August 9, 2011

Prompt: It was held together with duct tape and dreams.

Driving around a strange Santa Barbara neighborhood looking for Art's place, I felt hopeless until I saw a ring of orange and black striped duct tape around a tree. There was another one on the doorpost of one of the units. I knew at once where I was. Art's life was held together with duct tape and dreams. He didn't have much education or training but he was a hard worker; one of those people who gives the proverbial hundred and ten percent -- of attention, of effort, of commitment to making his way in an enigmatic universe. He was a low-key, humble guy, though, so it took me a while to see how hard he was working. Something would need fixing and he'd get out a bunch of the tools he'd inherited from his craftsman father-in-law and lay them on the floor in front of the job. In the end, though, he'd most likely do something with wire and duct tape; would tidy away the tools thinking that next time he comes up with something more elegant. He never stopped trying. He never ran out of tape.
--Tom Hoyer, RBWG member

* * *

It was held together with duct tape and dreams. The duct tape was easy to understand. How else to keep the light in the fender and the door handle in place or the windshield from falling out? But the dreams--why would anyone want to spend good money for an old MG he'd have to spend years refurbishing? Why not? He was an engineer. He had paid for it himself. He was the one going to have to do the work and pay the bills for it. Still, he could be skiing--or painting the garage.
--Sharon Hoover, RBWG member

* * *

When I was young, most of what I learned about playing baseball was held together with duct tape and dreams. My four brothers and I had fantasy leagues well ahead of their time. We made our own whiffle balls from wadded up newspaper wrapped tightly with the duct tape and made up our lineups to include our favorite players of the day. We batted left or right handed depending on the players we chose. We got pretty good at hitting and dreamed for many years that we might make the majors. Didn’t happen, but to this day, baseball remains my favorite sport to watch in person. Football, basketball and golf are best seen on television, but the tube cannot follow all the nuances of baseball played at the highest level. One of the great treats of living in Florida – as I do now -- is spring training. We get the Rays, Jays, Yankees, Orioles, and Phillies here, which means we can sit in the warmth of the sun and watch some of the greatest players in the game today perform up close.
-- Jim Van Loozen, RBWG Member

* * *

Some would say Jimmy's soapbox car was held together with nothing but duct tape and dreams. But Jimmy didn't care. He knew that his race care was a winner. It was only a matter of time. The race car was a hand-me-down from several times removed. It first belonged to Jimmy's grandfather who passed it on to his father her passed it on to Jimmy's older brother Peter who passed it on to Jimmy. Peter built his own more stylistic soapbox car because he was tired of duct-taping together a car that was "old, dated and had seen better days" in Peter's words. But Jimmy believed in the power of this race car. It had won for his grandfather and it had won for his father and the only reason why Peter kept coming in 2nd place in his races because he always tried to cheat and it backfired on him. Jimmy knew that this race car had championship material written all over it, without needing to resort to cheating. As Jimmy painted over the freshly placed duct tape and touched up its number, lucky number 13, Jimmy realized that the next big race was on a Friday 13th. He said aloud to his car, "See Rocket, we are destined to win! The big race is even on your lucky day!" The car was silent, but that was ok with Jimmy. He sat and daydreamed, seeing himself crossing the checkered flag before his brother and dancing around saying, "I told you so." And this dream came true.
--Robin Peace, Baltimore, MD

* * *

I looked at the dog house my son had built. The roof was two window frames from the dump, with the panes intact if you can imagine. Otherwise, this shelter was held together with duct tape and dreams of a furry pet.
     Long had we depended on that tape, for sneakers too long in dampness. Wrapped around the entire front and back, Ryan's slippers were almost waterproof, and cool in the way five year olds can be. We made his Halloween costume, "Mommy, can I be a mummy?" At nine he thought he would be a standup comedian.
     This dog house though showed foresight, the beginning of architectural talent. The small stones around the edge of the plywood were arranged in patterns, from lightest to darkest. The eave where the warped board attached to the tipped window frames was molded with the tape. There was not yet a back and a front, just a covered area, where a puppy might sit.
     The dog house construction site is the middle of my son's room, where his top box, now shoved aside, had matted the rug "So mom, I'm saving the rest until we pick out the puppy."
     Son, I tried to say, a puppy can't live in your room, but it seemed cruel, like ripping Santa's beard and revealing his father sneakily munching the cookies. No, we had to do something for this house, for his need for a puppy. I said, let's find some cardboard, stick down some old towels and make a floor - we have enough tape for that.
     On the ride to the animal shelter I said, "You know, cats like inside houses and this is the right time of year for kittens." I did not look at his face as I spoke; I did not want him to think I was exerting undue influence.
--Mary Pauer, RBWG member

* * *

It was held together with duct tape and dreams and hope for happiness she never had before. Walking down the aisle, Nora looked to her future waiting up ahead. "Thank god he is so different than this man, this father, walking me today", she thought. Little did she know how very wrong she was or what her future would actually offer.

Dreams are the promise of tomorrow. Never, never let them go! Duct tape can melt under heat and won't survive the hard times. But hope will get you from one trial through another, so always find it, hold tight to it, and share it with others!
--Nancy Janssen, RBWG member

* * *




August 9, 2011 Prompt: It was held together with duct tape and dreams. Driving around a strange Santa Barbara neighborhood looking for Art's place, I felt hopeless until I saw a ring of orange and black striped duct tape around a tree. There was another one on the doorpost of one of the units. I knew at once where I was. Art's life was held together with duct tape and dreams. He didn't have much education or training but he was a hard worker; one of those people who gives the proverbial hundred and ten percent -- of attention, of effort, of commitment to making his way in an enigmatic universe. He was a low-key, humble guy, though, so it took me a while to see how hard he was working. Something would need fixing and he'd get out a bunch of the tools he'd inherited from his craftsman father-in-law and lay them on the floor in front of the job. In the end, though, he'd most likely do something with wire and duct tape; would tidy away the tools thinking that next time he comes up with something more elegant. He never stopped trying. He never ran out of tape. --Tom Hoyer, RBWG member * * * It was held together with duct tape and dreams. The duct tape was easy to understand. How else to keep the light in the fender and the door handle in place or the windshield from falling out? But the dreams--why would anyone want to spend good money for an old MG he'd have to spend years refurbishing? Why not? He was an engineer. He had paid for it himself. He was the one going to have to do the work and pay the bills for it. Still, he could be skiing--or painting the garage. --Sharon Hoover, RBWG member * * * When I was young, most of what I learned about playing baseball was held together with duct tape and dreams. My four brothers and I had fantasy leagues well ahead of their time. We made our own whiffle balls from wadded up newspaper wrapped tightly with the duct tape and made up our lineups to include our favorite players of the day. We batted left or right handed depending on the players we chose. We got pretty good at hitting and dreamed for many years that we might make the majors. Didn’t happen, but to this day, baseball remains my favorite sport to watch in person. Football, basketball and golf are best seen on television, but the tube cannot follow all the nuances of baseball played at the highest level. One of the great treats of living in Florida – as I do now -- is spring training. We get the Rays, Jays, Yankees, Orioles, and Phillies here, which means we can sit in the warmth of the sun and watch some of the greatest players in the game today perform up close. -- Jim Van Loozen, RBWG Member * * * Some would say Jimmy's soapbox car was held together with nothing but duct tape and dreams. But Jimmy didn't care. He knew that his race care was a winner. It was only a matter of time. The race car was a hand-me-down from several times removed. It first belonged to Jimmy's grandfather who passed it on to his father her passed it on to Jimmy's older brother Peter who passed it on to Jimmy. Peter built his own more stylistic soapbox car because he was tired of duct-taping together a car that was "old, dated and had seen better days" in Peter's words. But Jimmy believed in the power of this race car. It had won for his grandfather and it had won for his father and the only reason why Peter kept coming in 2nd place in his races because he always tried to cheat and it backfired on him. Jimmy knew that this race car had championship material written all over it, without needing to resort to cheating. As Jimmy painted over the freshly placed duct tape and touched up its number, lucky number 13, Jimmy realized that the next big race was on a Friday 13th. He said aloud to his car, "See Rocket, we are destined to win! The big race is even on your lucky day!" The car was silent, but that was ok with Jimmy. He sat and daydreamed, seeing himself crossing the checkered flag before his brother and dancing around saying, "I told you so." And this dream came true. --Robin Peace, Baltimore, MD * * * I looked at the dog house my son had built. The roof was two window frames from the dump, with the panes intact if you can imagine. Otherwise, this shelter was held together with duct tape and dreams of a furry pet. Long had we depended on that tape, for sneakers too long in dampness. Wrapped around the entire front and back, Ryan's slippers were almost waterproof, and cool in the way five year olds can be. We made his Halloween costume, "Mommy, can I be a mummy?" At nine he thought he would be a standup comedian. This dog house though showed foresight, the beginning of architectural talent. The small stones around the edge of the plywood were arranged in patterns, from lightest to darkest. The eave where the warped board attached to the tipped window frames was molded with the tape. There was not yet a back and a front, just a covered area, where a puppy might sit. The dog house construction site is the middle of my son's room, where his top box, now shoved aside, had matted the rug "So mom, I'm saving the rest until we pick out the puppy." Son, I tried to say, a puppy can't live in your room, but it seemed cruel, like ripping Santa's beard and revealing his father sneakily munching the cookies. No, we had to do something for this house, for his need for a puppy. I said, let's find some cardboard, stick down some old towels and make a floor - we have enough tape for that. On the ride to the animal shelter I said, "You know, cats like inside houses and this is the right time of year for kittens." I did not look at his face as I spoke; I did not want him to think I was exerting undue influence. --Mary Pauer, RBWG member * * * It was held together with duct tape and dreams and hope for happiness she never had before. Walking down the aisle, Nora looked to her future waiting up ahead. "Thank god he is so different than this man, this father, walking me today", she thought. Little did she know how very wrong she was or what her future would actually offer. Dreams are the promise of tomorrow. Never, never let them go! Duct tape can melt under heat and won't survive the hard times. But hope will get you from one trial through another, so always find it, hold tight to it, and share it with others! --Nancy Janssen, RBWG member * * *
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