I’ve been reading and recording in my notebook at least one poem a day during April. Most of the poems (probably 95%) are from Mary Oliver. Her focus on the natural world and her ability to find the extraordinary in the ordinary and  record her thoughts in the most eloquent of ways have captivated me this month. So, on this last Tuesday in April, I used her influence, her mentorship, to craft a poem of my own. For my poem “Morning Symphony” I first read and         reread Mary Oliver’s poem “The Wren” as well as Birdsongs by Betsy Franco. Then I dug into my musical background and listed as many musical terms as I could think of. Then I listened…and listened…and listened, as each morning I was greeted with song.
 
                                                                            Morning Symphony
 
                                                                            The sun rises
                                                                            and the choir begins
                                                                            a symphony of
                                                                                  chips and chirps
                                                                                         whistles and warbles
                                                                                                 trills and tweets
                                                                             each cadenza a song of praise,
                                                                             thankful for this new day.

​A few years ago my friend, Glendia, got me started on going to craft fairs. Most of them in our area are held at local high schools and benefit various programs in the schools. I love seeing how creative the crafters can be and enjoy talking to them about their process. Craft fairs are usually a good place to pick up an out-of-the-ordinary gift for someone, or to ask yourself, “Now, why didn’t I think of that?!” To me, one of the best parts of any craft fair are the raffles. There are always donated items from the vendors and sometimes huge baskets put together by various groups.
 
On Saturday as Glendia and I entered the raffle room, one of the organizers overheard us discussing how many tickets we were planning to buy. “Well, are you feeling lucky today?” she asked. We quickly explained that we generally are pretty lucky. It’s true, almost always one of us (sometimes both of us) walks out with a prize. We purchased our tickets, distributed them among the items, and were soon on our way to visit the crafters.
 
I wasn’t surprised when my phone rang later - someone informing me that I had won a raffle item. When we went to pick it up, the woman we had spoken to before commented, “Wow! You really are lucky!” I’m sure she was doubly surprised when I returned a little later to claim my second item. Yes, I won twice in one day! But I don’t hold the record – once Glendia won three times!
 
Although I don’t really consider myself lucky, I’m thinking now that I probably am, and not just at craft shows. I am lucky to have a wonderfully supportive and loving husband, great kids, caring friends, a satisfying career, and good health. Life is good!

​I’ve been part of the Monday Night Ladies League for about ten years now. Although some ladies have come and gone, others stay - if not physically, most definitely in my heart. One of those ladies was B – just B, not Bea, or Bee. She hailed from England, and her delightful British accent and use of the language captivated those around her. She was kind and caring and always had a word of encouragement for those she golfed with. One of the things I remember most about her were her outfits – she always matched head to toe, from her visor to her shoes, in colors and patterns that complemented her fair skin. Last season B did not play with us. During the winter she was diagnosed with cancer, by the summer she was in hospice care, and by the early fall she had passed away.
 
Last night as we finished up the eighth hole on the course, my foursome stopped to take a close look at the memorial that had been set up for her – a carved out tree stump that housed her bag and clubs along with a simple plaque. Some admirers had left tokens of tees or balls, and I was proud to add mine to the collection.
 
I am by far not a good golfer. In fact, I am among the worst in the league. I have often asked myself why I keep coming back year after year, and the answer is always the same. It is because of the people who have touched my heart in special ways, offered support and encouragement, and who have helped me be a better person. And isn’t that the way life should be?
 
Here’s to you, B!

Over at The Poem Farm, Amy Ludwig VanDerwater is celebrating National Poetry Month by writing a poem inspired by each daily Wonder at Wonderopolis. The Wonder posted yesterday was all about speed limits (Why Can’t You Drive as Fast as You Want?). I immediately thought about young readers who set no speed limits with their oral reading, especially when they are being assessed for fluency. Somehow they think good reading means reading fast, and this often compromises their comprehension. I was also intrigued by the website where you can create and print a custom speed limit sign. Since I kept thinking about these things all day, I decided to join in the fun and try a poem.
 
The Reading Race
 
The timer is set, I see the words,
I’m on the starting line.
I hear the beep and then I’m off!
Victory will be mine.
 
I zoom through multi-syllables,
Efficient word rec I control.
Racing down that reading road,
More words per minute is my goal.
 
I reach the end – hooray, hoorah!
But what was it I was reading?
Could it be that reading fast
Might just be misleading?
 
I see the sign my teacher holds
“Caution – Slow Down and Think!”
I guess the message is important
Words and understanding must be in sync.
 
So now I know the secret –
Readers have to find the pace
That helps them understand the meaning.
Remember – reading’s not a race!

This post was inspired by the Mary Oliver poem “Freshen the Flowers, She Said.” I recently read this poem for the first time and loved it immediately. Oliver says so much in a few short lines. She reminded me that while I could say “I bought some tulips and put them in a vase,” the moment is special enough to make every move count. I chose to write a descriptive paragraph rather than a poem, although I may return sometime and try it out as a poem.
 
I brought the bunch of ten tulips home to bring a bit of spring into the kitchen. Ten yellow tulips with just a touch of orange for contrast. Buds closed with the promise of a bloom in a day or two. Carefully, I set them in the sink and freed them from the strings and bands and cellophane sleeve that held them together. Each seemed grateful to rest on its own, apart from the others. I made a slanted cut on each stem an inch or two from the bottom, and removed any torn or tattered leaves. I placed them, one by one, in a small glass vase filled with cool water, my fingers feeling the softness of the petals.  One was a bit too high. I pulled it out and repositioned it so that its stem could better reach the bottom. Gently, I unfurled a leaf… and then another. Finally, I stood back and took in the wonder of this gift.
 
Music for the eyes. 
​