My plan for my life when my family moved to Ann Arbor was twofold: finish my first book and learn how to sew. I had no plan for how to go about accomplishing either except to write everyday, check out a book or two on sewing basics, and hope I didn’t rip apart or hurt myself too much in either endeavor.
My daydreams are so much more vivacious than the nuts and bolts of their pursuit. I imagined dropping my girls off at school, walking home to a freshly brewed pot of coffee, writing all morning, and after a short (but delicious) lunch), diving into my latest sewing project. Perhaps pillowcases, stockings to hang on the chimney mantle, a pair of shorts for summer.
I went as far as taking a trip to the library downtown where I learned patrons can check out sewing machines. We can check out telescopes, musical instruments, and even paintings to hang on our walls for a time. Libraries are amazing places, I thought to myself as Hadley, Harper, and I made our way there. That day I believed I would fulfill my dream of becoming a seamstress.
That was the same day the girls and I found a fairy village on the corner of 4th and William. They live right across from the bus top, and we would soon learn that fairies lived all over Ann Arbor — their doors inconspicuous on the sides of pubs, ice cream shops, in library bookshelves, next to the stationery and fancy purses in boutiques. The fairy village, though, isn’t hidden, and the day we found it, I was humorously baffled. Who in the world would not only come up with but follow through on the idea to create fairy doors and a village in Ann Arbor? And not just any town. A town that houses the biggest college football stadium in the nation. A town with a university nicknamed “The Harvard of the Midwest.” How do fairies fit into Ann Arbor?
Nevertheless, I liked the idea that small, mystical, imaginative beings flew and shimmered among the maize and blue football boys and the academics, where the big and the small, the loud and the quiet, were equally strong, creative, smart. And necessary.
I never checked out a sewing machine. That day I checked out loads of Young Adult literature, design books and cookbooks, and the girls and I had a bit of a walk back to the car, so I wasn’t sure how I’d carry it all.
I didn’t finish my first book when I thought I would, either. My path to publication was more zig-zaggy and twisty (some might say the path twirled now and then).
But whether I meander or follow a straight line, there are many different ways to dream, if I keep dreaming.
Try It
This week, consider a dream you’ve had (or one you have), and write about it or the path you’ve taken (or are taking) to get there. Try your hand at an object poem. In this form, the subject of your poetry takes the form of the poem. Perhaps the path of your dream is more of a tidal wave, or maybe it’s a trail in the woods. Maybe your poem takes the form of a microphone on a stage, a bouquet of flowers, a firetruck. Or maybe you’re not sure. Just begin and see what shape your dreams take.
Featured Poem
Thank you to everyone who participated in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s one from Sandra we enjoyed:
Haitian Snapshot
After the girls finish their rice and beans,
I help Chilanchi lug a heavy pail of water down the hill,
my right hand and her left grasping the handle.
She sidesteps and holds her right arm in front of me
like a crossing gate to steady me in case I trip.
A barefoot boy in a holey shirt-gown, its stretched
neck hanging down one shoulder exposing his scapula,
pulls a makeshift car across the dirt path
by two lengths of string tied together
and attached to a piece of cardboard,
its empty snack bag driver
hunched over the imaginary steering wheel.
Three girls share crumbs from a torn-open,
cast-off Cheez-It bag, pass it around so each
can lick off any remaining salt that clings.
Ivelor and I break chunks of chalk to draw
flowers and trees and write names on concrete.
Kids photo bomb a camera session
with a couple chickens and peals of laughter.
Singing pours from one
of the green concrete houses.
“I love you, Sandy,” says Sophonie.
“Mwen renmen w tou,” I say.
I love you, too.
And the brightness of the sun blinds me.
— Sandra Heska King
Photo by Paul van de Velde Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Callie Feyen.
A Writer’s Dream Book
“Callie Feyen has such a knack for telling personal stories that transcend her own life. In my years in publishing, I’ve seen how hard that is—but she makes it seem effortless, and her book is such a pleasure. It’s funny, it’s warm, it’s enlightening. Callie writes about two of the most important things in life—books and clothes—in utterly delightful and truly moving ways. I’m impressed by how non-gimmicky and fresh her writing is. I love this book.”
—Sarah Smith, Executive Editor Prevention magazine; former Executive Editor Redbook magazine
- Poetry Prompt: Courage to Follow - July 24, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Being a Pilgrim and a Martha Stewart Homemaker - July 10, 2023
- Poetry Prompt: Monarch Butterfly’s Wildflower - June 19, 2023
Jake c aller says
The Story of How We Met
Note: This is a true story. For further details see Dreams and the Unexplainable– a Chicken Soup for the Soul book, published September 2017, or my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com
It all began in Berkeley, California
In the spring time of 1974
One fateful afternoon
I was doing in my high school Physics class.
I looked up
and saw a tall, beautiful Asian woman standing looking at me.
She was the most beautiful women
in the universe to me
I screamed out, who are you?
She disappeared like she was beamed away from my dream.
I knew that someday I would meet the girl
In the dream
Little did I know
I would have to wait until 1982
Starting that month
I began having the same dream Month and month and month.
Always the same.
She was saying something to me in a strange language.
Then one day I had the dream and knew that she was in Korea.
So, I chose to go Korea
In the Peace Corps,
Somehow knowing
That I would meet her there.
One day
A year after the Peace Corps ended
A month before I planned
to leave to return
to the U.S. for graduate school
That morning early in the morning
I had the last of these dreams.
This time I understood her.
She said, “Don’t worry.
We’ll meet soon”.
That evening
As I was getting off the bus
To go to my class
I saw getting off the bus
The girl in my dream.
It was she!
I was speechless.
I did not know what to do.
Over the course of the evening I ran into her several times.
Finally, I was introduced to her.
I muttered some lame excuse
About wanting to find a Korean tutor and got her number.
The next day she came to the gate
Of my base where I was teaching
ESL to Koreans
She said that she had to speak with me.
I told to wait in the library
for about an hour,
and I would cancel class
and meet her then.
We went out for coffee.
She told me that she was madly in love with me
And simply had to have me.
I told her I felt the same way.
I proposed five days later,
And got married one month later. Does she believe this story?
She claims she does not believe it Because it is impossible to be true.
But I know that there are other worlds and other times.
In a past life we must have been together somehow. And our love was so strong
That it crossed over the barrier of past lives.
She found me in 1974,
But it took until 1982
For us to meet.
And it has been 35 years
Since we met in the physical sphere
Or 43 years since the dream began
And I still recall the dream
And meeting her
I had no choice
When I met her
We were fated to be together
Until the end of this lifetime
And the next and the next
Bethany R. says
Callie, thanks for yet another creative and thoughtful poetry prompt. I like how you shared a dream that hasn’t yet unfolded (the sewing) and one that has (the book!).
Sandra, I love how you closed your touching poem. That image and feeling is sticking with me.
Isabelle G. Schlegel says
On Campus
On campus is where visions reside
Behind every eye
Of the future artist
The musician
The poetess
The physician.
Where the influx
Of learning floods our tired
But steadfast minds
And waters that seed
Within each of us, nurtured
By knowledge
But strengthened by
The flaming passion
Possessed by the song
Of distant daydreams.
We draw the rope
Closer to our heart
With each step we take
To reach the stars.
On campus is where possibilities flower, blooming with the sunlight
Of inspiration and wild
Brilliant ideas, guiding
Those hurried footsteps
To know exactly where they
Want to go.
On campus is where opportunities are seized,
And the day that dawns
Is another chance at owning
What you used to see
In your childhood dreams.
To take what they said
Was frivolous thinking-
Because thinking
Can never be frivolous.
To raise your flagpole
On the undiscovered craters
Of the dark side of the moon,
Where no man has tread
You plant your own
Seeds. Because you are
A dreamer of universal dreams,
The student
The soldier
The fighter
The leader.
On campus is where the tide of your actions
Will reach the shore of the
Universe’s starry edge, and
On the university of truth
And the school of drive
Those stars shine
To be discovered
By the sheer radiance
For which you strive.
Bethany says
I like that thought of “undiscovered craters,” Isabelle. Thanks for sharing your words with us. 🙂
Katie says
Callie,
These words will stick with me:
“My daydreams are so much more vivacious than the nuts and bolts of their pursuit.”
AND
“But whether I meander or follow a straight line, there are many different ways to dream, if I keep dreaming.”
Gratefully,
Katie