Three Crazy Men (well, maybe one boy)

Okay, so Laurie read this really cool piece called "Crazy in a Nut Shell" that was stream of consciousness like Ann Lamont, so here goes…That was a crazy night last night Dan says this morning with the four times, divorced, drunk friend, the unibomber, and the under-age drinking student. Yeah, it was I thought. When I met Dan at the pub, the four times, divorced, drunk friend, Mike, was there and drinking a lot. He was loud and obnoxious as usual. I feel sorry for him and all but he is just odd. He was actually shot by a student when he was teacher at McDuffy High School and he tells everyone the story. But anyway, I can only take so much of him. Then, I ask Dan is Mike okay to drive because I was getting in my mommy mode, as Dan calls it. Dan says he fine and to stop worrying. Yeah, right. As a mommy, I worry all the time. Pretty soon, this unusual guy walks in the bar. He looks Indian or something and I like talking to those people, not that I’m racist or prejudice or anything, but they are usually very interesting and cool. He was really different looking. I couldn’t quite tell his ethnicity. He was like dirty or something or maybe Native American. I don't know. But anyway, he is carrying this orange cooler type bag, and of course, just my luck, he sits right next to me at the bar. And exactly at that moment, my husband decides to go to the bathroom. Not the time to leave me alone. I mean it's not like scared or anything just uncomfortable. He immediately starts moaning about needing a cigarette, so I thought that saying that to get one of mine, so I offer him one. He says that he has one in the car and he needs to go and get it. Finally Shane, the bartender, walks over and this guy asks him if he can leave his bag at the bar while he gets his smoke. Shane is a really cool bartender and person. He is actually Irish and works in an Irish pub. Cool, huh! We were invited to his wedding a few years ago so maybe that means we spend too much time in this bar. But McGees is like my Cheers, where everyone knows your name. Dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah... I always talk to people at bars or wherever because people are so interesting. Anyway, he leaves and leaves his orange bag that he brought in with him. I instantly think of the unibomber and leaving bags somewhere. Like in the airport, don’t leave your bags unattended. Maybe it had something to do with the IRA and British fighting and blowing up this Irish bar. Then a waitress walks over with a puzzled look in her eyes. She says that she knows that guy, the unibomber, came in with a bag but then didn’t leave with a bag. I tell her about the unibomber image I have and then Shane comes back and says that the guy is just a fucking idiot. Shane's Irish accent said it more like fouucking idiot. I love Irish accents. Then Dan returns and we, me, Dan, Shane, and the waitress, all debate about looking in the bag. Well, I'm glad we didn't look because here comes the unibomber with a cigarette and starts talking about South Dakota and so I instantly say that I was born there and we start chatting about the Badlands and Mt. Rushmore and the snow. Well, then Dan and I decide to go to Fuij, a Japanese Steakhouse. As soon as we walk in, Dan sees an old student at the bar named Jasco. I think that's his last name but I'm not really sure. So Dan says Jasco what’s up. Me, Jasco, and Dan talk about the food and sushi. Jasco has his own set of chopsticks that he brings to the restaurant. Dan has some too but he always forgets to bring them. After a beer or two, Jasco shows us his left arm with about five small red holes. I say what have you been doin’ shootin’ up or something. He says that he woke up the other morning with safety pins stuck in his arm and he couldn't quite remember how it happened because he was really drunk. I instantly go into Mommy mode again and say did you go to the doctor, did you tell your parents. Well, no, he did neither. Then I ask Jasco, how old are you and when did you graduate. Well, Dan and Jasco change the subject and start talking about The Grateful Dead and touring and such and then after sushi and rice and veggies and beer we leave. As we exit, Dan says that Jasco is only 19 so that is why they gave me “the look” when age came up so okay that’s it. The four times, divorced, drunk friend, the unibomber, and the underaged drinking student. It was quite a night and I don’t have crazy nights anymore because of my mommy mode and all but it was fun.

Thick

Thick

“Thick!” That’s what she said. “You’re mighty thick for a vegetarian.”
I hated to tell people this fact about myself while working at Applebee’s on Augusta Road. I still hate to tell most people this morsel about my life because they instantly judge and question me: Why? Why? Why? Well, the answer is that I really don’t know why, but I just am. People think that it’s weird but it seems natural to me.
Ribs were a big part of the food at Applebee’s and everyone always asked about them. “Are they beef or pork?” “Are they big or little?” “Are they fatty?” Well, I always answered these questions the best that I could, but on this day with this one lady, the questions would not stop. “Well, have you eaten them?”
“No,” I reluctantly answered.
“Why not?” she continued to question.
And on and one and on. So, I broke down-I told her. It should be a rule somewhere. If you work in a restaurant that serves meat, and you’re a vegetarian, then don’t tell the customers.
As soon as I said it, I could tell by her look that this was not going to be a good response. She sat back in her seat and moved her eyes from the bottom of my feet to my face. Then she responded, “You’re mighty thick for a vegetarian.” The words still pound in my head fifteen years later. I still remember the table number-number 75. Who was she to say that? She was thick too and she was ordering ribs!
As I stumbled to the kitchen, with my mouth in the shape of an O and my eyes glazed over like a lost child, I encountered my manager, Gettis. As I recounted the tale to him, he found it quite humorous and shared it with the entire staff.
I’m sure that thick lady has forgotten all about the vegetarian waitress and the ribs, but I wish that she hadn’t. Words are powerful-use them wisely.

Alcoholism

Alcoholism stalks us in the night
Dressed in a crisp, black suit
Disappearing into a Vodka bottle as it takes your soul.

Alcoholism haunts us as we try to sleep in our king sized bed
Sneaking into our dreams disguised as a friend wearing a t-shirt
But drags us to depression as a child forced to eat broccoli

Alcoholism whispers to us while we try to teach or preach
Sauntering through the front door wearing promises of happiness
Begging us for only one sip

Alcoholism assaults us in solitude
Clothed in a familiar tattered phrase
“One drink can’t hurt.”

3 Haikus

Crisp green foliage
Hanging gray moss clings to trees
White bird stalks its food

Orange sky says good-bye
Puffy clouds hover and float
Marsh lands go to sleep

White and black and tall
Lighthouse protects and calls us
White waves crash and fall

Goodnight Girls

Goodnight girls it’s
time to go to bed.

We’ll have more
fun tomorrow, she said in
her head.

Goodnight lights, it’s
time for the day give up the moon.

We’ll wake in the
morning and eat grits with a spoon.

Goodnight, love, it’s
time to rest our minds.
We’ll see each other
in our dreams and our heads.

Goodnight dog, it’s
time to cur on the bed,
we’ll play in
the morning and rub on your head.

Goodnight TV, it’s
time to go off.

We’ll search for the
remote in the morning
while Daddy plays golf.

Goodnight thoughts
it’s time for peace.

We’ll visit you
soon and hope that
you don’t cease.

Barbie Towel

The Barbie Towel-I will never be able to replace the towel because it sunk to the bottom of Lake Hartwell along with my own sense of security. Alex still remembers the towel and the incident that led to the lost towel; I don’t think that she’ll ever forget it.

“Do I have to wear it? I am so hot. I’m sweatin’ like crazy, Mommy,” Alex complained once again about the life jacket. We were only paddling about 200 yards to our campsite from the little island so what’s the harm.

“Nay. You’ll be fine,” I agreed. Mostly because putting on the jacket was a hassle and because I was tired of the whining.

“Okay,” reluctant Dan said. He hated to disagree with me because I usually won the arguments about parenting. I mean, I am the mom and I was usually right.

Deli, Alex, Dan and I hopped into the canoe and slowly glided towards the site of our tent. Deli, our 20 pound “mixed-breed,” paced back and forth and peered over the side of the tattered green canoe. "Alex hold on to my beer and bottle opener. Don't spill the beer," Dan instructed Alex.

"Yes Daddy. I won't spill it," Alex answered sweetly. For a three year old, Alex had an excellent vocabulary and spoke almost every word perfectly. She never said, "pill" for "spill" or any other funny language confusions that young children often do.

“Go right, Nicole,” Dan barked to me through sounds of Alex’s constant talk and Deli’s occasional interjection, “BARK, BARK, RUFF.”

“What?” I questioned amid the cacophony of sounds.

“Right, I said!” Dan squawked again.

“Okay,” I mumbled. I’ll go right.

“No,” yelled Dan!

“Oh, no!” I screamed.

As the canoe quickly and quietly flipped into the murky waters of Lake Hartwell to dump its inhabitants, I turned to catch a glimpse of my precious 3 year old daughter. She was everything to me. What had I done? What if I loose her? I couldn’t bear it. But, in this frozen moment, I saw Daddy, Dan, grab his precious 3 year old daughter. She was everything to him too. She was his best bud, his little girl, his everything.

As the muddy, cold water hit my face, I still had one thought-Alex. Where was she? Did Dan still have her? Suddenly, I felt a sharp, clawing pain on my neck. It was Deli. She could swim but still wanted me to hold her and protect her. Deli was scared too, and I had been her mommy for five years. But, as usually happens when a child is born, the family pet becomes like an old pair of worn jeans-important and dependable but not as crucial as the new diamond in your life. Alex was our sparkling diamond! I brushed Deli away and scanned for Alex and listened for any sign of her or my husband. Finally, as I defended my neck from Deli’s surprisingly sharp claws, I saw them. They were safe. Alex clung to Dan’s neck like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe. Ironically, Alex also clutched the bottle of beer in one hand and the bottle opener in the other like the Statue of Libery holding her torch and tablet. She clung to them as if they were a life preserver that would help her survive the dirty water.

Then, I heard the sounds of our college friends on the beach of the little island. They were scrambling to reach us. They were scrambling to reach Alex. She was their diamond at that moment.

Dan and I made eye contact to reassure ourselves, and as I protected my face from Deli’s claws, I saw Alex’s desperate eyes. She was pleading with me with her stare, “Protect me, Mommy. I’m scared.” I gave her a reassuring glance and tried to swim to her with Deli attached to my neck. While I was swimming, I noticed our Birkenstocks and drinks bobbing in the brown lake water.

Kim and Tom reached us first and immediately grabbed Alex and plopped her in their canoe. Kim and Tom were experts in the field of canoeing and kayaking so I felt safe when I gave them my diamond. As Alex drifted away with Tom and Kim she asked, “Where’s my Barbie towel?” Dan and I looked and searched and dove for the towel; however, we were unable to locate the pink and white towel.

A few days later, Alex received a new towel, the Powerpuff Girls. She had matured past Barbie. Today, five years later, she still recalls and giggles about this event, but it makes me regret my neglect of her in that quick moment before we reentered the lake. “Nay. You’ll be fine.”

The Barbie towel at the depths of Lake Hartwell was sacrificed that day, but I still had my Alex. My Diamond.

Quote Analysis

During journal writing time on Monday June 25, 2007, Kris asked us to brainstorm cooking verbs, building verbs, and sports verbs and then incorporate them into a piece of writing that wasn’t about that topic. Or, we could revise another piece of writing with these verbs. I did it below with my quote analysis:

Quote“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.”-Henry David ThoreauThis quote reminds me of marriage. The castles in the air are the love and wedding and initial commitment. The excitement of mixing being together and starting the new journey in life is the groundwork. The honeymoon, the first home, the first car, and perhaps the first child are exhilarating and refreshing.Then the real world whips slaps you in the face. The first bills, the first fight, and the crying child are not so exhilarating and refreshing. They are exhausting!Marriage is hard work-the second hardest job after raising a child. I love my husband and my children, but it is a constant process.Thoreau was a nature and outdoor person so I assume he related this to nature. Perhaps, the process of writing about nature or the process of appreciating nature was the castles and foundations.Thoreau might also have been talking about writing. The thoughts and ideas are the castles but the revisions, edits, and drafts are the foundations.This quote also reminds me of cloud watching:Cloud Watching…Shapes of many people, places, things, etc.AlligatorSnoopyA sleeping dogAn appleA triangleSimmering Lying on our backs on the tired picnic table in our cluttered driveway searching for productive puffs of clouds, Sam and Alex and I and sometimes and neighborhood friends of the girls, we freeze wait and imagine and explain and knead persuade the different objects to each other. Then, “Oh yeah, I see it. I get it.” Or, “No, I don’t see it. I see a horse.”I wonder if Carl and his family ever did this? Probably(poem found by Sandburg in gift shop)CloudsClouds are sky fluff.Clouds go by and come back.Clouds keep changing.Clouds cover the sun, the moon, the stars.Clouds make themselves into many shapes.Cloud watching-A cheap form of entertainment-no, a free form of entertainment.It’s kind of like swaying on a swing and pumping away higher and higher into the sky. As an adult you forget how fun these things are, but when you have kids you return to some old, yet familiar and fun activities.Cloud watching is great and I hear there’s even a website for it.http://www.pals.iastate.edu/carlson/bunny_txt.html

Connemara

Carl Sandburg’s Connemara

Main House by Kristen Gault, Shasta Looper, Robbin Surfus,

and Erica Sweatman

Welcome to Connemara! While walking up the hill to Sandburg’s home, you will meet the sweet smell of native fragrant plants that are native to the Flat Rock area. The home sits atop a hill with a view of ten miles in radius. It was built in 1838 as an escape from the malaria-ridden and war-torn Charleston community. Enjoy the view of Mt. Mitchell on a clear day. Sandburg considered this his utopia.

Meet the Champion by Tracy Butler, Jamie Lovello,
Rebecca Smith, and Kris Turner

Carl Sandburg referred to his wife as a “champion breeder of a champion.” Simply dressed, Mrs. Sandburg in her light green cotton floral dress and Carl in his long khaki twill pants trudged to the barn together to care for the prize winning goat, Jennifer II. In 1960 she broke the world record for milk production. She produced 5,750 pounds of milk in one year. French type goat milk cheese is one of the products produced from her milk. The sweet, creamy nature of the cheese is contrasted by the slightly bitter after taste. The special bitter after taste, unique to Connemara, was caused by the dry, sage grass grown there.

Glassy Mountain by Natalie Dobbins-Belt, Dawn Hawkins,
Rebecca Kaminski, and Angela Kiker

Nestled in the surroundings of Glassy Mountain, you will find a panoramic view from the pinnacle of Connemara. Strolling through the nature trail, which is less than a mile hike, the scent of fresh clean mountain air leads you over pebbles and rocks.

Crazy Corner by Cathy Alden, Laurie McCall, and

Natalia Simmons


Known as the voice of the working classes of America, Carl Sandburg’s move from Chicago to Connemara in the North Carolina mountains encouraged his work into the later years of his life. Tucked into a private corner of his home, Sandburg studied the papers for stories of America’s people. Pens or pencils, it didn’t matter. It was the power of words which came through his hand to the elongated cylinder filled with ink to express his ideas and concerns for the common working class people. The paper was the receptacle for Sandburg’s ideas. Blank pages, waiting to be filled, still lie in cubbies atop the antique wooden desk. Visit Connemara and see where Carl Sandburg lived and worked.


Connemara in the Winter by Angie Neal and Nicole Walgate

Located in historic Flat Rock, North Carolina, Carl Sandburg’s home becomes dressed in cottony-white during the winter months. Carl’s home fought the ensuing cold from November-February with three separate chimneys to warm his most prized possessions. The rocks and evergreens surrounding the home shield it from the enveloping winter storms and provided an inspiring landscape for this writer. The bark on the trees provided a sticky landing for the feathery flakes of snow. The fallen branches became a soundtrack of a crispy crunches as he walked among this peaceful winter scape!

Reflection

Part 1-Thinking and Writing

The bedtime story How I Became a Dog Bowl was a story that I told to my daughter the day before I wrote it on our field trip to Connemara. In this piece, I wanted to include all the elements of a fairy tale/bedtime story (hero/heroine, interesting plot, colorful characters, fictional elements, and of course a happy ending) while entertaining and calming my daughter so that sleep would soon come. The main ideas was simple: Mrs. Tea, the protagonist, encounters a conflict, cracked pot, and then has to resolve it. I orally told this story to my daughter the night before but then putting in a written, long-hand form was difficult up in the mountains of Connemara. First, my handwriting is terrible and my mind works faster than my pen so I omit details. Second, it was difficult to recall everything that I said the night before. This piece helped me with dialog. This has always been difficult for me because I am usually too lazy to add all of the punctuation needed, and I feel that the dialog that I write sounds unrealistic. Cathy shared a fairy tale piece at Connemara using goats as her main characters and this really inspired me to focus on dialogue. Her dialogue was inspiring and true to life.
The fictional story A Piece of Juicy Fruit was inspiried by Laurie's demo with the picture of a couple on a street. I was intrigued by this picture so I wrote a story to explain it. The main idea was pretty simple with a mother explaining to her child how she met the child's dad: two people meeting on the street in a unique situation, one street performer and the other an observer of the performance, and then they walk and talk and eventually fall in love. In this writing, I worked on the reason or purpose for the story, explanation to a young child, the time sequence, and finally realistic dialog. Once again, I learned that writing authentic dialogue is difficult and a slow process; however, it is a rewarding process. I learned to listen to people and that much of what makes a person who they are is in what and how they say. Laurie' demo focused on voice in writing and using short sentences in certain situations for emphasis. Hence, the sentence "I like him," in the story. It shows that the main character had decided to fight all the reasons why she shouldn't like this person on the street and just go for it. The short sentence worked.
The quote analysis piece was inspired by a quote given by Dawn for journal writing time on June 12. I was trying to figure out the quote as I wrote so I related it to things in my life. The main idea of the piece is comparing building castles and making foundations to marriage and having children, then cloud watching, and finally Carl Sandburg. I started the piece at Connemara in the morning with our journal after Dawn read some excerpts from Sandburg's writing and our focus was nature. Then, I added to it when I found the cloud poem in the house, and again with the quote on June 12th. As I was writing, I realized how everything is so connected: nature, marriage, writing, etc. I also used information from Rebecca's Kaminski's demo on Finding a Poem in Three Parts by going from prose to poetry or from poetry to prose. The two forms can flow back and forth and aren't so disjointed as I previously thought.
My Demo Reflection piece is simply a research look at my demonstration for the summer institute. For this piece I was trying to apply a different focus to my demonstration and evaluate it. The main idea of the piece and my demonstration is using qualitative and quanitative observations in descriptive writing. This writing was strictly professional and nonfiction with a reflective spin. During this writing I was breaking down my strategy for the demonstration to make it stronger.
Some important craft lessons that I've learned this summer are using music and movement to reinforce and produce writing (Kristen Gault), using drawing to aid in writing (Paige Eubanks), and using drama to aid in writing (Erica Sweatman).

Part 2-Process and Revision

I revised A Piece of Juicy Fruit in three main ways. Katie Eyles on the anthology suggested that the oopening paragraph was not as strong as the rest of the piece so I deleted a simile comparing the performer in the piece to a sick young child. I also used Wendi Jewell's idea and added more character description about the girl in the piece by adding some questions and I added a few more pieces of dialogue to add some interest. Finally, I took many suggestions from Laurie McCall. She is in my writing group so we had one on one time and she responded on the anthology. She helped me with adding more believable dialogue and making sure my verb tense was consistent. On the anthology she suggested that I eliminate redundancy with the word cup so I changed it to a certain type of coffee, Cappucino.
One of my favorite pieces on my blog is Barbie Towel and I used Tim Mathew's comment on the anthology to edit it. He suggested deleting the debate between my husband and I over the entire experience. I was struggling with the ending anyway so his suggestion was appreciated. With the revision, I focused more on my daughter being safe and not on my marital debate. I also added more action to my reaction to my dog after the canoe flipped. I was leary to add this because it seems harsh to ignore her and only focus on my daughter, but when it comes down to it, she was and is more important. I think these revisions made the piece's focus, my daughter, more evident.
The quote analysis is a compulation of writing experiences: two journal writing experiences and the field trip to Connemara. The piece started at Connemara after Dawn's journal writing which focused on writing like Carl Sandburg. Cloud watching is one of my favorite activities so I wrote a poem about clouds. Then, I found a poem about clouds at the visitor center at Connemara so I added it. Then back at the University Center the quote by Thoreau immediately matched with the entire experience at Connemara. Finally, I revised this piece of writing by adding cooking verbs with mixing and whips and kneading and simmering and freeze. For a journal writing activity, Kris had us brainstorm cooking, building, and sports verbs. Then, we were to use them in a different type of situation. I went back to this piece and revised it with these verbs. It made the piece not so technical but spunky.
The bed time story, How I Became a Dog Bowl, was the most fun to write and revise. I revised it based on advice from Frankie Mengeling on the anthology. I added dialog for Mrs. Crane upon noticing the crack. I also took his advice and I've got my daughters to work as my illustrators for the story. I also used Susan Helmink's suggestions on Chef Tony's carelessness by adding a dish for him to prepare-potato soup. I also deleted the term matriarch and replaced it with head of the household to appeal to a young audience.

Part 3

I learned from Laurie's blog to notice everything in the world: people, squirrels, artwork, graffiti, etc. Her writing is so descriptive and lively that I just want to jump into the stories and become a part of the it. For example, in her piece "Making Carl Proud," the very first sentence is dialog so I can automatically hear the characters. The young boy Lazarus in this piece speaks and his young and incorrect grammar and pronunciation are illustrated. For example, "Yeah, tanks," for "Yeah, thanks." The pictures that accompany her blog also add to the overall thoughtful and descriptive mood of her writing and her blog.
I also learned from Angie Neal's Blog to have faith in writing and a strong voice I perused her blog because I love the writing that she was always willing to share so I assumed that her blog would be just as good. It was. In her piece called "Wishing Flowers" , she has a great metaphor for weeds "a wishing wand for barefoot children." I love her enthusiasm and gusto and zeal in her writing. Her writing is also very spiritual and insightful. This is an aspect in my life that I could reflect more upon and write with passion.
Paige's blog is overflowing with personification. I love the simple way that her writing picks you up and takes you on a journey. You don't immediately notice the personification, but by the end of the piece, it hits you. The personification of memories and a river are so calm and peaceful yet powerful and invigorating.

Demo

1. Statement of the problem- I and my students are not detailed and specific with descriptive writing.
2. Hypothesis- Perhaps, I need to a new approach. "Science is the answer," said Linda Manly, my science team-mate. I was already incorporating science by having terrariums in class to relate to the novel The Giver so maybe this could work. I was discussing with her about using the terrariums as a writing tool to describe utopia, the terrarium, and the community in The Giver, and the real world. She suggested qualitative and quantitative observations. I loved it and it was cross-curricular.
3. Description of the procedures-First, I had my students place a terrarium on their desk. Next, I simply told them to describe it. After this initial description, I discussed qualitative and quantitative observations. Many of the students had prior knowledge about these observations from science but did not think to use them in English. The students then made a t-chart with observations on the two different observations. After this prewriting, they had a choice: use these new details to revise your initial piece or write an entirely new descriptive paragraph. For my demo, I will follow a similar process, but use objects in bags for the description item. Then, tie all of the items together to postcards from Carl Sandburg’s Home, Connemara, and have them write a collaborative descriptive paragraph to accompany the picture on a Carl Sandburg website. Connemara was Carl Sandburg's utopia so the two concepts of the novel and the terrarium and then the objects and Connemara are related through the utopian idea.
4. Evidence and Conclusion-My students enjoyed the specific details with their new observations. Most students focused more on their quantitative observations. Perhaps this was because they could not dive into their terrariums and touch and feel and smell it. It was a closed environment or utopia. Hopefully, by using the items in the bags for my demo, the writers will be able to use more qualitative observations. But, because the final writing piece will be a collaborative group project, I’m afraid that some of the quantitative observations will be cut. However, I think that having more is better. If you can’t use everything in your final piece, then you have stuff left over to use later. In the end though, I still think that this will strengthen descriptive writing with more precise details with qualitative and quantitative observations.

A Piece of Juicy Fruit

“Mommy, tell me again how you met Dad?”

When I saw him on the street that night with his termite infested guitar, I just had to stay and linger. So I sat and stared and listened to him strumming on the guitar a tune that somewhat resembled Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line.” Johnny Cash would not be happy about this rendition. Did he actually make money doing this? His collection cup was only filled with a torn and tattered dollar, two quarters, one dime, and a piece of Juicy Fruit.

He wasn’t like other street performers. He was young and attractive with a Robert Redford scruffiness that appealed to me. What are you thinking? I was actually attracted to a street performer and a bad performer too. Maybe he had lice. Maybe he had AIDS. Maybe he was a schizophrenic. I liked him.

I wonder what his name is. I wonder why he is here. I wonder why I’m still standing here. I can’t seem to leave. I need to give him some money. How much do you give a street performer?

“You rock dude!” a Bob Marley look-alike stated as he plunked a quarter in the cup.

“God bless you my child,” an angelic lady spoke as she gently placed a dollar in the cup so I guess I was safe with a donation of two quarters.

“You’re really talented!” I tried to lie as a placed my fifty cents into the mostly empty cup.

“Thanks. What are you doing with your little notebook and pen?” the Redford look-alike questioned.

“Oh, I was at the library reading and writing. I just love to write,” I couldn’t believe I said that. I sounded like such a nerd. This was an awkward silence. I thought that I heard the final Jeopardy tune in the background, “Do, do, do, do….”

“Well, do you want to a cup of coffee at Starbucks?” Redford slowly stammered.

I looked down at my feet and moved them a little. I had to study for a Young Adult Literature test, feed and walk Rusty, and wash clothes for tomorrow. I looked at my hands again and again and finally looked up at him. My mother’s voice was rolling around in my head, “Don’t judge a book by the cover.”

“Sure, why not,” I slowly stated.

The two-minute walk to Starbucks on 81^st Street was too short.
We chatted about songs, school (he was actually a grad. student), and pets. So we decided to keep walking until we found the next Starbucks. Well, after we passed Starbucks number 23 during our trek, we decided to get some joe.

Brad was his name and he only had the slight sum from his cup so we shared a Cappuccino.

“Is that okay? To share?” Brad questioned while readjusting his guitar.

“Sure. We’re both in college and broke so I am always willing to share.” Okay, now I thought back to the AIDS and lice. Sharing a cup of coffee was a big step for me, but I wanted to conceal this from him. I was enamored and in awe of his attitude.

“Being a street performer makes me humble and a little desperate. I’ll do just about anything for money, and I love to sing and play the guitar so it seemed a natural fit. Hopefully, I’ll get a gig somewhere and get off the streets. My parents would die if they knew I was doing street performances,” Brad explained. My parents would also die if they knew that I was sharing cup of coffee with a street performer.

After coffee and walking and talking three more miles, he offered me the piece of Juicy Fruit from his cup. He was like a diamond in a sea of cubic zirconia. Everyone in New York City was fake and pretentious and unstable. Brad sparkled and dazzled. He was the one.

“So that’s how I met your daddy and the love of my life.”

How to Become a Dog Bowl

Once upon a time there was a teapot named Mrs. Tea, and she made the savoriest tea, according to Mrs. Crane the head of the household. Her tea was the richest and best in the house.

But one day, while Head Chef Tony was excitedly slicing and dicing potatoes for his famous potato soup, he accidentally knocked Mrs. Tea off the chopping block. She collided with the hard gray stone floor like a child falling off a swing. “SPLAT.” Mrs. Tea cracked!

Mrs. Tea was devastated so she decided to hide in the cabinet. Some of her best friends, Mrs. Salad Bowl, Mr. Ladle, and little Timmy the Peeler, had been deposited in the garbage because of slight imperfections-a scratch, a bent handle, or a dull edge.

Mr. Broiler Pan waited in the back of the cabinet and greeted Mrs. Tea with a sly question, “What are you doing, Mrs. Tea? You are the best teapot in this pantry and the house and possibly the kingdom?” The pan startled Mrs. Tea because he was very old and crusty and rusted and scorched. She had heard myths of Mr. Broiler Pan from her mother, Mrs. Tea Pot, but she always thought that they were just myths. According to the myths, he was only used for big parties when pots and pans were scarce and then he would burn the food and destroy the entire event.

Mrs. Tea tentatively showed him her embarrassing crack, but Mr. Broiler Pan had a quick and immediate response. “Why your crack is not that big. You won’t leak and Mrs. Crane won’t even notice.”

But Mrs. Tea should have known by the quick and too easy of an answer that this was not true. The crack was indeed profound. Mrs. Tea was a trusting pot so she did as Mr. Broiler Pan suggested and pretended it didn’t exist. Mrs. Tea marched out of her hiding spot in the cabinet and placed herself in her appropriate silver tray on the granite counter.

As Mrs. Crane was pouring a cup of sweet cinnamon tea, she observed the slight imperfection. “Oh, my dear. What has happened to you? You have a crack at the very bottom of your pot. Whatever should I do?” pondered Mrs. Crane.

Mrs. Tea knew exactly what Mrs. Crane was to do with her. Or, at least she thought she knew. However, Mrs. Crane gently placed her on the highest shelf inside the finest china cabinet in the grand dining room, a place of great prestige and acclaim because everyone would see her there. “Here you go my dear. Now you can watch over all of my dinner parties and sit like a queen,” Mrs. Crane gently spoke.

Poor old Mr. Broiler Pan remained in the back of the cabinet becoming rustier and crustier, and some years later, it was rumored, that he was used as a dog bowl by Mrs. Crane for her precious Great Dane, Randolph.