River Writers, May 16, 2012
The thought below is from Doris Earle in honor of Memorial Day. Doris likes to observe
all holidays with a poem of her own or a quote from someone else. This quote is from
Abraham Lincoln. The poem following it is Doris’ own and also commemorates
Mother’s Day just past.
From these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave
their full measure of devotion (that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have
died in vain.
Camp Somewhere
Dear Mom,
It’s Mother’s Day
And I am missing you.
No one over here is spoiling me
Like you used to do
They won’t let me lie in bed until noon
At 5:00 a.m. sharp
“Fall in with your platoon”
The food’s OK
But I must say
They sure can’t cook like you.
And Mom, I miss your apple pie
But most of all
I’m missing you.
“Happy Mother’s Day,” Mom
Love,
Your GI Joe
The following are by Elaine Faires, the first two selections written as exercises at the
May 4 retreat at Priest Lake, and the third for the May 18 meeting at the West Bonner
Library in Priest River.
Pumpkin Head
I was born half Hungarian. One thing I know for sure. “Hunkies,” as my mother
called my father, like nicknames. My father’s affectionate pet name for me was
“Pumpkin Head.” From the time I was three years old that handle stuck.
So, I always had an affinity for pumpkins and Hungarian food. Mother loved to
cook, especially my dad’s favorite dishes such as stuffed cabbage. She also fixed stuffed
pipes with lots of spaghetti sauce on top. Kohlbasi sausage with sauerkraut and pickled
pig’s feet were often on the dinner table. I can’t say I ever ate the pickled pig’s feet. As I
remember, the only time we ate pumpkin was as pumpkin pie.
I would have grown pumpkins in my garden, but it seemed that my gardens were
always fairly small and, of course, pumpkin vines always seem to spread out and take up
so much room.
I don’t know why my dad called me “Pumpkin Head.” Maybe it was because he
thought I didn’t have lots of brains in my head. At least, he didn’t called me “Jack o’
Lantern Head.”
That reminds me that I always had fun on Halloween. When we were in junior
high school, Joan Popovich and I went to the school Halloween party as a giraffe. We
dyed a sheet orange and used a broomstick for the neck that we padded with cotton
batting. We glued brown material spots on the sheet for giraffe spots. We fashioned the
head from paper mache. The tail we made from brown yarn.
Joan got to be the front of our creation, holding up the broomstick. I was the back
end; that meant I had to crouch over all night long.
We won the contest!
Haiku Poems
Clouds ominously
Gather together for spring showers
Last but a minute.
Robins wing to pine grove
Chatter their morning greetings
Branches faintly bounce.
Ants crawl over bare ground
Building hills of earth and sticks
Raise willing workers
Sunflowers’ heavy heads
Turn toward the morning sunrise
Roasted seeds taste good.
A Special Child of God
I want to share some sentimental thoughts of a child gracious and loved. A babe
born into this world especially designated by God to be
special.” The last child to be born to Georgean and Jesse Futo, my sibling, Steven John
Futo.
My parents were told back in 1964 that he should be put some place like
“Lakeland.” Needless to say, they didn’t take that advice, but chose to keep their precious
little one at home. In Ohio at the time when Steven was six years old there were no
special education classes in the public schools, so struggle, Steven did. He was behind in
his speech, barely able to say a few words. His coordination was poor and he had trouble
relating to the other children. But remarkably, he was generally a happy child. He called
his home “The Yellow Submarine.”
Unfortunately, Mother had some mental issues and had a hard time coping with
Steven’s disabilities. Steven progressed nicely on his own, learning to get along with
other children. His speech was slow, and even without speech therapy his speech
continually improved.
Our father, Jesse, was a big influence in Steven’s life. He was very patient with
his son. He taught Steven to fish and how to get along in this world, especially with our
mother.
When Steven was ten years old, he moved with his parents to Washington State
where I, his grownup sister, and family lived. One of the first things he did was to explain
to me how Mother was ill and he and Dad were helping her. The family got comfortable
in Cheney.
Steven was placed in a special education class where he did very well. One day he
asked if he could join the track team. The school officials objected at first, but with some
persistent persuasion Steven was finally put on the team. Although he consistently came
in last, he was a very happy young man.
After Steve finished high school, he was involved with running in the Special
Olympics. Through S.L. Start, he had several jobs around Spokane as a dishwasher in
some fancy restaurants.
Steve preferred to live alone. He does some of his own cooking. He has help
handling his money and doing his shopping. He works two jobs occasionally; sorting
hangers at dry cleaners and helping do yard work at his apartment complex.
He is now a happy (always joking) and fulfilled adult at fifty-one years of age.
***
The River Writers meet on the first and third Fridays of every month at 10 a.m. at the
Priest River library. Visitors and new members are welcome.