G is for George

is for George.

More specifically, St. George, the patron saint of England.

And I suppose it's more his story, his myth that is beautiful - more so than his name (but have you looked in a dictionary lately under George? Depending on your version, there are at least half a page of Georges! And no Foremans either. A couple of my other favorite Georges are W. Carver and MacDonald, poke around a bit and you're sure to find something about them too).

The popular story about St. George portrays him as a dragon-slayer, the more historical account describes him as a martyr of the Roman Emperor Diocletian. Both stories are good in their own right, but I'm a sucker for dragons.

F is for Flame

is for flame.

Fire is a basic element, so basic we forget how vital it is. A fire draws people to it for warmth and light, it burns away filth, it cooks.

A few months ago the boys and I were in the backyard, they were playing ball or in the dirt, and I was supposed to be grilling. Instead, I was building a fire in the fire pit. The boys stayed around for a while because I told them they could help, but when the first few attempts to light it failed, they moved on to more active things.

The truth was I just wanted to sit and stare at the burning wood. Fire, especially the solitary flame, is mesmerizing; when the wood burns down, begins to fall apart, the embers are still glowing, still emitting small flames that you can only see if you stare hard.

E is for Earth

Flipping the image didn't seem right...

is for earth, that is, the dirt we all came from.

Even now we're shaking off the chill of winter. The gardens are still softening. Rain brings a new smell to things, a smell I've come to equate with a promise of color.

I still can't quite believe what happens when a seed is planted: a dead, dried up plant fragment receives water, light, and warmth, and produces another plant. No matter how many times I see it, the process is thrilling.

The earth embraces what is lifeless and releases what is reborn; it allows the fragile stems of pines and roses to poke their heads through its surface, then supports and grows them as long as they live.

In many ways, the earth is rightfully called mother.

The other day I was driving home and I drove through some dust; it was a huge cloud, and as I was in it, I wondered at our ability to trivialize the amazing - mostly because of our familiarity with it. Within that earth-cloud, I remembered - again - what I was crafted from.

D is for Double-Play

is for double-play.

I was shocked when I realized I haven't written about baseball on this blog yet. This is far from a sports blog, but the great American game was a large part of my history, so I will remedy its absence today.

If you're not a baseball fan, first of all I'm sorry, second I think you can still appreciate the double-play. During my years as a ballplayer, I played middle infield - that is, either shortstop or second base - and the majority of that time at second. Any baseball fan will tell you that a team is as good as its middle: catcher, pitcher, short, second, center.

This game of ours, the American pastime, is beautiful in so many ways, but the play that is most like poetry in motion is the double-play - especially if Vin Scully calls it (D could just as well have been for Dodgers). If you don't watch or listen to any baseball this year, at least listen to Vin one time; he's been with the Dodgers since the Brooklyn days, and is a great storyteller.

But back to the double-play.

C is for Coffee

We couldn't find the C.

is for coffee.

Duh.

Some mornings I need it, others I crave it. I try and try to keep the "need" to a minimum, because the latter is a much better experience.

I know several people who love the smell of the chopped bean and the swirling steam, but the bitter taste keeps them away. Some have a sweet tooth, some like sour foods, but I gravitate toward the earthy - and coffee is the main attraction.

Our small town has two cafes and a shop that serves coffee; I have to drive 30 minutes to the nearest Starbucks. I'm never really impressed with restaurant coffee anywhere (the cafes, all cafes as far as I can tell, serve thin, watery stuff; I tell myself it's so the farmers can chat and drink five or six cups, but I know it's not cheap to make the strong stuff), and the result is: I like my brew best.

B is for Boys

is for boys.

My plan was to write about books today, but those two rascals I hear sleeping in the other room just wouldn't let it be. They love reading enough to at least make a connection between boys and books, and reading is one of the few activities that will get them to sit still. Books are valuable, boys are more so.

And even if you don't have children, you know some boy who makes you smile - or grind your teeth. The dirt, the wrestling, the sprinting, the yelling, the questions ("Why dad?")! The phrase, "Boys will be boys" may anger me, but I know why it exists. If our boys don't get outside every day - I can't explain how thankful I am for spring - they're different creatures. B may be for boys, but boys are for the outdoors.

A is for Acrostic

is for acrostic.

Let me start with a bit of a bellyache: the world of poetry has died, and we have killed it. The poet has lost the trust of readers everywhere - I blame free verse. Wait, I mean free prose...

The acrostic may not be the most popular form of poetry, but it is compelling when done well. And, to be honest, I haven't seen any English acrostics that are worth reading. I'm not counting Psalm 119 because it's not an English poem.

Psalm 119 is striking, and when you consider the form and the theme, it becomes more so: an acrostic made up of 22 stanzas, 8 verses each, with every verse beginning with that stanza's letter of the Hebrew alphabet; the theme is God's Law. Wait, God's Law?