, and computer are arranged.
I was trying to talk myself out of a shower in this insane cold, but I knew I needed what my husband calls “climatizing” – – water that regulates the body to the normal temperature before heading out into the world to see what the day brings.
Normally, all three dogs get a treat and head back to bed while we get ready, but somehow two of them got shut out of the bedroom and remained in the living room while I took my shower. I heard whining at the door, and when I opened it to go into the living room, Fitz and Ollie made a beeline for the bed to join their brother Boo, who was buried under the covers, snoozing.
That was when I saw it.
Aha! I thought. Making a mess by the couch, I see. No wonder they hung back in the living room.
Not one of our boys wanted to go to the edge of the woods in this cold as they usually do for this kind of business. They’d all three peed and come straight back inside. But not one of them did the other emptying.
I grabbed a paper towel to clean it up, but when I got there, it wasn’t what I thought it was.
This dog mess was a frozen toad.
I picked it up to toss it back out the door and wondered whether it may still be alive. On closer inspection when I flipped it onto its back in my hand, I saw the poor creature struggling to breathe.
My Grandmother Jones would be rolling over in her grave, but I clasped the frigid little thing between my palms to warm it and soon felt a stirring. A muscle stretch. A pulse of life.
But how? I wondered. How had this frozen toad gotten into our house?
I’d brought the plants inside at lunchtime the previous day, ahead of the cold. Perhaps it could have come in that way, but it was far too cold to have slept in the heat of the house. I concluded that it must have been waiting by the door and jumped in when I’d taken the dogs outside.
As I put my socks on, though, it hit me – – the toad had been quite frozen, too stiff to move. There was no way it could have hopped twelve feet from the door to the corner of the couch.
What had happened?
After piecing the possibilities together, my husband and I believe that our toad-loving Fitz brought this little buddy inside and hopped up into his favorite living room resting place on the back of the couch with it, guarding it. That must be why he and Ollie hadn’t come back to bed – they’d been toad watching.
We slowly thawed it out, and I took it to work with me – and to the local coffee shop for a meeting – in a little plastic box with the lid half-cocked and taped shut. At lunchtime, I brought it back and released it right here on the farm so that it could return to its family. Not many Pike County toads can say they were brought back from death and taken out for a morning of work and coffee.
But Lazarus can (thanks to Glenda Funk for suggesting the name).
Back-Again Amphibian Tanka
In the house, a toad
Somehow, in from dark night’s cold
Lazarus, jump forth!
Resurrected Frozen Toad
Back-Again Amphibian
A.I.S., as defined on an episode of the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, means ass in seat.
melatonin dreams
sweet sleep or nightmares?
milligrams matter
It’s always a coin toss. Do I want to get some sleep even with disturbing dreams, or do I want to wake up at 2 a.m. and try to suffer through the day?
I chose the sleep with dreams last night. Ten milligrams brings nightmares, but a five milligram dream is not all that terrible – usually.
In my 5 mg dream, I had been on a cruise ship with my husband’s side of the family, and we’d just returned home when some of us fell ill. And by family, I mean all of the Thursday night dinner crowd: Briar, his dad, his brother and sister-in-law, his son, and me. When two of them tested positive for the flu, some guys in white coats showed up at our door and put us in a van and took us to a medical testing lab to see if we had it, too.
We did.
They took us into a hall, where everyone was lying on the floor waiting on a bed. All the cruise baggage was still there, and each person was lying next to the luggage they brought. I took a picture of this, because I wanted proof they were making us get on the floor.
One by one, each person was taken down the hall when a bed became available.
I pointed to the copy machine I’d brought. Our office really did get a new one recently, and we’d all had to attend the 15-minute training on how the new one works and what not to do to break it. So it seemed logical that I’d taken the new copy machine on the cruise and now had it with me, rolling it around everywhere, even here in the medical facility.
The doctor came to tell me I’d tested positive and that I was being admitted to the hospital, and he had a little laptop that had my entire history on it. ”Well, if I’d seen that you’d taken pain pills when you had your children, I’d have never prescribed them for you. You’re probably only here for the prescription pain meds,” he accused.
This sent me into a fiery rage, and I unleashed on him. I screamed and caused a scene, right next to my copy machine I was pulling around.
“You %@$&@%^,” I yelled, pointing my finger an inch from his nose, making sure everyone in the building could hear me. “Yeah, you in your professional lab coat. I am not here by choice. Your people came and got me and accused me of being sick, and now you’re falsifying documents to say that I am and you’re forcing me into the hospital against my will when I have to go to work tomorrow. I am NOT taking your medicine.”
I find myself so satisfyingly bold in dreams, yet never enough like this in real life.
With that, he motioned to a nurse to come start an IV on me, and I started kicking and flailing my arms.
“What exactly do you do?” he asked.
“I make sure people can read so they have sense. Something you skipped in school. You have no sense. You did not ever get the help you need, and all these people in this facility think you’re a real doctor, but you’re not. You’re here to try to trick us, and you’re sending us to another planet.”
Everyone was staring at me, dumbfounded, and my family was all in a deep sleep, too deep to care. They’d already gotten their IV medicine and were being taken away, one by one.
I moved over behind my copy machine, but suddenly it sprang a handle and wheels and started looking more like a wagon, and one of the male nurses pulled it off to the side where I couldn’t get behind it. I was scared my school was going to charge me for it, and I threatened to sue the nurse for damaging this high dollar equipment.
The nurse didn’t care. No one cared.
They put me on a bed and wheeled me to a chamber.
They made us all get into hyperbaric pods so they could monitor us to be sure we were sleeping the fevers off. The chambers slept 4, with beds all around the edges of a capsule shape. Two kids’ beds were at both short ends, and regular twins were on the edges. You had to step up into the chamber on a little step that dropped down, and it looked a lot like a cross between an Airstream camper and a silver space ship. There were even lights on the thing.
They tried to put me in one with an old lady and a young child, and I saw them asleep and started screaming to wake them up. I screamed in the child’s ear, directly in the ear, thinking the child would cry, but she didn’t.
The door sealed shut like on an airplane, and an engine started revving, and I was beside myself with fear, knowing I was headed to Mars and that no one on this ship knew how to fly it.
I woke up in a sweat at 5 a.m., more ready than ever to go to work.
I didn’t have a copy machine to lug back to the office, and I was not headed to Mars.
I’m cutting back to 2.5 milligrams of Melatonin tonight. I’ll cut the gummy in half and see if I can get to a more manageable and more normal nightmare.
I accepted the challenge thrown at my feet. And by thrown at my feet, I mean the Facebook post stopped my scroll. I clicked on Learn More and read the details. A poem a day for a year, starting January 17. They call it the Stafford Challenge, and registration ends today.
Sounds like my kind of adventure.
I signed up, and my backpack is ready for the year ahead. My computer is charged, my coffee is hot, and my momentum is high. I’m looking around – – where is the inspiration in any writing time? Never farther than a foot away. I see my coffee cup, white with a black butterfly etched in the surface. Me. I see myself – caffeine for the long journey ahead, and the freedom to make it.
I have a Zoom tonight to see what it’s all about, but for today, all I need is my poem.
Ready
wings spread, eyes open
every moment, a story
becomes a poem
wee morning house finch
bedheaded and curious
watching me brush teeth
*** ***
just who’s watching whom?
he was just letting me know
the feeder’s empty
As a Christmas present in 1985, my parents gave me an antique chest of drawers that has needed a facelift for at least two decades now. The date on the back is stamped 1926, and it is made of a dark hardwood. Some of the original knobs fell off, and one drawer needs to be repaired at the bottom. It’s a lovely piece, and the feet resemble the posts on my twin beds that I slept on as a child and that are now pushed together to form a King Size bed. Believe it or not, I still sleep in these beds today with my husband and our three schnoodles.
I couldn’t get rid of the beds. They came out of an old house on Sea Island Georgia, a smaller island off of St. Simons Island, where I lived as a child. The undersides are painted Haint Blue, a common practice on coastal islands in the southeastern United States, rooted in the belief that this color wards off evil spirits and ghosts. Sherwin Williams even has a paint color named Haint Blue. In addition to painting this color under beds, people also paint it onto porch ceilings as well.
I’ve had paint sample colors, paint stripping paste, and all sorts of brushes and tools ready to give some of our furniture a new life for six months now, and I’m finally getting around to the actual work. That Christmas gift from 1985 was at the top of my list, even though my grandmother’s kitchen table started the big avalanche of projects.
This week, I’ve watched about a half dozen YouTube videos and talked with my furniture flipping daughter on how to use chalk paint and all the variations and ideas for using it. I started simple – – with a can of Greige (a Behr paint color cross between grey and beige) and some new black knobs for the chest of drawers. I learned that a quick sanding is all that is needed, and that chalk paint dries in about 30 minutes, allowing a few coats and a complete project finish in an afternoon except for the wax wait time to cure. I used a small furniture roller and got to work.
Before:
After:
I’m lining the drawers with contact paper to give it a fresher look, and moving on to my next project – – a small end table that I use in my reading room for my coffee by my reading chair.
I’ve chosen Sparkling Sage for the table and will finish the top with a white wash.
Let’s get sanding.
One of my daughters flips furniture and has garnered a social media following, sharing what she does in time lapsed videos as she breathes new life into pieces that need a fresh start. I’m always amazed by her before and after photos of the projects she envisions and creates. So when I finally worked up the courage to flip my grandmother’s kitchen table that I’ve had for many years but was scared to refinish for fear I’d mess it all up, I picked up the phone.
“What do I do?” I asked her. My (almost) sister-in-law had suggested chalk paint, and I loved the idea of a modern farmhouse look.
Ansley told me, and I set out to get the things I’d need: an orbital sander with 80 and 220 grit sanding pads, a 180 grit sanding sponge or paper, a can of Behr chalk paint in Farmhouse White, a good name brand chalk paint brush and wax brush, a tub of chalk paint wax and a lint-free rag, a quality 2-inch stain brush that wouldn’t shed bristles, a drop cloth or other floor covering, and a can of stain mixed with polyurethane in a satin finish. I chose a warm pecan color.
I wore a mask and sanded the dark finish off the top with the 80 grit paper outdoors, then wiped it all down and lightly sanded the bottom with a 180 sanding sponge. Back indoors, I lined the floor with paper in case of spills (I’m so glad I did) and painted the bottom part of the table with 3 coats of chalk paint and the top with 3 coats of the pecan stain/poly mix, sanding with the 220 grit in between coats. Although I paid the price of bending down all weekend with a Monday morning backache, I completed the project in two days and now have a whole different kitchen table.
We normally don’t have the table situated with the leaves out, but in the picture above, they’re open for drying and the table is pulled apart into its different sections. I’m letting the table dry for a couple of extra days since the leaves will fold in half and rest with tops touching once I roll them back inside the table and lock it shut.
I can hear my grandmother, Georgia Lee Haynes, cheering her granddaughter Ansley’s skills and choices from Heaven as I stand here in my rural Georgia kitchen between the two of them, one in Heaven and one in Kentucky. I’m the one holding a dripping paintbrush with a splotch of white paint in my hair, standing next to the table that will bridge generations from long ago to many years in the future.
Pull up a chair and let’s have a cup of tea and play a game of dominoes – – and feel free to grab a paintbrush and stay awhile…..the chairs are next.
Common Threads 