How to use this Page

  #18 in the Poetry Potluck Series, celebrating National Poetry Month 2011. 

            


Those of you familiar with Susan Taylor Brown's poignant and heartbreaking middle grade verse novel, Hugging the Rock (Tricycle Press, 2006), know that the primary reason she wrote the book was to give herself the father she'd never known. 

       
          Susan with her grandpa and neighbor friend, Ginny.

Just for our Potluck, Susan wrote about the special relationship she had with her grandfather -- revealing, among other things, his influence on her eating habits. Carnivores will rejoice, others will think about their own grandfathers, and most everyone will be touched by this tender portrait, so lovingly crafted with telling detail.

Susan: My mother and I lived with my grandparents while I was growing up. My grandfather died when I was ten but until then, I was pretty much his shadow, right down to his eating habits. He was a big meat-eater and I was too. I was inspired to write this to go with the meat-eater recipe I wanted to share with you.



DINNER WITH PAPA
by Susan Taylor Brown

I follow Papa everywhere,
copying his walking, stomping across the wooden porch,
sliding behind him into the space beneath the house,
pushing away cobwebs and nosy spiders to hand him a monkey wrench,
standing beside him at the kitchen sink while we wash
(up to our elbows) for dinner. 

Papa eats what Papa wants.
Meat and potatoes (every meal)
with one slice of white bread, lathered thick with butter.
Vegetables (sometimes but not always)
and something sweet to finish every meal. 

My mother (and Nana too)
eat like they are never hungry.
Grapefruit for breakfast, cottage cheese for lunch,
small helpings at dinner, and sometimes, no dessert at all. 

Most of the time,
our meat comes from Mayfair Market down on Salvio Street.
Chicken. Pork Chops. A pot roast for Sundays.
But the best meat comes from Papa himself, after a day of fishing or hunting.
Catfish. Pheasant. Sometimes deer.
And my very favorite, duck, baked in the oven until the skin is cracker crisp. 

My mother (and Nana too) peel off the skin, cut the duck into tiny pieces
then say they are full after just a few bites.
I mimic Papa and pick the duck up in my hands,
gnawing it like the wild thing he claims I am
until the juice from the greasy skin dribbles down my chin.
Papa says it’s good luck to get the piece with the BBs left inside the meat
but every time, luck favors my mother most of all. 

After dinner, Nana and my mother pile dishes in the sink
then wash them all by hand, chattering like the best friends they are.
Papa grabs the evening paper and sets himself in the easy chair.
I listen to them but watch him,
waiting, waiting, waiting,
until he looks up and

         

What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think about the Alamo?

For me, it's Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie, among all the brave Texans and Tejanos, woefully outnumbered, fiercely defending their right to freedom against the Mexican Army.


The Alamo by brad_holt.

Before I read Susan Taylor Brown's, Enrique Esparza and The Battle of the Alamo (Millbrook Press, 2010), I knew very little about the women and children who were also hiding inside the fort, absolutely terrified as the fighting raged on for almost two weeks. 

What makes Enrique's story especially notable is that he was the only child survivor who agreed to provide a detailed, eyewitness account of the ordeal when he was in his seventies.

Eight-year-old Enrique took refuge within the walls of the Alamo with his mother, sister, two brothers, and father, Gregorio, who manned one of the cannons. They were Tejanos, Mexicans who had lived in Texas all their lives, and they sided with the Americans (Anglos). Gregorio's brother Francisco, however, fought with the Mexican army, led by President General Santa Anna. Many other Tejanos faced similar crises when it came to taking sides in the Texas Revolution.

     
        Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, leader of the Mexican Army.

Told from Enrique's point of view, the battle takes on a unique human dimension, with details of how they hid in the dark corner of a chapel, hearing gunfire, cannon blasts, and the screams of wounded men at all hours of the day and night. When Santa Anna called an armistice after seven days, giving them a chance to surrender and leave the fort, they refused. Enrique's mother wanted to keep the family together, and Gregorio said he would rather die fighting than give in. "Enrique did not think he could possibly feel more scared. But he did."

      
        Davy Crockett was among those whom young Enrique met.

The final attack came on March 6th. The Mexicans stormed the fort, firing everywhere. Eventually, they entered the chapel where Enrique and his family were hiding in the hay. Enrique tells how bullets whizzed past, narrowly missing them. At daybreak, they were ordered to leave and taken to see Santa Anna. It was then Enrique learned his father had been killed.


Illustration from the book by Jeni Reeves (click to enlarge).

Enrique Esparza and The Battle of the Alamo is part of the History

Susan Taylor Brown, author of Hugging the Rock, has some awesome things going on over at her blog:

31 Blogs: 31 Blogs (You Might Not Know) in 31 Days. Every day in December, Brown posts a little teaser about a blog that "perhaps isn't as well known as some of the other blogs we tend to frequent. There will be writers and poets and maybe an illustrator or two."

Contest for Teens! "Only a little over a week left for teens 13-18 to get their entries in for the FreshBrain.org $1000 scholarship to create a book trailer for the middle grade verse novel, Hugging the Rock." The deadline for this is December 15. On the one hand, not much time; on the other, in all honesty, because the book is a novel in verse a teen easily has enough time to read the book and create a video. Full information is at FreshBrain.org. An important thing to remember, though: NO COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL. That, I believe, includes music. This is both a great opportunity to win a scholarship, but also a great opportunity for your teen filmmakers.

Amazon Affiliate. If you click from here to Amazon and buy something, I receive a percentage of the purchase price.

© Elizabeth Burns of A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy

I love dogs. (duh)

I love writing. (duh)

So how could I not love these brilliant posts by author Susan Taylor Brown?

Our Room at the Yo Yo
We do live it up, don't we?

Believe it or not, I have fond memories despite the bad bed and the mildew. Bill thinks he got flea bites. VERY nice people, though. Lisa from Scotland, a Spanish teacher, spending her summer break working at the hostel and in Valparaiso. There was Hoss and Jamie, two American teachers, becoming sweethearts; and Roberto, the man on the midnight to dawn shift, polite and helpful, offering tea and calls to taxi cabs in the early morning hours after we'd gone to the folkloric club. We didn't want to go to sleep in case we might miss the 6 a.m. bus to La Serena.

We went back to Valparaiso and the club just before we left. After a taxi hurled us through the streets at 4 a.m. to find the bus station was closed, where else would we go to share a couch and have a blanket put over us?

Valparaiso is a small city just south of its more refined cousin, Vina Del Mar. I loved it: bohemian, artistic, a bit seedy in spots, hills to climb like in San Francisco, breathtaking views, glorious architecture, music, and murals. The helado (ice cream) in Chile are delicious everywhere, and are much like gelato, but the portions seemed to be extra big in Valpo.

See what I mean about the view?














A photographer's dream. Everywhere you look, scenes perfect for pictures.

We climbed to the top of the town, back down for lunch, then up another steep hill to Neruda's house. There are ascensores, funiculars to help with the hills. We just never came across one. Probably a good thing considering the helados.

Many street vendors, more great alpaca sweaters and hats. Families shopping on downtown every night until nine o'clock. We were warned that Valparaiso was dangerous. If we had gone down certain streets at night, it probably would have been. Well, I wouldn't walk through the Tenderloin at 2 a.m either.

On the nights we went to the club, young people were still on the street when it let out, no doubt wondering who these old farts were. Both times we came back to the Yo Yo, a charming young French woman was cooking (so sorry I haven't retained her name!). The first morning she was baking a tart; the second morning she had potatoes in a pot for gnocchi.

If you go to Valporaiso, please go to El Gato en la Ventana. It's on Simmons, up the hill just a way from the main streets, on the left. It doesn't open until ten. Music starts between midnight and twelve thirty. If you order a cuba libre, you won't get a lime. Instead your glass will be filled a third of the way with rum. Good thing, too, because it was cold until the dancing started. If you don't smoke, well . . . I kept telling myself that one night of inhaling probably wouldn't kill me. There was such joy in the room. Live for the moment!

The audience joined in traditional songs and danced euphorically as the night went on. The music is mostly acoustic and loud. The musicians are incredibly talented. Definitely, a night to remember.