And another thing...

So far, I've done some html work and organized contact lists and tried to use my communication skills to keep things moving.

Not dealing with the poverty question in the city directly. Though they told us that at orientation. VISTAS are behind the scenes. Building the foundation, ensuring sustainability by leaving a solid rock to stand on.

And I haven't done much reflecting on it either.

So I'm back here. Hoping to talk things out in my head. But what's happening is the kitten is pawing at the button on my sweater like its the best toy she's ever encountered. That is until the clicking of the keys and the motion of the words crawling across the screen dilates her pupils from the rush of curiosity.

And what I really wanted to come back here for was to write something. And I wish my brother were her to help spur me on. The last time I asked him for a challenge he gave me the phrase "the little yellow football from Mars" and I came up with this.

It’s football Saturday.

Martin’s favorite Saturday.

Not because his dad and sister are funny when they cheer wildly for the home team.

Not because Martin and mom drink as much hot chocolate, with mini-marshmallows, as they can while the team is on the field.

Because Martin gets to watch his favorite cartoons all morning while everyone else gets ready for the game.

Heroes and space battles and silly animals. Sometimes Martin will think of new stories for the cartoon characters long after the shows are over.

This football Saturday would have been like any other, except while Martin was making his favorite breakfast of oatmeal and apples he looked out the window to see if the tree had started to get red leaves overnight.

That’s when he saw it.

A bright yellow lump in the front yard.

Martin knew all of his toys by heart. The shiny green and red cars that he likes to race along the kitchen counter.

The little blue house to put bugs in so he can catch the beetles that crawl on the screen door at night and then look at them up close.

The stuffed animals and monsters that he keeps at the end of his bed.

Of all the toys Martin has, none of them are yellow.

He left his oatmeal steaming on the counter and ran out to the front yard, with his pajamas still on, to find out what the bright yellow lump was.

It was a football, a tiny football, and it was the roughest looking football Martin had ever seen.

There were chunks missing from the sides, like something was pulled off the football. Or maybe something had taken a bite out of it.

There were black marks all over the outside too.

As Martin turned the football over, he saw something written near the end.

In tiny little writing was four capital letters.

M A R S

“Whoa,” Martin whispered to himself. This was better than any Saturday morning cartoon could ever be.

He squeezed the football tight in his hand and ran back to the house.

Martin carefully put the football from MARS on the counter and got a stool and his oatmeal so he could eat and look at the football at the same time.

Last week Martin learned about MARS in his class. His teacher told the class “MARS is the fourth planet from the sun. Earth is the third planet from the sun, so we’re like next door neighbors in the solar system.”

Next door neighbors, Martin thought. That’s like the Meads in the brown house, with their dog Scruffy. Last week there was such a strong wind that one of their recycling bins had blown into Martin’s front yard.

Or maybe the Renns in the brick house, who always have great Halloween decorations. Martin knew that on the first day of October he could look down the street and see the ghosts and gravestones as they got ready for the spookiest month in the year.

If these things could happen, then a football could certainly make it to his front yard from MARS.

Martin remembered something else his teacher said. “It is possible to see Mars from Earth, and often it looks like a bright red or yellow sparkle in the sky.”

Of course, Martin thought, as he ate his oatmeal and stared at the football. A yellow planet would have yellow footballs. Earth was full of colors, and you could buy footballs of any color at the toy store.

Sometimes the footballs would have more than one color.

That didn’t explain who threw the football into Martin’s yard.

Martin chewed slowly because it helped him think.

His teacher said that the government sent robots to Mars to look for water, but not for animals or people. Mars wasn’t a friendly planet to live on.

We used to believe that there were people on Mars, his teacher said, and we would have called a person from Mars a Martian.

Martin’s mouth dropped open, still full of oatmeal, just as his mom walked in the room.

“Close your mouth sweetie,” mom said. “What have you got there?”

Martin was so excited he shouted, “A football from Mars!” And he told mom everything teacher had said about Mars being a neighbor of Earth, and yellow and red, and about Martians.

“So this football has to be for me,” Martin said. “My name is only missing an A, and that would make it Martian!”

Suddenly, football seemed a whole lot more exciting.

Martin carried the football with him to the game and watched the players as they huddled and ran and threw the ball around the field.

He wondered how a Martian would play football, and just how far it would have to throw the ball so it landed on Earth.

He even cheered wildly, just like his dad and sister, when the home team made a touchdown.



Not too bad. But the real challenge is if I can challenge myself. Can I give myself something to write about everyday. And can I break out of the flowery, descriptive type of bullshit I usually come out with.

Ooo, off to a great start. Telling myself I write bullshit.

I will be back tomorrow to write some of that bullshit down. See if it grows mushrooms.