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.

Yes, but To Whom and For How Long?

Thus goes the punch line to the joke whose penultimate sentence is, "It's Lent!"

It's Lent.

Just wrapping up 60 days of a nutrition/fitness/lifestyle challenge - is it time to take up another challenge of some sort for 40 more days? A discipline? A sacrifice?

Sure. Why not?

Writing sounds good, as always. Let's say 30 minutes a day toward the goal of a publication.
So not just a blog, this. But poetry. "Craft and sullen art."

Recommencement.

Stones at the beach in Aberystwyth, Wales. Morning 8/10/13.

Flux

I started to write this post while at the Apple Box on Saturday and am finishing it at another (more ubiquitous) coffee establishment Tuesday night. 

The lesson that keeps coming to me in the last week is that all of life is in a continual state of flux. Change and transition are constant. So things go well, things go poorly, one is happy and one is sad - but that's all right. 

The weather has shifted again so we're back to some sunshine, but with the added blooming flowers and slightly longer days, it feels like Spring is coming, and with it hope and optimism.

As more personal drama unfolds around me and emotions run high, I find myself feeling (mostly) calm and centered and clear. This is very helpful, because objectively, I can look at everything that has come to light in the last eight weeks or so and realize that it's the kind of chain of events that could derail or depress or distress a person. I'm not sure where this equanimity is coming from, but I'm grateful for it. Perhaps listening to Pema and meditating has helped. That, and long and frequent conversations with friends, including that best friend to whom I'm married.

D. surprised me last night with a custom home-made chicken coop for our little lame Nefertiti and for any future hens we might have. It was composed of recycled pallets (cedar) and special paint - which he shared was on sale.

Love it!!

In the Moment

Is it all human beings, or most human beings, or just some of us (myself included) who are incapable of sustaining the memory of being cold when we are hot, or hot when we are cold, or hungry when we are full, or the idea of mortality when we are breathing?

I wake up and am grateful I have made it through another night, so that I can try yet again to figure out a way to be that will honor this amazing gift I've been granted. (Please, Lord, let me figure it out.) It's not a given that one will wake up each morning. Less than a week ago, my coworker Ron - 43 years old, healthy, loving gentle Ron, whose 4-year son was only recently diagnosed with cancer - Ron did not wake up. It's believed that he died in his sleep from a massive heart attack.  My mind grapples with a way to understand this and comes up empty. I'm not alone in feeling the shock.

It's pouring rain as I write this, and I've just returned from a memorial service in the coastal town where Ron and his family lived. I didn't stay for the reception afterwards. In times like this, I want more than anything in the world to retreat, to be alone. Maybe other people feel the need for community, and long to share their grief and memories of the beloved who has left us. That's just not how I'm wired.

When I got home, though, I called my older daughter to tell her that I love her. Right now, it feels especially important to communicate such things. If Ron can die in his sleep, any type of sudden loss seems possible. My daughter is recovering from some kind of cold or flu, and although she has missed a few classes, she'll be coming back into town next weekend - but during the conversation, she admitted that at the moment, as she comes to terms with all of the unhealthy aspects of her parents' relationship with one another (is it really that bad? I wonder) she is not inclined to want to speak to either of us or to see us. While it's very difficult, even painful, to hear this, I also understand that just because she needs this space, it doesn't detract from the fact that we love her, and she loves us. That love is a constant, regardless of temporary circumstance.

But as I say, with the rain, and the grief and the loss and the pain, it's hard to remember sun and Spring. Hard to remember warmth when your fingers are numb with cold. Hard to accomplish the aforementioned figuring out of how best to move forward when one is feeling one has already squandered so much time. How can I make my life count for more than it does? Most schools of thought put a great emphasis on love and in connecting with one's fellow fallible humans. It's all about love. It's all about relationships. Family. Friendships. This daunts me rather than encourages me. I can hardly find the resources to love and support myself; it seems impossible that I could be part of community. I just don't have the wherewithal to relate to others in any sincere way, so I continue to isolate myself like a wounded animal needing time to heal - while frantically feeling that this is too passive a way of being when my time may be horribly limited. Silly, isn't it?

I suppose the best thing today is give myself the gift of time - to prioritize my life so that I am taking that time, which I feel is such a limited resource, and using it but not filling it. In other words, instead of panicking and packing every moment with something active but in the big picture empty, I will try to breathe slowly, and let the moments be full in and of themselves. I have never been a patient person, and I have never been good at doing nothing. But perhaps if I can learn to honor the Now, and the Now, and the Now, I won't be wasting time concerned that I've lost the past or that I have no future.

Before Revision, Vision

Gee, let's look again at why I may feel a little adrift. The roll-call of what's happened in my life in the last eight months:

my oldest daughter graduated from high school and moved out
her boyfriend became her girlfriend (it's complicated but also not very)
my younger daughter stopped taking ballet after 10 years of dance and joined a 2nd orchestra
my husband left a job he's held for over a dozen years and started his own business
I went to Phoenix for a wedding, Wales for a sabbatical, Colorado for a funeral and Japan for business
I had a surprise suitor - flattering, but not at all welcome and not mutual
I lost five friends, family members and/or co-workers to death- some expected, some very sudden
I hired three new employees and fired one long-standing one
I've been forced to scrutinize my relationship of 30 years with my husband

I think that's all. Just that.

And so really, it is little wonder I feel I haven't been able to catch my breath, to take it in and find my way. I'd like to re-vision my life and en-vision where I want to go, what I want to do - kind of what I want to be when I grow up, I suppose. And as a colleague pointed out today, "Gee, all you have to do is buy a new house and a new car to complete the list!" She's right. And what's funny is that those two items are actually on my list.

But I also feel like I can't seem to get my brain around where I am now.

Can you find your path to the next way-station, the next place to stop for the night, if you don't have a "You Are Here" X on the map? Perhaps. Another friend whom I ran into at random last night (is any of this random), said, "Sometimes you don't have to 'sit with it' - sometimes you just know the change has to happen and you just do it."

New Month, New Post

So I did break my daily posting streak by a week and a half; however, rather than go back to fill in blanks I'm starting fresh again with the new month.

The swords of daffodil leaves are starting to cut their way through the winter earth, heralding (in my mind, anyway) the approach of St. David's Day. March 1st. Spring.

There's the struggle to push through dark and cold and the dead tangled messes inside & out right now, toward warmth, light, growth and green. This weekend I'll be working on the back yard and the clutter in the house.

Three weeks into the eight-week fitness challenge; it's been going well. With one exception, I've had no dairy, no grains, no alcohol and no sugar (not even honey) since Jan. 10. It's been surprisingly easy - have I already said as much? That and daily exercise, stretching, drinking lots of water and getting lots of sleep - all combine to keep my body healthy even if my mind still feels numb with overwhelm.

But as I say, the daffodils are making an appearance.

Empty Room Full of People

What's the best way to stop your refrigerator from humming?
  Teach it the words.


I like to be anonymous in a crowd. It gives me distance both to avoid getting hurt or involved in complicated interactions and to observe and learn. And I don't mind writing these blog posts as though I have an audience while simultaneously hoping I don't (and, to a lesser degree, wondering if I do). My feelings about people are complicated that way.

Recently I've learned that several people who are important in my life have been having conversations about me amongst themselves. For, like, two months. And all with the best intentions. So talk about a complex mix of feelings: everything from betrayal, embarrassment and horror to humility, gratitude and obligation. I'm focusing on the gratitude as much as possible and moving on.

Chop Wood, Carry Water, Print Homework

It's silly to let a 10+ hour day of work stop you from the various and sundry post-work activities:
taking an afternoon trip to the chiropractor for yourself and your child
making an herb-crusted roast chicken for dinner (with rice and sweet potatoes as the sides)
going to the gym to workout
helping your husband haul boxes of freshly-cut firewood from SUV to living-room
doing dishes
critiquing your 8th grader's portrait of Charlotte Corday
facilitating printing of the rough draft biography of said Mme. Corday
doing laundry

I am grateful that I have been blessed with the energy and means to do the things I want to do in my life.

Now I just need to find a way to do a few more of those things instead of only the things I "should" do!