Thursday at Falkirk

Tonight my eldest (now going by N.) went to hear my friend Jodi and four other poets read at the Marin Poetry Center in Falkirk. The reading was good, and I especially enjoyed Jodi’s ekphrastic poems and the Blodeuwedd poem she dedicated to me. 

The last reader, Sara Berkeley Tolchin, was a real find as well. I bought her latest book  - and then, when N. and I had gotten into the car to leave, and I was kicking myself for not having asked the poet to sign the book, N. empowered me by grabbing the book and running over to the Sara, two cars away in the lot, before Sara could drive off. My child is not an introvert. 

After an awkward chat about the urge that we apparently both get to duck out of poetry readings as soon as they're finished – so many people! – she signed her book with the great inscription: “To Rebecca. I’m glad you asked!” and added the date. 

I like the idea of adding a date, or place, or both, when an author signs a book. It helps seal the moment in history, even if the book ends up in the hands, someday, of a total stranger. Not that I plan to part with her book – it’s just that I’ve come into several autographed books whose (to me) slightly cryptic inscriptions always inspire me to think of a narrative. It’s a habit, that making up a back story based on snippets of information....

Compassion

I'm looking at ways to have more self-compassion as my 50th birthday looms.

On the one hand, I'd like to spoil myself and celebrate. On the other hand, I find myself experiencing moments of profound disappointment in my life. I think I shall write down a list of what is working or has worked, what is not working, and how to change that. Elsewhere. Who needs to see that posted on the internet?!

Tied to self-compassion is my capacity to care about others. I am able to care for others, and to care about caring about others. But that's still one step removed from the real deal.

I appreciate what I just heard Dr. Rick Hanson say about compassion - that one can feel compassion for someone in a difficult situation, even if one is powerless to help with that situation.

But I also appreciate the idea that very small acts of kindness and compassion still contribute to easing the suffering in the world as a whole. Very Buddhist, I suppose. But only in terminology. Not in its concept.

May Day Plus One

Although I did not post blog entries the last ten days of April, rather than try to say what happened each day 4/21-4/30, in the words of Inigo Montoya, "Let me sum up."

The 23rd marked the 10 year anniversary of my mother's death, so she was very much in my mind and heart all day, and I spent time talking with my sister about how much we both miss her and how nice it would be if she would just come knocking on the door!

The 24th there was a parent get-together to meet the families of other kids who are traveling to Latin America over the summer in an exchange.

Apart from that, I spent every spare moment until the 27th (skipping Butter & Egg Day!) working on my latest packet to send off to my master's advisor, with the one exception of Monday night, when I ventured out to Oakland for a Nerd Night ("Be there and be square") where a colleague was presenting a lecture on John James Audubon's pranking of fellow naturalist Constantine Rafinesque. (See more about that story here, at the Atlas Obscura site.) Very entertaining. And I took my intrepid first born and partner along. Much fun was had by all. And then I stayed up another couple of hours working on poetry. More fun!

Actually, there was also the intermittent shopping for a "princess" prom dress for S. and then working the last day of the month (a Saturday) but also doing a hive inspection with N. available to photograph.

Here's the queen herself in the center of the shot. There are also larvae and capped brood in the shot. Another couple of frames have stores. Still no new drawn comb on the two outside frames, so I'm not adding another box on top of the current medium. It's hard not to be amazed by what these little industrious critters can do.

Twenty-five Years and All's Well

All's well that does not yet end, I should say.

A retro-post about our wedding anniversary, celebrated at a swanky hotel not far from our home that nevertheless felt a million miles away.

The highlight of the getaway was a walk along the cliffs above the beach, sitting to witness the sun setting, and a sushi dinner where we'd dined 10 years ago.

A few shots from the day:

Larry Levis Inspiration

I am reading The Selected Levis now. I've ready many great poets in the last year - twenty plus books a semester will do that to you. But there's something about Levis that's helping fire some cylinders in me.

It could also be the pressure of wanting to take my work to the next level, and the knowledge that I'd recently had a poem submitted to a contest with an edit suggested by a senior poet that all along I'd felt weakened the piece. I'd gone with the change because I trusted the poet's opinion more than my own, but it was almost a relief to see that the poem was not selected by the judge for any placement at all. Now I feel I can resend it the way I think it's more effective. I may be wrong, but I'll be wrong with my integrity intact.

Tomorrow D. and I celebrate our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Today he send me a text message that was so sweet, it made me tear up at work. It was positive and uplifting and had a bonus of three little pictures to cheer me through the day: bees, one of the chickens, and the cat. Here are the 2nd and 3rd of those pictures. I love my husband.

Oh, and #nofilter, darling daughter number 1

It Never Rains but it Comes in Waves

Tonight I am thinking about three family members who are each dealing with truly challenging situations. And while it would be interesting and make a better narrative to provide details, I shall respect their privacy instead.

I left work early with a virus and slept most of the day - and hope to be in bed as soon as this entry is posted, too. But in the few hours during which I was up and about, much of the time was spent juggling the crises of some of the people closest to me. I foresee a month of struggles but I remain ever hopeful that everything will work out. And I am certain that a good night's sleep can't hurt, either!

Is it Monday Yet?

So a full weekend is not a bad thing, but my dance card was even more full than usual today. It went something like this:

*Up early to let the chickens out and take Tango for a walk+jog. It was a good outing, except that he's a friendly sort of dog, and picked the few minutes I had him off-leash to hunt down a new buddy by the side of the creek near the airport. A black and white buddy.

*Home for an hour of de-skunking. Tango didn't seem to care in the least that he'd been sprayed. But he wasn't so happy about being washed. Repeatedly. First with the peroxide+baking soda+liquid soap recipe found online, then with people shampoo, then with a dip from a pet store, then at another pet store. He finally hardly smells like skunk at all.

*Off to help my father-in-law with his budget, which included twenty minutes trying to figure out what a recent $500 check was for. (An hour drive each way...)

*After being home for approximately one minute, out again to take S. forty minutes north to an orchestra rehearsal, with a stop for grocery shopping on my way back.

*Dinner with N. et. al. (I forced them to watch Man Up with me.)

*Writing.

On the way out to my father-in-law's I got caught up with my sister. On the way home, I spoke with my sister-in-law. I'd almost lost my voice by dinner time. Again, all good stuff (Um. Except the skunk) and if I'm asleep within 7 minutes from now, I'll get a full seven hours of shut-eye. But I'm done in.

Busy as a...Well, You Know

Well, it's been another full day. After walking the dog and taking S. and myself to our friend the chiropractor, I went to a "bee cafe" with the southern contingent of the local beekeeper's association. That was a two hour meeting and greeting, followed by a hive dive into three hives owned by fellow association members not too far from my house.

While we were there, a call came in about a swarm a few blocks away. So after we'd inspected the three hives (a Warre and two Langstroths that represented a swam, an extraction and a split), four of us continued on to catch the swarm. The young mom who'd reported the swarm, which had settled in a low rose bush next to her driveway, watched us from her window with two small children at her side. They seemed amazed by our lack of fear of the bees (we wore veils but no gloves), and grateful at our responsiveness.

After we secured the swarm, three of us went back to my house to examine the Margo hive. I was very excited to see that it was doing very well: we saw the queen, larvae in all stages, capped brood, nectar, bee bread, and even some capped honey. The workers were festooning and drawing fresh comb on the empty frames, and we added a frame on each side for them to expand. My consultant (our kids went to school together from 3rd to 7th grade) said I should prepare for a population explosion. I couldn't be happier to see how well they're doing. Hooray!

Friday Night for the Eleven

For the eleven people who apparently looked at this blog yesterday (whoever you are!) here is Friday's retro-post.

The day ended with time with friends, celebrating a 50th birthday. Five of us gather at least five times a year to have dinner, drink some wine, and laugh enough to make up for all the days when we laughed too little. So. Much. Fun.

Unfortunately, it meant I missed another friend who was part of a performance to reclaim the legend of Isis. I am just glad I had caught the first performance last month. Great stuff.

Night Rain

Now that I have bees, rain at night is a blessing, as long as it clears by day.

I think that beekeeping must keep one in tune with the seasons and weather at least as much as farming does. I worry about the bees not being able to get out if it's raining, and I worry if it doesn't rain enough for the flowers to bloom and provide nectar. Well, I worry anyway, most of the time, about so many things, the better way to phrase it is that "it's problematic" if it rains during the day and "it's problematic" if it doesn't rain at all.

I like problems if I can solve them.

Beekeeping, therefore, is teaching me to surrender to powers beyond my control.
Trust and camel-tying.

Friday Eve Eve

It's not that it's been a challenging week. Exactly.

But the weekends have been rich with activities that are more rewarding to me than the 9-5 (or 6-2 or 9:30-6:00 etc.) has been. And work, as can happen, is fraught with at least as many minuses as pluses.

Besides, this weekend promises good weather and a further opportunity to work with other beekeepers.

Wonderful article from Larry Levis about the poet as gazer here. I'm reading through it, and am only taking a break to make a daily "tea with the Smiths" post before I get too tired and pass out on the coach with a book of poetry by my side, the cat on my stomach and my reading glasses askew.

A "catching the swarm" photo to close the post:

One line, then another

It's one way to write.

As Marvin Bell might suggest, it's not the only way. But it's an important step, and I'm writing this post having in mind the generous email I received from Mr. Bell today regarding my progress in the MFA program. Well, actually that's not true. I don't think Marvin or I really care so much about a few letters thrown after someone's name. I really feel like me that he cares about the writing.

I am working on caring less about tidiness or content or myself or my head.
Here's to wilder, more surprising, looser, longer, exciting poems.

I donated blood tonight at the Elk's Lodge, so I'm in a good state of mind for poetry. The room where the blood bank sets up shop has my absolute favorite combination of room decor: a disco ball hanging from the ceiling and an elk head mounted on the wall. The perfect ambiance for having someone drain your life forces. (Actually, I think it could be a mule deer....next time I donate blood I'll look more carefully.)

The Lonely Frog

For about two weeks now, in the square pond in our courtyard, a frog has been sporadically calling out into the night -  and getting no reply apart from the hundreds of supernumerary frogs in a distant chorus a block two blocks from our house. That's a long way away for a frog.

It may even be this kind of frog (rana aurora, or the Northern red-legged frog) described in this wiki article:

D. says, "Poor guy." When I pointed out that perhaps the frog is female, D. said, "Please, let me have one other male animal around here besides the dog." I think this is in response to the population of the house and garden: two human females, the female cat, the four Buff Orpington hens, and the thousands of female bees that far out number the drones.

Fair enough. It's a boy frog.

...and Continues...

Clear skies meant a massive amount of yard work for much of the day before taking S. to youth orchestra rehearsal and, finally, collapsing on the couch to watch a few mindless sitcoms.

I've also been reading poetry (currently Thomas James and Jane Kenyon), writing more, and overall feeling re-dedicated and re-focused on my work. I'm so blessed to have excellent advisors in the MFA program. Why I am not taking advantage of that mentorship more is beyond me, and shameful.

But there was something decidedly healing and inspirational in weeding for hours today. If I could spend most of my days outside, I think it would lengthen my life by years. Perhaps I should search for jobs as a professional weed puller. I don't want to landscape or garden, even, really, as much as pull weeds.

Spring Cleaning Continues

We seem to have been inspired - spurred on by D. trying to find a missing playstation console, apparently - to do some major spring cleaning and reorganizing.

I've filled the trunk of the Taurus with bags of stuffed animals and clothes, we've reorganized portions of the attic and bins in the garage, and in general, it feels like progress. 

What better to do on a rainy Saturday? Although I do ask myself how (and more importantly, why) we've lived in one house so long without me investing myself enough emotionally to keep it organized. I blame a previous despair over not living in the country. But with chickens and bees and a riot of green-and-blooming in the backyard, I feel that if this isn't as good as it gets, it's darn close.

We finished the day with a Chunky's-and-movie night with N. and roommates. Black Books, one episode of Delivery Man, and Red Dwarf.  I even managed to stay awake for most of it. 

Spring Held Hostage

This was the title of the 10th Grade Play (the story of Persephone) performed tonight. Great fun, and well done. I was proud of the class, including S., who played Hera but "only had 20 lines" as she put it.

The rain has come and it looks like there will be no hive inspection this weekend. Spring cleaning and poetry is on the list of expected activities instead, with a movie and Chunky's night Saturday with the older kids.

This post is retro-written, but will be dated the 8th to keep the daily posts in order!

Poetry Update

April thus far has been an inspiring and humbling month. I write more in April and October than in other months, and I have written more in the last week than in most Aprils.

But it's still so little that I feel I'm squandering time and delaying development in my work. With the last poetry packet I sent to my current advisor at Pacific's MFA program, I know I didn't write as well as I could have, and it was almost a relief to have the feedback from Mr. B. that confirmed where I took short cuts or just fell short. I have a better sense of what to do, although still not - yet - the all-consuming subject (except Wales, of course) that might compel and guide my work further.

Perhaps I am afraid of passion making poetry. It's so messy and time-consuming. But what kind of tidy passionless poet ever got anywhere?

On another note, a picture of the hive the first day the bees were installed in it. The new tenants are buzzing in front of the box, orientating themselves to remember where "home" is. D. took the picture and sent it to me at work to reassure me.

I think I may call this hive the Margo hive. In part because I'd like to name all hives based on Queens and there was a Queen Margo (although her story is mixed at best), but also because it was from a swarm from Margo Lane. Or I may call it the "blue hive" or the "sky hive." We shall see. I'd almost rather not name it anything until I'm sure it's well-established. I must wait for the next very warm day to check on it. This weekend may be too chilly.

Of Mice and Men

...and rats and fleas and bees...

We have an unfortunate population of the first two (i.e. rats and fleas) affecting our chicken coop and cat and dog, respectively.

The bees, too, and most fortunately, seem to be thriving. Today was very hot. Tomorrow bring clouds and rain by end of week.

Another brief post on my phone. Not that I am wearing only briefs. I am, however, done for the day!

Unraveled

N (aka the child formerly known as R) came by this evening and - while the sun was still out - brought up some topics of conversation that were not in and of themselves really anything that dramatic. He is just a 21 year old trying to figure out things the same way we all did then, and most of us still do.

But it's hard for me to stay detached, and would be equally counter productive if I let loose with the knee-jerk emotional responses I have to some things. Middle ground is difficult, and makes me feel tired and defeated.

I pulled out the knitting project I'd started not long ago. N. and S. have both been so very patient in teaching me. I seem to be painstakingly slow and stupid about knitting. Tonight I took the first five or so rows I'd done - with horrible mistakes in them - out completely to start over. N. said he's considering starting HRT. The last time I sat next to him, knitting, he showed me his new fore-arm covering tattoo. I joked tonight that I'm going to have PTSD from this kind of knitting experience. I restarted the scarf three times while speaking with him at the dining room table as the sun set.

"You're too much of perfectionist for this," N. said, meaning the knitting. All I could think was that it applied to the parenting, too.

Well, This is New

I am posting from my phone, in bed, lest I break my little April streak. I know what you're thinking. It's to cold to streak in April. And yet, here I am.

That Was Quick

This morning, I had just finished telling friends at the local dog park that I hope to have bees soon, and before I could walk home, I had a phone call telling me there was a swarm with my name on it!

I am grateful to Christine, one of the most knowledgeable beekeepers I know (I think she's kind of a bee whisperer) for being available to get the email from the homeowner, and for contacting me and providing tremendous mentoring and help to get the bees into my box - which I'm calling the mobile home.

We left them all day to go in, then I got a call from the homeowner around 6:30 saying he thought there was no more activity and that they were all in. I have a little concern because the nuc door had fallen shut, but the host assured me that he'd seen them flying in and out recently. One girl was still outside the closed box, but I didn't dare open it again (and I couldn't catch her anyway) so the poor thing was left behind. Still, no bees were harmed in our process of getting them into the box this morning, so I think that it could have been worse.

In the early morning, I'll transfer them to the medium that's prepped for them and hope they can make it through. It's a small swarm, but Christine has known them to do fine. I'll have to look for queen cells or eggs in a week or so. Super, super excited about this!!

Here they are, first with Christine cutting away to get to the branch where they'd clumped by (you can see the mass of them, under her hand):

and then as they started to go into the nuc box:

Hope Springs in Spring

I received a call yesterday from the co-leader of the "south cluster" of the county's beekeeper's association saying I am officially on the (fairly short) list of people who will, if all goes well, be granted a swarm or split from a local member.

I may soon have bees!

This is very, very exciting news.



Add to that the successful submission of my third packet of poetry and annotations in my third semester of grad school, and I find myself quite happy tonight. Plus we had 4th and Sea fish-and-chips for dinner, after a walk around the pond. After much work on the packet. After coffee with a friend. (And getting up early, before that, and before a chiropractic appointment, to work more on the packet.) Quelle journée!

No Fooling

"April is the cruelest month," writes Eliot. It's also National Poetry Month. And this year, it's a month of anniversaries.

According to Poets.org, this is the twentieth National Poetry Month. It's also the month that marks twenty-five years since D. and I said "I do" in a little white school house with a score or so witnesses. And it's the ten year anniversary of my mother's death.

I love that the natural world doesn't seem to know or care, but just marks this April as it does most Aprils in Sonoma County; the daffodils are wilting, the poppies are making their showy orange appearance, and the sun is up late enough to allow for a walk after work.

This April, we have four fat chickens supplying us with eggs and empty but colorful bee hives awaiting whatever swarm or split luck (and connecting to beekeepers, and a swamp trap in a tree) might bring to me.  Here are chicken butts with one alert girl posing for the camera:

D. and I went for a drive up the coast on Easter Monday, and had a great time just hanging out together in beautiful northern California. This is a shot from the ride back:

Starting the Year Right

For the third year in a row, I've begun the year with poetry by participating in an annual Poetry Brunch hosted by one of the county's Poet Laureates. A gathering of dozens of poets and readers of poetry, the event includes a time for socializing, reflecting on the past year, looking forward into the new year, and reading poetry. What a lovely way to set the tone for 2016!

I chose to read Dorianne Laux's "Antilamentation" today rather than anything of my own. It's a poem about regretting nothing, and brings to mind the lines in "The Disiderata": And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

There is no doubt my ongoing MFA work will make poetry a greater part of my life 2016. And yet, I know that one day of focusing on poetry does not a practice make. Therefore, here's to re-committing, daily, to putting pen to page or fingers to keyboard and to finding my subject and building my body of work. 

NaPOwrimo, here we go!

 This is a duplicate entry to match that of my more "professional" blog, here.

Another four readings have come and gone since I last posted.

I shall update my web site to reflect the fact that I have - as of this moment - no upcoming events, apart from participating in student readings at the residency in Oregon in January.

Today marks the beginning of November. A change to the calendar page, a change in time (I used the extra hour dreaming, personally), and the start of a self-imposed challenge to mark this Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) with my own NaPOwrimo. Rather than write 50,000 words toward a novel, and because 50,000 words towards a poem or poems feels, well, just obscene to me, I will write 50 poems this month. Distinct poems. Not necessarily long. Not necessarily finished, or brilliant - or even promising! - but 50 poems in gratitude for the opportunity to do so.

I composed the first of the fifty more or less in my mind and more or less between 3:30am and 5:00am this morning, between dreams. This is the right kind of insomnia to have.

How many hours do poets spend counting syllables with their fingers?

More Shameless Self-Promotion

I am so excited about my upcoming reading & book launch that I am busily posting it on my blogs, on my web site and in email to friends and supporters. 

Tuesday June 9th at 6:30 at the Novato Library: I'll be reading as part of the Marin Poetry Center's Summer Traveling Show. Michael Beebe hosts, and I'm reading with Brian Buckley, Marvin R. Hiemstra, Marilyn King and Paula Weinberger.

Friday July 10th at 7:00 at the Occidental Center for the Arts: It's the Book Launch for Before Noon at long last! I am honored to share this launch with Else Rosager and Clara Rosemarda.

Here's the picture of Else, Clara and yours truly:

I also have received word from Pacific University that my workshop leaders for the June residency are the wonderful Ellen Bass and Viviee Francis. I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to learn from these poets, and grateful to have already worked with Marvin Bell, Eduardo Corral and Kwame Dawes. The Pacific University MFA program is phenomenal.

Circling Back

The last time I read Wordsworth, I was in college. A lifetime ago.
This morning I re-read this, and it makes a sense it never made before:

The World Is Too Much With Us
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

I hear you, William.

Friday Summary

This is a blog post without great deep consideration or even careful editing -  but because it is the end of a long and challenging week, and it is seven days since my last post, and for once my body woke up ready to write before 4:30am, I thought I would take a moment before leaving for work to post something.

Here are the highlights of the week:
 * Tour for 60 at work Tuesday. Worked a 10 hour day. Made all-I-have-left-in-me-to-do breakfast for dinner twice, because the dog ate the first batch of pancakes.
 * Wednesday: spoke at an Apple Specialist conference (ASMC) in the Hyatt near SFO about Emotional Customers, followed by a stop in China Town on the way north for some ham sui gok (咸水角), then a trip to the bank, the DMV and the pet store. Getting affairs in order and getting a new chicken! Then a concert at the big Farmers Market in SR - the Youth Orchestra performed, although S. and the other bass player were met with challenges as the wind wreaked havoc with their music in spite of the clothespins provided.
  *Thursday: another tour at work.

This weekend promises to be busy too, but in a good way. Although I did volunteer to be a good daughter-in-law and make brunch on Sunday and now I'm wondering what I was thinking...!

Sciatica and Recoveryr

They say that youth is wasted on the young. Early in April I found myself thinking that more to the point, health is wasted on the sound. I’d taken three days of work, and then a forth, to stretch it out, while my youngest was on spring break. And because in the end we weren’t traveling anywhere, my “staycation” to- do list was long and ambitious. I wanted to complete the weeding of the back yard – a two-day task in and of itself – and organize my office, and landscape the front yard, cut into small pieces the branches we’d brought down from the mulberry tree, write & read (of course!) and paint the master bathroom. Instead, I found myself limited to whatever I could do while standing in one place while I contended with brutal sciatica. Somehow, perhaps due to several somehows, I had tweaked my back in more than one place and paid a heavy price for it for nearly two weeks.

The experience was frustrating on many levels. But it also was humbling, and as I mentioned, certainly made me re-appreciate what I had been capable of before the problem occurred. It also reiterates the importance of daily stretching, which I’d done faithfully during the 8-week Whole Life Challenge I completed mid-March, but only rarely since. Sitting was almost impossible, sleep was difficult except in certain positions for very limited periods of time. I knew that resting is an important part of healing, but it was hard to rest when the only thing that stopped the pain was standing or walking. There was one old Vicodin in the house that I took one night, and it helped. But apart from that, I prefer not to take meds, and the Tylenol I’d tried didn’t really touch the pain. But I am so very blessed to have a fantastic chiropractor and her equally fantastic partner, who helped me with adjustments and two Tui Na sessions respectively.

And as I write this, I am much, much improved. And it is May, already. A new month. And another day! I find myself feeling very grateful.

Death and Taxes

I say "death and taxes" in the interest of not titling this post simply "Where I am in my life as of April 8th, 2015."

But the reality is that we filed our taxes weeks ago and have already had our returns deposited, which is lovely and helpful. So I have no new news on the taxes front.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said regarding death. Thursday the 2nd, our little green parakeet Einstein, whom we'd had for about ten years and who must have been at least 12, gave up the ghost. Einstein may never have learned to speak, but he could imitate his cage-mate the zebra finch (Henry VIII) so well we could not tell them apart. The spunky Henry continues to live on alone, having only spent part of Friday calling out for Einstein before giving up and lapsing into only his usual chirps and four-note calls in response to the microwave, dishes clattering or the vacuum cleaner.

On a more somber note, a colleague's mother just passed away after an alarmingly swift decline from a diagnosis of the reemergence of cancer. The colleague was very close to her mom, whom she called her "rock," and no doubt this will be a very difficult time for her. It brings back memories of losing my own mom, of course. April really can be the cruelest month in so many ways.

I am away from work for a few days while S. is on Spring break, and although any grand plans to travel to Monterey did not manifest themselves completely for a number of reasons, I have high hopes to do some good organizing of my office and weeding. Lots of excess to get rid of in both house and yard. (This is not to mention the excess I still would like to get rid of in body - healthy eating habits continue to be a challenge for me. Same old same old, but there is continued hope for change as other areas of my life are put in order and I feel less "out of control.")

S. had her first voice lesson in the city last Saturday, from a young coloratura soprano who (for all her youth) is really on her game and serious about singing. The location was easy enough to get to, on Masonic near USF She was charming and she and S. seemed to hit it off. It seems to be a good fit, and we'll continue to see her for lessons, remaining hopeful that she will, in fact, move to P-town as she said she may. When S. left the lesson, she said to the instructor, "I just have to tell you that this has literally been a dream come true for me." The girls agree that just to have the opportunity to sing on a Saturday is great; making it big is not the only goal; enjoying the process is its own success.

Happy (or Not) National Poetry Month 2015

You can learn more about National Poetry Month at this FAQ.

Here is the poster image for the year:

I wish I could say that I am as happy as this poster suggests, but the reality is that because CNN visited our work today to film a segment, I just went to the CNN web site for the first time ever to try to find the story. And while I couldn't track down the link, I did see all the other headlines, and it just made me feel so very, very sad and helpless about the state of the world. Even the "good" stories are sensationalist and emotionally manipulative. If I had to view life through the lens of CNN, I would likely just give up. Who watches those stories and reads those articles?

I have made a note to myself to not do that again.

And yet, denial never solved anything.

It may simply be that this evening all I have the strength to do is focus on what I do have power over: my attitude, my actions. Writing something. Drinking some water. Getting some sleep.

It feels like holding a mostly-empty bic lighter in a hurricane. But it may also be what tides me over until morning and (perhaps) the rebirth of hope.

Reading and writing poetry just might help too.

Spring is Here! and an Update on Before Noon

Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's - all of winter, St. David's day and the beginning of Spring has come and gone.

Much has happened and nothing has been posted on this blog. D. and I were not sorry to see 2014 go, as it was a year of necessary but painful reassessment and hard work.

He's moved his shop back into the house/garage because the building his shop was in was sold and nowhere else worked for his current budget. But his business continues to be steady.

R. has moved closer to home, having found it too difficult to get a job and too expensive to stay in a an apartment 4+ hours away without one. Lots of identity work going on there, too.

S. is still playing in two youth orchestras but would rather be writing or singing any given day.

I've gone to my first Residency for my MFA - a fantastic experience. I've written poems, commentaries and cover letters for the program, corresponding with the phenomenal Kwame Dawes as my current advisor. I am so blessed to have his insight, support and editorial eye.

I've been to Colorado to stay with one brother and go to another brother's wedding.

Finishing Line Press continues to offer my publication for sale here, and now it can be purchased on Amazon as well here.

There are plans for a book launch at the Occidental Center for the Arts on July 11th. I'm lucky enough to share the launch with two wonderful local poets, Else Rosager and Clara Rosemarda. More details to follow.

In general, though, I have not fully stepped into the life of a writer. Mostly because 50 hours a week I'm focused on being a Customer Service / escalation manager. I shall have to either become a more prolific poet in spite of my work situation or find a different way to manage things. That's all there is to it. Life's too short to give so much of it to something that doesn't feed one's soul or make the planet a better place. 

Web Site

It's official. October 1st I launched my web-site.

You can see it here.

I hope to develop it as my work progresses!

Next Stop - Graduate School!

This is a duplicate of the entry I posted at my Practical Poet blog, so you're welcome to read it either place! Last week was full of personal and poetic happiness: the arrival of our first cat in over ten years (after prolonged negotiations with my husband), the arrival of the promotional postcard for my chapbook, and - most wonderful of all - the letter stating that I had been accepted into the MFA program at Pacific University, Oregon.

This last bit of news represents a huge step ahead in my journey as a poet, and I am so grateful to the two wonderful people who wrote letters of recommendation, to the instructor who put in a word for me, and the admissions folks who said yes to taking a chance on me.

The work is only starting, and while I am of course nervous about the work that lies ahead and whether I can bring enough to the program to really make it pay off as it could, I'm sure that a year from now, I will have grown as a writer.

I just found this helpful note from Wesley McNair, the Poet Laureate of Maine:

The poet takes a journey that opens his heart in two ways, deepening first his intuitive awareness, from which his poetic insights come, and secondly, his compassion for fellow humans and all the living things with which he shares the planet. Without the development of this second thing, his poems may turn inward and lose contact with the very audience to which poems must be addressed.

This leaves me very mindful of the need to develop "this second thing." I'd come to the same conclusion on my own, recently; ie., for my work or words to ever have any worth or value beyond some shallow self-therapy or mildly entertaining observations, I must love fellow humans and the natural world much more deeply than I currently due - especially in the case of the former. I need to expand my compassion and my capacity for compassion for the poetry. I'd originally posted this entry on my official poetry blog and had written, "Here I veer dangerously away from this being a dry or objective blog entry toward territory usually reserved for my personal blog, but no mind. Let it be the beginning of the work of connecting with whomever might follow these pages."

Confession

I broke down and cried tears of relief and gratitude today upon receiving encouragement and support from yet another poet whom I respect as a writer, a teacher and an all-around good human being.

I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding my breath, hoping she'd find my work of some worth, until I had the confirmation that there is something to what I'm trying to do, and I am moving along the right path.

I've come a long, long way on the road to self-assurance and self-actualization, but obviously, I'm still loitering a little more around the curves and forks of the road than I might have realized.

And Up Some More

I have now sent the manuscript, cover art, author's photo, endorsements to date, etc. off to Finishing Line Press for the work of putting Before Noon in print. (check!)

Pre-order sales will start shortly, then if all goes well and there are sufficient orders, they'll print it and distribute it before the end of the year.

I hope to launch a website for myself shortly that will take the place of the Practical Poet blog and will provide links to publications.

In the meantime, I have extremely supportive friends assisting me with the application process for Pacific University's MFA program. In the next week I'll complete my work for the Sept. 1st deadline and send everything off to them. Even deciding which poem to critique for the application has been an educational process. Shall I write of the use of Welsh cynghanedd in Dylan Thomas or Gerard Manly Hopkins? Or of the pithy wisdom of Kay Ryan? Or the philosophy in Richard Wilbur? I think a piece by W. S. Merwin has captured my interest the most for this critique, so that's probably the way I'll go.

So my embracing of my identity as a Writer is progressing well. If I were to base my image of myself on what Rhys Bowen generously wrote in my letter of recommendation, I'd quit my day job and simply write, submit, publish, tour, repeat for the rest of my days!

As it stands, I will stick to the regular paycheck and health benefits a bit longer, I think, while the kids finish growing up enough to support themselves and while I develop my writing muscle and skills, my body of work and my reputation a bit further.

Stepping Up

I've frequently thought that I would be well served in embracing my identity as a writer if I were to post blog entries more frequently. Blogging regularly would be a means to more than one end. I'd be writing more than just a little poetry each day, therefore putting in the time with the scales and finger exercises that improves one's work. I'd be documenting my journey. And for those in my life who keep up not by seeing me or by Facebook (which I frequent only infrequently, after all), more regular posts would give them a way to stay up-to-date a bit.

I think the two primary reasons I feel discouraged about blogging are the thought that nothing I have to say is all that important and the feeling that there is already so much noise out there in the world - so many voices, beautiful and clumsy, on the internet and elsewhere, scrabbling to be heard. Do we really need one more? And that takes me right to an insecurity about my poetry, as well. Does the world really need one more mediocre poet?

The answer, perhaps, is that while no one is clamoring for a half-assed poet, what the world does need more of, what we all need, are people who are consciously living with integrity and compassion, speaking their truth "quietly and clearly" as the Desiderata prescribes. And I feel that writing is how I relate to the world most deeply, how I exist most fully. How I get to the best iteration of myself, as it were. It doesn't feed the hungry, and it may not feed the world, but it feeds and replenishes me, which gives me the energy to act kindly and generously to others.

There's my morning "thinking on screen," then. Happy Saturday.

Plus ça change, plus ça change!

There seems to be no end to changes in my life in the last twelve months.

As of today, I have relinquished the people-management/supervisory role I've held for the last three and a half years at work. I've stepped down to just managing escalated issues and other challenging-enough tasks. I'm so grateful for the understanding and support of my peers and (especially) my superiors at work for allowing me the ability to acknowledge that it's time for me to regain a healthier balance in my life. The pressures of hiring, firing, scheduling, interpersonal conflicts, requests, demands (many self-imposed), stats, quotas, meetings, decisions and responsibilities have all taken their toll on me. So although I'm feeling very tired tonight as the announcement was sent out to the company that another manager will become Director of Customer Support and oversee both "my" department and his, I'm also extremely relieved and hopeful for the future.

Part of the announcement that was sent out described my pursuit of an MFA in Poetry, making that next step in my life official. Now I need only get together all the application material, figure out financing, request letters of recommendation (!) etc. and cross my fingers that I'll be accepted into the program of my choice this fall to start with the Winter Semester in January.

And in the meantime, I continue work on genealogy (just finally ordered FTM) and beekeeping (am now a member of the local beekeeper's association). And I am coming up to the deadline (in a month) for my first chapbook manuscript. So I think the next twelve months will be exciting ones as well. All positive challenges, though, God willing.

Also I've started work on my url, as it seems to be a common feature for many (not all, of course) poets. Bird by bird.