Writing with tones of family, inspired by William Stafford’s 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 mother’s family. He inspired me to write from my family stories. Nothing needed to be profound, just concise. I didn’t 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 river’s 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 Kitty’s 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 children’s 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 Five—Thick 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 he’d been exceptional, he replied, “Wait until you get my little brother.” Peter loved to learn on his own, mastering Physics, “It’s 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 Susie’s 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 family’s 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 day—September 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 Monty’s 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, don’t 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 Peter’s 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 other’s words, and giggles.

Things We Did, and Things We Thought

Art At Grandmother and Grandfather’s 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 Grandmother’s 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 Betsy’s 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 Susan’s smile and cheerfulness” was such a contribution and brought Mrs. B’s 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!” She’d already immersed herself in books, from the public library, describing Anna Pavlova, one of the century’s greatest Russian ballet dancers. Betsy was overcome by exhilaration, to see that kind of dancing at Madame Cassan’s studio, and to see a picture of Pavlova with her written testimonial of Madame’s 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 Cassan’s 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 Madame’s 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 mama’s loud meowish musings and retorts. She loved a cuddle in our arms. She’s 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 Mother’s 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. Madlinger’s. 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.