June is proving to be as busy as May

                At two-o’clock Friday last, my schedule finally cleared. Now I could leisurely read the daily papers that had piled up. I could check blog stats, Facebook, online news-and-opinion as long as I wanted to.

                Keeping me from that retirement ritual was not anything I couldn’t control, but things happened in an odd confluence of events and time. First, was a week’s writers retreat at Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum in Piggott. Then Florida son flew up for the weekend. The extensive, quarterly Calliope poetry column was due. Finally, I was to host the local writers group on Friday last.

                In this case, the hostess gives the guests gifts; those were bought earlier: a flower-motifed clip, a box of Vanilla Honey tea bags and a gel pen, fine point.

The hostess must clean the areas that writers access: living room, from entry through the room, dining room floor and path to the bathroom, plus said bathroom. The work area—the dining room table—must be redressed. The correct-sized table cloth scrounged for, from either the buffet or the linen closet.

                I don’t think I’d be called a slob, but cleaning for company is about the only time I bother. With only the cat as “family” I DO make sure his area is cleaned enough to keep down the odor.

                Our group schedule is to snack first since it’s a mid-morning meeting. I determined in a Facebook conversation with Linda Ann Yarberry Bragg to use my “good” dishes from now on, so I pulled out snack plates and cups, large and small matching bowls to center the two partitioned platters—all in the Dewdrop pattern. Oh, and we had tea.

                At Harvest Foods on Thursday, I’d filled bag after bag with fruit: 4 plums,4 peaches, 2 grapefruit, 4 nectarines, a container of strawberries and 4 Kiwi. At the cheese display, I selected Cheddar cuts, Colby cuts, Provolone, and Muenster slices. I searched for gluten-free crackers, to no avail, but in passing, I spied a package of Simply White Cheddar Cheetos. It was mine! On the back side of the sack, clear down to the last line was: GLUTEN FREE. Hallelujah!

                We got down to the meat of the day: critiquing previously-submitted pieces. Mine was a new incident for the memoir, which I devised at the H-P retreat earlier in the month. Another was Chapter 7 in a novel. A third was a 10-year look-back on the anniversary of the moon landing, and a fourth was a blog post from an earlier time. It was 12:30 when we finished commenting and praising and asking for more.

                We adjourned to Tacos for Life for our meal. Noisy! Full! A queue! But we all enjoyed our selections. Two of us took boxes of uneaten (too much!) food home for later.

                Serendipitously, we were offered a week’s getaway in July, so our next assignment will be due then.

                One member commented, “Why is it so hard to write when you have so much fun doing it?”

Serenaded through the night by trains, writing retreat more than worth it

Standing:

Rhoda, Ethan, Karen, Adam, Myra.

Seated: Dennis.

Bottom Left: Myra & C. D.
Center: Karen & Pat with the piece of blue glass Karen gave Pat for her blue room.
Right: Betsy

  Debbie & Fay

             Debbie & Patricia

Another writing retreat at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Museum Educational Center in Piggott, Clay County, Arkansas, is history. Attended by fourteen writers from Sarasota, Florida, West Plains, Missouri, Jonesboro, Blytheville, Hot Springs Village, Beebe, Benton, and areas around the host town.

One of my children asked me the difference between Piggott and Eureka Springs—not in geographical terms, but in the writing venues each offers and to which I attend once or twice each year.

Let me digress and address this question: At Eureka Springs’ Writers Colony at Dairy Hollow, writers are assigned an in-house suite for the length of their stay. From the point of moving in, you (the writer) are like a roomer: free to do your own things on your own schedule. The only common time with other residents is weekday evenings at six for on-site prepared meals by the Colony staff.

At the HP retreat, you secure your own lodging. Several of us stay at The Inn in Piggott, formerly the Downtown Inn. It provides breakfast, plus a common fridge and microwave. At least three drove from Jonesboro each day.

The daily schedule begins at nine with two hours of mentor-provided ideas and discussions. C. D. Albin, professor at Missouri State University in West Plains, served as this year’s mentor.

At eleven o’clock each day, the mentor begins 15-minute segments of one-on-one in a quiet back office, while some fan out to other writing spots around the grounds and buildings, or stay in the conference room. I stayed in the big room each day and was pleased that there was not one writer who talked loudly, or coughed constantly.

Lunch was served by the staff at noon, and we ate around the “big” table. Visiting happened here. At one p.m., we had another hour of private writing time and/ or mentor moments. The final hour each day was a sharing of our work; a read-around. Those who asked for comments after their readings got them.

Dinner (or supper) was on our own. Several went to the various eateries in the town, but I “ate in,” having brought food from home. Most days, I could manage a nap before supper. Then I would catch up on the computer news, emails, Facebook, etc. After that, I hit the books, uh, assignments.

The first day dealt with “conflict, crisis, resolution.” Luckily, I was at just such a place in the memoir I’m working on where I remembered an event that showed this assignment perfectly.

Next, “dialogue” in all its various possibilities. Not only words, but body language, tone, silences, even arrangement of words. I began such a scene to appear near the end of said memoir.

“Setting” was the next subject. It can be more than physical. It can be our emotional terrain. An idea came: Write about the house (Couchwood) from the viewpoint of the three generations who have lived here thus far.

Thursday’s subject was “Creative Non-Fiction” with examples of titles and authors.

 Friday, the mentor talked about “Poetry” and poets. “Writing poetry hones your fiction writing,” Dr. Albin said. I can attest to that.

Another week of inspiration, nudges to keep on the task you’ve begun, and good memories. I’m already signed up for the fall retreat and made reservations at the Inn.

Now, to put all these learnings and inspirations into play from day to day.

c 2017 by PL dba lovepat press

Old Folks Singing at Ebenezer

Folks parked on nearly every grassy spot on three sides of the church.

Good times just kept on rolling by during last month--May. Earlier, the mission trip to south Louisiana, and then Mother’s Day. A week later was my first attendance and participation in Old Folks Singing in Tull, a small town just over the Grant County line (from Saline County) on Highway 190.

                 Hosted by Ebenezer United Methodist Church, this year’s event,was the 132^nd such meeting. The small sanctuary was full of folks of all ages—from two to . . . 92(?)

Karen Westbrook, Mark Gillis (standing)

Joan Burton and Jeanette Coppock

             Surnames of officers and planning committees included DuVall, Tull, Westbrook, Burrow, Burton, Parson, Gillis, Jones, Reed, Kiernan, Shults, Smith, Harrison, McDade, Davis, and Greer. Four states were represented.

The weather couldn’t have been better. The church sits on a hill and is surrounded by acres of grassy spaces and trees. A cemetery adjoins the grounds and many families decorated their loved one’s graves with fresh flowers for the occasion.

I parked in my usual place near the front of the building. The minister and his son, the mayor and his wife, and someone in a vehicle out by the cemetery were already there. I carted my TV tray, lawn chair, and tote with drinks, dinnerware, and a large container of frozen pears out to the back area where tables that stretched from here to there were set up.

Leaning the tray and chair against a tree, I took my “potluck” dish to the near end of the long table. From that time until lunch, the fruit would thaw nicely.

By 9:45 a.m. the grassy areas were covered with vehicles. Folks were staking out eating places with card tables and folding chairs and adding their food to the growing board.

At 10 o’clock, the meeting began, greetings and invocation were given, then the singing began. Hardback copies of the 1800s-era “Christian Harmony,” that of shaped notes, open score, myriad repeat signs, dark bar lines and tiny words. Oh, I could hardly keep up on the songs I didn’t know. I eschewed playing any of them even though some kind soul had transcribed an accompaniment booklet.

Different folks—some with family members beside them—selected and “led” the hymns. A  “special” or two, usually grandchildren, paused the group singing. At 11:45, the group broke for “dinner on the grounds,” after a blessing by the acting chaplain, newly-retired Dr. Russell Burton.

By the time I’d visited a spell, gotten my tote from the car, and walked to the back area, groups were heading toward their picnic places. My stuff was in the area where Bob and Bruce Carlisle and their wives had gathered. I asked to join them and they welcomed me. Bruce went through my music classes in Bauxite during the mid-60s."

Toward 1: 15, folks began folding up and preparing to re-enter the church for the afternoon session of a memorial service, then singing from the Cokesbury Worship Hymnal. Now, those I COULD play; they were ones I’d practiced playing in my early piano-lesson days.

Evelyn (Gillis) Kiernan, Shirley (Duvall) Burleson, and moi (pianist at Ebenezer). Janie Wilmoth, a long-time pianist, was ill, and was sorely missed.

We three pianists took turns accompanying, and leaders of each song were summoned from the congregation, some saying they were not aware of this “honor” beforehand. But each—some with memories of forebears’ favorite songs—acted with love and dignity and—at times, laughter.

"Peace, Be Still" sung by (from left) Brian Tull, Rick Burrow and Wilson Duvall

Altogether, around fifty hymns were sung, only the first and last verses of most, according to the emcee. And we all raised voices lustily on each one. After the benediction, we visited again, then departed for our homes.

Now, to wait for the 133^rd Old Folks Singing, always the third Sunday in May. Same place. Come!