Bill and Al are "training" for another mountain climb this summer -- perhaps Mt. Adams. They are enjoying lovely beach walks, and Bill is getting pretty good with the digital camera.
Do we live in a great place or what!!
These two baldies were in a tree on the Pacific coast at Kalaloch, a national park with a beautiful lodge (with great food) and cozy log cabins high on a bluff above the beach. A lot of eagles winter in this area, and they are magnificent to watch.
The rugged coast at Kalaloch was inspirational, and we were tickled by the raccoons who would visit our cabin each night for snacks.
See Mt. St. Helens climb photos on Bill's Hiking Adventures page.
Have you ever been to a Poetry Slam? It was new to us when we
moved here, but a slam is fun! The slams are held frequently as fundraisers
for the Whidbey Island Center for the Arts, but the slams Nancy has attended
are an activity of the Whidbey Island Writers Conference.
At the slam, you have 25 minutes to create a poem from three words.
You are judged on the use of the word, the poem in general, and your delivery
(the venue is a 1900s vintage funky restaurant/tavern).
Nancy's Poetry Slam-Winning Poem 2002
(the words which must be used are "packing", "familiar" and "volcano")
<< NOTE: The man's words should be read in a sarcastic tone >>
Nursing a beer, the man looked up
As his wife came in with a coffee cup.
"She's packing heat," her husband said,
"Oh, God, that means we'll all be dead!"
A familiar refrain, she thought with a grin
As she aimed the gun, released the firing pin.
Pop! Pow! the sound exploded.
The old man coughed, "Damn, that gun was loaded!"
She smiled, he fell, she walked away.
He wouldn't live to see the day.
Her laughter erupted, as a spewing volcano.
He'd never know he'd been drinking Drano.
Nancy's Poetry Slam-Winning Poem 2001
(the words which must be used are "lamplighter", "trapezoidal" and
"duologue")
<< NOTE: The poem must be read in a deep Southern accent and with great drama >>
I sat at the gravesite as darkness fell,
Long grieving that mama had gone to hell.
She and I commune each night like this --
I swear I hear her bitter hisssssss.
I curse her death, I curse her life,
I curse her death by kitchen knife.
As I muse on her gravestone trapezoidal,
I fear long sitting made me hemorrhoidal.
Hark! The lamplighter comes through the fog.
Mama and I end our duologue.
If you haven't had a chance to read the lovely poem "If You've Ever Lived on an Island" do! Nancy also found a very old poem by Rachel Field, "If Once You Have Slept on an Island", which probably inspired the first one.