Willow, of the blog Willow Manor, has created a new blog called Magpie Tales. Willow says, "This blog is dedicated to the enjoyment of writers, for the purpose of honing their craft, sharing it with like minded bloggers, and keeping their muses alive and well." On Friday of each week, she will post a photograph which is a prompt to inspire you to write a short piece of fiction or a poem. Today is the blog's debut. Go on over to Magpie Tales to check out the rules and other contributors work.
De Good Life
"Granpop, I found this while I was cleaning out Gramma Lu's closet. What is it? It sure is pretty."
"Bring it on over here, Calvin," said the old man. "Mah ol' eyes don' work since I got de diabetes." Slowly, he rubbed his hands over the cool piece of metal. Frail, ragged fingers trace its wide mouth and trail down the handle to the tapered base. A solitary tear squeezes out the corner of his eye as a smile rises on his lips like a rainbow in the rain. "Son, oder dan your Gramma Lu, God res' her soul, dis was de best part o' mah life.
Dis was de first trophy ah won on de golf tour. De white men wouldn't let us neaga people play wit dem so we had ta start our own. Had a hard time gettin' sponsors, we did. We couldn' play fuh much money. Hell, we had ta hustle Joe's in every town we wen' to jus' ta make 'nough money ta stay out der. De day ah won dis, ah was flat broke. Ah didn' have a penny ta mark mah ball an' if someone hadn' brought apples ta de tourney, ah wouldn' have been able ta eat. Ah don' think I even tol' your Gramma Lu how busted ah was. An' when ah won dis, ah didn' hafta. She smiled like ah'd given her de world when ah gave her dis.
Son, when ah got up ol' 'nough, ah'd go ta de club an' caddy. Ah was 'bout 12 year ol' when ah started carryin'. Good way ta make some good money...fuh mah family. In dem days, oh, back 'roun 1925, mah daddy only brought home $10 a week fuh some hard ol' work. Why, ah could make $6 fuh carryin' clubs fuh 18 holes. Dat was a lotta money. Mah mama grabbed me by de ear an' pinched it real hard all de while asking me what ah was doin' ta make dat much. Den I'd give mah mama all de money 'cepn a quarter an' ah'd buy me a cegar. Yep, made me feel like a real man.
Mostly taught mahself ta play by watchin' the better players from de caddy shack. Wha, ah even remember lil' Arnie taggin' 'long behin' us buggin' us ta play. Arnold Palmer. He always said de caddies was de best players. He loved a good game. Das' de truf, son. Yo go as' him yo'self. Turned into a mighty fine golfer hisself 'long de way.
Ah walkt 'round wit dat bag on mah shoulder...no shoes. No shoes. Never knew what golf shoes was. Dos spiky, lil' burrs used ta eat mah feet alive. When ah got home, ah'd have ta take a needle an' pick 'em all outta mahfeet. Didn' have no clubs. Jus' took a tobacco stick or a Dogwood strip an' trim it down...made dat ting fit. Know what ah mean? Got some epoxy or somethin' an' put dat thing on de bottom...took it out an' hit it de next day. Man, ah had mahself a golf club...shit. No grip or nuthin'. Jus' took it out an' hit it. Never thought 'bout it. Had one ball as brown as mah daddy's face. Didn' matter how far it went. Wasn' no gripin' and carryin' on like dos boys do today.
Calvin, what yo found der is a man's hopes an' dreams for a better life. You take it now, son. Ah had mine an' Grama Lu don' need it no mo'. Yo go on out der an' get yours. Dat right, son...dat right."
"Bring it on over here, Calvin," said the old man. "Mah ol' eyes don' work since I got de diabetes." Slowly, he rubbed his hands over the cool piece of metal. Frail, ragged fingers trace its wide mouth and trail down the handle to the tapered base. A solitary tear squeezes out the corner of his eye as a smile rises on his lips like a rainbow in the rain. "Son, oder dan your Gramma Lu, God res' her soul, dis was de best part o' mah life.
Dis was de first trophy ah won on de golf tour. De white men wouldn't let us neaga people play wit dem so we had ta start our own. Had a hard time gettin' sponsors, we did. We couldn' play fuh much money. Hell, we had ta hustle Joe's in every town we wen' to jus' ta make 'nough money ta stay out der. De day ah won dis, ah was flat broke. Ah didn' have a penny ta mark mah ball an' if someone hadn' brought apples ta de tourney, ah wouldn' have been able ta eat. Ah don' think I even tol' your Gramma Lu how busted ah was. An' when ah won dis, ah didn' hafta. She smiled like ah'd given her de world when ah gave her dis.
Son, when ah got up ol' 'nough, ah'd go ta de club an' caddy. Ah was 'bout 12 year ol' when ah started carryin'. Good way ta make some good money...fuh mah family. In dem days, oh, back 'roun 1925, mah daddy only brought home $10 a week fuh some hard ol' work. Why, ah could make $6 fuh carryin' clubs fuh 18 holes. Dat was a lotta money. Mah mama grabbed me by de ear an' pinched it real hard all de while asking me what ah was doin' ta make dat much. Den I'd give mah mama all de money 'cepn a quarter an' ah'd buy me a cegar. Yep, made me feel like a real man.
Mostly taught mahself ta play by watchin' the better players from de caddy shack. Wha, ah even remember lil' Arnie taggin' 'long behin' us buggin' us ta play. Arnold Palmer. He always said de caddies was de best players. He loved a good game. Das' de truf, son. Yo go as' him yo'self. Turned into a mighty fine golfer hisself 'long de way.
Ah walkt 'round wit dat bag on mah shoulder...no shoes. No shoes. Never knew what golf shoes was. Dos spiky, lil' burrs used ta eat mah feet alive. When ah got home, ah'd have ta take a needle an' pick 'em all outta mahfeet. Didn' have no clubs. Jus' took a tobacco stick or a Dogwood strip an' trim it down...made dat ting fit. Know what ah mean? Got some epoxy or somethin' an' put dat thing on de bottom...took it out an' hit it de next day. Man, ah had mahself a golf club...shit. No grip or nuthin'. Jus' took it out an' hit it. Never thought 'bout it. Had one ball as brown as mah daddy's face. Didn' matter how far it went. Wasn' no gripin' and carryin' on like dos boys do today.
Calvin, what yo found der is a man's hopes an' dreams for a better life. You take it now, son. Ah had mine an' Grama Lu don' need it no mo'. Yo go on out der an' get yours. Dat right, son...dat right."
