Storm Memories – NaPoWriMo Day19

We’re having some wild weather here lately; tonight some golf-ball sized hail landed in the yard along with those the size of quarters. Before the storm, though, the weather was deliciously expectant with danger – the scent of rain in the warm, humid wind and steel-blue clouds rolling across the sky. Watching the trees sway, I went back to the days of my childhood. Our silver maple tree was built perfectly for climbing, and I could get way up near the top and hide from the world. On windy nights, it was my wild heaven. Do you have pleasant memories of stormy nights?

On windy nights
The branches of the maple
Became wild horses
That only I could ride,
Racing in dark leafy dreams.

Sweet scent of rain
Air filled with expectation
Senses quivering
Aware of what it means
to be fully alive.

For those interested in learning about Japanese tanka:
http://www.tankaonline.com/

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Genealogy leads to Yiddish delights – NaPoWriMo Day18

Anna Olswanger researched her roots and found a couple funny children’s stories. Per newpaper articles she discovered, her great-grandfather Elias was a near-victim of robbery and her father was a featured musician favoring the blues. Anna took information in those articles and created Schlemiel Crooks, about the 1919 St. Louis robbery with the addition of Pharoah’s ghost to tell the Passover story, and Chicken Bone Man, a 1920’s Memphis story of her father as a piano playing prodigy and his narrator dog. These and her other stories are in delightful Yiddish dialect. You never know where your roots will lead you.

My Japanese grandmother
Loved Japanese pumpkins,
Small and green,
With orange flesh in between.
She ate and she ate,
With sugar and soy
Until her face grew round
And orange color could be seen
And all were afraid
They’d discover Japanese Halloween!

Linda Austin
“Cherry Blossoms in Twilight”
http://www.moonbridgebooks.com

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Say it ain’t so! Greg Mortensen exposed – NaPoWriMo Day17

So Sixty Minutes finds Greg Mortensen drank too many cups of tea. Memoir is an interesting genre – nonfiction written in the style of fiction. But don’t get carried away with the fiction part because people will find you out if you make up important stuff. We’re not talking gist of the dialog here or the color of your bedroom, but serious stuff that makes a difference. Like James Frey saying he was involved in a train accident (no) or spent three months in jail (2 days), or Misha Defonseca saying she was sheltered by wolves (not), or Herman Rosenblat’s sweet story of how he met the “angel at the fence” (heavenly fiction). If you’re going to make up stuff to create a better story, call it what it is: fiction based on memoir. Don’t spoil it for the rest of us. Trust is hard to regain.

The internet makes it really tough to hide lies and “embellishments.” Reminds me of sitting on the front step this evening with the neighbor’s cat (you know, the ferocious Pumpkin). Another tanka…

As the dusk settles
Robins chirp from the treetops.
The cat observes all.
His tail switching and eyes sharp,
Nothing hides from his fierce gaze.

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