June 19: The Judges, My Book Bag, Writing Contest,

"When are the judges going to decide about Wilbur?" asked Mrs. Zuckerman.

"Not till tomorrow," said Mr. Zuckerman.

Wilbur's whole fate rests with a contest.  If Wilbur doesn't win some kind of prize at the Fair, Wilbur will end up on the wrong end of an ax.  Perhaps that's a little shallow, but, after Zuckerman has the bronze medal and twenty-five bucks in his hands, Wilbur's life is safe.


There's something to be said for contests.  Currently, in my book bag, I have a packet of essays.  I'm judging a nature writing contest at the moment.  Last year, I was awarded first honorable mention (second place) in this contest.  This year, I am one of the nature essay gods, passing sentence and breaking hearts.  Of course, I'm jesting.  I'm honored that I was asked to participate.

This weekend, I plant to finish my work.  It's not difficult.  I read an essay.  I rank the essay.  Read, rank, read, rank.  By Sunday, I will have chosen the best and worst of them.  It's not like grading.  I don't have to correct or proofread.  I simply have to read and express my opinion with a number.

I'm hoping to find something wonderful in these essays.  Something surprising and moving.  Perhaps I have set my standards too high.  I'm not looking for the next Henry David Thoreau or Loren Eiseley.  I just want something a little better than a middle school diary entry.

Saint Marty doesn't think he's asking too much.

I imagine a Nobel Prize in Literature

May 3: The Judges, Daughter's Medals, Mary Carolyn Davies, "Dance"

And now one of the judges climbed into the ring with the prizes.  He handed Mr. Zuckerman two ten dollar bills and a five dollar bill.  Then he tied the medal around Wilbur's neck.  Then he shook hands with Mr. Zuckerman while Wilbur blushed.  Avery put out his hand and the judge shook hands with him, too.  The crowd cheered.  A photographer took Wilbur's picture.

I spent the entire day in a dark auditorium, watching dance duets and trios and small groups and solos.  It was an exercise in music appreciation.  Pop songs to classical scores.   Demi Lovato to Mozart.  In the end, my daughter ended up with three gold medals.  Two for group numbers and one for her tap dance solo.  She was gorgeous and way too teenaged-looking.

We got back to the hotel a little while ago, and my daughter changed and went out looking for her friends to "hang with."

Saint Marty has officially become an embarrassment to his little girl.

Dance

by:  Mary Carolyn Davies

God’s in me when I dance.
God, making Spring
Out of his thoughts
And building worlds
By wishing.
God
Laughing at his own
Queer fancies,
Standing awed,
And sobbing;
Musing,
Dreaming,
Throbbing;
Commanding;
Creating—
God’s in me
When I dance.

God's in my daughter when she dances