May 18: Cinderella, Parents of Graduating Seniors, "My Daughter's Tooth"

So, I'm hoping that you're not getting tired of poems about my daughter.  She is on my mind a lot right now.  There's a countdown clock in my head right now.  It's ticking away steadily to May 30.  

I know that she's going to be the same person that she was on May 29.  She's not going to transform like Cinderella at midnight, run away leaving behind one of her Ugg boots.  I'm not going to have to search the kingdom for my daughter after May 30.  

However, a shift is coming, and these posts that I'm writing, these poems and pictures that I'm posting, are my way of preparing myself for that shift.  It's what writers do.  When they have big things happening in their lives, they turn to pen and paper.

So, if you're getting tired of my fatherly musings, you might want to stop reading this blog for about a month or so (maybe the entire summer).  There's a whole lot more coming.  For those friends of mine whose children are also graduating this year, let's get together, form a Parents of Graduating Seniors support group.  

Saint Marty will bring the Scoop Fritos and cheese dip to the first meeting.

My Daughter's Tooth

by:  Martin Achatz

I give thanks for my daughter's tooth,
Small as a kernel of unpoppped corn,
How it catches the window light, glows
As it did in school pictures, kindergarten,
First, second, third, fourth grades.
I give thanks for this fragment,
This reminder of when she would press
Her head against my chest, fall asleep,
My heart and her heart slowing,
Dark bringing us together, her need
To feel safe, my need to keep safe
Each breath she breathed, each hair
Twisted in her tight braids, each tooth
Pushing through her pink ridges of gum.
I give thanks for this relic, keep it holy,
Safe in a pill bottle.  Take it out.  Worry it
Against my palm, between my fingers.
Say a prayer for the ashes of the baby
She once was.  Sing a song for the smile
Of the woman she's becoming.

February 3: Super Bowl Night, Devotions, New Cartoon

The Super Bowl is not one of my favorite things.  The only reason I know who's playing tonight is because you can't turn on the TV without hearing something about the Ravens and the 49ers.  I couldn't care less about touchdowns or goals or home runs or whatever.  I have never understood football, and I have no urge to learn at my age.  I'm sure those of you who are football fans have no urge to know about onomatopoeia or assonance.  (I may be wrong.)

My favorite thing about Super Bowl Sunday is Scoop Fritos.  Cheddar cheese dip.  This year, another favorite thing is Beyonce's half time show.  And, of course, the commericals.  That's why I'm looking forward to the football game tonight.  That and I won't have to hear anything about football for at least five or so months.

I spent the afternoon writing devotions for a Lenten devotional I'm organizing at church.  I've got my three done.  Now, I have to help my daughter write her devotions tonight.  I can hardly wait for this project to be finished.  I'm hoping I won't have to write any extra days.  I'll find out on Tuesday morning.

Saint Marty is read for the pre-game snacks.  He means show.  Pre-game show.

Confessions of Saint Marty

October 21: Pumpkins and End of Weekend and New Cartoon

Well, since my pumpkin patch yielded only one, small, green pumpkin (which a rabbit gnawed on and killed), I will have to go pumpkin shopping soon.  I don't mind buying squash for All Hallow's Eve, but I was really hoping to save some money with those pumpkin plants in my backyard.  Of course, I spent $30 on top soil and God knows how much money on water.  For my third attempt at growing pumpkins, I guess I should be happy I actually had something to show for all my effort this year.  Next year, I will be investing in some major fertilizer and rabbit traps.

There is really only one thing wrong with weekends:  they come to an end way too quickly.  Tomorrow, another five days of toil begins.  This week, I have a couple of things to look forward to.  Tomorrow morning, I'm having breakfast with a friend.  She's bringing me a birthday present, and she's a great baker.  I'm looking for some homemade cinnamon rolls.  On Thursday evening, my book club meets at my house.  We're reading a tribute collection of stories written for Ray Bradbury titled Shadow Show.  If you're a fan of Bradbury, or short fiction, I highly recommend it.  It includes writers like Margaret Atwood, Dave Eggers, Harlan Ellison, Neil Gaiman, and Alice Hoffman.  It's like a Who's Who of North American fiction.

So, still trying to remain positive, I have some really good events coming up this week.  If I add some caffeine and a bag of Scoop Fritos, it's going to be an awesome seven days.

Saint Marty, keeping it real.

Confessions of Saint Marty

January 15: Yo Ho, Fezziwig, Golden Globes

"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig.  "No more work tonight.  Christmas Eve, Dick.  Christmas, Ebenezer!  Let's have the shutters up," cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack Robinson!"

Obviously, this passage is about Scrooge's childhood boss, Fezziwig.  I really love Fezziwig.  He's a man who appreciates hard work.  But he's also a man who appreciates hard play, as well.  He's generous and knows the importance of a kind word.  He also knows the importance of relaxation.

It has been a fairly stressful weekend, this weekend before the semester commences.  I was hoping to take it easy, but I had a lot of church obligations that ate up my time.  I played the organ for mass yesterday.  Last night, I helped my wife make cookie pops for the chili lunch at church today, as well.  This morning, I taught Sunday School, played with the praise band at church, sang with the choir, and rehearsed with the praise band after worship.  Then I came home and made a dessert for dinner at my parents' house.

 I'm ready to relax.  The way I'm going to relax is by watching the Golden Globe Awards on TV with my wife and daughter this evening.  I may even spring for a bag of Scoop Fritos.  No reading.  No writing.  No thinking about work.  No thinking about blogs.  No thinking about poetry.  No thinking.  Period.  I'm ready to follow Fezziwig's instructions:  "No more work tonight."

I do have a new cartoon for y'all.  I drew it yesterday.

Saint Marty is ready to put the shutters up, quicker than you can say Jack Robinson!

Confessions of Saint Marty