Shelter-in-Place Day 6

Today, I conquered a fair bit of dread and anxiety and tried a zoom conference for the first time. I had no choice, because it meant seeing and hearing my poetry friends from the MFA program, and I wasn't going to miss that. It turns out that there is almost nothing to it, and it went well, and I am so grateful that I could spend that time with them. I wrote each one afterward to send my gratitude, support and love.

I normally don't even like to call people on my cell.  It's another behavior that this pandemic is changing.

Later, I attended a virtual poetry reading via zoom, with 40 other people. While covid19 is a tragedy for many, it must be an unbelievable boon for the makers of zoom and other videoconferencing software.

I made the mistake of making fresh bread just as my resistance to sugar and flour was at a low point, and didn't so much fall of the wagon as hurl myself there. At least I saw the binge coming, watched it happen, and can say, yep, that's what that was. Tomorrow is another day. But what I learned from this is that almost certainly if I've done something difficult during the day, or if it's been a long stressful day and I've reached the end of it, my habit is to self-medicate with sugar and alcohol or both. I need to find another form of recompense. Some ideas: knitting, a cup of tea, stretching, a walk around the block, or all three. But not at the same time.

Britain is under very firm shelter-in-place orders. I watched Prime Minister Boris Johnson's address to the people of Britain, and he seemed to be taking things very seriously. I understand that he may be cut of a similar cloth to the blustering buffoon we have in office, but at that moment, I appreciated his gravitas, and wished he was our leader.

They've closed all Sonoma County Parks because people were essentially flocking to them and congregating too much for safety's sake. But the rain is coming, so D. and I wouldn't have been going to Schollenberger anyway. I'm glad I checked the Shakespeare hive when I did, and gardened while I could.

an effort to track down how rats are getting into the attic, and to see whether they were nesting there, I crawled around for a while. I found that a few of the girls' shelter projects had been raided for nests, and had to throw them out. S., burned out by working so many hours and helping customers with zeroconcept of "essential shopping," said she didn't care if I got rid of all of those early childhood projects. 

In the interest of space - and in the face of lack of interest - I did toss these beauties, but not before taking pictures, which are of the 1906 earthquake in San Francisco, a sailboat (2nd or 3rd grade?), the signature of Elizabeth 1 on Mary, Queen of Scot's death warrant - from R/N's People to People project, and a yarn design.

                     

                                                       

Shelter-in-Place Day 5

Another day of working in the yard because I thought the rain would be coming soon. The skies have stayed clear for now, and the yard is looking better.

I tried to get into the large hive to check for queen cells, but I didn't get far before I found myself performing surgery to extract new comb built sideways outside the follower boards - honey, and even some drone brood. I also heard piping. So I just added another box and frames, pressed the new comb on wired frames (note to self: get large rubber bands for this task!), and closed it all back up. It's now six medium supers tall. I'll have to wait until the shelter-in-place order is lifted and I can get help to clean it up more. But also, if there's a new queen, I don't dare mess with it at all for a while.

I'm hearing more and more that we should only be making essential trips, and I admit to feeling guilty for buying paint yesterday, but it's a done deal now.

Tomorrow, I'll try my first zoom conference. I find myself intimidated by, not the technology, but the social interaction. Shyness, or something else? I think it's just a manifestation of anxiety, so I'm accepting it and moving on.

Johns Hopkins reports over 330,000 cases and over 14,000 deaths (30 in California) - but nearly 100,000 recovered, which is the number I try to focus on.

This morning I sent poems to an online journal known for a quick response time. I will send out more tomorrow. Writing and submitting always takes longer than you think it will, but I have the amazing luxury of time right now. I am grateful for that unexpected gift from the pandemic.

Shelter-in-Place Day 4

For me, anyway, today was as good a day one could hope for during a pandemic. I read poetry and wrote poetry, looked into options for submitting poetry, gardened (i.e., pulled weeds) and then just as I was starting to inspect my larger hive, which I knew was likely to swarm soon, it swarmed.

This time I was able to spot the bees congregating in my neighbor's back yard. I went next door, and sure enough, he was already aware of what was happening. Together, we watched them settle in the same tree where a swarm had settled last year. Such a cool neighbor to be open to the process.

Here's what it looked like about five minutes after the queen landed on the tree:

It turns out that the next person who answered her phone on the the Sonoma County Beekeepers Association (South Cluster) Needs Bees list (yes, there is such a thing) is the same person who got last year's swarm from the same location. Unfortunately, that swarm didn't overwinter. Perhaps this one will.

While I'd waited for her to come, I inspected, and expanded, the smaller hive and gardened more. In between all these activities, I paused now and then to read and eat. I also drank lots of water and listened a little to an audiobook by Tara Brach. So it could be argued that it has been a healthy and productive day. I am feeling so strangely content while the nation and the world grapple with SARS-CoV-2. Selfish behavior? Coping mechanism? Or just living in the moment, appreciating what I can? Maybe a little of all three.

Here's a video of the bees starting to go into their swarm box, exposing their Nasonov's glands by sticking their bottoms in the air and then fanning. This gland produces a pheromone to tell the others to come home, where the queen is. Notice the bees marching right into the nuc from the tree. This was the easiest swarm I've ever captured. I got the queen in the box with the first scoop of bees.

Shelter-in-Place Day 3

The cats demonstrate social distancing.

Already, the days are starting to blur a little. I am glad I have some routine - to bed around 10 or 11, up by 7 or 8.  I take S. to work and I pick her up, and in between I do a few other things. Today, most of the day was spent weeding, which was very satisfying.

There's still plenty to do, but tomorrow, which I have to keep reminding myself is Saturday, I'll do a full hive inspect of both hives. The weather should be just warm enough. Today, it was just too cool to check, but in the afternoon, the larger of the two colonies seemed to swarm. I took video and pictures of it, but didn't see where they went if they did swarm.. I walked for about 45 minutes around the neighborhood but never found them. Maybe they were practicing? Maybe they have not yet been discovered or have been killed or were reported and no one in SCBA on the swarm crew got back to me to see if it might have been my hive. It's hard to care about them and have zero control - although I did put out my nuc and a swarm trap. I also hope the oak tree continues to attract anyone who decides to swarm.

I'm doing the Whole Life Challenge because I need to accountability to help learn to focus on self-care. And because it's a pop-up and free. (Thank you, WLC folks!)

Listening to Tara Brach's Radical Acceptance, too. It's helping keep me from falling deeply into my usual self-indulgence/self-criticism cycle.

NYC and Illinois are now also shelter-in-place. Health care officials are trying desperately to raise enough alarms for people to respond in a way that will mitigate the situation, but our leadership is not ideal in terms of inspiring positive responses.

While I am keeping tabs on the situation through various news sources, I'm also grateful for how the natural world carries on regardless. 

Here's a shot of the front of the swarming (?) hive. After things died down, I could see that many workers were fascinated by a few spots near the front where I think a queen had been, but I never saw her.

Shelter-in-Place Day 2

Today Governor Gavin Newsom called for all Californians to shelter in place - stay home and avoid going out as much as possible. This is from the Santa Rosa Press Democrat:

The governor earlier in the day asked the president to deploy a U.S. Navy medical ship to help expand the state’s medical capacity and warned that if drastic measures are not taken, more than half of California’s residents could contract the new coronavirus.

(!)

The number of deaths recorded world-wide has exceeded 10,000 and Italy reports more deaths than China reported. There are those who question the numbers from China.

Today I left the house three times: to take S. to work, to get rat traps and copper tape to keep slugs from the new vegetable garden, and then to pick up S. from work.  I spent as much time as I could gardening and writing. Both beehives are doing well and I was serenaded by buzzing while I worked.

N. has gone to stay with A. at his father's for a while. His father is high-risk, so there may be little back-and-forthing. But we know where to reach her if we need to.

It's dark now, and in the backyard, D's live trap just caught not one but two rats. I hate killing anything when there is so much death around right now anyway, but I'm also more determined than ever to protect plants that we need to make food from the plague of rats that invades our back yard every night. We see four or five scatter every time we turn on the light on the chicken coop between 7pm and 9pm.

I'm not at the point of buying guns or ammo, nor do I think I would ever be - although I have heard that sales have sky-rocketed. I feel a very long way away from that sense of survivalism or martial law - but it's no longer so far outside the realm of possibility. Planting veggies is my version of feeling self-sufficient.

Yesterday I learned that a friend had to euthanize her dog. Much more significantly, today I heard of the death of a previous coworker. I can't quite process that bit of news yet. I knew him well and he seemed too young to die, even though I heard he'd been ill lately, and I hadn't seen him since I left my last job. I'm feeling so sad for his former wife and his three kids, who must be between 20 and 25 now. Too young to lose a father, especially in the middle of all of this. 

Shelter-in-Place end of Day 1

I found myself almost not writing this post, and it's only the second day in a row that I'd intended to log this forced social distancing we're all experiencing. Not much of a streak if you can't go more than one day in a row.

Mornings are better for writing, I've found. I managed to spend some time at it before noon, and even mid-day. Primarily finishing some notes on poems from my critique group. I assiduously worked on that rather than working on a clunky poem or two I'm trying to write. I also took a break in the early afternoon to go on a dog walk with a friend. We were fairly compliant - air hugs, stayed a few feet apart, bumped elbows to say good-bye. Later, I worked on the garden until the rain drove me in. Then I made dinner for the family and lost myself to episodes of The Office on Netflix. How many of us are binge watching things as an escape between news stories?

The recorded numbers from Johns Hopkins right now:
218,814 confirmed cases
8,810 deaths
84,113 recovered

In California, I watched the deaths jump from 4 to 6 to 8 to 16 over the last few days. The figures will get worse, maybe even much worse, before they get better. But for now, stores still have lots of groceries (although, inexplicably, no potatoes and not much iodized salt). People are fairly mellow, the streets are quiet, and I think about the unexpected blessings that can come from difficulties.

A poem has been making the rounds, delivered into my inbox through Larry Robinson of Rumi's Caravan fame. It also apparently showed up on the Nextdoor app. It's by the poet and minister Lynn Ungar, and it is a message of hope and encouragement posted on her website 3/11/20.


Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

And here's a picture from today's walk. I think it's Ranunculus calfornicus, the California buttercup. Not the best shot, but they were a pretty burst of color at our feet.

Shelter in Place Minus 4 Hours

As I open up a new page to write my first blog post for the first time in a very long time, I am thinking, "Begin as you mean to go on."

We received word a few hours ago that the county is to shelter-in-place until April 7th, the seventh bay area county to do so since the novel coronavirus (which research told me yesterday is named SARS-CoV-2) started to really dig in enough for even the POTUS to pay attention.

With the opportunity to spend three weeks at home, not working, not traveling, I am both extremely grateful and hopeful that I will use the time well, and at the same time I'm cognizant of the difficult circumstances that have brought us to this point - circumstances that for some have been, or will be, fatal.

I know I am not the only person walking around the county, the country, even the world, with R.E.M.'s "The End of the World as We Know It" running through my head like a constant low-volume soundtrack. This is a defining point in history. It is not the first viral threat to humanity, and it will certainly not be the last. But I can't remember the word "pandemic" being used before in my lifetime like this. We are united in our concern. As a world. We watch the numbers rise and fall, and we fight to keep the charts from spiking in the U.S. as they have elsewhere, like Italy, where no amount of accordion playing from one balcony to another can offset the grim reality of too many bodies stacking up to be buried.

It's very, very easy to feel as though we are stepping into the backstory of a novel of dystopian fiction. And at any rate, I am compelled to write. What else to do with the time I'll have? (Although a list has already been forming in my mind: go through paperwork, inventory the house, plant the vegetable garden, weed belongings inside and unwanted plants outside, hike, submit writing, lift weights, watch that yoga video, play games with the family...) But top of the list? When I think of beginning as I mean to go on? Write. And then write some more.

This is pre-day-one of the shelter-in-place. What strange times we live in.

Photo courtesy of the CDC:

Our Marriage Distilled

This morning, D., picked up a book I'd checked out entitled Spontaneous Human Combustion (I'd been weeding the 001.9s). He gave me a look.

D.: "Really?"

Me: *defensive* "Yes. It's a scientific study."

D.:   *longer look, raised eyebrows*

Me: "What? Don't you believe in spontaneous human combustion?"

D.:  "No."

Me: "Well, do you believe in anything you can't explain?"

D.:   "Yes." pause "I believe in you."

Bees and a Bat

The day began with a bat, loose in the library. Not something we could post on our Facebook page, of course, as there may be some patrons who would find it disturbing, this confluence of nature and their safe space.

But the bat (we called it "Stellaluna," of course) was foolish enough to land on the floor in the office of the supervising children's librarian. She has children librarian's skills, and more importantly, a butterfly net with which to catch the creature. She let it go in the courtyard, moving it to near a tree when it didn't take off immediately. It may have been stunned, or sick, or just overwhelmed by its adventure and the amount of daylight around it. By afternoon, when some colleagues checked on it, it appeared to be gone, although they did not brave a thorough search of the ivy in the courtyard, because there are worse things than bats to be found there.

In the afternoon, I had messages from Christine, friend and seasoned beekeeper extraordinaire, that my hive had swarmed into my next-door neighbor's yard. She and John (another experienced beeker and swarm-catcher) caught the swarm, which was a little cranky in the cold damp weather, and are giving it to another Sonoma County beekeeper who is currently hiveless. I wish I'd been home to help! I knew it was coming because of the piping from last inspection. I shall post photos and maybe even videos soon.

Change versus novelty

I'd like to think I'm okay with change. I don't mind trying new things (by which I mean Thai food, not sky-diving). I don't mind changing jobs. I believe I'd be happy to move to a new house, if/when that happens. I understand that nothing is permanent.

But I have to say that I have lost some tolerance for society's constant push for novelty. It's even possible that I never had that tolerance to begin with, or perhaps simply that I don't feel that I have the energy to be responsible for the decisions that go behind innovation.

Actually, I think I can tighten the focus and say this more clearly. I don't seem to be able to get excited about making decisions that may disappoint other people. My skin has grown thin in that area. I second-guess myself and I don't want to be responsible. For much of anything that is designed to delight people. Or maybe I just don't have a lot of surplus creative energy. Or general energy. Today. I used to be in charge of a lot of stuff. I mostly hated it, but it helped to know where I stood in the chain of command. And I think seniority helped. I had the certainty that history can give you. I'm feeling less invested these days in anything to do with work. Even though I love my job.

This could be low blood sugar or the cold I'm fighting off speaking. But even in writing this, I realize that I'm stymied by the needs that drive a capital society. It's just as well I don't work in retail. My clock is slower than that. I don't think about the next thing and then the next thing. I'd like to sit and be still in the present a bit longer, if possible. Give me a job to do. Don't ask for my opinion about what to do. Or, at least, not tonight.

A Safe and Tame Poem-a-Day

In honor of the afore-mentioned and omni-April'd National Poetry Month, the Santa Rosa Central Branch of the Sonoma County Library will post a new poem every day for the next 28 days on their Facebook page.

To err on the side of no-copyright-infringement, the poems have been, thus far, culled from those in public domain. This means primarily white men, all dead poets, and a lot of rhyme and elevated language. We are avoiding anything that is overtly religious or edgy. The results have the potential of being bland. Although sometimes I like me some Edna St. Vincent Millay, I'd rather have Sara Teasdale.

I love that while I wrote the above, I paused to look up "Sara Teasdale vs Edna St. Vincent Millay," and was led to Cynthia Haven's blog, and this entry. What's wonderful about Haven's notes, to me at least, is that she quotes Richard Wilbur, another one of my favorite poets, and one whom I would think could provide me with several inoffensive but well-written poems for our FB entries.

But I hadn't remembered Elinor Wylie, whom I think is better than Teasdale, based on this:

Poor Earth
It is not heaven: bitter seed
Leavens its entrails with despair
It is a star where dragons breed:
Devils have a footing there.
The sky has bent it out of shape;
The sun has strapped it to his wheel;
Its course is crooked to escape
Traps and gins of stone and steel.
It balances on air, and spins
Snared by strong transparent space;
I forgive it all its sins;
I kiss the scars upon its face.

 Sara Teasdale:  1884-1933
 Elinor Wylie:   1885-1928
 Edna St. Vincent Millay:  1892-1950

Not National Tattoo Day

 

Let's say it's July 17th, which is National Tattoo Day. It is not, by any calendar, really July 17th. But the power of the written word is that it can engage the imagination in a little stroll down What If Lane.

If I had a tattoo, or multiple tattoos, as my daughters do (does anyone ever stick to just a single tattoo?), and if it were July 17th, I could conceivably have conversations with people about the subject as though it were something remarkable.

And yet, on July 18th, I would still have tattoos. And it would be National Sour Candy Day. Ignoring for a moment the significant overlap that exists in a tattoos/sour candy Venn diagram entitled "What My Daughters Like," the reality is that the hubbub over tattoos would wane.

My point? It is National Poetry Month. But in March, I was a poet interested in poetry, and willing to travel to Portland to hang out with 14,999 other writers at AWP for five days to back the statement. In May, I will still be a poet.

April serves to prod me to blog and make statements about poetry. But the various self-help books and audiobooks I've been reading also prompt me to put my actions where my aspirations are. Instead of putting things off or whining about life not meeting my - often subconscious - expectations, I am acting. A little or a lot, depending on the day. But, as self-helpy as this sounds, it's true: only by stopping the behavior that that is keeping me from achieving goals, and by taking the steps that will get me ever closer to what I want, will I find myself with, if not the actual goals themselves, then at least with the self-respect that comes from working toward them honestly and doggedly. End of self-helpy spiel.

                                         

Back in the Shed

I've been writing daily since St. David's Day, and I will likely put up some posts to prove it. The only exception was yesterday,  a day where the flu laid me out and had me sleeping on the red ("sleeping") couch for hour after hour. After hour.

But as the title of this post suggests, I am back in the shed. This is to say that I am back to spending time in my shed in which to write. It's still cold, but not as cold as it has been. This last winter, we've had no heat in the house apart from costly space heaters, strategically placed and used as sparingly as we could bear, which meant waking to 56 degrees in the hallway many mornings. So I suppose a chilly writer's shed, even in the rain (like now) is better than that.

Besides which, between the audiobooks and physical books I've been reading of late and the knowledge that in a few weeks I'll be on my way to AWP, I am compelled to (re-re-re, always re-) think of myself as a writer. Who, you know, writes.  

Dream of doing something meaningful in the scheme of things. Act accordingly.

Taking it Offline

I think that it's been good for me to blog for more than a month straight, and it's good that I have started to meditate daily. But I don't know how healthy it is to feel beholden to an invisible or imaginary audience to post something here daily, after all. I can see that when I miss a few days, it weighs on me as a "should," and I feel worse about myself because of it, so that any organic or natural impulse I have to write becomes secondary to the duty to write.

Again and again, the theme comes up in my life: love (or at least pleasure and license for happiness) weighed against duty (the should, the neurotic attempt to patch up self-esteem through good deeds, or necessary deeds, or doing what I think will please others). Ah, how funny it is! Little dog of my conscience, chasing its own tail.

So I think if I do have daily thoughts, I'll give myself permission to write them and not post them. And if I have weekly thoughts and want to post them, that's okay too.

Day One

It's the first day of May, and also the first day I can remember rising early specifically to meditate. For all of ten minutes, I sat on cushions on the living room floor and did what I could to disregard the puzzled dog and cats while they vied for my attention.

A month of blogging behind me, I am building on that now with this new practice. 

A one-day streak so far!

To bed now, in order to rise early again...

May Eve

Monday, and tomorrow, May.

The roses are exploding into bloom in the back yard, and the irises are out - dark pink and wine, needing staking left and right so they don't fall over with the weight of their own heads.

I have often fallen over with the weight of my own head - my own over-thinking - metaphorically speaking. Thank goodness for the various stakes and twines that hold me up!

The End and the Beginning

I titled this post thinking about the end of the weekend and the beginning of the week. But so many things are ending, and so many beginning right now, I suppose it applies to the bigger picture too. I found myself unable to hold back tears at the Senior concert as I thought of how this was the end of an era, this decades-long push and pull to get N. and S. though school. The end of seeing my children and their friends growing up together. The end of being part of a community of parents and teachers working together to help these kids learn and grow, intellectually and spiritually too.

Yesterday I went to work after that visit to the Human Race, grocery store, and coffee shop. The library hosted 65 people for a California Poets in the Schools student reading. It was lovely, and I was glad I could spend part of my lunch peeking in on it. We hope to have the event at the library in future, too. I am all for making a connection between the library and the literary community.

I spent the evening indulging in chocolate, wine, and Netflix, wondering whether S. was enjoying the prom. N. picked her up, because I had it from reliable sources (especially S.) that no one really wants to be picked up from their Senior Prom by a parent. Perhaps she was thinking about the potentially silent ride back from Sonoma with D., the night driver of the team. At any rate, I went to bed early, trusting that all would be well in spite of my anxiety about the combination of a late Saturday night, post-prom drivers and country roads. I slept in late this morning, too. Very late. I probably got 12 hours of sleep, which (added with the iron) has made a world of difference to my state of mind. I also had a good workout at the gym and, as usual, ran some errands and took care of some correspondence. All things that had been weighing heavily on me. I also went to an event honoring our newest county poet laureate. I couldn't stay long, but it was important for me to be there.

It's funny how I set tasks for myself of my own design and then feel compelled to do them even when I don't feel up to it, and how I feel shamed if I don't do so. Blogging daily is a case in point. And yet, if we don't set tasks for ourselves that are in keeping with accomplishing the bigger goals, how can we get there? Writing daily is something I want to do, because I am owning (so new-age) the identity of writer. Hell's bells, as Nana would say. I am just saying that I want to be better at this, which is also to say I want a better understanding of myself and my life, and daily practice is necessary for such a thing.

I've been noting on a slip of paper those pages in the Sarton book with quotes I want to remember.

This is the most recent (from page 226):

Every new book is like a pilgrimage, a long long walk where faith in the eventual destination has to be renewed again and again.

Saturday Retro

I had decided to sleep in rather than join in the Human Race , but I just had the nagging, but unverifiable, idea that I had signed up to help with check in between 6:30 and 7:30. And I know myself. I do better with accomplishing duties, tired though I might be, and disinterested as S. might be in doing her part, than I do in skipping such things and letting go. So I got up early and went. I checked in (it turns out I was not signed up to help!) and was there for the below picture from the local paper, but then I left early and went to the grocery story for breakfast and iron - I am so anemic, and it's been a week without, and I think that, plus a lack of sleep, has me feeling especially low. And I took a few minutes at a cafe to drink coffee, but not to write, as I didn't have my laptop with me. As this post illustrates, I had let the blog go for a few days. Did not writing it also affect my mood and self-esteem? I think so.

Here's the picture:

A motley crew (and sans S.) but at least my hair keeps my head from looking especially tiny!

Friday Retro

Two hours at the DMV this morning. It's always a good combination of forced down-time, white noise, and people-watching under such circumstances, and I was struck by how the tone of an entire crowd can be swayed by either one crying baby or one ill-tempered man, or, on the other hand, friends reconnecting with a smile or a group of strangers cheering for each other when the automated voice announces, "Now serving G25 at window number 6." Now we wait two to four weeks for the duplicate title to arrive. Then we schedule pick up of the pickup.

I was also able to run some errands, have a good workout at the gym, do a few chores around the house, get S. from school, nap for 40 minutes (much needed), and go to see the Senior concert at the H.S. where S. sang "New York State of Mind" and played backup for "Cry Me a River" and another piece, and helped with backup singing for "Why Must I Be a Teenager in Love." N. and her friend Christina came too, then I drove C. home, negotiating with S. about whether she needed to walk in the Human Race or not, given the fact that she also had a bass lesson and prom the next day - even though she'd been sponsored to walk. I am reminded that one must chose one's battles.

Thursday Retro

It is with some sadness that i report the loss of Mushu, the enormous sailfin plecostomus we have had since he was an inch and a half long. I think we probably got him fourteen years ago. By the time he died, he was probably closer to two feet long, give or take. And his belly was wider than D.'s hand.

I probably have pictures of him somewhere. But this is a very close proximity to what he looked like:

Certainly, from bow to stern he was longer than my forearm. It is the end of an era. D. had been wanting to turn the 450-gallon aquarium into something else for a while, even before we lost the old koi. But he'd held off because of Mushu. There are still who knows how many ancient 5th (6th?) generation corydoras catfish in the tank. But I have a sense, based on the announcement D. made after taking the triple-bagged pleco corpse out to the trash, that their days are numbered. 

Wednesday Retro

Once again, up late trying to find the pink slip for the truck. The amount of paperwork I have put in piles to shred and recycle is impressive, until I think about how it represents only about a hundredth of what I have to go through. Bird by bird, as Lamott would say. I have decided to go to the DMV on Friday and take care of it then. So much for having the thing towed by the end of the month. And another day without the roofers returning to put in the skylights. But these, as usual, are first world problems. No big deal. And it's so nice to see how good the roof looks - without being blanketed in huge brown tarps!

Paper Hoarders Unite

It has become quite clear while trying to find the truck title in all the usual places, and then all the many, many unusual places where we have squirreled away paperwork, that D. and I have the same unhealthy tendency to keep papers, with little organization - or in my case, redundant but inefficient and inconsistent organization - that we haven't needed for years, or even decades. And will never ever need.

Even if I were to become famous, or he were to become famous, and some poor sod wanted to write a biography, the papers would be more of a hinderance than a help. They wouldn't tell the story of a life. They would only tell the story of a disease.

We haven't found the title after a collective 10 hour search.

I have, however, gotten rid of a lot of papers, more than half of which will be shredded or burned.

It looks like we'll just request the duplicate title, and that my chances for coordinating a pick up of the pickup (see what I did there) on Friday are slim. They'd need more lead time than that. And of course, the rush - after all the non-rush - is that we want to avoid dealing with registration renewal, which is coming right up. The silly corners one paints oneself into!

The roofers will install our skylights today, and receive some honey in exchange. Looks like a short sleep tonight, as I'll need to get up early to do many things that I didn't get done because I was rifling through receipts from 2003. *Sheesh*

Bee Prepared

A horrible pun for the title of this (retro)post, no doubt because I am a bit sleep deprived.

It was a surreal day today. And not only because it's the 12 year anniversary of Mom's death. After taking S. to school and going to the gym as usual, I made a call to our local public radio station's car donation phone line to start the coordination of donating "Big Blue," the diesel truck that has sat in front of the house, unused, for over a year - having been used only once or twice the year before. Then the rush to work, only to see that I'd missed a text from Christine, beekeeper extraordinaire, to say that she had my hive bottom ready to return, and it had a little something extra on it.

She'd made a split from one of her hives, and it was ready to go to its new home. Fortunately, I had everything I needed in my car already (hence the post title) except a strap to secure the box, bottom & top for travel. So I wrangled an extra hour for my lunch, rushed to OSH to buy tie-downs to supplement the painters tape she'd closed it with, rushed to her house(open the gate, drive up the hill, strap down the hive, load in car, open gate), drove like a grandmother home, and put it in its new place, opening it up right away so the poor things could have air. Then rushed back to work and finished the evening, helping patrons with a calm and professional demeanor, after having scrambled like a madwoman for the sake of the bees.

I got home around 9:45pm.

Then the search for the truck title began...

Weekend End

Around 8pm, I whine about being so tired, and not knowing why, and N. says, “Because you’ve been zipping around like a hummingbird on meth for days.”

There may be something to that, if I think of it. If I stop measuring by how much I didn’t get done this weekend and look instead at what I did do. [Here, gentle reader, you may skip to the next paragraph to avoid the dull list meant primarily as a reference for my future self when she thinks her life was empty or she lazy.] Dinner out (nice, but not demanding), repacked and hauled boxes of books and Christmas things up into the attic, vacuumed, did laundry (a daily task anyway) dismantled and scorched the empty bee hive boxes (a light touch with the hand torch to kill pathogens), weeded, went to a 2 hour beekeeper meeting, drove 20 miles to sit for an hour in the dentist’s chair to fix a little gap where food was getting stuck, walked the old college haunts, walked around the water with D., wrote, crushed and extracted some frames of honey, cleaned the chicken coop, drove S. to meet a friend for coffee, went back and forth to the house twice to assist with the extraction of a huge swarm, drove S. to rehearsal another 15 miles away…Okay. So maybe my sleepiness is a little justified.

Here are some pictures of the swarm I helped hive. It was in a bottlebrush tree in a mobile home park. My mentor (queen beekeeper extraordinaire, keeper of great beekeeping knowledge) did 98% of the work. I just watched and feathered excess bees and learned.

This is the swarm, large and heavy, in a bottlebrush bush.

My mentor taped 2 mediums together to make a deep for the new beekeepers who will receive this swarm. I ran home to get the hive bottom from my supplies.

Here are the bees on the top of the box, once we'd given the branch a few shakes to drop them down. We scooped the overflowing bees up to the top of the box using the short side of a primary turkey feather - one of a beekeeper's most helpful tools. 

A Meeting Attended, a Reunion Missed, and a Numb Mouth

Went to the Sonoma County Beekeeper Association's South Cluster's Bee Cafe today. (How's that for a mouthful?) Met with other "beekers" and spoke about swarms and splits, bee-buddies and mentors.
I got some good advice about what to do with my now-empty Margo hive, and how to monitor my booming Little Oak hive. I may do a dive into it tomorrow, weather and time permitting. There are new and not-yet beekeepers who would appreciate the experience. I may text them if I plan to do a dive. If I can get my yard ready for company in time, too. Ugh.

This weekend was a 30th anniversary college reunion at Dominican. Every year I think I should go. This year, I felt more certain I would, but even that would was 95% should. I even scheduled a dental appointment just a few blocks away so that it would compel me to be in the neighborhood. I thought I would drop in for an hour or so post-bee-cafe for the the ($20 at the door) beer garden and class photo. I thought of the two or three people it might be nice to see. I couldn't remember many others beyond the few writing majors I hung out with the most. But the closer I got to it, the more I thought there was no real argument strong enough to force myself to an expensive awkward situation that might lead to future "we should have coffee sometimes" dates with people I didn't really have that much in common with - then or now. I suppose this is a typical introvert's (and stingy person's) excuse.

But once I gave myself permission not to go, encouraged by my family, who know me well, I was hugely relieved. I did stop by after the dental appointment, with half my face feeling puffy and useless. I walked around the beautiful campus, remembering odd tidbits of my experiences there, thinking that if I ran into anyone, it would be synchronistic and significant. But the party was clearly over. There were tents containing folded tables and stacks of folded chairs in the lawn in front of Meadowlands. And virtually no one on campus. I skulked around the library and Guzman hall, and poked my head into a couple other buildings, feeling slightly melancholy but at peace in my solitude. And then I headed home.

D. and I went for a walk in the evening, and I did yard work after. I have so much to do before the back yard is what I think it could be. Much weeding and planting, and time for the planted things to become established. I am grateful that I enjoy the process as much as I do. 

So Far, So Good

Today was our 27th wedding anniversary.

D. started the day before work by stopping me from running around getting ready to say, "By the way. Today marks the anniversary of the best decision I ever made in my life."

What a sweetheart.

He continued, "Seriously. Not a day goes by that I'm not thankful." (Awwww.) "I think to myself, man, I am so glad that I bought that curved screen monitor." 

That's my guy.

We celebrated with dinner out (sushi). It was fairly late, because we both had worked all day. But it was a great start to the weekend. I'll give him another 27 or more, and then reassess. And we'll see if the curved screen monitor lasts that long. Huh!

Lunchtime Note

This is a lunchtime note, at work at the library, where books are honored, and we the custodians of them. Although that sounds laughingly pompous as I write it!

Yet, the people who work here all are readers. We have all lost ourselves, and, I’m willing to bet, have found ourselves, too, in books.

That’s what’s been happening to me for the last year. I am finding myself anew. 

There is a wonderful quote in that May Sarton journal (At Seventy). It comes early in the text. When asked why she loved being old, she quotes herself as replying spontaneously, “ ‘Because I am more myself than I have ever been. There is less conflict. I am happier, more balanced, and’ (I heard myself say rather aggressively) ‘more powerful.’ ”

I know just what you mean, May.

Go Slow

I am trying to be patient with myself, and not just...collapse...into "I can't" and "I'm done" at the end of the day. So after work, I had dinner then went to the gym, then asked myself why I feel so weighed down and burdened right now.

It may be the rejection note I received from my latest little foray into getting some poems published. I'm allowing that at some level, I may be feeling down about that. Or it may be that I've had too many nights with too little sleep in the last week or so.

All I can do to test my theory is sleep a bit more, write a bit more, send more out into the world - because there is a way in which publication is a numbers game, and I am too stingy with submissions. Or too lazy - and I can't expect acceptance letters from publishers who haven't even had the opportunity to read my work.

And in the meantime, I am just acknowledging that tonight, I feel heavy. And that's okay. I can still do a little bit. Better a little bit every day than giving up before I've even tried.

And in the meantime, because yesterday's post was a bit of a tease, here's a link to Odd Salon for those curious. It is really the most amazingly wonderful thing. What a way to learn weird things about history, architecture, art and science! I'm grateful to know a Fellow of the Odd Salon and to be able to get to an event every now and then.

Odd Salon!

N. and I just returned from attending Odd Salon, but as I am posting this on my phone, from the red stuffed chaise with Moira curled up next to me and my own eyes half-shut, the details will have to wait until tomorrow.

A Bit of Good News

I've been invited to read at the WordTemple series in Sebastopol next month! They usually open with a local poet, and then have a couple of rock stars for the main event. I'm so honored - and thrilled - to have been asked. I don't know yet with whom I'll be reading. More details to follow.

And in the meantime, I did turn in three offerings for my poetry group this morning. The others in the group are so extraordinarily talented and hard-working, I usually feel inadequate by comparison. But as the great Marvin Bell has been known to say, you don't learn how to bat by watching someone strike out.

Anything But Poetry

I have spent most of the day doing anything but work on the poems due today for my (soul-saving) poetry writers group. I spent my day gardening, and organizing boxes of things from the attic, and climbing up and down the attic's drop-down stairs, with its warning sign in Polish: "Uwaga!" cautioning me each direction. Then I took S. to orchestra rehearsal (5-9). Home so late. I ache from all the work of the weekend, and I would like nothing but to collapse.

But I'll stick it out a bit longer. I also started reading a May Sarton journal (begun the year she turned 70), and find myself wanting to quote May Sarton quoting other writers quoting other writers. I suppose if the lineage brings wisdom and comfort or insight or inspiration, why not? I didn't know Sarton before this. I think I shall like her.

And it's true, too, that all of these things (especially weeding before it rained and Sarton) were a type of poetry. work. Now the trick is to believe in myself enough to assemble three or four pieces for my dear and talented friends. When really, I'd just like a glass of wine, a hot bath, and more Sarton or perhaps Bradshaw. Anything but the thing I should be doing, which I feel incapable of doing well. Hence the dishes. And the laundry, first. And taking out the trash. And blogging.

Sarton, looking a bit like one of my grandmothers, in this picture: (photo by Don Cadoret)

Put a Fork in Me. I Have No More Spoons.

As in, I am done in and plum tuckered out again!

Just home from the swanky "Evening in Vienna" auction put on by the Symphony League to raise money for the Youth Orchestra's Europe tour. Helped set up, poured glass after glass of champagne and replenished the petit four tray, then cleared glass after glass, plate after plate, etc. The cleaning took until about 10:30pm. Approximately 175 guests, I believe.

So I've just enough in me to write this little note, with the expectation that tomorrow I can sleep in past 7am, catch my breath, write some more, help S. find that prom dress and maybe - just maybe - make it to a concert that I really don't want to miss, in spite of the expense.

Blame the IRS

This post is a day late, but I am backdating it. Thank you, Blogger, for letting me do so.

This year, for the first time in decades, we owe federal taxes. This is because of a necessary monetary shuffle. (Peter and Paul are both in the brink of bankruptcy, but we’ll survive.) I was having difficulty setting up a revised payment plan online – as it turns out, it’s because our original return payment plan status is pending, or the like – so I called the IRS, just days before taxes are due, expecting to wait before I could speak to someone.

After an hour on hold, my connection dropped.

I called back.

Two hours and ten minutes or so later, I reached a very kind and helpful agent (#10010etc.).

So we’re now all set.

The backstory is that while I was on hold, I left the house, picked up S. from school, took her shopping for prom dresses to multiple places (in thick commuter traffic, with the added distraction of making way for emergency vehicles), and had a phone with a dying battery and a charger that was barely working. It was comical….

(And here, I must pause, to go to work a day after all those events! I shall continue anon.)