The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STEPMOTHER

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

STEPMOTHER

I have deep respect for stepmothers. I am not a stepmother and didn't have a stepmother. But I know stepmothers, and it can be tough! Which is why, some years ago, I wrote this poem about Anne Moynet, who was John James Audubon's stepmother.

Anne Moynet Audubon, Long before

Birds of America

This boy would dart off before dawn,

climb trees, examine eggs, take out

his little pencil and draw the birds in flight.

When I’d meet him at the arbor with tea

and cookies, he’d share the bounty

of pockets: egg shells, nests of curling

leaves, feathers of every color. So what

if his cheeks stayed smudged and he rarely

made it in time for supper? For those

of you who’ll say, he was not yours,

I ask you: Does the earth not belong

to the sky? Does the shore not love

the ocean, even as it crashes upon it?

Does the bluebird not sit on the nest,

even if the egg is speckled instead of pale?

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STAMP

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

STAMP

me and Papa, probably talking
about books or poetry or writing

No one has been a bigger supporter of my writing than my father. He's the one who introduced me to Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. He's the one who encouraged me with ideas and books and conversations. 

When I was a teenager Papa paid for me to take a by-mail writing course. The first part was journalistic writing, and the second was creative writing. I'd complete an assignment, send it in, and then someone out there would read it and offer me feedback. I got some pretty nice feedback – so nice that I got a bit bored with it and never even got to the creative writing portion of the course. Or maybe I just got busy... there were many distractions during those (and all) years! I'm sure Papa was disappointed, but that's not the part I remember. 

The part I remember is how he'd give me assignments of his own. One of the most memorable assignments was when he gave me an envelope from his stamp collection. The stamp was postmarked in Ireland and the envelope was addressed to Charles A. Lindbergh. Papa told me to write about what might have been in that envelope. And so I did! My father loved it, of course. He was my best cheerleader, the one who'd listen to me spin my wheels about anything and everything books and writing. I'm so grateful. I'm so lucky. I miss him every day.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: STAIRS

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

STAIRS

The house on Burns Lane in Birmingham, AL had a staircase in the corner of the foyer that turned and became a small balcony that led to my younger brother's bedroom and one side and mine and my sister's bedrooms on the other side. One of my childhood gripes was how once we moved into that house, my father no longer came into our rooms to bid us goodnight. He was obese for much of my childhood, and climbing stairs was not something he could comfortably do. I'm not sure which I resented more – him (and his weight) or the stairs. I just thought if he loved us, he would climb the stairs anyway. And when he didn't, I felt unloved and forgotten.

Another (happier) memory from the same set of stairs was my first date with Paul. I was in college, living at home, and when he rang the doorbell to pick me up on our first (blind) date, I was still (strategically) in my room. My mom answered the door, and I made my grand entrance coming down those stairs as Paul watched, smiling, from the foyer. With what happy faces we greeted one another! I remember how his cheeks lifted, how round and rosy they were, like a little kid's. And how his hair flipped up above his ears. Adorable! Of course I had to marry him! :)

Currently we live on a mountainous lake which offers an amazing view, and to get to the water, there's a 150-step staircase. Getting down there is not a problem. It's the coming-back-up! Our son uses the staircase like bleachers and runs them as part of his exercise regime. We, too, use those stairs with joy and pep in our step – who needs a gym membership? It's all in how you frame it... and it all balances out, because our home is 100% one-level living. It's not for everyone, but we feel like we have the best of both... and our “Overlook” is one of our favorite parts of the place. It's a giant rock right on the edge near where the stair begin and where we've got a couple of Adirondack chairs for looking out over the water and up in the sky at the eagles, geese, herons, clouds... lovely!

FYI: My picture book collection of nonets, which are "grand staircase" poems, comes out June 9, 2020! You can find the first nonet I ever wrote here.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SOUP poem

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SOUP

We were a Campbell's soup family. Alphabet soup, chicken noodle, tomato (for the grownups-- I didn't care for it as a child). Sometimes I would carry soup in a thermos to school. Sometimes it leaked. I remember loving the smell of homemade chicken soup simmering in the big pot on the stove. When the time was right, it was my job to dump in the noodles. Also, during our time in Louisiana, I recall church and other gatherings that included big pots of gumbo. Those cajuns can COOK! My mother-in-law Bobbie loved making vegetable soup and corn bread – and I do, too!

Because today is a soup day, I decided to write a poem.

Soup Season

When the wind curls

and the sky unfurls,

pull out a big pot.

Fill it with all you've got:

onions, carrots,

bits of meat. . .

Wait awhile

for it to heat.

Breathe it in, let it steep.

Ladle it into bowls

you can cradle in your lap.

Then blow, slurp.

slop sop!

Soon you'll be good

and warm and cozy

from your ears

all the way to your toesies.

- Irene Latham

Pumpkins, Paint and Poetry

painted pumpkin patch

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Jama's Alphabet Soup for what I am sure will be a beautiful- delicious Roundup!
Each year my community has a Fall Festival with pumpkin painting, hay ride, petting zoo, inflatables, cake walk, silent auction, food, and more... it's a lot of fun!
This year it started raining about an hour into our festivities, so many folks packed up and went home. But we sure had a good time while it lasted! And it reminded me to share about a couple of pumpkin-y books I've read recently (which is kind of weird, because usually I am not so timely in my reading!):

PICK A PUMPKIN by Patricia Toht, illus. by Jarvis, brought to us by Candlewick is one long poem for the wee ones that perfectly captures the experience of visiting a pumpkin patch and choosing just the right one and turning it into a jack-o-lantern. Lovely!

... and PUMPKINHEADS by Rainbow Rowell, illus. by Faith Erin Hicks, brought to us by First Second. It's a graphic novel about teens who work at a pumpkin patch. In true Rainbow Rowell style, it's also a sweet love story.

I also received in the mail a delicious cornucopia of Halloweenie treasure from Michelle Kogan! You can find them at her etsy shop.

I'm kind of enchanted by white pumpkins lately... you can learn more about them here. And here is a wee poem:

ghost pumpkin

glows,

smolders –

spooks no one

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SOCCER

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SOCCER

Soccer was not a part of my childhood. I avoided team sports at school, and certainly never joined a team outside of school. I don't remember ever even going to a soccer game until my younger brother MicaJon played in high school. He was pretty good at it, I think. He's always enjoyed pushing himself physically... his current passion is road cycling.

For soccer poems, be sure
to check out SOCCERVERSE:
Poems About Soccer 
by Elizabeth Steinglass,
ilus. by Edson Ike.

Back to soccer: I do have soccer memories from the thick of crazy-childrearing years. All three boys played soccer on a little league team at least a few seasons (and often participated in games held at the same time on different fields). At one point I even served as co-commissioner for one of my sons' age groups (though I cannot now remember which!). This meant setting the teams, game schedules, assigning colors, ordering and distributing t-shirts... I helped out for a couple of seasons, until our kids moved on to other activities. Daniel stuck with soccer the longest, but eventually we realized it was not a good fit for him. Better fits were karate and later cross-country. It can be difficult for shy compliant kids to find their place... esp. when they are good at everything, which Daniel was. But that didn't mean he wanted to be there! So even though it seemed a shame for him quit something he was good at, his happiness was (and is!) more important.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SNOWSTORM

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SNOWSTORM

I don't have any childhood snowstorm memories -- I did love the descriptions of snow in the LITTLE HOUSE books, though!

As an adult I have wonderful memories of the snowstorm of 1993 here in central Alabama. Paul and I lived on a mountaintop in a middle of forty acres. The drifts were crazy-big and so white! Our power was out, and because our water ran on an electric pump, we were out of water, too. And we couldn't leave our property because of the whole living on top of a mountain meant a very steep driveway which was impassable for nearly a week. We cooked steaks in our fireplace. We camped out next to the same fireplace. We spent the mornings in the sun room where the windows warmed the room. We played Trivial Pursuit 80s edition, and Paul won. And then... it got old. I wanted it to be over. I wanted the snow to melt. It still took a few more days.

A more recent snow/ice event was the snowpocalyse of 2014  I was driving with Daniel to pick up Eric for a special lunch out, because school was being let out early. As we were heading toward Birmingham on Hwy 280, the traffic slowed considerably. By the time we got to the school, the snow and ice combined with everyone getting off work/school created an impossible traffic jam around the city. NO way could we get back home! 

We hiked instead to my friend Jim's bookstore. Eric was in flip flops (due to have had an ingrown toenail removed), so we stopped at the shelter on the way to pick up some socks and other supplies. I asked Jim if we could hike and stay at his house, but he thought we'd be better off at Eric's school (a boarding school). Later, he said he thought we'd enjoy the adventure. Daniel didn't care for this plan, so he said he'd walk home. 

Eric and I went back to the school to wait it out. We ended up staying the night and going to the Alabama Power building for supper. I think it was far more fun for the kids than the parents. It was pretty brutal sleeping on the floor. I couldn't wait for things to warm up enough the next day for us to try getting our car home. 

We were the first ones to brave the roads, and we had no idea what we were in for! The roads were still treacherous, and now the roads were stacked with abandoned cars. It truly was like the apocalypse! We had to go like 10 mph most of the way. It felt like a miracle when we finally got home. We were jealous of Daniel who had walked and hitched his way home the night before. Andrew did some walking, too, after he wrecked his car coming down the hill on Caldwell Mill Rd. from school. He had to leave the car and walk the rest of the way home. To make matters worse, he couldn't get in touch with us because the phone service was down. Meanwhile Paul was stuck at work. He was able to get to WalMart to get some blankets and food for he and his employees. They slept on office furniture. What an adventure for all of us!

MOONSTRUCK! and a New Moon Poem

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Catherine at Reading to the Core for Roundup.

I've got the moon on my mind -- thanks, in part, to the anthology MOONSTRUCK! Poems About our Moon edited by Roger Stevens, illustrated by Ed Boxall. Lots of gems in this book, and proof of poets' continued fascination with the moon. (A couple of my faves upon this latest reading: "Three Short Poems" by Tony Mitton and "You" by Jay Hulme. Do check this book out!)
I mean, who among you has NOT written a poem about and/or including the moon? Which is what makes it so difficult, as Karla Kuskin so brilliantly addresses in her poem "Write About A Radish," which begins with this stanza:

"Write about a radish

Too many people write about the
 moon."

So of course I decided to write a new moon poem. :) Enjoy!

photo by flikr from london, UK - flikr0114, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=384420

If the Moon Were an Onion

then stars could only be

the sun's teardrops

as she halves,

slices,

slivers –

preparing our nightfeast.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SNOW

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SNOW

ice storm, 5th grade

Growing up mostly in the south (and partly overseas), I don't have a lot of snow memories. So I tend to romanticize snow! It's all quiet hush and magic to me. I remember making snow cream and snow angels and snow men. I also remember watching our boys sled down the hill on trash can lids. But my biggest cold weather memory from childhood was an ice storm when I was in 5^th grade living in Folsom, Louisiana. This was a rare event in Louisiana, and school was canceled for two days. The icicles daggered from the gutters and the yard held sheets of ice. It was thrilling!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SLIPPERS

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SLIPPERS

I guess I come from a mostly go-barefoot-in-the-house family – and we've most often lived in the south, where slippers aren't nearly as useful as flip flops. (I myself am an ardent flip flop fan!) So the only slippers that come to mind are the pink ones that belonged to Grandma Dykes (the fuzzy ones with a simple open-backed band over the toes that you slip on) and my ballet slippers. 

Yes, for a time, I was sure I would be a ballerina! I never made it to toe shoes, but I did learn the basic positions. I also got to wear a leotard and tights. I was told I had a beautiful “dancer's neck” and that my flexibility and long limbs made me a natural. What little girl doesn't love hearing that?! Truly, I have carried those words with me for a lifetime.

Here are some links to poems I've written about dancers/dancing:

"Audrey Hepburn at the Dance Studio"

"To a Dancer"

"The Dance Lesson"

"Backstage"

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SHOES

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SHOES

The shoes of my childhood were mostly plain. I wrote about them in "Shoes," which appears in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? My mother was quite practical, and we had a large family, so we got what we needed: a pair of athletic shoes and a pair of church shoes.

As a teen I remember wearing white Keds with pretty much everything. My senior year I had a pair of white boots with leather fringe – and I loved them! But boots were only a fall/winter thing, and even that was something of a stretch in Alabama. I probably only wore them three or four months.

the boots were sort of like this

When I think of my “style,” which has been described as bohemian or flow-y or artsy, I think of those white fringed boots. I especially remember wearing them with a pink (flow-y) sleeveless dress that my mother miraculously bought for me at Walt DisneyVillage Marketplace when we were there meeting a friend of hers. It was so unexpected that she would splurge like that on a dress from an overpriced shop... but she did, and I wore that pink dress with the white boots to school every couple of weeks (which was as often as one could get away with repeating an outfit).

One of the many things I learned from my mother-in-law Bobbie was to get the clothes items that you want – sometimes they come from Walmart or thrift stores (for me, not my mother-in-law), sometimes they come from expensive shops. Price shouldn't the primary consideration. (Yes, this shows my privilege.) These days COMFORT is a primary consideration. And while I haven't seen white fringed boots in a long time, I do own a pair of beige cowboy boots that I adore and wear in much the same way I wore those other boots. Mostly, I think, we should wear whatever makes us feel good about ourselves. I'm not sure that's white fringed boots anymore, but it is fun to remember!

"This Old Boat" and Other Treasures

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Cheriee at Library Matters for Roundup.

Some exciting things around here:

1. It's CYBILS time! Be sure to nominate your favorite books, now through Oct. 15. I'm exciting to be serving this year as a round 2 panelist for Elementary/Middle Grade Nonfiction. Yay!

2. CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? released this week in the UK, thanks to Oneworld Publications, Rock the Boat imprint. (Don't you love that name?) October is National Poetry Month in the UK, so it's quite good timing for a poetry book release.

3. My NCTE plans are coming together! I am excited to see many of you in November. :) :) :)

4. While driving around Blount County, Paul and I made a discover that was begging to be a poem. Enjoy!

This Old Boat

After so many voyages,

so many seas

now she floats

in a kudzu lake,

surrounded by pine trees.

See how she dips,

sways?

How bound she is

to each new day?

These gentle waters offer shelter

from once-relentless

storms: Go or stay?

Who could have imagined

her life would turn out this way?

This boat cresting waves

that belong to nobody.

This old boat, waiting 

                               for me.

- Irene Latham

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The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: SISTER

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 are sister, shoes, slippers, snow, snowstorm, soccer, soup, stairs, stamp, stepmother.

SISTER

Irene and Lynn

I've written many times about my sister Lynn. She even showed up in a poem earlier this year during ARTSPEAK: Happy! Click here to read "Sister Song."

And here is an article I wrote back in 2010 for my friend Lindsey Leavitt's blog, when she invited readers to write about "impact." Enjoy!

  So, impact.

      The word for me conjures images of meteors slamming into the earth, airplanes crashing into mountaintops, high speed trains screeching before they hit the hunk of metal that’s parked in the exact place it should not be.  Big, heart-stopping moments that change a person’s world forever.  Which is why, when I think about good impact, I instantly think of my sister.

      I have said on many, many occasions -- and even keep it posted on my website -- that one of the greatest gifts I ever got was my sister Lynn.  She was born just 17 months after I was, and I was so young that I can’t quite remember the slamming or crashing or screeching, but I am sure it happened.  Just as I’m sure that I will never be able to adequately express how grateful I am for all the ways she impacts my life.

      In childhood, she was the perfect little girl:  quiet, thoughtful, beautiful.  It was maddening at times to stand beside her and feel my own imperfections glaring bright as high beam headlights on a  rainy night.  But if there was one place I could be my own imperfect self, it was with Lynn.  She let me make the rules when we played -- when we played house, she happily took on the role of “father” when I would only be “mother.”  She let me go first.  She sat while I read to her, and sounded out words just like I instructed.  She illustrated the stories I wrote.  When we doubled up on the same horse, she let me hold the reins while she sat in back.  Whatever my dream, she accepted her role in it without argument.  And therefore she was in all of my dreams.  Still is.

      These days she’s the mom of three amazing kids and a busy pediatrician.  She sends me flowers when good things happen in my life and other times when I least expect them.  When my mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer and we were navigating the insane ocean of chemo and hospital visits, Lynn sent me gift cards for fast food.  Whenever the kids are pelting me with unexpected challenges and I am on the verge of creeping out of my house in the middle of the night, there she miraculously is, ready to be whatever I need her to be, even if only by text or email or phone.   And since the release of LEAVING GEE’S BEND, she has bought and given away enough copies to dwarf the Empire State Building.  But that isn’t even the best part.

      The best part happened at the reading she hosted for me at Carpe Librum Bookseller in Knoxville, TN.  All her friends and patients showed up, not because of me -- because of her.  And one woman told me a story about Lynn that I’d never heard before, about how my little sister made an impact that I never knew about.

      Turns out, this woman’s son was seriously ill and was brought to the hospital where Lynn was a new resident.  The woman expressed her anger and frustration at the doctors and nurses she’d encountered, how they didn’t get what was going on with her son.  Then came Lynn, a doctor who listened.

      This woman told me that my little sister, my little Lynn, was essential in getting her son correctly diagnosed and treated.  And you know what?  Her story made my cry.  To think that the girl who has made such an unbelievable impact on my life has been out there making unbelievable impacts on others’ lives as well… the truth is, some meteors blaze with a quiet beauty and  make impacts that don’t make any of the news channels.  Thank you, Lynn, for being one of those.  I would be nothing without you.