Calisthenics

Week 1

"try to notice when language seems to take risks and not merely lie down in the orderly prose of commerce" Writing Poetry textbook

This comment from the textbook was my first insight as to what I would be accomplishing in this class.  Learning to not only read, but read with awareness and then follow this knowledge with writing, not only to write, but to take a risk in the words I use and jump out of the box of order to paint a picture only I have in my mind for the reader to see the same picture.  A challenge!!!

Painting a picture:

Watching my mother, sitting in her wheelchair, working to eat her supper and trying not to ask me for help was inspirational.  Her left arm proped useless on a pillow and her one good arm was constantly repositioning to compensate for the loss.  I smiled as I pushed something she needed closer to her and adjusted the position of her coffee cup.  Her crown of white was not the usual perfect style I had come to know as Mama's but never the less showed signs of fussing over and acknowledgment.  Her plain tee shirt did not have a "Liz Claibourne" label and had stains of misjudgement but those were battles less fought these days.  Her face, once the focus of cremes, lotions and night repairs, was more wrinkled, but still captured the beauty that had been bestowed on her.  The smile crooked to the left, downward, but was lost when she shared her joy and gave you a glimpse of the perfect white teeth that had received such care through trips to the special dentist and the ever present box of dental floss beside her easy chair.  Her bright, flower blue eyes that sometimes betrayed the distances she traveled in her mind could still focus on me to examine the inside and outside of my appearance.  She could still read me like the Cedartown Standard and know all the details.  "Looks like a a good supper Mama" I told her as I moved around the room straightening and cleaning.  "It's not", she answered.

alisthenics

Calisthenics – Week 1

Showing and Telling

The entire town pack, ed the sides of Main Street!  The sidewalks of flat cobblestones were jammed with people that spilled off the sidewalk to the first yellow line of the street.  Young, old, black, white, rich and poor were elbow to elbow for this shining moment.  Faces overflowing with excitement watch down the street for a movement of red and black that signifies the beginning of the parade.

The hometown heroes in their Bulldog jerseys, freshly washed, probably in special detergent, will make  their way to the historic West Theater.  In front of the entire town, they will load the big, shiny, silver bus headed toward the semi-finals in the Regions 7AAA playoffs!   Each young man was beaming in their glossy red uniform with big white letters unblemished by cracks or fading presenting to the crowd their special number.  The big black and red “C” graced the top front while the stately word “BULLDOGS” rose in the honored spot across the back, proclaiming to the world their inherited right.

The art of small town football was sacred to the many people gathered to send the beloved team off to the game.  Within hours, hundreds of vehicles, four chartered buses and three school buses would make the trip 90 miles south to witness a sure win for the team.  A step closer to bringing home the trophy with its black enameled base and life size gold football engraved “2004 Region 7AAA Champs”.  The place of honor in the front hall of the high school was prepared and ready to receive its glory

Calisthenics – Week 2

Active Voice

Eyes snapping and heels clicking Kim crossed the tile floor to deliver the blow that would end three years of romance and deceit.  Reaching the object of her disgust, the fist at her side suddenly opened and in a swift move desired by any big league pitcher, Kim connected her wide open palm to her target.  The right side of the smirking red lips seem to withdraw as a deafening smack pierced the room.  The whelps of puffed red skin were visable in the same instant Kim spun around as a prima ballerina triumphantly exiting the stage of a successful performance.  The curtains lowered.

Calisthenics – Week 3

 Avoiding Cliché’

Cheap – moldy, oily smell of Wal-Mart shoes

Beautiful – MawMaw’s old woven garden basket golden with newborn squach.

Coyotes scolded the new moon as the campfire smoke drifted toward the sky littered with glass.

Calisthenics – Week 4

My eyes squinted as I struggled to make out the name, birth and death of an unknown person on the back of the black Chevy Suburban stopped in front of me.  Knowing my time limitations of red to green, I asked my husband, “What is the last name and dead date on that name on the back window”?  Barely acknowledging me he replied “I don’t know, who cares”?

“It may be someone I know” I urged, knowing the light was turning green.

“Well, if they are dead, why are you concerned?” he casually answered.

“Maybe I didn’t know they died.  It might be someone I know really well and missed their funeral.”

His eyes shot up and his face followed as he looked at the side of me, panicking to see who had died on the back of the black Chevy suburban.

“Do you realize what you just said”?

“It doesn’t matter now!  The light just turned green!” With a jerk I followed the suburban, hoping for another chance.

Calisthenics – Week 5

Repitition

Thanks to the drivers of the big trucks pulling dirt bike trailers for not running me off the road on Sunday mornings on my way to church;

Jane Brown, you have my undying gratitude for being the backstabbing heifer you are for pushing me out of the bank and on to my vision;

Thank you Polk County road crew for transferring the excess dirt you removed from the ditches to my driveway and smoothing it out just right!  You are the best!

And to the awesome little green bottle that can erase all the iron water stains in my bathroom with one squirt and without my hands, I am eternally grateful;

And finally, to Larry W. Dooley and General Motors Corporation, you have my heartfelt appreciation for the big, red, muscular friend that carries me safely and humorously from point A to point B.  You are both my hero.

Calisthenics – Week 6

Junkyarding techniques

Coffee and inebriation

The poor cousin of anger is fear

Language is a slut

Why am I so beautiful?

To use a magnifying glass is to pay attention, but isn’t paying attention already having a magnifying glass?

He heard the South make subterraneous music, like the noise of bagpipes in distant Highland hills.

I led them with cords of human kindness, with bands of love.

This situation has far reaching consequences

Calisthenics – Week 7

Questioning

A mix of kids lined the streets, all reaching toward the sailing football soaring against a northern sky of tangerine orange.  My best friend and I captained opposing teams, plotting and drawing out plays as pegs on a Lite Brite board.  It was a strategic game and one where you had to outsmart the opponent.  I was fortunate to spend many a Sunday afternoon at old Mr. Bailey’s house watching NFL.  Mr. Bailey was a retired defensive coach and could point out exactly what the opponent would do when the ball snapped.  He taught me strategy and it wasn’t long before I could look at the playing field like a maze of hamster trails and predict which way they would run.  Out on the streets, this information was useful, especially to a girl.

The perfect playground, our deserted streets had no traffic, no stop lights, no secrets and no worries.  After the game,  we moved like Rockettes down the street to the corner store each counting pennies.  Enough for each one to have a piece, buddies share.

After I moved from St. Charles, Illinois it became a ghost town and the peaceful, empty streets were silenced save the occasional dog barking or scuttling squirrel.  So many things have changed for me from North to South.  The climate, best friends and language but the glow of the tangerine sky over the peaceful streets of my childhood will always remain.

Calisthenics  - Week 8

I love settling down on the sofa after the house is quite.  It is my time to unwind alone with the television.   I have sole power over the remote control.  No SpongeBob, Matt Dillon or sink full of dishes calling me away.  I record my favorite show daily and the twenty or so episodes on the DVR will compete for my ability to stay awake.  “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman” is my escape back to the days when things seemed simple.   Not that things were simple, it just seemed that way. 

As I flip through the list of recorded episodes, I land on one of my favorites with Dr. Mike wanting to enter a horse race with her new horse Flash in the Sky.  Flash was a gift from Snowbird, the Cheyenne Medicine Man’s wife.  Flash could fly!  But there appears to be a problem.  The men folks of the town will not allow her to race because she is a woman.  According to the committee of three men, no woman has ever entered the race and never will.  Dr. Mike questions the rule but to no satisfaction.  “Women have too small of bones and may get hurt.  This is a dangerous race and women are not equipped to handle it” is the reply from Mr. Bray, registrar. 

The remote goes flying as I come to a sitting position in absolute disgust over this treatment of Dr. Mike.  Or for that matter, women in general!  As the camera spans the town people gathered around the registrar table, I notice Hank, the saloon owner, with his arms around one of his scantily dressed saloon girls.  Myra, the saloon girl, takes up for Dr. Mike and I am wondering what gives Hank the right to make Myra appear in public dressed like that!  Oh yea, I forgot, she is “under contract” with Hank and has to do as he says.  Now I am really disgusted with the whole beginning of the show and find myself clutching a pillow that is set to go flying through the air, aimed at the television.  That is what happens when I become disgusted with football so it may work with my disgust over the treatment of women in this show!

Dr. Mike is going to dress up like a man and enter the race regardless of the rules.  Hooray for Dr. Mike!  She is a strong woman but it makes me sad to see her and other women on this show so contained in their position as a woman.   I guess dressing up like a man was one of a few options women had in those days.  But I wonder why it took so long for women to get the point across to men that in most every situation women can function, compete and think as well as any man?

 My daddy, my hero, stopped me from dressing like a man one summer afternoon when I was a little girl.  I wasn’t going to really dress like a man, just a boy in a baseball suit.  At the time I was ten years old and it was spring time.  This meant baseball, hotdogs and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” over the loudspeaker sung by my daddy!  At ten years old, I wanted to get out on the field and hit the ball like the other boys in my class.  The same boys I could out ride, out run and out fight on any given day.  But when I had asked daddy about playing baseball he said girls didn’t play Little League but I could help him in the concession stand making hot dogs and popcorn.  He would even teach me to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”!   Typical girl stuff, cooking, serving and singing.

My middle brother had an old baseball uniform.  I knew where it was in his closet.  It was my favorite hiding place when he was after me because he was older and had longer legs.  A little faster than me so I had to use my brain to outsmart him.   He would never look for me in his own closet.  Dumb big brother!  Outsmarted by his little sister.  I snuck in his room, got the old baseball uniform and found a hat that somewhat matched.  In the bathroom, I worked my butt length hair into a bun on top of my head.  Maw Maw had taught me how to do that when we worked the garden in the hot July sun.  I used daddy’s Grecian formula to slick down the front and on went the baseball cap.  Now my problem was how to get to the field with this get up on.  The hat wasn’t too big a deal but the ball uniform was a dead give a way.  Finally, I had it.  I went to my room, found an old skirt and big tee shirt and wondered if I could get past mama.  I pushed the britches up to my knees, put my socks in the pockets and covered it up with the shirt.  Mama was a little surprised when I was standing at the sink washing dishes in a skirt as she came in from work but I told her it was hot and the skirt was cool.  I think she really wanted to believe I had made a drastic change for the good in my appearance.  Off to the ball field we went to open the concession stand before daddy got home from work.  Right before the time for daddy to appear, I disappeared and headed around the dugout where the boys were lined up to try out for a team.  I noticed some of the boys looking at me funny and a couple tried to talk to me but I concentrated on pitching my ball up in the air and catching it, ignoring their remarks.  Finally, my turn at bat! As I stepped up to the plate, the coach wound up and threw the ball which I promptly popped over the center field fence.  Next pitch, line drive right between the shortstops legs and out to left field. Perfect!   One more pitch and this time I worked the right field as it shot through the grass and bounced back as the right fielder struggled to grab it.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the coaches scrambling to find out who I was, checking their list and asking each other.  What I didn’t see was my daddy standing at the fence, arms folded, watching the action.  About the time I was ready to take my turn at throwing the ball, I heard a familiar voice say “Son, take your hat off for a minute”.  I looked around to see who they were talking to and it was me.  The requester was none other than daddy and a girl never goes against her daddy telling her to do something.  Off came the hat, down went the hair and within sight of my goal, I was busted.  I can still remember the other boys laughing so hard they were falling in the grass and the smell of the Grecian formula in my hair.  The look of disappointment on mama’s face as I came into the concession stand and the one of sadness on daddy’s face as he hugged me close and said “I’m sorry little girl”.

As the pillow aimed at the television knocked off the picture frames sitting on top, I knew how Dr. Mike felt.  Her hair under her hat and baggy britches to hide her girl shape tied with a rope, she could pass.  A blue bandanna hid her neck and charcoal on her face took away the peaches and cream complexion.  A big piece of licorice in her jaw kept her from talking to the other cowboys and hands in pockets to hide their size.  She was off to a good start; I hope her hat didn’t fall off in the race!

Week 9
(Grand verses humble)
At a Kiwanis Club award dinner, Carla sat perfectly still, the very essence of a lady.  Her hands were folded neatly in her lap along with her dinner napkin.  Her face expressed interest in those around her and the program at hand.  Her dress was pressed to perfection and hair and make up created to fit the occasion.  In one glance, a perfect stranger could see that she was all she portrayed.  A hard worker and civic minded member of the community.  Her left hand signified her committment in marriage and language of her body spoke morals.  What they didn't see was her desire to possess a list of do's and don'ts that could be silently handed to her with rules she must follow to fit in to this world. 

Week 10

A scar that means fears become reality and the recesses of my thoughts and dreams moves forward like a ferris wheel.