Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

Boooo!! All Hallows' Eve! Poem for today: Theme in Yellow BY  CARL SANDBURG I spot the hills With yellow balls in autumn. I light the prairie cornfields Orange and tawny gold clusters And I am called pumpkins. On the last of October When dusk is fallen Children join hands And circle round me Singing ghost songs And love to the harvest moon; I am a jack-o'-lantern With terrible teeth And the children know I am fooling. Related

I went to bed early, and slept like someone had knocked me out cold for five hours without interruption. I've been having nightly busy/chaotic dreams again, but last night's film fest from the psyche was not too weird. Just busy. I woke up around 3:50, and managed to get back to some semblance of sleep, but then the dog woke up, the husband woke up, the roosters woke up, and the rain started to pound on the roof. Ah, yes, Monday. This week will be a little disjointed as well; I'm taking tomorrow as a personal day (most of my students are on a field trip). This week, though, we'll be working our way through an anchor essay (rhetorical analysis) in College Comp, with no new reading, just drafting and revising. Creative Writing will be up and down-- but I think we'll get where we need to go. My plan is to give them a sheaf of stories by Chekhov (cheery, eh?), and after we've read them, they can choose one to craft a new ending for. We'll see. Some of the kids a

It's a chilly and October-ish 35 degrees this morning as I write to you. Finally. I got the beans pulled up yesterday, but it started to rain seriously, so the tomatoes got a reprieve. I'll get to them this week. It was nearly 80 degrees yesterday, a glorious, almost too-warm day. I opened the windows and cleaned the house-- it felt good to get things sorted and dusted. But not today. Today will bring baking and making herbed butter to freeze. Fall domesticity reigns.  I'm still thinking about displacement since yesterday, though, but a voluntary remove from society. One of my favorite poems is one by Rainer Maria Rilke, as translated by Edward Snow. It is titled, in English, "Autumn Day," but in German, it is "Herbsttag." It seems like just about every scholar out there (yes, a hyperbole) has translated this poem, but I have my favorite translations among the offerings (how nerdy of me?)-- The part I love the best is the first line: "Lord, it is t

Robert Frost's " The Hill Wife " set of five short poems haunts me. Maybe it's because I understand the plight of the wife who is perpetually nervous, living out in the middle of nowhere (I don't, but I have). Maybe it's the fraught imaginings about what --or who-- might be hiding in the woods, in the darkened house, up the road. The tree that taps at the window reminds me of the ghost at the window at the beginning of Wuthering Heights; again, an overworked imagination, part of an emotionally stressed character. I, too, have had long nights of dark worries. I get it.  The part that truly sticks with me, though, is in the very first poem, titled "Loneliness" with the subscript (Her Word).  Her word? Are they not lonely? Does she feel the anxiety and isolation, but it's not physically true? And that is never explained. I get the sense of division between the man and his wife already, just with that subscript. And then the poem begins: "One ou

It suddenly occurred to me yesterday that Christmas is less than two months away. And lo and behold, in my email there was a flash sale sort of announcement from Lands End: fleece on the cheap. So, the anchor gift this year for everyone in the family is fleece. Then later in the day, we went to TJMaxx, and there were inexpensive but really funny small items, just perfect for stocking stuffers. So again, I have a few more little things tucked away. Nice. It feels good to be on track, if just for a moment.  In reality, the news was so dire and depressing, I needed to do a little shop-therapy. I wanted to see bright and shiny things, feel soft and pleasant fabrics, all in a fleeting effort to keep the scaries in a box. It worked a bit, and I can always convince myself I was getting something done ahead of time (I was). But I really just wanted to escape the news scrolls and my sad thoughts. I bought myself a pretty sweater tunic, too, but the weather is not yet cold enough for it. Wait

How can we ever be okay? Mass shooting in Lewiston, Maine-- this time, in a restaurant and bowling alley, in a relatively quiet city/college town-- The horrors in the news. Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, South Sudan, Acapulco--  The new House Speaker is everything we don't need or want. Banning people's lives and perpetrating dangerous political lies-- Angry and spiteful divisiveness in my own town over art, which is a metaphor for people's lives-- calling others an "abomination" was never in Christ's playbook-- spouting scripture to justify evil-- Telling a grieving man that it's good that his dead gay son is burning in hell--

I'm trying very hard to not rant about the dysfunction in politics in the country. It's really disturbing, and as I don't have an easy fix, or sage advice to offer, what would be the point. Yet the headlines this morning on NPR bother me, chiefly: "More Americans say they support political violence ahead of the 2024 election Nearly a quarter of Americans believe that 'patriots may need to resort to violence to save the country' while an overwhelming majority think democracy is at risk in a new PRRI survey." Now, if that doesn't give you pause, I don't know what would. The dark circus that is the House GOP Speaker search is not funny, either. The world is watching while it's spinning out of control in too many areas of our national interest. We have a cluster of puppet Neros fiddling around while the basic tenets of this country are burning. I am becoming unconvinced that we will be able to rise from the ashes of this particular dumpster fire of

  Short expostulation today: Trump compared himself to Nelson Mandela while filing for the NH primary. I just can't.

Why do I love regional literature so much? Is it because the characters and setting are so familiar? I mean, it's not just New England literature I like, though. Any story that is set in a location that is richly evocative works for me. But New England writers have a way of calling up out of the rocks and the trees, a living image of the tired and trying residents.  Let me narrow this down even further: I am even more drawn to literature set in the north country. The novels of Howard Frank Mosher are among my very favorite, hands down, especially Waiting for Teddy Williams and his fine collection of short stories, Points North . And Ernest Hebert's The Dogs of March is essential reading for those who really want to understand the north country and its residents. And now, Richard Russo's Empire Falls is on my list. There are other New England authors whom I like very much, but they are not necessarily writing about where I live, though Chris Bohjalian's Water Witches

Well, last night we ordered burgers and fries from the local weekend-only snack shack down the street--and they were glorious. And the sweet potato fries were so good. Which is all very helpful, as the headache that the pharm tech warned me about that is a side effect of the current Covid spike vax is a real thing. Bleah on headaches.  I spent the evening watching two not very good movies; the first was a farcical art heist ( Mortdecai ) with Johnny Depp and Gwyneth Paltrow--amusing, but not that much. The second was a terrible movie titled The English Teacher , and, while it had Nathan Lane in it (he was great), the plot was not great, and it was an itchy, uncomfortable movie that could have done so much more. Bleah again. At any rate, I went to bed and slept hard, avoiding my poked arm, and woke up at 6am. I've still got the persistent headache (not a searing one, just an uncomfortable pressure), and I'm pretty lethargic, but I expected that. Today's plan involves writing

I came home last night after going out to dinner, and it was early enough to watch a movie. I didn't want any high-stakes drama, so I flipped over to the Disney Channel. I've seen the promos for a newer film, Elemental , and I was already moderately intrigued. I figured, give it a few minutes, and we'll see what it's about. I am so glad I did.  The plot is not a new one, but it was well done: ethnic divisions, family traditions and expectations, sacrifice, and forbidden love that ultimately gets solved--shall we say, "steamy" but only in the way that a fire-girl falls for a water-fella. If they are careful, and respect each other's actual needs, they will not put each other out. Good lesson.  The animation was good, the side characters were amusing, and there were the usual more mature side jokes--maybe two?-- embedded. The main female character does, in fact, have a mother (unusual for Disney/Pixar), and the plot gives enough opportunity for the fire-girl

Finally, Friday. It's been a strange week, hasn't it? Maybe it was the eclipse?  Poems about various wars, diasporas, and the aftermath of those things have been woven in amongst the other, much cheerier news I've gotten on the personal front. It makes it hard to celebrate when so much of the world is in turmoil from war, natural disasters, and man-made horrors. But yet, I need -- we need -- to accept the moments of joy and grace, too. How else can we hope to help other people? We need to fill our own cup before we can continue to pour. And even good things, blessings, have responsibilities attached.  When people tell you to "count your blessings," it seems like a slap sometimes. But we do tend to forget the good and perseverate on the difficulties, don't we? It takes a conscious choice much of the time to enjoy things without guilt or feeling like there's a catch. I know I tend to be suspicious of positive things, which is, in the final analysis, kind of

I'm embarking on a new path-- or at least, a little side street. My chapbook has been accepted for publication! The nuts and bolts of publication are all a new process for me, and I'm feeling both grateful and overwhelmed.  I sent the info they needed to generate the contract. (Can you believe it? Contract?!! ) Next, I sent notes to a few poet-friends to ask for a blurb for the book. (Can you believe it? Book! ) There's a lot of other little tasks, too: author photos ( plural ), short and long bios, possible cover art.  Then, there will be promoting pre-sales, lining up book signings/readings, etc. ( O golly .) I have the feeling that my quiet little life of merely wanting to see my name on an actual book is about to be disrupted a bit. I'm a "house mouse" (as G informed me the other day), but I was not always so-- but I am, and it's going to take a lot of inner fortitude to get this little book into the world.  But first, coffee. And I have to get ready t

There's quite a few poems that live in my head, at least some pivotal lines and phrases. This one, for instance, which popped into my head this morning. It's chilly, it's dark, but the forecast for the daylight hours includes a last push from Mother Nature--60s. I need to get out to the garden boxes to see if there's anything else I need to harvest before tearing out the plants. We still have not had a frost, which is really quite odd, but I feel like it's coming, possibly by the weekend. We are "promised" maybe two days of this last warmth, and I want to use it to my advantage. The bird bath must be emptied and stored, the outside water shut off. G has already stowed the hoses and the deck furniture that has to be kept out of the colder weather. How did I get so busy that I still didn't get to sit outside on the deck? There's an imbalance in my days that I need to figure out-- I'm tired, and there is a lot to do-- more that should have been do

My creative writing class is reading Tolkien's The Hobbit , and we are focusing on narrative choices that the author has made, in addition to the plot, characters, settings, etc. We found ourselves going into a psychological analysis of Bilbo's first meeting with Gollum. This is where things got quite interesting: Gollum/Smeagol speaks in a sort of second-person point of view which is important, as the character's psyche is bifurcated due to the addiction to the Ring. When Bilbo encounters this ur-Hobbit creature so consumed by greed and possessed by his Precious, he is also confronting the repressed, uncivil part of being a proper Hobbit. This Id personality is deeply ingrained in all humans, and when it comes to the forefront, we have to confront it or we commit acts that, later, we regret or even deny.  Hm!  Then we started to map the alliances and hatreds among the groups represented in the novel, which turned into the beginnings of a geo-political discussion about Euro

It's another rainy/downpouring start to the week. This is another of those (lately, all of those) crazy, interrupted weeks at school. So be it. I've never been good at just rolling with it, but I know I have to. Our students in grades 9-11 have to do the PSAT Suite of Assessments as standardized data-gathering. Today, they will spend most of my first class of the day filling in administrative bubbles and doing the practice test. Then, Thursday, they will spend the entire morning doing the test, followed by early release from captivity. The seniors will spend that time cooped up with the expectation that they will work on something or other: college apps or some such (though many have done that and are already receiving their acceptance letters). I suspect most of them will just stay home. I would.  My role on Thursday is to be the monitor in the 10th grade testing room. I'm not sure what that entails except troll around, make sure they aren't goofing off. I am not the o

Yesterday was a bit chaotic, but what fun! Holly's birthday! Mostly just family came, which is fine. We had a nice lunch at IFB, then trooped back to Meg's house for presents and cake and so on. While it was a bit overwhelming, with 13 people in Meg's tiny living room, it was nice for Holly to see so many people who love her and who were excited to see what new toys and clothes she got. Apparently, she's been up this morning well before dawn, playing with her new things. Success! Today, I am hoping for a much quieter day. I've been battling a stupid head cold (yes, just a cold) for a week, and it's whupped me. I overslept by about an hour this morning-- not my usual practice, to be sure. I'll watch Mass on the livestream, then get some papers graded. Later, I plan to make gingerbread ghost cookies with Holly, which should be a lot of sticky fun. I bought a chuck roast to plop into the crockpot with veggies-- Yankee pot roast dinner! I'll make some apples

Are all the leaf-peepers gone yet?  It's a strange situation, what with our local economy being so tourist-dependent. Main Street has been rather congested lately (more than usual-- and that's saying a bit). Our stores and streets have been inundated with folks who are not from here-- you can tell, with all of the standing in the middle of the sidewalk, the road, etc. with cell phones pointed at leaves, steeples, defunct movie theatre marquees and the like. Local restaurants have been packed full. Even the Walmart has had an uptick in business, possibly due to the campers parked in the lot overnight.  I try to maintain a wider view of things, but really, I just want to be able to get my groceries, maybe go out for a beer and sandwich, and travel from point A to B safely without hitting an errant pedestrian who cannot see the crosswalk ten feet away. And for the love of all that's holy, I wish they would leave some coffee for the rest of us at Starbucks, please. By Monday mo

Kids are thirsty for good words. My friend Sarah Audsley was our guest poet in my classes yesterday, and the room was full. Not only my own students, but several who asked to come in, to meet a working poet, and to read and talk about writing and the writing practice. Wow. I think this is a logical swing of the pendulum; for too, too long, kids have been put on laptops and other digital devices, which creates a very strange paradox: they are hyperconnected but incredibly isolated. Sitting in my comfortable space with a kind and generous person, talking in community about the craft and mystery of the work... it was really great. Even the kids who are "not interested" were engaged. One young man who struggles with reading and writing, who is a gentle soul who knows how hard he has to work to write anything, produced a poem that he gave to me to read over. He didn't have to. His chosen topic was hunting. He felt empowered to take the real risk to write and to give it to me t

  The Bruins won last night; when I went to bed, they were ahead by one, but that's never a sure bet. Glad to see they posted another goal. Some Boston team has to be stable--sure isn't the Sox or the Pats. And I don't follow basketball except in a very marginal, nodding acquaintance sort of way, so this is it, folks. Hockey season needs to carry the emotional weight this year, I think. The opposing team has a young player who scored first in the game--his very first professional, NHL goal. I think his parents were there to see it-- I would not take that away from him or them, ever. How cool. The thing is, this kid (and yes, a kid) is just 18 years old. But he's got heart, and he's not afraid-- both qualities of a young person his age. I mean, did he finish high school? I hope so. I hope the big guys let him sit with them at lunch. So many kids are either rushing into adult life with gusto or resisting maturity like over-boiled brussels sprouts. Not much in between.

We have yet to have a frost, a real, vine-shrivelling cold night. I don't mind-- we still have not had to resort to turning on the oil furnace *yay* and we have been using the pellet stove only sparingly. I'd not even turn it on, except the damp with the chillier temps tends to seep into the house, and that's uncomfortable.  We are a blankets family. There are so many of them! And I buy more! There are blankets per season, some large, others more lap-sized. I have storage of blankets readily available for the chill. Every piece of furniture has a blanket draped on it. It's borderline comical. The house is an older one, not exactly tightly insulated, and I hate to be cold. That said, I also hate to waste fuel. So, blankets.  I'm also putting off hanging the winter curtains as long as I can. I don't like the grey-gloom that is the result. We do need to consider putting away the deck furniture quite soon-- that makes me sad. I've hardly used the deck, due to th

I'm not sure if this sonnet by Shakespeare is depressing or not; it depends on my mood when I read it. Today, I think it's a calm reflection on the nature of aging, with the season as the obvious metaphor.  I'm attracted to the stark images:  "bare ruin'd choirs" and " the glowing of such fire/ That on the ashes of his youth doth lie." Some days, this fits my mood all too well.  Have a lovely fall day, C Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold BY  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whe