Ice Cream Dreams and Michigan Memories

Here's an example of personal memoirs writing. Use this for an example of nostalgia or local history writing.

Ice cream has spelled summer since the Chinese invented it 3,000 years ago. It was primarily for nobility and the upper class until 1776, when the first public ice cream parlor opened in New York City. Ice cream went portable when edible coronets, or cones, made from waffles were introduced at the St. Louis World's Fair. My grandmother remembered buying ice cream squares wrapped in paper, from street vendors in Grand Rapids, Mich. When I was a kid, the Good Humor man still sold frozen novelties, accompanied by a cheerful tune. 

I grew up in Grand Rapids and Muskegon, Mich., in 1960s and 1970s. Dairy Queen, Tastee-Freez and other seasonal, walk-up ice cream stands ruled the street. My dad was the Rootbeer Float King; few summer evenings went by without a trip to the ice cream stand for this seasonal favorite.

Back in the day, ice cream was a quarter a scoop. Miss Lisa's near the U.S.31 on-ramp in Ferrysburg, Mich., has new ownership. Gone are the days of that $.25 ice cream cone of Hudsonville Ice Cream, the best in the world. Hudsonville invented Mackinaw Island Fudge and Moose Tracks flavors. I miss sitting on the swing sharing an ice cream and watching the children play on the climber. This was Tao of summer 

 
Two chain ice cream establishments, were Michigan favorites. House of Flavors featured the Pig's Dinner (five kinds of ice cream) and gave out yellow and blue "I Made a Pig of Myself at House of Flavors" buttons if you ate it all. Baskin-Robbins featured the famous 31 Flavors. Of the many House of Flavors locations, only two still exist in Ludington and Manistee, Mich. I just found out last summer that the Manistee location was torn down. 

In the early-1970s Michigan tried recreating the Gay Nineties ice-cream parlors. In Muskegon, there was the High Wheeler. In Grand Rapids, folks loved Farrell's Ice Cream, with its Dixieland feel. The Farrell's brass band, with bass drum and Barbershop Quartet, would play and sing "Happy Birthday" to guests.

Soda fountains were also popular. The soda fountain was a counter, set up in drug stores. If I was good while shopping Grandma got me an ice cream from Dean's (later Strayer's) Pharmacy on Broadway in Muskegon. A block away from my house in Grand Haven, was Pfaff's Pharmacy. Their 1950s style fountain still had spinning red-topped stools and uses the old stainless steel ice cream mixers, freezers and utensils. These were made a few blocks away at the long-defunct Bastian-Blessing.

For the longest time,  Pfaff still served phosphates, sundaes, triple-scoop cones, floats, malteds, sodas and Lime and Cherry Cokes (not the canned kind, these are made from fruit syrup). A chocolate malt from Pfaff's was ambrosia of the gods. My kids would blow their paper route money on penny candy from the Pfaff's candy counter. Then it closed and now it's something else. 

You can't get ice cream cone for under $4 anymore. But times change and prices with it. The newspaper the kids carried is pretty much done. The kids moved on and have families of their own. But we all still enjoy a walk on the boardwalk and an ice cream of a summer evening. I hope that never goes away. 

Sample Commentary for Current Events Essay Writing


Looking for guidance on essay writing? In an essay, the writer takes a stand on an issue and backs it up with fact. The essay should employ literary devices and some elements of creativity--it shouldn't just be dry fact. It's similar to creative non-fiction in that fact is written about creatively.

Essays are similar to commentaries (also called editorial or op-ed), in which the writer comments, from his own opinion and experience, on trending news stories. Typically, other stories or facts are employed to back up the author's contention. Writers need to be careful not to write too much fact with essays/commentaries. The piece is then an analysis. Essays should clearly reflect the writer's opinion. Here's an example from a piece I wrote for Yahoo!

--Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to censor. Take the matter of online photo sharing--there's sometimes a fine line between offensive content and freedom of speech (or share). Who's to say what constitutes offensive material. There's no one-size-fits-all model  that works for every situation.

Like a fly, Facebook keeps getting tangled in the censorship web. Time and again, photos are banned that shouldn't be. Case in point are the images from a breast cancer survivor which Facebook deemed obscene. Read more at...Facebook's Odd Photo Bans Highlight Censorship Dilemmas 

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

Free Poetry Writing Guide: How to Write Free Verse Poetry

 Poetry gives voice to the soul. Writing poetry is like singing;it should flow from the spirit, as a lament, a rhapsody or an aria. Unlike tangible things poetry is not so easy to dissect, critique or explain. There are some devices that poets employ to create poems. Having created some poetry myself and taught courses in poetry in creative writing, I'll try to distill the essence of poetry in this guideline. Poetry Writing Guide: How to Write Free Verse Poetry 

Writer Vulnerability

I feel very vulnerable posting my poems online. I'm like an actor feeling stage fright. What if my little verse does a belly flop? What if it's not enjoyed? What if it's not even read? So it was with great joy (and humbled appreciation) that I noted that two of my most recent pieces have been viewed 50 times...each! Thank you, readers, whoever you are. I know that if I'm going to survive this world of publishing, particularly in the tenuous area of poetry, I'm going to have to grow some thicker skin. But until then, (if I ever even do) the knowledge that people are reading was a real pick-me-up for this thin-skinned gal. Be well. Do good work. Love, mar

Proverbs in Anima Humanis or Vice, in Verse

I thought I'd try my hand at writing proverbs...those pithy aphorisms King Solomon and Ben Franklin were given to penning. These are liberally seasoned with simile and metaphor baked in savory verse.

Care fetters the mind
as shackles, the imprisoned bind
but expression frees the heart
as manacles, a goaler's key

Doubt sows tares in good intentions
and beats plowshares into swords
whilst faith tends the Gardener-given patch
gladly, gently, peaceably, and with love


Deception perverts truth
as a wasting sickness cripples and deforms
yet honesty gives wings to the earthbound
to take itself heavenward


Gloom wrenches the mind
like stones, causing the foot to stumble
but a smile clears the path
and helps the sojourner on her way

Loneliness corrodes the heart
like acid on a blooming jonquil
but friendship is heart's-ease and balm
soothing the sadness and meeting the need

Fear corrupts the soul
like mildew in rising damp
while trust dries up encroaching mold
blowing it nowhere to harm no one

Strife ignites the stomach and
heats the blood, like flame to tinder
laughter, also like conflagration,
spreads and warms without burning.

Anger charges the choleric to
take up arms and duel to death
but tolerance inspires the sanguine
to put passion to healing

Hatred impales, decapitates, silences
like a guillotine or pikestaff
while Love embraces, enfolds, protects
repairs, rebuilds, resurrects and renews






as Man, once dead, lives again

Taskmaster

Taskmaster


the muse will not be
mitigated, satiated, filled
restlessly, he bids me always
to pen when i would sleep

i call him "he" tho'
in fact, "she" he may be
or even "it"-- as bestial
he often devours me whole

Phantasm? Demon? Harpy?
Fury? Friend? Foe?
Muse at my shoulder
monkey on my back

all senses or affect
any tranquility I may possess
or long for, any serenity I demand
is always answered "nay"

"Legion" he very likely is
for he or they never sleep
or take ease or allow it
driver driving the driven on

he takes my spirit to task anon
Quixote, questing, dreaming impossibly
haunts my wakings, troubles my night
tilting at windmills and at nothing

like Poe's eternal Raven
not imprecating "Nevermore"
but exhorting me "onward"
"Excelsoir" and "evermore!"

Not bird, nay, but yet hawk, even vulture-like
in wary watchfulness
knelling, compelling, opining
of what? je ne sais quoi

would that he were,
my night companion,
as Poe's winged fiend
made of flesh and feathers

Like Dickinson's thing with wings
for then I could perchance parley some
converse, rail, inquire, implore
enigmatic possibly, but living

Or, in greatest travail
cease his eternal bullying
silence his endless harangue
plunging my quill in his breast

but ever, mine is Petra-still
implacable, immovable
a fixture, with only orbs
and zeal alive and probing

all-seeing, omnipotent, still
pity-less, remorseless, relentless
like water on a stone
encroaching, eroding, erasing

further still, a millstone
of justice and retribution
a nemesis, revolving slowly
grinding steadily finer

wearing me down to
thought, emotion, specter, bone
taxing, teasing, telescoping resources
to unreachable reaches

would that my demigod ever
commended or even acknowledged
my passion-drained self
my craft-weary, word-heavy soul

Under his ceaseless, scalding stare
I will 'ere be apprentice
journeyman perhaps, but never
master, magistra, beladonna

In ages past and times to come
I will tarry not in slumber
while decomposing, I compose
in composition, no repose


~marilisa, 2/22/12 Ash Wednesday


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