Life

Whatever

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Whatever you do in life, surround yourself with smart people who’ll argue with you.
John Wooden

January 12, 2015 I wrote that quote as the start of a post and never wrote any more. It sat there in my draft for 11 1/2 years, until today when then Ragtag Daily Prompt (RDP) was the word “whatever.“

John Wooden was an American basketball coach. He is considered one of the greatest coaches of all time. When I was coaching swimming, I read some of his books, and found him to be so wise.

That quote encapsulates something I believe so strongly. I remember telling my high school swimmers that their competitors are there to help them swim their best time. I still remember a moment when I saw that in action.

It was the league championship meet. One team, Delhi, always dominated. I had been told when I took over coaching that we would never beat them and that the previous coach’s goal had been to score x-number of points. I thought that was a silly goal and that we should work to be the league champion.

Anyway, it was the league championship meet. The score was incredibly close.

The second to last event in a high school meet is the 100 yd breaststroke. I knew we didn’t stand a chance to win it, but if we did, we could win the meet. Delhi had an amazing breaststroker. My breaststroker, a girl named Becky, was good, but not that good.

When the girls dove in at the start, Becky had a good start. Her pullout was good. She looked strong, but she was clearly behind. At each successive turn, Becky pulled closer to that lead swimmer. In final 25, Becky came on so strong, it still brings tears to my eyes as I remember it.

Becky was right there — RIGHT THERE — at the finish, and the Delhi swimmer out-touched her. That win for Delhi meant that winning the championship was out of reach for us. (That year. The next year we won it.)

But in that moment, I watched Becky do something I will never forget.

Becky turned and looked at the times on the scoreboard. With the biggest grin on her face, she reached over the lane line to shake hands with the swimmer who had won. I watched Becky say thank you to the girl who just won.

When she got out of the water, she said, “You were right, coach! That swimmer helped me swim my best time.”

And it was a best time by a lot.

Becky and Olympic swimmer Jenny Thompson flexing together

The championship was small potatoes compared to the lesson I saw played out. People who are smarter, stronger, faster help us become better versions of ourselves. They push us and challenge us.

Writing this out made me think of this movie scene from As Good As It Gets

And all this is to say, that maybe, just maybe, Mark Carney can help someone in the US government be a better man.

fiction · nonsense · Writing

None of this is true

Sally5 Comments

“There was this huge monkey, I tell you, HUGE,” said the old man. His rough unshaven face, the bit of spittle leaking down the left side of his mouth, the crust in the corners of his eyes all spoke of age and hardship.

The young man was busy writing. He glanced up at the old man as if giving him permission to continue.

“The monkey was in the back of the trailer. It had a shit-eatin’ grin on its face and a shovel in its hand,” the man continued, balling up his right fist as if demonstrating how the monkey held the shovel.

The young man continued to write.

“I was feared it was goin’ to grab the cash. Y’know, the cash was just sittin’ right out there by the birthday cake,” said the man, pointing to an imaginary table with a cake and cash.

The young man put his pen down and looked at the older man. “Mr. Smith,” he started to say, but the old man interrupted him.

“That damn monkey was gonna carry away MY birthday cash, MY birthday cake!” he shouted. “It was TOO MUCH!”

He tried to get out of his chair, but the restraining belt held him in place. He struggled, his hands gripping and pressing against the arm of the chair.

His exertions were loud and drew attention from the others in the room. They had all been mildly watching the morning news on the communal television, and he was now far more interesting than that.

“Mr. Smith,” the young man said again, “it’s time for your meds.” He took out a hypodermic needle and called over his shoulder, “Nurse, I might need a little help today.”

This is my response to the Monday Wordle where we are invited to use a specific list of words in prose or poetry.

Today’s list: cash, huge, monkey, much, grin, shovel, birthday, carry, took, back, trailer, grab

I read the list. I saw the story. I wrote it down.

Music

Self-Conscious

Sally7 Comments

This week’s theme for Song Lyric Sunday is to find a song that mentions bare, birthday suit, buff, exposed, liberated, naked, naturist, nude, or skin. The song I chose — Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini — doesn’t mention any of those words, and yet I think it fits the prompt.

Bryan Hyland made it a hit in 1960. The songwriter, Paul Vance, wrote the words after watching his 2 year old daughter playing on the beach in small yellow bikini. I remember hearing the song as a kid and loving it. It made me laugh — mostly because I could relate.

The bikini debuted in 1946. If you’re interested in the history of the bikini, it’s all here on History.com: Bikini Introduced

Have I worn a bikini? Maybe yes — but it was a long time ago. Eight kids later, I don’t think I would even try. I’ll take my one-piece suit, thank you very much.

Just the other day, one of my daughters told me about being cat-called. She’s a beautiful girl so I’m not surprised. “I don’t like it,” she said. I’m not surprised at that either.

Women want to be seen for who they are — which is so much more than their body. I’m not sure going topless would change that. The Song Lyric Sunday theme was chosen because to acknowledge “Go Topless Day.” I, for one, will keep my top on and wear my one-piece swimsuit.

Lyrics:

She was afraid to come out of the locker
She was as nervous as she could be
She was afraid to come out of the locker
She was afraid that somebody would see

Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the locker, she wanted to stay

Two, three, four
Stick around we’ll tell you more
(Bop, bop, bop, bop, bop-op-op-op-op-op-op)

She was afraid to come out in the open (bop-op-op-op)
And so a blanket around her she wore (bop-op-op-op)
She was afraid to come out in the open (bop-op-op-op)
And so she sat, bundled up on the shore (bop-op-op-op)

Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the blanket, she wanted to stay

Two, three, four
Stick around we’ll tell you more
(Bop, bop, bop, bop, bop-op-op-op-op-op-op)

Now she’s afraid to come out of the water (bop-op-op-op)
And I wonder what she’s gonna do (bop-op-op-op)
Now she’s afraid to come out of the water (bop-op-op-op)
And the poor little girl’s turning blue (bop-op-op-op)

Two, three, four
Tell the people what she wore

It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot bikini
So, in the water, she wanted to stay

From the locker to the blanket
From the blanket to the shore
From the shore to the water
Guess there isn’t any more

Songwriters: Paul Vance / Lee Julien Pockriss

family · Music

Roamin’ in the Gloamin’

Sally4 Comments

The music we hear as a child shapes us, doesn’t it? Last week, I wrote about “Night on Bald Mountain” in response to the Saturday Stream of Consciousness prompt. I can still picture the sleeve for the vinyl record we had.

This week, as soon as I saw the prompt, starts with gl–, my mind went to a song that my father used to play. He loved a Scottish tenor named Kenneth McKellar. If I close my eyes, I can still hear “Roamin’ in the Gloamin'” sung in that magnificent voice.

I remember asking my father what gloaming is. It’s evening or dusk. The song is about a fellow walking at that time of day with his sweetheart.

I think dawn and dusk ARE the prettiest times of day. There’s something about the liminal time, when it’s not quite one thing or the other, that makes it magical.

As the song says, “When the sun has gone to rest, that’s the time that we love best — Oh, it’s lovely roamin’ in the gloamin’.”

poetry

One Candle

Sally9 Comments

created using AI

(For clarity sake — the picture was created using AI. The poem is 100% me.)

Deep inhale
Seventy-eight years travail
For what to wish? A new roof?
[poof]

I’m confused
One candle still lit! Excused
Not extinguished. Did I goof?
[Foof]

Voice speaking
From the flame. Eerie. Creaking.
“ElAinE” – glimpse of frilly rouche
[SWoosh]

If even
I blow harder, believing
It will work, I hear “SHhhHsh“
[WHOosh]

Oh, terror!
Who is this message bearer?
She speaks again — one word — “iF“
[WHIFF]

“iF ToDaY“
TODAY?? Today is my day?
My lungs are squeezing for breath —
Death?

[gasp weakly]
NO! It can’t end so bleakly!
At once — candle smoke, voice spoke
“jOkE!“

This week’s W3 is an interesting prompt:

An old woman blows out 78 candles on her birthday cake, but one refuses to go out, no matter how hard she blows. It burns with a blue flame and whispers a name she hasn’t heard in 40 years. Your poem is her conversation with that candle. What does she decide to do: let it keep burning, or pinch it out?

I found the prompt challenging and didn’t exactly follow it.

The form I used was Deibide Baise Fri Toin, an Irish form. It is written in quatrains with the following syllable count per line: 3-7-7-1 . The rhyme scheme is aabb, with the first two lines rhyming on a two syllable word and the last lines rhyming on a one syllable word.

The last word in the first five stanzas is supposed to be the sound of her attempting to blow out the candles.

poetry

Monday Morning

Sally4 Comments

[to the tune of “Jingle Bells]

Dashing through the house
In a Monday morning rush
I laid in bed too long
Where my’s favorite brush?!
The forecast is for rain
What I would give for sun
I haven’t time to think or sigh
I’m always on the run!

Oh! Monday morn, Monday morn
Tell me why you’re here?
I am really not a fan
Can I make that part clear?
Monday morn, Monday morn
Can you please go away?
I’d like to rest in my warm bed
Let’s try another day

Sitting at my desk
I try to do my part
I scratch my head and rub my neck,
Pull up another chart
The Excel numbers swim
Won’t do the things I ask
I think I’ll shut the program down
And try another task

Oh! Monday morn, Monday morn
Tell me why you’re here?
I am really not a fan
Can I make that part clear?
Monday morn, Monday morn
Please just go away
My brain won’t shift into work mode
Let’s try another day

This is my contribution to the Monday Wordle (MLMM) where the challenge is to use any or all of the prompt words in a piece of writing. Today’s words are dashing, morning, bed, forecast, sighed, give, neck, head, warmth, laid, and part.

Life · Music

The Loneliness Inside

Sally12 Comments

Today’s Song Lyric Sunday prompt is to choose a song that reflects different types of behavior that people exhibit.

I never read the book or saw the film “Georgy Girl” but I’ve known the song by The Seekers for what seems like my whole life.

We all wear masks, don’t we? The inspiration for the prompt is that August 16 is Authenticity Day “which encourages people to show their true personalities. It emboldens people to embrace their true selves, do things their own way, and move beyond simply conforming to expectations.”

This song speaks to that behavior, the behavior of being inauthentic because we feel the need to hide who we really are.

Hey there, Georgy girl
Swinging down the street so fancy-free
Nobody you meet could ever see the loneliness there inside you
Hey there, Georgy girl
Why do all the boys just pass you by?
Could it be you just don’t try or is it the clothes you wear?

You’re always window shopping but never stopping to buy
So shed those dowdy feathers and fly a little bit

Hey there, Georgy girl
There’s another Georgy deep inside
Bring out all the love you hide and, oh, what a change there’d be
The world would see a new Georgy girl

Hey there, Georgy girl
Dreaming of the someone you could be
Life is a reality, you can’t always run away
Don’t be so scared of changing and rearranging yourself
It’s time for jumping down from the shelf a little bit

Hey there, Georgy girl
There’s another Georgy deep inside
Bring out all the love you hide and, oh, what a change there’d be
The world would see a new Georgy girl

Wake up, Georgy girl
(Hey there, Georgy girl)
Come on, Georgy girl
(Hey there, Georgy girl)
Wake up, Georgy girl

Songwriters: Jim Dale / Tom Springfield

Leaning In · poetry

Again

Sally8 Comments

It seems natural, so simple
Impulsively holding
Hands — an honest symbol
Nimble fingers folding

Intertwining; act of sharing
Bearing with a person
Touch that asks, how are you faring?
Caring lest things worsen

Could be a sister or a mother
Hovering and steady
Or a new romantic other
Druther — am I ready?

Feeling again perhaps tingles
Mingles with fear sincere
[oh dear!] back among the singles
Fingers, hands — meet, cohere

2014 — When my father told my mother that my brother had died, he reached for her hand.

The week’s W3 prompt is to use the word “again” in a very specific context: Write a poem about experiencing something familiar as though it were happening for the first time again.

I thought about the act of taking or holding a hand, the simple spontaneous touch between two people who care for each other.

The dechnad mor is an Irish poetic form that employs quatrains with these guidelines:

  • Four-line stanzas.
  • Lines one and three have eight syllables and end rhyme with each other.
  • Lines two and four have six syllabes and end rhyme with each other.
  • Each end rhyme is a two-syllable end rhyme.
  • Each line features alliteration between at least two words. (I did not do this one)
  • The end of the first line rhymes with the beginning of the second line.
  • The end of the third line rhymes with the beginning of the fourth line.
Music

Night on Bald Mountain

Sally2 Comments

Today’s SoC prompt is Bald, Balled, Bawled. I fell asleep last night trying to think about the last time I bawled so I could write about it. When was it? I couldn’t remember.

When I sat down to write this morning, bawled was out the window and bald was in. This is what came out —

A few weeks I was in Maine. On one of the days, we hiked and reached an overlook that had one of those pictures that identified the mountains we were seeing. One of them was called Bald Mountain — and immediately I was transported to my childhood.

We had a vinyl record that I listened to often. On one side was The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Fantasia, and, because of that, Mickey Mouse was on the album sleeve. On the other side was Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain.

I started singing Night on Bald Mountain to my friend — DAH DAH Da-Da-Da-DAH DA-DA da-da-da-DAH DAH! He looked at my like I had two heads. How does one sing a piece of classical music?

Truth be told, the Mickey Mouse side — The Sorcerer’s Apprentice was too scary for me, so I preferred the foreboding music of Bald Mountain.

And the day we were on the hike, the weather kept thinking about raining, although not a thunderstorm. Still the vista was cloudy and gave me the sense of potential storm, as on Bald Mountain.

This may or may not be the vista that identified Bald Mountain, but it was from that same day.

If you’re not familiar with the music, take a few minutes and listen to the Mussorgsky piece. Picture a little girl putting it on the record player in her room and falling asleep to it. That may explain a lot about me.

Faith · poetry

In a Box

Sally2 Comments

The Word of the Day is instrument, so, of course, I searched my draft folder. The only thing with that word was this quote which I had copied into a post back in 2015 and never wrote any more.

The Holy Spirit is not a gift for us to use as we like, but a power using us at his good pleasure. Nevertheless our freewill is his instrument, and he does not force it… His action is like the rising waters of the tide, ready to fill every cranny that opens in the reef it engulfs, yet forcing no openings that are not offered.

~~ Austin Farrer, Saving Belief

It is a theme I have been thinking about for years — the way we think that we are the potters and He is the clay, the way we try to manipulate God. I know people who have totally turned their backs on religion because of the way some religious folk use God as a cudgel.

“God in a box” — that’s what I think people do. He’s much safer that way. We control him. Here are two verses of a too-long poem I wrote that also sits unfinished.

I fold up god to fit the box
Then put the lid on tightly
It’s so much safer – him in there –
I go to see him nightly

I say hello, complain a bit
Ask for a thing or two
Put the lid back on the box
Before heading to the loo