No Flowers for Mama (Tragi-Comic Mother's Day Verse)

A child's perspective on Mother's Day flower gifts, personal property laws and sustainable alternatives. In verse. A poor imitative tribute to Shel Silverstein. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  

 No Flowers for Mama

  

  i wanna by sum flowers for my mama

  

  cuz flowers are pretty and so is she

  

  i asked her what kind she liked and she smiled

  

  "save your pennies, honey and pick some wildflowers for me."

  I wuznt sure 'bout wild flowers.

  

  Maybe they might yell or bite?

  

  Or go potty on our floor?

  

what if they put up a fight? 

  

  Then i spied the neighbors two-lips

  

  growing tall, all pink and red

  

  i spied the neighbor watchin' me

  

  so i kicked a stone instead

  i told dad i liked his roses

  

  fluffy, yellow and open wide

  

  dad sed if i picked his roses

  

  he'd tan my little hide

  my sister got some or-kids

  

  from her boyfriend mike

  

  but if I tried to steal some

  

  she'd back up over my bike

  i went for a walk with grampa

  

  we saw lady slippers and tri-lee-yum

  

  but grampa sed it was 'gainst the law

  

  to pick either of 'em

  well here was me all sad and glum

 

  no bloom could i put my eye on

  

  then I saw a bokay lyin all around

  

  a field of golden Dandy Lion!

  (My poor imitative tribute to Shel Silverstein. His reference to wild strawberries and their arguably untame ways was too good not to expound on. 

They Put a Black Rose on My Door

I don't talk about this much but today just seemed right to share my motherache. We lost our 5th and 6th children, both girls, to separate in utero trauma. Both little ladies were ironically the same gestational age when they passed away. But their causes of death were different. And we never found out what exactly happened with either. Here's more on that and a poem I wrote for Mary Therese. 

I got an infection, I think Strep B, no one ever said, with my Mary Therese. My water broke. She was alive and kicking right up to the end as my fluid leaked out and there wasn't a thing I could do to stop it. The doctor didn't catch it in time and it was mostly gone when he did. 

I almost voluntarily checked myself out of life that day. I had a loving husband and darling children. But the pain burned so bad I thought it would devour me. Then Our Lady sent St. Teresa of Avila to talk sense into me. 

I know, it sounds insane. But I saw them both, plain as day. Maybe it was the delirium of the fever. Or the pain. It wasn't the drugs because I couldn't keep anything down. They would have let me have it because she was going to die anyway, they said. That could have been more tactfully said but I was past caring. 

And she did pass, but only after patiently keeping her mama company all that long, horrible night. The whole family was there, all night to say goodbye to baby sister. Big Sister Molly stayed awake the entire time and only fell asleep when Mary Therese left us to go to heaven. 

Maybe I just want to believe that heaven cares, that this is not the end, that I will hold my children again. You're darn right I do. Not much point in anything otherwise. 

They put a black rose on my door, in the maternity ward. 

Here's a poem I originally wrote for Associated Content for my little Mar. I wasn't ever going to name a baby after me, but somehow that name just seemed to fit her. Daddy wanted her to take part of Mama to heaven. Mary Therese's birthday and death day were January 5, 2001.

Waterlily Rose Maid

her eyes, green-gray, still waters, do not cry

not mirror nor window of soul-dark spaces

guardians hold prisoner, secrets shy

in soft tranquil deep and twilight traces

her skin, like dogwood blossoms translucent 

rose petal fair and water-lily pale 

heaven-bound as nimbus, storm-cloud spent 

fresh as a lamb, nested quiet in vale

no tears descend this tender, pallid cheek 

no sorrow escapes this unworldly maid 

no companion shares nor solace does seek 

perfect in slumber, unmoving and staid

Silent in her grave, somber and death-cold 

Never to feel pain, nor warmth of mother's arms enfold.

I wrote this a few years ago, in a darker place. Now I know that you will feel our arms, baby. I think in some way you already do. 

Love always, mama. 

Advent Musings--Week Two, Hope

This is an Advent essay I wrote. Week 2 of Advent focuses on hope and here are my thoughts on that. 

He slams into his second grade classroom, like a Lord of Flatbush, late as usual, angry as always. He must have read Hitler's Mein Kompf, about the way to make a grand entrance. Arrive late; leave early. He does. He hides, sneaks off and causes adults to hunt for him whenever possible. Despite weighing at sub-pee-wee weight, about 50# and reaching only to my belly button, he packs a lot of p*ss and vinegar.

Flaxen blond hair in a military cut, darting cornflower blue eyes always watching to see if teacher is noticing his antics (I am, but avoiding the reinforcement of negative attention). Pale, unhealthy skin, translucent to show dark shadows under the eyes (allergies, lack of sleep, poor nutrition, too much TV or a combination). Thin wrists and fingers, he always looks tired, cold and lonely, despite his belligerence. As though being mean is the only thing that keeps him going. 

 He does everything he can think of to get into trouble. He goes to the office and causes more trouble. Nobody is really sure just what to do with him or for him. Calling home is no solution. Parents can't (won't?) make him behave. No judgement. Mom and dad are both working hard to provide. There are four children in the family. In Michigan we've got the distinction having the highest unemployment rate. Jobs are scarce, especially is you didn't or couldn't get a good education. Even if you did, we have teachers selling shoes to make ends meet.

Recess time: Michigan windchill in the single digits and snow blowing sideways. I help 48 feet get into 48 boots. I check 24 warm coats and snow pants to make sure that they are are zipped up snugly. There are no snow-pants or boots for one student. You can guess who. Oh there's a coat but it's a man's large with a broken zipper. I've got playground duty. Even dressed in my warm clothes, I can feel the annual winter laryngitis setting in. He stays in the alcoves of the school to stay warm. Standing by an unused door, he shouts and hollers to drum up a crowd. I know that he's hiding out to stay warm; showing off to cover up that fact. He's not hurting anything. Just making a lot of noise.

Another sub is in the room next door. She's insecure and wants to prove herself. It's funny how you just know this about people. No judgement. Well maybe just a bit. Leave the attitude at the office if you're going to do our job. She marches to the unused door and pulls the loud one in. Startled, (the students never use this door) he shifts nervously from one foot to the other. 

He's been having a great day so far and I'm tickled (so are the other kids). Are we making a nanometer of progress? Under her withering criticism and menacingly soft-shaming voice, I can see his tiny, poorly clad back go up (apparently she doesn't notice that this kid hasn't even got proper clothes?) I guess yelling on the playground is forbidden in her book. She has obviously "been trained" to "deal" with this-sort-of-child". And she does. Coldly. Ruthlessly. Stupidly.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. I'm no angel, but I have common sense and I choose my battles. I don't step in, I never question an adult in front of a child. But I almost did. She had marched him to his classroom and the facetiousness in her voice made me sick. She had her gotcha moment, done and dusted. Would a little kindness have cost her so much? We were both going to gone the next day to other jobs? Why was it so damned important to win against this child who obviously had a lot stacked against him? 

As I walked him down the hall, he muttered to me "I didn't know she could hear me." I was on a thin line here. I didn't want to confuse him by criticizing her. I didn't want to undermine her. I said, "well, each teacher has her own style. It's not mine. And now you know that people can hear you."  I can't even say, "go back outside and enjoy your recess, because clearly, he can't, it being too cold." Predictably, his behavior spiraled downward after that. 

So what do we do with a kid like that? Spare the rod and spoil the child? I can't see that he's been spoiled much. I'm only a sub, but I talked with his teacher about what to do. I said I'd like to donate a whole brand-new winter outfit: snow pants, coat, gloves, hat, boots. Leave them in the office with a note: With Love to D-- . But what about the other 3 kids in his family ? I can't really afford the first set of clothes, let alone four complete sets. He's not the only kid in the school who could use an upgrade in winter clothing, either. And what about the family? Will they be embarrassed? Will I be 'enabling' them? I don't even care. I just can't stand to see a cold kid.

My Advent hope is in the coming of Our Lord. It's also that there is some way that I can help these kids.

How to Write a Nostalgic Tribute, Experience Memoir

Nostalgic tributes or memorials are my terms for writings that describe feelings in retrospect. Nostalgic tributes are similar to memoirs except that they focus on how the individual was impacted by a larger experience in history. Here's an example I wrote from a the Vietnam War as it impacted me as a child.

On June 8, 1972, I was your average 7-year-old, happy to be out of school and looking forward to summer vacation. Soldiers were fighting in a place called "Vietnam" but that was far away and didn't really affect me in my happy little beach town of Muskegon, Mich.
Over meatloaf and mashed potatoes, we watched news reels on television. As callous as only a child can be, I got used to seeing the graphic images. In fact, it used to annoy me when war updates interrupted "Tom and Jerry."  Read more at Photo of Girl in Vietnam Napalm Bombing Brings Back Memories

Editorial, Commentary, Persuasive Speech Writing Sample

This begins an article I wrote for Yahoo! News. I have written in in the form of an editorial, commentary or persuasive speech. It might also be used as an essay example. It begins: "Ask anyone age 40 if they remember seeing so many obese children and overweight teenagers. The answer will be a resounding no. Juvenile obesity is the fastest growing health issue in America, as well it should be. America is killing children, one mouthful at a time. In the U.S., we are literally poisoning children, with every bite we feed them." To read more, click here...

An All Souls Day Essay on Honesty

All Souls Day Stories: An Honest Little Boy
It's All Souls Day, and I'm feeling reminiscent. After homeschooling for years, it seems a little odd not to be wrapped up in holy day and holiday preparations. Here's a little story to warm you for the holy day. It's true.
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Popsicle Purple

 Popsicle purple

 drips sticky ink on new dress

 yahoo for summer

Thanksgiving Thoughts

Thanksgiving Thoughts on Loved Ones
How many times have I assigned students to write that Thanksgiving holiday essay entitled, 'What I Am Thankful for'. Family always tops the list. I'm thankful for my family, always, and in memory of a boy named Michael.
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Big Lake Poems: Acorn benediction and Oak Leaf offertory

November fall leaf funerals

grampa in flannel coat and ear-flap cap

me in fur-trimmed jacket and pom-pom hat

big rake and little rake

26 trees in grampa's yard  

oaks with crunchy-crisp fall-down-brown leaves  

and thousands of acorns

kept us and squirrels hunting and gathering

grampa boasting with neighbor  

of how many bags each would offer 

on his autumn harvest pyre

each secretly sure his sacrifice would please most

On cracked cement altar  

leaves piled ceremoniously high  

consumed in flame under watchful eye  

of grampa against shifting winds

leaves to ashes, ashes to dust

pom-pom clad mourner bids farewell

rest in peace, rainbow friends

to nourish next year's soil

but acorns were not burned

acorns explode sending out soul sparks

that singe unwary watchers

their little selves spared, but only for autumn-greedy squirrels

close my eyes and i can smell

oak-leaf incense from ritual burning

hanging heavy-hazy under leaden November clouds 

sharp, sad fire-fall fragrance

summer oak bounty smoldering

on heaps of crimson and ash

tolling Indian summer death knell

somber scent of endings and good-bye

  

  

Shakespeare: Reader's Guide cum Writer's Guide

DIY Guide: How to Read Shakespeare
If high school students were asked, 'Who would you most wish to see tortured?', William Shakespeare would top the list. English teachers love 16th century dialogue; English students don't. Here's a reader's guide to Shakespeare. And you're asking yourself, 'this is a blog about writing, not reading, right?' (funny how a few homophones can play merry hell with one's point!). I offer this reader's guide for those writer's who wish to learn all they can about the Bard and enhance their own writing. Read on...

And about this image. This portrait is known as the Grafton Shakespeare. I think it has a little more warmth than the older portraits.

Comparison Contrast Composition

Why Cats Are Better Pets Than Dogs
Pets provide companionship and love. Pets also make messes, noise and bad smells. Pets cause damage to person and property, and are generally a nuisance. Here's a sartorial comparison between at pet cats and pets dogs. Pet cats win (but not by much).
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Fantasy Genre? Right or Wrong?

Are Fantasy Books Good for Kids?
Fantasy literature has been called unBiblical, immoral, unethical, addictive and dangerous. Is fantasy literature safe for children? Is it healthy? Does fantasy literature have any benefits for children. Read on and decide for yourself.
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