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
Mo Daley is our host at ethicalela.com today for the first day of our July Open Write. Two things came to mind when I read her poem, in addition to all the memories of previous generations’ masks: the poem A Bag of Tools by R. L. Sharpe (a favorite since high school), and a birdwatching excursion in Palo Duro Canyon State Park in Texas over the summer, as I sat behind a bird blind counting birds. I chose a Golden Shovel poem using one line of Sharpe’s poem today.
Blinders
behind the bird blind, watching unaware, counting each
species, observing, admiring, appreciating, pondering: is
this what would happen if people were given
the same fanfare over the wonder of our beauty? a
way to admire all our brilliant feathers, to regain childhood’s shapeless
notions of race, share the same branch, and remove the mask?
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.
I’ve had the blessing of sharing time with my firstborn grandson this week, and we started the day with cinnamon rolls, coffee, and reading in the local coffee shop on our town square. We planned to go book shopping and see the new Indiana Jones movie today, too.
He comes by book fever honestly – – but we had to whittle down the wish list by half. Usually, he gets his books from the library, since he reads about 3 books each week in the summer – – but there were some newer titles that he didn’t want to have to wait to read.
Nanas are supposed to spoil their grandchildren, right?
After seeing the new Indiana Jones movie, we worked on a knot blanket together. He picked out two fleece patterns (one was old cars, like on Route 66!), and we got two yards of each pattern – a top and bottom section. We cut a fringe around the edges and knotted the top to the bottom all around the edges.
And look what we made together today! A blanket to keep him warm for the coming winter (although after a near-100 degree today today, it’s hard to imagine that the world might ever be cold again).
Here’s our finished product!
What a great time we are having together this summer!
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.
“Watching birds is like looking at the sky at dusk on a frosty night; endless numbers of stars, endless mysteries, and, the more you look, the more you can see.” – Simon Barnes in How to Be a (Bad) Birdwatcher
I wanted music for my birthday. Song.
Mansong and birdsong.
We saw an Air Supply concert on Saturday night in Evans, Georgia, and we were blown away with what a fabulous show it was! These two guys still hold the magic with the crowd! I used to think the worst lines ever in an Air Supply song (Making Love Out of Nothing At All) were
I can make the runner stumble I can make the final block And I can make every tackle at the sound of the whistle I can make all the stadiums rock
Really? I used to wonder. Air Supply can make all the stadiums rock?
I stand corrected. They can!
My friend Fran asked if they could still hold the notes as long as they did before. Maybe not quite as long and as high as before, but they gave their songs some tailoring to keep their fans impressed. I sat next to a young-20ish fan who swooned and held her cheeks and cried the emotional concert tears and sang every word.
After spending an amazing night in Evans, on our way home the next morning we decided to tour a couple of Georgia State Parks that we have not visited yet: Mistletoe and A.H. Stephens. I wanted to do some bird counts as part of the July eBird Challenge to complete at least 31 checklists this month.
If you’re not familiar with eBird and Merlin ID but love to spend time in nature, check out eBird and the free course they offer in birdwatching. No matter where you live, there is always a fun new challenge, and looking at the photos that others post is often quite breathtaking. I enjoy being part of the big picture of helping scientists track birds and their migratory patterns. AND it’s completely free!
We began in Mistletoe State Park in Appling, Georgia. I observed 61 total birds, including 25 different species. The most elusive of these was the Blue-Headed Vireo, which had a child-like call, telling a story and asking for candy or something. Nearby, there was an American Redstart in the same wildlife observation area.
There were also some bird eggs in a nesting box. I stuck my camera in to check on life inside the box, and this is what I found.
There were woodpeckers in abundance – all different types.
Mushrooms filled the woods, and if I were confident enough to be a forager, I’d have collected some of them.
Our next stop was A.H. Stephens Historic State Park, which has an equestrian section for those who enjoy trail riding on horseback. The stalls are clean and spacious, and there are camp spots close to the stables.
The fauna was captivating, but the flora in these state parks is absolutely gorgeous! I couldn’t resist snapping a picture of the mushrooms and flowers I saw along the paths.
Deer were everywhere, too – I think perhaps they were in greater abundance because the park is undergoing restoration. They still let us go around the barriers and drive through, but there are no current campers because they are upgrading all of the sites to full hookup sites, including sewer. It is set to re-open August 1st.
I was hoping to see an eagle as I walked through A.H. Stephens – they are known to have populations in this lake area and nearby Oconee, where I saw an eagle several months ago, but we didn’t see any today. In fact, I only observed 14 birds in total in this park, with 4 species represented.
We saw turtles, though – – basking the day away on logs above the water. This one’s buddy jumped in right before I snapped the photo.
18 Canadian Geese in Mistletoe and 9 Canadian Geese in A.H. Stephens made Canadian Geese the most popular bird of the day for me.
What a blessing to be able to spend a day completely in nature, observing the outdoor life in high dosage. It’s better than any medicine for soothing the soul and bringing peace!
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!
Common Threads 