slam etc.

Arlington

2006-01-22T22:59:00.000-05:00

Arlington Cemetery.
Been there. Done that.
Changing of the guard
At the tomb of the unknowns.
Kennedy's eternal flame.
Row
After row
After row
After row
After row
Of stone
After stone
After stone
After stone
So many graves
So many war dead.
So many wars.
Been there. Done that.

Arlington Cemetery.
This war.
This soldier.
This grave
In this row.
Bugles,
Bag pipes,
Twenty-one gun salute.
Triangle folded flag presented
To anguished gold star mom.
Wish I couldn't say,
"Been there. Done that."

Tilting at WMDmills

2005-08-29T10:48:00.000-04:00

It’s a war that never should have been.
And my son is fighting in it.
So we’d better win it.
So he'll come home
And soon.

New Shoes

2005-08-29T10:39:00.000-04:00

Forming new habits
Is like breaking in a new pair of shoes.
Unaccustomed,
Uncomfortable,
Maybe even painful.
The adjustment period may be long.
Might want to go back to the old ones,
(Shabby though they are.)
Despite the trouble they've caused in the past.
May alternate for a while,
Wearing the new ones in public
And the old ones home alone.
You hardly notice it
When the new ones seem to fit.
And then one day you look back at the old ones
And wonder how you ever could have worn them for so long.

Keys Are Me

2005-07-30T04:29:00.000-04:00

I used to lose ‘m a lot.
(“We can’t leave ‘till Mom finds her keys.")
Finally got a big brass key ring with a whistle.
Easy to hang somewhere,
Easy to dig out of a purse.
And when they jangle
You know where I am.
And if you look at my keys,
You know who I am.

The whistle is a necessity.
Recess duty.
Hurry those kids to line and back to class.
Getting people’s attention at church.
“Yo! Let the pastor say grace so we can all eat.”
Supervising a game.
Even used it to call the kids home for dinner
The time I had laryngitis.

The whistle is also useful for comin’ home in the dark.
I just hold up the whistle
And the house keys hang on either side of it.
Then I tell them apart by feel.
Top lock first.
Then the bottom.
Doesn’t matter
If anyone remembers
To leave the light on.

I can do that with the classroom keys too.
I just hold up the plastic,
Thumb shaped electronic key
That lets me in the school building,
Where I teach science.
Next to it dangle my gold science lab key,
And my silver Sunday school room key.

Then there’s my
“Jesus is the key.”
It’s a real key
That you could cut
To fit a lock,
But I never have.
Clustered around it are
Two keys to my parents beach house,
And two keys to the crisis pregnancy center
Where I volunteer.

The car keys aren’t difficult.
Mine is the one with the black plastic Honda logo.
My husband’s Chevy key is large and square.
After that it gets confusing.
There’s the key to the church
But it only works in the side door
In the old part of the building.
And a key to another Sunday school room.

And this little key?
I’m not sure what it is.
Could fit a bicycle lock,
Or the rabbit cage,
Or maybe one of my suitcases.
Have to keep it on here
Just in case.

Oh, I almost forgot
The “commercial” keys,
The ones the cashiers have to swipe
To give you the sale prices at Giant and CVS.
I object to being conned
Into advertising for them on my key ring,
So I placed them face to face
So only the bar codes show.
Besides, it's simpler than digging out cards from my wallet.

So now you know a lot about my keys
And also little about me.

Stuck

2005-06-28T14:03:00.000-04:00

On TV
The pretty wives
Rush, ecstatic, to the door.
When their husbands arrive home from work.
But for me
The mere sound
Of his key in the latch
Causes my stomach to jerk.

Dinner
With insults
And punches and grins
The housework,
The diapers,
And kicks in the shins.
Always wrong,
Always weary,
And he always wins.

Leave?
Could I?
How?
The kids...
Where to go?
I don’t have a job.
It’s going to get better
Just as soon as...
(But it never does.)
Anyway he needs me.
Besides he won’t let me.
And God hates divorce.

Maybe he’ll die.
Maybe I will.

(1989)

The Whole World Changed in the 60's.

2005-05-10T21:20:00.000-04:00

The whole world changed in the 60's.
Politically, it was the difference
Between Eisenhower and Kennedy.
Between "duck and cover" drills at school,
And real bombs over the Mekong.
Between battlefield glory
Depicted in World War II movies,
And Viet Nam,
Splattered uncensored on the nightly news.
Between conformity and protest.
Between colored people "knowing their place,"
And blacks "having a dream."
Between housewives in house dresses,
And feminists burning their bras.
Between "the man in the moon,"
And Neil Armstrong actually walking on the moon.
Between starting the school day with the Lord's prayer
And Madeline Murray O'hare.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

It was also the difference
Between leaving your key in the ignition,
And having to lock your car.
Between throwing coins
On top of the stack of newspapers
After choosing your copy,
And buying a paper from a locked vending box.
Between taking the the number 8 bus
To the big department stores downtown,
And driving to and hanging out at the new suburban shopping center.
Between one car per family,
And "crazy women drivers."
Between milk,
Delivered to your doorstep
In glass bottles,
And buying milk in cartons
At the grocery store.
Between paying a deposit on soda bottles,
Then having to return them
To get your money back,
And "no deposit, no return" throw-away bottles.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Between Annette as a Mouseketeer,
And Annette playing "Beach Party Bingo."
Between "Around the World in Eighty Days,"
And "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."
Between Elvis and the Beatles.
(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)
Crewcuts to long hair.
Peddle pushers to bell bottoms.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Between a little place called Hamburger Junction,
Where a model train carrying your plate
Stopped in front of your seat
At the lunch counter,
And driving in to McDonald's
And eating In your car.
Trademarks went from round and ornate
To square and simple.
Script Coca-Cola to block letter Coke.
Esso to Exxon.
The fancy engraved bell of the phone company
To a simple blue-line hint of a bell.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

On TV, it was the difference
Between black and white, and the NBC peacock.
Between "I Love Lucy" and Mary Tyler Moore.
"Father Knows Best" and "Bewitched."
"The Lone Ranger" and "Bonanza."
Mickey Mouse and Fred Flintstone.
"The $64,000 Question" and "The Match Game."
Lassie and Mr. Ed.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Clothing kept us ironing everything in the 50's,
But the 60's had "drip-dry" dresses
And "no-iron" shirts.
Guys went from boxer shorts to briefs.
(We've come full circle on that one.)
I tenderly mothered my "Tiny Tears" doll in the 50's,
While my 60's little sisters dressed Barbie for the prom.
I used real potatoes on my Mr. Potato Head.
The 60's version came with a plastic potato shaped head.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

We also discontinued arithmetic
And started taking math.
I went from ankle socks to stockings.
(Not bobbie socks like the song says.)
Saddle shoes to penny loafers.
Pony tail to teased hair.
My book bag and a lunch box,
carried to elementary school,
Were replaced in Junior high and high school
By a brown paper lunch bag.
And books carried just so
In the crook of my left arm,
And a 50's child emerged as a 60's adolescent.
My whole world changed in the 60's.

Morning Prayer

2005-05-01T13:43:00.000-04:00

Morning Prayer

Serenity.
My gaze following the shredded
golden foil pathway
Toward the brightness just risen
above the mists of the horizon.
Sunrise on the sea.

Daybreak.
The sound of windless waves
lapping confidently on the shore,
Unstirred by the midday breezes
that are sure to come later.
Morning calm.

Early morning.
Pondering Bible poetry,
I pray in silence,
Undisturbed by the midday stresses
that are sure to come later.
I shall not face them alone.

What Ever Became of... ?

2005-05-01T07:33:00.000-04:00

I. THE NANA PULLA GUY
He was a kid
With a bicycle,
An unusual bicycle,
One with a steering wheel
Instead of handle bars.
Did he make it himself?
We used to see him
When we passed through his neighborhood,
On the way to Nana Scarpulla's.

Riding in the "way back"
Of Mom's old pink station wagon
With the window rolled down,
We used to yell things out to him,
Dumb things, like:
"We're goin' swimmin' with bow-legged women!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Sometimes he would hear us
And roll his eyes.

Eventually we just told him where we were going.
"We're goin' to Nana Scarpulla's!"
And that got shortened to,
"We're goin' to Nana Pulla's!"
We started referring to him
As "the Nana Pulla guy."
"Where's the Nana Pulla guy?"
"Here comes the Nana Pulla guy."
"Ready, one, two three...
We're goin' to Nana Pulla's!"

What ever became of the Nana Pulla guy?
Would he remember us?
Did he grow up
and work in an office?
Did he become a policeman?
Does he ever tell stories
About the noisy kids
Yelling out the back of a pink station wagon?
Or did he just get drafted
And die in Viet Nam?

II. UNKNOWN SCHOOLMATE
Walking home from Towson High School
One afternoon my sophomore year,
I found myself walking next to
A girl I didn't know.
We introduced ourselves,
But I can't remember her name.
All I remember was
That she said she hated her father.

"You hate your father?!?
How can that be?
You don't really mean that!"
"O yes I do,"
She said with conviction.
And proceeded to tell me
How he had killed her mother,
And then woke up all the kids
and told them,
"I shot your mother."
Then he called the police
And now he was in jail
And she hated him.

I should have been understanding,
Or comforting,
Or something,
But I was only shocked.
I was of no help whatsoever.
I never saw her again.
I guess our class schedules didn't coincide.
I mean it was a big school,
Overcrowded during those baby boom years.
I hope she had a really understanding social worker,
Some good counseling,
Or, somewhere along the line, found Jesus.
Or did she just end up hating God as well?
I pray that she has learned to cope.

III. THE KEMP MILL BOOK WORM
No one knew his name,
But anyone
Who was ever out and about
In our end of Kemp Mill
Knew exactly who you were referring to
When you mentioned the the bushy gray eyebrows,
The glasses resting down on the end of his nose,
The cigar clenched tight in his teeth.
The book held out at an angle in front,
The pages illuminated by a little attached book light,
His slow, measured steps
As he paced the neighborhood streets
Reading,
And smoking,
And getting in his daily walk
All at the same time.

Sometimes in the late morning,
Or early afternoon,
Or in summer twilight after dinner.
Always in the middle of the road;
Never on the sidewalk.
Maybe he was just out there all the time.
Perpetually roaming
The mundane, suburban streets
While the book transported him
Who knows where.
New Orleans?
Mars?
Ancient Greece?

He never said anything;
Just strolled through the neighborhood.
A sleep walking phantom,
Unaware of his notoriety,
Oblivious to the curious stares
And turning of heads,
But not to the turning of pages.
Was he reading novels
Too exciting to put down?
Romances?
Mysteries?
Or was he studying something?
One would say he was an intellectual health nut ...
...were it not for the cigar.

I haven't seen him lately.
Did he sell his house
to move closer to his children?
Is he in a nursing home?
Is he still alive?
There's an emptiness in the streets now.
Sad.
I never took the time
Or chance
To try to get to know him.
Would he have wanted me to?

Metamorphosis

2005-04-23T09:42:00.000-04:00

Ah! For the days when writing flowed,
When knowledge was detached;
When all was pure philosophy,
The truth still tightly latched.

But now each word is painful.
Embarassment shrouds each line.
Before it was vicarious,
But now the soul is mine.

I wrote of love and hate and fear
And wrote of these with fervor.
Oh how easy it was then
When I was mere observer.

Conclusions that I came to then,
Correct, but somehow shallow,
Were painless and imperfect prints
Set in melting tallow.

But as life's sculpting hands have cut
Deep ridges and sharp rips,
The words that would descdribe it well
Can't get beyond my lips.

(6/7/80)

Genesis Nemesis

2005-04-23T09:33:00.000-04:00

Green scene.
Adam,
Madam.
THE tree.
Satan' waitin'
Glib fib.
Haste.
Taste.
Shame.
Blame.
Mean scene.

(1984)

Did You Ever...?

2005-04-23T09:07:00.000-04:00

Did you ever see a tiger
In a green and yellow hotrod
just a crusin' down the highway
in the middle of July?
You say you never, ever saw one
Not in August or September?
(Well to be perfectly honest,
Neither did I.)

Did you ever eat balogne
On a cheese and jelly sandwich
With a lot of juicy pickles
Baked inside a rhubarb pie?
You say you haven't ever tried it?
Not for breakfast, lunch, or dinner?
(Well to be perfectly honest,
Neither have I)

Did you ever do your homework
With the book turned upside down
And the answers came out right
And you wondered why?
If you've ever, ever done it,
Then you know it couldn't happen.
And I know you'd get a zero.
(Once I tried.)

Did you ever write a poem
In a bathtub full of water
As the shower washed the ink
Down on your toes?
(Well that's how I wrote this one
And the water smeared the ending.
And I really can't remember
how it goes.)

(1974)

A Poem for Fran (who doesn't like peas)

2005-04-23T08:58:00.000-04:00

Pass the butter, please.
But don't pass the peas.

If I eat peas I'll surely die.
But don't hold back the apple pie.

You can serve me eggs and cheese,
chocolate covered bumble bees,
Liver, spinach, all of these,
But, heaven sakes, DON'T...SERVE...ME...PEAS!!!

Pass the butter, please.
But don't pass the peas.

(1974)

Football

2005-04-23T08:55:00.000-04:00

Rumble-jumble!
Stumble, bumble,
Fumble. Grumble.
Humble mumble.

(1970)

Communion Cups I Have Known (Or Not Known)

2005-03-24T14:17:00.000-05:00

First Communion was the first of course.
And there was no cup.
There was a big golden chalice,
But only the priest drank that.
Good Catholic boys and girls,
Crowded into Immaculate Heart of Mary classrooms
on Saturday mornings,
Learning the catechism
And the prayers.
And rehearsing right along with the parochial school kids.
Genuflecting,
Processing solemnly to the altar rail.
An altar boy assisting
As the robed priest’s sanctified fingers
Placed the host on my tongue.
And we marched in the May Procession afterwards.

Many times followed
After the First.
Years of ritual,
Shrouded in devout Latin mystery,
Even during periods of atheism or agnosticism.
The same dry wafer sticking to the roof of my mouth
And never the cup.

Then on to college.
Exploration and experimentation.
Broken matzo crackers,
Squares of white bread,
Or even a whole loaf
Broken and passed to the next person
And, at last, the cup!
But grape juice?
How could that be?
That’s not what the apostles drank.
I learned that it had to do with concern
About abuse of alcohol.

Research I did
For the paper I had to write
For freshman religion,
Enlightened me about interpretations:
Transubstantiation.
It’s no longer bread and wine;
It’s the actual body and blood of the Savior.
(OK, that’s what the nuns had told us.)
Con-substantiation.
The actual body and blood
Mysteriously present with the the elements.
(My Lutheran friends were supposed to see it that way.)
Symbolism.
It represents the body and blood,
A remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice
Long ago.
(More believable I guess.)
Didn’t care much about what it was
Or what it meant for that matter.
But as faith budded that year,
Catholicism gave way to Protestantism
And ceremony gave way to worshipful experience.
Even though my God,
At that point,
Was only Christ-like,
Who needed a trinity?

One day
Alone in a library
Of a charismatic fellowship
In Seoul, Korea.
Jesus jumped out of the pages of a book
And into my heart.
How my soul rejoiced!
It was for me that Jesus died.
This was what the communion cup was all about!

But, oh the discomfort generated
When that minister in New York
Invited all to the table;
All who had “accepted Jesus as Savior...”
(OK, I’d done that.)
“...And are obeying him as Lord.”
Whoa!
I couldn’t take communion
That Sunday!
But I knew
That commitment was in order.
And soon was able to sing,
the simple, yet profound words,
“I have decided to follow Jesus,
No turning back,
No turning back.”

I moved around a lot.
Joined Anneville Evangelical United Brethren,
Timonium United Methodist,
An interdenominational group
At an army base in Kwong-Chun, Korea,
Broadway Presbyterian,
Bowne Street Dutch Reformed,
The Episcopal church for English speakers
In Vienna, Austria,
Clifton Park Baptist.
And at one time or another
Attended services
Of various other denominations
With friends.
Even found the Catholic mass
Could minister to me
Now that I had come to know Jesus personally.

Practices varied:
Passed in the pew,
Dispensed at the altar.
Seated around a table
Feeding and giving drink to each other.
Sipped from tiny glass cups,
Or disposable plastic ones.
Sipped from a chalice
The celebrant wiped before serving the next communicant.
Delivered by the ushers
(When it was my turn
To serve in the nursery.)

Priests,
Ministers,
Deacons,
Lay persons,
Ladies conducting the service.
(The worshipful climax
At a women’s retreat.)

Grape juice,
Wine.
At Nana's funeral
There was a glass goblet
From which both the priest and the nun drank.
The wine appeared to be pink rosé.
The Mormon service I went to
Did it with water.
Expectations of a Cana miracle perhaps?
Later I learned
It related to an incident of persecution.
(Someone had tried to poison their wine.)

Sitting,
Standing,
Kneeling.
Daily.
Weekly,
Monthly,
Maundy Thursday,
Worldwide Communion Sunday.
There’s a real sense of belonging
One to another
As you receive the tray from one person
And then serve the the next;
Yet there’s something meaningful
About intentionally taking
Those bold and humble steps to the altar.

Being a deacon
Changes the the perspective entirely.
Communion cups don’t fill themselves!
(I’ll never take that for granted again.)
Sitting up front,
Saying the prayer,
Taking the cups to the people
Sometimes serving the pastor.
Or taking the little portable kit
To the shut-ins.

“Do this in remembrance of Me.”

Gazing in the cup,
Waiting for the words
That tell me to drink.
Sanctuary lights
And stained glass brightness
Reflecting on the dark, shimmering, liquid surface,
Reminding me of The True Light
that came into the world.
“This is the blood of the covenant
Shed for you.”
The organ softly singing,
“O yes, O yes.
It was for you that Jesus died.”

And I trust anew
the Bible Word
“He who began a good work in you,
will bring it to completion...”

Boardwalk & 7th

2005-02-26T21:44:00.000-05:00

My first trip to anywhere
Was to Boardwalk & 7th.
A whole ‘nother world.
Where nine year old eyes
And imagination
Could stretch even beyond
The Atlantic horizon.

Arrival in the back parking lot
Of the old wooden Admiral,
A resort apartment.
A building probably no longer standing,
A building with no elevator
Where you could watch guys with muscles
Attach your luggage to a thick-roped pulley
And slowly raise it up to the the floor where you would be staying.

There were about 4 inches between the Admiral
And what ever stood next to it.
A little girl could look between.
The ocean!
The ocean!
I’ve seen the ocean!

Or so I thought.
A long 4 inch wide sliver of shadowed sand,
A little chunk of boardwalk,
More sand, much brighter,
Then some grayish blue water,
A long sliver of blue sky.
And a breezy whiff of fish smell.
A taste to heighten anticipation.

Upstairs the balcony faced the beach.
Oh my!!!!!!!
Downstairs I only thought I had seen the ocean.
Expanded beyond belief,
It left me in awe!
How could any water be so big?
How could any sky be so big?
Or any stretch of land?
No trees to block the view of anything!
Now I’ve seen the ocean!

But there was more to learn about the ocean:
Jumping waves
And getting knocked down by them.
Clam shells and smooth rocks,
But no fancy shells like the kind they sold in stores.
Beach towels and beach umbrellas.
Sand castles,
Sand crabs,
And sand in your bathing suit.
Sunburn!

Sitting on the balcony in the late afternoon
Watching kites fly,
And imagining you could see all the way across the ocean
To Europe or Africa.
Was that the Pope out for a walk?
Lying in bed and feeling like the waves were still moving you.
Drifting to sleep to their rhythmic roar.

And of course resort stuff:
Glass blowers,
Fudge makers,
Salt water taffy,
French fries and snowballs,
Kiddie rides
The “laughing lady” in front of the Fun House
(She stands silently in a museum now.)
The Boardwalk 5 & 10,
Confusing babble from the auction house,
Artists doing caricatures,
A concert at the band shell,
The fishing pier,
And the dock where I saw a 500 lb. tuna!
Now I understood why Boardwalk
Was the most expensive property
In Monopoly!
I had seen the ocean!

Divorce Psalm

2005-02-25T18:54:00.000-05:00

Oh God, my wounded soul cries out to you.
My heart pleads in pain.
Will distress be my companion forever?
Uneasiness my troubler by night?

I am insulted and rejected.
I am violated and scorned.
My kindness is rebuked and dashed to the ground
And my love begets only violence.

My hurt is like flesh ripped open,
A part of me crudely wrenched out.
No surgeon has sewn up the tear.
My pain throbs exposed.

Comfort me, oh God.
Calm the turbulence within me.
For when I am distraught
Your praises are difficult to sing
And my hand trembles in your service.

God, remove this stressful burden!

As I walk confidently in the palm of your hand
The healing froth of your love tide
Washes over my injured spirit
And urges me toward wholeness.

(1985)

Hello Baby

2005-02-25T03:30:00.000-05:00

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

“Teaching Your Parakeet to Talk”
A 45 rpm record.
Just send one dollar
And 3 labels from Hartz Mountain Parakeet Treat.
And play it over...
and over...
and over...
and over...

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

We stuck the record player
Right by Pretty Boy’s cage.
He never did get it though.
Never squawked anything resembling:

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

Just pecked at his seed bell
And his Hartz Mountain Parakeet Treat
and hopped to the perch
While the record played over...
and over...
and over...
and over...

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

On the flip side was a real bird.
A recording of a real live bird!
A bird obviously having more intelligence than our Pretty Boy.
This bird could say it over...
and over...
and over...
and over...

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

When we played the flip side
Pretty Boy would go crazy!
Jump,
And fly,
And squawk,
Crash into the bars.
Trying to get to that intelligent bird on the record
Who could recite over...
and over...
and over...
and over...

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

Who knows where the record is anymore...?
And Pretty Boy is long gone.
...But to this day,
My parents,
My brothers,
My sisters,
Even my cousins
(Who often visited)
---The whole family---
Can laugh,
And recall,
And recite over...
and over....
and over...
and over...

Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?
Hello, hello baby, want a kiss?

A Real Good Vacation

2005-02-24T05:14:00.000-05:00

1
First day of school
Mrs. Mikoski
Tryin’ to get t’ know us,
Fill the time.
(No reading groups yet.)
Oh, no!
Here it comes.
“And, Kathy, tell us what you did over the summer.”
Got nothin’ to say.
Don’t think anyone wants to hear
How I played outside all day.

2
Not when others had visited relatives
In exotic, far away places:
Like New York,
Iowa,
Cincinnati.
Oh, I visited my relatives.
Had two sets of grand parents,
Nine uncles and aunts,
There were eleven of us cousins.
Twelve if you count my Uncle Gene
Born to my grandmother
After her other kids were all grown and giving birth to us.
All those relatives!
And we all lived within five miles of each other
In Baltimore County.
I mean it was a big deal
When my aunt
Moved from Towson...
All the way to...
Catonsville
OK, so the beltway hadn’t been built yet.
Still didn’t leave me with anything to say on the first day of school.

3
Don’t think anyone wants to hear
How I played outside all day.
Half the class had been to Ocean City,
Or summer camp.
Others gone to Hershey Park,
Brought back pet alligators from Florida,
Seen the Liberty Bell,
Me?
Well
I had gone to visit my aunt in Catonsville.
Could I say that?

4
Not that the summers weren’t fun.
They were times of playin’ kickball
And 3 Flies In
With my brothers,
Reading Golden Book stories to my little sisters.
Little Engine That Could
Pokey Little Puppy
Stayin’ in the lines in coloring books,
Delving into “My Summer Weekly Reader”
And books from Towson Library.
Hopscotch,
Paper dolls,
And jump rope ad infinitum
With boy crazy Donna.
Secret clubs.

5
Explored the woods
A ravine,
A tick infested field,
Picked forget-me-nots
And blackberries,
Sucked the nectar from scads o’ honeysuckle
Emerged victorious,
Though badly stained,
From ink berry battles.
(A lot less painful than the acorn battles of autumn.)

6
Done some cross stitch embroidery with Nana Wilke,
Took beginners swimming lessons.
(Got a Red Cross card to prove I passed.)
Sunday doughnuts at Nana Scarpulla’s
After church
All us cousins crowded in Uncle Gene’s room.
Barbecues at our house
Or at Aunt Lucy’s

7
I had dug holes
Made mud balls,
Sucked on blades of grass
Learned to balance
On a 2-wheeler
With a broken chain
By repeatedly walking it up the hill to Cromwell Bridge Road
Then coasting back down.
I’d tried to light a fire with a magnifying glass.
Smoke, but no blaze.
(Guess I just wasn’t patient enough.)
Hurt my knees jumpin’ off the swings,
Helped organize the neighborhood kids for a talent show.
Endless rehearsals.
Charged the parents a quarter for tickets.
Thursday night in the Saunders’ basement.
Performed in cousin dramas for the parents and grandparents
At no charge

8
I had set the table,
Made my bed,
Sprinkled the laundry,
Ironed the handkerchiefs,
Folded the towels,
Husked the corn,
Made red JELL-O,
Dipped chicken pieces in egg
Then shook’m in a big ol’ bag of flour
So Mom could fry’m up crispy.
Seen blue crabs kickin’’
Dropped in the big black pot.
Steamed alive and seasoned with Old Bay.
Dumped out red, hot, and dee-licious
On tables spread with last night’s Baltimore Sun.

9
Went grocery shopping with Mom
Tasted a grape or two on the sly.
Got my bangs cut
Trekked downtown to the eye doctor
A visit to the dentist
Who cleaned our teeth
Then handed us prescriptions for ice-cream cones.
Back to school shopping of couse
New shoes
Dresses
And lunch on the top floor of Hutzler’s department store.
Club sandwich
And fancy desert
Of Jell-O cut into cubes
And served in tall parfait glasses
With whipped cream and a cherry.
Went out with my father
to pick out a turquoise birthstone ring.
(December)
Got that at Hutzler’s too.

10
Played continue on paper a lot
You know,
That game where each person writes a sentence
And you pass it on.
And the brothers in the family
Ruin every story
‘Cause they think it’s funny
To make every sentence be about pee and poop.

11
Card games:
Go Fish,
Old Maid,
War,
And Crazy Eights.
Board games:
Sorry,
Candyland,
Clue,
Checkers,
Scrabble,

12
Evenings
The whole neighborhood gang
Playin Hide and Seek,
Red Light, Green Light,
Swingin’ Statues,
Giant Steps,
And a game our baby sitter had made up
Called “Block.”
(l’ ll explain it after the poem, if anyone’s really interested.)

13
“ And Kathy, your turn, tell us what you did over the summer.”
“Um...
“Well...
“I went to visit my aunt in Catonsville.”
Silence
Except for Mrs. Mikoski
Pretendin’ I ‘d just said somethin’ terrific.
Lookin’ back now
I’d had a real good vacation.
How’s a fourth grader ‘sposed to know what’s worth tellin’ ?
But, hey, I just told you.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

How to play “Block”
Requirements: 2 or more players
a patio with rows and columns of 4 foot square cement blocks. with the exception that some of the blocks
are gardens
Object: Gently knock other players off balance and be the last one standing
Flow of the game: Players move around from place to place. When encountering another player they hold right hands and attempt to push or pull the other player off balance.

Rules: You are out if:
you have more then one foot in one block.
you step in a block already occupied by someone else.
you step on the wood between blocks.
you step in a garden block or off the edge of the patio.

I REMEMBER NANA

2005-02-22T19:57:00.000-05:00

(read at Mildred Wilke’s funeral at the age of 99)

I remember Nana on Satyr Hill Road...
---where she stood working in her steamy kitchen with the pressure cooker, and the whistling tea kettle,
---where sun streamed in through the dining room window making rainbows in the cut glass vase that stood in the middle of the dining room table amid piles of freshly cut homemade noodles set out to dry. (I used to sneak in and eat a few; they tasted far better raw than they ever did in the soup.)
---where dessert was tapioca.
---where Christmas meant Glass Wax stencils in the big picture window and little marshmallow and gumdrop snowmen standing in cotton snow; and Easter was brightly colored tulips made form died eggshells and pipe cleaners. (How did she get the egg out without breaking the shell anyway?)
---where she taught me to recognize the call of the bobwhite and how to do big cross stitches on cloth stretched in an embroidery hoop.
---where the dog got hit with the newspaper if he left the property.
---where she cut her toe in the lawn mower,
---where she sewed, hooked rugs, and cut up old coats to magically transform them into braided rugs.
---where she dressed in hat and gloves every Sunday for mass, no matter how hot it was in those days before air conditioning.
---where the wooden crucifix that now hangs in my upstairs hallway, hung over her bed,
---where there were horseshoe games and crab feasts in the back yard and I could visit my grandmother everyday, not just on Sundays and holidays, because she lived right nextdoor.
---where I learned from her one of the most important lessons in life when I heard her lament the fact that she had been wanting to bake someone some homemade bread, but hadn’t gotten around to it and now he was dead. (May we all remember to do for our loved ones while they are still with us.)

I also remember Nana at Loch Raven Village
---where she started a new life, independently able to walk or ride the bus to stores, countless bowling leagues, to Sunday mass, of course, and even all the way to Catonsville.
---where trivet and spoon collections adorned the walls and African violets flourished.
---where the crucifix still hung over her bed
---where she hung a huge poster sized business calendar with big squares in which she could write everybody’s birthdays and anniversaries so as not to forget them.
---where the kitchen was always uncomfortably warm, but just the right temperature for raising homemade bread.
---where grace before meals ended with “God bless the cook,” or sometimes, “Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, whose arms are longest gets the most.”
---where dessert was still tapioca.
---where the Christmas tree was silver and decorated with homemade sequined ornaments which are now owned by some of us, and a Santa ringed in colored blinking lights hung on the wall.
---where wisdom was dispensed about such things as throwing spilt salt over your shoulder and who’s at the door when your fork falls on the floor.
---where she became a great grandmother and matriarch of four generations for many years.
---where she baby sat for Fran, and later Matthew, Justin, and Shelly.
---from where she wrote me many letters when I was in the Peace Corps in Korea, and later many letters to Seattle when Mike and Beth Moved out there.
---from where she came to Silver Spring to my apartment to visit me and take a trip to the Smithsonian because she had always wanted to see the Hope Diamond. (It was during that visit that I was amazed to see her down on her knees in prayer before she went to bed. I didn’t think people did that anymore.)
---where she embroidered us tablecloths. (Mine is the one we use for Christmas brunch.)
---where she used a CB radio to listen in on the police and determine when it was safe to go out.
---where she grew old, and her bones and hearing gave out, but not her sense of humor.

Finally, I remember Nana at Stella Marris
---where African violets still flourished in her window.
---where she graciously welcomed all visitors, especially those bearing gifts of crab soup.
---where she proudly showed off the view form her window and the view of Loch Raven Reservoir from the lounge window, but where she never had anything good to say about the food.
---where she shared the news of visits or calls from her children and grandchildren, and where she ended visits with the request, “Next time come when you can stay a little longer.”
---where she participated in the garden therapy conducted by Mom’s garden club.
---where during one visit when we asked her if she knew that we were involved in the Gulf War, said that she had heard that, and then commented, “ I never understood why they have wars anyway!” (Why do we?) Her comment caused us to reflect on just how many wars she had seen in her near century of life.
---where, in the most recent years she became less animated, and had fewer interests, but never stopped going to Sunday mass.

When she could no longer go to mass, she went to be with the Lord.

She loved God. She loved us. And we loved her.

Kathy W.

2005-02-22T05:14:00.000-05:00

1
I pretended it wasn’t embarrassing:
First day of school.
Those teachers
With all their
Neat,
Clean,
Spankin’ new seating charts
And me there to mess ‘em up.
Me,
Kathy W.,
Nearsighted,
Myopic,
Supposed to sit in the back of the room.
With the other T-U-V-W-X-Y-Zs.
(squint)
Couldn’t see the board from there.
Had to sit up front
Like Larry A.
And Donna B.
Those teachers
Would have to cross out names;
Write new ones.
Me and Larry hafta change places.
Why couldn't I have a front of the dictionary name?
When I grew up
I was going to marry an aardvark.
Kathi Aardvark.
Wouldn’t that be cool?
And less complicated.
First day of school
Woulda been a lot less bother
For all those teachers
...Without Kathi W.

2
And what if Mr. Aardvark did come along?
Prob’ly wouldn’t marry me anyway.
Not Kathi W.
Blind bat,
Cooties, you know.
Last picked for every team.
I never cried;
Never showed the hurt inside
When I made it to the top of the list,
Of “5 Most Ugliest Girls in Seventh Grade.”
Or when George C. invented the Kathi W. doll.
You know the one:
Wind it up and it walks into a wall.
Committees?
The worst.
Everybody wanted
To be partners,
Work in groups,
Collaborate,
...But not with Kathy W.
I should’ve just melted away.
Let them work together
And be friends
...Without Kathy W.

3
I wanted to not be in school.
My own neighborhood;
Now there was a better place.
Where a bunch of us kids
Had grown up together.
Always just had fun together.
Where some of these same kids from school
Also lived.
These kids
Who couldn’t afford
To let it be known at school
That they even knew Kathi W.;
But who, when they returned to the neighborhood,
Could return to themselves
And be OK with Kathy W.
And play Red Light, Green Light
And Hide and Go Seek
And be friends...
...Friends with Kathy W.
...Friends with ME!