When Fran Haley of North Carolina told me about The Poetry Fox a couple of years ago, I knew this would be a treat to bring him to our town for National Poetry Month. Fran was absolutely right – he’s the coolest fox I’ve ever met. When you meet him, you give him a word. He types out a poem on a vintage typewriter, reads it to you, stamps his special paw stamp on it, and gives it to you in a presentation folder. Last year, everyone was in awe of his process!
For the evening session, The Fox will come out of costume and talk to us about how he became The Poetry Fox. He’ll share the games he played with his family as a child to build his vocabulary – – all part of his journey to becoming a poet and writer. He’ll also share how he acquired his costume and took on a new role.
We can’t wait to host him for the second year in a row in our local coffee shop on April 2nd, brought to us by the L4GA Literacy Grant in Georgia. Today during this slice of time in my work day, I’ll be distributing flyers to invite everyone to come and watch The Fox at work! Come meet The Fox and I’ll buy you a coffee or tea – -your choice!
Top o’ the mornin’ to ya! I took a spur-o’-the-moment trip south to visit my family as my brother and sister in law and I try to help Dad tackle some tasks he can no longer do on his own. Chemotherapy has zapped all of his strength, and we (and others) continue to try to help where he will allow it – which is not nearly enough for any of us to feel satisfied, but that will take the luck o’ the Irish and a lot of prayer to change. He’s testy with us, seems skeptical, and wants to be left alone. He’s made it quite clear.
Before my brother and I visited him, I had a little extra time to check out the Ace Garden Center on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and I’d spied a little leprechaun in the robust fairy garden section that I’d planned to go back and get after visiting with Dad. I was there to look for spider plants, known for improving air quality by giving off oxygen in their transpiration process. But leave it to fairies to lure me down the aisle of wonder and intrigue. While I don’t have a dedicated fairy garden, my whole front porch is filled with fairies in their own plant container homes.
Imagine my delight when my sister in law, Jennifer, asked me to swing back by the house after visiting with Dad. She’d known just the medicine I’d needed – – a little fairy magic to cheer me up! She’d read my blog yesterday morning and beat me to the fairy section, choosing the perfect assortment of fairies – and the leprechaun – to sit on the edge of my shamrock plant as a gift – – making them so much more meaningful. Each time I look at the leprechaun, I smile. And what she didn’t know was that I would have picked the fairies dressed in green – – for an extra sprinkling of Irish fairy dust!
When I opened the gift, a black nose appeared out of nowhere – – JoJo, one of their black labs, sensed the magic and joined the fun, studying this leprechaun and his trio of fairy friends, as mesmerized as any dog has ever been. Her fixation on them – even trying at one point to take the leprechaun by the beard and run off with him – lightened the mood and made us all laugh.
Sources say that there are no female leprechauns, and that these little magical creatures are the unwanted children of the fairy family – – grouchy, closed off, and untrusting. With their stubborn, curmudgeonly, cranky attitudes, even leprechauns need someone to show them some love – trouble is, they have a hard time accepting it.
I have reasons for understanding the close relative of the leprechaun in folklore – the Clurichaun, drunk and surly beings who are known for clearing out entire wine cellars. And I must admit: I, myself, a mere human, along with my brother and sister in law, had broken into some wine over the weekend. But let’s be real – – the leprechauns drive them to it.
There comes a time in life when all children can do is clap if we believe in fairies, to envision Mary Martin as Peter Pan rallying us along, to hope the lights don’t fade too quickly.
One of the most beautiful things about a writing group is that you often know the people in your circles better than those who work ten feet from you every day. And when your groups intersect so that you slice together, take on The Stafford Challenge together, and write poems at Ethicalela together too, you look forward to your small group Zoom times where you write and share face-to-face from the east coast to the west coast and two states in between.
That’s what happened last night. I didn’t join a small group for The Stafford Challenge last year, but when Barb Edler suggested that we form our own small group with more flexible scheduling, she took the lead in setting up our Zoom meetings so that Denise Krebs, Glenda Funk and I could all meet to write, share, and keep in touch. So in our Zoom last night, Glenda introduced a prompt that invited us to write definition poems. A special thanks to Glenda for the inspiration – and to Denise, Barb, and Glenda for suggesting a better ending for the second definition! Cheers to writing friends who inspire us and keep us writing in community. Since I’m slicing through increments of time throughout the day, I chose to write about my cubicle today.
cubicle (n.) – 1. an open place where I always feel I’m being watched. There’s no privacy here with two on-screen llamas, a whispering plant, the eyes of the family photos, everyone who walks by, the general webinar population, the parking lot parents who can see in the windows, and probably, probably cameras everywhere. 2. a limiting space to sit and work the day away but never, never my home away from home.
Welcome to the first day of the 2025 Slice of Life Writing Challenge, where bloggers post each day of the month. You can find the home page with links to blogs across the world here. I’m writing about things that happen in time increments this year, described in yesterday’s post.
I’ve been in Savannah, Georgia this week for a conference, and everything’s coming up green. The grass is growing, flowers are blooming, and River Street is gearing up for its world-famous St. Patrick’s Day parade in a few weeks. The city becomes a shoulder-to-shoulder party on that day. It all brings back memories of our Senior Skip Days in high school, when we’d pile into cars and make our way from just across the state line in Bluffton, SC to Savannah, Georgia. The whole high school skipped class to honor the seniors, so we basically had four senior skip days during our high school years.
I don’t miss those days – – but I’m glad to have the memories, and I’m glad I was sparkle-sprinkled with the luck of the Irish all those years ago! I think the Irish blessing stays with me most days! Look around ~ my wish for you is that you find some Irish luck today, too.
Jessica Handler led a session on using sensory details in writing to make characters come alive
We shared our favorite techniques using what we’re currently writing as our material for organizing in different ways. Mickey is a master at teaching how to outline!
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted the writer’s conference to last a full week, and I wanted to stay in a lodge with other writers, where we could sit in the common room by the fire in the evenings in sweatpants and scarves and sip wine and share writing. But I keep that vision in my mind, that image of total peace and bliss, and carry it with me back into reality on the heels of this fabulous winter break.
I’m already looking forward to next year’s conference.
Common Threads 