by Pat Laster
To ease the work of my children when I have moved for the final time to a place other than earth, I have been going through printed material that includes some of my published works. One son has already said he doesn’t want anything that doesn’t include my writing.
I came across an anthology from the June 2006 retreat. On the first page each writer penned—for posterity?—“one true sentence,” from the phrase used by Ernest H. himself. Perhaps you’ll find them as interesting and poignant as I did.
* “I never think of Mom as a particularly strong individual until I recall incidents such as this.” – J.A.
* “Excited to be fourteen years old and scared because I know nothing about growing up.” – G.B.
* “One truth I hold: Life is not a linear progressing inching in years and decades. It is a circle revolving upon itself, moving from unknowing to knowing, sleep to waking, from gain to less to gain, from birth and back, and who among us can fully chart the course before the journey’s done?” – J.C.
* “Don’t waste your life grieving for things that you could not have.” – Milo Miller, father of R.D.
* “My stories are my world to share.” --E. F.
* “Facing my true self may not be what I expect it to be.” --S. H.
* “Writing is like fishing: the best catch comes once you stop fighting the current.” --R. H.
* “I’ll bring the margueritas.” --K.H.
*“Life would be boring if all men WERE created equal.” --C. H.
*“With mentor’s guidance, my pen strikes truer.” --B. J.
* “My best poems have not been written.” --W. J.
* “And all of us are safe because of him and other soldiers like him.” F. B. N.
* “Books are easier than people.” M. S.
* “My mother was not a happy woman.” P. L.
The second retreat I attended in 2007, the mentor began with a pile of peanuts on the table. The obvious first task was to brainstorm using the five senses. Before the week was out, all writers turned in something about peanuts.
Here is a vignette written by Rita Dortch from Rector, and is used with permission. Rita is a retired elementary teacher.
"A Peanut Day"
“Raining again?” I moaned.
“Come on kids, it’s time to go.”
“Ah-h-h-h, Daddy, please! Not today. Let us rest.”
“This is the best time to do it, because we can’t work in the fields.”
“Momma, can’t we do something at the house?”
“R-i-t-a,” Momma shook her head and motioned us from our comfortable chairs. Larry Joe and I looked at each other with grimacing faces. Thank goodness, I had Larry Joe. He made the days bearable. He was our comedian.
We arrived at the barn as the rain steadily danced on the tin roof. Under the side shed, out of the rain, sat a giant stack of withered peanut vines covered in dimpled, dusty, hourglass shells. I cringed to think that my ONE day out of the cotton fields would be spent pulling the musty, bumpy shells from their dead life-lines. Only the smell of Momma’s homemade fudge, brimming with fresh ground roasted peanuts tantalized my taste buds.
The musty smell of those earthy peanuts linger in my memory—as does the wonderful day we spent with my brother popping one joke after another. We laughed together and forgot the pouring rain.Oh, I wish I had some of Momma’s peanut butter fudge. THE END
Today, since I already had my submissions for the Anthology turned in, I spent the morning revising the pieces Dr. Rick Lott critiqued. One or two of the writers at Piggott worked frantically to finish and turn in their pieces on the flash drives that each of us used during the week. Then, we all headed home with sights, sounds, smells, tastes, new friendships made and old ones renewed, and satisfaction about what we accomplished during the week. #
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