Mr. Meaner

Mr. Meaner dresses to the nines

rustles through the halls

and fuels the grapevine

He's got that corner office

and a new suit to match

the chatty girls in purchasing

think he's the perfect catch

With his slick hair

and discriminating tastes

his better than thou demeanor

countless hours he wastes

Mr. Meaner,

man he's greasy

at the thought of him

I get a little queasy

To the max he upholds a policy

and more like the Grinch

he seems to me

Meaner enjoys turmoil

an instigator to the extreme

a well coiffed old dude

within the townie regime

Pure snake oil

saturates his attitude

that Mr. Meaner

a cosmopolitan dude

He only wants to see

and to be seen

Oh yes Mr. Meaner,

did I mention

that he's mean?

Revenge of the Cat

Warring through the window,

they are ever so tough

Deftly they manuever

all over your stuff

With picky noses,

they sniff the air

Feline authority

with an ounce of dare

Winding through

your walking legs

a semi-murderous plot

Making you stumble

right on the spot

Open up the door,

then they just look about

Forgetting for what purpose

they would like to go out

Their preferential taste

for a certain food

Don't blame the felines

for that pristine catitude

Behind the sofa,

you find a little stash

of assorted mice toys, balls,

lids meant for the trash

Sometimes in the morning

perchance your foot will fall

upon a small mistake

a mishap of a hairball

Then as you lift Fluffy

gently from your lap

You might walk away

and receive a random slap

All in a day's work

for a small house cat

See if the average canine

can top all that....

Photo Friday

Fiction Writing 101

Ok back to fiction writing 101....so you finally came up with a story to tell (see previous post on plotting...) now you need a realistic setting. For instance, if you are writing about a fairy princess, you can't really set the story in North Dakota. Why? You ask.... Because have you ever heard of fairies in North Dakota?....Buffalo maybe, but no, you need a forest in Ireland or maybe Louisiana if the fairy thing just has to happen in the states. “One day I was visiting Uncle Bodien so we could make some boudin, when we stumbled upon a bunch of fairies under a bush, and yes we were sober but without boudin...” Ok there may be a lot of problems here, but let's just concentrate on one, the one where we cannot form a mental picture of the forest or the swamp, not only must your audience form a picture, they must feel those intricately woven green leaves, the dampness of the dew, and those little glimmering fairies too, if your fairies glimmer. Secondly, you must indeed: “write what you know.” Yes, it is true. If you want to have someone knocked off on an exotic Hawaiian beach, it's gonna be pretty hard to make it believable if you have never been outside of Post, Texas. What is the beach like? The sand? The heat? Is it crowded? With who? Is Megan Fox there – cause if she is, there is absolutely no reason for any other female in the universe to show up. The second best thing, if you can't experience your setting in person is You Tube. Maybe try ID TV if it is murder, and there happens to be a case, and it's like yours... Scene is important folks, scene as in setting and not “making a scene” like the episode where you are in the grocery store when a rude woman cuts in line in front of you, then you grabbed the woman's hair and she did a martial arts pose, then the both of you knocked down the magazine rack with the sultry, scantily clad Megan Fox on the cover of most of the magazines now scattered across the aisle and covering up the energy drinks... Ok so when is the court date and maybe you can write a jail expose.... No, just kidding, don't forget scene – setting – background, create a scene, don't make one. Create one that people can feel, now get to writing those stories!

Football and Fern Hill

All things end, as they must. Those balmy fall nights turn chilly – the competition amps up for the competitors, the ball finally comes to rest. Football season for us, wrapped up for the year, and for seniors, the finality of it all echoes, first there's an end to the sport most have played their whole lives, then there's the end of high school, an end to childhood, an end to carefree days.

“Time let me hail and climb

Golden in the heydays of his eyes...” *

So that last game, we choose to block out the bad and remember the way it should have been: Riley threw the ball with precision and became the leader his team thought he could be. Mr. Fletcher ran, like the winged Hermes upon green grass, upon fake turf and he scored like he never scored before. He will go down in HHS history as the Running Back (at least, for awhile). Mr. Hunter who played both offense and defense with ease; wherever they needed him, that's where he was – strong, quick, spot-on.

“In the sun that is young once only

Time let me play and be

Golden in the mercy of his means”

The formidable defense who let nobody score (well at least that much anyway), continues the game on and on in a continuum, denying points on so many games, tough at their very center where #42 was the anchor. This was the boy who started out, young and a bit chubby, never very quick, never very good, never getting to play, but always sticking with it until one day when he went out on the field and somehow, it all came together.

“And fire green as grass

And nightly under the stars

As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away...”

This boy made a little place for himself, a sideline news clip here and there, a video shot in a sport where no star stays front and center long – in a game that demands the utmost from the young and strong. No need to feel bad, coming off that field of defeat – the team you played will most likely suffer that next loss.

“In the sun born over and over,

I ran my heedless ways...”

Instead Bearcats, team of black and gold, I say take your memories, particularly these wonderful fall nights, put them inside the trunk of life, open them up some starry night and maybe tell a younger version of yourself about the goals and glories of football back in the day.

“And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,

Time held me green and dying

Though I sang in my chains like the sea”

*Fern Hill – Dylan Thomas, one of the most beautiful poems in the English language....

Other Worldliness, Snakes and Language

It's a time of the year that I love, but what I hate is that time is zooming by at the speed of light,not leaving much of it free to go out and enjoy the all too few weeks that you can actually be outside here in this great country of Texas. It's like a Garth Brooks' song: in the summer you burn, in the winter you freeze. It's also the Spooky Month and what's scaring me aren't the ones from The Other Side because I think that most ghosts would automatically know that I'm not the one to appear to, otherwise, I would have a complete heart attack and I would be Over There bothering them. The closest thing I've come to seeing anything Other Worldly is Maureen Hancock, who is not a ghost, but a medium with a face like a cherub and a mouth like a sailor. She is one of the most amazing people that could possibly inhabit this planet.

Another frightening thing is garter snakes. 102 of them to be exact, which, I am glad to report, are not anywhere near me, but they were hold up inside a house in Canada. The Great Snake Invasion started in the basement, then as the snakes began showing up in the other rooms, particularly the bedrooms of the house, then it began to be a problem.....”Hey Joe, can you go put these preserves in the basement???” “What's a preserve?....oh wait is that a garter snake in the refrigerator?”

The LOTE is also scary. This stands for something like: Languages Other Than English Exam. I wish I had taken it umpteen years ago when I was fluent in Spanish (why oh why did I not???) Instead I am now navigating through the Brain Fog of today in order to relearn what I used to know. It is necessary for teachers to pass it in order to teach Spanish because it is currently a critically unfilled area in today's classrooms. Anyway, one day at a time here.

The last thing is death, which is more bittersweet than scary (depending where you are on the spectrum). My significant other's grandmother's cat, Sir Thomas, died this week. He outlived his lovely mistress two years. My dear one had to head to the small town of our ancestry and bury Thomas. The journey home, which is 75 miles, did give some time for reflection – about the neighbors that took Thomas in (he was a scruffy, outdoor cat who would not have adapted anywhere else). They loved him as much as the wonderful lady who first owned him. Then there was the kindly gentleman across the street who found him at the end when he was apparently trying to make it home once last time. It was the same old-timer who had seen my love grow up right there in that little town. He laid Thomas the Cat out meticulously in a cardboard box inside his carport. This gentleman of advanced age, was in no position to wield a shovel for the physical labor necessary to break that hard, drought-beaten ground, but he was certainly willing to do it. After going home, reaping the bountiful love gifted from the old-timers, the themselves – left over from the Greatest Generation, and then realizing that some of the best treasures are still right where they were all along. Yes, Dorothy, there really may be no place like home....but when you are young, the world is calling and you go. The Wheels of Time turn, the hourglass empties – and every now and then, it is nice to have a place to go back to....

Hotter N Hell Bike Race and....Emus

 It's almost August, that particularly heated, dreaded time of the year when this little town invites everybody to come and share our misery dealing with said heat and the wind. We do this in the form of a bike race...100 miles...in the unforgiving Texas sun. And it's fun, gosh darn it! All these earnest, sweating bicyclists challenging themselves, attaining a personal best and overcoming obstacles. One obstacle to this mighty race that I have just discovered is, of all things, emus. Yes those big birds with brown feathers who can't fly, but boy can they run. Apparently those cyclists, outfitted in their colorful second skin, brightly attired, attract these large, curious but bored birds who are navigating the outskirts of town, maybe hold up on a ranch somewhere and tired of the run of the mill cows, coyotes and people running around with those water sticks vainly searching for underground streams. Yes apparently the cyclists have piqued their interest. Maybe the emus want a chance to outdo them.

I can only imagine the fear when these vibrant cyclists, suffering from heat stroke look up to see Big Bird barreling down upon them, giant sprawling feet, little head with beady eyes, and that piercing beak agape... and then “Oh Snap!” and a loud scream. If the cyclists are lucky, then there is just one emu, okay maybe unlucky if that particular emu likes the color red they happen to be wearing. Hopefully the sweltering bikers haven't encountered a whole flock on the road, then they might suffer from worse than a little nip.

Some interesting emu facts include:

• Females are in charge, they make the males hatch and care for the babies.
• Did I mention they are curious?
• They have “strongly clawed” feed that can rip metal wire fences (how fast can you pedal?)
• They can go 50 km/h which is described otherwise as a “fast, economical trot.

Does anybody happen to know why we have this little bit of Australia in Texas?..oh well, happy racing folks!