Winter - Greg M

Winter by Greg Manata

It was always winter on Planet Winter. Its sun rarely ever shined and, when it did, it was only for a few moments. Most of the time on Planet Winter it was overcast, rainy, and cold.

Scientists on Earth took an interest in Planet Winter. They were curious about the weather there and why it was always so winter-like. The weird thing is that Planet Winter isn’t very far from its sun and there didn’t seem to be any other strange circumstances in place that would obviously result in a very chilly planetary climate. Scientists were puzzled.

Scientists thought that there might be something they could learn from Planet Winter. They thought that by studying Planet Winter, they might discover a way to help combat global warming on Earth. However, since they could not discover the secret to Planet Winter’s perpetual winter-like climate, they soon went back to feeling very pessimistic about global warming.

One day, scientists noticed that Planet Winter suddenly got very warm and the weather got very nice. It seemed like over night its beaches were transformed from snowy wastelands into ideal vacation spots. Scientists looked very closely at the planet and found a large sign that read: This planet has changed its name to Planet Summer. Scientists remained puzzled.

Winter - Aunt S

I'm starting to like winter now that I live in Paso Robles. For one thing, it is not hot, whereas the summers here are tend to be quite hot. Also, the trees change color in the fall, and the leaves are really pretty and brightly colored for a long time, and then lots of the trees are bare and I can see their outlines against the blue sky, and I know that in the spring the trees will turn green again and all my roses will bloom.

I enjoy wearing my cozy jacket when I walk to work. When it rains, I like to see the Salinas River flowing under the bridge I walk across.

Winter

In the winter of her life J.L. Autrey, age 89, is still painting. May we all do the same!

This Winter image is a composite of J.L. Autrey's Christmas card birds and a background of snow, sky and moon by Lucy Autrey Wilson

August of Wind - Aunt S

Herschel Winn was tired of his name. He was tired of spelling his name for people. He started thinking about changing his name. Around that time, reports of other people changing their names started appearing in the news. Herschel was fascinated by the report of the man who changed his name to "In God We Trust." "If he can do that," Herschel thought, "I can do anything." Herschel was intrigued but not surprised when another man was unsuccessful in his attempt to change his name to "F--- Censorship." "You can't really take a name like that to the bank," Herschel reasoned. Herschel wanted to make a dramatic statement with his name without being profane or vulgar. He thought about his birthday in August. He thought about some of his favorite movie titles, such as Gone With the Wind and Lawrence of Arabia. "I know," Herschel thought, "I'll change my name to 'August of Wind.'" He thought about capitalizing the o in "of" as his middle name and decided against it. "I don't care if it makes filling out every form more difficult for the rest of my life," thought Herschel, "e.e. cummings wrote his name in lower case, and I can too. I can do whatever I want. Maybe I'll become a famous author or poet." Herschel went to the court to file a petition for change of name. When the court clerk told him the filing fee would be $320.00, Herschel reconsidered. "Perhaps I'll just use a pseudonym," Herschel thought. "I actually rather like my name. I'm not sure I want to change my name after all." Herschel never did change his name to August of Wind.

August of the Wind - Aunt Jean

It was that kind of a month – the August of Wind. Most of the paint sheared off the side of my car that I had mistakenly left out of the garage. A good deal of the roof went and the chickens had a surprisingly good time flying around in the coop. Who knew they were such athletes!

Since this period had followed the Placebo of June and the Doldrums of July, no one actually expected wind. Quelle unpleasant surprise! We were totally unprepared but have managed to survive as you can tell from this short missive. My hair will probably grow in again at some point. I am, however, looking forward to the September of Soporificness.

August of Wind

Sly, warm and slinky, the August of Wind was one of endless possibilities.
Oh what fun to blow all the ripe apples off the tree at one time,
to lay bruised and rotting under the cruel, hot sun.
And what a delight to blow gently through the garden greens, with her warm breath,
sending the pale green tempting aroma wafting down to the creek where the roof rats congregated.
They lifted their rodent heads and imagined salad for dinner
before a night flying up and down the cable wires and jumping on and off the roof.
The apples nearly gone, the lettuce eaten to the ground,
the August of Wind just smiled. She had more tricks up her sleeve.
Tired of little backyard games, she swept across the State of California
burning down more area than in any year tracked since 1930.
But she was just a summer breeze. What havoc will her dad
December of Wind bring when the warm, silky weather is done?

Lucy Autrey Wilson

August of Wind - Greg

The spring pixies who love to hang out on the blooming flowers in springtime rarely ever come out during the blazing summers. They mostly dwell in shady caves and forests where they can keep cool while the sun scorches the land. However one year there was strong gust of wind in august and it blew the pixies out from their shady hiding spots out into the open heat. These pixies have a particular blend of magic that causes everything they touch to grow rampantly and beautifully. The reason spring is often so beautiful is because of their presence and the reason things seem to wilt a bit in summer is because of their absence.
No one could understand why everything seemed to suddenly burst back into life in the middle of the hottest part of summer. Then they felt more gusts of wind in august which brought rain along. It was as if the plants had all anticipated the strange return of the rain in august and had all started growing and blooming ahead of time. No one would ever suspect that it was really the spring pixies who had been lifted out of their resting places and who had begun to play and frolic in the windy heat of august.

Summer - Grandma A

The Spring had passed with the trees looking gorgeous in flowers, and then that ended abruptly and it was cold, cold. The plants in the atrium shivered and complained and waited to bloom and at last it was summer. From cold with the heater on it was just as suddenly hot, very hot. All day I cowered in the house with the doors closed as the rose plants in the atrium burned, zizzled, cooked. At first it was not too bad. I opened the doors at night and shut them for the day. Night at least it does get cooler, unlike Gary, Indiana where the night, singing with the song of mosquitoes, and cicadas, and heat, stays about the same night and day, 95. The family at night gathered on the floor next to the open door downstairs, too hot upstairs, but it was a lost cause, there was nothing but heat coming through that open door. Ah, how lovely it used to be when a rain preceded by lightning, and suddenly darkened skies, poured down and we ran out to get wet, all wet, all gloriously cool and wet! A welcome relief from the gooey wet of sweat. But event that had its good feature. All the ailments in the body poured out through the skin and one prepared for the winter with all one's frame inner and outer made clean. Unfortunately when one is 89 the ability to sweat seems to disappear. The outer and inner heat rise together. One staggers to the couches and barely breathes waiting for the night and a chance to open the door. The roses having no way or place to stagger to, drop their burned leaves and support the bugs, the bugs which eat chunks of the buds, and clip the leaves, the bugs which gather in clans on the buds and eat, the bugs which bring mildews, the bugs. From the dry woods come the coyotes moving to the irrigated retirement community, accompanies by the deer also weary of dried up forage when they can destroy gardens and eat tender buds about to bloom. The turkeys wandering about looking large and healthy annoy various dwellers who want them killed. One of them got in a house and frantic tried to fly out through a window breaking the glass. A fox made a next and had a family of little foxes in a closed in space in another house. The dry heat was bringing the wild life into civilization. Plants, particularly promising buds of beauty, pet dogs and cats were candy for these wild creatures. The vast crawling society of slugs and snails had hidden away to appear at the first rain. Rossmoor was enjoying baking and being restricted in water and it was another summer. Oh how we longed for winter! Oh in the winter how we longed for summer! Oh in the atrium how the plants did fry and suffer and flop over and shrivel. Oh, summer, oh, summer!

Summer - mom

Summer - Cousin G

Summer is not fun for everyone.
Fortunately for little Johnny Gillespie, this summer was going perfectly and he was having the time of his life. He was enrolled in summer camp and it the most fun thing he could ever remember doing, and he was already nine, so he had a lot of memories. At least he thought so. One day while he was waiting for his turn to kick in a camp game of kickball, he had a flashback to last summer.

His parents had dragged him and his older sister all over the country visiting all these relatives and friends that he did not remember although apparently he had met most of them before. He had gotten pretty sick of being told what a handsome young boy he was. What did he care about that? He wanted to be playing kickball. His sister also was pretty irritated about having to leave all her friends so she was in a bad mood during the entire trip. This resulted in her being mean to him which didn’t help things at all for Johnny.

“Johnny, you’re up!” yelled the camp counselor who was acting as his team’s coach.

He kicked a single which scored a run for his team.

Johnny’s older sister wasn’t having as much fun as he was. She was headed off to college for her freshman year in the fall and she was panicking about her wardrobe and her computer, cell phone, ipod, and a whole lot of other things that she wanted replaced with the latest and greatest things on the market. In order to pay for all this stuff, she had to have income so she had a boring and monotonous summer job working at a grocery store. She did get to see her friends when she wasn’t working or shopping but all they did was sit around her room and complain about how they didn’t have the latest computer, cell phone, ipod, or whatever else, and worry about how disastrous college might turn out to be. Johnny could not understand why they would waste their time on such severely boring conversations but he just figured that that’s what boring older sisters did. Most of the time he was having too much fun to notice anyway.

If Johnny’s sister thought she was having the worst summer of all time, she was greatly mistaken. Her parents both worked full time and were working overtime because of recent lay offs and because they wanted to make a little extra cash to compensate for the humongous bills they would be paying due to their daughter entering into college.

Meanwhile there was little Johnny Gillespie out at summer camp. He was playing kickball and also baseball, football, basketball, tennis, etc. To Johnny, summer was a time to have endless fun and if someone had told him that it wasn’t always going to be that way he wouldn’t have listened and he wouldn’t have cared. After all, he was only nine.

Summer - Aunt S

Farmer John got out on his tractor and started it up. "It's summer now," he thought, "time to plant." He looked around. His neighbors had planted their fields already, but the rain had washed away what they planted. "For once, procrastination is my friend," thought Farmer John.

Farmer John was retired from farming. He had most of his property in alfalfa or a cover crop. His best friend was a beekeeper.

"I think I'll dress my place up this year," said Farmer John. He threw some flower seeds around his house. "I like tomatoes," said Farmer John. He planted 15 varieties of tomatoes. "I like pesto," said Farmer John. "I really like pesto on sliced tomatoes," he thought. He planted several varieties of basil. "I wonder if this is my year to grow cucumbers," thought Farmer John. He planted some cucumber seeds. "I've got all this property going to waste," thought Farmer John. "I'll grow some corn. I like corn."

Pretty soon, Farmer John had a lot going on in his garden. He ate delicious vegetables and enjoyed looking at all his flowers blooming. His garden got just the right amount of rain, so he didn't have to water anything. Once in awhile, his friend, the beekeeper, would come over to visit, and they would sit on the porch and eat watermelon if it was very hot.

Farmer John thought it was his best summer ever.

Kumquats - Aunt S

KUMQUATS

When life gives you kumquats, what do you make? Kumquat marmalade?

Suppose you lined up all the great citrus fruits in the world and tried to put them in order. How many ways could you do it? Would you just sort by size? What if you sorted by flavor or by color or by the unusual characteristic of being entirely edible (except for the seeds)? What if you sorted by the flavor of the marmalade?

What if your essay was supposed to be about limequats and you got mixed up and wrote about kumquats? What if you thought you were mixed up and you almost changed it and then you learned it really was supposed to be about kumquats and everything was perfect?

Incense - Lucy/Mom

Incense - Aunt Susan

INCENSE
Incense marks special celebrations in the Catholic church.

Incense adds drama. The smoke, the fragrance, and the swinging censer all add to the atmosphere. The smell of incense goes well with antiques, wood, gold, and colored glass.

Certain priests are natural showmen, and people respond positively to the show in spite of the inevitable wave of coughing that follows the swinging of the censer.

Together with special music, decorations, and lighting, incense helps create a memorable experience.

Incense - Aunt Jean

INCENSE
I am somewhat put out that a faster Round Robin participant used all my clever ideas in his opinion piece. Unfair! Unfair!

If the smell of my perfume were not quite so pungent, I would speak my rage, howling loudly to the moon, rending garments, etc, etc. Unfortunately, every time I draw breath a coughing fit of epic proportions begins and I must retire.

Next time. You’ll see. Next time I’ll be so clever you won’t be able to stand it!

Incense: Greg

Incense by Greg Manata

“What are you doing?” shouted Greg.

“Just burning some incense,” replied Greg II calmly.

“Are you crazy?! You’re driving me crazy!” screamed Greg.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to incense you by burning incense,” said Greg II.

“Yeah well, next time…oh ha-ha, very funny.”

More Incense by Greg Manata

Trees speak to each other by conjuring winds to rattle their leaves in certain ways. Trees also walk around when no one is looking.

At the tree convention all the trees of the Gugajunga Forest gathered to witness the annual incense burning ritual.

The oldest tree, Bill, spoke. “To all my fellow Gugajungians, this year we have gathered many delicious-smelling things to burn as incense in our ritual. Be merry. As usual, I will remind everyone not to get too close to the incense otherwise you shall die a most painful death and will probably inflict a similar fate upon all the rest of us. Now, let us light the incense.

Bill’s first offspring was given the honor of holding a magnifying glass over the dry dead vegetation that was the incense. The incense was quickly lighted and all the trees scampered a safe distance away from the fire.

After the incense had been burning for some time, one of the younger trees conjured some wind to exclaim how pretty the smell of the incense was. Unfortunately for the young tree, the wind caught the fire and the young tree was singed. The young tree made a bee line for the nearest stream and dove in.

At that moment the two Gregs from the first story were walking in the Gugajunga Forest.
Greg II stopped suddenly. “Whoa.”

Greg, who had been kneeling down to investigate a neat flower spun around. “What is it?”

Greg II didn’t even know what to say. “Umm…well, a burning tree just ran and dove straight into that creek. I guess?” He wasn’t sure he believed his own eyes.

Greg peered down into the creek. Sure enough there was a tree down there and a bit of steam rising from the water. “Well, I guess I was right about trees then, wasn’t I? I always told you there was more to them than meets the eye.”

“Yeah well, who would have thunk it? Hey, do you smell incense?”

Kumquats: Greg

Kumquats by Greg Manata

“In the morning I eat kumquats.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, that is definitely right.”

“Do you only eat kumquats in the morning?”

“Yes, I only eat kumquats in the morning.

“That’s interesting because I eat kumquats at any time during the day.”

“Okay, well that’s your own personal choice. I certainly only eat kumquats in the morning.”

“There must be some reason in particular that you only eat kumquats in the morning…”

“In fact, there is a reason I only eat kumquats in the morning.”

“I’d love to know said reason.”

“Great, because I was planning on telling you. I only eat kumquats in the morning because I am on a strict diet.”

“Diets are goofy things that I would never consider.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you by saying that though. I’m curious about your diet.”

“I can tell you about my diet, if you’d like.”

“I certainly would like that.”

“Very well then. My diet is very strict. I only eat kumquats in the morning. I don’t eat anything else in the morning and I don’t eat kumquats at any other time of day. I actually don’t eat anything else at any time of day except for at 6:45 PM I have a kiwi and a bit of frozen turkey. I wash that down with a refreshing glass of iced tea.”

“That sounds very harsh; how long have you been on that diet?”

“A few days now.”

“How long are you planning on continuing with that diet?”

“Just a few more days I suppose.”

“I see. Did a doctor choose this for you?”

“No, not at all. I just come up with these things by myself. I’m convinced that they are the reason I’m still alive at 105 years old.”

“Holy cow! You’re 105 years old? You look 40.”
“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I guess I should get going; I need to use the restroom. It was nice meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.”

Kumquats

Kumquats for 2

I sat down to write a story – something witty about a kumquatism. The problem is, all I could think about was how delicious these little fruits are. So, instead of a story, you get a recipe:

Dinner for 2

1 lb Sturgeon
6 kumquats
Sea salt
Soy sauce
Onion
Ginger
1 tbsp olive oil
Brown sugar
Arugala
Lemon olive oil
Balsamic

Bake the kumquats in a parchment paper with olive oil, soy sauce, chopped onion and ginger to taste.

Slice the kumquats to 1cm width pieces. Sear the sliced kumquats in an olive oil brown sugar sauce until the fruit is crunchy.

When the sturgeon is cooked through, put the sturgeon on a dish with the kumquats on top. On the side, toss the arugala with lemon olive oil and balsamic to taste.

YUM!

Kumquats: Aunt E

While I was tempted to plagiarize, I'm coming clean and admitting I did some research on this topic.

According to the book On Food and Cooking by Harold McGee, lesser-known citrus fruits that are worth knowing about include the following...

• "Kumquats, species of the genus Fortunella, are bite-size fruits that are eaten whole, thin rind and all. They are generally tart but not bitter. The calamondin or calamansi, also a diminutive citrus, is probably derived in part from the kumquat."

How I wish I could say I had Fortunella to eat today!

Kumquats: Rachel

Throughout the month of March, I came to realize that I had little inspiration to write on the topic of kumquats I had so enthusiastically proposed. After some thought, I had brainstormed multiple ideas, but individually, none of them were particularly satisfying. So, presented here is a collection of three ideas in the hopes that the total will be greater than the sum of its parts.

1) A kumquat-shaped poem

The kumquat
A fruit that is so rarely sought
Have you ever heard of two that fought
Over the fruit called kumquat?
It seems most are left to rot
Those kumquats

2) Kumquats, a brief encounter

At work one day, it was announced that we were to have cake in the afternoon in celebration of an unmemorable event. I really only recall the multilayer chocolate cake complete with vanilla filling and chocolate shavings. This cake was garnished by kumquats which looked lovely. There was a brief discussion among those at the table regarding the identity of these mysterious fruits. Once it was discovered that these were kumquats, a co-worker decided to taste a fruit. She promptly spit it out. Despite this adverse reaction, I, of course, felt the need to eat one. It wasn’t pleasant, but I at the whole thing.

3) Kumquats at the Conservatory of Flowers

Citrus trees populated a room at the Conservatory of Flowers. Kumquats were among them, and they added to the scenery.

Kumquats: Grandma take 2

The air is full of talking, it bulges, pushes, wallows
In words eager to get out, and the phone rings without ceasing
For all this noise to fray my hearing
A group can be heard talking, or silence wrong wrong numbers
Mischief and rude laughter from some idiot blabbering
And sitting on unnumbered chairs, the salesmen, ladies selling
Selling, selling, selling
These horrors night and day demanding us to listen
To their bray
But I have a super present, a recorder saving painful steps
And my psychic is getting tuned to know which ring might be a friend
or daughter's voice I would not miss
A wonder instrument that lets me ignore
The endless demanding, strident ringing,
Bringing sounds, before concealed in air,
Ballooned now and congealed, with the blithering
Of talk, talk, talk
Talk to which I do not want to listen
Telephones erupting with a dread disorder
Wordsick, wordsick, wordsick

Kumquats: Grandma

The kumquat tree doth squat
Beside the garden gate
Lofting arms bedecked
With fruits emolument
Delicious little bites
Just right for eating
While entering the garden
And again for taking
While exiting sans pardon
I wish I had a little tree
But it is not to be
Old age has crippled me
And I fall down in gardens

Kumquats: Aunt J.

Miss Kumquat was annoyed. It should have been just another day at the office but the fruit had not arrived and she was only too aware that her employer would have a screaming fit about it

Miss Kumquat had been putting up with Mr. Avocado’s little foibles for quite a long time and quite frankly, she was getting tired of it. In addition, she had not slept very well and was a bit cranky.

Mr. Avocado drifted into the office about 12:30 and, as expected, threw a hissy fit because there were no kumquats on his desk.

Miss Kumquat explained that kumquats were out of season, that fruit from Chile tasted like cardboard anyway and that the fruit vendor had not shown up.

Mr. Avocado didn’t care. He kept complaining, whining and generally carrying on like a five-year old.

Miss Kumquat popped another high blood pressure pill and resigned.

The end.
JAA
3/13/08
Walnut Creek, CA

Kumquats: Aunt S

When life gives you kumquats, what do you make? Kumquat marmalade? Suppose you lined up all the great citrus fruits in the world and tried to put them in order.

How many ways could you do it? Would you just sort by size? What if you sorted by flavor or by color or by the unusual characteristic of being entirely edible (except for the seeds)? What if you sorted by the flavor of the marmalade? What if your essay was supposed to be about limequats and you got mixed up and wrote about kumquats?

What if you thought you were mixed up and you almost changed it and then you learned it really was supposed to be about kumquats and everything was perfect?

Kumquats: Lucy/mom