Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

Cutting the Harvest Home. Samhain. All Hallows' Eve. The night that the veil thins and spirits can walk among us.  The weather promises to be good for little ghosties and ghoulies, small princesses and knights, super heroes and tramps... and they'll all come to my door, bags or buckets outstretched, hoping for candy. I'll make sure they each get something, and I'll keep count. I always do.  Halloween is not my favorite holiday, but the joy and fun of it here in our small town above the Notch is palpable. Given how uncertain the world is, how tenuous our hold on our own realities can seem, a night of fun and trickery seems to be just what we might need. Yes, a few pumpkins may be smashed, and someone's house may get tp'd, but seriously-- there are war zones, bigotry, doctrines of hate encroaching on the little ones' lives. Death is not funny, and too many children in too many places face that daily. For today-- and this evening-- I will suspend my fears as be

  All Hallows Eve   Kissed but not cut by the combine, solitary cornstalks rustle in wordless laments. Crows bicker and feint,   sparring over slim leavings, gathering seed in the cold. Pumpkins guard our doorsteps, lined up with precision,   or clustered in tight little groups, barring any wayward shades. Tendrils of cold seep around sagging gray weather stripping, finding   warmth in the kitchen. Wool-wrapped, we huddle around the fire, ghost stories haunting the edges of conversation, too real, too likely, to speak of.   Published in the Aurorean , Fall-Winter 2018

I'm going to take a break from all the gloom...  This is supposed to be a fun week, right? Today, maybe just before dinner, we'll be carving our pumpkins that we grew into silly or spooky faces. I always let the pumpkin tell me what it wants to be. I study the shape, imagine its face, and then release it from the squash. (Apologies to Michelangelo.) G will pick up a few more for the rest of the crew.  Photos tomorrow, if all goes well! In the meantime, please enjoy this fun little poem by Carl Sandburg, and have a great day! C Theme in Yellow 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.

October 27th--first snow of the season. I'm not at all surprised, but we are not expected to keep this light dusting (which is just fine with me). In fact, we are predicted to have 74 degrees on Halloween. Trick or treat, indeed.  What's on my mind? I can't quite shake the feeling of dread that comes with the impending election. The American Fascist/ Nazi rally at Madison Square Garden, intentionally recalling the Nazi rally in 1939, scares me. If you've seen the movie Fantastic Beasts , there's a depiction of the same thing, for the same reason: hunt "others" out of a sense of fanatical, "religious" duty. Except, any religion that insists on hate, racism, degradation of other people, and vengeance is no religion. It's genocide. Are we, as a country, all that willing to embrace a cultural purging? Because one has been promised, and it's been promised to be a bloody one . The foul-mouthed, racist rantings of a so-called "comedian&quo

I'm struggling with the pull to write about my fears regarding American Fascism, but then, you probably fear the same thing. I could write about the kids and I, how we had a nice day yesterday at the quiz bowl tournament-- but I am sure you know they did the best they could and had fun.  It's dark and 26 degrees out. It pushes me to a level of darker introspection, and that's exactly the place I don't really want to be right now. The upcoming election is literally making my stomach heave-- folks who are supporting the GOP right now are either malevolent or duped. Most of the ones I know are duped; they take a laissez-faire attitude about the whole thing, thinking that if Trump gets in and it doesn't work out, then we'll just ride it out and elect someone else next time. I fear that there will not be a "next time," given what he's actually said. They say, "oh, it's just grandstanding and bluster." Why would anyone elect a conman on pur

I would love to write letters to my students, but I'm afraid they might be taken the wrong way. Or the right way, but it would not be considered professional of me (layering on the snark?)-- Have a super Saturday. I'm off to the Academic Team tournament... C Dear Students, Please do not confuse Stephen Hawking with Stephen King. He did not write It , but he was a world-famous cosmologist. That should count for something. SMH, Mrs G Dear Students,  Please finish reading the excerpt I gave you to read and consider that you, as high school students, might not have all the background experience you would need in order to declare Stephen Hawking "an idiot." Or, "stupid." Give him the benefit of the doubt, and please, look up anything that escapes you. He might know a thing or two. Thanks in advance, Mrs G Dear Students,  Jonathan Swift was not a cannibal, nor was he promoting cannibalism. The function of satire seems to have escaped you, even though we discussed

Autumn Day  Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.  Lay your long shadows on the sundials,  and on the meadows let the winds go free.  Command the last fruits to be full;  give them just two more southern days,  urge them on to completion and chase  the last sweetness into the heavy wine.  Who has no house now, will never build one.  Who is alone now, will long remain so,  will stay awake, read, write long letters  and will wander restlessly up and down  the tree-lines streets, when the leaves are drifting.  – Edward Snow, 1991 Is it weird I have a f avorite translation of a poem fraught with melancholy? I mean, I have several poems in mind when it comes to fall, to leaves drifting down, to the temperatures plunging, but this poem is special to me, and this particular translation is my favorite (though the Galway Kinnell one is close).  This is the poem that matches this whole week, at least here in our little town north of Franconia Notch. The eighty-degree surprise of Tuesday, th

I'm up. The Shower Deities deemed it fit that the moody hot water heater worked (it was not working last night), so I got a nice, hot shower. The plumber dude is coming this morning, so I hope that it'll be more dependable shortly. I was almost late getting to work yesterday! First, I went down a rabbit hole writing a poem. I don't know if this happens to other writers, but I got this idea and the first line that popped into my head as I was getting ready to shower yesterday morning. I mean, I was unclothed. No pen, paper. So, I quickly put my bathrobe on, ran to the computer, and typed out what my brain was dictating. Well...then it kept going. And going. And then I had to rush to shower, rush to get breakfast, etc. And I even started fiddling with the draft again. Next thing you know, I'm on the road behind someone who insisted on doing 35 (maybe 40 in a daring moment) all the way from Littleton to Lisbon. Weaving and bobbing. Slowing down further. We had a parade of

We are at the mercy of a moody hot water heater. Last night, it quit heating altogether, but this morning, it has heated water, so I will get an actual shower. I'm grateful. We have already scheduled repair for Thursday morning with a former student of mine-- he's got his own (very busy) business in plumbing and heating, so I'm grateful we could be scheduled at all.  And today I get to go to the eye doctor! I'm excited. My eyes are my business, and frankly, they are too tired and blurry too often. I was lucky to get in on a cancellation; they, too, are incredibly busy and the first opening was for March. Two of the eye doctors in the practice have kids at my school, so they are well-known to us. We need to get car tires changed to winter ones soon, and getting an appointment at the garage is a trick unto itself. I should call soon. I know a mechanic at one place just up the street, and the other place we often go is owned by another former student of mine.   And I am tr

I went to bed at 9:30 last night. I spent a lot of teacher-energy at work; the direct instruction and redirection seemed to go okay, and maybe now students will focus a little more on the details. We'll see when the revised essays come in Wed. and Thurs.  I wish that was all that is on my mind, but the election looms. I am panicky, really. I never wanted to live in "interesting times"-- a quiet life is not a bad thing, really. And this social turmoil that threatens to erupt into a fascist state with global repercussions is weighing on me. The only way Hitler was ousted is for the Allies to take up arms and force the situation. Who would come to our aid? Yes, NATO has an agreement with us, but let's be honest, if the United States veers into that sort of authoritarianism, and the power of Russia is fueling it, and the mounting unrest in the Middle East becomes the nuclear conflagration it threatens to be, there will be hell on earth. We, who should be and are the champ

Hello, Monday.  This week ought to be a little more sane than the last few. That would be good; my students' work shows the effects of so much disruption-- poor execution, flat thinking, and overall sloppy not-even-essays in most cases. I spent a lot of time moaning about it yesterday, wondering if the fault is mine or their lack of a cohesive background in such things as commas and so on. Either way, the repairing falls to me, or at least on my watch, and that is what we will be working on. These kids are not freshly stunned by remote learning, they are not overworked outside of school, they are not past exhausted by sports or child care. They are just poorly trained, most of them. The ones I had last year are pretty good, but the errors and omissions must be remediated-- those are just sloppy. The kids I have not had before are a mess, almost every one of them. They are smart enough, but I'm not impressed by the lack of caring combined by the lack of essentially basic skills-

The weather is glorious, isn't it? I mean, it's super chilly in the morning, but the afternoons are golden. We got a lot done yesterday outside, putting away things and picking up the tomato stakes. I'm in no real rush to pull up dead plants and so on-- it'll get done, but not today. I have other pressing things to attend to today, like baking and grading and (I hope) putting out Halloween decorations. We don't do a whole lot, but it's fun to be "in the spirit" of things. I don't like the decorations to be scary, just a little quirky. Y'know what's scary? Read the account of l ast night's Trump rallies . Praising Arnold Palmer's private parts? Telling "Jill" (that's Dr. Biden to you, pal) to slap her husband around and get "that fat pig off the couch" to vote for Trump (yes, T. speaks in third person). It was even too weird for Fox News to stay on; they cut to VP Harris' rally in Georgia. I'm worried,

Not a lot to chat about this morning, probably because I'm a/ tired, and b/ you've heard all about the mundane details a lot lately, and why bore you? So, here's a poem that seems entirely appropriate-- third morning in a row that it's been in the 20s and dark. Today is supposed to get warm --60s-- so we'll work on the outdoor stuff later. At least, that's the idea.  So, here's a favorite Frost poem for you, and enjoy your day! C Now Close the Windows Now close the windows and hush all the fields; If the trees must, let them silently toss; No bird is singing now, and if there is, Be it my loss. It will be long ere the marshes resume, It will be long ere the earliest bird: So close the windows and not hear the wind, But see all wind-stirred.

I went out on the front steps this morning to put out the mail, and I looked up. I ignored the passing cars, I ignored the street lamps and the early morning bustle across the street at the corner store. I just looked up. The stars are vivid against the inky sky. The moon is so bright it outshines the lights below it. There's a faint dawning, turning edges of night into soft, satiny indigo. The moon, the stars, the sky itself do not care what is going on with us little human-ants scurrying around, "getting and spending" as Wordsworth bemoaned more than two centuries ago.  It's a good reminder. While we can't ignore the present danger both at home and around the globe, and we certainly can't disregard the climate issues and all of the inherent and imminent devastation that inaction is sure to exacerbate, there are the stars. Yes, the light from those stars has outlived their actual being, as science has told us. But there's still the light. It lingers, long

Cold morning, eh? Well, at least it is here, at 26 degrees. We finally have had a frost. It's time. That said, brrr... I need to find some gloves. The hot water heater is being fritzy (super heating... not good). I am hopeful that we can get that fixed asap. It appears to be the thermostat(s). Nothing like getting scalded by the kitchen tap. Good times. Good stuff, though, is coming apace. I booked a "local authors" table for the craft show in Lisbon (Nov. 30) to sit with my former student/fellow writer and show off books. Well, she's got books. I'll have flyers for my book. But either way, it could be fun. And the postcards are ready for pick up. And I spent a couple of hours last night writing/sending off a press release for the book, making up a printable order form, and, in general, trying to inhabit the role of "published author who is trying to hustle a book." It's an itchy costume, so far.  It's never been my goal to make money on this boo

It's dark, drizzly, and 38 degrees. We still have not had an actual frost here on my little quarter-acre, but there's been snow spatters in the upper elevations, and actual snow that sticks on the mountains nearby. We really have to spend some time this weekend getting the outdoor stuff done. The forecast for Saturday is mild, so we'll see what we can get done. At any rate, I'd like to get the outdoor furniture under cover, and clean up the bits and pieces that really ought to be headed to the dump. I live in hope.  Behind-the-scenes busy-ness goes on apace for my little book; the actual cover has been decided on, and the postcards for preorders are (I hope) going to be printed shortly. I am thinking about in-person venues to introduce myself and my little book, too. Usually a reading takes place when you have an actual, physical book to show off and sell, but since this is pre-orders only, if I do anything that is a reading/discussion, they'll just have to trust me

Time to get very, very worried.  Fascism is alive and --unfortunately-- well, and if the GOP wins this coming election, this is what we have holding the nuclear codes and our fate as a nation: " In Oaks, Pennsylvania, tonight, Trump was supposed to take questions from preselected attendees at a town hall with South Dakota governor Kristi Noem. He did, at first, although his answers were all over the place and he urged people to vote on January 5. But then, in the hot and crowded space, two people needed medical attention. Slurring, Trump then said: “Let’s not do any more questions. Let’s just listen to music. Let’s make it into a music. Who the hell wants to hear questions, right?” And then he stood on stage and swayed for 39 minutes of songs from his personal playlist before seeming to recall that he was supposed to be talking about the election, which he suddenly told the confused crowd was “the most important election in the history of our country” before turning back to the m

HI everyone-- At long last, my chapbook is ready to meet the world! I really appreciate everyone's support and your confidence in me. I hope you know that you are all a part of this grand adventure in some way. Please feel free to share this email and the link below as widely as you can! Thank you, Carlene M. Gadapee https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/what-to-keep-by-carlene-m-gadapee/ Pre-order Price Guarantee until December 20 , 2024 RESERVE YOUR COPY TODAY This title will be released on February 14 , 2025

Today, Indigenous Peoples Day, is a day off from school for me, and I, for one, am incredibly grateful. It's also Holly's actual birthday, which will be fun later on today-- we are going to play her new Cootie game, and bake, and then have pizza for dinner. Her big party for family and a few friends was yesterday, and it went well. Meg made a gazillion cupcakes, so the IFB staff and some random strangers all got some, too. In short, it seems like a good time was had by all. Family convened at their house after the restaurant, and Holly got some very nice gifts, too-- everything went as well as it could, and I'm glad. Meg has been working a lot of shifts, and she had just one day to make the magic happen. She's a great mom.  But today, Meg is working and G is working the afternoon to close, so I will spend some quiet time with Holly. That is good, too. Little folks need stretches of quiet to balance the busy stuff. Tim will come over for dinner time, and she will go home

FANTASTIC! We went to see Breabach at the Colonial Theatre in Bethlehem last night, and it was like being at a Gaelic ceilidh.  For real-- the dueling pipers, the strings, the fiddle, the singing and dancing-- it was a grand time altogether. What did I get for concert merch? A tea towel.  With the tea towel was a download code for their newest album, so that worked out well. Unfortunately, they didn't have cds for sale, but I'll take music however I can when it's that good. And the earlier part of my day was wonderful, too-- thirteen of us in a zoom room from 10-3, and we read poems, chatted, talked about the poems, and wrote... I ended up with two decent drafts of the four we tried, and I'm super excited about that, too.  What a great day.  Today, we'll celebrate Holly's birthday a day early (tomorrow is the actual day), and Meg's inlaws are all headed up this way. It'll be a little chaotic, but we are going to gather at our favorite --and Holly's

UP way too early, considering the long (but interesting) day I have ahead. First, the pellet stove had something stuck in some way, and it was making a sound akin to a ghost with its sheet caught up in a turbine. It cleared, but that was at 4:30am. Sigh. No sleep since. I got up, and now there's some crazy wind gusts creaking and shaking the house. I hope that passes quite soon; that sort of weather event makes me super nervous.  Soon, it'll be full daylight. That helps.  Things that rankle:  Trump calling the governor of Maine a man repeatedly in a recorded telephone message to his supporters in Maine, while lying outright about policies SHE has in place.  The ongoing artificial down-playing of the economy (numbers don't lie, but the GOP does).  The level of mental exhaustion I'm feeling from a long week at work and an even longer and very depressing day of "professional development" yesterday. It was filled with CPR, other life-saving things, and a rousing w

In a nod to the fact that I've been ranting a lot lately about political hoorah, and also to the fact that I have to be at work earlier than usual, I thought we all could use a break. So, here's a favorite Frost poem, which seems just about right on this damp and 47 degree morning.  Enjoy, keep warm, and be safe.  C October By  Robert Frost O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be