Haikus Gone Wild!, Can You Name the Kids in Your 1st Grade Class?, and Trevor Bags a Steelhead
Plus Simple Pleasures redux: Making coffee, Seattle scenery, eating dessert, and the love language of food
Greetings, my friends. The novelist and screenwriter William Goldman (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Princess Bride) once said about Hollywood: “Nobody knows anything.” Meaning that nobody knows what is going to be successful or not. If they did everyone would duplicate it.
This was certainly the case with last week’s Doing the Paso Robles Wine Haiku. “That is never going to work,” I said to myself. “Nobody is going to buy that.” Turns out, happily, I was wrong. People seemed to have a good time with it, including two readers who sent in haikus of their own:
Ray Melville did his own take on the transformation that is taking place in Paso Robles, California, a former ranching area now turned wine mecca:
P R Renaissance
No More Cattle or Bovines
Now Smooth Merlot Wines
Once you start thinking in 3 line, 17 syllable segments, however, it can be addictive, as Ray found out. He dropped me this note later: “I can’t get this ‘Japanese poetry’ out of my head! I’ve done a hundred in my noggin, and they’re all lousy! Haiku-ingly Yours, Ray”
Dan Crouch, an English lit major in college, dug into his past writing and produced these four gems:
Let the pears ripen
until they are slightly soft,
chill them, and eat them.
Madrid, Christmas Day,
“The Phantom” sung in Spanish,
my daughter's rapt gaze.
Leaves softly clatter
and remind me of a lost
campsite by a river.
He smiled to himself
as he read and discovered
a kindred spirit.
Very nice! If like Ray you’ve been inspired to take a swing at Japanese poetry, or like Dan you have treasures from the past you’d like to share, please do. Based on what I’m hearing, everyone would enjoy seeing it.
Can You Name the Kids in Your First Grade Class?
Here’s our metaphysical question for the day: If you were presented with a photo of your first or second grade class—aw heck, let’s expand it to include any class of yours from elementary school—how many of the kids in it would you be able to name?
This question came up the other day when a former elementary school classmate of mine, Debby (Burks) Morey joined her twin sister Libby and became a supporting subscriber of Tilting West. “You are a writer that I remember from school,” said Debby in a note. “You nail it on the head in what you write. Personal, yet a lot more than that. I was so happy when you came to our class at East Avenue.”
When I came to East Avenue there were enough boys and girls to divide them into two classes for our age group. Libby—now, Elizabeth Higgins—was in one class, and Debby and I were in the other. Since Debby mentioned our school, I asked a friend of mine if he had any old class photos and he sent me this one, from the second grade.
There are 26 kids pictured here. Debby is seated in the front row, second from the right. Including her, I named 21 or 23 of them. I think. Is that good, or not? I am sure there are people from that class who can crank out the names of everyone in that picture. One reason may be that most of us stayed together as a group through the sixth grade. That’s quite a run, even longer than the forever-implanted-on-your-memory years of high school.
Nowadays in most places elementary school ends after the fifth grade, whereupon the dark tunnel of middle school begins. But I don’t think one less year in the lower grades affects perception or memory all that much. It’s more about continuity. If you were lucky enough to stay in one cohesive group with basically the same kids during those early years, wherever you grew up or went to school, I bet you’d score very high on the “Name Those Kids Photo Challenge.”
This is what we all want for our children and grandchildren, right? That they grow up with a strong sense of family and friends and community and when their time comes to look back on old photographs of their early school years, they will be able to name lots of those kids too.
A Word About Willie
We saluted Willie Mays last week in our piece on Mays and the Negro Leagues, and this Tuesday we learned of his passing. Since we began today’s post with a quote by William Goldman, let’s go back to him for what he said about the greatest centerfielder and maybe the greatest ballplayer of all time. After seeing the Say Hey Kid play in a game in New York, Goldman wrote:
“I fell in love with him that afternoon. And watching him then, I realized unconsciously that it was about time he arrived on my horizon…He was what it was all about. He was the reason. In my head, there was a notion of the way things ought to happen, but never quite do. Not until Willie came along. And then I could finally sit there and say to myself, ‘Oh sure, that’s it.’”
Simple Pleasures Redux: Sipping Coffee, and More
Trevor Croghan is the general manager of the biggest commercial interiors firm in the Pacific Northwest. He and his wife Nicole have two children, ages 8 and 11, and they live in Washington in the Seattle area. Not only that, he can handle a fly rod too. That is him at the top of this post displaying a steelhead he snagged on a fly fishing trip on the Olympic Peninsula with his good buddy Rob Hall, a pastor at a San Francisco church.
With all that going on, you might not think that Trevor has the time to respond to a Tilting West query about the “simple pleasures” he enjoys in his life. A few weeks ago Katie Lynn of San Jose, California revealed one of the simple pleasures of her life—morning naps—and explained how she managed to do that despite having two teenage kids and a busy work schedule herself.
So Trevor stepped up to tell us one of his simple pleasures:
“Making coffee in the morning. I'm a grind/pour-over/Chemex guy. The smell and taste of freshly ground, high quality coffee is incredible, but it's the ritual that I love the most. I have two young kids and a demanding job. Being the first one up in my house and going through the steps of my coffee process is a great way to enjoy some stillness and a simple pleasure before the chaos begins."
And then another:
“Working outside. We have a great rooftop space in our building that overlooks downtown Seattle and Puget Sound. When the weather cooperates (rarely), Seattle is one of the most incredibly beautiful places on the planet. An afternoon of sun with a view of the water in the foreground and the Cascades in the background makes me feel grateful.”
Our original inspiration for the simple pleasures concept was Bobby McFerrin’s delightful song, “Simple Pleasures Are the Best.” Besides Katie and Trevor, other readers joined in, sharing how they, in Trevor’s evocative phrase, “enjoy some stillness” in their lives. One was Dan Crouch, our resident haiku master. Like Trevor, he finds joy in the outdoors.
“I enjoy riding my mountain bike and hiking in the parklands near our home. I also like working in our backyard, reading good books (and The New Yorker), eating desserts of all varieties (dessert buffets are my downfall). But I prefer Hidato puzzles and jigsaw puzzles over crossword puzzles. The clues for crosswords drive me crazy! But perhaps my favorite simple pleasure is just hanging out with my grandkids, at least when they are in a good mood!”
Another contributor was Annette Kaiser, who cooks for homeless women who stay in the shelter supported by her Catholic church in San Jose, California. She also cooks for people who are ill, going through chemo, neighbors, friends, and families in need. You’ll never guess what her simple pleasure is:
“My simple pleasure is: Food,” she writes. “Shopping for it and preparing it. I can't even really describe it except to say it's a religious experience for me; most especially the produce and meat counters. I get a charge out of the enormous selections, colors, smells and talking to other shoppers along the way! I also love to cook, and being single, it's a bit of a challenge to cook just for one, so my friends eat really well! Food is my love language.”
You might even say that another of Annette’s simple pleasures is helping people, and that’s a pretty good one too.
Today’s issue of Tilting West is deliberately short and light, setting the stage for tomorrow’s special edition. In it we will tell the story of a unique family heirloom handed down by an old man to his grandson. It’s a true story, somber in tone, delving into a dark period of history, yet also celebrating the transcendent power of music and filled with inspiration and hope. I think you’ll like it. Until then—