The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHLORINE

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?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CHLORINE

My friend Kim was a competitive swimmer, which meant her family had a membership at a country club (in Mandeville, Louisiana). It also meant Kim was at that country club several times a week, swimming laps and learning breathing and diving techniques. 

Photo by Jay Wennington on Unsplash

Once (when I was 11 or 12) she invited me to come to the pool with her – not for practice; just for fun. I'd never been to a country club, so I was enchanted by how fancy the building and the (indoor) pool was. I didn't even mind the thick, warm smell of chlorine, which made my chest feel heavy and like my lungs had to work extra-hard. I couldn't wait to try out the slide. First thing I did was climb the stairs, lower myself onto my belly, and push myself head-first down the slide. The heated water pressed against my eyelids and streamed through my hair. It was exhilarating – until my head scraped against the bottom of the pool. 

When I popped out of the water, my scalp was bleeding, and a clump of long blond hairs lay tangled in my fingers. The lifeguard rushed me to the first aid room where he applied pressure to stop the bleeding, antibiotic ointment to prevent infection, and dry ice to diminish the swelling. Kim stayed with me the whole time, and we were already concocting the funny story we would tell my parents. But as the life guard pressed the dry ice pack to my injury, the plastic busted. My breath caught and I held back a scream as the dry ice leaked out and burned my skin. “I just want to go home,” I cried. I recovered fine, but I never swam again at Kim's pool. 

So, kids, if you're reading this: please don't go down a pool slide headfirst!

Exploring the Florida Keys

The last time I visited the Keys I was a child. The biggest thing I remember is the Seven Mile Bridge -- I thought that bridge would never end!

This time I traveled with my Best Traveling Companion Ever (aka Paul). We flew into Miami, rented a car, and stayed in a waterfront home on Grassy Key (north end of Marathon in the Middle Keys) so that we could adventure both north and south from there. Also, we managed to miss the snow scare in Alabama, so our timing couldn't have been better!

We took an airboat tour (courtesy of Gator Park) of the Everglades National Park. We saw gators, turtles, and all kinds of birds!

We saw so many gorgeous sunsets... many right from our rental home's back door.

We learned about dolphin rescue at Dolphin Research Center, where they provide forever homes for animals in need -- animals who could not survive in the wild. It was touching to hear the way the trainers and all the employees cared about and were completely devoted to these dolphins and sea lions. I loved hearing about all of the different personalities. This is a nonprofit organization doing good work for the world.

We toured Key West. (Of course!) It made me feel close to my father, who traveled to Key West not long before he died. I loved thinking of us seeing the same things, walking the same pathways.

We met Hemingway's (55) cats at his former home - many of the cats are polydactyl (six-toed!).

Humphrey Bogart (I think!
All the cats are named after
movie stars from the
Golden Age of Hollywood.)

We ate LOTS of seafood... and a little key lime pie (of course!). Our favorite restaurants: Green Turtle Inn in Islamorada and Burdine's in Marathon.

Also: these key lime muffins from Hariette's in Key Largo... almost worth the trip all by themselves! (And so good that Paul actually ate his dessert first, which, if you know Paul, is saying something! :)

key lime muffin

And best of all? We took a sea plane out to Dry Tortugas National Park, where we explored Fort Jefferson, admired a gazillion shells, spotted so many birds, and dipped our toes in that glorious turquoise water.

It was a wonderful trip, but boy is good to be home!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CHAIR

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Tabatha (whose posts alwaysalways inspire me!) at The Opposite of Indifference for Roundup. Is it really February?? 

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. Thank you, friends, for reading and responding! You're helping me keep going. :)

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?

In January I wrote about: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

Here are February's prompts: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

CHAIR

First: a poem from ARTSPEAK! 2015:

 This Old Chair

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- after “Sewing Chair” by Dorothy Johnson

Me, wait

for you?

That's not

all I do.

Turn me

upside down

and you'll

find proof:

I am also

Spider's

roof.

- Irene Latham

... and now today's writing:

I was a picky eater as a child. Maybe this wouldn't have been a big deal in some families, but in mine the rule was “clean your plate.” There were times when I couldn't – or wouldn't – clean my plate. (Word choice there is completely dependent upon whether you were asking me or my mom!) On those nights, while my siblings played board games or watched a family movie, I spent the evening hours sitting at the kitchen table staring at the green beans (or whatever) on my plate. On those nights the hard ladder-backed kitchen chair became a boat or cave or spaceship. I'd push the chair back from the table and bring my knees up to my chest – a habit I still have today. I imagined and dreamed my way through those awful hours. Eventually the chair would become a chair again, harder than ever, so I would quickly stuff those green beans into my cheeks and dash for the bathroom, where I would spit them into the toilet.

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For those of you out there who may be parenting picky eaters, I can tell you that this practice did NOT help me learn to love my vegetables. It DID make me super-compassionate when it came to raising my own picky eaters! The “clean your plate” rule was not one we chose to continue. And these days I'll eat pretty much anything – though I still don't lovelovelove green beans. :)

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Finally, a poem that appears in my out-of-print book of poems for adults THE COLOR OF LOST ROOMS, which includes a number of ekphrastic poems. Now you know exactly where this one comes from... and how poetry is often a blend of fact and imagination.

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Alligator Pears in a Basket

- after the painting by Georgia O’Keefe

Eat, his mother said. You must

clean your plate. He crossed

his arms and clamped his teeth.

Sat at the table for hours.

By bedtime his mother’s eyes

blazed. You can’t make me,

the boy said, and the pears

came alive, their jaws snapping,

their leathery skin slapping

against his tender cheek.

And then they all went to bed:

the pears, the plate, the mother

and finally, the boy. His eyes

half-closed, ever watchful.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CAR

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

CAR

The Dykes Family, 1975

As a family of seven, transportation was always an issue for us. I only ever remember us having a van (not a car) – and those never seemed to hold up for very long. (These were the days of the “maxi-van,” before minivans were invented.) One year, when it became necessary for us to get a new van, our parents – against their better judgment – took us with them to the dealership.

Maybe it was a sudden thing, in that the old van stopped working, and we had to get a new van that very day. Probably there was no place else for us to go.

In the parking lot of the Dodge dealership while we waited for the salesperson to collect some keys, our father instructed us to keep quiet. We were to be “seen and not heard,” so that he could handle the negotiations. He expressly forbid us to voice our opinions about any of the vans were about to see.

We all nodded and promised to keep our mouths zipped. It was exciting to move in and out of new-to-us vehicles, some of them still sporting their new-van smell. Perhaps we were able to keep our promise through some of the vans, but when we got to a brown custom van complete with plush tan seats and beige curtains on the windows, we just couldn't stop ourselves from gushing. I mean, there was a sun roof. In a van! We'd never experienced such luxury. We happily settled into our spots, adjusting armrests and pulling levers, chattering the whole time about how much we loved it, and how much we wanted it.

As my father frowned, the salesman beamed. He had us just where he wanted us. And yes, we came home with that van. How our father scolded us! But it didn't matter. The van was ours – though I'm pretty sure the curtains didn't last more than a few months before a screw came loose or a rod broke. We never once used the sun roof. But we sure went a lot of places in that van! And when the time came to replace it, our father went to the dealership alone.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: CAKE

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

CAKE

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Grandma Dykes was famous for her cakes – and for all her cooking. She was one of those brides who didn't know how to cook AT ALL when she got married, but boy did she master the skills over the course of her lifetime! It helps that she really enjoyed cooking, and nothing pleased her more than feeding us, her most beloved. By “us,” I mean my granddaddy, my father (their only child), and me and my siblings.

some of Grandma's recipes
(in her handwriting)

Each year for Christmas she would make a four layer butternut cake that she iced with butter pecan frosting and wrapped in foil and froze... before sending it in the mail from her home in Port St. Joe, Florida, to us in Louisiana or Alabama, or wherever we were living at the time. On the day the cake arrived, we'd marvel at how it was still cold! Then my mom would proceed to peel away the foil and place it on a cake plate.

Grandma Dykes also made a sour cream pound cake (always in a tube pan) that was the perfect blend of crisp on the outside and moist and dense on the inside... I've used her recipe for years and even gave it to Mrs. Nelson in my book LEAVING GEE'S BEND.

Another favorite was Coca-Cola cake – a chocolatey, moist, pecan creation which she made because my mother (her daughter-in-law) loved it. We all loved it! And now I make this cake for my mother.

Grandma Dykes' cake keeper

When Grandma Dykes died, my father's wife (not my mother) gave me the cake keeper that Grandma always used and kept stored on top of the refrigerator whenever it was empty of cake. It was round and aluminum, with the word “cake” printed on the side – exactly the kind of thing you'd expect to find at a grandmother's house! As much as I wanted to keep it, I knew it belonged to my sister Lynn, who is named for Grandma Dykes. Now, when I visit my sister in her home, I love seeing that cake keeper perched on top of her china cabinet, like it was meant to be there all along.

(Poetry Is) Practically Perfect in Every Way

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Tara at Going to Walden for Roundup.

This past weekend we saw MARY POPPINS RETURNS.  Mary Poppins, as you may recall, gazes upon her reflection and declares herself, "practically perfect in every way."

And she is!

I love how that kind of vanity coexists with her way of giving others exactly what they need, yet not needing any sort of credit for it. Mary Poppins just does what she does, and then poof, a door opens, and she lifts that umbrella and floats away on a breeze.

Magic!

The new movie is full of magic, too. There was one scene in particular that made me think:,poetry! Mary Poppins takes the children to visit her cousin (played by Meryl Streep) whose world, unfortunately, is "turning turtle." CLICK HERE for the fun, beautiful audio of the song. Ultimately it's about changing perspectives - how looking at the world differently can impact your life. Of course this is true for poetry as well... allow your world to turn turtle, and your poems (and readers!) will thank you!

And now a poem for 2 Marys: Poppins & Oliver. Can you find the bits in the poem for each Mary?

This Poem is Practically Perfect

for Mary Poppins & Mary Oliver

This poem knows

the worst thing

is a mind

with its windows

jammed shut –

that's why

it isn't afraid

to go flipsy-flopsy.

Is there any better way

to get out of a rut?

This poem peers

into mirrors

and smiles

at what it sees.

It floats across days

and continents –

through sleet or heat –

with a cloud's ease.

This poem wakes early

and takes

twilight hikes.

It finds music

in the moon –

MOON Moon mooooon.

Whatever your troubles,

this poem is here

to tell you:

things will get better

soon.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BUTTON

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BUTTON

jar of buttons in my Purple Horse
Poetry Studio & Music Room

As a child I often accompanied my mother to the fabric store. (CLICK HERE to read a poem from BROWNGIRL DREAMING by Jacqueline Woodson about the magic of the fabric store.) I delighted in the mad array of color, the stacks of fabric in all textures and colors, the rainbowed racks of spooled thread and shiny bolts of ribbon and lace. Whatever we found, however plain, I knew my mother would create something beautiful out of it. I listened as she read aloud the recommended amounts of fabric on the back of the pattern envelopes and then proceeded to make her own calculations. She took great pride in her ability to conjure creative arrangements of the pattern pieces so that she might purchase less material. I learned from her to not just follow a pattern, but to think it out for myself. I also learned to save my scraps. You can create some beautiful, useful things out of scraps!

Something else my mother taught me was that one quick and inexpensive way to freshen up a blouse or dress is to change out the buttons. While the fabric was being cut, she'd send me to that wide wall of buttons to make my choice. The toughest part was choosing just one!

Such a small thing, a button. Yet so valuable. My mother was the one who taught me how to sew on a button – a skill that has served me well throughout my life. Even now my adult sons will bring me shirts or shorts that need a button replaced. (I also taught them to sew on buttons, but when they ask, I am happy to help!) These days I keep a jar of buttons, just for the beauty of them. I don't think we've ever discussed it, but I am sure my mother approves.

Memory-Keeping, Memory-Making

Scrapbook Weekend 2019:
Irene, Mama, Lynn
(wearing Miss Fancy cricut
t-shirts made by Lynn!)

Since the year 2000 (when we first got involved with Creative Memories), my sister, mother and I have gathered annually (or some years bi-annually) for a weekend of together-ness.

We call this our "scrapbook weekend," because for many years our focus was on scrapbooking, and those weekends often included other family members who also enjoyed scrapbooking.

But, as our lives have changed, our needs have changed, too. These days we like it to be just the three of us. We  journey from 3 different states, and we bring whatever creative projects we're currently working on -- maybe it's learning to use the cricut machine or how to transfer photos from a phone to a new computer. Maybe it's a sewing project. Or maybe it's scrapbooking. :)

The important thing is sharing the time together, renewing those bonds. Remembering, and making new memories. Living our poems together, at least for a weekend... that somehow, miraculously, carries us through the year.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BROOM

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure and visit Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect for Roundup!

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BROOM
Before I get to my response, here is a broom poem by one of my favorites, Valerie Worth:

broom

It starts
Out so well,
Its fresh
Gold straws
Cut square,
Flared wide,

But so often
Ends otherwise,
With weary
Wan bristles
All stubbed
To one side.

- Valerie Worth


I guess I don't have a lot of "broom" memories, because the first thing that comes to my mind is a book with a broom: OLD BLACK WITCH! by Wende and Harry Devlin.

I loved this book. Basically it's about a boy named Nicky. He and his mom move into an old house they hope to turn into a B&B, only to find it's already occupied -- by a witch! The witch's broom features heavily in the story. :) With that in mind, I wrote the following poem:

Broom

Mama says

sweep sweep sweep

to keep cobwebs at bay

sweep sweep sweep

to whisk crumbs away.

But I'd rather

leap leap leap –

RIDE that broom!

And maybe, just maybe

Varoom, kaboom!

Zip like that old black witch

all around the room.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BOAT

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BOAT

Grandaddy Dykes had a boat, but most of my memories are of it covered and parked between the house Granddaddy built with his own hands and the sandy vegetable garden he somehow coaxed to bring forth the juiciest Better Boy tomatoes you've ever put in your mouth. 

Living in Port St. Joe, Florida meant not just Gulf fishing, but also canal fishing. That's what I remember best: not trips out in the boat, but shore fishing. (Surely there were some trips out in the boat! But at this moment I cannot recall.) We girls couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 when he taught us to bait our own hooks with worms. I have always been a tenderhearted animal lover, but I don't remember feeling pangs for the worms, or for the fish. It was what we were there for: to catch fish for Granddaddy to clean and fry up in the deep fryer he kept in the yard. 

My father would probably say this is the “Florida cracker” in me – a strength and practicality inherited from my pioneering ancestors. When you're fishing for your supper, it's easier to overlook any discomfort the worm may experience and simply thank the worm for its service. Which we did! We even kissed those worms sometimes, inviting their earthy dirt scent to mingle with the wild salty air – for me, the aroma of childhood and summer and love and home.

Fun with MEET MISS FANCY at Avondale Library

Ms. Cass, Irene Latham, Carla Perkins
and Miss Fancy!

What a thrill it was for me to launch MEET MISS FANCY at Avondale Library, which sits right next door to the park where Miss Fancy actually lived!

And wow, talk about some amazing librarians. I am so grateful to Carla Perkins and Cassandra Scott (aka Ms. Cass) and everyone else who helped make it a lovely time. There were elephant shaped tea cakes and peanuts and lemonade... and a giant Miss Fancy cut-out on the wall! They've been celebrating Miss Fancy all month, and I am now the proud owner of a Miss Fancy t-shirt, made at the library (thank you, Ms. Cass!!). I can't wait to wear it. I will share pics when I do. :) THANK YOU, Avondale Library!

And now, a little about the program...

Jim Baggett, the archivist who knows everything there is to know about Miss Fancy and who was essential to my writing process for this book, was there to share slides and stories about Miss Fancy.

Martha Council

Martha Council, who is in charge of the campaign to Save the Queen by erecting a life size sculpture of her at Avondale Park, shared a little about her group's efforts. More on this soon!

Jim and Liz Reed were there, too, for moral support (as ever), and to share about the making of the short (10 minute) documentary film about Miss Fancy, which features residents sharing stories about their experiences with Miss Fancy, or the stories shared with them by older family members.

So many thanks to the friends who showed up, from both near and far... Diane, Linda, Joan, Jo, Tay, Marie (who sold books!)... and new friends, too! Your support and enthusiasm means so much! Thank you!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BIRTHDAY

First: Congratulations to Lisa Bowen, the winner of the "Elephant Book Pack" MEET MISS FANCY giveaway! It includes the following titles:

National Geographic Readers: Elephants by Avery Hurt
Meet Miss Fancy by Irene Latham
The Magician's Elephant by Kate DiCamillo
The Story of Babar by jean de Brunhoff
Horton Hatches the Egg by Dr. Seuss
Dear Wandering Wildebeest by Irene Latham
Chained by Lynne Kelley
Cousins of Clouds: Elephant Poems by Tracie Vaughn Zimmer
Eavesdropping on Elephants by Patricia Newman
Don't Feed the Boy by Irene Latham
An Elephant in the Garden by Michael Morpurgo

So many thanks to all who entered! I'll be sharing about Sunday's launch event tomorrow. :) And now for today's edition of The Butterfly Hours...

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BIRTHDAY

Of all my childhood birthdays, the one that stands out most is the year I turned 6. We were living in Lakeland, Florida, at the time, and the tradition was that age 6 was the year we got our first visit to Disney World. I was a huge fan of Cinderella, so I couldn't wait to see the castle.

At my birthday party (which was attended by family and perhaps a few friends, though I cannot now remember), my mom presented me with a Cinderella birthday layer cake. She'd baked it in round pans and decorated it herself (as she did all our birthday cakes). It had white icing, and perched on top was a plastic horse-drawn carriage with a plastic Cinderella in her classic blue ballgown.

When I blew out my candles I wished for a doll that came in a mint green trunk about 2 feet long. When you opened the trunk the doll slept on a blanket on one side, and on the other side was a small wardrobe with hanging outfits and a drawer of accessories. I don't remember where I first saw the doll-in-trunk – perhaps TV? -- just that I wanted it so very badly! I was always a baby-doll kind of girl and never once played with Barbies. I was pretty much born a mother-in-training!

Everyone watched as I opened my gifts, and finally I came to the last one. I ripped off the paper, and there it was, the mint green trunk with doll safely nestled inside with all her gear. I was Cinderella that day. And even though Cinderella has lost popularity as a Disney princess, she's still my favorite. She worked hard. She talked to animals. Despite the cruelty she experienced, she still believed in miracles. When she had a chance for an adventure, for something different -- she took it. In so many ways she saved herself. And yes, at the end of the day there was a man with whom to share her life. That's pretty darn magical, if you ask me.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BICYCLE

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BICYCLE

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my adopted sibs
with Christmas bikes!

One of the great things about growing up in a big family (5 kids) was built-in playmates. When I was in 3^rd grade we lived in a neighborhood in Lakeland, Florida. During that summer, the rule was that we kids must be home by dark. My brothers and sister and I would take our bikes out in the afternoon, ride across empty lots, explore streets, climb trees, etc. – not paying a bit of attention to the time. It wasn't until the first street light buzzed on that we'd realize the sun was below the treeline and our time was up. We'd jerk our bikes out of the dirt and fly home. Faces flushed, hair streaming out behind us, we'd ride with the sweet taste of freedom in our mouths, and in our hearts the thrill of knowing someone was home waiting for us.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BED

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Kat (who's gotten into Insta-poetry lately!) at Kathryn Apel for Roundup.

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?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BED
For 2 1/2 years I lived with my family of origin in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, where my father worked as the administrator of King Faisal's Specialist Hospital. (I'm told his photograph still hangs on the wall!) That time impacted me in many, many wonderful ways. But not all of it was wonderful...

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Bed

Once in the land

of red sand and goats

a girl sat stranded on a ship

in the center of a purple room

floor an ocean of roaches

swelling, cresting, roiling

her four-year-old heart

pitching, heaving

breath hitching –

need to pee need to pee need to pee

how much longer 

before she learns to swim?

- Irene Latham

What I Learned as a CYBILS Elementary/Middle Grade Nonfiction Panelist

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When people ask me for book recommendations, I often refer them to the CYBILS lists. I love CYBIL's commitment to not just literary merit, but kid appeal, too! 

For five (nonconsecutive) years now, I have enjoyed serving as a CYBILS Judge. Four of those years I helped with the Poetry category – 3 times as a round 1 panelist, and once for round 2.

Side-note: I really prefer being a panelist for round 1, in which the task is to narrow the large field to 5-7 finalists. I can recognize excellence and fight for favorite titles. It's much harder for me to settle on just one “the best” title, esp. in Poetry when the finalists might include a picture book of poems for the very young and also a sophisticated YA novel. How to compare? I do NOT envy the panel who must decide!

This year I decided to try the Nonfiction category, and boy, did I learn a lot! It was an honor to serve with such passionate readers and educators. I'm grateful for the experience. I'll be illustrating this post with a few of the book covers of our finalists (complete list here). 

Here's what I learned:

No Errors Allowed. While I may be able to overlook a typo or two and the occasional misalignment of text-to-photos, other panelists were not. And, wow, if there was a factual error – well, forget it! (A great example of why these things are best decided by committee and not by an individual. :) These are informational books, so #1, the information must be correct.

Packaging & Design Can Help or Hurt. I like books that consider all the elements of color and texture and information, so that reading them is an experience. 

However, sometimes publishers can get too slick with this and try too hard to impress us. And then any content that isn't just right really stands out as a flaw. This happened with a favorite book this year! 

Which means, authors/illustrators, it's important to carefully consider each element of a book. Do not include extraneous stuff, just because it's cute or because you can. Make sure each element matters and is necessary. Better to err on the side of less than to get to frill-y. 

Similarly, readability in terms of font color standing out from background page color was a make-or-break issue. Publishers, if you want to improve your awards numbers, be sure the design of the book makes the words easy to read!

Back Matter Matters. So many times a panelist would put forth a beautiful book only for it to be shot down by other panelists because that book didn't have back matter. And not just any back matter would do. Panelists especially wanted to see sources. Where did the author get the information? Where can especially curious readers go next to learn even more about the subject? 

Sometimes, as it happened this year, a book without back matter keeps rising to the top. It was a big deal for the panel to put this book through without back matter.

"Different" is Important! As long as it's not too different. We read so many wonderful books! Many were about expected, well-covered subjects with proven kid appeal. But no matter how good, it was just impossible to get the enthusiasm and support from the panel for subject matter that felt too well-trod. The panel wanted to see fresh, new topics, or popular topics addressed in new and diverse ways. 

On the other hand, there were several titles I fell in love with because they'd never been done before. (One in particular I will totally blog about later.) But ultimately it was decided that these books had too narrow a focus. There were concerns about every-kid appeal. Sigh.

Sharing passion for a particular book is a joyous thing! And how awesome is it when the stars align for a beloved title?! Truly, there is nothing more beautiful than sharing book-love with other passionate readers. And ultimately that's what these awards are about: not finding “the best book,” but all of us involved hoping to share our book-love with the world. Yes, it's subjective. But it's also universal, isn't it?

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BASKETBALL

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 intend to write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?

Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BASKETBALL

I've never been much of a sportsperson, and in school I would do just about anything to avoid PE. Some years I got out of it by doing clean-up work for my teacher. In high school I helped my gym coach with his bus schedules (he was in charge of the school buses, and I was good at organizing...). I'm sure both of these things are wildly inappropriate and wouldn't happen today – but I was pretty happy about them when they happened to me! I don't remember playing basketball for fun, or attending a basketball game (and certainly not watching them on TV!). I don't think any of my siblings every played basketball, either. I have the faintest of faint recollections of being in a school (or church?) gym with my sister and throwing the basketball Granny style and even making a few (!).... and that brings to mind Grandma Dykes, whose physical build I completely inherited. Yet, she, apparently, was quite the athlete. She played basketball in school, long before it was popular for girls to play basketball. From what my father said, she was quite good. I wish I knew more.

Dear Basketball,

I've watched the way

in other people's hands

you dribble,

spin, and roll –

while in mine

you sleep like a troll.

Perhaps I should take

more time,

get to know your ways.

Maybe then

I might come to love

your bumpy, orange face.

 - Irene Latham

tommy bebo

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: BAR

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 intend to write poems, for others prose. The important thing is to mine my memory. Who knows where this exploration will lead?
Here are January's prompts: apron, bar, basketball, bed, bicycle, birthday, boat, broom, button, cake, car.

BAR


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I don't have any memories from childhood that involve a drinking establishment kind of bar – my parents were teetotalers, though I suspect my father did drink some, just not around us. 

I have only limited experience with a ballet bar, as I took dance classes when I was wee and did temporarily nurture dreams of toe shoes. One of the best compliments I ever received was that I have a “dancer's neck.” Unfortunately that grace does not extend to my other body parts. Instead, my best party trick is to wow people with the odd angles my double-jointedness creates. 

I do, however, have a memory to share related to monkey bars. I was a climber as a child and loved trees, swingsets, slides, merry-go-rounds, you name it. I still enjoy high look-out places and have not experienced that fear of heights my husband suffers from. 

I loved playing on the monkey bars at school during recess, and one day, as I was happily atop, I saw my mother walking down the sidewalk. I instantly cringed, not because I was on top of the monkey bars (she encouraged our explorations) but because I wasn't wearing the same clothes I'd gone to school in. 

At the time my mom was sewing my clothes, and they were not cool AT ALL, so each morning on the bus I would change into something else. And on this day, I was up on the monkey bars with no way to hide. She noticed right away, and it was a big deal in our relationship and a big moment in me becoming my own person. 

My mother wrote me a letter expressing how hurt she was – a letter I still have. I hated disappointing her, but I also didn't want to wear those homemade clothes anymore. After that day, I was able to wear other things to school. It took quite a few more years for me to learn what a gift those homemade clothes had been – what a gift any homemade gift is. Thankfully I've been able to express that to my mother many times since then.