Mary Oliver

I went and saw Mary Oliver read tonight. And. Well.

Wow. For more detail regarding my reaction, see the Practical Poet Blog.

Among other things, she read from a memoir she's written about Molly Malone Cook, with whom she lived for many years. She said that Cook taught her to observe the world differently. She read, "..attention without feeling, I began to learn, is only a report."



Note to Self: You got that?

Thanksgiving weekend, belatedly posted

Four days away from the usual routine is such a blessing.

Our Thanksgiving was simple. I cooked for an army even though it was just the four of us and D's mother. On the menu (as usual, from Bon Appétit for November 1994 unless otherwise noted):

Turkey with maple herb butter
Broccoli casserole (family recipe)
Bacon and buttermilk mashed potatoes (R. helped with this one)
Brown sugar-glazed sweet potatoes with spices, almond slivers and mini marshmallows
Popovers (another family recipe)
Cranberry sauce with raspberry vinegar
Glazed pearl onions with raisins and almonds
stuffing
pecan & pumpkin pie, vanilla bean ice cream

I've gotten full just writing about this meal!



Grandmère & the girls at the table.

Lightly touching down

About a month ago, I felt like there was a larger than usual number of issues hanging in the air above me all the time. They were a mix of serious and trivial Unknowns, and even though I knew that they would all be resolved eventually, it was stressful waiting for those resolutions. I'm a control freak, right? And these were all things I really couldn't control. I listed some to a co-worker at the time:

Where will R. going to be going to High School next year?
Who will be our next President?
Will I or won't I be donating a kidney in the next few months?
If not, will it be becuase I'm actually borderline or pre-diabetic?
When will I really be starting my new job at the office?
What will my new hours be, and how will they affect the 6-family school carpool?
How will S. be cast in the Nutcracker?
When will D. finish the under-construction awning in the back yard?
Is the rat's tumor operable?

Like I said, some of that is pretty trivial, but I'm still so grateful that most of these things have, in fact, resolved themselves in the best possible way.

The rat's tumor was removed for a reasonable charge and she's doing great. We probably extended her life by 6-12 months with the operation, and I can't say enough good things about the compassionate, reasonably-priced vet who did the job.

The Presidential issue worked out as I was hoping and praying it would, and we probably won't be moving to Canada in the near future. :)

S. will be playing a Mouse and an Angel in the Nutcracker - and she'll even have a 20-second solo as the angel who delivers Clara's crown to the Sugar Plum Fairy.

The awning was completed in record time, and it's absolutely beautiful, especially with the white LEDs adorning it. I'll have to put in a picture (writing with my Writers Group pals a cafe at the moment, so it'll have to wait...)

I have started in my new position in Customer Service at work, and my hours have shifted enough to allow me to sleep a little more every night but not so much that I had to change the carpool.

I am not pre-diabetic, and the kidney donation is still a go, pending a couple more tests. (See Nephronotes for more).

R. has visited a couple of High Schools and has 2 more to visit, but she's very excited about the local Waldorf school in particular, and it happens to be the place that I had felt would be her best fit, too.

Is that it? I think that's it.

All those heavy things hanging above my head, lightly touching down.


How many of the heavy burdens that we let fall from our shoulders become stumbling blocks, and how many are transformed into firm stepping stones that we use to move ahead?

Satire. Or not.

I'm so close to the target demographic for this, it's almost not funny. If you know what I mean. Eh.

Heaven help me

I've created a Facebook account.
I guess I've finally started to catch up with the social networking 21st century.
I don't even know how to direct you to my site or what becoming a friend entails, but I'm sure I'll get up to speed.

You know, in my copious free time.

In the meantime, my friends can become my friends in a whole new way.

Um. Wait.

That didn't sound right.

But you know what I mean.

One Month Later. Here's where I've been

So check out this new blog for a little update for you all:

www.nephro-notes.blogspot.com

If I've seen silent it's because life has been busy, with this added element that may come as a surprise to some of you.

It's all good, though, and I hope you'll be able to offer support as I travel down this new road.

The girls are doing great with their schooling and various activities, both blooming a little more every day, but sufficiently silly and geeky to assure me that they are, in fact, our children.

D's shoulder (he has a small tear in his cuff) is actually better, and the PT and Glucosamine may have made a difference.

Work is going well too. I've had a great time working more directly with the rest of the inbound sales staff. And although I miss being in the same room as the recovery engineers, and although I'm really looking forward to transitioning to Customer Service November 1st, I've learned a lot from the very professional, very hard-working bunch on the third floor.

I am in the middle of the annual weight-loss competition at work. Down to about as low as I've ever been as an adult, with a few more pounds to go. I get to the gym as often as possible, and write more and more. But mostly for the benefit of that other blog (SEE ABOVE).

I hope to spend November writing furiously, too. While the family prepares for Winter, and Nutcracker, and the holidays. They have Christmas decorations in all the stores, and I'm pretty sure it's for Christmas 2009, because it's too late for the 2008 marketing, the way the world works these days.

And let me also say this, even though not all my readers may feel the same way. (And if you don't agree, call me. We'll talk about it.) Go Obama!!!

ARRRR!

It be talk like a pirate day, mateys!

What I'd Rather

When I wake up, all sorts of doors open in my head, and the day's concerns and duties, things I must do or remember, stride in and all start talking at once, vying for attention. It's like a bad party scene where no one is listening to one another, and everyone has had just enough to drink to make them loud and selfish. I grit my teeth and marshal whatever order I can, and give myself a pep talk in the din.

But what I want is this: to wake to peaceful stillness, silent and rested, and walk alone out well-washed French doors into a morning just blooming into color out of the gray of dawn. I want to walk down a path through hills with the birds making their declarations of existence, and the sky high and open.

I want the particles of my body to be loosely held together by whatever joyful contract they originally made with one another, instead of being bound tightly in corporeal mass by the glue of stress and will.

Still here

Still alive.
And well, too.
Just not blogging these days.

But I thought I'd break radio silence with this tiny note.
A (re)start.

Confession

Forgive me reader, for I have committed the sin of hubris.

I thought I could write daily.

Well, I thought I could write daily and do a lot of other things daily too.

But every morning, I launch myself out of bed (after multiple bargaining sessions with the snooze alarm - my earliest waking moments are measured by 7-minute intervals), throw myself into the day, and am hurtled from one thing to another until I give up sometime around 10:30 (give or take) and surrender to the reality that I can't do it all.

And this in spite of my capacity to believe, over and over again, that if only I marshaled myself better, I could accomplish what I've set out to do.

Well, drat.

Today my goal is to be gentle with myself. I think my mother's somewhere telling me to slow down and take it easy. Yeah. Like I've ever listened to that advice.

Returning late

Another full day of conference, and then home just before midnight after an uneventful flight.

Before I left Phoenix, I had dinner with my half-sister M. and her family at a somewhat questionable restaurant near the airport. It was so good to see them and catch up, even if it was only for a short time. (Thanks for the visit and ride to the airport, M!)

It was, as it always is, so nice to come home.

Geekiness and Buffets

The last few days at the developer's conference have been a combination of lots of new information - I now know even more painfully how little I know and how many new, exciting things I *could* be doing, if I only I had the time to learn the steps better - and these thrice-daily buffets where I could, theoretically, eat plate after plate of food. I limit myself to one plate per meal, but I don't pass on dessert either.

Sunday 7/13/08

Immersed in FileMaker Developer Conference stuff all day, feeling a little flu-like in the evening. But nothing an early night in the nice JW Marriott Desert Ridge hotel room won't cure.

Kids home, Mom away

This morning I drove out west past pastures and redwoods and tiny towns to pick up S from her Presbyterian camp. She didn't seem any taller or dirtier than she'd been when I dropped her off, but after a few hours at the pool, this girl tans like nobody's business, and her skin was a consistent shade darker than I remembered (the consistency is how I knew it wasn't dirt). She had a good time, she said, but she was definitely saddened by the fact that I was going to be leaving almost as soon as we got home, and wouldn't be back for a few days.

D took me to the airporter on his way to pick up R and her friend from their designated Girl Scout Camp bus stop a couple of hours south. Apparently, S babbled the whole drive down. And the whole drive back.

I got to the airport hours before my flight was to leave, but I didn't mind. I've probably mentioned this before, but I love to hang out at airports and people watch. I think I like the idea of seeing a concrete representation of something that's true at a metaphysical level. We're all on journeys. We're going away. We're coming home. We're leaving old for new, or vice versa. And we're not alone.

Everyone seems to be represented - old, young, all races and religions and social classes. I know there are some who can't afford to fly, some who are afraid to fly, some who are too ill or otherwise unable to fly, and some who just plain have nowhere they want or need to go via plane.

But enough of us pass through airports at one point or another that it feels like I'm seeing a cross-section of the world. And each of us brings to the gate our own story of our own journey, like some kind of internal carry-on item that we couldn't check if we wanted to.

Date Night #2

I went to the gym this afternoon - after a nap in my car in the gym parking lot! - and then did a little more cleaning of the girls' rooms. And laundry. You would think that without the kids around I'd do something more exotic - like, I don't know, blast 80's music and drink a dessert wine in the afternoon. But cleaning without anyone else in the house is sheer bliss for me. What can I say?

We didn't make it out to a movie two nights ago, but last night, D & I went out & saw Get Smart, which was a bit of a treat for us primarily because we'd both grown up watching the show, and both like the actors. We're probably the target audience for the film. We also went out to dinner at D's new favorite burger restaurant afterwards. It was good food, but I'm really better off not eating so late.

D and I love spending time just talking. We have every reason to believe that we'll still be friends and still enjoy hanging out together after the nest is empty. Especially if we keep the conversation going between then and now.

Tonight, we went out for sushi. We sat at the bar and chatted with the sushi chef - something we never do with the kids - and just relaxed. Rented a couple of movies and watched one of them. Tomorrow I pick up S and then D picks up R while I'm off on a business trip. I'm still preparing to pack, which means doing all the laundry I can. It's bizarre, but familiar, behavior. I don't know when I'll move beyond the stage of recognizing it to the point of changing it. Hmmm.

Workaholic wannabee

It's apparently a good thing that I am forced to leave the office more or less "on time" every day to pick up kids, because apparently otherwise I'd habitually work 50 hour weeks.

There was a quarterly meeting for my current department today that kept me there until 2, and I didn't really leave until 2:30, but I didn't mind at all. So much of my life feels like I'm playing catch-up that putting in a little extra effort or time somewhere helps me feel closer to successful. As much as I enjoy the process more than the results in most of what I do, it's horrible to know that there is so much unfinished business. Especially hard for a Virgo. :)

At home, I got to work on house cleaning and cleaning the girls' rooms in particular. After all, I did warn them I'd be doing so, and I got their permission for me to get rid of things that they really truly don't use. I was surprised how quickly they agreed - especially R, as a teenager who is starting to guard her privacy - but I think they understand as well as I do that they have just too much stuff, and it gets in the way, makes it hard for them to find things, and probably clutters their inner life in some way as much as it trips them up in their outer life.

I didn't get far, and that's probably because of the weird ADHD way I have of cleaning. It's If You Give a Mouse a Cookie re-titled If You Give a Mom a Room to Clean. On my way to putting one thing away I'd see something else that needed to be done, which would take me to another room, and a third thing that could be moved, and a fourth task that was begging to be completed. It was pathetic. In the end I got more things done or half-done than not done, but nothing completed. Which makes me grateful that I have another day and a bit more before the kids are back and I leave for the next business trip.

Camper number two away

After work, and a frantic bout of labeling items with our 8-character last name and packing them up, I got S. to camp. We missed the official check-in time by "that much" but it only took a couple of minutes to do a "late-reg" check-in at the office. The camp is nestled in the redwoods, but even with that aromatic green shadiness, it was very hot when I dropped her off, and I anticipate three really hot days for her.

There was a little added excitement in the flurry of packing and leaving - S had a tooth come out (with her helpful yanking), and even though I encouraged her to leave it at home so the tooth fairy could pick it up under her pillow in her room, S decided to take it with her at the last possible second. This necessitated a quick dash into the house for a dollar coin and a fast scrub with brass polish to get the tarnish off - because the Tooth Fairy always leaves a shiny coin.

I left the campsite hoping the delivery instructions and the hidden coin would make it to the right counselor without S any the wiser, and I drove home a "free" woman with no one but myself and my husband to answer to. I love my kids. But I also love time to myself. This may be only the first of an increasing number of events that will mean both kids are away from the house, and maybe it's good preparation for the day when they're more gone than home. But I don't have to worry about being at loose ends or wondering what to do with myself when that day does come.

Check!

Checking off my list for the week:

Survive another day of temperatures over 100.

Swim at local public pool with S (more mommy-daughter time)

Read at poetry reading at bookstore 15 miles south of home as part of Traveling Poetry Show. (I always feel like a circus act when I hear that title.)

Delegate camp packing to S and D while at said reading.

Blog. How self-referential. Blogging about blogging about blogging. Reminds me of what you see if you angle a couple of mirrors just right - endless self. This is like digital narcissism, I guess.

Mommy-daughter time

S had her first day of Dance Camp today. The camp is 3 days a week, with various classes for ballet, tap, jaz, character (folk) and choreography, as well as pre-pointe. I think the pre-pointe is just stretching because the girls are so young, but she and her classmates are very excited about it. It marks a move toward the Big Time for them.

After work, I picked her up from dance & we had tea and coffee at the Tea Room before heading out to visit the camp she'll be going to later in the week. We got a tour from the very patient Camp Director, and hung out for about an hour and a half at the playground and walking along the creek. We also walked a prayer labyrinth - a narrow path in the dirt lined with rounded river stones that wraps around in a spiral not unlike this:




The idea, I believe, is to walk it while praying or meditating. It's not the kind of thing you dash through fast or skip over, but either response might be normal for an 8-ear old, and I was pleasantly surprised at how quietly and respectfully S. walked it.

I thought of the labyrinth as a metaphor for life. We think we're making no progress, because we double-back on ourselves as we go. But we are indeed moving from point A to point B. And when we think we're as far as we can go, we're not - but again, we must wind back and around to get to the end - only to find that there is no end, and we have to loop back yet again to the beginning once more - sometimes passing close to one another, sometimes far from one another - but on our own journey, if on a common road.

The last half of the walk, as we passed each other, we would reach out and brush our hands together. Kind of a meditative hi-five.

We drove the 45 minutes back to home, I napped (exhausted) on the couch for an hour - which S later claimed was "like, 2 hours" and then took her to her Math club - more of a games night than anything.

Some time in the evening, she said, "We should spend some mommy-daughter time together." I said, "Um. What was this afternoon, then?" I guess 4 hours in 8 years doesn't cut it. Especially if you nap. I'll work on that.

Day of rest. Or not.

Sabbath. Hmmm. I worked 5am-1pm today (weekend pay is a good incentive), then got home & double-checked R's "I got everything!" packing job for camp. She's getting better at the art of packing light - rolling her clothes, not bringing too much and yet remembering the essentials like more than one pair of underwear. She did chose the biggest, fluffiest and heaviest towel she could have, and forgot a mess kit and canteen, but it didn't take too long to finish up and drop her off at her friend's house for their early morning 90 minute drive to the Monday morning bus for camp.

We'd wanted to visit the closer-to-home campgrounds where S will be going later in the week - to familiarize her with it, since she has a hard time when left "alone" in new/unknown environments. But it was too late to make it out there today, so we'll do it tomorrow instead.

D has completed the move of the water heater in the laundry room - we have hot water again, hooray! And the washer & dryer are re-hooked up. So I have no excuse not to do the piles of dirty laundry. Except for that wanting to sleep thing...

The time it takes to be green

So the girls and I decided to do what we could to avoid using the car today, and we biked instead. Sounds easy enough, but the first step was finding locks in the garage, and then biking to Longs and then KMart, to find and buy chains to use with the locks. The only chain I found was made in Japan (to the US co's specifications, as though that made up for the foreign manufacture). I got it anyway. Then we biked to the pool, locked the girls bikes up, and I biked to the gym - two workouts in one! - and then I biked to a coffee shop to have an iced coffee and negate the benefits of the biking while filling out bills and a letter for R to receive in camp next week.

When I went to pay for my drink, I found to my dismay that my little wallet was missing. I ended up racing back (on bike, of course) to KMart to try to track it down, assuming that it was probably long gone if I'd dropped it there. By some miracle (thank you, guardian angel!), someone had turned it in and it had all of its contents still in it.

After I biked to the pool and escorted the girls home, we gave up on being green and used the car for the couple of additional errands we had to run for the day.

It was a good exercise - both physically and in terms of adapting to a new lifestyle. But it's taught me that this kind of living requires really good planning. Also, it means allowing for additional time as well as becoming adept at keeping track of all the details as you go - like wallets, for example.

Fourth

I posted an old 4th of July poem on The Practical Poet page to celebrate the day, but we mostly spent the day at home, puttering and doing chores, and (in my case) just being lazy in a post-stressful-times way. We'd had invitation to 4 great parties, and originally had planned to visit all of them if possible, but in the end we only went to the traditional gathering for fireworks at our friend's place on the other side of town.

The girls and I did run the Kenwood 3K at 7:30am - which meant waking up before 6am to get there on time. We took a friend with us - the ex-next door neighbor's girl, who is only 3 weeks younger than S. She and S. and I jogged, then walked, then jogged, then walked most of the route, until I finally got S. to agree to let me run ahead. She'd been anxious at the start of the race because we'd been briefly separated, and it made her clingy for the first mile plus of the 1.8 mile race. In the end, I passed R. (who had run ahead of all of us from the beginning), and got to the finish in time to snap shots of all of the girls as they came in. We also waited for our neighbor's mom to cross the finish line - she'd run the 10k, which I normally do, except she'd really been training for it and posted a respectable time for such an unkind, hilly course.

The fireworks were fun - the kids and adults all got along swimmingly, and we made it home at a decent hour. As always, I was relieved to find our house not on fire upon our return. I tell you. I can be so paranoid sometimes.

It's Official

The announcement went out at work today that I'm moving from the Inbound Sales group to the Customer Service department. This means my focus will be on giving customers news about their recoveries (including billing and invoicing for the work), as well as making sure that the customers are happy (or, hopefully, thrilled) and that the engineers and shipping folks all have what they need to perform the recoveries and get the jobs out the door. It's a problem-solving, colleague and customer supporting kind of role, and I'm super excited about the move. I think it suits my disposition and utilizes my strengths better than does a position in sales, with its related competitiveness.

And I'll still be able to provide whatever support I can (based on experience and knowledge that I've gathered over the last 10 years) to my colleagues in sales.
I'll also be able to use my foreign language and writing skills more. ¡Necesito aprender cómo hablar más español!

I probably won't start my new duties until late this month, as they have to find and hire a replacement in my current department. And apparently, no one is super eager about taking the 5am-1pm shift. But by the end of August, anyway, I should expect the transition will be complete. Also by then, the Customer Service department itself will have moved to a remodeled area on the first floor of the building, and I won't be sitting among the buzz of dozens of computers and servers or the cacophony of ringing phones and quoting salespeople.

D. insisted on going out for a sushi dinner to celebrate. Yeah. Twist my arm.

Sustenance

I've joined a discussion group where we're looking at Sustainable Living,
and judging by the first meeting tonight, it's exactly what I need when I need it in my path to living more responsibly and intentionally on this piece of rock.

Since probably a third of the readership of this blog is also in the group, you already know what I mean.

For the rest of you, I'll try to expand.

But not now.

I've been told that my 4 hours a night of sleep are worrying my spouse.

New Years in July

It's a time of change.

We recently got a new dishwasher (the previous one being 30+ years old), and a new front-loading stackable washer and dryer. These have already lowered our utility bill.

D's work on the remodel is moving along steadily, and what's emerging is gorgeous. Of course.

We've also got new toilets, which may not sound so glamorous but believe me when I tell you that one's quality of life is directly related to the minutes spent plunging vs not plunging.


We're just back from a trip to Seattle, Vancouver Island and Crater Lake, and it was the BEST family vacation I could have imagined, and we've got a new outlook and broadened horizons as a result.


It looks like there will be changes in my role at work in the not-so-distant future, and I'm very excited about that too.

And I'm shifting my focus in general - away from half-marathons and toward 20 minute workouts and more time to write. Sent out a poem for a local contest last night. Am glad I pushed myself to write it and get it out there.


And about that Writing thing.

Let's see if posting daily in July (starting yesterday, today) helps me keep it at the front of my mind. One can hope.

Greetings from Klamath Falls, OR

It's day 2 of our family vacation. Yesterday, we beat our own usual 2-hours behind schedule record by adding another 2 hours to it! After many hours of folding clean laundry and cleaning out pet cages (a standard courtesy for the pet-sitters), R. said, "For once, couldn't we just go on a trip without cleaning the whole house first?"

I really do appreciate my family's patience with my get-it-all-in-order now compulsive issues. And for the record, I held myself back a lot (otherwise we'd still be at home, I suspect.) I didn't have the girls clean their rooms, and I didn't wash the kitchen and bathroom floors like I wanted to so desperately. So we all make sacrifices.

I'll write more as I can on the road. We're about to leave for the train station, now!

A Quarter of A Century

That's how long it's been since D asked me to be his girlfriend. Standing under the stars in the driveway of my friend's house, after D had snuck out (I think he'd been grounded) to bike the few necessary blocks and crash a girl-only party to talk to me, I distinctly remember thinking, "Ah! This must be what Juliette felt about Romeo."

And I remember that even in that head-spinning, heart-thudding moment, part of me was observing, analyzing, and assessing how cliche it all was. But that doesn't mean I could stop myself from being swept of my feet. Detachment only goes so far in the face of wild first love.

I was 16. He was 18. (It tells you something about his home life that he'd been grounded at 18.) He was my first and only boyfriend, and to this day is my best friend, confidant, lover, the father of my children, and the smartest, funniest, most creative and most complex person I know.

We officially became a couple June 11, 1983. We broke up around September 1986 and got back together again somewhere around February 1988, and we've had our rough patches here and there since then - but we proudly count that time apart when calculating the longevity of our relationship, because without that dramatic breakup and the subsequent maturation, we wouldn't be where we are today.

So here's to you, D. Thanks for everything.

And in the interest of embarrassing us both, a couple of shots from Marin Sierra, July 1983:





















(We've come a long way, baby!)

Such is the age

...and such is the insular geeky nature of my family.

S. said Saturday night, "I know what a clone is. But what's a cyclone?"

It wasn't because of Myanmar that she was asking - we don't have TV, don't take a paper, and D hadn't yet read about Nargis in the Japan Times online, nor had I yet heard about it on NPR.

We'd been watching an episode of "Jeeves and Wooster" and the word came up.

And of course, R. speculated that a "cyclone" might be a cyber-clone.

World events? Meteorological phenomena? not a clue
BBC comedies? Replicants? oh yeah, we got that covered

Something new

The new site, one that I'll use as a "professional" web page, at least for now, is called The Practical Poet, and can be found here.

I actually have two reasons to break out the bubbly - the new site, and the amazing news I received yesterday that one of my poems I'd sent out into the wide world of competitions in March has won first place. I'll share the details once the journal has announced the results officially. I'm still reeling a bit - wondering if there's been some mistake, but enjoying the whirly ride.

Ping post

Still here, alive and kicking, and working on a new (!), more professional-use blog site to be "launched" this month, as part of my celebration of National ("forced recognition") Poetry Month.

Doesn't "launched" sound like there should be a bottle of champagne involved?

Back in the game

I've mailed off poems to five separate competitions this month - all reputable and fairly judged, from what I can tell - with the added benefit in almost all cases of a subscription in exchange for the reading fee, and significant prizes for first and other places.

We shall see!

It feels so good, at any rate, to put those SASE's in the envelope and send them off. As Suzanne and I discussed recently, the anticipation of responses is like the hope one might feel in the time between the buying of the lottery ticket and the revelation of the winning numbers.

And even though I know my chances for winning the contests are not fantastic - yet! wait until next year, when I'm that much improved! - they probably are better than those of winning the lottery.

Mis Mawrth Happus Iawn i Chi! And about the ficus...

Or "Happy March to You!" for my non-Welsh speaking readers.

I missed officially celebrating Saint David's Day this year because I wasn't at work to bring in scones & show off my Red Dragon flag, and I didn't post a blog entry Saturday either. But Mother Nature in our corner of the world celebrated for me, with good weather and daffodils trumpeting the advent of spring everywhere.

A year ago, I see, I had just sent off poems for inclusion in an anthology. Saturday, I mailed poems to be considered for a contest - the first of many such mailings. (Really, Julia.)

D and I did a ton of work around the house over the weekend. His big project was getting rid of the now-defunct 50 gallon saltwater tank that had been "temporarily" moved to the livingroom when we started the garage remodel. Inspired by his hard work, I was up until 12:30am this morning trying to find a new configuration for couches, chairs & the 26-year old ficus in the room - something that was feng-shui and would keep us from feeling like the place is just a jungle with a TV in the corner. But the tree is more bush than tree, and until we do some kind of topiary chiropractics with it, it insists on dominating the room.

In looking for a nice generic image of a ficus to add to the post, I found this quirky link www.theficus.com.


That link in turn lead me (2 links later) to this article & quote by Donald Trump:

There's no plant as beautiful as the ficus, and no plant that does the trick like the ficus.

(Hmmm. Maybe Mr. Trump would like to provide us with a small stipend as a reward for having lovingly coexisted with our plant for so long? A girl can only hope...)

How many times

...will I re-affirm my desire to write or my intention to be a better-published, better poet?

How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

Thanks to Suzanne for the re-inspiration yesterday,and for this great poetry resource link.

The work progresses. I was re-inspired by hearing Rebecca Foust speak at a panel last Thursday sponsored by Marin Poetry Center. The discussion was on "The Professionalization of Poetry," and she was by far the most articulate, informed and relevant speaker for me. She's a woman who had a career as a lawyer, raised three children, and is now getting her MFA at a low residency program. She has gained a great deal of recognition and won several awards in a short period of time. How? By writing well and sending those well-written poems out there. Sounds like a plan to me.


The rain is still relentless. And this little snippet of a blog entry skirts around the thing that really must be recorded: the fact that our dog died a week ago today. I want to gather pictures, though, and perhaps also the little video clip that R. has of him nosing the camera and wagging his tail, and make a proper tribute post. But for now, Quiescat in Pace.

Oh. My.

**warning. mush follows. not for the cynical of heart.**


The first love note I found this morning was attached to my car keys when I went to start my daily half-pot of decaf.

(Um. Not that I need my keys to start the coffee maker. They were just near it on the counter.)

That one post-it note would have been enough to have me secretly smiling to myself all day.

But then I found another note on the bathroom mirror.

And another on the dashboard of my car.

It seemed like a note had been placed in every spot I might run into one at oh-dark-thirty when I prepare for work in the morning.

Short and simple.
(The notes, not their author.)

I came to work feeling like I was the best-loved woman on the planet.

And to make it even better, I'm loved by the coolest, smartest, funniest, dearest man I could ever hope to meet.


***


I divide my workdays between two desks in two departments in the office, so I wouldn't have found the last note until after 9am if my coworker hadn't emailed me to come to my other department early to see what had been left there.

I can't believe the lush beauty of the bouquet of red roses D. had delivered.

The note attached to the blooms is the same short message that I'd seen on the post-its.

There's hardly room on my desk (either desk) for the arrangement.

There's hardly room in my heart for how grateful I am to have such a sweetheart as a best friend and husband.

undulation

i.
the first grief is a white water slam
dashing into itself, erupting again
a tattoo beat in spikes and dips
like green blips on a screen.
between breakers this abrupt there is no
almost forgetting you are gone.

ii.
later, waves swell and fall like hills
spills of starlings twist and spin
in the blushing dusk. without counting
days or distance, here is the farthest away
you’ve been, now the longest
we’ve spent without your kiss.
orgasm, seasickness, the heat of
fire, the wind, and this. what else
comes in waves and goes in waves?

iii.
even now when we think ourselves
becalmed, sneaker waves capsize us.
we look for the horizon, everything
moves. terra infirma, the world reincarnates daily.
what of you? you in the flocks of fish wheeling
up and down in deep water. you in the modulation of bees
in the breeze-stricken apple boughs.

Slightly modified version

I like this better. Am wiping out the last version.

Rain on Fresh Concrete



The sound of the downpour draws us
to the window like the circus come to town.
All that we had left outside is now initiated by rain.
True, much had been well on the road to rust and mold
anyhow. But the concrete, newly poured, was not yet set in its ways.
We rush the storm: wheel in the mixer, toss empty bags,
fling tarps over the new path. The rain never pauses for breath.
We are alone in our remorse. We, who celebrated
every square inch of adobe we buried with bricks and cement:
that much less mud the next time it pours.
Cover it up in lining, rebar, gravel, concrete.
Planter boxes on top filled with dirt.
Dirt in boxes over concrete over dirt.
The strata we make of our lives.

An old one, in honor of recent rains

Rain on Fresh Concrete

Darkroom in Samoa

(an old one, posted for Kate. And written for her, and Joe, to begin with)

Darkroom in Samoa

We swim through green abundance,
one last breath before the glade. Before the
schoolroom mausoleum, chalk dust and damp
cement. One last breath before the closet
where we inter ourselves.
There are chemicals used for this in the dark or
near dark; developer, stop bath, fixing bath, wash.
Acrid attacks on the senses, vinegar alchemies,
each in turn.
Faces surface from oddly bent buildings;
lovers; horizons. Not always what was meant,
yet each one making its own sense.
We inhale the fumes and the faces together,
exhale a sigh of the same.
Our nostrils still burn when we step out of the room
and raise ourselves from the dead.
We make hardcopies of a wasteland,
here where the breezes are lush,
where the air is ginger and palm.

First published in Disquieting Muses, February 2000
Quoted in full again in pifmagazine, May 2000, in their review of DM.