Friday, March 23, 2012

Fleeting Laziness in Birds and Catching Myself Being Selfish

My brother built a planter for roses
in the garden on the side of our house.
A dove couple came and thought things over.
There in the corner they whispered.

Could they dutifully take their turns,
(as doves do) she from three to ten,
he from ten to three, 
until they hatched the usual two?  
They wondered if my brother had done all
this work just for them and their young?
They were tempted, I knew.

But, no. He raised objections.
She made several good points.
Building in this easy, shady,
new-wood-smelling spot would not
be a sound dove decision.
Neighborhood cats were known to jump
right off the roof into the garden.
There's Blossom, the dog, who can get
overexcited and occasionally loud.
Sam, the cat, is meant to stay
inside his screened-in porch,
but could they really count on that
always being the case?
Their cool gray heads prevailed.

The house-hunting birds flew off and after they'd left,
I found a mound of red mulch, dove-sized, dented and soft.
They were right to take flight. I know that, of course.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

“It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.”
 Mark Twain 

3/13/12-Brainstorming Session among like-minded private citizens (okay, writer friends) responding to national tough nut to crack. 

Reason #1 for outreach plan:

Public Policy Poll (Democratic polling)
52% of Republicans in Mississippi think President Obama is a Muslim
45%  "  "                   "    Alabama     "        "                  "   "          " 

Okay, ideas?

  •  ASAP mobilization of friendly Peace-Corps type trip to rural and small-town America to lure folks to reconsider some. (you can end a thought on the word "some" in the South
  • Aren't we being too cynical, Nonnie?  

  • Hold events on Sundays after church services-don't want preachers spotting us and talking about us from their pulpits

  • A completely unofficial, pleasant gathering of folks.  Most at least middle-aged, children ok, not too many 18 to 35s, bunch of over 65s. Nice clothes, not too fancy, not too sloppy. No faking accents. Avoid urban... or hippy-dippy. Discreet cell phones okay. Leave laptops in motel.

  • Don't quote Mark Twain. Don't quote anybody.
  • Everyone wearing plain crosses? (research needed)
  • Little Obama buttons-real little-tiny-maybe just lower case "d" pins

  • Everyone Welcome to (name of town, or county, maybe) Barbeque! (Big sign, hand-lettered, magic marker on white posterboard)
  • Find people to man grills. None of us wants to.
  • Barbeque set up across the street from all those little churches out in the middle of nowhere, and in vicinity of mega churches where people pouring out of church parking lot will see us

  • Flea market/garage sale type tables with people hanging out in lawn chairs behind tables. Useful/pretty stuff-good prices.
  • See if we can find any books that might sell and yet woo? (further discussion needed on this.)
  • Sweet tea, cokes, coffee, pulled pork, coleslaw, potato salad, deviled eggs, rolls, cakes, pies (what kind?) ice cream
  • Gospel & Country singers
  • Bluegrass
  • child soloists

  • lawn chairs set up in circles
  • tell personal stories about coming to believe our President is a good guy, and Christian

  • free tobacco products (research first)


Comment section via private office of a password protected writer's site on the World Wide Web. These people are not googleable.

From lankywoman:

What kind of pies? Chess pie, naturally, and raspberry. Gotta have peach pie cuz everyone from TN to GA to Ala and Miss just as easy pass it up than take it onaccounta they ate way to manyof them growing up...

Lowercase "d" buttons - I LIKE that!

Gotta have all kinds of cokes, like pepsi, moutain dew, orange, you know, all kinds of cokes. My favorite kinda coke, and the only one I'll drink - Verner's Ginger Ale. 

Gotta decide whether you want North Carolina cole slaw or TN coleslaw, and southern BBQ or St. Louis BBQ, and then, when you decide, stick with your choices. To the death.

From lakehugger:

I'd not call it cynical. Rather, pointed.

From justsayin':

I don't know if this would be cynical or realistic, but I suspect the appropriate ending would be to have the red necks beat you all up, then eat the goodies and say they were doing God's work.

From almostoutahere:

Never try to teach a pig to waste your time and annoy the pig.

via email:

From wilsnote:

as to southern pies
moonpies definitely
Neopolitan ice cream pies 
cut with a small biscuit cutter 
on Famous Chocolate Wafers in an iced cooler
and chicken pot pies kept warm on the grill

Tuesday, March 06, 2012

I was in a battle once. Nine year-old to nine year-old combat. Big stick to big stick. Martha, from the bottom of the hill, and me. I'm pretty sure she started it. Her bunch was trying to keep my frinds and me from the path that led down to our best play spot-a pond and its swampy environs. Martha was being even bossier than usual and then this wierd fight started between the two of us. The whole mob split into sides, everybody was shouting, but Martha and I were deadly quiet as we did stick to stick (oh, yeah, we really had big sticks) Robin Hood and Friar Tuck type combat. I can still conjure those feelings: furious, scared, out of control, and above all shocked that I had gotten into such a mess. One of my big brothers, Drago or Bobby, got between us and Mark, Martha's brother, got her mother, who came out and yelled, mostly at me, and the war ended. It had probably only lasted twenty minutes, and no one got hurt, but the whole thing shook me up in all kinds of ways. I ran home and straight to my mother's lap, like a little kid. Cried off and on the rest of the day. Mom didn't even scold me. No need.

When I was in my teens, protesting against the war we had going then, I thought the "make love not war message" would take hold, it seemed so sensible, but, no, it hasn't. There's still violence all over the damn place. Bomb talk, you know? Amazing. Bigfuckingstick bombs.  Where are the big brothers? Where are the moms?

On another note:

In an Effort to Forestall Self-Pity, I've Been Pondering

bowls of spaghetti with fresh marinara
family tossed stories of our living and dead
coffee, jokes, confessions with cake,

cobbled streets, shady footpaths, corners to turn,
hotels with verandas and gardens, no pools,
bookstores with feelings, small time caf├ęs,

musicians to fall for, a loudmouth to hate
newborns to visit, fences to fix,
payments, thank yous, grand plans to make.

Until I feel better,
my desk will work fine.
Rain today, sun tomorrow
play your cards, take your time.