Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

Yesterday after church, a friend asked me if I am all ready to "go back"--he meant, to work, to school-- I replied, "bite your tongue! I have another month!" He laughed. I didn't. Far too many people don't understand what "summer break" means to most teachers. My mind is never that far away from what I will need to be doing; think of it as pre-planning. We don't just shut that off and fluff about all summer. I'm constantly reading, thinking, researching, etc. After this many years, I did front-load a little-- the syllabi for each of my fall classes are both done, and will only require a little minor tweaking. I still have to build the Google classrooms-- my online presence for my classes that helps keep me on track and gives the students a place to go to when they need to know what they may have missed or what is coming next. Yes, we survived quite nicely without those for a long time, but once we pivoted to the online platform exclusively

Ok, Sunday, bring it on. I ended up doing a pile of house chores yesterday, and it felt good to have things clean and orderly. Granted, they won't stay that way (my house is not a museum), but it was good. And I got the stretch of quiet time I needed, too. I read, I watched FoodTV, and I did some computer work that was necessary. All good things. I even managed to make bread. So what does today look like? Well, I am hopeful it won't rain. The weather was lovely yesterday until about 3pm, and then it was a deluge. What a surprise. This has been a pretty darn wet summer. I need to spray neem oil on my plants, in hopes of keeping the bugs at bay. I don't know if anything is going to come of my garden, other than the few cherry tomatoes I've picked. The plants are lovely, but the fruits are few. I need to put the weekly dose of chlorine in the pool, even though the forecast is for a cooler week, and we won't be getting in it. I just want to avoid scummy yuck. And I have

Silence. Or rather, ambient quiet. It's been a very busy week, filled with lots of sounds, many of them from a sometimes disgruntled but often just chatty toddler. Add to that the usual television/radio/street noises, and it's been a sort of jumble and cacophony of sound. Even the almost constant hum of the air conditioner and assorted fans are part of the mix. Not today. The only sounds right now are the faint tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, a muffled hum from the cars going by (not frequent, it's still pretty early on a Saturday), and the hum of the A/C. I need stretches of quiet just as much as water and sleep.  When Meg was quite small, I would pick her up from daycare on my way home from work-- just past lunchtime-- and we had a deal. I would tell her that I needed 20 minutes of quiet time, during which she could play or read quietly in her room, and then we'd go and do something fun together. It worked like a charm. She learned to respect other people's

How is it that television personalities come to be like extended family members? I was listening to the morning news, and there's a big shake-up coming-- one woman is leaving, as she is moving to be closer to family and friends. And the morning weather man, one whom we are all fond of, is moving to the evening slot. What???? Who will do the Monday rooster?  And there are the familiar actors in film; we feel a certain fondness, like seeing old friends, even if the movie we are watching is not all that great. Or even if it is; then, we feel a sense of pride for them, for a job well done. They don't know us, will likely never meet us, but yet, they are fixtures in our lives, at least on the periphery.  We cry when a favorite actor or musician dies. This week, Sinead O'Connor died, and yes, her life was a decades-long struggle with mental health and pain. She was a woman who demanded to live on her own terms; sometimes polarizing, but authentic as hell. And Tony Bennet passed

Today's forecast of yet more rain is going to slow me down a little, and that's a good thing. I have a few errands to accomplish, and there's always dishes to do, but for the most part, I'm going to just see what the day has in store. I have a bad (?) habit of, as my dad used to say, "wishing my life away." Which is not entirely accurate-- but yes, I tend to look ahead and see the days falling away from the calendar, and not appreciating the gift each day can be.  I have to remind myself I have a full month before school year #37 (eek) starts. Yes, there are a couple of PD days the week prior, but I AM NOT ON THE CLOCK YET. I need to shut that termagant siren off-- she can just hush for a few more weeks.  Yesterday was pretty dang idyllic; great weather, Holly was awesome, G helped out-- we had a great day that included ice cream and pool time. That's summer. So I'm not going to fill this day with must-do stuff. Nor am I going to unstopper my metaphori

I'm having a strange but pretty gratifying week, when it comes to writing. A review of a poetry collection I wrote was posted without any editorial changes required or recommended on Monday, and this was followed up by a shared note from the poet herself--she liked what I wrote. A poem I had published by another journal was then picked up by a person curating a themed anthology about difficult borders. And I got another email from the person who posted that review, saying that the publisher at a much-respected press has requested that I write another review for their journal, all because my last two (of three, mind you) reviews caught his interest.  Me?  Here we go again, with the imposter syndrome. I've been writing both poetry and analytical prose for a long time, but it always surprises me when anyone thinks my stuff is good. I get a sense of "aw shucks" every single time. Who am I, to play with the big kids?  I have writerly goals, to be sure, but the New England

My garden is pretty much failing this year. Sad tomatoes are not ripening all that quickly. Beans are just now thinking about blooming. The squash plants have not set fruit. The only thing that is doing well is the cucumbers.  I'm tired of rain. Last year, I was picking zucchini and raspberries. This year? Not even close. And of all of our fruit trees, two apple trees have a few apples--no pears or plums this year. We do have a few bunches of concord grapes coming along-- those will be fun and tasty, but not enough to make jelly. I'm glad that the federal government is collecting official data for northeast farmers to maybe get some help for their lost crops-- hard freeze in the spring, followed by floods, makes for a very lean year. For us home gardeners, there is no program to help, and the price of food is going to rise because of the lack of commercial produce. My brother-in-law runs a food service program at a hospital, and he was able to score 50 pounds of flour for Meg a

Desultory.  Now there's a word for what much of this week looks like it could be. And it's truly a goal: no plans, no direction. I've spent a good portion of summer "vacation" chugging along, getting things done, and I have not yet gotten into "vacay" mode, not fully. I think this week looks like a good one to do that, at least in part. I've sent out a bunch of poem subs, written a book review, and I've done what I can out-- and indoors. Yes, I'll have the usual requisite house chores (laundry doesn't do itself), and I've got a couple of days of Holly-watching, but generally, what I plan (!!) to do is read. Bake. Get in my pool while the weather is decent. Do what pleases me.  Ok, so I did say it was a goal. Those who know me well also understand that I'm achievement-driven, and that runs counter to fully lolling about. But my new school year plan book came in the mail, and I hear the resonance of clock ticking in the not-so-dista

It's Sunday, and I don't feel like railing on about the state of bullshit curriculum in Florida . Again. Except, to only point out that to teach the approved warped view of US History, and especially about the enslavement of other humans as being to their BENEFIT, is going to plant seeds of yet more horror and division in this country. No mention of violence and rape, no mention of kidnapping and selling humans. Just...they learned trades. (As if they didn't already know how to do things?) My heart hurts. Can you imagine being a child of color in school and learning this? Being forced to accept it, and then tested on it ? Made to repeat lies about your own past in order to pass classes? Abusive. That's what the curriculum in Florida is; child abuse.  There's other errors, omissions, and mis-steps (okay, lies) in the approved curriculum as well. It is rife with whataboutisms and garbage, white-supremacist "dogma." It doesn't bode well for the rest of th

" You're a writer the minute you say you are. Nobody gives you a diploma--you have to prove it, at least to yourself." The Tender Bar (2021) is a story about family, about hopes and hard work, and what you really have to do to put your own "demons" to rest. Directed by George Clooney and starring, among others, Ben Affleck and Christopher Lloyd, the narrative begins in 1973, with young Jr and his mother having to move back in with her father, who is a crusty old man who has to support a revolving cast of failed and/or struggling family members. Jr's father is a radio personality, one who is essentially absent from his life except when Jr searches for his voice on the radio. The few times they do meet are disappointing, and Jr is not really all that upset-- his extended family is all he needs. Jr is the entire family's brightest hope; his mother's obsession is to get him accepted to Yale or Harvard and for him to become a lawyer. This is her dream, a

I've "discovered" this fun group through Facebook posts: Post Modern Jukebox. This is now my theme song for today: https://www.facebook.com/watch?v=958725228663446 And there's other amazing discoveries to be made! I'm in awe of those solo musicians who devote their time to creating those multi-panel productions of songs, especially the acapella ones. Try this guy, Jared Halley. He is brilliant. His pop covers are wonderful, but what is truly impressive is his Phantom of the Opera with Lauren Paley singing Christine's part: https://www.facebook.com/jaredhalleymusic/videos/3476083279345875/ Yes, it's true, Facebook can be a toxic platform, but I'm enjoying the musical discoveries. See, the algorithm gives you more of what you already look at-- so, if you are seeing toxic stuff, it's only responding to what you've already clicked on, right? (Stop that!) Every now and then, I curate my Facebook feed by blocking or dismissing ads and other content

I know I've written about it before, but once again, I had a song threading through my mind before my eyes even opened up this morning. Today, it's " White Rabbit, " and I have no clue why (this one is the Grace Potter cover). Sometimes it's hymns, or old pop tunes from the 60s and 70s. Today, it's the haunting guitar and the puzzling lyrics. I have an odd obsession with the stories of Alice and her journey into Wonderland. I'm really drawn to the Tim Burton version, because it honors the anxiety and unease in the original texts. The Disney version is cute, but those singing flowers and the general goofiness are not (I think) what Lewis Carroll envisioned. The stories were created to entertain a little girl, made up initially almost off the cuff-- which, to me, lends credence to my idea that since they were coming somewhat unedited from the mind of a troubled adult, the Burton version mirrors that better. There's just something about going down a rabbi

Y'know, I had high hopes for this summer: sunshine, reading on the deck, going to the beach, wandering around Portsmouth to see the ships and eat seafood, hanging out in the pool, harvesting fresh veggies from my little garden, and so on.  What the reality has been (and likely will be) is rain. And Canadian wildfire smoke. And floods. I've been kicking my feet and holding my breath-- mostly internally, but I admit, I've been a little petulant-- because what I wanted to do can't happen, due to so many things out of my control. It feels pretty petty to be annoyed about not being able to go to do things I wanted to, when so many people's homes, businesses, farms, and their whole lives are upended by the flooding and rains.  So, I'll tell my inner whiny self to take a time-out. I had a wonderful week with friends, both old and new, at my poetry conference, I managed to not get picked for jury duty, and I have had the chance to be in the pool a bit, and today looks l

What is this war of aggression that Russia/Putin is perpetrating really all about? You'd think that, by now, he'd figure out it's just not worth it. To have lost most of the world's respect, and to gain-- well, yeah, the "breadbasket" of Europe-- that seems to be (at least) the official reason.  And now, Putin's chosen to not allow grain shipments to the rest of the world from Ukraine. He's not going to renew the agreement. So, food prices will be deeply affected globally. Again. This is truly an economic blow that will be felt all over the United States, too, and who knows how it's going to be spun politically. Well, we probably do know, but that's almost beside the point. With the price of food having been so high (bird flu, inflation, the price of gas impeding trucking, etc.), people have been skeptical about any improvements that have been achieved. And now, here we go again-- going into winter, and food prices will be likely higher. The dr

Hey, it's a new week! I always have a to-do list, both daily and weekly. That does not mean it all gets done, but it's a help. I need external accountability. I try to get things done by noon (if it's not a work day), so I can use the flex time in the afternoon as I wish. That said, the monsoon season here has kept me from doing a lot of things, both necessary and preferred, so I'm hoping that this week will be a whole lot less rainy.  My garden is lushly green, but little has begun in the "to eat" category. The grass is verdant. The pool--well, it's a bit overly full, and that's on my list of things to attend to today. Everything is soppy. I've got a book review to write, but I'm still not sure what I want to say about the collection of poems. It's coming, slowly, in thoughts and fragments. I set myself a deadline to have it drafted by the end of the week. I will do my best to get that done, in between other things.  Mostly, though, I want

All of this wet. All of this insufferable wet. People's lives and livelihoods are molding.  Arthritis, asthma, and general ache has set in-- and the pool overfloweth. NH is under a tornado (!) watch, with a full warning in the southern areas around Manchester.  And poor Vermont and upstate NY-- there is just nowhere else for the water to go.  Meg's basement is almost back to dry spots--thank goodness for her very best friends who own a cleaning business with an industrial sucker-upper. There's a lot of soggy, ruined stuff piling up outside for the trash haulers.  I won't rail on about climate change and the anthropocene epoch again today, but I think it's really got to be sinking in to some doubters' heads. Maybe. Likely, they think that this deluge is some sort of divine retribution we've earned for electing Democrats.  I was going to go to church, but I feel icky. I'll watch the 10:30 mass on livestream. I was going to bake bread, but I just do not wan

Sometimes it's a real curse to have an overactive imagination. Especially one that trends toward disaster. I waited for almost two weeks for the results of my mammogram. Now, it had been four years since my last scan, due to my dad's ill health, his dying, and Covid, so I was a bit nervous about the whole thing-- who, at my age and my gender, wouldn't be?  Two weeks of imagining the worst. Of being preoccupied. Of heavy praying.  I'm fine. Amen. When I saw the envelope in the mail, I was both scared and relieved. I mean, I got the hospital survey about the care I received before the actual results. When I finally filled out the survey, I didn't trash the kind people who took care of me through the process, but I did leave a pointed message about the long wait. The radiologist was on vacation. Now, I don't blame anyone for wanting a vacation, but could the schedulers not book patients in for when there is no one to read the scans?  Anyhow, I think this is, in som

We had quite a light show with heavy rain and thunder last night-- more of this terrible, unsettled weather pattern that is beating northern New England (and apparently, Montreal) to smithereens. I was duly impressed that my lawn furniture is still upright and the pool cover stayed on.  I finished the book I mentioned yesterday, and now I'm casting about for something else, something entirely fiction, well-written and not too mentally challenging. Yeah, a big request. I have two Grisham novels I have not yet read, so likely it'll be one of those.  I have not written anything of real worth in weeks; that's nothing really new for me, but it's still annoying. I have a few ideas, but mostly they are repeats of the same ol' story that I have been working through. No one wants to read poems that are truly just therapeutic blurts. I don't even really want to, let alone write them. That said, my online writing group starts up again on Sunday, so maybe I'll get somet

More rain. I suspect people in the flooded and devastated areas are not too excited about the prospect of yet more rain. We had a quick deluge yesterday that certainly dumped a huge amount in short time. It's tropical.  Any head-in-sand responses to climate change are not welcome. We are in a whole new era. The word that designates our current geologic epoch is anthropocene, which is defined as " the period during which human activity has been the dominant influence on climate and the environment." This new period of geologic "time" began roughly in the 1950s, although I'd posit that the roots of this effect began with the rise of the Industrial Age. Add to that a few paradigm shifts, and here we are. If one wants to use the Bible as a basis (risky, I know), when God gave mankind dominion over the plants, animals, etc., it was to be good stewards of creation. Not exploiters and pillagers. I think we missed the memo. So, as I said, here we are. It may even be

I've been thinking a lot about getting my own personal paperwork in order lately. Maybe it's just that I turned 57, coupled with the horror show that existed when my father died (not to mention the total mess when my mother died). At any rate, I've written down where all of my passwords and insurance papers and so on are located into a small notebook in my file drawer. Neither of my parents were all that good about paperwork-- my mother refused to deal with it at all (she told me I'd just have to figure it out in a really prickly conversation about two weeks before she died), and my dad's affairs were scattered, to say the least. His vascular dementia didn't help, either-- the checkbooks (yes, plural) were a nightmare scenario. I vowed then and there not to leave my family with that mess.  I wouldn't exactly say I'm obsessed with my own demise. No, I want to live a productive and happy life. But it's a lot, isn't it? To be a middle-aged woman in

My husband's family is now into its 6th generation in the same area of the Northeast Kingdom. Vermont is where he calls "home"-- the photos are distressing, with roads washed out and his brother's garden under 3 inches of water so far. At least they are in the higher elevations, but the rivers are still rising and angry. Montpelier is inaccessible as of this morning, and major roads are either closed or just gone. So far, thank God, no deaths have been reported.  Animal rescues are already on a shoestring, and they are doing their best. If you can help, please do. The folks experiencing insecure housing who have recently lost their shelter due to the ending of the hotel/motel program are living really rough-- if you can, please help. Roads are gone, houses are gone or damaged--again, if you can, please help.  This is the worst flooding since 1927; it eclipses the damage done by TS Irene in 2011--and that took a decade to recover from. The Winooski is still rising, and

We've moved to the tropics, it seems. Upwards of 7 inches of rain are predicted in some areas.  I'm admittedly a little more than a little nervous about driving to jury duty; who knows what roads are going to be a mess? Under water? And there's precious little cell service anywhere along my route.  Stay safe, folks. Stay dry. C

I had complicated, busy dreams again last night. Two nights in a row, and I'm puzzled why my brain is dumping all sorts of weirdness. The one thing that sticks with me particularly about last night's dream is the huge owl that was in the top of a hollow tree, and how it made eye contact with me, then swooped down and out of sight. It was not menacing, but I felt like I was in the presence of something much more powerful than I. If Athena is visiting my dreams like the gods/goddesses do in the Iliad , then so be it. I just need to figure out what the message or lesson is.  In the meantime, it's 70 already, humid, and promising to be another hot and sticky day with the promise of possible t-storms (but they rarely materialize). I fell asleep briefly while watching a movie last night; this is the good thing about streaming services-- I can locate it again, back it up a little, and finish it. My to-do list is pretty short today: make a fruit salad. Do a load of laundry so it do

I had a quiet night last night; yes, the town was able to still have the Independence Day festivities-- the rain petered out, and the fireworks went on. We can almost see them from our house, but I didn't bother. I was having a far better time in my recliner, in my jammies early, watching the Sox game. (They won.) G was asleep in his chair with the game on in the den, and the dog was snoozing in another chair. What party animals, eh? Today: top off the pool (displacement happens), put an HTH tablet in there, and let it sort things out. It looks like a cooler, drizzly day, so I'll tend to inside things. The bedding is already on the final wash cycle, and G helped spin the mattress this morning. We need a new one, but that'll have to wait a bit. Other than that, I have laundry to fold and a fruit salad to make. Not bad.  I finished the first reading/ annotating of the collection of poetry I'm going to be reviewing. It's an odd feeling that these poems evoke: observati

I'm getting old.  We're watching the morning news, and they just announced that one of morning anchors is moving up; he will be the new executive producer for the news. He's younger than my own daughter who was his RA at college. And our parish priest is also two years younger than my daughter. So, I guess it's happened: I'm old. Everyone on the TV news looks twelve.  I know that I was once a young and starry-eyed (well, I doubt I was ever starry-eyed) professional. At the first parents' night at school, I had a parent tell me that they had sweaters older than me. I wanted to snap back with a suggestion that they go shopping. And my principal is a former student of mine, and not from the first few years, either.  Some days, I feel like I have years and years stretching ahead of me, with all of the mental inquisitiveness and energy just bubbling forth. Most days, no. Most days, I feel like I'm wandering around, figuring out what I'm supposed to do next, a

Doom-scrolling this morning, all I can do is shake my head at the carelessness (as in, they don't actually care) of the RNC and other prominent GOP members in their social media posts. Seriously? The flag of Liberia is clearly not the same. And Hawley's misattributed quote -- he posted one that he said was from Patrick Henry, but was, instead, from an 1856 White Supremacist publication.  And their pet judge has determined that the federal government can do nothing at all about disinformation being spread on social media--claiming First Amendment protections.  As a citizen, this worries me, and as a teacher it infuriates me. How can we teach about implicit (or explicit) bias and how it is not valid as source material if there is no practical distinction? Or that it is somehow politicized when we point out wrong information? Orwell was not wrong. We are living in a post-truth dystopia. Cling to the verifiable facts, my friends. We may have to save civilization all over again. Tak

Have you ever ducked into an aisle --or even into the racks-- at a store in order to avoid seeing and having to make niceties with someone? Yeah, that's how you end up with a 100% polyester runner for the dining room rug, to keep the detritus from the deck and the wet from the pool under control and not tracked into the kitchen. And how you also end up with a huge container of hand soap and a package of three meal prep containers.  Yes, they were all needed (?!), but omg what shenanigans. I was bored/lonely sitting at home the other day (still working on this going from super busy/ super peopley lifestyle to summer quiet), so I went to TJMaxx. Figured I'd just walk around a bit, gawk at things, be disgusted that the fall stuff is now coming out ( really? ) --and there the person was, likely visiting family, a person who doesn't even live here anymore. Double ugh. I just could not muster up the fake smile and "hey, howaya" so I strolled/hid in various places. I mad

 Independence Day, 2023-- I'm really uncomfortable with the way patriotism, and love of country, has been warped and weaponized. There's a huge difference between nationalism and patriotism, and what we see sweeping through whole swaths of our country and our communities is pretty scary. If you truly are able to love something like a country, and if you truly have the right to speak your mind without fear of governmental reprisals, then you ought to be able to offer honest assessments and criticism, not just to complain, but to point out areas that may need a little improvement.  Unfortunately, those rights, and many others, are currently being abrogated. Walt Whitman, the quintessential American and poet, said, "Resist much, obey little." My father used to have a bumper sticker on his truck that stated, "Question authority." Now, both statements do not encourage us to bitch and whine. They don't say, "shout down anyone you don't agree with.&quo

Raining yet again. Or should I say, still? It is getting a bit boggy, to be honest, and every surface is slick with damp.  I didn't end up doing much in the way of writing yesterday; the doggo is sick, and I spent most of my time cleaning up after her. Poor thing, poor me. I hope she's better today. I hate to see an animal feeling poorly. It makes me feel really helpless.  Maybe today. We'll see if I get inspired or at least feel guilty enough to transcribe my scribbles from the conference. At any rate, it'll be a stretch of time --that is something that summer break can do for me, give me a little more flexible, unstructured time. Until and unless I fill it with "to-do" projects, which is what I usually tend to do.  So this is what I'm going to try to do: schedule my writing time like I do the house work and groceries. Maybe then I'll get more done. Or at least, I'll have time to do things, without all the self-distractions.  It's kind of stra

Why is it when July rolls around, I feel the clock ticking? Summer vacation (rest, reset) has only just begun, right?  Today, after church, I am going to do a little (very little) housework, and get the sourdough bread going. And I'm going to read. I'd go back outside, but it's raining AGAIN. It was glorious to just listen to the radio and the birds and float for hours in the pool and contemplate the sky. But, it is probably just as well that I can't do it again today, as I got a little too much sun, and I should limit my exposure for a few days. But still, we've had so much rain, it's crazy. I wish I could send it all to Canada. The haze yesterday never cleared, and we are not even getting the worst of it. I have another kind of "infiltration," though not so dire. All this damp has brought out the earwigs. ugh. When it was hot and dry, we had sugar ants. What's with the bugs? I suspect that next will be those gross, fat flies. So far, I've man

I'm always both humbled and amazed by the power of writing in community with other gifted people who are not afraid to dig into the stuff that abides deeply. Still reflecting on the last week at The Frost Place, with so many people I've known for years and with new friends as well-- it takes a lot of guts and stamina to be vulnerable and honest in your work, and to sustain that for 6 days is a marathon of emotional intensity. I bow to their excellence, and I hope that I can keep it up as well.  I was not going to hit the keyboard for a few days. The plan was to let my brain sift and settle, then get back at it. And while I didn't draft anything new yesterday, I did revisit some poems in progress and do some deep revisions. While only one of them is in an "arrived at the finish line" state (I think), others are making me a lot happier. So there's that.  I also sorted out some poems to start working on a second chapbook; why not? The other one is out there, gett