Blue Ridge Lake

None of them had ever been in the water at Blue Ridge Lake. The steep cliffs that surrounded the perimeter of the lake made it too treacherous for anyone to even consider jumping in. They had heard enough stories from their parents about those who fell into the lake and never return. But today when they all met at the lake, like they have done countless times in the past, they found something sticking out of the water that none of them had ever seen before.

Grant looked on in disbelief as Antoine climbed down from the strange object after going to touch the surface of the water. Everyone cheered as Antoine strutted back to the group. Dante was going to be the next to go, but he chickened out; so the attention turned to Grant. No one was really expecting Dante to go anyway. To be able to say that he was in the water at Blue Ridge Lake and live to tell about it, was an opportunity that Grant felt he could not pass up. Grant finally summoned the courage to do it after a lot of antagonizing from Antoine. He climbed up onto the object and peered into the water.

Grant stared into the lake as he stood on top of the strange orange object protruding out of the water. Then, he took a deep breath, and started down toward the water. The orange object come out of the lake and rested on one of ridges, providing a seemingly safe way to get into the lake and climb back out. What could go wrong?

The decent into the water was a piece of cake. The porous surface of the object made it easy for Grant to keep his footing and he reached the surface of the water in no time at all. Feeling cocky, he even swam in the water a few minutes before getting back on the object to climb back to the surface. He was about half-way back to the top when he noticed the water below him getting choppy. He started to move faster when the object suddenly slid off the ridge and totally submerged into the water and disappeared.

It was almost as if something pulled it into the lake. Grant suddenly found himself on the surface of the water with no way to get out. Grant was in a state of sheer and utter panic. He swam to the ridge but there was no way to get out. The blue ridge was too steep and slippery for him to get any kind of grip. He saw his friends at the top of the ridge looking down and calling his name. There was nothing they could do for him and Grant started drifting further and further into the lake.

After Grant was floating around for awhile he noticed that he was in some sort of current. He was excited because he thought the current may take him to a point on the lake where the cliffs would not be so high. His initial hope turned to fear as he saw that the current was taking him to a mysterious cave. As he got closer and closer he saw that there was a giant whirlpool inside the cave! Grant tried to swim against the current to no avail, he soon realized he would inevitably be sucked into the cave and down the whirlpool.

Paralyzed with fear Grant accepted his fate and let the current take him to certain death. Just as Grant was about to enter the cave he noticed the water getting choppy again; just as it did when the orange object was pulled into the water. Grant was getting thrown around in the water and he could barely breathe. He fought to stay afloat as the water got rougher and rougher.

Suddenly, the water was calm and Grant felt as if he was being lifted from the lake. He looked around and saw what seemed to be two enormous hands cradling the water beneath him. Before he knew it, he felt the water rushing over him as if he was caught in a tidal wave. As the water subsided, Grant realized that he was back on solid ground again. Unable to comprehend what had just happened Grant stumbled to his feet, found his bearings and started back to the colony, armed with the most amazing story any of them will have ever heard.

Mini-Topic: Native Voice

Write a prayer poem in the style of the Native Americans.
You can also post an original work alongside your rendition of a prayer, if you came across one in particular that worked as a catalyst to your inspiration. I can't help but find that the original Native poems I'm coming across are undeniably worthy of being represented here, especially if we're writing our own 'versions'. So, post both if you'd like. I think I will have to.

Orb of Paradise

My tomato variety would be called Orb of Paradise. A versatile tomato best enjoyed fresh picked and sliced with just a little salt on a peaceful summer evening.

Anagram Fun: Team Ditalini Press

IMPRINT IDEAS, TALES
IMPRINTED A TALE, SIS

Dear DP

This months writing suggestion comes in two parts. It is based on the idea that the DP has an advice column entitled Dear DP.

1. From July 1 through July 15 you are a reader with a problem, medical, technical, personal,real or fiction. Write a short letter to Dear DP explaining your situation and asking for advice. Note: Please do not make any comments on these posts at this time!

2. July 16th through the 31st. Switch gears and become Dear DP. Choose one or more of the readers problems, and respond to them with your best advice . Now use the comment section of the posted letters to write your response. It's summer time so lets just have some fun!

Mennonite and Amish Surfing Classic

Welcome to Big Sur, California.
Home of surf, sand, and bikini's.
I'm your host Dave Draper.
Not so long ago surfing was a hedonist sport, now
like everything else in the modern world there's a twist.
This week at least you can see solemn bearded men wearing
hats and long pants riding the waves.

It all started with a vision of one Ely Timer. Spending most of his childhood
on a buckboard plow, he began to innovate creative plowing styles to augment
long torturous days under the hot Pennsylvania sun. By age 13 he was having visions
of surfing in the ocean. Elders advised him to stop his nightly visitations on the
Astral realms, but he couldn't find any scripture that forbade his explorations.

As a young man he kept with his church and upbringing, but on annual pilgrimages
to California religious conferences, he would try and surf in his free time.
And, guess what, he was outrageously successful.
Big surfing names were stunned when they first saw him hit the waves.

Scott (Snogler-Dog) Avis had this to say,
"One Saturday I kept seeing this black hat....man, that was a day that
changed my life. Here's a wiry farm kid hanging in with me and the guys on some
shirt ripping pipe. Nobody comes from nowhere and does what he does."

Comments from the Snogler taped earlier today.
Now to live coverage of todays surfing event.
Three finalists have been selected to compete this afternoon.

First off,
Garret Hershberger, Home; Rossville, Indiana.
They call him the Box Lunch. Big hefty, a bit hot tempered. He can get hotter than a box
lunch at sundown. He hopes to see a Christopher Walken movie some day.

Second on the board is, McDoo Collins, Home; Sedalia, Ohio
Likes to balance a strawberry pie on his head while surfing.
Known as the silent-showoff, he's fond of muscle beach and
dedicated to getting rid of his farmers tan.

Finally, the favorite, Ely Timer. Pennsylvania native.
A real natural. His techniques are solid. A quiet retiring gentleman,
who reminds me of Gary Cooper. He credits his drive to his grandfather.

I am joined now by surf champ Lawrence Kahuna-Camp Nelson.
That's right Dave, ah no one knows where these guys practice, they're here
once a year. Get on their own home-made boards and ride like repo'd demons.
I have a theory Dave, unsupported, but I feel like most of the surfing crowns have
spent too much time on hallucinogens and a salad bar of other substances.
These guys, did none of that. Clear headed focus, and they can practice 1000 miles
away from the ocean in their mind's eye.

Interesting theory KC, nobody knows how they do what they do.
They are fun to watch. We spoke with Ely yesterday after practice.

"Ely. We are glad we could join you today for a few words."

"Hey Snog, hey KC."

"What do you think of the first televised coverage of this event?"

"Well, not much. My community certainly won't support any of this."

"What about the rest of your fans that have turned out for you here this week?"

"Oh, I don't know, I suppose curiosity."

"Well, we all wish you good luck."

"Goodbye"

Way Back When is Now Here!

There is something so special about a perfectly ripened heirloom tomato. I have decided that if I ever had to come up with a name for a cultivar, I would name it "Way Back When" ...
The tomato shown in the picture above was shot by photographer Victor Schrager who collaborated with author Amy Goldman to produce the book The Heirloom Tomato: From Garden to Table: Recipes, Portraits, and History of the World's Most Beautiful Fruit
Looks like a wonderful book. I'm sure I would want to eat the photographs!

Gone Fishing

It's a beautiful sunny Saturday, and the lake looks like pure glass as we approach it. I take it all in from my perch high atop my Dad's shoulders. We reach the end of the pier, and he lifts me easily into the shiny red boat with the black motor; settling me onto the passenger seat. Our rods and tackle box are already on board, along with a big cooler. Dad steps in quickly, unties the boat, and slides behind the wheel. He grins at me and says, "We're goin' fishin' girl!"

With a turn of the key, the engine roars to life. I don't like the noise. It's loud and scary. Then Dad thrusts the throttle into gear and, as the boat leaps forward, I am thrown back into my seat. "Isn't this fun?" Dad yells over the engine noise. I'm scared. I can't swim, and it doesn't really feel like fun to me. But, I say, "Yes" anyway.

I turn and ask him, "Don't I need a life jacket? Mom said to be sure to wear one." He laughs and shouts back at me, "Mom's not here, and life jackets are for sissies. You're not a sissy are you?" I say, "No", but I think maybe I am, because I want to wear a life jacket like Mom said. Ashes from Dad's cigarette are blown into my face and they burn. I brush them away quickly, and try not to cry. Dad doesn't like cry babies or sissies.

He leans over and says, "Hey, Buddy, Want to drive?" I say, "No. That's OK Dad. You drive." He frowns and says, "Don't be a baby. I want to go in back and adjust the motor. I need you to steer straight ahead while I go do that. You're my co-pilot aren't you? Now don't make any turns. Just keep straight ahead. OK?" I don't want to drive the boat. My heart is racing and my stomach's flip flopping, but I slide into the drivers seat and grip the wheel, because I don't want to disappoint him. I say, "Sure, Dad. I'm your co-pilot."

He smiles and goes in back to work on the motor. We fly across the water. I steer straight ahead and it seems like the shore is coming up really, really fast. But Dad said not to turn the wheel. I'm so scared. The tears are coming out of my eyes, and I can't stop them this time. I'm even afraid I'm going to wet my pants. Hurry, Dad. Please, hurry.

At last he is there beside me again taking the wheel. He pats me on the head and says, "Good job." I look away and scoot back into the passenger seat. Then he looks at me, frowning, and barks, "Oh my God! You're not crying are you?" I say nothing. I wipe away the tears and hang my head in shame. I've ruined everything by being a baby. Why can't I just be brave like he wants me to be?

Dad tosses an empty brown bottle over the side and grabs another one from the cooler. He opens it quickly, then turns the boat, cutting back around and bumping over our wake. We bounce off our seats, and he laughs and drinks from the brown bottle again, and yells above the wind, "Let's go catch us some fish!"

If I Had to Name a Tomato...

I would call a small flavorful cherry tomato 'The Bombshell' because it would explode in your mouth.
I would call a tomato perfect for making sauce with 'The Ditalini Press' for obvious reasons.

The Insistence of a Rose , a Small Vase and Some Water

She looked down at the floor and fiddled with her collar button.
"My cousin is in the hospital." She said finally.
"She's ninety and she's not doing very well."
She got up and went into the bathroom. She came back out with two plastic curlers in her bangs and began putting on a gold leaf pin.
"I'm going to go visit her. Maybe for the last time."
It wasn't the season for sadness: spring was calling the flowers into bloom and the sound of birds singing came through the open windows.
"Why don't you bring her a rose?" I asked. The climbing rose bush next to the front door was laden with powder pink roses.
She shook her head and touched her collar button again.
"No, its not worth it, she won't even notice."
I remembered I had a small portable vase with a waterproof, rubber lid from a bouquet given to me at my marriage. It was a beautiful bunch of spring wildflowers. Yes, it was there, behind the silverware. I filled it with water and grabbed the heavy silver pruning sheers with curved toucan beak blades and started to walk downstairs. But the vase leaked water onto my thumb. There was a hole in the bottom. I had saved another. This one didn't leak. I laid out the portable vase filled with water, and the shears on the downstairs counter and said to her:
"All you need to do is cut the rose you like."
I was folding laundry when she passed the doorway. A pale rose was sticking out of her black patent leather purse.
When she returned from the hospital her eyes were all sparkly blue and she took my forearm with her hand.
"I don't think my cousin saw the rose, but the family was so touched by it. They said it was the most beautiful flower they had ever seen. Everyone, even the nurses coming in and out of the hospital room, noticed that rose."
A week later I was out jogging when she got the phone call that her cousin had passed away. When I finished my neighborhood loop, up the street, sprinting to the front door, she was oddly standing there in her white terrycloth robe, holding her black cane, admiring the rose bush.
She had watery eyes. I was out of breath. She urged me inside. The still air in the house made me sweat profusely.
"I got a phone call this morning. It was the family. They want me to bring a rose to the funeral. They want her to be buried holding a rose from the same rose bush. That rose that I brought lasted eight days-"
I felt a tear roll and mingle with the perspiration on my hot cheek-"That rose that I brought lasted eight days," she continued, "in just that little bit of water."

Reader Bite: Drew! Underwater Inspiration . . .

Just in time to gain inspiration for our June Topic, beautiful Drew Barrymore has been featured in the May 2009 issue of Elle. See her underwater fashion-shoot photos here along with the runway versions of the same designer dresses.

Mini-Topic: Name That Fruit

After discovering an heirloom tomato named "Eva's Purple Ball", I was not only excited to tell my sister Eva about this plant, but I also couldn't wait to purchase seeds to plant next year! In addition, it got me thinking about a mini-topic for DitPress ...

If you had to name a tomato, what would you call it? Why do you choose that name?

*the tomato pictured here is an English variety, called "Tigerella"

All Things Grow

So sorry for the delay, but I just had to double-check with Burkett and Holder before I shared the details with you. And they said "Yes!"

I’ve been teaching all my life, why would I want to do anything else at this stage of the game? Teaching, teaching, teaching has been my joy, other than my involvement with Toastmaster’s and my semi-annual weeklong jaunts. I’ve made the Winter Break International Garden Tour and my Little Christmas (week of June 25th) North American Garden Tour a top priority during my time off since I began teaching 27 years ago. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s been oh-so fulfilling!

So when my inheritance from Aunt Sophie came with a stipulation that I use it for business, I had to come up with a scheme. And my lawyers just approved it . . . approved my plan conditionally, that is. I have to come up with matching funds within a year, I have to agree that as director that I can take salary only equal to what I’m making now and I have to commit to a five-year plan. Little do they know that I’m willing to commit to a lifelong plan. In fact, if all goes well, my plan will involve many and should easily survive me! You see, I’m planning to start a non-profit organization and I’m just finding out what all that entails. The first thing I did was register the domain name AllThingsGrow.org. As I’m seeking donations from grant-making foundations and some fine philanthropist friends I’ve made through Toastmaster’s, I’ll be writing the curriculum. K-3 for starters, but that will expand to include the upper grades as well.

My passion for gardening often spilled over into the classroom where I was always surprised when so many of the students did not know where their food came from or how to plant a flower. Even I, who have so much gardening experience have recently discovered that the fragrant lily-of-the-valley is not a bulb, as I had thought – but a rhizome! So definitely The Lily Project will top the list. And it will be an ever-expanding list of Projects. Flowers, herbs, trees, and many-a-variety of healthful food. I’ll involve teaching arts from across the spectrum – science and art classes, music classes, writing classes, and math classes to help with garden design and layout. We’ll take field trips near and far, emulating the trips I’ve taken over the years. We’ll organize plant exchanges. And we’ll have visitors come to our schools to see what we’re doing, how we’re doing it and why! I’ll write a Homeschool curriculum as well.

What has inspired me so is the fantastic new children’s book - The Boy and the Worm -which will be the very basis for the entire All Things Grow program. No more just sending the students home at the end of the school year with a "Fare-thee-well!" and a packet of sunflower seeds. Our students will be involved with the planning and care of living, vital, growing plants every day, starting with the soil.

It was e. e. cummings who said “The Earth Laughs in Flowers.” If he was right, with the world as my classroom, the Earth will be laughing heartily, indeed!

June Topic

WATER

Happy June everyone! The June topic is rather straightforward, but hopefully can draw some inspiration nonetheless. The Ditalini Press creative writing topic for June is to compose a piece that takes place entirely in or on a body of water. Have Fun!

Day in, day out

Sunday-Feelings of melancholy and peace ebb and flow like wisps of smoke that I am unable to fully grasp. bluish-grey or slate. Leonard Cohen plays often and without warning.

Monday-Productivity and purpose replaces last night's longing. Pilates with a view of the bay puts mind and body at ease. butter yellow and turquoise. Jamie Lidell's Jim puts a spring in my step. 

Tuesday-List-making and planning dominate my thoughts as they turn from the everyday to what the future holds. chartreuse and lilac. Feist on my ipod. NPR on my radio.

Wednesday-French tutoring in an authentic French brasserie in Los Feliz takes me out of my mundane everyday and into a new world mentally and emotionally. Doubt of my abilities creeps in. brick red with gold. Coconut Records consoles and transports.

Thursday-Thoughts of the weekend and plans with friends take shape. Restless and sometimes lonely. blog posts written and erased in contempt simultaneously. midnight blue and sandstone. Jazz and sultry blues.

Friday-Morning Pilates energizes and leaves me feeling clean and new. Family and friends upstage my inner dialogue. Crisp white and yellow. Nous Non Plus and other uptempo eccentrics set my toes to tapping and my smiles to widen. 

Saturday- Begins sleepy with brunch or ballet stretching. Moves into relaxation and reconnection with friends later on in the afternoon, and ends with impassioned conversations on art, politics, and nostalgia into the night. caramel-colored like a glass of body-warming whisky. Sounds vary from karaoke and raucous laughter to subdued nostalgic songwriters depending on setting and cast of characters. 

In the nick of time! My new theater!

(I've been traveling all but 4 days of the month of May and wanted to contribute to the May topic. I wish this was thought out more precisely, concisely - and I wish I had more time.)

I've received my inheritance in the mail Friday. As I have been traveling most of the month of May I am weary and would much rather not have to bother myself with things as inheritances and the such, but who am I to disrespect my dead relative's wishes?

And so, in accordance with said dead relative, I wish to open an arts center that will dabble in all things we here at Ditalini Press cherish - theater, poetry, painting, sculpture, music, etcetera and so forth. It will be a place where I can submit my own plays (to myself) and approve them for production. It will be a place where Eva and Daniel may submit their paintings, where Katie can submit her poetry, etcetera, etcetera, and I will approve all of it (most of it). We will have public readings and gallery openings and art classes and discussions of all things deemed relevant - for adults and children alike. You, members of Ditalini Press, will sit on the board and WE will help guide Glen Mar Collective (as this venture and venue will be known, named after the rock trio my father performed in) to new heights and aspirations.

This venture will be an expression of US. And it will be good.