I have reached the end of my month of self-imposed challenges around reading, writing and submitting poetry.
I must say I won't miss the evening pushes to get everything done before I fall asleep. But I also don't want to drop these habits completely. Submitting often (but not daily), reading a new book often (but not daily), and tweeting - sometimes, not daily - seems reasonable. I look forward to trying it.
I served penance of a sort today for all the over-consumption yesterday (primarily of sugar - donuts! and candy! and dessert! and deep dish pizza for dinner) by eating light and exercising quite a bit. Dog walk, yard work, yoga, a walk with D. With any luck, I burned off a few extra calories.
Tomorrow I have not one but two (!) social events on the calendar, so I hope I am able to sleep well and feel prepared for breakfast at a restaurant for the first time in over 6 months and then company in the courtyard for dinner. This has been good incentive to clean up around here, even if no one comes inside the house.
I overindulged on my birthday: more sugar than I've had in the last six months put together, probably, and more food than I usually have in a week. But I also hiked, and gardened, and inspected the beehives, and read, and bought socks and a jogging bra, and thereby spoiled myself in ways other than food.
It was especially lovely to have a day alone to do those things. No commitments to do anything else with anyone else - and wonderful little birthday wishes that came in by text and voicemail and email. So all in all, a good day. And best of all: two more days without work to continue to get things done around the house and yard.
This is the last day I will be 53, although S. kindly said I was turning 32 tomorrow. She has also been known to say she thinks of me as somewhere in my "early 40s." Bless her.
I caught most of the POTUS's speech live at the RNC via the NY Times, preceding an ostentatious fireworks show and light opera. While the unmasked multitude chanted at the row of American flags, "FOUR MORE YEARS, FOUR MORE YEARS!" I thought, "GET HIM OUT. GET HIM OUT." Ire doesn't even begin to cover the level of my antipathy. He really gets my goat.
What do I want for my birthday? I want enlightenment to visit that man.
This morning, the dog and I jogged more than walked on our daily constitutional. He does well for a 11+ year old Shepherd mix. He's especially pleased with himself any morning that he can make any dogs bark at him from behind their fences along the way. (Which is most mornings.) Troublemaker.
The fires continue to be contained, and the weather is cooler, at least at night. Here are the sobering stats from the Press Democrat:
54,923 / 19%Acres / Contained Walbridge Fire | 303,155 / 33%Acres / Contained Hennessey Fire | 1,080Structures destroyed | 2,207Firefighters |
Only five more books to read for the Sealey (book-a-day) challenge. I hope that after August, I will continue to read at least a poetry book a week. It keeps me disciplined, broadens my mind, and I think it betters my own work.
The air was much clearer today, and there is talk about opening up more things in the country because Covid cases aren't on the rise as much as before.
But without a vaccine, opening things back up will only bring the caseload up again. I know I can't be the only person to understand this logic. Too bad there isn't a consensus on the matter.
It's day two of the RNC. I caught part of it yesterday morning on my way to work. Nothing brings up my blood pressure quite the same way as hearing bigotry, selfishness, and hatred touted as American values.
Another night where I can barely keep my eyes open to finish my Sealey Challenge read (see www.thepracticalpoet.blogspot.com), tweet, post, crawl into bed.
After work (hot, smoke-filled skies, no air conditioning, pinched nerve in my neck), a poetry workshop which made me feel much better. But still, exhausted. And after the workshop, reading most of Bastards of the Regan Era, and then the aforementioned posting. Just hope it's all coherent in the light of day tomorrow.
The air is still horribly smokey, but I just heard a light patter of rain. We are hoping for moisture without lightning, without wind. The next few hours will make a difference, one way or another, to the people fighting so hard to save homes and cities from burning. The Press Democrat lists the Wallbridge Fire (in the northwest) like this:
| From Santa Rosa Press Democrat, Aug. 21, 2020 (Christopher Chung) |
The haze in the air was worst in the afternoon, but it is now deceptively clear, even as firefighters work to keep the blaze away from the town of Healdsburg.
When I started this COVID-19 pandemic Shelter-in-Place blog, I thought the pandemic might last a few months. And even then, I thought I was being grimly realistic. I hadn't really considered the possibility that we'd be living in much the same way we had been in April, but during "fire season."
But here we are, and while I was weeding the yard today, the smallest voice in my head was musing that if the fire were to come to Petaluma, it wouldn't matter whether my yard was weeded. So by mid-day, when the heat was unbearable, I came inside and worked on other "prep" type activities. More clearing away things I don't need, more organizing, and then finally, I took at least a cursory series of videos/photos of the house and its contents for the purpose of documentation and insurance should worst come to worst.
(And of course, writing that, I had to look up the phrase. Originally "worst comes to worst" - as I think of it, it later became more commonly "worse comes to worst," which suggests a progression, and now is sometimes "worse comes to worse." There's today's idiom lesson for you.)
I'm plum tuckered out, and am grateful to have made it to the weekend. This could be because I worked 10 of the last 11 days, the fires burn on, and there is now talk of another electrical storm moving in.
Regardless of D.'s certainty that we're in no immediate danger, I will feel much better after taking some time this weekend to get my evacuation ducks in a row, should it come to that.
I currently have 134 pieces pending word back from literary magazines (which is to say, 4 poems here, 5 poems there, etc., with many simultaneous submissions of the same poems) because I have submitted every day this month; I have read a book of poetry every day this month for The Sealey Challenge, and I have blogged both here and in my poetry blog, and have tweeted (heaven help me) daily. I am writing this (setting this down!) not to boast to anyone in particular but to encourage myself to keep it up for another 10 days.
But as I say, I'm out of spoons for now.
The sky was an apocalyptic, flat, ecru color today. The air quality was poor, but I think it has been worse. Some evacuations were lifted, others remained in place, and I heard from friends who were still in a bad place and who had relatives whose homes were threatened or friends whose homes have been lost.
I still want to ready our things, just in case. D. is not concerned because the farmers in fields around town have plowed their fields, turning over the earth, so that there would be nothing to feed a fire. I see his point, and while I'm grateful we're here in this safe place, it also makes me question my longing to live in the country to the northwest, which at the moment is closer to trouble.
There were over 300 fires in the state reported yesterday, two dozen of which are larger and significant.
But the news on another front is better; Biden/Harris seem to be getting a good level of support so far, and there is hope for a change in November, if voting by mail succeeds and if the election isn't postponed or the results questioned. Given the passion the president has for being in office, I can't imagine he'll leave easily. I wanted to write, in fact wrote and deleted, a less charitable sentence. But I have censored myself lest any of the non-existent readers of this blog take offense.
The fires are worse, and the air this morning was full of small flakes of ash raining like snow on cars and sidewalk. Not quite as bad as 2017 or even 2019 in our town, but it's reminiscent and many people are feeling triggered. This is especially true for those further north.
The heat means that we have opened the windows and back door tonight to let the cool air in, but it's bringing the smoke as well. Many, many evacuations in West County and Napa, and Vacaville has been impacted too.
The fires are exacerbating the stress that people have barely kept at bay over the current POTUS, racial injustice, a pandemic and a heat wave right over the edge. No swarm of locusts yet, but it's a good time to be prepared and to take care of oneself and one another.
Tonight was the first night of the Democratic National Convention. I missed it, as I have missed all such events on media or television. I hope it went well. I hope that November brings some positive changes.
Instead of following tonight's events, I worked on poetry. Edited poems. Sent out poems. Read As One Fire Consumes Another by John Sibley Williams. Astonishing work. All of the poets I have been reading seem to be giving me the same message: see this? this is poetry. up your game.
There was such a massive lightning storm this morning, starting around 4:30, we got up and went out to the shed to try to prop up covering from inside in case the roof, with it's thinning tarp, started to leak. I stayed awake for over an hour after that, watching the show.
(photo not my own, but from public domain...)
It is supposed to pick up again tomorrow morning, after having been dry and muggy all day. It felt like Hawaii. D. put another tarp over the shed roof, so we won't have that worry. But the wind and lightning cause anxiety about fires. Quelle année!
Swelteringly hot again today, and there is more talk of rolling blackouts in California. Residents are asked to conserve energy. I worry about our usage and am making sure we keep lights turned off when not needed, etc. We don't have air conditioning; just two gamers (on the TV screen & a computer), and me with my blog posts for an audience of one and tweets that fall into the abyss of social media.
Although, having said that, a tweet about reading Leila Chatti's book from Copper Canyon Press has now had 1,680 views and a couple of shares. Which is a little odd, and a little exciting, and really, in the world of social media, means nothing. (Okay, admittedly, part of me thinks social media in general means nothing. No offense to those 1,680 people.)
Tomorrow I will have a one-day weekend before a change in schedule puts me back at work. I am not sure how I'll squeeze two days of weekend into one, but I'm sure whatever outdoor work I might do will have to happen before 10am. More time indoors to read and write and perhaps watch a movie and clean out paperwork. I know what you're thinking, gentle reader: what an exhilarating life she leads!
I'm having a very difficult time staying awake enough to post anything, and in fact, fell asleep a few poems shy of finishing today's Sealey Challenge book. But I woke again long enough to check all those little items off the list. Tweet. Post. Earlier I submitted poems.
It was over 102 degrees today and is still in the 70s at nearly 11pm. Rolling blackouts from PG&E in Rohnert Park, power outages in Santa Rosa, apparently.
D. says we've become a 3rd world country: blackouts, police brutality, corrupt government.
I think yes and no. Yes, it's worse. But then I remember Deaf Republic, and think maybe this is a 1st-world kind of 3rd-world-ness. My most immediate problem at the moment is the army of rats that roam our backyard in the dark and eat the tomatoes just as they're turning. Tonight I enclosed the plants in wire mesh (hardware cloth) as though they're living reliquaries. Get through that, rodents.
I understand there is a need for Unions, and I truly appreciate everything that our Union provides for library employees. SEIU is an important organization, and our reps are really great people.
But I do not know whether I can stomach many more zoom union meetings. There are a few especially vocal members who are so very aggrieved and indignant and disgruntled. About almost everything. Almost all of the time. Sort of as a way-of-existing in this world. Please, God, keep me from being so sour and toxic. Except: how sour and toxic of me to write this/! Argh! Struck down again by my own hypocrisy!
Every day, I wonder how I'll fit it all in. And every day I do it. Perhaps it's because I forego binging on Netflix or PBS videos. But I don't need that kind of thing, with a steady diet of great poetry to devour instead. I feel as though my ability to read poems is improving with every new collection, so it's easier. Not quicker, and not more superficial. In fact, I think I appreciate the good poems that much more.
And, as promised, here's a chipper little diverting video instead of just "Words, words, words." (Shakespeare™)
Yesterday, Mr. Darcy (he has Fitzwilliam's elegance and Bingley's simple-minded charm) decided that Tango, the Dog of Eternal Patience, was good for a moment of entertainment:
On the home front: N. is feeling much better after a full night's sleep and did not get tested after all, my little sister is now 52 (!), and I made it through another day of working from home while tackling The Sealey Challenge and my self-imposed ("let's-add-more-pressure!") submitting & blogging daily goal.
In local news, Sonoma County has reached 50 deaths and 3,753 cases. On a zoom call with friends today, we talked about what feels like the inevitability of contracting the virus before a vaccine is available.
Nationally, Biden has named Kamela Harris as his running-mate.
Over 5 million cases, more than 164,000 deaths.
Internationally, Beirut may not recover for years from last week's horrible explosion, and the Russians have some kind of rushed vaccine that other nations distrust because of the rapidity of rollout.
I feel like I'm channeling a washed-down, nearly-bed-time version of a New York Times briefing. Lite. Perhaps I'll have something wittier and more uplifting to say tomorrow. With inspirational pictures.
The meeting of tonight's poetry critique group meant a later-than-lately start to submissions, reading and blogging. But I did manage to send out a few things, making a total of 85 pieces in a "pending" status. Again, many are duplicates. But it helps me sustain disbelief, because that's 85 pieces that haven't been rejected yet.
On the COVID-19 front, we've reached 20,000,000 + cases worldwide. N. texted tonight to say she has fever, chills and nausea and that she'll be tested tomorrow. No lung issues, which is good. But it's very hard not to be very worried indeed, especially when she is on the other side of the map. I'm hoping and praying it's a bug, but not that bug, and that she'll feel better soon.
It was truly a day off, today. It's fine to have a day now and then to indulge in as much as I want of reading/audiobook listening, weeding, exercising, napping and eating sweets. Not necessarily in that order. Tomorrow, I'll do more of the same (sans sugar) and work on paperwork and more poetry, as well.
So I suppose this is another "tea with the Smiths" entry. Ah, well.
Another day where I wasn't sure how I would push through and do "all the things," and yet, I have worked my 8 hours and submitted poems, I have blogged and read a full-length collection of poetry (see The Practical Poet blog for more details). I have tweeted and I have revised poems and I have continued work on a new poem. And it's not even 9:30.
So now I must decide whether to read more, listen to an audiobook, chill in front of some British show on Netflix or Amazon or watch one of the many DVDs I've brought home or some or all or none of the above...
It is Friday, but really more like Thursday, because I work tomorrow. I look forward to gardening (read: weeding) and going through file cabinet drawers (read:weeding) on Saturday and Sunday. And I greatly look forward to the possibility of sleeping past 7:15 Sunday.
These are inane things to write, but once again, I find myself quite tired, and having spent most of my evening researching literary journals for my poems and reading a chapbook for The Sealey Challenge, I find I have little more to say. For now.
Having reached 11pm on the evening before what will undoubtedly be a very busy day at work, I am cheating a little and copying my Practical Poet blog entry here. Day 6 of the Sealey Challenge. A 95 page collection.
I'd heard Morgan Parker interviewed on Commonplace, and I think because of that, I felt like I could hear her voice especially clearly in these poems. A very smart voice with a unique way of using language, but most importantly, so bold and clear and passionate. I wish I hadn't had to read this in one day for the challenge. It would be better savored, a little at a time - and I hope to do that with this book, after the challenge is over.
