This week’s prompt for Friday Writings  at Poets and Storytellers United  is to rewrite a discarded poem or slice of prose from long ago. So, I went digging into notebooks past and found a poem I wrote after the First Husband’s Spirit soared into the Universe 27 years ago. I give you first, my rewrite.  Lemon Drops and Jelly Beans yellow, red, purple, pink lemon drops, yellow jelly beans—red, purple, and pink— sealed in your glass jar sitting on your desk for how many months only the sun seeing it I see it now only clearing out your desk music in the background drowning my melancholy the imaginary rustle of your candy bag yellow, red, purple, pink  ©️Susan Echaore-McDavid Here’s the original piece. Lemon drops and Jelly Beans yellow, red, purple, pink how many months old sealed in your glass jar sitting on your desk only the sun seeing it me seeing it now only because I’m cleaning up Jennifer Warren of the early 80s singing out my melancholy and I hear someone out there with your voice

May May come play in May?  Who played Mother May I when they were young? Come what may! For the first May Art for Fun Friday , I’m sharing my May calendar made with scraps of fabric and loose ends. To see other bloggers’ art, please click here .

For awhile, I lived longer in San Francisco than in Hollister where I was born and raised. I moved away at 19 years old to study at San Francisco State University. A couple of times, I moved back to Hollister for a few months. The  first time I couldn’t handle being on my own, and the second time it was because I took the concept of being a good daughter too seriously. When I realized my parents were essentially okay about me having a Mary Tyler Moore single girl life in the big city, off to San Francisco I scrambled to live and work thereabouts for another 24 years. During those 30 years, I moved 13 times. In San Francisco, I had 11 different addresses, all rentals: 28th Avenue in the Outer Sunset district Clement Street in the Outer Richmond Theresa Street in Mission Terrace, right across from a freeway. This is where I learned to pretend that freeway traffic sounded like ocean waves. Byxbee Street in Merced Heights, a couple blocks from college Balboa Street, near Ocean Beach, in th

This week’s Q & A at Sunday Stealing , hosted by Bev Sykes, is all about firsts. Who’s on first base is not one of the questions. That’s okay. We know who was on first base, right? If that doesn’t make sense, then you may want to search for “Abbott and Costello who’s on first” in your browser. Now, on with the actual questions. First job: Cutting apricots for three days when I was 9 years old.  First favorite politician: George McGovern. His presidential campaign was the first one    I ever worked on. First record/CD: There were two albums in my family’s collection of six that I liked to play a lot when I was young, “Sing Along with Mitch Miller and the Gang” and “My Son, the Nut” by Allen Sherman.  First sport played: Baseball.  What a thrill it was to whack the ball that first time. I  was in first grade. How can I forget the teacher coming over to first base to tell me that I must put the bat down, not throw it willy-nilly after I hit the ball. First concert: In 8th grade, I was

Ten minutes.   He  said it would take them ten minutes to get to to the best view of the valley.     That was two hours ago. She had to stop and photograph every little bug, flower, cloud, and rock she saw on the trail. No way was he going to see her again, thought Walt. He won’t take any of her calls. No text messages, no nothing, damn it.   “That bend is coming up. Just over the rise!” yelled Walt at Agatha’s back ascending even further up the slope. He doubted she would want to see him again either. She could hear his uneven breathing, he figured. That’s why she’s so far ahead. Walt stumbled, falling face down on the rocky trail. As he struggled to get up, he sputtered and coughed and hacked and gagged, and made all sorts of sounds he never knew he could make. “Relax, relax,” said Agatha, stroking Walt’s back with a firm, gentle hand. “Slowly take a deep breath. Now, release slowly. In, out. In, out. Think of your happy place, see it, be there. Breathe deeply, in, out, in, out.” “Wh

Time for Art for Fun Friday , which is hosted by poet and artist Gillena at Lunch Break . Thank you, Gillena!

1. Some time today (or tomorrow, or the next day), I’ll pull out the oak seedling next to the mailbox. I hope it’ll be easy. It’s more than a foot tall. Could it be considered a sapling? 2. I thought it was a holly plant so I left it alone last year. Who doesn’t like holly come Christmas season?  3. It turns out we have quite a few oak seedlings growing around the house. Some have volunteered in pots, some in the ground.  4. The birds and squirrels must’ve heard me say it would be nice to grow an oak tree or two.    Who else would’ve brought the acorns and dropped them at random? 5. The Husband thinks the acorns were introduced by me. I tend to pick up acorns with the intention of planting them, but they mostly are left in pockets, the car, and forgotten safe places. 6. More than likely, the few acorns I didn’t stow away, I cavalierly tossed in the yard, invoking Mama’s incantation of “If they grow, they grow.” 7. So, yeah, acorns have sprouted all over the front and back.  8. Oaks bel