American Tumbleweeds: Marta Elva's story of life on both sides of the Mexican-American border

Well, this makes us very happy.

Marta Elva (Gibbons) who joined Green Rivers Writers Workshop last summer, has published her novel, American Tumbleweeds (Circling Rivers, publisher). The official release date is May 10, but already the book is receiving praise and wide coverage. No wonder. This is a lovingly told story of a young girl growing up in the 1960's, a time not so different from the present when language, culture, and gender are being used to divide people, to cause us to contemplate building walls to keep us separate from "those others." Marta's book breaks down walls and brings us together.

American Tumbleweeds is the coming-of-age story of Inez, a confused but gutsy adolescent who is trying to figure out who she is and where her true home is. Inez and her family tumble, psychologically and physically, between Juarez, Mexico and El Paso, Texas. Inez looses her footing when her charismatic father is sent to prison for drug smuggling; she trips, but she never really falls down.

                                                                                                     Marta Elva Gibbons

                                                                                                     Marta Elva Gibbons

Marta attended last July’s Green River Writers Workshop, traveling with her husband Michael Gibbons from their home on the Gulf Coast of Florida to New Mexico, to be part of the workshop and, especially, to spend time with Gerry and Lorry Hausman who have worked closely with her in editing the book. Marta’s focus on crafting the powerful story that she has to tell and her willingness to work hard at writing and re-writing shines through in the words of Inez and her family members. Marta brought the same humor, insight, and wisdom to the workshop as she brings to her writing.

Corrine, Marta, Diana, Megan, Jean, and Pam at the Plaza Hotel, Las Vegas, New Mexico, Eighth Annual Green River Writers Workshop July 2015

Corrine, Marta, Diana, Megan, Jean, and Pam at the Plaza Hotel, Las Vegas, New Mexico, Eighth Annual Green River Writers Workshop July 2015

Marta starts her author signing  and book tour at Alliance for the Arts in Ft. Meyers, Florida on May 12, before continuing on through Florida, New Mexico, New England, and Texas, demonstrating her own form of being an American tumbleweed. Check the Circling Rivers website for dates of her appearances—and request an appearance at your local bookstore or bookclub. Meet Marta and talk to her about her writing process and her story. She will enhance your life, just as she enhanced Green River Writers Workshop.

With American Tumbleweeds, Marta Elva pulls us into the minds of a half-dozen members of a border family in crisis, dramatizing the state of living ni aqui, ni alla, neither here nor there geographically and emotionally. A moving first novel.
                        — John Sayles, film director, author, and MacArthur fellow
 

Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble and through your local bookstore.                

Published by Circling Rivers                                                                             www.circlingrivers.com                                                                                                                    Jean Huets | 804-368-6833                                                                            jeanh@circlingrivers.com

ISBN 978-1-939530-01-1 (trade paper)

trim 5.5 x 8.5 | 298 pp. | $14.99

ISBN 978-1-939530-02-8 (digital)

all formats $6.99

 

What story do you have to share? Think what a difference your story might make in someone's life, just as Marta's story will change lives. Don't wait. Sit down and write today.

Be a Writing Rule Breaker: Blog About Your Dog

Bella, the *Cardigan Welsh Corgi, teacher, guardian, and foot warmer.

On any given day, it can take me 15 minutes to walk my dog the short distance from our house to the corner. This is what a typical morning looks like:

“Hey, lady, I like your dog,” the twelve year old boy yells at me from across the street. “Can I pet her?”
Of course.
Bella, our Cardigan Welsh Corgi, stands patiently while he strokes her back. 
“Wow,” she is so soft. She has so much hair. My dogs are big, they. . .”  
and he spends five minutes telling me about his dogs, which tells me about his character and the good man he will grow up to be.

Bella and I walk on half a block. A house painter, sitting on the grass, taking a break, smiles.
“Is your dog friendly?” 
Of course.
 “Can I pet her?” 
Of course.

A truck rattles by, the driver slows, leans out his window, shouts, “Hey, how’d your dog get such short legs?” and drives on, smiling.

A young woman slams her car to a halt, leans out her opened door. 
"Oh, my god, a Cardigan. Mine just died.
Can I pet her? I need to touch a Corgi."
Of course.

We named her Bella because she is so beautiful with her pure black and white markings, like a cousin to a panda bear. 
Her nick-name is the Smile Machine because she makes so many people smile when we walk through the neighborhood. People stop to ask, “Is that a Border Collie with no legs?” She has a long, feathered, black tail that curls over her back and is tipped with a spot of white, a lantern when we walk at night.

 

The lessons that Bella has taught me.

Bella has taught me that in this complicated world in which we live, when we are all, at any given moment, tired or sad or pained or anxious; 
when we may have had a bad day in school; 
or a sick child at home; 
when we are not sure if we have a job for the next day; 
or that our truck will start;
or we have lost something that we love,
having something warm to touch, something to look at that makes us smile just for one moment, can lighten the day for us.

Bella has taught me about the ways we love or don’t love people. How we might think or say, 
“Well, I would love you better if you lost weight”; 
“I can only love people who are tall”; 
“I can’t love you because your ears are too big.” 
“I don’t love you because you mess up the house.”

I look at Bella, whose body is the shape of a well-stuffed foot stool;
 whose legs are so short that when she walks, her long chest hairs graze the ground, magnets for dirt and leaves;
whose ears are longer than her legs;
whose long, fine, black and white hairs float above the floor like clouds of spiderwebs and clog the vacuum cleaner;
and all I know is how much I love her and the happiness she brings to people.

I like to think of Bella as a teacher for why we should
take time to talk to a child,
or check in on a sick friend,
or smile at a stranger,
why we need write or make music or art.

Bella has taught me that no matter what limitations we may think we have, 
—not smart enough, 
—not rich enough,
—not long-legged enough,
we all have the potential to make another person happy for a brief moment. 
When we act on that potential, we are better people. Our lives are richer when we make someone smile.
If we have a tail, it should wag.


*Corgi, in Welsh, means “dwarf dog". Corgis' legs are very short relative to the size of their bodies and heads . Most people are familiar with Pembroke Welsh Corgis, short-legged, big-earred, brown or black and tan, usually born without a tail. Queen Elizabeth is often seen surrounded by a pack of Pembroke Welsh Corgis, a rollicking group of oversized hedgehogs. Their only relationship to Bella is that both Pembrokes and Cardigans are  dwarf breeds of dogs, natural drovers and herders of cattle, sheep, and people. Cardigans are the older of the two breeds. They are heavier-boned, larger-bodied than the Pembrokes, and have  long tails. Cardigans are said to be distant relatives to Dashunds.  They are smart, non-agressive, and very loyal.

             Thanks to the Ulitmate Corgi for this photo of Queen Elizabeth                                and her pack of Pembroke Welsh Corgis.

             Thanks to the Ulitmate Corgi for this photo of Queen Elizabeth
                               and her pack of Pembroke Welsh Corgis.

Ross Lewallen: Artist and Shaman Who Lived Outside the Lines

 ross and LauraRoss and Laura Lewallen

"I am an artist on a walkabout, an adventure in the landscape of my imagination."

  Our good friend and creative mentor Ross Lewallen died last week and his family and friends are left with a large hole of sadness. We are also left with the rich gift of the memory of a man who lived life fully and creatively. When Ross blended colors, called the spirits of the power animals, the crow, the hawk, the wolf, the turtle and their friends; when he  sailed a boat in the high desert of New Mexico, he was a teacher and a healer, inviting us to paint and live outside the lines.

The physical body of Ross lived almost eight decades. Ross led this body to northern New Mexico in the 1960’s to study art with the great teachers at New Mexico Highlands University, Elmer Schooley, Harry Leippe, Paul Volkening, and Ray Drew. Ross painted, sculpted, created jewelery, talked late into the night, stirred the thinking pot and made us see the world through a different lens.

Ross and his daughter Laura ran  LewAllen and LewAllen Jewlers  on the Plaza in Santa Fe for almost forty years. He traveled to Africa and Austrailia. He became a shaman.  In the past few years he drove (“boondocked” as he would say) around the continent dragging his little camper trailer, Shasta, behind him. He sat up shop in front of Shasta in camp grounds, painted and sold his mystical watercolors to other campers.

Ross swam with kindred spirits in Florida, sailed in the Florida Keys with his wife Hanne Moller. Hanne is a  violinist. Among Ross’s many videos on Youtube is one of Hanne serenading five  tortoises.

Ross was a gifted teacher. In two of my favorite videos, Boondocking on the Rio Castillo and Painting from Impulse, he shares his creative technique. Painting is a metaphor for how Ross lived and his lessons invite us to change our perspective on life, if only for a brief moment, to start coloring, living outside the lines just as he did, to wake up and go on walk-about.

 

ross and wifeRoss and Hanne 2008 clapping2  ross pope ross wife  ross wife night Alice rossAlice ross dancing

We all loved dancing with Ross.

My Best Christmas Gift? George the Chimpanzee and his Friend the Black Stallion

Chimp on my shoulder

1954, Fourth Grade. I wake up on Christmas morning knowing that George the Chimpanzee is waiting under the tree for me.

Why a chimpanzee? My favorite book was Chimp on my Shoulder. The cover photograph shows a baby chimpanzee peering over the shoulder of the author, Bill Westley, an adventurer who lived with chimpanzees on his farm in England.  What better life could one have?

When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “A chimpanzee collector and raiser.” My mother and father said, “Well, that would be a fine occupation for you.” I knew then that my parents understood that I needed my own chimpanzee to start on my career.

My mother grew up in the Philippines before World War II where my grandfather, the Colonel, rescued a baby monkey and brought it home for her to raise. She named him George.

George ate the laundry soap and hid pieces of candy in his cheeks and had big dark brown eyes. If my mother once had a monkey, wasn’t I meant to have a chimpanzee?

I had not yet told my parents that I did not believe in Santa Claus. Grown-ups, I felt, were very sensitive on the issue and became sad when their children stopped believing. So I wrote a letter to Santa telling him that I wanted a chimpanzee and why, hoping that my parents read the letter. I never spoke directly to them about my chimpanzee, as I believed expressing my wish would be a jinx.

My mother hinted about my main Christmas present, words that had to do with jungles and tigers and lions and bears, solid evidence for my chimpanzee. Two days before Christmas, I heard my parents whispering. I could taste the excitement in our house. I knew that George, my chimpanzee, had arrived.

I worried.  Where would my parents hide George until Christmas Day so that he couldn’t be found by me or the dogs or my snoopy brother? Of course. In the chicken coop, tucked behind the garage, away from the normal traffic of the house.

How would George be fed? I decided that my mother would sneak food out back when we weren’t watching. I was very careful not to go to the back of the yard near the chicken coop, or turn my head in that direction. I didn’t want to accidentally discover George and spoil my parents’ surprise.

On Christmas Eve I kept myself from peeking out my bedroom window in case my mother carried a pan of bananas and grapes to the chicken coop. I went to bed early to make the night go by. I lay under the white sheets, eyes shut, envisioning my tiptoeing out to the living room in the early morning light, finding George under the tree. I could feel his big hairy hug and his weight as he jumped up onto my shoulder.

Well, you have probably guessed how this story ends. No chimpanzee under the tree on Christmas morning. My main gift that had to do with jungles and animals? A pair of tiger-striped toreador pants that my mother was obviously very proud of.  I acted very excited about this gift and wore the pants right away.

I never did tell my parents that I truly believed that I would be getting a chimpanzee for Christmas and how disappointed I was, not because I felt foolish, but because I knew their feelings would be hurt knowing that they had not fulfilled my wish.

I wore and wore and wore those tiger-striped toreador pants until they were too small, which was the following summer, when I read The Black Stallion and knew I needed a horse, a large black steed to carry me over the mountains and across the plains. I would name the stallion George. He would live in the side yard by the chicken coop and I would grow up to be a cowgirl.

                                           black Stallion

 As I think about my childhood fantasy about having my own chimpanzee, I remember all the books on the shelves in our house, just waiting for me to open them and read them. We were lucky because these books let us adventure around the world way before we were ready to leave home.

What books helped you create your own stories, your own adventures as a child?

 

Quiet Librarian Morphs into Commanding Author: Writing Wisdom from Fran Jenner, Author of "Prairie Journey"

Frans I often wonder why is it that some people dream of being a writer, follow through with the story they want to write, publish it in book form, maybe even receive an award or two along the way. And other people sit in front of a comptuer screen or the empty page of a note book, and never get past the step of dreaming, never take that first difficult step on the writer's journey.

photo(6)(1)

Frances Bonney Jenner has some answers for you. Fran, who has been part of Green River Writers Workshops for the past six years, is one of those first people, the ones who  take the chance and start on the writer's journey. Fran is wise, talented,  fearless, and has wisdom to share from her journey in writing (and rewriting) Prairie Journey and seeing the book through  to its award winning conclusion.

I asked Fran for advice for other writers. As I read her words, I heard her strong and confident voice, and felt as if I were sitting with her around an evening campfire, seeking courage to face the dark of the night and guidance for the challenges of the next day. Come join us by Fran's campfire, be part of the writing journey.

What was the biggest challenge to you in writing Prairie Journey?

I had to overcome my fear about being a writer. I was an elementary school teacher-librarian and I left that job so that I could have time to write. I began spending many hours alone with just myself and my story and characters. That was such a big change, being with just me rather than with lots of kids and teachers in a lively library atmosphere. I really got in touch then with my inner fear about not being talented enough. I had finally given myself time to write, but a new obstacle surfaced, my fear. I experienced so much fear that I literally had to force myself to sit at my computer each day and write. But soon I noticed that after about 15 minutes of writing, I would relax and forget about my fear and then I could just write and not feel afraid. Slowly over time my fear about writing disappeared and now I write and there’s no fear that gets in the way.

What was the biggest surprise?

I am perpetually surprised about what comes out on the page when I write. I love that about writing. It is such an adventure. I go into my writing place wherever that is, I start to pound my computer keys, and a whole new world emerges that comes from deep within and that is not always in my conscious awareness. These surprises keep happening and are my biggest reward for continuing to sit down and write.

Why did you write Prairie Journey?

My great-great grandmother was a pioneer. My family never talked in depth about her story and I love that time period in history so I decided to make up her story myself, since I was so curious about it. She traveled from Kentucky to Texas on a covered wagon in the early 1800’s. I changed the setting in Prairie Journey to be the California Trail in 1850 because I had already written a pioneer journal when studying the California and Oregon Trails with a 3rd grade class when I was a teacher-librarian. I knew a lot about that trail experience and wanted to use that knowledge to build the story. I thought to myself, why not start here with what I already know.

Who would you most like to read your book?

I wrote it for 3rd-6th graders who are studying westward expansion. I think 8-12 year old girls are most likely to read and love it. But I did include two very strong male characters so that boys would also enjoy it also and Savannah is pretty much a tomboy. Adult readers love it too and my publisher (Irie Books) says that it’s for readers from 8-80 and beyond.  I hope that teachers will read and share it with their students and parents and grandparents with their children and grandchildren.

You seem to channel the voice of your main character. How did you do that?

I am not quite sure. When I was writing Prairie Journey, I could always hear Savannah talking to me and so I just wrote what I was hearing inside my mind. And that was Savannah’s voice. I kind of fell in love with Savannah and so I felt that I needed to be true to her character and the voice that I was listening to. I hope I did that. I think she would say so.

What advice would you give another writer?

Read good writing. Write as much as possible and as many days a week as possible. Join a writing support group so that you can share your writing journey with others and get feedback on what you are writing. Don’t give up.

What are your 3 favorite books? Why? How do they help you with your writing?

Actually, one of my favorite books is your book, Alice, A Cowgirl in Search of a Horse. I love the stories you tell in it. It feels to me like it is written from the exquisite and innocent consciousness of a young child. And it’s funny too. My other two favorites are Sarah Plain and Tall by Sarah MacLachlan and Escape from Botany Bay: The True Story of Mary Bryant by Loretta and Gerald Hausman. These books all have something in common - each is written in a prose style that is breathtakingly simple yet beautiful. I try to write that way too and when I read each one, my mind and thoughts seem to merge into that style that is so set in beauty. In that way, these books help me with my own writing.

What do you do mentally, physically, spiritually, to keep yourself writing when the going gets tough?

My writing support group is crucial to my well-being as a writer. Sometimes when I get stuck, I tell my support group about it, and soon I am unstuck and ready to write again. We support each other in our writing and we care about each other as writers. That’s the best medicine I know for when the writing gets tough.

A far as my writing practice itself, I keep writing. In his book, On Writing Well, William Zinsser says something like “ Write badly to write well.” I always carry that bit of advice with me. Some days the writing comes out badly. I know what Zinsser means - the first time writing finds its way to a piece of paper it’s probably not the best, but it’s a beginning and it can be improved. My experience is that sooner or later with a lot of work and grace, it will come out well, and, whatever the problem is, it will be solved.

I find too that meditating can open me up to something about writing that is coming up from my consciousness. It might help me develop a more authentic relationship with a character or find something new in the story that needs to be told. So I depend on meditation to keep me listening to what I might need to hear and work through that is coming from the inside of me. I also hike often and run several miles each week. Those activities keep my mind clear and fresh.

What is the most creative approach you have used for marketing?

A local bookstore (Hearthfire Books of Evergreen) has a booth at the local summer Farmer’s market. The bookstore owner asked me to promote and sell my book there at that booth. It was a lot of fun. A reporter from the Canyon Courier (local newspaper) did an article about my appearance. That helped draw in those who were interested. I sought out 8-12 year old girls passing by the booth and asked them if they would like a free bookmark/post card and to hear about Prairie Journey. They said yes! I showed them Prairie Journey’s award (a bronze medal, heavy like an Olympic medal) for best juvenile fiction from the Independent Publishers Association. They (and their parents too) wanted to feel the medal and have the experience of wearing it. That got them excited about buying and getting it autographed. A WOW marketing day!

What is the most successful approach?

I have the most success when I visit a 4th or 5th grade school classroom. I share photos of my research travels along the California Trail and how I got my ideas for the book’s characters and plot. The students are very receptive and really fired up to learn how I wrote the story and also to see images of the trail. Students and teachers often buy copies of the book after hearing the presentation. The book is a good curriculum match for students learning about the westward expansion movement.

What leads you to the topics of your writing?

I have projects that I have wanted to write about ever since I can remember. They often involve family connections (like my great-great grandmother who was a pioneer). I also have stories that just pop into my head usually when I am hiking or meditating, stories that want to be told that probably come from my childhood experiences. I have to stay disciplined so that I won’t stray from the topic I am currently writing about.

What is your next project? Why?

I am working on a YA historical fiction novel about Billy the Kid. My maiden name is Bonney and Billy’s mother was a Bonney. I don’t know that we are related but we do share a name. Billy actually changed his last name from McCarty (his father’s name) to Bonney in his late teen years. My family, especially my father, encouraged me to write about Billy, once he knew I wanted to write. Together, we actually started researching about Billy early on. There’s definitely an emotional tie to my family about this topic. Also, I am fascinated by outlaws and curious to figure out why Billy became one. Being a detective type, I love the experience of getting into the head of a character and writing their story from a perspective that I discover.

As you write your next book, what will you do differently?

It’s already different with my book about Billy. I have more confidence about writing it. I have taken more up front time to get into Billy’s head and point of view, to know what he wants and can’t have. I have done a lot of research (even physically traveling across Billy’s New Mexico) before writing much of it. I am getting ready now to plot out the scenes that I want to be in the book, even though I have already written several. I want to get an overview of the big picture of the story. I also know that often one scene leads to a new and unplanned surprise scene, and I look forward to that, too. That’s all very different from the way I wrote Prairie Journey.

How would your experience help other writers?

I hope sharing my experiences will help other writers write the stories they feel connected to and passionate about telling. That they will learn to trust that writing well is about continually improving one’s writing from the start. That they will write often, read good writing, find writing support, and create their own unique strategies for continuing on when the going gets tough. And most importantly, I hope that they will keep on writing as much as they can, that they will continue to believe in themselves, and not ever give up!

Thanks, Fran, for your wisdom, talent, and perseverance.

What will be your first step on your writing journey?

 

Veterans Day and the Questions We Never Ask

Band-aids and Uniforms

Ned Winston Cadet  Cadet Edward Green Winston USMA   1932                        2Ned85 Edward Green Winston (Ned) 1986

When I was 4 years old, the family was piling into our 1940‘s black Ford sedan. My mother sat in the front passenger seat, my brother crawled to the far side of the back seat, and I started climbing in behind him.

Something, a noise, a memory, an echo, caused me to pause, my fingers with their twig-like Hansel and Gretel bones braced on the side of the car. My father, perhaps also distracted by a noise, a memory, an echo, slammed the big heavy metal door, crunch, on my fingers.

I don’t remember my hand hurting, too many years have gone by. I do remember the nighttime sidewalk, the dark sky above me, a few bright street lights, and my crying. I remember standing there by the side of the car, my father holding my hand, small  rounds of skin peeled below my fingernails and off my knuckles. I don’t remember my pain, but I still feel the throb of my father’s distress.

This is an odd memory, because I see my father leaning down towards my hand and I clearly see him in his khaki Army officer’s uniform. I am comforted by this image. He is strong and in charge, and I knew he would take care of me. In truth, I never saw my father wearing his Army uniform, except in photographs. He was discharged from the military at the end of World War II, when I was two years old.

Our car was parked in front of the small brick two story local hospital on the main street of town. My father picked me up, carried me up the concrete steps into the hospital, ordered the nurse on duty to call a doctor, to x-ray my hand to be sure no bones were broken. The nurse looked at him, at me. “Move your fingers, dear. Make a fist, now open it.”  She touched my father on the shoulder. “No bones are broken, sir. I assure you, she doesn’t need a doctor and she doesn’t need an X-ray.” The nurse cleaned my fingers, wrapped band-aids around them and we were sent home.

Here is the echo in that memory. My father was a West Point graduate, a major in the Army,  a career officer, just as his father and my mother’s father had been. In 1946, when he was 37 years old, my father returned from France at the end of WWII. A week later he walked away from the Army base at Ft. Benning, Georgia, not telling anyone where he was going. Just disappeared off the base, committing the military sin of going AWOL (away without leave), a punishable offense. Two weeks later my twenty-four year old mother received a telephone call in the middle of the night. My father had been found, working on a fishing boat in Florida. She left my three year old brother and one year old me with neighbors, drove alone down the dark road south. Two days later she returned to Ft. Benning with my father .

The Army sent my father to a hospital for rehabilitation. While he was institutionalized he learned leather-work, carpentry, pottery. He may have learned about electric shock treatment. At the end of his time in the hospital, a military panel ruled on his case. His discharge papers say that he begged the officers at his hearing to allow him to remain in the Army, telling them that the military was his life’s work, that there was no where else for him to be. The uniformed men listened, then they stamped his papers with an “Honorable Discharge” and sent him on his way.

My father never had a real career after that day. He took odd jobs in our small town. He was a digger of ditches, a cleaner of cess pools, a milker of cows. In our garage he made intricate stamped leather pieces, a purse for my mother, a pistol holder for my brother, a belt for me. He created life-like wooden rocking horses, a galloping white stallion with fire red eyes for my brother, a gentle black and white pinto pony for me. He built finely jointed bookcases. In the winters he sculpted snowmen that looked like Greek statues. He never talked about France, but he was often distracted, staring into space, listening for an echo of something we could not hear. Sometimes he would disappear, hitchhike to visit his relatives in Illinois and California. Someone would always bring him back.

We children often wondered, “What happened to Daddy?” but never asked, suspecting that this was an off-limit, grown-up topic. Once, my grandmother said, “You know, Ned loves children, and he just was too upset with what he saw had happened to the children in France. It broke him up. Now he is just a lost soul.”

The word band-aid brings my father back to me, his distress at himself for hurting me that night and his always, in his own way, wanting to protect me and all children, an echo of the soldier he wanted to be. If I had been wise and more kind as I grew older, I might have talked to him, listened to him, told him that he did take care of us, that he was of value even though the Army sent him away. I might have given him the one hug that would have welcomed him back, that would have been the band-aid to hold him together. I might have thanked him for taking care of me, especially when I was young and small-boned and he was strong. I might have told him that it wasn’t the uniform that mattered to us, it was that he always returned.

Alice Winston Carney November 11, 2013

So here is a prompt as you set  about writing:

What questions have you never asked? What do you think might happen if you did ask?

Black Bears, Chokecherries, Cubs, and Grubs

 

cinn 8-19 2This past August in Northern New Mexico, the black bears came out of their caves, down the mountains,  into the apple orchards (and, yes, sometimes into cabins). It had been a fertile winter, and each female was accompanied by one, often two, babies, who would mew and chortle as they climbed high in the apple trees, stripped clean the chokecherry bushes along the Sapello River, and searched for grubs under rotting logs.   Don't believe anyone who tells you that bears only come out at dawn or dusk because these baby bears were  like puppies,  playing and eating all through the day, with only short breaks for naps.

"Destruction" by Joanne Kyger (accompanied by photos I took this summer)

 8-8 mama bear copy

First of all do you remember the way a bear goes through a cabin when nobody is home? He goes through the front door. I mean he really goes through it. Then he takes the cupboard off the wall and eats a can of lard.

8-8 apple bear copy
He eats all the apples, limes, dates, bottled decaffeinated
coffee, and 35 pounds of granola. The asparagus soup cans fall to the floor. Yum! He chomps up  Norwegian crackers stashed for the winter. And the bouillon, salt, pepper, paprika, garlic, onions, potatoes.
8-10 best2
                                                He rips the Green Tara poster from the wall. Tries the Coleman Mustard. Spills the ink, tracks in the flour. Goes up stairs and takes a shit. Rips open the water bed, eats the incense and drinks the perfume. Knocks over the Japanese tansu and the Persian miniature of a man on horseback watching
a woman bathing.
8-10 bear 1

                           Knocks Shelter, Whole Earth Catalogue, Planet Drum, Northern Mists, Truck Tracks, and
Women's Sports into the oozing water bed mess.
8-10  4
                                                                     He goes
down stairs and out the back wall. He keeps on going for a long way and finds a good cave to sleep it all off. Luckily he ate the whole medicine cabinet, including stash of LSD, Peyote, Psilocybin, Amanita, Benzedrine, Valium and aspirin.
8-10 bear running
Here are some facts I learned about black bears from the American Bear Association:

Black Bear Facts

Did you know that although they are called black bears, colors can range from black to cinnamon brown, silver-blue and, occasionally, even white? The white bears are called "Spirit" or "Kermode" bears.

Ten Fast Facts About Black Bears

1.  eat mostly berries, nuts, grasses, carrion, and insect larvae 2. have color vision and a keen sense of smell 3.  are good tree climbers and swimmers 4.  very intelligent and curious 5.  can run up to 35 miles per hour 6.  weigh an average of 125 to 600 pounds 7.  go without food for up to 7 months during hibernation in northern ranges 8.  usually give birth to 2 to 3 cubs during the mother's sleep every other year 9.  can live over 25 years in the wild (average age in the wild is 18) 10.  are typically shy and easily frightened

Watching the bears this summer, I felt honored by their presence, as if they had opened my eyes and ears and allowed me a small peek into their world. I wish them well, I hope that now that the apples are gone they are feasting on acorns, fattening up for their long winter nap.

I wish them to be safe and to sleep well.

 

 

 

"Go, Dog, Go!" : A Canine Tribute to Dr. Seuss

Looking for inspiration for your writing?Watch dogs play; read Dr. Seuss. Better yet, play with dogs, read Dr. Seuss with a child on your lap.

Maddie and Mochi

IMG_0827 IMG_0828“From there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere!” Dr. Seuss, One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

BessieZoe jumping“Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.” Dr. Seuss

Fionarunningcopy“You're off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting, So... get on your way!”

Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Bellarunningfast

“Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left. And will you succeed? Yes! You will, indeed! (98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)” Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go!
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Go, Dog, Go  is my favorite Dr. Seuss book; the dogs make me smile ("Do you like my hat?" "I like that hat. I like that party hat") and they make me feel safe, especially when they are all bundled in bed together. I can't think of a better way help a child learn to read and love books than to read a book with them.
What is your favorite Seuss book? Why?