Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

Two years ago today, my father fell, his hip fractured. He'd been struggling along for quite some time, and the medical issues were getting to be too much for us, but this was a deciding factor. The situation was fraught; no beds, no surgeons, maybe having to go to Dartmouth (which Dad was adamantly against) or Concord... it was a panicky, scary few hours. Miracles do happen, and God hears us in our distress, I'm here to tell you. A bed opened up in St. J at NVRH, and a fine surgeon was available to help.  Dad had to have a procedure done that involved "nailing" instead of a hip replacement; the bone was too shattered. Apparently, it had cracked badly in a prior fall, and his local PA had brushed it off as a bruise, and gave him more pain meds, blamed his pain on increasing levels of arthritis. Not so. The surgeon told us that there was relatively little arthritis in the joint, but the cracks from the earlier fall were apparent. He leaned too far, and the bone broke a

Well, I got the garden boxes planted, my closet swapped over to lighter clothing, and I even sorted (and tossed out a lot) my shoes. The house is presentable, the deck is inviting, and I made home-made baking soda biscuits and sliced strawberries last night for dessert, after we had ribs and the season's first sweet corn. It was a very relaxing day. It was a decently relaxing weekend. I read a lot, enjoyed sunshine and fresh air, and got my mental house in order as well. Likely, some doofus will come along today to try to rearrange my mental furniture, but I hope I have enough oomph to guard against that.  The last three weeks of school can both drag interminably and whizz by, usually at the same time. The softball team has their first play off game on tomorrow, and it's a travel game. It's even money who wins-- if they believe they can, they just might. We'll see. I finally have a chiro appointment for my sore/stiff/creaky neck tomorrow, so we'll see how that goes.

Memorial Day is a day set aside to publicly recall the sacrifices made by men and women in military uniform. It is a solemn observance, aside from the unofficial kickoff to summer and the barbecues. Flags, parades, speeches and concerts, church services and plenty of social media posts remind us of our collective debt to those who gave their lives to protect our freedoms. Which brings me to this point: I think we should set aside a national day of observance and mourning for teachers and children lost to gun violence. Thoughts and prayers will not bring the children and teachers back, will not truly comfort those who have lost them, any more than flags and parades bring back the fallen soldiers. All of that is, at least in part, to bring their sacrifice to mind, to remind us of the debt we owe to those who have died to protect our freedoms.  It may seem harsh, but those children and teachers have died to, at least in some context, protect "our freedom" to own weapons of mass

In the interests of honesty, I should first share that I do not usually like to read craft books. I love a good workshop, and I enjoy being in a class or small writing group, but I tend to not read books about how to write. That all said, I'm thoroughly enjoying LaMott's Bird by Bird !  I sat out on the deck yesterday afternoon, getting a little "Vitamin D Therapy" and listening to the actual birds. We've had a small stack of these books on the shelf at school for years; a former teacher ordered them to use, but then moved on shortly thereafter. I've never really been tempted until now, but since it's been officially decided that I'm going to teach a creative writing class in the fall, I figured I'd better amass our resources and see what I may need to order-- purchase orders must be completed before we leave for the summer, and I'm ready to go. So, I picked up the book, carried it around in my tote bag for a few days, and finally opened it yes

 My eyes are tired.  They are often bleary, as I tend to spend a lot of screen/page time in each day, but today, they are sore and tired. I spent a metric ton of time yesterday working on the computer, and the day before, I was grading papers and submitting them to the partner college for review. In short, teaching=clerical work, as well as developing original content, etc.  I miss pen and paper.  That said, though, I feel pretty good about the work I've gotten done. I even submitted my chapbook to yet another contest. I have no illusions about winning, but there's always a chance, I suppose. You can't win if you don't play, and, as with so many other things, it's a numbers game. I believe in my creative work, both my school stuff and my personal writing, and I hope someone out there believes in it, too.  Well, they do, actually. I have now (at this writing) 58 poems that have been published. It's not a huge body of work, but it makes me pretty happy. And I have

What a weird week, eh? Maybe not for you, but mine has been. Not bad weird, just...requiring a different set of skills from me. I'm naturally compliant. Or maybe I'm not naturally so, but I was trained to be from toddlerhood, so I usually just do what I'm told, accept what I'm given, chafe a little bit privately, but go along because it feels like I can't push back against "the man"-- defeat du jour, if you will.  Not this week.  At work, I've negotiated and worked hard to craft a schedule for next year that makes sense for both students AND for me, and I think it'll be both exciting and interesting. I won't dig into the mucky bits behind the why, but it's enough to say that advocating for myself and what I know is needed is something I have not often done, and it feels pretty good. I honored my own needs and my boundaries. Let's see if it sticks.  Yesterday, I did much the same, regarding an essay I'd written and that was published

My father had definite icons of the music world he was particularly a fan of, and Tina Turner was one of his favorites. As musician after musician passed away over these last few years, he mourned them and the loss of their inspiration. He was really torn up about Leonard Cohen; Dad spent hours researching and annotating the lyrics to "Hallelujah" not long before his final decline. Dad and I used to talk about music for hours: Dylan, the folk singers of the 1960s-70s, jazz musicians... he "discovered" Grace Potter and the Nocturnals, and I, in turn, got him Rani Arbo and the Daisy Mayhem. This went on for years, and it was a constant source of joy for us both. He had a sort of pen-pal correspondence with Paul Stookey (of Peter, Paul, and Mary fame) and Tom Rush. Dad was a gifted musician and he truly admired so many people from a wide range of genres.  That all said, he admired Tina Turner very much--both for her legs (!!) and her voice. Her energy on stage was infe

Today and tomorrow, I have a gift of time at work. The seniors are off on their trip, and the ones who didn't go/couldn't go will likely stay home. Two full class periods of empty room and quiet to get my head screwed on straight, to grade a few papers, to locate boxes of books I have not used in years-- I think I'll put on some music to drown out the droning from the neighboring classroom and get a little dusty/dirty. Things are maybe a-changin' in my little world; there's a slim possibility of me teaching creative writing classes next year, and I may be able to start a well-overdue, much-needed writing lab. Still not full time work (that is another story that I am not going to write about), but work that gets a little closer to honoring the hours and years I've put into what I know and can do. We shall see. The default, if it doesn't work out, is doing what I'm doing already, but that's not too bad, either. I've had a lot of time to build class

I figured I'd post an update to yesterday's epiphany. I ordered coffee at Starbucks using the mobile app; it apparently was malfunctioning, and the order was never received. No big deal, but they gave me my usual coffee for free. I didn't even get annoyed about the glitch, and the Universe (or at least the manager) decided free coffee was in my stars. I saw a beautiful bald eagle swooping low enough over my car on my drive in that I could see its eyes. Just stunning. It was pretty awesome. I had a good day at work, the sun was shining, and when I came home, I had an email that announced three poems of mine were accepted by an online journal.  Yes, the day had some minor bumps along the way, but I consciously decided to not engage in going down the negative rabbit hole.  I fell in the kitchen, and really hurt my knee-- but my family was there to pick me up (pretty much literally), and I didn't get angry. It just...happened, and that was that.  Perhaps today will be as go

Something in yesterday's homily at church got me thinking; I have been long overdue for a shift in how I process events such as disappointments and set-backs. I am wondering about the connection between being hurt and becoming angry. Anger is a pretty heavy load to carry, and I tend to overpack my duffle.  I can't see a real separation between anger and hurt; when I stub my toe, it hurts, and I lash out at the inanimate object that impeded my way (yes, I do call out the footstool). When plans fall apart, it sometimes triggers anger. When someone hurts my feelings or insults me, I get angry. I am eternally angry at people I don't know in Congress and other levels of public life. The list goes on, and it's pretty petty and shameful, upon inspection. But the root of all this annoyance and anger is that I feel hurt. I don't mean the quick, temporary hurt that comes when someone else's name gets drawn in a raffle. That's an "oh, well" moment. Or the hur

My spinach is up! But this past week's deep freeze really wrought some havoc on fruit tree blossoms and the hostas that were just getting going. I hope they revive. My asparagus patch had sent up three brave spears that wilted and turned to mush. I suspect there's more of them to come, though. I have one lovely little blossom on an early strawberry plant. Spring is here, but it's dragging its feet.  Next weekend, our church mission group is having a plant sale. I hope I can score some sturdy tomato plants. I am in search of heirloom tomatoes as well; a few years ago, I had some gorgeous purple cherokee tomatoes and I've never found them again. They were the best I've ever had. Probably I'll have to go to a garden center to get what I really want, but I'll try the church sale first. They do good work. I've got to get some herb sets; so far, the creeping thyme is creeping everywhere (I need to curb it a little, actually). I want sage and basil for sure. I&

Sometimes I wonder which is worse: busy stress dreams, or popping wide awake at 3am and not being able to shut my brain off. Either way, an uncomfortable wad of cobwebs inhabits my fully-awake mind, and coffee is not going to be able to cut it.  ugh I've made a concerted effort to limit my intake of national and state news lately; that mess of vipers and toxic blowhards is getting to the point where even I want to shut it all down and start over. But there's no reset button for the government, and we are heading towards disaster on so many levels, all because the current (and seemingly endless) crop of sycophants and obstreperous egotists aren't getting their floaties blown up quick enough.  ugh again The stuff that's keeping my brain on a tilt is work-related, and I'm pretty sure that it'll sort itself out, or someone who is in charge will sort it out, but uncertainty that affects my daily life but that is out of my control triggers all sorts of panicky questio

Another night, another stress dream in which I am reluctantly in charge of too much. Why my brain decides to indulge in these scenarios, I have no clue. This one involved my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and my grand-daughter. I won't get into the entire plot, but it was eerily possible: complaining about allergies, moved furniture, and messes to clean up while being asked when people were going to have food to eat. I got half the floor swept up and washed, and moved the jar of lilacs. It's never quite enough, is it? ugh I'm sure there's some deep, dark mess I need to address. Or not. At least this time, the "in-charge against my will" dream was not a school one. But it really doesn't help when it's family, eh? Especially people who have passed away years ago.  At least it's Friday, and it's sunny, and it's supposed to warm up (finally). Twenty nine degrees this morning was nine more than yesterday. I yearn for warm, sunny, unstructured

I am used to mercurial weather in New England, but lately, it seems like Mother Nature is really tossing us into the air and forgetting to catch us. A couple of weeks ago, I had a sunburn. This morning, it's 20 degrees and the blossoming fruit trees are frozen. It's a hard blow: likely, we won't get any fruit, or very little. The bees have been busy pollinating, but the tender blossoms are frozen solid this morning. The cherry trees have just come into bloom, so they probably didn't have time at all.  Not fair, Mother Nature.  My lovely potted pansies are pretty sad looking-- I should have brought them inside last night, but I fell asleep in my chair watching the ballgame. I thought they'd be okay, but the temps dipped far lower than predicted.  Not a great start to the summer, eh? I hope that the raspberry bushes at least were spared. We try to be a little self-sustaining, but it ain't easy.  Stay warm, C

I had a really strange dream last night, which transported me back to the days when I taught religious education. I was showing a film that used the word "ass" for some reason (I have no idea what the film was)-- and I was apologizing profusely to one teenaged girl for the language used. She assured me that she "hung out with friends," and she was "not offended...it's the 'bigger' words" that upset her more. I was mortified that the film had the word, and I was grateful she was not upset.  Why all this? Probably because I'm absolutely bonkers about the whole kerfuffle in Florida. A teacher is now in hot water for showing a film that was PG to her fifth graders-- there is a passively gay character in the film. No sexualization, no sex, etc., but the character exists, and is in the film for less than three minutes of the almost two hours of the entire movie. A parent complained, she is in trouble, and all of her students are being interviewed

So, about this Guiliani mess. Such a horrible, disgusting, overtly toxic male. It just goes to show that certain types of human are often drawn to positions of power and influence, and they just do not care what slug trail they slime our country with. What puzzles me is the fact that so many people feel a loyalty to scudge like him. It's not a good look, eh? The woman with whom he was "officially" having an affair with has a local connection to NH, but apparently he was cheating on his mistress with yet another woman, one whom he (surprise) lied to, not only choosing not to pay her wages, but also coercing her into (slimy) sex. All of this, while his divorce was still underway. Gross. Just...gross.  WHY DO PEOPLE FOLLOW THIS MAN? Or any others like him?  Too much for my brain today. C

Not unusual, but my life has shimmied out of balance again. Too much work-worry, not enough focus on other things like getting poems written and/or submitted, doing things outside in the yard, baking, etc. My personal/mental/emotional cup is empty in a lot of ways. (Though I had a really nice Mothers' Day weekend! My family is awesome.) Today is Monday, May 15, and I am declaring that all that foolish crap that has been keeping my brain on the frizzle needs to get into its corner and stay there.  I think we fool ourselves that we can just send the things that trouble us packing; they live in our heads, whether we want them to or not. It takes vigilance to make sure they don't take over spaces that are not meant for them, though. Who knew that mental maintenance was so difficult and so necessary? I tend to borrow trouble, too, which is not helpful-- I have to repeatedly learn that I should only pick up what is mine to carry, and leave the rest for someone else or God to take car

In the 1870s, social activist, reformer, and poet Julia Ward Howe called for "A Mothers Day for Peace," hoping that by appealing to women/mothers, there could be an end to war. She felt that it would ultimately be up to mothers to protest the senseless waste of human life, because " mothers of mankind alone bear and know the cost." I'd like to take this Mothers' Day to promote the idea that gun violence, especially against children in schools, is the horror we need to focus on today. There is nothing more senseless than a child dying in their classroom. While we are enjoying our brunches out, our barbecues, our flowers and so on, I hope that the original intention of Mothers Day is the frame around everything else. There is nothing more sacred than a child. Have a peaceful day, C

A short note, after a short night... What is it about 3 a.m.? When my mind is troubled, it's always 3 a.m. when I wake up, groggy and anxious, and can't get back to sleep. I try mindfulness, I try breathing, I try prayer-- what I can tell you is that the peepers chirp in cycles, with a silent pause in between choruses. And the rooster next door knows what 4 a.m. is, exactly. What a strange song they make together--contrapuntal, raucous--and the day blooms, and the blue and white lights in my back yard wink out, and here we are. Have a good Saturday, C

My family keeps asking me what I want to do for Mothers' Day, and I honestly have no idea. I suggested that my husband could clean my car-- that is a huge gift. Suck up the winter sand and gravel and wash down the salt residue-- I appreciate the gift of time and effort. I also suggested pansies-- I don't want cut flowers, but I do want to put some pansies in pots. But the greatest gift, to me, is to gather my family in one place and enjoy their company.  Five years ago, my mother passed away the day before Mothers' Day-- today, in fact-- and it was not unexpected, but it was sudden. She'd been ill for a long time, but there was no indication that her passing was imminent. Last year, my father passed away on May 2; we had his funeral on the anniversary of my mother's passing. So, this weekend is not really a cheerful one for me now. May had always been one of those "sunny" months, but now it has its own notes of sadness.  That all said, it'll be nice, I

There is such a disconnect between the beautiful spring weather and the dire and prurient swamp-clots that comprise the news cycle. It's very difficult to navigate this dichotomy, both emotionally and intellectually. To read about people laughing and cheering at the Trump-fest that occurred (I feel like St. Anselm's needs to do penance for hosting that moldy tripe) makes me sick. They were laughing and cheering at the sexual assault of a woman. At lies. At insurrection. And frothing at their collective mouths for authoritarianism. It's like Hitler never happened. Or any other "strong-man" in history. CPAC meeting in Hungary to take notes on how to subjugate a people from Orban should be enough. But it's not, apparently. Then I read today about the growing list of textbooks removed in Florida: history, psychology, etc. It's frightening. What are we doing? Why?  I don't want to be alarmist-- actually, it's too late for that. Our country has snoozed t

It's been a while since I commented on the news. I kinda don't want to, most of the time, because it is messy, awful, and pretty much the seamy underbelly of a bloated dead thing. Yes, there are the few "feel good" stories, but they are wedged in between shootings, war, threats of economic destruction, and climate/weather emergencies.  That said, I find it necessary to speak for a moment about the jury's 3 hour deliberations in the civil case in New York that involved a woman who, once she found a legal pathway and the fortitude to do so, lodged a complaint of both sexual assault/rape and defamation against TFG. The Former Guy says he never met her, but let's be honest, what woman would stand up there on the international stage and describe the violations she alleged unless it were incredibly important? And two other women testified, making clear there is an established pattern of disgusting behavior. And his own words were played back. Which he then doubled d

It's May, and I see there are dozens of calls for submissions. Sometimes I wonder if I'm being indiscriminate or smart: am I appearing to be desperate, or is it a numbers game? I don't just toss poems to the wall to see if they stick, though. I mean, I check out the online presence of any journal now (there were a few missteps a while back-- learned my lesson!), and I send poems out to "reach" journals as well.  That said, sometimes I wonder if I'm trying too hard. I wanted to build my publication CV, and I think I have done that. I've noticed, perhaps coincidentally, that once I had a list of reputable publications on my list, getting other journals to notice seemed a little easier. But not always.  There's also the submission fees. Taken individually, they are small, but when you start sending out a few at a time, it adds up. This is generally pocket change, but I shy away from those "contests" that want 15, 18, 25 dollars per submission. H

I suppose it's no accident that both Nurses' Appreciation Week and Teachers' Appreciation Week overlap. Oddly-- or not so oddly?-- they are both in proximity to Mothers' Day. Historically, women occupy both of those careers more than men, and clearly, most folks who are feted on Mothers' Day are women, as well. I say most, but there are dads out there doing double duty, and props to them. And there are myriad grandparents and other extended family members raising babies-- well, you get the idea. So, appreciation weeks often include donuts, weak coffee, some banners, and a whole lot of hoorah. Not that those things are not good-- any appreciation shown to folks who are doing the work that seems to catch a lot of negative static is fine by me. Appreciation comes in a lot of ways: a phone call, a Facebook thank you (I got one of those the other day!), people waving and smiling-- former students (or patients) who remember what you did and how you did it, and they consid

O my goodness, what a gorgeous day! It's been 70s and sunny all weekend. I got so much inside work done yesterday, and today was devoted to outdoor things. So, after church, G and I went outside and got busy. He mowed the front grass (can't really call it a lawn...), then got the new soil and helped me with weeding the raised beds and topping them off with better raised bed soil. I got all the roses pruned, too. Things are so green, the dandelions have taken over (and that's fine, the pollinators need them), the fruit trees are all budding and blooming and it's lovely.  I pulled out dead things out of my rolling planter box, too-- I'll get new herbs for it in a couple weeks. And I planted some early maturing spinach! What a glorious thing. I ordered a pizza for a late lunch, and the Sox game is on. Time for a break. I'll cut some rhubarb later for a pie, and G is going fishing. Dinner tonight will be steaks on the grill-- G's brother gave us Omaha steaks for

I'm watching the Coronation of King Charles III. Why? Well, it's history. And I've spent the larger portion of my adult professional life teaching literature and embedding history in what we study... but that's not it, exactly. I can pretty much guarantee that most of my colleagues are not watching it with an eye towards discussing the event in class on Monday. Instead, it's about ceremony, and why we need it. Or do we? So many people have kicked ceremony to the curb. We don't have church weddings, or formal graduations, or many other things that require elements of pomp and circumstance--Elgar or otherwise. I think that it's a huge loss, to not cling to ceremony. Life's milestones need marking, and, as I've witnessed time and again, when people are left to their own devices and planning, it does not feel "real"--at least, not to me. Yes, ceremony is old-fashioned, but isn't that the whole point? We need things that link us to the past,

It's been a long week. I would give a whole lot to just stay home, drink coffee, sort through poems to submit, clothes to bring to consignment, wash curtains, and let my brain free-range where it may.  But it's Friday of a particularly weird week at school, and today promises (!?) to be a little more normal, and that will be a blessing.  Still, the pull between the have-to and the want-to is pretty strong, and I will have to sort that out in order to be a functional adult in the roles I must inhabit today. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person who has this difficulty; responsibility pushes its way into the spotlight, over and over again, and what I want to do gets shoved along, time and again. It causes a measure of dissonance, and I don't like it. But... yeah.  As they say, (whomever "they" are), I'll have to just suck it up. The weekend forecast looks sunnier, and a little warmer, so some of the things I want to do will be possible. Some of the thi

Yesterday, the scrappy little crew of Lisbon Softball won a convincing game against an opponent who, just about two weeks ago, served them a big loss. This might not seem noteworthy, but it is, to me. The weather was both drizzly and chilly, the game was on the opponent's field, and the kids involved had witnessed a realistic re-enactment of a fatal car crash and its aftermath at school, as part of a "don't do this" program. Two of the players were actors in this event, as well. It was not a regular school day, to be sure. They won. They were resilient. They played hard and well. This team has not had the "usual" progression of learning from little kid softball, through middle school, to high school/varsity. Pandemic protocols curtailed seasons, there has been very little consistent development training available to them, and some of them really don't even care all that much about softball-- they play for the social aspects (which is fine).  People wonde

I wonder when the "imposter syndrome" will go away? In the last twelve hours, I've heard from two journals, and both want to publish my work. This is exciting... but my brain immediately wonders if the poems are good enough. I go to the poems, read them over, maybe cringe a little.  It's not like I don't have writing goals; I do. I have a chapbook that is floating around out there (it hasn't been able to find a home yet, but this is a new project). I have two pages (!!) of a list of poems that have been published. I dream of one day getting nominated for something like Best of the Net or -- big gulp-- a Pushcart Prize. Maybe even getting a full collection together? We shall see. Sigh. At any rate, one regional journal wants two, the other journal wants a funny little rhyming poem I jotted down (then tweaked, of course) when I was attending one of the Frost Place Studio Sessions.   If you haven't considered attending one of those one or two day workshops, y

This is one of those poems that brings quietude for me, and a lovely rendition of it as arranged and sung by Rani Arbo and the Daisy Mayhem: "Crossing the Bar" Tennyson Sunset and evening star,       And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar,       When I put out to sea,    But such a tide as moving seems asleep,       Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep       Turns again home.    Twilight and evening bell,       And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell,       When I embark;    For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place       The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face       When I have crost the bar.

I'm not likely to start a may-pole dance, and it's pouring rain, but it's a warm rain, and it smells like spring outside.  There's a lot of "May" traditions, what with Mother's Day, Memorial Day, and the like. One old tradition that I'm glad my church is bringing back is the May Crowning of the statue of the Virgin Mary. This year, the children who will be receiving their First Communion and Confirmation will be given the honor of this simple and lovely celebration. I think that's really nice; their celebration of sacraments is this Thursday evening (the Bishop has a busy schedule, and the kids drew a week-night/school night this time around). While that makes sense in the larger scheme of things, it's really hard to get families together mid-week, so the May Crowning will be a joyous event for families to gather and to share.  It's nice to have something to celebrate.  This Tuesday is, for me and my family, the one year anniversary of my f