The Whole Wide World and Me by Toni Yuly

You know that feeling you get when you're at the beach, where you're simultaneously small in the face of that endless ocean, and also big, simply because you are there on that beach meeting that ocean and looking it in the eye?

This book, THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD AND ME by Toni Yuly, brought to us by Candlewick, is about that feeling. It's about the connectedness we feel with nature, and how no matter who we are, we are a part of something bigger.

So, really, for me, it's a picture book about spirituality. It employs simple text and big, bright art -- I started to say "simple" art, but really, is any art simple? I think the quality I'm responding to is the lack of busy-ness, the absence of anything unnecessary. Maybe "clean" art? Which again might mean something entirely different to someone else... hmmm... not sure how to describe it, except to say: I LOVE IT. What a beautiful way to engage readers with the joy of recognizing our part of this big beautiful world.

I want to read this book to everyone I love, and then go take a nature walk. :) I hope you will, too! (By the way, Kirkus agrees with me!)

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: EMERGENCY ROOM

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.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

Here are March's prompts: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

EMERGENCY ROOM

I went to the E.R. twice as a child – both times for a broken arm. I don't remember much about the hospital, but I do remember a lot about how I broke the arm each time.

First time I was playing on the church playground with my brother Ken. He challenged me to a contest – who could jump the farthest from the swing? So we both set to pumping ourselves high as possible before leaping out of the swing mid-air. I was determined to win – and I did! I also broke my right arm in the process. It was a compound fracture near the elbow that required an overnight hospital stay and a long recovery.

Second time my sister and I were riding my pony Rusty through the woods, bareback. Lynn sat in front, and I sat just behind her. We rode in the woods behind our house, not on a trail exactly... we urged Rusty to jump over a log (as we'd done many times before), and when he complied, I lost my balance and slipped from his back. I landed near a pine tree, and my wrist hit an exposed root. I knew instantly it was broken. The worst part was holding my broken wrist and running home. My mom promptly put me in the back seat of the car, and drove me to the E.R. Every bump in the road sent pain radiating up my arm, so I pretty much cried the whole way to the hospital. That break required weeks of physical therapy, including a wax dip to help maximize the mobility of my joint. I was able to regain most of it, but not all. I notice it occasionally when I am cello-ing, because it's my right bowing hand, which requires a smooth wrist motion I cannot always achieve.

Much more vivid in my memory are the 3 times we had to take our kids to the E.R.:

a.) Eric, who at age 4 was riding a bike with training wheels in our driveway while under the care of a babysitter, and decided to run over a plastic shampoo bottle (left out after bathing the dog). He wrecked, and the handle bar went through his face (near his mouth). Getting that call from the babysitter was one of the worst things ever! And then watching them wrap my child and stitch his face was pretty awful. He recovered fine, of course, and was left with a scar and a great story. :)

Andrew's broken arm

b.) 

Andrew, who at age 8, broke his right arm at the skating rink. It's one of the many things he and I have in common!

c.) Eric, again. We were vacationing in Pigeon Forge, and when Eric woke up in our hotel room, he couldn't breathe. I banged on his back and called 9-1-1. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital in an ambulance, which is not what you want to happen on vacation (or ever!). It turned out to be strep throat, and he was really past the danger by the time paramedics arrived. But we were in high alert mode at the time, as my mother-in-law was in the last stages of cancer. Eric got an antibiotic shot and was soon feeling better... thank goodness!

"On Forgetting That I Am a Tree" by Ruth Awolola

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit one of the kindest people on the planet Catherine at Reading to the Core for a celebration of International Women's Day!

If you haven't signed up yet for a line in this year's Progressive Poem, there's still room! Click here to sign up. We'd love to have you.

I've been busy this week with students in Shelby County, Alabama... what an honor to share with these amazing kids and educators about my books and the writing life and Alabama!

Also, good news: I am one of 13 speakers (along with fellow children's poet Charles Ghigna) included in Read Alabama 200, a program through Alabama's Bicentennial Commission which will fund my visit to speak to groups in Alabama about my Alabama books, like LEAVING GEE'S BEND, DON'T FEED THE BOY and MEET MISS FANCY. This is a great opportunity, and any Alabama readers who may be interested, I'd love to hear from you!

I do have a women's history poem for you from SHE IS FIERCE: Brave, bold and beautiful poems by women, selected by Ana Sampson. If you haven't seen this poem before, you are in for a treat: "On Forgetting That I Am a Tree" by Ruth Awolola. Here's the poet reading the poem herself! Wishing all a happy weekend, and a happy day... don't forget to change your clock! :)

On Balance

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Hello and welcome to Spiritual Journey Thursday! Today's topic, thanks to Doraine, is balance. Be sure to visit her yoga blog for Roundup.

Just the word makes me feel some sort of resistance. What does it even mean to find balance in our lives??

I think, maybe, for me, it's not feeling overwhelmed. It's having the right amount of time to myself and time with others; the right amount of work and play; the right amount of quiet and noise; the right amount of travel-time and home-time.

How to achieve this? Well. I've done a lot of work on this. Learning to say "no" has been a really important thing for me. Listening to my body. Listening to my heart. Slowing down. Taking a breath...

You know, I think a big part of it has been letting go of expectations, putting down the script. Not measuring my life against anyone else's. Letting life happen... and being there -- really being there -- while it does.

Here's a quote I found while poking around about "balance," and a just love it. I hope you do, too.

"God made the forests, the tiny stars, and the wild winds--and I think that he made them partly as a balance for that kind of civilization that would choke the spirit of joy out of our hearts. He made the great open places for the people who want to be alone with him and talk to him, away from the crowds that kill all reverence. And I think that he is glad at times to have us forget our cares and responsibilities that we may be nearer him--as Jesus was when he crept away into the wilderness to pray."

MARGARET ELIZABETH SANGSTER, "The Gypsy Spirit"

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DREAM

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.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

Here are March's prompts: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

DREAM

Like all kids, I dreamed about my future. I mean, you can't help it when everyone is asking you, “what are you going to be when you grow up?” Also, my parents raised me to believe I could be anything and do anything. I'm so grateful!

The book I wrote
inspired by my
time as a zoo volunteer!

For most of my childhood I dreamed of being a veterinarian – especially when I was part of the Teen Volunteer Program at the Birmingham Zoo. But, as it turns out, medicine was my sister's field, not mine. (She's a pediatrician.)

Now my dream is to NOT have to take my pets to the vet, except for yearly shots and well-checks.

During my horse-crazy years, I dreamed of training a horse my sister would ride to victory in the Kentucky Derby.

Now my dream is actually to just attend the Kentucky Derby. (I know! How is it that I've never been?!)

I've been writing poems since I could hold a pencil, but I never dreamed of being an author.

I never even dreamed of meeting an author.

My dream come true.

I dreamed of falling in love, getting married, having kids. And lucky me, all of these dreams came true! 

And yes, I know these are not particularly popular dreams in today's culture. But that's what it was for me. What it STILL is for me. I can't think of anything more important.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DOOR

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.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

Here are March's prompts: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

DOOR

My mother's dream was for all seven of us (parents and 5 kids) to live in a one-room cabin – no doors. This thought made my stomach knot. I've always needed and appreciated privacy.

Our house on Willie Road in Folsom, Louisiana was a ranch-style home, all one level. It had a long, narrow wood-paneled hallway, off of which all the bedrooms were located. We kids would close all the doors and literally climb the walls (one foot and hand on either wall of the hall).

When I was a teen and my boyfriend came over, the rule was “door open.” I understood, but I didn't like it. One time we broke the rule, and there was my father banging on the door, bellowing for us to open it.

When our teenage son was going through some stuff, we removed his bedroom door. His eyes glittered in a way I'd never seen before. His stomach was probably as knotty as mine had once been upon hearing my mother's one-room cabin idea.

Sometimes when I think about that same son who is now far away, I breathe this message into the air: you are loved; the door is always open.

Talking Books, Poetry & Art at Thompson Intermediate School

me with Maddie & Jada,
peer helpers who escorted me
from the office to gym

I spent a lovely day last week with some great people at Thompson Intermediate School in Alabaster, Alabama.

I remember from my first visit to this school (2017) what a loving, nurturing learning environment it provides, and I was again impressed during this visit. Students listened with interest and asked thoughtful questions -- maybe my favorite: "how does it FEEL to write books?" My first response was, "it's exhilarating!" And then I shared about how hard and frustrating it can be sometimes -- and my secret weapon for getting through writer's block. :)

Aside:  I am currently in the throes of a new project, so I am not sleeping well, and yes, exhilarated, mostly.

Here's a pic with librarian Christi King, who is a delight, and so easy to work with:

Christi King & Irene Latham

After I presented to a gym full of 4th graders, the 5th graders rolled in. I had a wonderful time with both groups, and then it was time to sign some books! I love this part of the visit because it gives me a couple of minutes to engage each child on an individual level. I ask them about their stories -- what they like to do, their pets, their families. I love learning what important to them and seeing a tiny glimpse into their hearts.

One boy named Jamieson told me he loves to draw, and later came back in to share with me some of his amazing art. What a gift! Someday we'll all be buying his books!

We rounded out the day with a lunch in the library attended by a special group of eight students. We shared about our lives and enjoyed pizza, sandwiches and CAKE! I do love cake...and this one came from Edgar's Bakery, so what a treat!

Books, kids, art, cake... being a kids book creator is the Best. Job. Ever! Thank you, TIS Warriors! Hope to see you again in a couple of years. xo

the lunch bunch - loves those smiling faces!

p.s. the school library has abandoned Dewey for genre-organized shelves... which means, no 8-1-1 section. (! ) I get it -- books are more likely to get read when they are easy to find -- but it made me a little sad!

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DIVORCE

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Dykes family wedding, 1979
(fuzzy, faceless...much like
my memory of the "divorce" days)

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.

In February: chair, chlorine, church, concert, cookbook, couch, dancing, desk, dessert, dining room table, diploma.

Here are March's prompts: divorce, door, dream, emergency room, envelope, eyebrows, first apartment, first job, food, game, garden.

DIVORCE

Wow, this word brings up a lot for me -- not a lot of specific memories, but a belly-full of feelings. My parents divorced when I was 6, got remarried when 8, then divorced again shortly after I was grown and out of the house. This impacted me in ways I am still discovering.

.

While they were divorced the first time, my mom took a second job as a bus driver. (She was a teacher.) We got free lunch. My mom dated other men. Meanwhile, when we visited my father at his apartment on the weekends, he fed us spaghettios straight out of the can. (He didn't cook.) He took us to Cypress Gardens and Busch Gardens – all the fun things. And it was okay, but his apartment was never “home.” It was a stressful, stressful time.

When my parents decided to remarry, it was for the good of the family. They'd attended a church marriage workshop called Marriage Encounter, and decided to give it another go. This time the wedding ceremony included all five of us kids. My mom made a banner that hung at the altar and we were all dressed in matching shirts. It felt special to be a part of it, and I was really glad our parents would be living together again.

I'm grateful I mostly grew up in a home with the family intact. It was not without its chaos! But whatever their troubles, our parents were both always incredibly loving with us. And clearly they loved each other. It just wasn't enough.

Divorce

a dragon

spitting

fireballs –

you you you

your skin

forever

carries

the flavor

smoke

- Irene Latham

2019 Kidlitosphere Progressive Poem: Sign Up Here!

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit lovely Linda at TeacherDance for Roundup.

I do have a poem for you today, but first let's take care of some important business:

It's that time again! National Poetry Month (April) will soon be upon us, which means it is time again to sign up for our annual KIDLITOSPHERE PROGRESSIVE POEM. This year -- our 8th year! -- our goal is to have fun with words, strengthen our community, and again create a poem for kids (our 3rd year with this specific focus!). The only thing I know about the poem so far is that the Voice of the Progressive Poem Matt Forrest will be launching our first line! The rest is up to all of YOU! I invite you to choose your day in comments, and I will update the calendar below as we go along. ETA: I have a school visit today, so I won't be able to update this page till later --  so for the moment, please refer to comments for what dates are available!

ETA: Our schedule is full! THANK YOU!

Here's how it works: Poetry Friday Friends and other poetry lovers are invited to join in a community writing experience during National Poetry Month (April).

What is it? a poem that travels daily from blog to blog, with each host adding a line, beginning April 1. Anyone who wants to join in the fun can sign up below. First come, first served. If you are new to the Progressive Poem, please include your email and blog url in comments -or- send via email: irene (at) irenelatham (dot) com.

April

1 Matt @ Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme

2 Kat @ Kathryn Apel

3 Kimberly @ KimberlyHutmacherWrites

4 Jone @ DeoWriter

5 Linda @ TeacherDance

6 Tara @ Going to Walden

7 Ruth @ thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown

8 Mary Lee @ A Year of Reading

9 Rebecca @ Rebecca Herzog

10 Janet F. @ Live Your Poem

11 Dani @ Doing the Work that Matters

12 Margaret @ Reflections on the Teche

13 Doraine @ Dori Reads

14 Christie @ Wondering and Wandering

15 Robyn @ Life on the Deckle Edge

16 Carol @ Beyond LiteracyLink

17 Amy @ The Poem Farm

18 Linda @ A Word Edgewise

19 Heidi @ my juicy little universe

20 Buffy @ Buffy's Blog

21 Michelle @ Michelle Kogan

22 Catherine @ Reading to the Core

23 Penny @ a penny and her jots

24 Tabatha @ The Opposite of Indifference

25 Jan @ Bookseestudio

26 Linda @ Write Time

27 Sheila @ Sheila Renfro

28 Liz @ Elizabeth Steinglass

29 Irene @ Live Your Poem

30 Donna @ Mainely Write
------

And now for a poem... and a poem inspired by a poem.
First, the poem for March 1 from SING A SONG OF SEASONS, A Nature poem for Each Day of the Year selected by Fiona Waters, illustrated by Frann Preston-Gannon. (This book has become part of my daily morning reading routine!)

I am the Song

I am the song that sings the bird,
I an the leaf that grows the land.
I am the tide that moves the moon,
I am the scream that halts the sand.
I am the cloud that drives the storm.
I am the earth that lights the sun.
I am the fire that strikes the stone.
I am the clay that shapes the hand.
I am the word that speaks the man.
 - Charles Causley
----
Don't you love the reversal of those verbs? Me too! I decided to try it myself, using my "lake life" as the focus. It reminds e of a poem I wrote for ARTSPEAK! back in 2017 in which I switched out nouns for more provocative adjectives (that describe the nouns). Click here to read "Morning." And here is today's offering:

Lake Life

I am morning slicing a kayak,

I am sky cuddling clouds.

I am waves painting the sun,

I am feathers gathering geese.

I am logs gnawing the beavers,

I am heat holding stacked boulders.

I am the shore kissing the current,

I am a ripple skimming dragonflies.

I am a lullaby singing the pines to sleep.

 - Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DIPLOMA

1988

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.

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

DIPLOMA

The pictures from my high school graduation show a shining girl in a red gown and yellow cords. Every shot looks staged, though none of them were – one of my parent's friends from church took the photos. I never even saw the photographer-friend in the stadium full of people there to celebrate this class of approximately 400 students.

The girl who is me is blonde and smiling. She's the star of her own movie, and this is a climactic moment – or an effort at characterization: see the happy all-American girl with the world opening its doors to her!

The pictures are true and not true: I was smiling, but not because I loved the people around me or that particular night or because I felt any huge sense of accomplishment. I was a good student and had always done well – my graduation had never been in question, only what honors I would receive and how many college scholarships would line my pockets. I'd attended school with these kids since 9^th grade, yet I walked beside a girl I barely knew. I spoke to only a handful of my fellow graduates at the ceremony, and as soon as it was over I escaped with my sister and best friend to get away from all the hoopla. I just wanted it to be done, so I could get on with my real life.

The girl who is me doesn't need a diploma to prove her worth. It will take a million other things for that.

Fun fact: Favorite diploma I ever received: a Mouster's Degree from Disney College Program. :)

Fun fact #2: My poem "I Give Thanks for Trussville, Alabama," appears in THE POETRY OF US, edited by J. Patrick Lewis. It taps into some of my feelings about the place where I attended high school.

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DINING ROOM TABLE

by Norman Rockwell

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

DINING ROOM TABLE

We ate at the kitchen table, as none of the homes I remember from my childhood had a dedicated dining room. In the Burns Lane house in Birmingham, Alabama (the last home I shared with my family of origin), we had to walk through the kitchen through a narrow opening to get to the table which just fit between the stove and bay window. (I believe the table was oak, and oval-shaped, with a leaf that never came out, because our family of 7 needed all the space we could get!)

For Sunday meals we would crowd around, all scraping chairs and bumping elbows to behold the table covered in dishes: pot roast (which my mother prepared in the morning, so that it could cook in the oven at 325 degrees while we attended church), pear salad (a lettuce leaf topped with a canned pear half then sprinkled with grated cheddar cheese), rolls. 

We joined hands and someone – my father, usually-- would say the blessing, that went something like this: “Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to receive, and for the nourishment to our bodies. For Christ's sake, Amen.” We all chorused “A-men,” with a long A, and then we dug in. We passed the dishes counter-clockwise around the table so that everyone could get their portion. We talked, we laughed, we teased... these Rockwell moments never lasted long, but I do treasure them. I'm grateful to my parents for their efforts toward making these traditions a part of us.

The poem “Family Dinner” in CAN I TOUCH YOUR HAIR? (with Charles Waters) also chronicles a family dinner tradition, though it wasn't one from my childhood but from my parenthood:

art by Sean Qualls and Selina Alko

Best and Worst

Each night we go around the supper table, say the best part of our day, and the worst. Bests are easy as creamed potatoes: an A on a math test, Pajama Day, new shoes. Worsts stick in my throat like tiny fish bones: the bracelet I lost and still can't find, my sniffly nose, what Shonda said at recess. But saying it out loud helps. We listen and laugh. After supper we all play a trivia game and once I even win. - Irene Latham

And here is a new poem:

Kitchen Table

I've known card games,

homework

all sorts of stains

and scratches.

The busy hum

of a sewing machine

quick click

of a calculator.

I've endured tears,

fists,

easy swipes

and hard polishes.

But nothing compares

to Sundays

when the plates

sit heavy,

warm

when the jostling

and chair scraping

has stopped

and they all link hands,

resting them ever so lightly

on my face

and someone says,

thank you thank you

A-men.

- Irene Latham

The Butterfly Hours Memoir Project: DESSERT

Hello and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit poet-goddess Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge 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?

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.

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DESSERT

When I think of desserts in my childhood I think of my grandparents, and I think of summer: fresh warm watermelons cracked open on the back picnic table, their red or sometimes golden meat attracting birds and ants; peaches off the truck my grandfather hauled from Georgia; homemade ice cream churned in the electric freezer, that grind of salt and ice better music than any ice cream truck ever produced; and strawberry jello mixed with store-bought whipped cream – a special concoction Grandma Dykes always made just for me.

Here it is, in a poem:

A Taste of Summer

warm melons

cracked open

on the back

picnic table,

their red

or golden meat

arousing songbirds

and inviting

black ants

to trail in –

always enough

for everyone

peaches fresh

off the truck

Granddaddy

drove all the way

from Georgia,

the scent

of gasoline

and tickle

of sweet-sticky

juice dribbling

down to our elbows

as we would

bite in

the whine

of the electric

ice cream maker

and the slush

of ice and salt

as we waited:

is it ready yet?

strawberry jello

mixed with

whipped-cream

clouds

in a glass bowl

at the end

of the table,

Grandma saying,

something sweet,

for a sweet girl.

- Irene Latham

This brings to mind "Knoxville, Tennessee" by Nikki Giovanni, which is also full of rich, summer-y flavors! If I were to title mine after the place of my summers, it would be called "Port St. Joe, Florida." Some may recall that Port St. Joe got slammed by a few months ago by Hurricane Michael I still have family there -- everyone is fine -- and it reminds me again of how very resilient coastal Floridians are. So, if I were to title a poem "Port St. Joe, Florida," it would likely be about many other things besides the summer deliciousness I experienced there. 

Maybe some of this will come up in my responses to future Butterfly Hours prompts later this year?? We shall see. :) 

Thank you for reading!