The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: LUNCH (and a halfway point observation)

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. 

This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

LUNCH

you can buy this on ebay.
Visiting the site reminded me
of another memory:
I often brought for school
lunch a thermos of
chicken noodle soup.

For a time, just after my parents' (first) divorce, we qualified for the free lunch program. Was this a big deal to wee me? I don't know. I do remember some self-consciousness about it, because the free lunch kids got in a different line than the regular lunch kids. But then, I was self-conscious about many things. I didn't see myself as “poor.” I just hoped the lunchroom would be serving something I wouldn't mind eating. For the vast majority of my school years, I brought my lunch to school – mostly in a plain brown paper bag. But I do recall a Little House on the Prairie lunchbox at one point. What was almost always inside? a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

In high school I have some traumatic lunch memories – one in which all the kids at the table where I usually sat were away for the day (a field trip, maybe?), and I didn't want to sit all alone, so I decided to join some kid who rode the same bus as me. It did NOT go well, and was instead one of those heartbreaking times when taking the risk kind of backfired. But I survived, and I learned something: Not only is it okay to sit alone, sometimes it's better.

I'm at the halfway mark now with this memoir project, and it's is teaching me that there are some things I've experienced that I am not willing to really recall in any great detail. I am fine leaving the fuzzy lens on for many things – which means maybe memoir writing is not for me. Or maybe I'm just not ready. I want – need – to focus on the positive. This doesn't mean I am denying the negative things happened, just that for now, and maybe forever, I choose not to dwell in that space.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: LIBRARY

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit for Buffy's Blog for Roundup. Today my memoir prompt inspired a trio of poems, so you'll find those below. Meanwhile I have been revising a poetry collection coming from WordSong next year -- whew, it's been exhausting and exhilarating! More on this later. Meanwhile...

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

LIBRARY

I do have a wonderful library story about a time when a library pretty much saved my life (you can read the post here). And my most favorite library story of all time has to do with Papa's rocking chair, which you can sit in at the library in Port St. Joe, FL. 

Two favorite reading/library books are READ! READ! READ! by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater and Lee Bennett Hopkins' anthology JUMPING OFF LIBRARY SHELVES. 

I've also written quite a few reading poems, like "Dear Reader," (from the perspective of a book!) and "Fishing for a Reader," which I often ask kids to help me act out during school visits. My poem "I Give Thanks for Trussville, Alabama," which appears in J. Patrick Lewis' THE POETRY OF US anthology features a library. I have been a reader as long as I can remember -- such an important part of my life!

So to write a fresh reading/library poem is kind of daunting. Here are 3 efforts, with, of course, the fresh-est one being the last one (though it's still drafty)! Which is a reminder to me: Dig deeper. Keep going.

Welcome to the Library

Come – inhale

the inkblossom air,

feast your mind

on fact and fantasy.

Escape the confusing

everyday world,

settle onto the magical

carpeted valley

found between book

mountains –

where the treasure

at the end of each story

is a different you.

At the Library

Inkblossom air,

forest of books –

settle onto the carpeted valley

to read, listen,

or simply just look.

A Message from the Library Mouse

I live in a city of stories

where books skyscrape

the walls.

I live in a city of stories

where adventures

whisper their call.

I live in a city of stories

where I feast on

pictures and words.

I live in a city of stories

that turn me to wizard

or zombie or bird!

I live in a city of stories.

There's no place

I'd rather be.

Today my story

is about horses –

come, won't you ride along

                       with me?

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: LAUNDRY

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

LAUNDRY

The laundry of my childhood lives in stacks on the family room floor. With a family of seven, it seemed the washer and dryer were always rumbling. When the clothes were dry, Mama would carry them in a plastic basket to the family room, where she would sit in the floor and fold, creating a stack for each person. 

One particular memory: my very large father had very large tighty-whitie underwear, which looked more like dingy kites than something tight and white. Mama taught us to fold it in thirds – left side folded to the middle, right folded to the middle, then the bottom folded up, forming a square.

In my father's last years, when he was living alone in North Dakota, he didn't do laundry – he took it to a dry cleaner dirty, then picked it up clean. He seemed to see underwear as disposable – whenever we traveled together, he would just go to Walmart and buy a new pack of underwear for the trip. He also always bought a new pack of those traditional white handkerchief's and carried one with him everywhere. Those, too, I think, were disposable in his mind. Because his weight fluctuated throughout his life, he accumulated clothes in various sizes, not knowing which size he would need at any given time. 

Papa with his too-big pants.

The last time I saw him, one of the tasks of my visit was to help him get rid of some clothes (in sizes that he knew he would never wear again, as he had dropped a lot of weight in the last year of cancer). I was shocked by the sheer number of dress pants he owned – many of them never worn and still in their original packaging. (I suspect he forgot what he'd bought, and then he'd forget where they were, and then he'd need them right away, and so would buy new ones.)

My father also didn't do dishes, but that's another story!

When In California

There's nothing quite like California, is there? Paul and I flew into San Francisco (though we were supposed to fly into San Jose) late late LATE... grrr, the "getting there" part was not so much fun! But the next morning we were off and running.

crossing the Golden Gate bridge

We landed at Fog Harbor for lunch, a seafood restaurant at Fisherman's Wharf. We really didn't intend to go to Fisherman's Wharf, because it is always so crazy-crowded... sigh. We enjoyed a lovely lunch beside big windows overlooking the bay, with a gauzy view of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.

We have loved visiting Muir Woods in the past, so we thought, why not? Well. Once we crossed the Golden Gate, we knew why: these days one has to reserve a time to visit Muir Woods. We had not reserved a time, and we did not want to wait around for the late afternoon openings. So we turned around, headed south toward Campbell -- not Saratoga, our original destination, because a few days before our trip the Saratoga Inn sent a note to say their A/C was not working, due to some renovations. So... we hurriedly booked something else. The hotel was fine, but the big win of the day was supper at Bella Saratoga, where we ate outside on the veranda as a guitarist played beautiful songs, like The Romance Song. Perfect, perfect!

Parajo Dunes
(Watsonville, CA)

We spent the next morning exploring Saratoga, which has a delightful main street of shops and restaurants. We ended up at Bai Tong, a Thai restaurant for lunch, which might be the best Thai I've ever had. (Yes, for me and Paul, the vacation is all about the FOOD!)
Then we headed further south, through Santa Cruz, where I wish I'd gotten a picture of the Adrienne Rich art (she lived there), and on to Watsonville, which turns out to be the heart of the agricultural belt, with acres and acres of strawberry and cherry fields. When we arrived at our Parajo Dunes condo, we opened the back door, and there was the Pacific! We took a beach walk and napped then headed to the Fish House for supper.

A deer and her fawn
came to watch events
at the 2nd hole

The next morning we woke early for the drive to Pebble Beach, to attend the last day of the 119th U.S. Open! It was a bit chilly, so we had on jackets and thick sock instead of the hats and sunscreen we'd anticipated. We parked at California State Monterey Bay and rode in with the other thousands of golf fans to buy merch and watch our favorite players. We DID see all the players, up close! But it was hard to watch much of the game, just due to the sheer number of people in attendance. It was CRAZY. Fortunately Paul bought us tickets that included the Trophy Club, which was worth the money for the bathrooms alone. :) We walked A LOT. And I was wearing the wrong shoes... shoes I last wore to Universal Studios a few years back. They were fine then, but I guess my feet have changed, because I was really putting on a brave face by the end of the day.  Those shoes went right in the garbage can when we returned to the condo.

After all those PEOPLE, we were excited to head east to Mariposa, the little Yosemite gateway town before you get to the Arch Rock Entrance. We stopped in to eat lunch at Jantz Bakery in Merced before making the rest of the drive to Mariposa.

butterfly mural in Mariposa

I LOVE Mariposa. (Did you know Mariposa means "butterfly?") The first time I stayed there was with my father in 2014, and I just found it the perfect blend of quaint shops and good food and history... and close to the park! Paul and I stayed at Fifth Street Inn, which is a great choice if you decide to go. We ate at Savoury's one night (not our favorite), and Charles Street Dinner House (delicious steak and lobster for 2) the next.

We'd originally planned to eat at the Majestic Yosemite Hotel - we made reservations on the first day they open reservations for that date (like 3 months ahead of time) -- but wow, was the park busy! Bumper to bumper traffic, long wait times... so we cruised the Valley, ate our boxed lunches (from Jantz's in Mariposa -- oh, we wish we had a Jantz's here in Alabama!) under El Capitan, walked through the Grand (a building I love! And which made me choke up, remembering the last time I was there with my father.), shopped a little, and then decided to head south to see the Sequoias -- only traffic was completely stopped, and there were reports of 2-3 hour delays, so we canceled our dinner reservations, turned ourselves around,
 and got out of there!

I don't know about you, but I go to nature to enjoy NATURE. Quite. Solitude. Not to be "stuck" between thousands of people! Sigh. On our way out we did really enjoy the crazy white water and thick waterfalls (thank you, snow melt!) And you know, we've seen it all before. So it wasn't heartbreaking or anything to leave. Just kind of ... disappointing.  A great example of how flexible one needs to be when traveling, and how important it is to listen to one's heart... what do YOU want to do? It's okay to stay, it's okay to leave. Just be honest with yourself, and everyone will enjoy themselves more.

The travel day home was BRUTAL, with waiting and delays and luggage disasters... we didn't get back to our home until 1 am! The next morning we took a walk on our quiet, secluded road and marveled at how lucky we are to live in a place where we enjoy nature every single hour. Yay for HOME!

California sunset

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: KNIFE

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

Ken Dykes, Sr.

KNIFE

My father loved a good medium rare steak, so what comes to mind is a steak knife – and the many times I accompanied my father to a restaurant where he ordered steak. One of my favorite memories is when my father asked for ketchup, and the server admonished him with something like, “our steaks are so good, you don't need to ruin them with ketchup.” My father fired right up – a person should be able to enjoy a steak however he or she likes! What he said to me after the server was gone was this: “Doesn't he know sometimes I order steak just to eat ketchup?” :)

Another knife memory: at least twice, I think probably three times, I've had my handy red Swiss army knife confiscated at airport security. It's such a tiny thing, and I keep it for all the other instruments (scissors!) more than the blade. Oh, it hurts every time to have this taken from me! These days I've taken to carrying a small pair of scissors, since I am so bad to forget I have my little knife on me... I'm tired of buying new ones!

Remember you are this universe (celebrating U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo)

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Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! And... Happy SUMMER! Be sure to visit Linda at A Word Edgewise for Roundup.

So, I've been out adventuring and not here at my desk... hubby and I traveled to California, where we played on the Pacific shore, watched the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach, and eventually made our way to Yosemite National Park. More on this later... we're still recovering! 

Today I just wanted to pop in and share my delight upon hearing Joy Harjo, member of the Mvskoke Creek Nation* named as the first ever Native American U.S. Poet Laureate! So many of her poems speak to me, and a few years ago I got to know her in a different way through her memoir CRAZY BRAVE. Be sure to read it, if you haven't already. And here is a favorite favorite poem, that definitely goes on the "How to Live Your Poem" list.

Remember

by Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under,

know each of the star's stories.

Remember the moon, know who she is.

Remember the sun's birth at dawn, that is the

strongest point of time. Remember sundown

and the giving away to night.

Remember your birth, how your mother struggled

to give you form and breath. You are evidence of

her life, and her mother's and hers.

Remember your father. He is your life, also.

Remember the earth whose skin you are:

red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth

brown earth, we are earth.

Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their

tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,

listen to them. They are alive poems.

Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the

origin of this universe.

Remember you are all people and all people

are you.

Remember you are this universe and this

universe is you.

Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.

Remember language comes from this.

Remember the dance language is, that life is.

Remember.

(published in SHE HAD SOME HORSES, W.W. Norton & Co., 1983)

...remember snowmelt -- like poetry --
 is a powerful, beautiful thing!

*I added this after reading Mary Lee's post. I have much to learn. Thank you, Mary Lee!

5 For Poetry Friday

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Laura Shovan for Roundup.

1. I'm working on a picture book manuscript that *might* be inspired by my nephew Matt's cockatiel named Frosty. Newsflash: Frosty has a foot fetish!

2. Earlier this month I blogged over at Smack Dab in the Middle about What I Learned from My First Completed Middle Grade Manuscript.

3. I can't stop thinking about this blog post: Reinventing Myself as a Writer and the Power of Narrative by Amy Rasmussen (contains a writing prompt I am excited to try!)

4. Here's the Rosie Report: baby girl put on her life jacket for the first time the other day! We didn't put her in the water quite yet... just let her hang out on the dock while we swam. Next time she's going in!


5. Earlier this week I had a lovely visit at Autauga-Prattville Public Library in Prattville, Alabama. One young reader/writer had a book recommendation for me. I love when that happens!

CHARMED by Jen Calonita

... and... bonus! Here's the June 14 poem in SING A SONG OF SEASONS: A Nature Poem for Each Day of the Year illustrated by Frann Preston-Gannon, selected by Fiona Waters.

Mr. Snail

Quaint and quirky, never quick,
Mother Nature's glue-stick,
Hard shell, tacky tail,
Glue the garden,  Mr. Snail.

- Celia Warren

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: KITCHEN TABLE

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

KITCHEN TABLE

For some thoughts and a couple of poems, see this post.

My 2019 Summer Reading Project

Each summer I choose a retro-reading project. One year it was all Newbery winners. Another, the Harry Potter series. This year I've decided to read The Complete Collection of Maguerite Henry books. Read the post in which I made this decision.

All these years I've been giving presentations, telling readers how I loved the Black Stallion books and any horse books... and I just recently realized many of those books were written by Marguerite Henry! It just never occurred to me, I think, because when I was a young reader, the author very seldom entered my head. It was as if the author didn't exist. The books were MINE, ALL MINE!

Maybe other readers feel this way, too. Maybe I didn't see authors as people, because I never met one. Maybe this is one of the gifts of a book -- how it can transport a reader so completely that it exists for that reader alone.

Whatever the reason, I am super excited to re-read the Misty books and read for the first time quite a few others. There are 16 titles in this set. I'm excited! Reminds me of my 2015 trip to Chincoteague and Assateague... what horse-y trip will I take next? Hmmm...

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: ILLNESS

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

ILLNESS

My childhood was greatly affected by the family disease of addiction and its faithful companion, depression.

I could fill reams with stories related to this topic. But that would mean telling potentially hurtful stories about my family members, and I'm not willing to do that at this time.

Also, it's simply too BIG a thing for me to address in a blog post – someday, perhaps, I'll write a book with these themes. But for now it is not a place I choose to dwell.

However, should anyone reading this have similar experiences and want to talk, you can reach me by email: irene (at) irenelatham (dot) com.

And, here are a couple of great/honest books on the topic:

Sunny Side Up by Jennifer Holm

Hey, Kiddo by Jarret Krosoczka

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: ICE SKATING

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

ICE SKATING

I, TONYA - if you
haven't seen
this movie, you
should remedy that!

I can only recall ever ice skating once – at Pelham (indoor) Ice Rink when I was in high school. I loved the romance of ice skating, the beauty of the sport, and how we'd follow the Olympic figure skaters (Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan, anyone?). It was fun to wear a sweater in summer and lace into white skate with shiny blades. I thought it would be like roller skating, and I guess it was, a little. I wasn't on the ice long enough to get comfortable – my ankles kept collapsing in my skates, and I retreated to the sidelines... maybe memories of broken bones make me give it up, I'm not sure. I've later learned from skater-writer friend Anita Saxena that the ankle-thing is a common experience among non-skaters in rented skates, and that I might have better luck in some quality skates. Maybe someday I'll give it a whirl. But right now I am content to watch others. (This totally deserves a poem... marking this in my notebook to do later!)

On Connection and the Spiritual Journey

Hello and welcome to this month's installment of Spiritual Journey Thursday, in which Ramona is rounding us up at Pleasures from the Page, on the topic of "connection."

When I think of my spiritual journey, this is what defines it: connection. Connection to something greater than myself -- to nature, to community, to a higher power.

I know I am not in charge. I don't call the shots. Yes, I make choices and decisions all the time, every day. But ultimately I am not in control. 

I am especially not in control of people, places, or things.

What a relief to hand that over to someone or something else! I can rest in that connection. I can feel loved and cared for. I can trust that everything will be okay -- because, isn't it? Even when the worst thing that can possibly happen to me HAS happened to me, I've been okay. I'm still here. And what is life, if it doesn't sometimes bring you to your knees?

This is one of my 2019 daily readers.

What helps me feel connected is daily readings, meditation, prayer, quiet time, sitting-and-watching-the-lake time, holding-hands time, long-walks time.

I also feel particularly connected when I am creating something or learning something new. Maybe this is music or art or writing. I've long considered writing a spiritual practice. And also whenever I allow myself to be vulnerable with others, or when I am engaged in service to others. That's what "connection" means to me.

Thank you, Ramona, for allowing me this opportunity to ramble -- and to connect with this lovely community. And thank YOU for reading. xo

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: HUMMING

For 2019 I'm running a year-long series on my blog in which I share my responses to the writing assignment prompts found in THE BUTTERLY HOURS by Patty Dann.

I welcome you to join me, if you like! I've divided the prompts by month, and the plan is to respond to 3 (or so) a week. For some of these I may write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

For links to the prompts I've written on so far this year, please click on The Butterfly Hours tab above. This month's prompts include: hospital, hotel, humming, ice-skating, illness, kitchen table, knife, laundry, library, lunch.

HUMMING

The Sound of Summer is a Hum

It starts with Mama

at her sewing machine,

stitching seams

in summer dresses
for Ms. Judy

moves to the library's

florescent overhead

lights as I sit

on the ABC rug,

reading about horses

slips past the door

from the driveway

as my brothers

circle the go-kart

again and again,

wheels spinning

Gulf coast sugar-sand

before settling

in Granddaddy's garden

where bees swarm

the tomato blossoms

and corn fattens

inside the shuck,

green green green

until finally – soon! –

yellow-kerneled ears

pop out to say,

hello, June!

- Irene Latham