I voted for my own favorite smile-bringers from the 32 word list, using their bracket form. Here are the final four on my list that I am bringing as my contribution to the buffet:
shenanigans – A playful or mischievous act; a prank.
hullabaloo – 1) A loud noise or a condition of noisy confusion. 2) A confused noise; uproar; tumult.
boop – Affectionately poking someone on the nose, often accompanied by saying “Boop!” (That was boop as defined on Urban Dictionary) Boop is also used in online communities. I must say, I have never seen it used by any of my online friends or myself. Do you use the word boop in any situation? And have you heard of BOOP! The Musical, based on the cartoon character Betty Boop? It’s getting good reviews.
discombobulate – To throw into a state of confusion. synonym: befuddle.
And my fifth word is a bonus–not a silly word, but my favorite word; always a smile-bringer to me.
5. hope – 1) To have confidence; trust. 2) To desire and consider possible.
verb
1. to sip wishes
2. to whisper into promises and prayers
3. to envelop with open arms
4. to climb anticipation
noun
1. a thing with feathers the hope of springtime pipping
2. a cool autumn breeze after a hot summer the hope of cooler days
3. a moon out in the afternoon the hope of an enticing evening
We were talking about junk drawers at Ethical ELA yesterday with Rex Muston. I was thinking of my life’s junk drawers all day. Do you have a junk drawer or two or three?
I could have written about my present junk “basket,” which also has a bunch of empty metal tea tins. I think they are so pretty and that they can be useful, so I add them to the basket. I haven’t put anything in them yet, so they just take up space and make it harder to find my tape and scissors.
I remember one junk drawer from about 20 years ago. It hadn’t been cleaned out for way too long. I had two children finishing sixth and ninth grades, I was finishing my last year at the school where I had been teaching, I was packing and getting reading to move across the country. We splurged and hired packers along with the movers. Later that summer when I was unpacking yet another cardboard box, I found the contents of that junk drawer just poured out into a box with broken rubber bands, band-aid wrapper, dried up Super Glue, half a pack of sticky gum, broken cellphone charger cable, a key that fits who knows what, a Sharpie with no cap, plus dozens of other gems we had paid to move from Arizona to Iowa.
I chose to write my poem about one junk drawer from my childhood. I think I was six years old. In my memory, I can walk right to that drawer in the house of my childhood and find a rubber band, a paper clip, a bottle of glue, a roll of tape, and sometimes joyfully, a coin, a yoyo, a jack, or a marble. The they in my poem is probably my older sister and one or more parents. I don’t remember for sure, but I wasn’t in as much trouble as I thought I would be.
Down in the Mouth
When I saw myself in the mirror
I began to feel blue,
knowing I was going
to get in trouble.
I would talk a blue streak,
talk until I was
blue in the face
to convince them
I didn’t do anything
untoward.
You see, I had
been ruminating
through the
junk drawer to find
something,
anything
interesting.
Finally, I found it!
A tiny blue-topped
plastic bottle.
The bottle seemed
to be clear but it
had some dark liquid
inside. I didn’t
recognize it, so I
carefully untwisted
the lid, put my tongue
inside the cap, and rotated
it around and around.
When I noticed my
fingers turning blue,
I went into the bathroom.
When I saw my lips,
tongue, gums, and even teeth
were blue, I closed and locked
the door, hoping I hadn’t found
something poisonous. It
seemed to keep spreading.
I got soap, water, and
a washcloth and scrubbed–
removing a layer or two of skin
along with some of the stain.
Ah, there is always
something new to learn in
childhood physics and
chemistry. That day, I
learned the power of
food coloring and why
you only need a tiny
bit to do the job.
Eye cream by Bruno. He was standing outside a skin care shop and gave me a sample of cream. Then he asked about my routine for eye care (nothing), so invited me in to treat me to a sample. It still feels stiff around my eyes. He tried to sell me a bottle for $400. After a couple other offers that sounded like QVC, he got it down to $149, before he finally gave up on me buying it. He was fascinating and funny and a really good salesman, I could tell, but I just wouldn’t buy something like that.
Friendly husband who makes friends wherever we go
Grape Nuts at Smart & Final (A 4-pound box costs $8-something, which is why I go there to buy it.)
HistoricalSociety where we picked up brochures and looked at an antique postcard exhibit
Ice Cream for Keith–chocolate chip cookie dough. (I’m not sure why it didn’t sound good to me today, but maybe because I had just finished an extra sweet tea.)
Joke on the sidewalk – “I don’t want to end the year on bad terms with anyone. APOLOGIZE TO ME.”
Koffi for a London Fog latte for me and Cortado for Keith
Toffee sample outside a shop I’ve never looked twice at. But after the sales tactic of handing out free samples, we went inside and almost bought some. It was so delicious.
Unity of the human community – “We’re all made from the same 11 elements. We have more in common than we do differences.”
Very multi-seated pedal-powered party bike driven by Gavin, who was a very friendly and interesting person that we talked to for a while. That’s Keith with the umbrella, catching the rain that had just started.
Windmills on the way home, as usual.
Xeriscape everywhere we looked
Young and old crowding the streets – Spring break is in full swing in our neck of the desert
Oh, my today’s prompt for Ethical ELA by Wendy Everard was to write a double dactyl. A dactyl is a DUM-da-da three-syllable word or phrase, I think. Each line (except the fourth) has two dactyls–six syllables with a DUM-da-da-DUM-da-da rhythm. I may have accomplished it in some lines. There are some other silly requirements like the first line is nonsense words, the second line has a proper name, and the sixth line is one word. Who created such a beast!? Ah, you can find out here. Here is my attempt at a double dactyl:
Wafflewab wufflegob
Woody L. Woodpecker
Early in Woody’s rise
Heading to fame
Fool of demented acts
inappropriately
too wild and offensive
Needed to tame
Whatever possessed me to write about Woody Woodpecker? Who knows, except that his name may or may not be a double dactyl, with the fake L. middle initial.
So today was a cold day with a high of just 42F. (That is cold for me anyway–maybe not in Idaho or the Midwest or the Northeast, but it is cold in California.) It rained last night and snowed on the hills and mountains around us. It was mostly cloudy all day.
For more inspiration today, I looked on my camera roll and found some photos from last week that I didn’t write about when they happened. This is my sister’s ‘granddaughter,’ we call her. (Not officially, but Lori is very close to the girl and her mom. My sister has become Grandma Lori to her. The little girl comes to our house a lot too.) I had these chalk eggs sitting out, and one time she saw them and wanted to play, but it was night time and cold outside. I told her next time she came in the daytime we would play with them outside. The next time came and the weather was beautiful, sunny and warm. She noticed them, and we spent the whole morning outside, drawing and then hiding and gathering the eggs. She hid them and found them, like she was seeing each for the first time. I was the container holder. She never tired until it was time to leave.
In Order for Me to Write Poetry
I have just to look out my window
The birds are munching their seeds
darting, hustling, swooping, soaring
Chirrupping and cooing to me
and each other
The sun peeks through the clouds
calling me to contemplate peace
In order for me to write poetry
I just sit in silence as I wish
I have enough food
I have clean water to drink
I have the Internet to publish
this poem online if I wish
and paper and pen if I don’t
I even have lots of things I want
and no threat of missiles
coming my way
no warplanes overhead
Can the people of Gaza take
time to write poems today?
Can they look out windows
they no longer have?
Many can’t hear the birds
for the pounding of fear
in their chest is louder
than the birds
The boat of a moon tonight
calls Gaza to break their
fast at افطار Iftar,
but what if there is no food?
How can there be a celebration
when there is no food?
How can there be peace
when there is no hope?
I wrote the poem above after seeing this on Instagram today:
Today is Poetry Friday. Tanita Davis is rounding up the posts for this Ides of March at {fiction, instead of lies}.
This week has been a week of poetry reading (as well as writing regular shitty first drafts of poems for the Stafford Challenge).
First and most importantly, I read poetry by my daughter Maria. She took an advanced poetry class as a senior in college and made this beautiful book of poems:
My favorite poems of this collection are Maria’s Sonnets i and ii, written about her spring break trip 14 years ago. She experienced a vastly different spring break than is typical for a college junior.
i
I’d never seen my Grandma grey and worn.
This shrunken woman in the hospice bed
cannot be my grandma. My grandma lives alone
in Yucca Valley, hiking on the dirt
roads with muddy furrows that sink like
the laugh lines on her cheeks. She conceals
wispy hair under immaculate wigs. Despite
sore hammer toes she works her sky-high heels.
That day I hiked the furrowed roads alone,
adrift amidst waxy creosote.
Stringy jackrabbits, baby quail gambol,
flitting through dry gulches like rowboats.
Somehow I didn’t want to be inside
Spring Break two thousand ten, when Grandma died.
ii
Spring Break two thousand ten, when Grandma died,
I arrived in time for bon voyage,
the convalescent odors scattered by
tamales, Spanish rice, tortillas, guac,
and Grandma, a bit tipsy on boxed wine.
One last boisterous fiesta while the Reeds
were still a family, whole and feeling fine.
The jalapeño sweat displaced the needs
that lay beneath the cornered hospice sheets.
The jalapeños were what got to me,
the smiles against those hospice whites.
The laugh of one you love is therapy
with nebulizer and glass of sweet rosé.
I’d never seen my Grandma grey and worn.
~By Maria C. Krebs, reprinted with permission by the poet
Another book I’ve read this week is Counting Descent by Clint Smith. Last year I won a Barnes & Noble gift card from Carol Labuzzetta from a promotion on her site The Apples in My Orchard. I “lost” it for several months, and when I found it recently, I added Barnes & Noble on my to-do list when we were in Temecuela last week. For more than one reason, I wanted to buy a book of poems, but I also got this package of beautiful origami paper.
Another book I read was this 40-year-old verse novel. The Donner Party by George Keithley is the evidence I’ll bring to the next meeting of our Friends of the Library. It is convincing evidence, I believe, for the request to be less picky about the books we place in our book shop. I was volunteering on Saturday, and I found this book in the box to be recycled (not to sell in the bookshop):
It is beautifully-written and full of detail of the horrors of the cross-country trip to California that the Donners, Reeds, and others made in 1846. There are some offensive and archaic references, which were revised in a 2012 reprinting of this book, but it’s a worthwhile find for 50 cents or $1–the price we charge for books at our Friends bookshop.
Another opportunity on Ethical ELA: Verselove is coming in April. If you are looking for community and 30 days of writing prompts for April’s National Poetry Month, you will be coming to the right place. You’re welcome to join us. Sign up for Verselove here.
Finally, for those who are still here. If you’ll be writing a #poetrypals animal pantoum, have you seen the Pantoum Tool here? I find it very helpful.