The Stuff of Scout

Post title poem: an A-Z slice of life

/ Fran Haley / 19 Comments

with thanks to fellow Slicer-poet Denise Krebs, who, upon realizing my Slice of Life Story Challenge posts have followed an abecedarian pattern, asked: “Will you do a post about the titles? Perhaps make an abecederian poem using the titles?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Is it possible? Would it even be worth reading?

As I have come to the end of the alphabet with five more posts to write and no plan… why not?

Here goes…

Auspices are favorable for my

barefoot baby ballerina on her toes, at present so like

crows, the absolute embodiment of Thought and Memory. It shows, in throes of

doggerel she tries to recite from her baby books, before she even knows words.

Eavesdropping at nap time, I hear her singing her own invented lullabies.

Focus on saving details of her story, I tell myself. Like the way she calls “Good boy” to the

graze academy of cows pastured behind the manse, and how proud she is of

herself in her little pink coat that shall NOT be removed, nay, all the livelong day.

I remember these from my own early story, memories flitting like tiny gray-cloaked

juncos in ancient winter grass:

koala life lessons from a book my grandmother read to me, in verse;

love notes in the cadence of her voice, ethereal rhythms falling on me like gentle

March snow. There was a book of birds tending their

nestlings as lovingly as Grandma tended me, slathering me in an

ode to menthol (Vick’s VapoRub) when I couldn’t breathe. I am well-wrapped in legacy.

Pursuing knowledge came early: Why is Granddaddy’s middle name St. Patrick?

Quotable Patrick, aka Granddaddy, with a sigh: I got no ideer. And he changed it—!

Remember these days, I say. Write now; who knows what the future holds? A long

sleep experiment poem unfolds. And so each day I am about

taking stock: my pile of good things grows to wealth untold. I play with words like

unfare while my mind time-travels to and fro, a

vagabond in search of a keeping-place, forever digging under the

wall on the writing. Oh, my baby ballerina and big sister nurture scientist/Jeopardy

X-ray expert/backseat prophet, someday you’ll each know how Franna prayed for

your one wild and precious life, filled to running over with awe and

zest—the whole A to Z gamut of my existence.

❤ My granddaughters ❤

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge

and several fellow Slicers who made requests for particular posts along the way

— now: What to write tomorrow?

Ah, but story is in the making every precious moment that we live.

Your one wild and precious life

/ Fran Haley / 15 Comments

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

Dennis the dachshund’s advice for life:

Sleep often and late. Use many blankets.

Comfort the sick. Be a constant presence.

Every day is good for blue jeans (fresh from the dryer, preferably).

Play with children as often as possible.
(Left: Scout, age 4, Dennis, 7 weeks. Right: Dennis, age 3, Scout, age 7)

Whatever it is you want, give it your best shot. Never give up!

*******

dedicated with love to Joanne Emery, who’s been asking about Dennis

& with thanks to:

poet Mary Oliver, who loved dogs

Two Writing Teachers, for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge

and Dennis, for brightening my every day with his wild and precious life

X-ray expert

/ Fran Haley / 20 Comments

Here’s a story about my oldest granddaughter, then age five, told to me by her parents (also known as my son and daughter-in-law).

One night while watching the game show Jeopardy! an answer came up about a substance to be swallowed before a certain kind of X-ray.

Our then-kindergartener instantaneously responded: “What is barium?”

Which is correct.

“How do you know that?” asked the astonished parents.

“It’s in Franna’s Curious George book,” said my granddaughter.

And so it is. I’ve read it to her countless times.

George being prepped for an X-ray after swallowing a puzzle piece in Curious George Goes to the Hospital,
Margret and H.A. Rey, 1966.

She never tires of this book and asks me to read it to her even now when, at age seven, she can read anything she wants on her own. My son once found one of his theology books in her bed.

I recall that that one of the greatest Jeopardy! champs of all time, James Holzhauer, said that he prepared for the show by reading children’s books in the library: “I don’t know why more people don’t do it.”

My little X-ray expert’s future looks so promising.

Lord, let me be here to see it.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge

Remember these days

/ Fran Haley / 29 Comments

Remember these days
write them on your hearts always
little beloveds

Sunday Friends, painted by my daughter-in-law, on display at the local art gallery.
My husband purchased it for his study at church.
Our granddaughter is on the right.

******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Writing Challenge

Pursuing knowledge

/ Fran Haley / 14 Comments

During the sermon she bends over her notepad, writing down unfamiliar words so she can look up their meanings later:

These are my oldest granddaughter’s notes while listening to my son preaching.

She is seven years old.

In a word: awe.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the monthlong Slice of Life Story Challenge

and to my daughter-in-law
for sharing the photo and the story behind it

Heartdance

/ Fran Haley / 6 Comments


a celebration of love
in the unchoreographed dance
of life

two triolets

I.

On this Friday night
he prepares for the dance
much to his girl’s delight.
On this Friday night
her smile is country-morning bright
taking pictures out by the manse.
On this Friday night
he prepares for the dance.

II.

It was meant to be, you and me.
Let us dance
our own jubilee.
It was meant to be, you and me,
these moments, in our finery,
taking pictures out by the manse.
It was meant to be, you and me.
Let us dance.

My preacher-son and his girl, going to the Father-Daughter dance.

*******

with thanks to the Two Writing Teachers community for providing a place to share our unfolding stories,
even when they are poems.

The blessing

/ Fran Haley / 3 Comments

My Dear Firstborn,

You were always the Lord’s.

I rejoice

that His divine purposes
cannot be thwarted

that your preacher-father
lived to see this day

that your first daughter
sitting beside me
as you receive your
Master of Divinity
is the same age you were
sitting beside me
when your father
received his

seven,
representing
fullness
and completion

in an endless
spiral of blessing
that flows on
and on
and on.

You have always
been my joy,
baby boy.

With love
and gratitude
and awe
at the divine work
of the Master

always,
Mom

Believe haiku

/ Fran Haley / 2 Comments

Grandparenting joy:
imparting extra wonder
for the little ones

for when they grow up
they still need the fantastic
magic of childhood

For taking our granddaughter to a Polar Express Move Party,
even Grampa has agreed to wearing matching family shirts