Writing with tones of family,

inspired by William Staffords poetry

and photography
by Carolina Martinez

Introduction
After reading some poems of William Stafford, and
deconstructing his poetic moves, it inspired me to write
poetry and short stories, based on people, places, and
topics important to my mothers family.
He inspired me to write from my family stories. Nothing
needed to be profound, just concise. I didnt need to
create a masterpiece, but just tell the truth. For me, it
was all about distilling moments to show what each
person or each memory brought, that was positive, to
this world.
His work, brought out in me a desire to touch the
experience of my mother, who passed away a month
ago. I created a list of stories, with the help of a graphic
organizer, in the form of boxes with alphabet letters, to
create the A-Z of important moments in her beloved
family. Each moment and person deserved to be heard,
as the part of her that lives on.

Here is a poem that matches the feel of mine, where I share a heart connection with
William Stafford, because his view of pets and what they bring is how I feel too.

William Stafford and his Siberian husky Leif Salongurwok

Choosing a Dog
It's love, they say. You touch
the right one and a whole half of the universe
wakes up, a new half.
Some people never find
that half, or they neglect it or trade it
for money or success and it dies.
The faces of big dogs tell, over the years,
that size is a burden: you enjoy it for awhile
but then maintenance gets to you.
When I get old I think I'll keep, not a little
dog, but a serious dog,
for the casual, drop-in criminal
My kind of dog, unimpressed by
dress or manner, just knowing
what's really there by the smell.
Your good dogs, some things that they hear
they don't really want you to know
it's too grim or ethereal.
And sometimes when they look in the fire
they see time going on and someone alone
but they don't say anything.

Chapter One:
The Important Adults Who Nurtured Us

Anabelle, The One We Could Run To

Anabelle came to us in 1930,
when Betsy was three years old,
to help us in the Glendale house.
She was both maid and assistant to Mother
in household chores,
a heavy load for two in the days
when our family went from three to five children,
with Uncle Willie, Grandmother, and Grandfather too.
This proud tall woman,
with straightened hair, cut short and pinned back,
was thin.
She was a trusted comforter,
the one who understood us,
one of the favorite grownups,
to all five of us, like a second mother,
so loved that Betsy and Pete went out the door
so early, and daily to meet her at the bus.
She understood Susie,
who used to talk so fast
no one else but Anabelle
could decipher her stream of words.
We lost her first
when we could no longer pay
her wages.
We lost her again
because of racism against Negroes,
because Mother considered her just a maid.
But we hope and think she never forgot us,
because the Christmas cards Betsy sent
never
came back to us.

Mother, Our Safe Zone

She was called many names, in the course of her life,
Kathryn, Katherine, Kitty, and Kay.
She had so many sides,
vaudeville dancer, daughter, sister, friend
mother, piano teacher, and wife.
Dancing in her teens and early twenties,
she branched away from uptight Nebraska
tasting the freedom of New York,
relishing camaraderie of show people and vaudeville circuits.
The stage makeup and music gave her heart contentedness.
Her greatest solace, the piano, was her companion and brought her the joy of teaching.
The daughter that was closest to her parents,
she welcomed them to live alongside her,
cherished their contributions to her kids,
and love was clearly shown through the twinkling of eyes.
Those who knew her well saw her joys and deepest difficulties.
Despite any unkind words or neglect
that happened when she suffered,
She always intended well.
She held up her family,
sometimes the lone wolf in charge of her pack.
Staunchly loyal, she mothered differently for each child.
For Betsy, she inspired laughter, dancing, traveling and seeking,
for Pete, allowing was her job, for him to find his place.
With Susie, fostering a love for music, dance,
and learning, came naturally.
With Dottie, she loved her way with animals, and with art.
For Steve, her baby,
she made sure he could have space to dream, think, and to learn endlessly.
Named How by her grandkids, she lavished them with books,
took them places, and was always tickled to babysit.
She was true to her husband, putting up with his particularities,
caring for their brood, even when miles separated them, or money came sparingly.
A sister to three, though each saw a different side.
Willie, the closest, came for refuge when his wife died, and stayed as uncle to her kids,
Dorothy, the oldest and bossiest, stayed in Omaha, saw her as a tender fragile person
to be fussed over and protected.
While Bud lived far off, he was the playful uncle who made everyone laugh
when, on the train, he came through town.
With friends like Elizabeth Wright and Lish Jones, she came alive with deepest laughs
From the Madlingers came what seemed like endless pets, companionship, and music,
with the Krauses came plum jam and art lessons for Dottie, and someone to talk with.

Daddy Was Proud of Us

Arthur Art Schanuel was an orderly man,
appreciating schedules and routines,
before his time in advocating for flossing teeth and eating fresh vegetables.
He lived for the outdoors and athletic sports,
but loved culture like symphonies, art museums, and ballet.
He was a near-sighted Private in World War One along with his brother
Bob, and close friend / brother-in-law Bud,
they three survived their trip to France,
in a war to end all wars.
He gained a long awaited wife,
when Bud introduced him to his sister Kitty, she 22 and he 40.
A good swimmer, he brought his children to the rivers edge
for summer days playing in the sand, or wading in, holding their hands.
A loving brother, he made the yearly trek to see Bob,
in Florissant, Missouri, with a carful of his kids,
some inside next to him, and others in the rumble seat
for fried chicken and potato salad afternoons
cooked by his sister-in-law Bess and her girls.
He always cared about filling the house with family,
bringing in Kittys parents and brother
as more people to house and love.
Each time the family grew,
he tried to accommodate with a bigger house, and yard
for his children to play in the sandbox, slide, and wading pool
lovingly crafted by his inventive father-in-law.
Robbed from his childrens lives by The Depression in 1935,
and a career in advertising that whisked him away on trains.
But like a pilgrimage, he returned to Saint Louis,
for two weeks in summer, and every Christmas.
Never did a birthday pass without a letter for each child,
and on Christmas he always brought something special as a gift.
He was always proud of who his children were and became.
Art could talk about things for hours, if it was happy,
but if he was sad, he would avoid a subject or get quiet.
His absence enclosed much of him in a cloak of mystery,
but we know he always cared.

Chapter Two: Us FiveThick As Thieves

Betsy
The girl with hair spun like gold
began a Schanuel chapter
on the 18th of February in 1927,
the first of five children.
She was the first of five.
The one who took care of all of us,
like second in command after Mother,
the one who knew right from wrong.
This responsibility she took to the deepest part
of her heart.
Her head was filled with story
from the books she read voraciously
in a never-ending search
for learning.
Her eyes with vision blurry
until at six, she was given the miracle gift-glasses.
She loved school, all except arithmetic.
Adored by teachers, she was known for being quiet, shy,
especially by Miss Maxey in Kindergarten
and in first grade with Miss Stark
But Mary Thompson had her the year she was ten,
and taught geography, had class spelling bees,
and when at Webster Junior High, they thought she was dumb,
Mrs Latowski who taught her to trust in her own smarts.
A friend to laughter, when encircled by friends,
she was known for giggling and pun-making.
Feet always dancing, she was a music-loving ballerina
who seemed to have fallen from heaven,
never quite descending far enough to make her feet
touch the earth, recalled her brother Steve.

Peter
The Houdini of our family,
with a mind so quick,
came to our family May 24, of 1929,
embraced by big sister Betsy.
With Susie he ate chop suey sandwiches
according to Dottie, they fashioned these from bread and
anything spreadable, even apple butter.
He loved things new, and risks.
With Betsy and the little kids in tow,
he convinced them to walk across rooftops,
climb nearby trees,
and roller skate and scoot down steep hills.
He was their Pied Piper,
they would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
For Steve, he appeared brooding and darkly handsome.
His face was alternately in blissful smile or furrowed brow.
His magic tricks were full of slight of hand
a famous one had playing cards cascading through the air.
Or as animal trainer,
he had Katnip the cat leaping through hoops at command,
ringmaster, cracking a tiny whip.
He was sparing with his compliments,
once bragging to a favorite high school teacher
after being told hed been exceptional,
he replied, Wait until you get my little brother.
Peter loved to learn on his own, mastering Physics,
Its about how everything works--cars, light bulbs, radios,
all that stuff, he explained to Steve.
He had curiosity for things beyond material taught in school.
He could have been an amazing engineer or mathematician,
a legacy he left for his little brother, another lover of patterns.

Susie
This girl who always noticed,
aware with sensitive heart,
with bright eyes and a curious mind,
was born to the Schanuel clan on May 31, 1930.
Cousins Jack and Buddy Odell played peek-a-boo on Susie,
Pete and Betsy let her follow them right behind,
Anabelle lovingly, was in the morning at the ready,
brushing Susies wiry long hair,
from the bottom to avoid terrible snarls.
adored by all.
With Pete, Susie fearlessly followed him
into the truckload of sand in the familys sandbox,
competitively eating, winning their prune eating contest,
swallowing prunes whole, pits and all,
or clambering up to the garage roof carefree,
flying while jumping off, without Mother suspecting.
A lover of music, gifted with talent,
the piano, she learned with Steve and Dottie,
then her cello, she played in school and orchestra.
She thrived when she sang, no matter the place.
Embracer of life in its variety and complexity,
whenever she could,
in her youth she was a charmer,
talking to everyone about life and its mysteries.
Along the way, she discovered religion,
a genuine comfort to her.
Lifelong friend to her baby sister Dottie
close as a sister can be,
sharing clothes, then laughter,
exchanging letters when they lived apart,
phoning quite often as they grew older.

Dottie
This tenderhearted humble girl
with lightning quick mind for math and Bridge,
was the fourth Schanuel to arrive,
on a fall daySeptember 23, 1931.
She was dainty, slight, and feminine,
with long eyelashes, a real beauty.
From the start she knew her own mind
from being an early bird waker,
first in the wading or swimming pool,
amused by reading mysteries
and caressing Montys soft black dog fur.
She was faithful to us all,
regardless of what we said or did,
openly hugging us tight,
kissing our cheeks,
and closing each conversation
Love you.
and to her children she breathed strength
even when that was all she had in her control.
She was most happy surrounded by family,
siblings and their children, laughter all around her.
But a side of her was quiet,
at peace amongst her plants, or on a walk around Spanish Lake.
The adventurous traveler,
first one to stand for a picture at the Eiffel Tower
or pet a monkey atop some wild place.
She, who liked things fresh and new-changing her hair color, cut, or up-do
dressing stylishly now, preppy, saucy, fancy or sexy,
the one who shone a light wherever she went.

Steve
The tail on our kite,
was our little brother.
He joined our brood
one hot July 14th in 1933.
He followed and followed,
first speaking only when he could form sentences,
or so said Mother.
Betsy said they spoke for him till he could do it for himself.
He saw patterns and he longed to understand,
asking Grandfather, who explained things more than one way
but Stevie wanted more, and was told,
Stephen, dont try to unscrew the unscrutable.
Dubbed Little Buddha, he spent happy hours pondering,
simply delighting in what he saw in an open field,
or cuddled in a corner, with one of Peters library books,
trying to grasp The Calculus.
A loving soul, who when he loved, gave all his heart,
dreaming with some friends, solving puzzles with others.
To his wife, he tried to not overshadow her brilliance,
but uplift it,
to his children he left a legacy of kindness and warmth,
and a talent to create humor in any mundane thing.
For his sisters, puns and punch lines came naturally to him,
fed by their attentive eyes,
followed by riffs on each others words, and giggles.

Things We Did, and Things We Thought

Art
At Grandmother and Grandfathers there were endless supplies
of pencils, crayons, and all types of paper. We could spend an
entire afternoon, rapt in the act of creating pictures.
Sometimes, Grandfather would bring out a pair of scissors and a
jar of paste, and we could cut pictures out of Grandmothers
magazines and make a collage. Or Grandfather would take us
outside collecting flowers, to press in books. There were also
days walking through tall grasses and empty fields to collect
butterflies in nets. We would collect them in jars, and observe
closely their beauty. For Grandfather, a gentle receptive man,
considered nature the greatest form of art.

Ballet
Susie and Betsy were bitten by the bug to dance.
Betsy, after the principal at school gave her tickets, when
she was eleven or twelve, saw Top Hat starring Fred Astaire,
with Mother. She went home, began tap dancing in the upstairs
hall, and Mother knew it was time for dance lesson.
Madame Boorzhinsky, an expatriate Russian, taught ballet
in the neighborhood. Her studio was on Betsys route when
walking home from school.
This was wonderful! Betsy
recalled, with a longing look in her eye, at 87. When enrolled
Betsy twirled around the house, practiced diligently in the halls
of the house, her thoughts consumed by ballet. Soon Betsy was
hired to assist Mrs. B is some of her classes, in exchange for
lessons.
Susie soon had Mother paying for her lessons there too.
Mrs. B, as she was affectionately called, took a shine to Susie
because Susans smile and cheerfulness was such a
contribution and brought Mrs. Bs joy each day she took class.
Susie was told the next year she could have a scholarship,

because of her charm and grace. Susie later left to pursue cello
studies.
In the fall of 1943, Mrs. Krause, our next door neighbor in
Kirkwood, told Mother that Betsy should be with the best ballet
teacher. Soon after, a class observation and chat were arranged
with Madame Victoria Cassan. Betsy, was as they say now,
blown away! Shed already immersed herself in books, from the
public library, describing Anna Pavlova, one of the centurys
greatest Russian ballet dancers. Betsy was overcome by
exhilaration, to see that kind of dancing at Madame Cassans
studio, and to see a picture of Pavlova with her written
testimonial of Madames ability to impart the true Russian
classical ballet. Betsy shyly broke the news to Mrs. B, stating
Mother wanted me to study more, but she felt guilty to leave
and regretted not telling her the whole story, because Mrs. B
would have pretty much expected it.
In January of 1944, Betsy enrolled in Madame Cassans
studio, starting off with one class a week, but somehow Madame
noticed something, and let her take two, for $6.00 a month.
Soon Madame discovered we were, well poor? and Betsy
ended up paying nothing, and was a scholarship student from
then on. Through Madames classes, Betsy was to meet three
of her closest friends, Katchen, Marian, and Halcyone. They
shared a youth of ballet and laughter.

Cats
Ever since we can remember there were cats in our lives.
Sometimes they passed through, or were sent to the farm.
Other times, they stayed. All were our confidants, fellow
players in our sibling play and mischief. Their names each
evoke story.
Joseph, the first, was white with dark spots, and a tail that
stood tall up on its end. Joseph remains little in our minds, one
who watched over us as we played in the playground of our
yard.

Katnip, the agile Siamese, was seal-point, with a silky coat

rich colored with shades of chocolate brown. She gifted us with
her kittens, with sweet faces and meek meows, unlike their
mamas loud meowish musings and retorts. She loved a cuddle
in our arms. Shes the only one could jump atop doors. Her
athletics wore Mother out. She was sent to the farm because
she moaned what seemed like endlessly, every time she went
into heat. We kept a few kittens, and others went to Mothers
friends. We never forgot her. Luckily, Betsy and Mrs. Shaw
took many pictures that show her in her glory.
One day, Agamemnon and his wife Philemon we met at the
sidewalk, following us home from Mr. Madlingers. She,
beautiful and sweet, was dismissed most likely from her
previous home, for spraying the house. Agamemnon started out
being named Damn cat, because Mother did not want another
cat. Soon, she succumbed to his charms, and she allowed him to
stay. It was then we bestowed upon him his dignified name.
Philemon, aggravating Mother because we could not train her to
use a litter box, was sent away to the farm. But Agamemnon
stayed, although wary of Mother after she sent away his bride.
He was fiercely loyal, his face intent upon our actions, staring
into us with deep dark brown eyes. Like a soldier on guard duty,
Agamemnon spent many a day atop the wooden banister, his
watchtower, directly outside the screened front porch of our
Geyer Road house. We grieved a long time after one day he just
disappeared.