First draft of a poem - Week 5

The Perfect Rose

Check out everyone on Match.com.
Keep looking for that perfect rose.
Find the one who wears the white robe just for you,
And not because she likes it too.
Find the one who would never fight you to speak her truth.
Who has no thorns to prick your heart and make it bleed.
The one who already dances like a ballerina,
Who knows that arithmetic in not mathematics.
Find the one who will wear the sexy, pointed toed heels for you
And never complain of hurting feet while looking for the car.
Find the one who is already thin and does not need to lose weight.
Find the one who has a house on Cape Cod and Key West.
Find the rose that grows with no thorns.

___ Beverly Smith

Response to April's Journal - "Love Story" - Week 5

April, I loved this. What a great description of how it feels to be pregnant! Your specificity, metaphors, and similes are brilliant. I especially like: "My chest is a road map of blue veins that drive into dark areolas." I love this imagery: "I wish I could pop my legs off and reattach them like I used to do to my Barbie dolls.
Sleeping on your side with pillows propped, especially between your knees and then having to get up to pee and then rearranging them again. No alcohol, not even a Tylenol. Suffering through a cold with no medication to alleviate symptoms. All for the love of Baby-to-be. Although my Baby-to-be is now 31 years old, it seems like only yesterday.

"Improv-"ing / imitation - Week 5

I imitated two limericks :

There was an old man on the Border,
Who lived in the utmost disorder;
He danced with the cat, and made tea in his hat,
Which vexed all the folks on the Border.
___Edward Lear

There was a young girl on the sidewalk,
Who lived just to hear herself talk;
She yelled at the boys, and made fun of their toys,
Which bothered the men on the sidewalk.
___ Beverly Smith

There was an Old Man of the East,
Who gave all his children a feast;
But they all ate so much, and their conduct was such,
That it killed the Old Man of the East.
___ Edward Lear

There was an old man from the West,
Who gave all of his children his best;
But they tossed it around, til it fell on the ground,
Breaking the heart of the man from the West.
___ Beverly Smith

Free Entry - Milking the Cow - Week 5

After suggestions from April and Damyr, I decided to re-do my piece about milking the cow:

     "Mother, please don't make me milk the cow today.  I have a date with Bob tonight, and the sweat will make my hair stink!  Please make Phyllis do it!"
     "You know it's your turn, so just do it, and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
     "I hate living on a farm!  If I lived in town like Sandra, I'd never have to be your little slave!"
     It is a steamy, hot, humid day in Webster County in southwest Georgia.  The humidity must be 99.9%.  One more tenth  and the droplets of water vapor would coalesce and fall to the ground as rain.
     I squat beside Sukey, our cow, and grab hold of her teats with both hands.  As the first squirts of milk fall, making a tinny sound in the metal bucket, my thoughts flow as freely as Sukey's milk.  I think of what to wear tonight, of the interplay of our fingers as we drive to the movies in Americus.  I  anticipate the luscious, passionate kisses from Bob's beloved lips later in the evening.
     While I continue milking, the smell of freshly mown grass permeates the sultry air.  Sukey shifts from one foot to another and gently swishes her tail to swat flies from her undulating reddish-brown coat.  Sweat drops begin in my head and roll down my face and down the valley of cleavage trapped in my bra.  The bucket is almost full.  Soon I will be free to soak in the tub and scrub the cow-tit smell from my hands. 
     Suddenly a huge horsefly bites Sukey, and she switches her tail violently, catching my wire mesh rollers in her coarse tail.  Half of the rollers become entangled in her shitty-smelling tail, and she jerks them out of my hair.
     With all the theatrics that a fifteen year old drama queen can summon, I let out a loud scream of frustration and exasperation that brings my mother running out the backdoor to see what is causing all the commotion.
     "What is going on out here?"  When she sees me with rollers hanging from my hair in disarray, her face wears an amused expression.
     "A gigantic horsefly bit Sukey!  Then she got my rollers tangled in her smelly tail and jerked half of them out!  Then she kicked the bucket and spilled the milk!  I wasn't born to live on a farm!"
     Mother thinks the whole scene is hilarious and collapses on the grass in hysterics.  Her infectious laughter breaks down my defenses, and I dissolve in a fit of tears and giggling.  The absurdity of the situation provides much-needed levity and release from the mundane monotony of another day on the farm.

Reading Response to "The Pain of Pink Evenings" by Rosemary Moore

     I really enjoyed reading this play. Moore uses interesting details and lots of specificity to breathe life into the story of a timid, mousey woman in her forties.  Tracy was emotionally paralyzed and unable to move on since her husband's death ten years ago.  He comes to her in a dream and tells her what to do to move on with her life.  She reluctantly begins the process by finally selecting a pretty white sweater with pearl buttons to dispose of as a symbol for moving on.
     The dream served as a catalyst to propel Tracy to move out of her depression.  The fact that she made her bed on the morning she got the sweater out suggests that her energy was beginning to return.  When she laid it on the bed, she felt that it glowed with radioactivity.  When she tried it on, she felt a pain in her chest, and a button just fell off.
     As she dealt with the sweater, she felt her father's presence and allowed herself to remember her evenings with him before he died.  That she sat there folding, unfolding, and refolding her napkin as he talked revealed that she was even timid around her own father.
     Before going down to the Potomac, she lay on the ground in the median in a futile attempt to contact Henry again.  Her strange behavior attracted a Japanese couple who wanted to photograph her.  This interruption served to let her know that she was the star of her life and that it was time for the action to begin.  She finally got up, tore the bag open, and threw the beloved old sweater into the Potomac River.  She watched as it slowly sank.  Hopefully, now she will begin to move on with her own life.

Junkyard Quote # 4 - Week 5

"The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak."
_____ Friedrich Nietzche

Response to Kay's Journal - Week 5

Kay, I thought you did a good job of showing the boredom, frustration, and pain of being ignored while your boyfriend lived in his virtual world playing a video game. Focusing on the uneven stripes of the sofa and removing a layer from your back molars are such good descriptions of ways you manage to keep your mouth shut. How would he react if you told him that you could not visit next time because you cannot afford $3.42 a gallon for gasoline to watch him play video games? Or what would he do if you decided to move away from him, clearly in his line of vision,and lose yourself in a good book wearing only some very sexy lingerie?

Calisthenics - Dialogue that Shows Instead of Tells - Week 5

     "I'm getting vanilla.  I don't see how you can stand chocolate!"

     "Well, I love it, and it contains powerful antioxidants!"  I smiled at the clerk and paid for my one scoop of chocolate in a cup.

     She made a face at my chocolate.  "Antioxidants?  Are you afraid you're going to rust?"

     I could see that she thought her comment was funny.  I glanced at her with a hint of amusement in my eyes.  "Maybe your joints wouldn't be so stiff if you'd eat chocolate."

     She scrunched up her face.  "No, thanks!  I much prefer vanilla laced with Advil."

     "Let's walk to Macy*s while we eat."

     "Okay."  She took one glorious lick from the triple scoop vanilla ice cream cone, and then the whole thing just toppled to the floor.  "Well, I wasn't really hungry anyway.  And you shouldn't be eating ice cream either if you ever expect to lose that weight."

     Her comment really pissed me off.  She was a skinny blonde bitch with an adolescent waistline.  Her rib cage had never been permanently stretched out by a growing fetus.  I looked at her with a mixture of pity and anger.  I would take my child and my slightly larger waist any day over her tiny waist.  That is when I decided that she was just too vanilla for me.  Next time, I'd ask Helen to go shopping with me.  She loves chocolate!

Calisthenics - Dialogue that Shows Instead of Tells - Week 5

     "I like all genres of music except rap.  Actually, I think rap music is an oxymoron."  She stuck her finger in her mouth and made a gagging sound.

     "I can understand how you feel, but Cam 's managed to teach me a little rap appreciation."  I kept both hands on the wheel and focused on driving.

     Glenda stared at me.  "You mean you permit him to listen to that crap with you?  Are you crazy?"

     "Yes, a little, but at least I'm in therapy.  I do it because of my mother.  She hated my rock music and always made me turn it down.  I swore I'd never be like her.  So, yes, Cam and I listen to rap in the car.  It's a bonding thing.  And we play it as loud as he wants it!"  I turned and gave Glenda a brilliant smile.

     "You'll be wearing hearing aids before you're out of your forties.  Did you see that hideous thing in Catherine's ear at church yesterday?"  She squirmed, rubbed her ear, and slumped further in her seat.

     I shook my head.  "No, I don't think I even saw Catherine.  Just listen to this one song by Tupac."  I pressed number one for his CD, but the volume was too low.  When I reached to turn it up, the whole knob fell off, and I said, "Damn!"

     Glenda gave me a smug look.  "See, God doesn't even want to hear it.

Junkyard Quote # 3 - week 5

"Some of the world's greatest feats were accomplished by people not smart enough to know they were impossible."
_____ Doug Larson

Junkyard Quote # 2 - Week 5

     "When we walked in, the smell of flowers was overpowering.  Funeral flowers have a different smell than wedding flowers.  Like if I walked into a church blindfolded, I could tell if it was a wedding or a funeral about to take place just by the smell of the flowers."
____ excerpt from a memoir by Beverly Smith

Junkyard Quote #1 - Week - 5

"I am truly looking forward to being subsumed with you deeply within the spiritual / affective / cognitive / physical domains."
_____excerpt from an email from a special man

Free Entry - Week 4 - A Memoir - Milking the Cow

     One hot, humid July afternoon in 1965, I squatted unhappily beside Sukey, our cow.  As the first squirts of milk fell, making a tinny sound in the metal bucket, my thoughts flowed as freely as Sukey's milk.
     I cannot believe I have to do something this low and demeaning. My best friend, Sandra, never has to do anything like this.  I hope nobody I know drives by.
     As I sat milking and feeling sorry for myself for being a farmer's daughter, the smell of freshly mown grass
permeated the air.  Sukey shifted from one foot to another and gently swished her tail to swat flies from her undulating reddish-brown coat.  Sweat beads built up and rolled down my face and the cleavage trapped in my bra.  The bucket was almost full.  Soon I'd be free to take a bath and scrub the cow tit smell from my hands for my date with Bob.  I felt positive that he'd never ask me out again if he could see me in this embarrassing situation.
     With no warning, Sukey's tail switched violently and caught in the wire mesh rollers in my hair, leaving half the rollers entangled in her coarse, smelly, shitty tail.  Sukey was the victim of a huge horsefly bite.  This event set off a chain reaction which included Sukey stepping in the brimming bucket of milk, thereby spilling its contents, my producing a near blood-curdling scream of total exasperation and frustration., followed by my mother dashing out the back door to see what was causing all the commotion.
     "What happened?"
     "That dumb old cow just jerked out my rollers with her gross tail, stepped in the bucket, and spilled the milk!  This is so unfair!"
     Mother thought the whole scene was hilarious and collapsed onto the grass in a fit of hysterics.  Her infectious laughter broke down my defenses, and I too dissolved in tears and laughter.  The absurdity of the situation provided much-needed levity and release from the mundane monotony of another day on the farm.
     

Reading Response - Week 4 - Writing Poetry - Chapter 6 - By Chad Davidson and Gregory Fraser

     I chose this chapter because it gives so many helpful suggestions for writing and critiquing poetry.  It made me more aware of the importance of explaining the reasons for a particular assessment.  Just saying that you liked or disliked  the piece is not helpful without explaining why.
     Giving objective reasons for an assessment helps alleviate hurt feelings in the writer.  Hurt feelings cause anxiety about sharing and can cripple the creative process.
     I liked what Asinov said about writers falling into two camps:
     "1.  Those who bleed copiously and visibly at any bad review and
       2.  Those who bleed copiously and secretly at any bad review."
     The most helpful workshop concentrates more on objective bases than on subjective bases.  Affective reasoning is one of the biggest perils in critiquing poetry.
     Poems need to be assessed on their own merit, and students need to be able to provide their own interpretations rather than to expect the meaning to be delivered to them.  Poems will have different meanings to unique individuals.
     Whether we speak of the author or the critic, the melding of the creative faculties resides at the heart of the culture of the workshop.

"Improv"-ing / imitation - Week 4

I chose the sample workshop poem we worked on in class.

All the hype and duffel bags dumped,
I x-ed our gear off lists with tiny crossbones
in a khaki baggage detail with twenty other Joes.
Laid out  on the hangar floor warped in summer,
a battalion's worth of socks, can openers,
rubbers, transparent bars of deodorant,
hunting magazines, photos of children on boats.
Then off to Maine, Ireland, then Germany,
and finally Kuwait, from where Chinooks
buzzed us into the heart of Mesopotamia
and our own unreal translations of glory.
****************************************
     My Imitation

All the shopping and sewing done,
Fall wardrobe packed in red American Tourister luggage,
Along with a Quarter's worth  of Ice Blue Secret Deodorant,
Tampax, Revlon Touch and Glow make-up, peppermint stick lipstick,
Brush rollers, Aqua Net Hair Spray, and a photo of my high school sweetheart.
Then off through Buena Vista, Manchester, Warm Springs, Newnan and
Finally Carrollton,  into the heart of West Georgia College.
I lugged my red suitcase up the steps into Adamson Dorm
And my own surreal journey to a college education.

Response to Osa's Journal - Week 4

I thought your response to David Madden's reading from Abducted By Circumstance was excellent. Since I have never studied drama, I learned much from what you wrote. Now I know why I was so mesmerized by his delivery. You educated me on various drama techniques such as vocal manipulation, inflection, timed pause, and posture changes.
Thank you for pointing out how he achieved sound manipulation by stepping towards and away from the microphone. Your description of how he created different voices by shifting the pitch and tone of his voice and inserting subtle different accents was enlightening. I enjoyed reading your informative and well-written response.

Response to Morgan's Journal - Week 4

I really liked this poem, Morgan. It brought back poignant memories of the passionate love that my paternal grandparents shared since the day they eloped when he was 17 and she was only 14. I don't remember seeing them dance, but whenever the family gathered, they sat close holding hands, smiling proudly at the children and grandchildren brought to life by their union. I had thought that they were really old, but it just occurred to me that they were still in their sixties. My grandfather died when he was 70. My God! I am in my sixties, and I don't feel old! I remember that Grandmother asked me to spend the night with her on the day he died She cried and told me that he "loved" her every night. I wonder what exactly she meant by that!

Calistenics - Week 4

"He ripped my heart into pieces and devoured my poor, poisoned soul."
*********************************************************

"With a quick peck on the cheek, instead of his usual passionate goodnight kiss, he sucked the joy from my soul.  Before he left, he said, 'Take care,' and I knew it was over."

Junkyard Quote # 4 - Week 4

"During a quiet time a while ago, I was suddenly subsumed by the feeling, peace and knowledge of 'Trust It.' "
-----excerpt from an email from a special man

Junkyard Quote # 3 - Week 4

"Where you stumble and fall, there you will find gold."
----- Joseph Campbell

Junkyard Quote # 2 - Week 4

"Computers are like Old Testament gods; lots of rules and no mercy."
-----Joseph Campbell

Junkyard Quote #1 - Week 4

"How does the ordinary person come to the transcendent?  For a start, I would say, study poetry.  Learn how to read a poem.  You need not have the experience to get the message, or at least some indication of the message.  It may come gradually."
----- Joseph Campbell, Thou Art That: Transforming Religious Metaphor

Reading Response to "I Am Twenty-One" - by Mary Robison

     I remember my twenty-first year.  Although I had not lost my parents, I lost the love of my life, Jeff.  He had reconciled with his high school sweetheart over Christmas break.  I had believed that we were destined to get married, and now I felt I had nothing to live for. 
     Boolean algebra made no sense, and I was failing it.  I cried all during the last test.  I worked part time as a cashier in the snack shop, and sometimes my relief was late.  This made me late to my sociology class, and the cruel professor always made some catty remark about my tardiness.
     My self-esteem was shattered, and I developed an anxiety disorder.  I scheduled an appointment with a professor in the psychology department, hoping for help.  Instead of listening, being empathetic, and offering help, he had the audacity to tell me that he was sexually attracted to me.
     I ended up talking to Dean Georgia Martin.  When I told her that I thought I was having a nervous breakdown, she heard me.  She listened as I told her of my plans to drop out of college and train to be an airline stewardess.  She wisely counseled me and encouraged me to work hard and stay in school.  Telling  me that she was available to talk anytime I needed to provided a huge safety net.
     Somehow I survived that year and being twenty-one, but it was definitely one of the most difficult years of my life.

Response to Debra's Journal - Free Entry - January 22

I like how you explained the aging process to your 5-year old son. Those visits to your mother are probably as hard for you as they are for him.
It was difficult watching my once big, strong, virile father begin to age. His strong back became stooped. Macular degeneration robbed him of his pleasure of reading. I bought him a Kindle DX so that he could enlarge the font, but the technology was too difficult for his brain to master.
Dementia stole his ability to express himself clearly and make sense of his environment. Once I found him looking for his Depends in the dining room. I led him gently back to his bathroom,
His heart was the same, but his body failed him and wore out. Life became too challenging. Death restored his peace.

Free Entry - "September 11, 2001" - Week 3

     Although I had watched World News Tonight with Peter Jennings for years, I had never focused so much on him as much as I focused on the news of the day.  But today, 9-11, I was seeing him through new eyes.  He displayed an authenticity and vulnerability that I had never perceived.  Today he became a real live, seemingly approachable man.  In my shock and distress, his comforting tone of voice touched me and offered me reassurance that our country would survive this egregious attack.
     As he gestured with his hands, sleeves casually rolled up, I merely observed that he was not wearing a wedding band.  I wondered if he were still single.  I remembered hearing on Entertainment Tonight once that he'd taken Barbra Streisand to some celebrity function.  The TV ceased to exist as his calm demeanor in the midst of chaos drew me to him by pure magnetism.  I was unable to pull myself from him and his conveyance of the news.  He was there, in my family room, talking to me personally, telling me all he knew.  As long as he was there, providing  balm for my angst, I felt that everything would be all right, somehow, someday.
     The towers were shown being bombarded and tumbling to the ground repeatedly all day.  Peter got somewhat emotional when he told us that we must call our children.  I found the prints of our last family vacation to New York and pulled out those of The World Trade Center.  While standing on top of the South Tower, we never imagined that these massive towers would lie on the ground in ruins in fewer than five years.

**********************************************************************************

     It had been an emotionally exhausting day, and it was late when I turned the TV off and went to bed.  Crazy dreams revolved in my brain and disturbed my sleep.  The only one that I remember vividly involved Jeff and Dan flying their small Cessna planes toward the Statue of Liberty with intentions  of destroying it.  Just then, Peter Jennings miraculously appeared, armed with a machine gun.  Just before the moment of impact, Peter aimed, fired, and shot them both down.
----- excerpt from Dinner With Peter by Beverly Smith

"Improv-" "My father's Love Letters - Assignment - Week 3 - "The Virgin Inquisition"

     My mother did not have the opportunity or interest to attend college.  She dropped out of high school 2 months shy of graduation to marry my father, and she certainly wasn't pregnant.  Her education was garnered  from The Bible, country preachers, and the wisdom of the world of televangelism.    
     Hers was an Old Testament God of punishment.  The most unforgivable sin in her book was engaging in sex outside the bonds of marriage. I always tried to avoid being alone in the room with her for fear of getting  "the talk."  Her eyes could bore a hole in your psyche that made you feel guilty for even being born with a vagina.
     My mother had 3 babies because she got pregnant.  She got pregnant intentionally one time in hopes of bearing a son, but another girl was born.
     The last time I remember being ensconced with my 3 sisters and mother in the family room was the last time I remember the virgin inquisition.
     "Girls, you already know I was a virgin on my wedding night, and I am so glad I was.  Phyllis has told me she was a virgin, too.  I just wish I could know that all of you were pure when you got married."
    Our squirming and sinking deeper into our chairs was almost imperceptible as we prayed for an act of Nature, like a tornado or earthquake,to put an end to this awkward embarrassment and total violation of our privacy.
     If she had zeroed in on me, my answer was ready: I really do not think my sex life is any of your business.  You need to realize that we are all separate, grown women and not mere extensions of yourself.  But I sat there mute, still not believing her ignorance, naivete, and complete lack of boundaries.  In her fearful world, she thought that we would spend eternity burning in agonizing hell-fire if we had succumbed to our flesh and committed The Act before marriage.
     "I just wish somebody would say something to assure me that I have nothing to worry about so I can put my mind at ease."
     "Okay!"  Betty blurted. "No, I was not a virgin when we got married.  Ed and I even lived together!  I hope you are happy now!  If it was a sin, I have made it right with my God.  I just wish that you could forgive me.  Are you happy now?"
     Way to go, Betty!  Thank you for being the brave one to finally put her in her place!
     "I had always suspected that.  Now I know.  I don't guess anybody else is going to say anything."
     I sat there in total silence.  Hell, no, Mother!  It is none of your damn business!  I am so sorry that you are trapped in this fearful life of ignorance.  Thank you for allowing me to leave and  go away to college.

Junkyard Quote # 4 - Week 3

"After several months of calorie-restriction and only 5 months of weight training, choreographed by Glenn, I took my favorite old skinny jeans out of the closet.  As I stepped into them, my hips and thighs inhaled. Effortlessly, I pulled them up and zipped them.  Yes!  My body was beginning to melt into svelte!"
-----excerpt from my personal journal by Beverly Smith

Response to Junkyard Quote # 1 - Week 3 by Daniel Jackson

I love that quote. It expresses how I feel about my son, Cameron, who is now 31. Not only did I try to instill good values and teach him what I knew, but I was able to relive my childhood vicariously through him. He taught me more about life, love, and technology than anyone else. We have fun together. He shares his hopes, dreams, plans, and even his music with me. He confided that he'd met the ONE shortly after he met his wife. He even told me when it was time to get rid of my dinosaur and get a smart phone. And he always say, "I love you," before hanging up the phone.

Junkyard Quote - # 3 - Week 3

"Knowledge can last, principles can last, habits can last; but feelings come and go.  And in fact, whatever people say, the state called  'being in love' usually does not last."
----- excerpt from Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis

Response to April's Super Long Free Entry - Week 2

     I loved how you wove personal anecdotes into your recipe for eggplant parmesan.  Your brother's being thrown against the walls of the house made memories surface of my sisters being beaten with a leather belt wielded by my out-of-control angry mother.
     Your brother's skateboard accident and concern that your dad would be upset at him for breaking it dredged up another similar memory.  When I was 10 years old, drowning in the lake at 4-H camp, my first thought was about how upset my mother would be about my death.  I am still here because the lifeguard was attentive and rescued me.  I like your ending, and I'll bet your eggplant parmesan is delicious.

Calisthenics - Week 3 - Rewriting cliche

1.  The moon was beautifully full, and the stars shone like diamonds in the sky.
( The moon dangled overhead like a stryrofoam ball painted yellow, surrounded by aluminum foil stars suspended from a science project mobile.)

2.  We held hands and let the breeze dance in our hair, while the ocean waves tickled our feet.
( Like a couple filming a commercial, the wind machine transformed our hair as our fingers embraced tightly.  Seaweed scrubbed our feet as we performed a slow jog at the edge of the ocean.)

Junkyard Quote # 2 - Week 3

"Since I have met you all over again, I find myself turning a corner about you ... a corner I wish to return to ... a corner I have not been to before ... what is the name of this street?  I feel like I am being strapped in for some sort of fantastic, hitherto unexperienced ride of my life ... ready or not ..."
----- excerpt from an email from a special man

Junkyard Quote #1 - Week 3

"Who cared if I passed astronomy anyway.  Who cared about the science of the solar system and the infinite universe and the divine fucking plan, if the God who held it all in place was like this, forbidding a woman any of it unless she obeyed and became a captive breeding sow, her destiny bound to whatever beast happened to mount her that day.  According to the Bible, all she had to do was trade in her sex and her freedom, and in return be yoked with the glories of indentured motherhood."
-----excerpt from Until He Comes by K. Dawn Goodwin

Free Entry - Week # 2

Burying Baby Biddies

     On a warm summer day on the farm when I was around six years old, my  five-year old sister and I were looking for something to do. With no TV, we were forced to be creative and design our own adventures.  Spotting the old mother hen, followed by her seven adorable fluffy chicks, I had an unusual vision.
     "Hey! I got a great idea!"
     I explained my animal cruelty idea to Phyllis, and we immediately began digging seven little holes in the soft soil of the flower garden with our sand shovels.  When the holes were all dug, we dropped a baby chick into each one and buried it up to its head.
     "Peep!  Peep!  Peep! Peep!  Peep!"  was all they could do.  We were delighted with our brilliant inventiveness!  Their fluffy faces wore frightened looks as their eyes darted back and forth in puzzlement at their sudden paralysis.  We were hysterical with laughter.  Like alien yellow flowers with no stems, they were planted in the garden along side the other flowers.
     After a while, our budding consciences summoned our guilt for robbing innocent creatures of their freedom.  Carefully, we dug them out of their little pots,  They shook briskly and tripped eagerly back to their distressed mother hen, happy to have sense back in their existence.
     Phyllis and I felt noble for restoring their freedom, but nonetheless glad for having committed the crime.  It gave us a wonderfully humorous memory.

Journal Response to Kay Lowery Junkyard Quotes #1 Week # 2

"It's like a crime scene in my pants."

     I miss the monthly crime scene in my pants.  Not so much the actual scene as what it represented:  youth, vitality, fertility.  All my eggs have hatched or were disposed of my Nature.
     I need to embrace the gifts of menopause:  freedom from fear of unwanted pregnancy, no cramps, no PMS, fewer mood fluctuations, no uncontrollable weird food cravings.  I need to embrace wisdom gained from participating fully in the experience of life.
     But I fight it every step of the way.  I apply Retin-A to my face, use sunscreen daily, do yoga, cardio,
lift weights, take college classes for the joy of learning and staving off Alzheimer's disease.  Hormone Replacement Therapy is my drug-of-choice.  I am not ready to surrender to old age and wait for death to transport me to heaven.  Heaven is here on Earth.

Response to Damiyre Davis Free Entry 1 Week 1 by Beverly Smith

I can empathize with your feeling that Carrollton sucks.  Having traveled to New York on three occasions, it is a thrill to experience even some of what NYC offers.  Going to the top of the World Trade Center, The Empire State Building, riding the Staten Island Ferry to the Statue of Liberty, dining at Tavern on the Green and other fine restaurants, shopping on Fifth Avenue, admiring the architecture.  Wow!  If I could afford the real estate, I'd love to own an apartment there.
     If you could experience the small rural town of Preston where I grew up, you really would be in culture shock.  Mom's Kitchen is the ONLY restaurant in town.  There are no hospitals, subways, museums, theaters, nor any skyscrapers.  But if your father dies, the whole town turns out to pay their respects.  They stand up and tell how they wish they could be just like him, a good, hard working, honest man.  Everyone knew and loved him.  That really means a lot.
     I chose to stay in Carrollton after graduating from college.  It lies somewhere along the spectrum between Preston and NYC.  It has a lot more to offer now than when I was in college in the sixties:  more restaurants, a cultural arts center, and easy access to Atlanta, a city with a few things to do.  I hope that you will find a few good things about Carrollton someday.  In the meantime, I feel your pain.

"Improv-ing/imitation Week #2

Rattlesnake
by Richard Hugo

I found him sleepy in the heat
And dust of a gopher burrow,
Coiled in loose folds upon silence
In a pit of the noonday hillside.
I saw the wedged bulge
Of the head hard as a fist,
I remembered his delicate ways:
The mouth a cat's mouth yawning.
I crushed him deep in dust,
And heard the loud seethe of life
In the dead beads of the tail
Fade, as wind fades
From the wild grain of the hill.


Spider
by Beverly Smith


I found him in my bathroom
trapped in the tub
silently climbing the walls
patiently attempting to escape.
I saw his large hard head
legs splayed out up the side.
I observed his helpless struggle,
like a baby learning to walk.
I squished him with my shoe
And felt his life crunch.
His legs curled and ceased to move.
I fished him out with a rag
And flushed him down the john.

Junkyard Quote #4 Week #2

"Clitoris.  Holy crap.  I had those two completely confused. 
Wait.  Clit-o-ris?  Oh.  Clit.  Oh!  Clit!  All hidden under that tubey skin thing.  I'd always wondered.  Nerve bundles, stimulation.  Behold, the "special place."  Behold, the orgasm button!  Dammit, why didn't they bother to mention that in health?  That would've been kinda freaking helpful."

----Excerpt from Until He Comes  by K. Dawn Goodwin

Junkyard Quote #3 Week 2

"I apostrophize you with joyous felicitations and look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
---line in an email from a special friend

Reading Response Week #2

January 26, 2012
"Next Door" by Tobias Wolff
My first reaction is that it is sad to have to live so close to neighbors that you can have little privacy or peace.  It isn't as if they want to spy.  The loud yelling is difficult to ignore.  Their own world is invaded by the nightmare occurring next door.  Most of my empathy is for the dog and the baby who is forced to grow up in all this dysfunction.
     I am repulsed by the crudeness of this man who urinates on his neighbors' flowers.  I find Wolff's comparisons of body parts to geography interesting and unusual.
     I wonder how the couple would spend their time better if not for the intrusive drama playing out next door.  When the wife crawled into bed with her husband, I wonder why she was unwilling to have sex when her husband became aroused.  Is she bored with their love life, or is she really just too tired?  Does she long for more drama in their lives?  Is she subconsciously envious of the passionate sexual encounter she observed the neighbors having in the kitchen?  Could she be jealous, or is she just repulsed that the woman would respond to such a crude man?
     Instead of just watching TV and falling asleep next to her husband, I wish she had been more empathetic.  What if she had just allowed her husband to explore her geography and let herself to become aroused?  Wouldn't even empathy sex have helped strengthen their bond?  If their relationship were stronger, would it not be easier to ignore the drama next door?

Make-up Work Junkyard Quote #2 Week #1

Jan. 25, 2012
Something I said to my personal trainer:
"It's not that I really LOVE chocolate.  I use it only for medicinal purposes!"

Make-up work Junkyard Quote #1 Week # 1

Jan. 25, 2012
 Words spoken to me by personal trainer
"You people all have snakes in your heads.  If you people didn't have such beautiful asses, we wouldn't even bother with you."

January 25, 2012 Junkyard Quote #2 Week #2

Words spoken by country Baptist preacher at funeral

"I promised Beverly that I wouldn't say anything about her going possum hunting or eating possum and sweet potatoes, so I'm not even going to mention it."

Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Junkyard Quote  #1   Week  #2

Line in an email sent by special Manfriend
"At random times this week, the wonderful time I enjoyed with you on Friday night floats gently through my mind."

Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Calisthenics   #1      Week #2

     I am hoeing and pulling weeds in a peanut field because my father was afraid he couldn't pass trigonometry to get into the pilot training program in the Army Air Corps.  I continue down another long row carrying my favorite light-weight hoe.  Thank God, the hot July day is hazy, with cumulus clouds continually drifting and covering the blazing sun.  I picture rich bitch Lynn lying on the quartz-white sands of Panama City Beach.
     From ahead on his row, Daddy reminds me to be sure to get all the roots of the gigantic coffee weed that dared to shoot toward the sun on my row.  Obligingly, I squat and grab the dirty stem low near the roots.  I slowly wiggle it from the soil to keep it from snapping off and leaving roots that would have to be extricated with the hoe.
     "Look, Daddy!  I got it all!"  I hold the intact plant up for his inspection and approval.
     "Good work.  You're learning."
     I pull the plastic baggie from the top of my two-piece bathing suit and take out the wet wash cloth.  I scrub the rain-splattered dirt clinging to the stem from my hands.
     "Look at the princess!  Too good for a little dirt!" my sister Phyllis shouts for all to hear.
     "Shut up!  The dirt on your hands will get so embedded your hands'll be stained forever.  No one will ever ask you for a date with those filthy hands!"
     I think of Lynn again and wish I could wash my hands in the saline-rich waters of the Gulf.  My consolation prize is the "tanfastic" solar glow that will be mine.  Thanks to the gift of melanin-rich skin from my Cherokee Indian great-grandmother, Susan Birdsong, I tan easily and rarely burn.  I picture Lynn, her fair skin screaming with a painful red sunburn.  Not that I'm sadistic, but I'm glad that I"ll have a tan, and not just the three dollars, for my hard labor in the field.
     When the sun finally drops behind the oaks and pine trees, we hoist ourselves into the back of the pick-up for the short ride home.  I go into the bathroom immediately upon arrival and strip off my bathing suit.  I survey my svelte 15-year old body in the full-length mirror and decide that my beautiful tan lines just might be worth all the agony of the day.
     I shower, eat supper, and fall into bed.  It takes a long time to fall asleep because the constant chopping of the hoes is too loud in my sun-baked brain to allow sleep.  My last thought, before succumbing to sleep, is that I probably had been very close to dying from a heat stroke.

I think I did it!

Not sure, but I think I just created my first blog.  I don't know if the class can access it or not, but I truly hope so.  You students who are young enough to be my grandchildren cannot believe how difficult this is for me.  This is one of the biggest stretches of my life.