Our host at http://www.ethicalela.com for the third day of the July Open Write is Susan Ahlbrand of Indiana, who inspires us to write Venn Diagram poetry today. You can read her full prompt and the poems others have written here, and even try one of your own if you wish.
This is one form that I have never written before today, and honestly I’m not sure I’m coordinated enough to try again. My brain felt like Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta, where all the intersections dance and spin and twirl around and then peel off in different directions like little spinoff tornadoes.
The idea is to play with two completely different concepts or ideas and find the intersecting similarity in the middle section of the diagram, reading vertically.
I could only take a photo of my mess and post it. Other writers in my group are using Canva and making backgrounds beautiful and doing all the creative colors and designs, but I’m over here with an ink pen and an unlined piece of brown paper just trying not to be seen or heard…….
But in the spirit of having some good days of writing and some not-so-good days of writing, here is a day in the life of a writer who at least tries something new and different.
I’m putting back on my work hat after a truly wonderful summer. Today is my first day back on contract, as my district awaits the appointment of a new Superintendent.
And so these hats, as constant as they are, keep life in balance!
Our host for the second day of the July Open Write today is Mo Daley of Illinois, who inspires us to write Fibonacci Sequence Poems. You can read Mo’s prompt and the poems of others here. A Fib is written in six lines:
1 syllable
1 syllable
2 syllables
3 syllables
5 syllables
8 syllables
I love the short forms! I was out way past my bedtime cheering on my favorite baseball team at Truist Park in Atlanta, and then sitting in the horn-blowing traffic where people were actually playing recognizable songs on their car horns when no one was able to even creep out of the parking deck for a lonnnnnggg time. I say all of this to say that this true fib is especially dedicated to my Illinois writing buddy, Mo Daley. Cheers!
Take Me Out to the Ballgame
balls
strikes
homeruns
major leagues~
our Atlanta Braves
……..lost to the Chicago White Sox!
Even though the Braves didn’t win, there was one particular winning moment for me.
It wasn’t the hot dog, even though a hot dog at a ballpark is a grand-slam homerun all by itself, with a cold beer and a bag of Cracker Jack.
It wasn’t walking around the park looking at all the great things to see, either, from the jerseys for sale overhead moving along on a clothes belt similar to a dry cleaner’s, or the Braves Hall of Fame or the tribute to Hank Aaron with the waterfall.
Sometimes, it’s the fans who hit the home runs………Once in a Blue Moon Cheers!Braves Hall of Fame Tribute Wall
All of that was amazing, too, along with the friend who gave us the free tickets to enjoy a night of major league baseball. We saw a few home runs, but none greater than the one hit by a fan – not a player.
What grabbed my heart was the boy with the white jersey in the picture below. He was, perhaps, about 14 years old. At the inning changes, he grabbed the hand of the little fellow in front of him with the blue baseball cap on (a younger brother or cousin, maybe?) who were sitting behind us, and they ran down to try to catch a ball; the players throw a few up into the stands to all the open gloves waiting to catch a real game ball for a minute or so as one team takes the field and the other retreats to their dugout. The older one tried and tried and tried to catch a ball for the younger one. By the seventh inning with no ball, I’d already been praying for three or four of those inning changes – Lord, please let this boy catch a baseball for this little guy.
They returned empty-handed every. single. time, including the time the ball glanced the glove of the young teenager and landed in the hands of someone else.
That was YOUR BALL, one lady encouraged the teenager, when he came back up and sat down after losing one that had been so close.
This became my ballgame. Not the game on the field between the Braves and the White Sox. Here with these two young boys and the quest for a treasured baseball was the game to be won.
And then, as I was watching the game during an inning, my husband nudged me.
Look to your left, he urged.
I turned and watched. A young fan seated in the front rows and his mother brought a game ball up to the top of the section. They passed it right down the row to the young boy who had been so hoping to get a game ball. Then, as they headed back down to their seats, they turned around halfway down the section and waved up, smiling.
In the eyes of one who doesn’t cry often (and almost can’t, officially, with a recent diagnosis of dry eye and a practically unaffordable prescription to go along with it), I felt the welcome tears of gratitude welling as I witnessed this exchange.
That, readers, is American baseball.
Whether your team wins or loses the game, the spirit of winning is most alive and well in the goodness of those who will sacrifice a game ball to sear into the heart of a youngster an unforgettable moment he will carry with him for the rest of his life.
Grand Slam, lady and son! I don’t know who you are, but you won the game for everyone who, like us, had been watching and hoping and praying, cheering for this sideline ballgame.
Atlanta Braves: 5
Chicago White Sox: 6
Baseball fans in Section 116: Faith in Humanity Restored
I might be on my way out of the doghouse. One of our Schnoodles, Fitz, had oral surgery yesterday, and he was having no part of that! He gave me the stink eye as I left him in the capable medical hands of those who could help surgically minimize the symptoms of his CUPS Disease. He’s been suffering from debilitating ulcers in his mouth for a year now, and removing the canines has been part of the plan.
Five teeth later (three additional teeth more than we’d planned), he was ready for pickup at 4 p.m. yesterday.
There was no forgiveness in his eyes whatsoever.
His whole body language made it clear that he was not even close to forgiving me for all I’d put him through yesterday.
And although we’d picked up all the food and held treats after 9 p.m. the night leading up to his procedure, I got a reporting call from the vet saying that the bloodwork indicated he’d had a snack. I told him I didn’t see how – – we’d picked up the bowls and not given any treats at all that morning, and since he sleeps with us, I could only conclude that if he’d eaten anything, he’s got a secret stash somewhere.
Which wouldn’t surprise me. He’s the food bully of the family. Strays from the street learn their ways of food supply survival.
His brothers had completely different reactions when I brought him home with that little cone head of his. Boo Radley was concerned and wanted to be gentle. Ollie, on the other hand, teased Fitz for looking like a bit of a clown.
Fitz’s brothers welcome him home after oral surgery
But here is where I think the forgiveness was found – exactly where it usually is with Fitz: in food.
He’s supposed to be eating wet/canned food, but since we had leftover pizza in the fridge, I heated up the soft crust and cheese and hand-fed him his dinner like I would feed a baby bird. One bite at a time, until he’d had the equivalent of an entire piece of cheeze/pizza crust.
And this morning, he looks a little closer to forgiving me.
I’m not there yet, but I’ll take the baby steps to forgiveness.
Fitz; “Wait, what? Why am I here? I know this place. I don’t like this place.”
CUPS Disease has claimed my dog’s spirit. Canine Ulcerative Periodontal Disease produces painful, life-altering mouth ulcers caused by a reaction to the plaque buildup on a dog’s teeth.
For several months now, Fitz has taken to the underbed and doesn’t want to come out and live life.
This four-legged son of ours is no stranger to medical conditions, either. When we rescued him, he was recovering from a badly broken back leg, and later developed a growth on his back that was a benign tumor – which was surgically removed. He had such bad breath (his top end smelled worse than his bottom end) that when we took him for a dental cleaning, the veterinarian ended up removing eleven rotten teeth. Our mission was to love him and give him the best possible life, so as part of our commitment to treating our animals like family, we have spent a small fortune keeping him healthy.
This morning, I took my soul dog to have his canines removed, which will help reduce the contact between gums and teeth, thus reducing the intensity of the ulcers that he will develop. There is no cure for CUPS Disease, but there are ways of managing the symptoms, and removal of teeth is one.
On our way to the vet this morning, we had a heart-to-heart talk. Fitz made it clear that he wants no part of any of this, but I’m pretty sure I convinced him that it is the right choice, and equally sure that once he feels better in a couple of weeks, he will forgive me for all I have put him through today. I’m thinking I’ll coax forgiveness while he is still on medicine and has no idea what he is saying.
I could tell when I handed him off to the veterinary technician, Fitz was not happy. Just look at that face!
This is my boy who lets NO ONE kiss his mama, who is a fierce and mighty lizard hunter who brings down trophy lizards from the brick walls outside, and who chases off all the deer and wildlife so that they pose no threat to his family. The dog who snaps at his brothers for barking at “his” deer, because it’s “his” job to keep us all safe – and he puts them in their place. The dog who sleeps right next to me so that no night ghouls or goblins or ghosts would even think about coming close to me.
I’m spending some time with one of my grandsons this week, and we’re getting outdoors by day and watching movies, reading, and playing board games by night. Today, we took a walk along our county’s nature trail and did a little bird counting and rock finding before visiting our bookstore on the square to support a local business!
Our time on the nature trail was the one brief window of the day when it was pleasantly cool ~ although it was raining, the canopy of trees gave us a nice umbrella that shielded the rain down to a mere drizzle. During the school year, students frequently participate in identifying trees and shrubs along the path, and often members of the community paint rocks with colorful images and inspirational messages to leave along the trail.
My grandson helped me locate the sounds of bird calls, and we were able to spot a Red-Bellied Woodpecker we’d been hunting by following its song.
Then, on the way, home, we saw a sign for Silver Queen corn grown less than a mile from our home, so we stopped and bought a dozen ears and shucked the ears together on the front porch this afternoon. They went perfectly with our steak, sliced tomatoes, and green peas.
These summer days, though hot and humid in the Georgia heat, are the times of our lives – the peaceful, carefree hours of reading, talking, sharing meals, and embracing the simple pleasures of living.
All except watching 47 Meters Below Uncaged.
This Nana’s heart doesn’t do well with all the stress of a thriller, which I used to absolutely love!
This morning’s plan: sharing a breakfast of cinnamon rolls and coffee at our coffee shop on the town square.
Briar took me to see Air Supply in concert in Evans, Georgia last night. It was fabulous! What an incredible story of these two, who sat next to each other at a singing event and ended up best friends for life and singing partners for a successful musical career!
We’d just left the Gemini Giant on our trip along Route 66 when we rounded a curve and came into a town with motorcycles lined up along the street but no bikers anywhere to be seen.
I was instantly intrigued. We had to stop and check this place out.
“They’re all inside the biker bar,” my brother-in-law explained.
I pretended to be taking pictures of other things, as I sometimes do to disguise my true intentions, in case they were watching me through the window and felt like I was spying on their hangout – – which I was.
“Ah, look!” My brother-in-law announced. “Their secret door.” He pointed.
Sure enough, on closer inspection, there were two doors, not one. Next to the red door that appeared to be the entrance into the Rustic Saloon, there was a second door – – one with a peephole in it to allow a good look at the person seeking to come inside. The red one very clearly said PRIVATE.
All kinds of things started swirling in my mind about what was happening behind those doors at The Rustic Saloon. We’d started making up table stories about situations that left us wondering about things we knew nothing about, so I’d drawn some sketchy concoctions of possibilities, like the workers in Meg Ryan’s bookstore in You’ve Got Mail when they suspect that Frank might be the Unabomber, or that her secret email admirer might be the Rooftop Killer.
Playing shuffleboard wasn’t ever what I envisioned in my mind’s menu of shady things, but apparently that’s what they do in there. After coming home and checking The Rustic Saloon out on the review page on Yelp, I see now why they might want to have that peephole in the door. They’re checking for people with long arms to join their team.
My apologies to all the bikers in there playing an honest game of shuffleboard or darts and having a hamburger and a Coca-Cola. I shouldn’t have thought the worst.
Apologies, too, to the waitress in Illinois who claimed she wasn’t from the small town where we ate lunch and had no idea where the nearest convenience store was – we had quite a novel about her hidden identity written at our table by the time we paid the bill. Our imaginations ran a little wild with all the speculation about the world and its people from time to time.
And in my writer’s mind, I shrug it off. I was just coming up with a few new characters in some different settings, I tell myself.
To prepare for our own trip, I’d been watching YouTube videos of people who had traveled Route 66 and documented their experiences through videos, and that’s how I learned that there is a chunk of the Blarney Stone from Ireland right here in the good ‘ole US of A! There’s a husband and wife team who have a YouTube account called Yankee in the South, and they taught me all sorts of things about Route 66 that the travel books didn’t teach me – – including the bit about this Blarney Stone in Shamrock, Texas!
My brother-in-law kissing the Blarney Stone
Since my brother-in-law and his wife (I call her my sister-in-law, even though he’s the technical in-law) have loved their trips to Ireland, I thought this was worthy of a stop along the route. We had to do a little searching, but we found the Blarney Stone right along Main Street in Blarney Stone Plaza. Sure enough, it was brought here in 1959 after being knocked off the original stone and was ceremoniously installed in the town to bring the luck o’ the Irish to all who kiss it on this side of the pond.
I’m now one of the lucky ones, sprinkled with magical rainbow dust by the invisible leprechaun who dwells within the stone. (Side note: my husband was sitting in the car, waiting for us to return from all the kissing).
Me ~ kissing the Blarney Stone
There are other places to kiss part of the Blarney Stone in the United States, I have learned: Emmetsburg, Iowa; Irish Hills, Michigan; and at Fitzgerald’s Casino Lucky Forest in Reno, Nevada.
If you’re traveling through, make the stop ~ pucker up and luck on up!
We were taking an aerial tramway ride back down from 10, 378 feet above sea level from the summit of Sandia Peak to Albuquerque, New Mexico over the Cibola National Forest when I spotted a hawk that appeared to be riding the cable up to the peak.
How ironic, I thought. I’d been birding at the peak, counting my species and entering them into eBird, using Merlin ID to help lead me to the trees where they sang their identifying birdcalls. I’m always on the lookout for larger birds. I’d seen a Road Runner under a picnic table seeking shade from the brutal heat in Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Texas the day before, and after peering into all the trees and in the air for signs of these majestic soaring birds of prey, here was one comically riding the cable up to the top as I descended.
That’s my mama, I chuckled. She comes to me on wings. A bird in the depths of a canyon one day, and a bird in the heights on a peak the next. Three vultures when I’d prayed for the reassurance of an eagle at her burial.
“Is that a bird riding the cable?” I heard someone ask the tram operator.
“Oh, yes. That’s our resident hawk. He likes to ride the cable,” she explained. “When wildlife below falls beneath the shadow of the tram car, it scares his prey out of hiding. They run, and he swoops down for a fast-food-lunch. Makes his hunting easier.”
He gives the drive-thru a whole new perspective from the avian angle.
He also demonstrates his experience and intelligence. Here’s a bird who has figured out how to let a shadow do his heavy lifting while he sits and waits.
I’m inspired to think of all the times I make things so much harder than they have to be, when perhaps some creative thinking and a little patience would serve me well.
Which may be exactly what Mama was showing me.
On the top of Sandia Peak in Albuquerque, New Mexico
Our buddy Nick celebrated his 66th birthday the week before we drove half of Route 66 from Chicago to Albuquerque. He asked me to send him a few photos of Route 66 signs and to “take notes” to share with him, since he plans to drive Route 66 sometime before he turns 67. I assured him I would take “copious notes” – – which turned into my ChroNICles just for Nick. In case you plan to travel Route 66, these may be of interest to you as well.
We embraced a slow form of travel by only traveling half of the route on this leg of the journey. We flew into Chicago, rented a Ford Explorer one way from Chicago to Albuquerque, and flew home from there. Every point in between was filled with wonder of our nation, so it’s fitting that on this Independence Day as we celebrate America, I can look back and share 12 slices of what I learned along the highways and byways of Route 66.
Take the road trip! There is no better way to celebrate our great nation and to experience the changing landscapes of America than by taking a drive. Ever since I was a child, I have loved going different places to broaden my horizons and explore a variety of cultural flavors! I’d visit a place – Paris, London, Berlin, Orlando, Asheville, Nashville – – thinking I’d seen France, England, Germany, Florida, North Carolina, Tennessee. Boy, was I wrong! Worse: I hadn’t truly “seen” any of those cities, either – just a landmark or two at most. I realize now what John Steinbeck meant when he said, in Travels with Charley, that “We don’t take a trip. A trip takes us.” To see a slice of America by car, watching the changing landscapes from state to state, is the way to experience the diversity of our land and its people. We find it in the roadside diners, in the conversations with waitresses and other travelers.
Get in touch with your inner criminal graffiti artist self with the situation allows! Buy more than one can of spray paint from Wal-Mart in Amarillo, where they keep it locked behind the glass and will have to help you get your colors. Go for the yellow and black, and add the white and pink. Then drive on over to Cadillac Ranch and paint. But do not – I repeat, DO NOT – wear a hat. The wind is so fierce, it’ll lift you off the ground at times and take your hat with it.
Look for the things no one tells you about – There’s a place somewhere near Albuquerque that plays America The Beautiful if you drive along the teeth of the roadway. We missed that. When we start leg #2 in California and drive back to Albuquerque, we will find out where this is and drive on the teeth on the very end of our Route 66 adventure, coming sometime in the next year! We had deep discussions about the things we don’t see.
Stay on the path, but stray from the path, too. Build enough flexibility in your plan to be able to throw it all out and do something spontaneous. We had planned to go to Meramac Caverns, but after going up in the St. Louis Gateway Arch, we wanted to see it from the river, so we took a river cruise instead, then planned a different cavern the next day. We saw signs in Uranus, Missouri for the Uranus Fudge Factory, where they claim that “the best fudge comes from Uranus,” and the t-shirts were too inappropriate to pass up. We built in some iconic landmarks, some quirky stops, some experiences in nature, some retro diners and some ice-cream-for-dinner nights, some chain hotels and some back-in-the-day motels, a peak and a canyon. We wanted the sampler platter of America, and we savored every bite! We were early to bed and early to rise so we could take it all in and still have some energy to enjoy it all.
Keep your eyes peeled for the unexpected – – you just might see it! Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d see a Road Runner and remains of a Mohave Rattlesnake on the trip, but I did! I saw Prairie Dogs, too, and we watched them playing from our room overlooking their playground. The simplest moments turned out to be some of the most memorable ones.
Take the time to talk to the servers! If you’ve never eaten “the special” breakfast in Tulsa, Oklahoma at a hole in the wall cafe with a waitress who’s the Queen of Bling and has a red tattoo of a Q and the shape of diamond right next to her left ear on her cheek to prove it to anyone who doubts it even after seeing the bracelets that line her arm from elbow to wrist and then, when you ask if she’s from Tulsa, she coughs the raspy smoker’s cough and emphatically says, “HELL no, I’ve lived here for 40 years, but I’m from Wisconsin,” as if you’ve offended her, you might want to try it. She may have gotten a few double-takes from some traveling diners, but I realized I was in the midst of my kind of people when I sat down and heard the blatant honesty spew forth from her lips, telling us about a recent storm she’d endured. And talk to April at The Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas over a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. She’s a single mother in her young 20s but knows the whole history of her corner of the world and would climb one of those tall windmills for $56.00 an hour if she could repair them. This is how Steinbeck wrote Travels With Charley – from the lively conversations with his fellow Americans!
Pack light, but bring home some souvenirs and mail some postcards! Memories are the best souvenirs – – photos, journals, blogs, and t-shirts help bring us back to those moments. We have a rule: if it won’t fit in the carry-on and personal bag, it doesn’t come home with us. We pack a 3×3 for a week’s trip – 3 bottoms, 3 tops. That makes 9 outfits and leaves plenty of space for bringing back some new socks, t-shirts, bracelets, and other small things that will fit in our bags.I even found room for a Texas Longhorn and a Highland Bull! I found a turqoise and mother of pearl bracelet in Old Town Albuquerque in a store called Warpath with a red door that reminded me so much of my mother I had to have it. It keeps her on my mind and keeps the memories of the trip close at hand, too.
Wear a great pair of shoes and carry the best water tumbler you can find. My inner hippie couldn’t drive Route 66 without my trusty Birkenstocks, but for getting out on the peaks and in the canyons, I relied on my On Clouds. Even though it’s a road trip, there’s a lot of walking and stair climbing in parts. The water tumbler: I filled it with icy water at every single restaurant and hotel along the way (except one, where it smelled a little funky), and it cut down on the amount of bottled water I had to buy and kept me cool and hydrated.
My new bulls, and a wine cork noted with the date, people, and place of savoring.
Make a countdown list of the things you need to do so you can leave at peace and embrace slow travel (without stressing) at its finest. The most challenging thing for me to remember is holding the mail, but the USPS makes it easy to arrange online, so even if I remember at the airport, I can still make it happen!
Leave something behind – a time capsule, a signature on a sign, some graffiti. We left a styrofoam cooler, inviting someone else to use it and give it a new life, then share it with us if they felt moved.
Eating Lupper (supper off the lunch menu) at The Big Texan in Amarillo
Take a group – you’ll share fabulous company and financial costs, but whatever you do…..don’t talk politics. It can ruin a trip. Enjoy the moments without splitting hairs over differences. We met a couple from New York, who dove straight into their political stance as we all sat outside at The Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, New Mexico. When they realized all of us were not in agreement with them, my husband broke in: “What you’re looking at right here in the four of us is a wide part of the political spectrum. From the moderate to the conservative, we have a wide gap.” They were amazed, and asked, “How do you do this, traveling together?” My husband was quick: “We talk about other things besides the POTUS. We talk about the places, the food…. we respect each other’s opinions, and we keep it that way.” He wasn’t afraid to speak the truth we could all agree on….and when we returned from dinner, the couple was sitting elsewhere.
Research, read, and explore ahead of time so you’ll appreciate all the things you’ll see. Get the Roadtrippers Plus app for planning the journey, and print a hard copy of your planned-but-flexible itinerary to take, along with a hard copy of a travel book and a map in case you don’t have good cell service.
Happy Birthday, and enjoy the Route 66 Experience, Nick! There’s nothing quite like it!
Common Threads 