Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

As much as I am trying to limit my intake of the horrors in the news, they leak in around my best efforts.  The spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional trauma we are caught in is crippling us all in ways that will likely never fully heal.  We can laugh, shallowly and without real humor, at the absurdities. We can nod our heads alongside the small victories, knowing full well that they are likely temporary, and will be shredded by the ugly machinery that is the corruption overshadowing everything.  We cannot, however, look away when people are dying, needlessly, cruelly, and as the result of a toxic level of suspicion, hatred, and willful ignorance. Body counts are tied to funding, and the funding is wrenched away from senior citizens, children, the environment, wildlife, and the future that, for all intents and purposes, is forever marred and stained for us all.  The monuments to brutal excess are already being erected. May God have mercy on us all. Help your neig...

The first reading/open mic at The Frost Place for the Sundays in the Barn with Bob series was delightful! Our guest reader, poet David Graham, was super, and the community readings were great, too. I will admit, though, I'm tired. Full weekend, to be sure. At least we went to IFB for dinner last night.  I went to bed too late, too. I got watching  a really good Poirot mystery, and bam, there it was-- after 10:30 when I went up the stairs. I'll pay for it today; Holly has art class this morning, followed by swim lessons. And it's a chilly start to the day after a chilly night, so I don't think our pool water will be all that warm. So, we'll see what the after-lunch situation looks like. I hope she's willing to just hang out and watch a movie, but that remains to be seen.  This will be the routine M-W-F, except on Wed. I have a follow-up with the eye doctor, so G will do the morning hustle with Holly, at least for the art class part. Pray I am not looking at (lite...

We went to Manchester and had a decent time at the ballgame; Holly's first, and her first fireworks. She much preferred the bouncy castle in the play area and the fireworks, but in all, it was pretty good. The Fisher Cats were awful, both offensively and defensively. The Sea Dogs were dominant, which didn't surprise me a whole lot. It was fun to sit three rows from the field, munching on hotdogs and cracker jacks, and soaking in the whole live ball atmosphere. Even the screaming kid behind my head didn't really dampen the experience--though I'm pretty sure he has no voice today (much to the delight of his grandparents).  That said, this is a quick note, as I have "promises to keep" and will be heading off to the Frost Place in less than an hour. Time to get my poetry brain up and running-- remind me, though, to tell you about the "souvenir drink bat" that Meg got for me, filled with a lemon-lime/slightly buzzy slushy. O lord.  Ciao for now, C

A quiet Saturday morning. Well, relatively quiet; the dog is grumbling and objecting to everyone and anything that she sees as an intrusion, which includes people walking on the other side of the street, random pieces of wind-blown paper, and apparently the morning in general.  I've got an overnight bag almost packed; I'll be heading out of town overnight with the crew (except G, who must work, and who will be tending to the doggo). It's been a long time since I've been out of town overnight; so long, in fact, that I could not find my small suitcase. Or a duffel bag. Likely, both are long gone. So I had to order one quickly, and I found a pretty little quilted thing that will do just nicely. Yes, I could have stowed a change of clothes and the other bits and bobs I need in a regular tote, but seriously, a grown woman ought to have an overnight bag. The big suitcase would have been overkill, to say the least. The game plan (and I use that term literally) is to go to Delt...

I went to a really nice poetry reading by the poet Adam Giannelli last night in Franconia. He was so pleasant, self-effacing, honest, and earnest in his work and in the Q/A after. His poetry is very accessible, which makes it a really good choice for a small community venue as well.  The questions most people posed to him were of the usual sort, focusing on his beginnings as a writer. There was a pointed question about his philosophy of teaching poetry, which, while a good question, really seemed out of place, but he handled it well. Then came the question that made me cringe a bit. The person asking it had already asked a couple of other questions, but this one was odd: do poems come to him in dreams? He fielded the question with good humor, and strangely enough, part of one of the poems in his full collection, Tremulous Hinge , has lines that did, in fact, happen in a dream. But still, odd question.  Poems don't usually just "arrive," they are responses to inner thought...

Thursday, and it's going to be humid and quite warm. T-storms in the forecast for the evening. I think I'll get groceries today (I'm all out of sync but we are also all out of milk). I'm quite sure Holly will want pool time, and I might join her. And tonight, I am going to Franconia to hear this summer's resident poet at the Frost Place read at the lovely little jewel-box of a library, the Abbie Greenleaf. Unless, of course, the t-storms are already raging. Sigh. I hope not.  At any rate, there's a plan in place for today, and likely it'll change here and there, but I like having a plan. I've tried the whole floating through the day thing, and it makes me uneasy. I like flexible plans, but no plan is too untethered.  Most folks like summer break because it's untethered, but I am more happy with a "get some chores done in the morning then loaf about as you wish in the afternoon" vibe. It's not always easy to stick to, but it works for me...