Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

I had great plans to get up and get right outside to do the rose bush pruning, but it rained all night, and it's significantly cooler than yesterday-- 39 degrees at this writing. So, it'll wait. The afternoon looks like mid-50s and sunny, so maybe then. I am hopeful that we (as in, G and I) can get the garden boxes cleaned out and ready to plant things-- but again, it's wet and chilly. Not the best scenario for planting things, even the early stuff like peas. We'll see what the day brings.  In the meantime, though, I slept in til 6:00, and I'm lounging around in my jammies. I made maple cinnamon rolls yesterday, so those look promising with a cup of coffee in a few minutes. If I don't get to do outside things today, I'll manage it tomorrow. No rush. Yesterday was pretty nice; the weather was glorious at 80 degrees and sunny, and all my windows were open. I dusted and polished, made those rolls, and generally puttered around. I don't mind a day like that....

I've kind of overdone the physical stuff lately, and I'm feeling it this morning. I'm scaling back my "to do" list and putting yard work onto tomorrow's agenda. Today is supposed to be 80 and sunny; good day to just "vacation"-- which will likely involve some baking early, and some minor household tweaks. I did all the things I wanted to get done yesterday, after such a busy week and busy weekend. I rearranged the living room after I washed the entire floor, cleaned bathrooms, folded laundry, etc. All by noon. Goal met. Why I pack my time off with huge task lists is beyond me. Probably something I learned growing up; no one gets a "day off"-- just a day with a different work load. Here I am, 58 years old, and still trying to silence the guilt-tapes in my head.  That said, I did take yesterday afternoon and spent it with Meg and Holly-- we went out to lunch at a little bakery/cafe, went to the playground, came home and played outside, and th...

I went to bed last night fully expecting to sleep hard; it was a long week, and a busy Saturday, and yesterday, we went to Tilton to stock up on things at the humongous BJs store. I slept, but woke up around 4am from a banger of a nightmare. I was about to be publicly executed for being a supporter of the arts. I don't recall the whole dream (thankfully), but I know I'd agreed to it, to save other people. I was going to be the "example"-- but when the moments ticked down, I was panicky, and the goons who were to do the deed kept reminding me of the deal I'd struck. O heavens. It was one of those dreams that you don't want to try to go back to sleep right away, because you know you'll be right back in it. I did eventually get back to sleep, but it was a jumble of images crashing through my head. Not a good thing to be found. As a result, I'm a little groggy this morning, and I'm very grateful that I am not struggling to get ready to go to work.  I d...

The world is puddle-wonderful today. I slept well last night, after falling asleep to the tune of the spring peepers. I love that sound. I got a lot done yesterday, and the best part is, I got one of my (overdue) book reviews written and sent off to the journal I write them for.  I binged a lot of episodes of a series on Netflix that I've been watching-- it's nothing highbrow, but I'm enjoying it. That is what vacation mode is about, right? And I'm almost done with a book I've been reading, but I'm in no hurry. I made (assembled) a decent dinner last night: tossed mixed greens salad with tiny tomatoes, split boiled egg, and roasted chicken, with a piece of naan. It's salad season! And my stomach didn't grumble at it, so I think (I hope) I might just be at the other side of that horrid bout of gastritis that started up in January. What a relief. I like salads. I'm still a little iffy with heavy foods/too much dairy, but then, I've always had some ...

It's pouring rain. The sky is a soft grey, the trees are sodden, the roof-drip is a constant flow from eaves to ground, and guess what? I'm not in a rush. It's Saturday, it's the first day of vacation, and I just don't want to haul my backside into the shower and get on with it. So I'm not. Yet.  This past week was a barn-burner of a week, with the 1920s immersion project, the guest teaching of poetry to wiggly fifth graders (who were delightful), three history-related field trips, and then finally, yesterday afternoon, I watched two teams of goofy middle school girls play a half-decent game punctuated by passing showers. They played five full innings (I'd forgotten how long middle school games can be), and the Littleton Crusaders won! Yes, they emerged victorious over the middle school from Lisbon, so the divided loyalties are there for me, but still, it was fun. Meg is the head coach for the Littleton team, after several years of assisting in Lisbon, so th...

Stage Manager: Mr. Webb's cuttin'  his   lawn  over there, - one  man  in ten thinks it's a privilege to push his  own   lawn - mower. --Thornton Wilder, Our Town Well, loyal readers, you might recall that Geoff was sidelined by his foot injury pretty much from the first of June until late fall last year, and so our grass didn't get cut more than three times last summer. I did some, Meg did some, and we had some friends come once as well. That's about it, really. So, as a result, one of the more onerous tasks, the mowing, is now a delight for my dear husband.  He came home about 5:00 yesterday, sat a few minutes, then decided to get out there ahead of the incoming expected rain showers and mow. The hum of the mower sounded like a kind of music, really-- that poor man sat in enforced idleness for months. Somehow, isn't that always the way, though? We have certain tedious tasks we really don't like, but then we are so happy to do them when we are ab...

Quick post today: The field trip to the Littleton Historical Museum was great-- but only 6 kids chose to go. Hey, those kids had a good time. We heard all sorts of local stories, ghost stories, and got to see some beautifully curated collections that are not found anywhere else in the world-- really a gem to visit and to hear Dick Alberini talk about what he knows so well.  Today, we are off to the Mt Washington Hotel for their grand tour-- probably will be about the same group, and again, the ones left behind can be bored all they want.  Why won't kids go on field trips? They'd rather sit at school and do next to nothing all morning? Weird. From what I've been told, they got themselves into some trouble, too. Bored kids invent ways of making life a challenge, eh? They should have gone with us. O well. Those who show up, go up. Have a good day, folks.  C

Maybe it's just my way of building a facade of normalcy, or maybe it's just me going about life as I would rather, regardless of the looming ugliness out there, but I have both ball game tickets and theatre tickets. I've been feeling like hiding for a while now (as many of us do), but that's letting, as my dad always said, "the bastards win."  So there.  G and I will go to a Fisher Cats game, and we will go to local theatre, and I hope that both will be fun and a nice distraction.  In the meantime, I have three field trips to get through in the next three days... all interesting, at least I think so.  And yesterday's busy day went well, too; the 1920s "party' was fun, my creative writing kids continued their silly/fun story and we finished watching a film, and I had a good time doing poems/writing with the grade five kids and their teacher. I'm tired, though. Vacation is a few days away yet, but I see it glimmering on the horizon.  On the home...

This week is going to be a weird one: most of the high school will be on a big trip to NYC/DC starting tomorrow, and we happy few who are left behind have the task of keeping the scant handful of kids who are not going educationally entertained. I arranged for three local field trips for them: the Littleton Historical Museum, the Mount Washington Hotel, and the Lisbon Historical Museum. There are fun things to see and learn and do right here in our own backyard (ish). All of the trips are free, too, which is a good deal. The afternoons will be spent in virtual tours and other activities.  Today, though, is "Gatsby Day"-- my yearly total immersion project with the American Lit class. This year, instead of a cocktail party, we are doing an art gallery opening of Salvador Dali's early works. In short, no Charleston (they adamantly refused-- party poopers), but yes to the music, the food, the costumes, and the gossipy conversations. They will come in character: we have everyt...

Pope Francis has gone to join with God on Easter Monday morning.  He has been a stalwart champion of peace, of human dignity and justice, and of common humility and faith.  I don't know which way the Cardinals will choose to go; I can only hope and pray that they will elect a successor to the Chair of Peter who will continue to care so deeply about the marginalized, the scared, and those who need to find peace in their hearts and minds.  Rest with Jesus, Pope Francis. Amen.

Pied Beauty Gerard Manley Hopkins Glory be to God for dappled things –    For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;       For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;    Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;       And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange;    Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)       With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:                                 Praise him.

I went to the Stations of the Cross yesterday on my way home from work, 3 pm. It was moving to be among so many fellow parishioners, there in church mid-day, honoring the steps that our faith tells us Jesus took on what it now known as Good Friday. Even though my knees don't let me genuflect well or kneel, I felt like I was part of something bigger than me, and that is the whole point, right? For centuries, Christians have enacted this last day on earth for Jesus, have recited prayers in unison, have spent time in memory and meditation. Yesterday's meditations focused a lot on what Mary experienced, and I appreciated that very much. It's been on my mind for a long time, what Mary --or any other mother-- felt in such a horrifying and momentous situation. Even though she was a woman of complete faith (as we are told), it can't have been easy at all to have witnessed the execution or receive the broken body of her son. Her heartbreak must have been total.  Some years back,...

I am most definitely looking forward to vacation time. Yes, there's house projects/chores on my list, but there's also a baseball game (we got tickets). I hope there will be lots of reading time, and maybe --finally-- some warmer weather. We can dream. I just have to hang in there for one more week. I'd love to see friends, too-- it's been far too long.  Tomorrow, I have a full day of writing with other poet-friends online, and that makes me very happy. I suppose, in a very real way, that will do nicely to fill the "I miss talking to friends" gap, at least until I can get together in person with people I know and truly like to be with. That all said, there's still work today, and all next week. In the meantime, I'll do everything I can to clear my desk, both physically and mentally. I need/deserve a real break. I can't do much about the national/international furors that crest over the edge of my consciousness, but I can work on making a safe haven...

Easter is almost upon us, and the weather needs to cooperate. Granted, here in the northern part of New Hampshire, things that flower are often a little behind other New England states. This year, things are seemingly very much so; I had one crocus (I'm beginning to wonder if something ate the bulbs), and the daffies are just now starting to poke up. No blooms for Easter Sunday this year, to be sure. The trees are budding out, spring allergies are in full swing, but even yesterday, we had snow in the air. Nothing stuck, but it's still cold and grey. Today promises to be warmer and sunnier, so that will be a nice treat.  I hope your day is lovely, even though our cherry trees are a long way off from blossoming! C Loveliest of Trees A.E. Housman Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score...

Good morning, loyal blog readers! I'm sure we all have plenty roiling in our brains besides poems. I'm trying to erect firm boundaries, to box up the disbelief and horror, and much of the time, they hold. That doesn't mean that I'm ignoring things, but my mental and physical health require respite.  One of my favorite poets of all time is Keats. His poems speak to my soul in a way that other poets' work doesn't, and I cannot honestly say why. I love his earnestness, I think, the most. One poem I cannot live without is " Ode on a Grecian Urn ." I read it over and over, and have done for years. But yet, I see new things every time I turn the urn with the speaker in the poem. The pathos is almost palpable: Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard        Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,        Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone And of course, there's the ending, ...

I pray daily that I will be useful. I don't mind work, if it is productive and helpful, and that ranges from house chores to teaching, yard work and so on-- okay, dusting feels like it exists in a gray area (all puns intended). That said, the poet Marge Piercy has a lovely poem titled "To be of Use" that celebrates those who do the work that keeps things going. The final stanza says, The work of the world is common as mud. Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. But the thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. Greek amphoras for wine or oil, Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums but you know they were made to be used. The pitcher cries for water to carry and a person for work that is real. Work that is real-- that is a good, solid goal. I teach in a school where most kids  are from working class homes, and they are already working at least one job by  the time they are sophomores in high school. They don't mind gettin...