Class Exercises #4

Class Exercises #4

I Used to dream

I used to dream of being

the perfect wife,

the perfect mother,

having perfect children,

living in the perfect house,

going to fancy parties in pretty dresses and high heeled shoes,

traveling to far off places,

and writing books in my spare time.

But –

perfection is impossible,

attempts to attain perfection ruins relationships,

a perfect house is impractical,

dancing barefoot in a pasture blowout is more fun than any fancy party,

travel is expensive and exhausting,

and a mother doesn't have much spare time.

Later on, I thought I was so cool because

I smoked,

I flirted,

I made all my Christmas gifts,

and I had bright children.

But then, I realized

smoking impairs health and stinks,

flirting is a poor substitute for loving,

and smart kids are gifts from God.

Now, I've settled for

being a loving wife, mother, and grandmother

content in my imperfection

-- because, I'm just not a “Type A.”

A Childhood Place: The Haymow

I remember the haymow in the old white barn at the south place.

In spring the hay stored there was coarse and dry. My sister and I made big “nests” where we could read or daydream or cuddle the kittens whose mothers had made smaller nests in the back sides of the hay piles.

In summer there was very little hay there. It was brittle and dusty and the sun shining through the high, dirty window created long, sparkling shafts of light – perfect for day dreaming on a hot summer afternoon.

By autumn the haymow was packed with fresh clean hay. The fragrant scent of the hay was mingled with the sweat of those filling the mow. There was only a small space around the top of the ladder to lounge against the tall piles of hay.

In winter the haymow was cold. We quickly pushed the hay through the holes to the mangers below so we could run back to the warm house and lounge by the Warm Morning stove.

A Childhood Person: Old Bill

Bill was the year around hired man on the ranch for about 15 years.

He was about the same age as Daddy but he seemed older.

He always wore bib overalls. Daddy wore levis.

He stuttered a bit when he got excited or had a drink or two.

Bill seemed to be quite content taking his meals with the family,

Sleeping in the two room bunk house

Which featured a wood burning stove

And a sink with a hand pump and an outhouse.

Bill worked hard and was steady and reliable.

He didn't have a car.

On Saturday a relative would come to the ranch to get him

And would bring him back on Sunday evening.

Bill never corrected me or my sister.

If he saw something amiss in our behavior

Or danger in our actions

He would tell Daddy but he never said anything to us.

Bill was a private person and we really didn't know much about him.

When he died in his room at a residential hotel

We leaned that he had never married

And that he had served in the Army during World War II

Dialog

Masher: Hey, who turned on the light?

Juicer: What's happening?

Masher: Wow! Who are you? Nice ridges. I don't know what's happening but light is nice. Ow! Something poked me.

Skewers: (in unison) Sorry. We were just stretching.

Masher: Who are you? What are you?

Skewers: (in unison) We're skewers. We hold things together. Who and what are you?

Masher: I'm a masher and this doll with the ridges is a, a . . .

Juicer: I'm a juicer. What are those sticks over there? Big skewers?

Twins: (in unison) Us? We're chopsticks.

Juicer: (giggling) What are chopsticks? Forgive me for laughing but “chopsticks” sounds funny to me.

Voice outside: What's in this green box?

Second voice outside: Which box? Oh, that one. Those are tools I haven't used since we moved.

Darkness again.

Recipe poems

Mud Pies

1 small child or more

1 water container (rain water puddles work nicely)

dirt or sand

several small containers such as tuna cans, tea cups, cereal bowls, jar lids

spoons or sticks

Mix well on a sunny day. Bake in imagination. Serve graciously.

(Prepare to do laundry.)

Tradition

4 rugged cowboys and their sister

indefinite numbers of spouses, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren

Catch the cowboys and their sister when they are young

Steep them in a deep sense of family loyalty

Add heaping amounts of love and responsibility

Add spouses one at a time

Add children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren as they appear

Stir vigorously with ample scoops of laughter and storytelling

Gather annually

Garnish with friends and, occasionally, with strangers

Serve at Thanksgiving with thanksgiving

Life Metaphors

(We were encouraged to look at life from different perspectives and create several metaphors.)

Life is a dark and stormy night. With a tiny flickering candle, one stumbles along as the wind blows hard against you. Lightening flashes illuminate the way briefly but never enough to see the big picture. Friends and foes alike are indistinguishable and one cannot determine their location. Guidance come from disembodied voices. Only in death is the dawn revealed.

Life is a cactus. Interesting to look at but impossible to embrace. Getting too close causes stabbing pain. Sometimes the spines get worn away or somehow cut off but soon new ones grow and the danger is even greater.

Life is a house. It can be a big, fancy mansion with many rooms or it can be a small, simple frame house or any thing in between but --

• each house has a basement where the plumbing is and recycling and even the garbage is stored
• each has at least one room that is bright and sunny and open to company
• each has a room that is dark, with shades pulled down and door shut tight where frightening or unpleasant memories are kept
• and each has a balcony where loved ones stand to cheer – or to jeer, depending on which room you actually live in.

Life is a windmill bringing sweet water to the surface day after day. There is a holding tank for days when the wind doesn't blow enough. When the hard winds blow the windmill pumps furiously and the tank overflows but when the wind calms down so does the windmill. With regular maintenance the mill will continue to pump sweet water until it is no longer needed.