thoughts at the end

Today
was for writing
for reminding myself that
even though it was not my best year in any other way
I still wrote more
than the year before,
and if that is not a success,
what is?

fractured prose

The shameless self-promotion 

from the Facebook group read, 

'Looking for the perfect 

CHRISTMAS PRESENT for that friend 

or relative who loves poetry 

and laments the fact that modern 

"poets" have abandoned it 

for fractured prose?' I was

inexplicably delighted by

this accurate characterization 

of what I write, as if it had

no value or purpose or reason

for existing when, for me, 

it represents how I think

with my bent toward narrative

prose combined with my fractured 

concentration and attention 

span because of the pain 

and the sleeplessness

it causes, so thank you,

disparaging and dismissive

and self-righteous poet busy

flogging your own obviously 

superior form of writing, for

unintentionally presenting me 

with the gift of words 

to accurately describe 

my own.  : )

a little thanks

thankful today

in English and real life

cello and snow rhyme

When your eye says no

Today was the kind of day that goes like this.

Me: Hi, eyeball, I'm going to gently put this piece of plastic in you, so I can see.

My eyeball: No.

Me: Oh, I'm so sorry. Do you have an eyelash or something that's irritating you?

M.E.: No.

Me: Is there something I can do to help?

M.E.: No.

Me: So, can I just put this in and then leave you alone?

M.E.: No. N. O. Nonononono. Have I made myself clear?

Me: Perfectly. So, how about some glasses today?

Birthday questions between book chapters

Why, do you suppose, is it so hard for me to

rest--to focus only on ignoring my own 

entropy--when it is so recharging to my 

soul? Is this constant excuse of attending 

to the entropy around me instead, especially 

when I need rest so desperately, another 

series of the small acts of self-sabotage I 

am so good at not noticing myself doing 

until I write about them?

Tomorrow's pledge

I will ignore should

and do what needs to be done 

hibernation, rest

plans for this birthday

Plans for this birthday include

French toast, apple crisp, tea, 

the couch, blankets, music, 

hibernation, limited human 

contact, pain medication, and 

BOOK. Book. book. BOoK.

bookBooKbOOkBooKbook.

They exclude news, opinions, 

politics, brainlessly repeated 

rhetoric, and any internet not 

directly related to writing with 

the exception of the blog I am 

going to create for me 

and a friend 

to share.

already

When did this happen?

Trees stripped so bare already

November half gone

Sunday afternoon, autumn

and when the wind is

not blowing I want to

stop and stand in this

sunlight recharging

storing up warmth

until I get too stiff

from cold air and 

have to move again

the shame of late autumn skies

Sky blushes deep pink,

ashamed of bare branches, 

but spring will come again.

November gales

On the sides of homes,

gales of November slap rain: 

last wrath of autumn?

Autumn means

The cuddliest

box elder bug in the world 

just wants to snuggle.

me and the box elder bug swarm (again)

Yay, it's warm again!

says me and the box elder bug swarm 

as we bask in the last (?) breath 

of summer. They must think 

we bonded because later they visit me 

at home, and they are terrible guests 

who won't leave no matter how 

many times I tell them it's 

really time for them to go.

Revenge of the Slow Cooker: Brain vs. Stomach, part 14

Stomach: That sure smells good.

Brain: Sure does.

Stomach: We should eat it.

Brain: It's not done yet.

Stomach: When will it be done?

Brain: Hours from now.  Here, have some of this to tide you over.

Stomach: Don't wanna.  Want to eat thing that smells good.

Brain: It's not done yet.

Stomach: Will eating it now kill us?

Brain: It could make us sick.

Stomach: I don't see the problem. Could is not will.

Brain: Sigh. That's why I'm here.

Stomach: How will we know when it is done?

Brain: When the timer goes off.

Stomach: It's supposed to be on low and cook at 140 degrees, but it's bubbling, so doesn't that mean it's over 212 degrees and thus might be cooking faster and thus might already be done?

Brain: Wow. And here I thought you weren't paying attention when we did our earlier Internet research.

Stomach: What it if overheats and explodes and then we don't get to eat any of it because you have a cheap slow cooker and didn't listen to me?

Brain: Can you please shut up?

Stomach: Don't wanna.

Brain: Sigh.

Stomach: That sure smells good, doesn't it?  Time to eat it yet?

Brain: Sigh.

the sound of autumn in November

This is the sound of autumn in November

trees newly bare

leaves piling up on the ground

perfect slolam courses

for gusty winds to play in

before they all get bullied to dust 

by power that doesn't know its own strength

Today, right now, when I don't fall over for once

old PT ladies 

observe my balance improved

watch enviously

(Last?) warm day in November?

if the weather

gets any more

beautiful I

will have

to weep

we are determined to make this week better

when I got to work, there was
a poem on my keyboard next
to my wrist brace, and the poem
was deep and wise and magical
and the tree on it was where the
magic lived twisted ink branches
bereft of leaves that will live next
to the painted full moon waiting
for whatever happens next

to sleep, perchance to dream and stop swarming about half drunk on summer's dregs in autumn

short warm relapses

brief resurgence of insects

autumn cannot last

he asks if

This new brother of mine asks
tough questions, like whether I would want
the death of this family friend to be less
hard for me to deal with

because the truth is that in some ways yes
I would because I am very weak right now, but

mostly I puzzle because I don't understand why
it is so

hard.  Why this death that I still know
next to nothing about?  Why this man
who I interacted with for real maybe
4 times in my life? Is it because he was

younger than my father because his son
was my classmate because he was
someone I admired and wanted to be
happy and because the day he died

my new brother said something about
C.S. Lewis that I wanted to share with him
because it would have made him laugh?

Because it was so sudden and that
scares me because there is never
enough time to be with all the people
we love and admire because the fall

brought death and separation in, and
there is nothing I can do about that 

when I am always so very far away?

autumn's pirate bounty

no pirates in sight

gold is scattered everywhere

fall beauty all mine

remember when singing

I think as long as I can remember

when singing didn't hurt this much,

I will be okay.

winter always comes

light, mouse, deer, leaves, friend

too much death in autumn

winter comes too fast

when I forget fall

I'm glad, Brother Wolf:

you will remember for me

when I forget fall.

falling faster

Did you see the sky today, Brother Wolf?

Clouds on clouds grey on grey as trees bled out

leaves from fatal wounds of coming winter.

attack of the zombie leaves

autumn crawls deeper 

into buildings leaves 

ghost in on the cold 

breath of the wind seeking

the remembered warmth of 

summer not creepy at all

ghosts of autumn

leaves creep toward warmth

ghosts of autumn drifting in

not creepy at all

I never really wear jewelry

I never wear jewelry
because it's not practical
to wear it with a wrist brace

today I wore jewelry
it didn't stop the pain or
even make it better, but

the green beads were beautiful
handmade for a living wage
in South America, so

this is how I can fight back
against what I'm not quite sure,
but it still feels important

Saturday questions

• Who cuts themselves with eggshells? Under their fingernails? Seriously?!
• Why must foods high in iron taste uniformly gross? Perhaps because I taste it every day as it goes down the back of my throat when my nose tries to bleed but can't because of the swelling from the allergies and the deviated septum from the 6th time I broke my nose?
• Why does winning something feel so nice, even if it isn't something you really want or need? I'm sure the folks I share it with will appreciate my good fortune. : )
• Why do I still laugh so hard at good burping stories? Burping. Heh.

Suddenly, autumn

the leaves have fallen, Brother Wolf,

trees bedraggled and beautiful

as rain drips softly, on and off,

wind gently prods now-bare branches

mourning summer's fallen playmates

regretfully swirling the dead

temptation to do

In light of the dizziness, swelling, poor wound healing, brain foginess, pain flare-up, thyroid struggling, cold-intolerance, anemia, and my inability to grasp anything (literally or figuratively), one could argue that I might be overdoing it and should use my day off to, oh, I don't know, rest and NOT try to DO ALL THE THINGS, since that do-things strategy seems to not be working for me very well. At least it will be raining. Lying on the couch watching the rain seems to be about my speed right now. Must resist temptation to do . . .

unseasonable autumn

final tree frogs bask

unseasonable autumn

weather calls us out

asthmatic in autumn

windy days are good

for locating spiders' webs

but not for breathing

before winter comes

October whirls by

adolescent beavers play

before winter comes

the poem about the dead deer (attempt 18?)

ruin of Monday morning first
day of autumn weather doe curled
impossibly graceful dead with
startling boneless acceptance
that only the shattered display

that kind of week

Dead mouse welcomes me

from inside my warm garage.

Is it Friday yet?

when you are happy your thyroid is failing (again)

My thyroid is on the ropes again.  Yay!  I'm excited about this because

• I noticed and got it checked (eventually, dang brain fog)!
• I wasn't making it up; it's worse than ever!
• it might be related to one of the numerous new allergy meds I've been trying to get off decongestants on the off chance I will then sleep better!

These are all good things (more or less) because the sudden weight gain and enormous increase in joint pain and other symptoms have a reason now and are not a signal that my body is tired of all this crap and has given up.  See?  Yay!  And if they were caused by a med (and I have a culprit in mind already), then maybe I can get my thyroid working again like I did the last two times and won't have to go on a med for it forever yet.  Hope springs eternal!  (But has to be cautious of increased dizziness and on the alert for overdoses that lead to heart problems.  Really noticeable and obvious heart problems.)

Huzzah?

the deck dragon sheds its leaves

wind gusts and bellows
bearded beast shivers and roars
soon leaves will be gone

every fall they come

how do I destroy
drain flies of autumn swarming
in my house this fall

unmistakable

unmistakable
taste of blood in back of throat
winter is coming

again with the drain flies of autumn

coldness spreads today

the drain flies of autumn swarm

I am not a fan

coat walking weather

lovely sun-drenched days
perfect coat walking weather
now it is autumn

ninja tree frog

one tiny tree frog

stealthily basks on the ledge

storing autumn sun

one last summer day

deck hammock swaying
one last summer day reading
before autumn comes

the night after

the night after the bloody eclipse,

the wounded moon recovers, swollen

large and obscured by scar tissue clouds

already this tired

deer die on roadsides
last day of summer weather
already this tired

late to the blood moon

by the time I get there, the eclipse 

is on the wane, and the moon looks

small and hard and far away, like 

an angry marble reflecting all the

sunrises and sunsets the Earth is

starting and ending off to the sides

where I cannot see but still believe

the last dragonfly (gathering strength)

garnet dragonfly
rests on summer sun-warmed toe
before autumn comes

riding in circles

He is riding his bike in wide circles, passing between my garage and my car in the sort of test of skill small children set to themselves while I try not to fall off the ladder in my garage as I organize and restack moving boxes.  He passes through again and again, and I lose my balance a little each time I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I never actually fall, and when I am finally finished, on the hood of my car (precisely centered) is a sprig from the crabapple tree I refer to as the cherry tree, and it makes all the half bugs I find in my hair for the rest of the night matter less.

now it is autumn

purple twilights fall

more frequently now, like leaves,

now it is autumn

Life and fortune

Sometimes life

is--like my most 

recent fortune cookie 

("People try thing, because they 

just don't want it enough")--

pretty much incomprehensible

to the folks on the ground.  Hang 

in there, anyway, and maybe try 

another fortune cookie?

she is dancing

We are in the orthopedic shoe store, and she is maybe 3.  She is dancing around me, spinning and giggling and trying to be sneaky and noticed at the same time in that inept and charming way 3-year-olds can, and I make eye contact and smile a small sun smile at her as she twirls by in her unsteady orbit, and she smiles hugely at our shared secret and keeps turning, and eventually her mother or grandmother notices and blessedly laughs instead of being needlessly angry, and the grace is sweet and thick among the smell of leather and aging.

the first mystic

He said, "He

was the first

mystic I ever

met," and some

day I want to

write a poem

about that, too.

When I am not sleeping (much at all)

It's like every bit 

of progress and forward 

momentum disappears into 

the brain fog, and I am 

left with only 

the weariness and 

the grimly-held 

hope that the switch 

will flip again 

soon, so I can 

get the normal 

inadequate amount 

of sleep and 

recapture my 

scattered wits 

and will and 

write on.

the difference between

I have been thinking about 

the difference between

thinking you are the puzzle

and 

thinking you are a piece, 

thinking you are the tapestry

and 

thinking you are a thread, 

thinking you are the body

and 

thinking you are a member of it.

revenge of the dragonflies

I longed
for more
dragonflies,
but when I
sprawled on
the deck, they
tickled me
to distraction.
We studied
each other.
I wondered why
I love them so
much more than
other insects
with equally ugly
or even more
beautiful faces.
Jewel colors?
Sporty wings?
Pest-hunting
prowess? Inability
to do me any
real harm?

another sleepless night

a moon so bright 

the shadows 

of the tree 

thrown on my 

white curtains 

at night were 

visible to me even 

in my blindness

I blame Stonehenge

Between the cryptic
tonsils and the tonsilloliths
(don't look up pictures),
I feel justified in blaming
Stonehenge for all my
throat illnesses.  And
lack of sleep, too?

watching dragonflies

the cold comes

suddenly and I

have not spent

nearly enough

time watching

dragonflies from

deck hammocks to

last me through 

the long winter

nostalgia or eyeball floaters

was the sky

a clearer blue

when I was 

young, or could 

it just be that 

there are 

more floaters

in my eyes now

that I am older

?

nightmare dogs of sleeplessness

At night

the light

from 

unevenly

spaced poles

can make 

even Tiny

Adorable

Dog into a

terrifying

creature of

nightmare

moving too

low to the 

ground with 

far too 

many 

legs and

its usual

silence so

endearing

in daylight

leaving me

jolted

breathless

with fear

clutching

my mail

and frayed

self-possession.

TAI - > TAD

What is it about just knowing

that Tiny Adorable Illegal Dog

is not, in fact, actually illegal,

that makes me want to cuddle

and pet it even more despite 

the fact that legality 

has nothing to do

with allergies

?

small victories? a (terrifying) glimpse into my head on a bad day but at least not on a pike or anything

Missing a deadline because you are not sleeping well and thus are terrible at adulting is really irksome.  I felt like I was a plastic bag on a windy day getting blown around from one thing I needed to do to another and then all of a sudden there were no more days left.  (However, I did manage to exercise enough self-restraint to keep myself from replying with a number of mean things to a guy being a(n incorrect) grammar/writing jerk to one of my friends on Facebook.  That was a heroic effort today.)  These are the times I think I will never really be an "author" instead of a writer.  (This is not actually an awful thing because I'd rather be a writer even when I am not sleep deprived and scattered to the four winds.)  I already have no desire or motivation to get my work out there like one is supposed to do, but when a call for entries that seems tailor-made for my work comes, and I am a space cadet due to sleep deprivation for a couple weeks and miss it, it's frustrating, and I want to wallow in self-recrimination (which would be easier if I didn't keep getting distracted by everything in the world), but I also know that melodramatic wailing and stressing out is something I need to avoid (it's really bad for me because it kicks up the pain that leeches the sleep that scatters my brain all over the walls of the house that Jack built).  Did you know that sleep deprivation by itself causes symptoms that look almost exactly like fibromyalgia?  They did studies (that are totally illegal now) once upon a time.  (Seriously, Blogger, I promise fibromyalgia is a real word.  You and certain members of the medical community who also don't believe in it are not helping.)  I'd love to promise to do better next time, but if I'm honest with myself, I'll probably be sleep deprived next time because I am always sleep-deprived to a varying degree, and I just want to throw up my hands and give up, but that's not good either.  All of this thrashing makes me more tired, but the pain makes me not sleep.  I LOSE NO MATTER WHAT I DO OR DO NOT DO.  Therefore, I am going to go read a book, so the day is not a total loss.  Here's hoping I have the self-control to stop reading book at a reasonable time in order to not make things even worse . . .

Part 2 of some ramblings in honor of 6 years of blogging (yes seriously, technically)

It's kind of fun for me to read back through the years.  Some times are more fun than others, for sure, but mostly the super non-fun times are the silences, the spaces in between posts that sometimes stretch on and on.  (Or sometimes I was sacrificing all my creative energy to gulping down the entire catalogs of certain authors, so silence does not necessarily mean rough seas.  It could also mean selfish ones. : )

There was a thing Blogger offered once where you could get a print out of your blogs like a book, and I think I would really like to do that some day.  All the typos that got through would hurt my soul deeply, but I want this more-recent writing to be available to me so that in the rare chances where I see a call for submissions that I am actually drawn to, I can look through my 450-page monster thesis to see where I was from 2003-2009 and then continue looking through the blog pieces I've written since I started in 2009 without having to stare at a screen and scroll for days (which basically makes me want to stop looking).

I love weaving together readings by combing through what I've written and searching for strands to draw together and braid into some kind of story.  Right now, that story I can page through ends in 2009.  (Someday electronics might rule the world and be able to emulate this to my satisfaction, but that day is not here yet.  I hope it comes soon-ish and is accompanied by anti-gravity bras and other useful technology.)

With that, it's obviously time for bed.  : )  Cheers!  (And thanks for reading, faithful ones.  You are the cherry on top of the sundae.)

the moon tonight

the moon tonight is red

on a field of dark blue

with clouds obscuring

and magnifying it as it

watches the fog grow

Part 1 of some ramblings in honor of 6 years of blogging (yes seriously, technically)

In honor of my 6th blogging anniversary and because I felt compelled to write every day again, I challenged myself to blog here every day for a month.  I more or less succeeded (with some instances of cheating), but there were 30 blog posts in 30 days, and I don't want to stop, even to get back into the discipline of just trying to do 1 blog post every day split up among the 4 blogs I have, so they are all updated regularly.  Forward momentum is powerful, and I don't want to hobble it by setting arbitrary rules.  All that's to say that if you are one of the few family members and friends who reads here regularly, the flood will not be abating for a while.  (You're welcome.)

I recently wrestled the haphazardly unpacked stacks of my notebooks from over the years (starting my second year of my MFA apparently), and there was so much drafting in them that never made it onto a page for even the cursory editing efforts I put forth here that I could seriously post one every day for several years before I had to start coming up with new material.  I totally want to do that some day.  But I also want to leave room for the NOW, so this can serve as more of a record again, a slightly humorous (when possible) way for the limited folks I've told about it to know I'm still here, still thinking too much, and still really obsessed with teeny tree frogs.  (I sort of think they're my current muses but not actually really at all.  They're just cute in an ugly way, and they can hang in there with the best of them.)

TAI and Bujold's new story

When I staggered out of bed this morning like a tremendously clumsy yeti, TinyAdorableIllegal Dog (TAI for short from henceforth) was whimpering fit to break your heart.  He was so loud that I could clearly hear him from my second floor condo with two doors in between us.  The sound was so pitiful that I nearly flung open the door to see if it was dying.  Then I remembered that I was not clothed for company and that I can't see a darned thing without corrective lenses.  I lumbered away from the sound and into the bathroom.  I have no idea what caused TAI to make that sound, but I hope it never happens again because I will cry.

The day ended sort of better.  I was donating plasma to get money to pay for my allergy meds, and I was reading the new novella by Lois McMaster Bujold, and I was just having a grand time.  (Not with the donating because DudeBro put the needle in kind of wrong, so it hurt a bit more than usual and was kind of bleeding.)  I was just giggling and occasionally snorting and grinning my face off because LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD NEW STORY YAAAAAAYYYYY!!!!!!!  It's in the 5 Gods world, and it's great, and I've barely started it, really.

Actually, I have no idea how close I am to the end.  I want it to go on and on and on and never end as I often do when I read Bujold's stuff.  I hope it at least gets me through one more donation.  Two more to go before I can afford both allergy meds!  Wish me luck!  (And health and copious plasma.)

All I wanted to do today

All I wanted to do today
was lie on the deck
reading a book.  When
I am very sleep-deprived,
I do not adult well at all.

Can I quit this club?

The infographic said 1

out of 10 

people has 

pain

every day

and I thought

Really?!

9 out of 10 people 

DON'T?

What is that 

like?  It sounds

awesome to not be part

of this 10% club. I don't

remember what it's like

not to be in this club.  

I've been 

in it longer

than not now.

Does this tithe

of pain count

toward some total

I do not understand?

Would I feel

any better 

if I did

understand?

Doubtful.

Augtober melancholy

first
unexpected beauty
of a random scrap
of filmy white plastic
gliding in for a landing
from the dark grey sky and then
                                                         leapingflapping back
                                                              into the air
                                                  with a flick of
                                                        the wind's wrists

next
stub of a severed
rear windshield wiper
waving regularly

                                        faithfully (futilely?) 

despite being
disarmed

and 

this 

last:

lavender twilight

summer (plums)

p l u m s

plums plums plums

plumsplu msplums

plumsplu  msplums

plums     plums

forests burning somewhere

Friday the light that fell 

from high windows cast 

an odd shade on 

corporate carpets: 

orange-ish pink.  

The sun was a large 

red-orange ball 

when it set.  

The moon (just past 

one quarter) is coppery.  

Forests somewhere 

are burning, and we 

are far enough away 

to only see the beauty 

it adds to the light.

good things about the rain

Good things about the rain and cooler weather this week

• regular demolition of spider web blocking my deck door 
• How many times will it take before it gives up and goes far away to more welcoming surroundings?
• Hopefully this many.
• more tiny tree frog fairies on the windows at work

Midwestern weather whiplash brought to you by the start of a new school year

Several days 

of scorchingly 

melting August 

followed 

by a week 

of November

:

this Midwestern

weather whiplash

brought to you

by the start 

of a new

school year?

empty fortune cookie

empty
fortune
cookie


full
of
possibilitiy

Keep on going

Four froggies clinging
grimly to windows
every time I passed.
A personal best of
sorts, and I swear
one was showing
V for victory.

This week's mushroom miracle

I have learned that, if the mushroom pieces are big enough to spot but small enough to swallow whole without chewing, I can eat mushrooms.  (Works for lima beans, too!)  It's the squeakiness when I chew them and the texture that doesn't agree with me, not so much the taste.  Does this mean I will be cooking with them?  Um, probably not really so much, no.  Unless they repel spiders.  Then I would be cooking them every day.  Seriously.

When I can taste . . .

There was a day last week that I could taste.  It's pretty rare and seems to happen maybe when general inflammation is down, my allergies are more at bay, and the barometric pressure or whatever it is aligns and then, behold, I can REALLY taste things despite a nine-times-broken nose, and all the allergy and sinus problems.  It is kind of glorious, and it helps me understand why people like eating food.

Normally, food is something I eat because there are nutrients and stuff in it, and it fuels me.  If it tastes like blah all the time, that's actually kind of convenient.  I can eat healthier food that may not taste great (and might thus be cheaper).  If I could taste well, maybe I wouldn't go near it.

On that most recent tasting day, I was in the big cafeteria at work (not the mini version we have in our building), and I had some food that was amazing.  (Those green beans!  That chicken fajita wrap full of peppers and onions!  Droooool.)  So sometimes food tastes amazing.  Thanks be to God.

Dear Spider, please!

Dear Spider,

Please

go somewhere

else to build

your work of 

art.  It is 

splendid; I 

appreciate its

complexity

and its beauty

and your

industriousness,

but your art

is in an inconvenient 

place.  You are big 

for a spider, and I

have no idea if

you are venomous 

(though I am likely allergic to you even if you are not), 

but in a contest 

between you 

and my vacuum, 

my vacuum cleaner 

would win.

(Until you crawled out in the middle of the night to wreak spider vengeance on me and then sleep on my nose, so you'll be the first thing I see in the morning, so I can wake up too paralyzed by fear if your venom hasn't already rendered me dead, in which case, the sleeping on my nose would be kind of overkill, don't you think?  Let's be reasonable here, as much as we can.)

But I'm not sure 

it would kill you, 

so there would have to be 

flailing and smashing, 

and neither 

of us would 

enjoy that at all.

Please, for the love 

of God, go 

build your lovely 

web somewhere 

else.  

(Seriously.  Even in front of the screen door instead of the door I actually use.  Go now.  Please.)  

I wish you well 

there

in direct proportion

to your distance 

from me.

Sincerely,

Someone Who Wants to Use Her Deck Again Some Day Soon.

Give me justice!

Imagine me, if you will, in that Japanese trope from crime shows where the victim lies facedown, with one finger outstretched in the act of writing (using her own blood) the name of the murderer even as she died.  You see the letters M-O-S-Q with the tail of the q fading. If I die unexpectedly in the next few days, it had to have been the mosquitoes, who are, no doubt, in their evil lair right now, drunk, satiated, and thinking they are above the law. Don't let them get away with it! I demand justice.

Stay tuned . . .

we are kin, the frogs and I

three tiny tree frogs

cling to windows high above

the place where you leave

God of the stars

Dear God,

Thank you for stars 

I can see even in 

the middle of 

the city.

who wouldn't cry

The sun was already out of sight, but it was still a dreamy, shady 80 degrees, and I went out to the deck and set up the hammock (even though I've already REALLY overdone it this week), and some of the new neighbors were there, but they weren't swearing, and their illegal dog was acting really weird, and I wonder if they also don't realize that when the signs get put on the grass out front that it's been treated to make it look soft and lush and inviting and is now extremely poisonous to pets and children, the poisoning also applies to the back, and I wonder if the tiny, adorable doggie has been poisoned or is just trying to whack underground moles to death with her skull, but then I get back to my book, which is nonfiction and makes me cry anyway because I'm so tired, and it's so beautiful on the deck now that I've swept away the dead neon green and black wasp and the last bits of sunlight are showing me the glowing spider webs above the neighbors' yard, who wouldn't cry?

2 butterflies exhausted

Two butterflies
on the deck dancing
with each other reminded me
that I can still appreciate beauty
even when I am lying on the couch,
too exhausted to go outside to
play with them.
One  was a
swallowtail
of some kind, brilliant
yellow and black in the
rare sunlight, and I have
a particular love of swallowtails
even if they are not blue.  This
is rest done right, my friend
with no chance of ill-timed
dizziness to cause
         resting-
           related
             injuries.

Today I am grateful for (2)

Today I am grateful for

• 2 teeny tree frogs on the same window pane at midday
• 2 deer walking across the work parking lot in the cool of the evening after I got out of the gym
• 2 AM bedtime after not-enough-time with two old friends and two new
• weather too gorgeous to be believed
• 2 functioning hips to walk to the ice cream place
• 2 dollars to spend on ice cream

that night (and early morning)

I wonder if I am better 

at being present 

here and now or if I 

am just finally as good 

as I used to be when 

I was a child.

Farewell to the Lady

The July painting on my Pre-Raphaelites calendar

was "The Lady of Shalott" by William Holman Hunt. 

This awful reproduction made me long to see

the original test painting again with sharp 

lines of threads snapping and unraveling like

whips, like the lady's life when 

her curiosity got the better 

of her self-control.

Sleep deprivation and spiders: definitely an awesome combination

It is not as if I imagine that the second the door shuts when I leave in the morning that all the spiders descend from the ceilings, raise a tiny cheer, and then start licking my toothbrush or peeing on my pillow.  Really.  

It's just that I hate the way they only seem to come out when I don't have my glasses on, and all I can see is this fuzzy moving blobby blur like the mosaics they use in Japanese comedies to show you where a cockroach is.  (I know they're not cockroaches because they are too small and because spiders move differently from insects, so I can tell even mostly blind.)   They just seem much larger than they actually are because of my lack of ability to focus on anything further than two inches away from my nose.   I know this, truly, I do.

I'm fairly certain they're not making faces at me.  But again, I can't really KNOW this without my glasses on.  I am not going to set up tiny hidden spider cams around my house.  That would just be silly.  

(I blame all this on Allie fordrawing pictures of scary spiders.)  

Also, it's not like I want to destroy all spiders.  I just want them to be sneaky and not get caught by me.  Because if I catch them, I have to acknowledge their existences, and if they flaunt their existences, I have to end them.  (Why don't they LISTEN when I tell them to go away, or I will kill them?) 

I am trying to be reasonable here, spiders.  We can coexist as long as you live lives of fear and secrecy.  Why is that so hard for you?!  Don't you want to live?!

It may be that I am not being fair or reasonable about this.  Maybe they are starving because there is a lack of bugs for food in my house.  Maybe they are crazed by hunger and can't help staggering around in a daze the one time a day I am in the master bathroom.  Maybe I should have more compassionate thoughts toward them.  

I just can't.  And I'm okay with that.

northern sky, sea grey

Did you look
at the northern sky
this morning?

And did it look 

like the ocean from 

where you are?  

There was this band of dark blue-gray clouds low on the horizon and a bank of fluffy grey and white clouds above it, and it reminded me of the shoreline leading to the ocean in Wales on an overcast autumn day, layers of blue grey with some whitecaps.  I took a picture, but it didn't do the view justice.  It looked like I could walk out there and put my toes in the ocean again.  I knew it really wasn't the ocean, but the beauty and transporting other-worldliness of the effect made me miss the real thing, homesick.  I thought you might understand.  I hope you do.

a summer moon

I called to tell you

to go outside and look

at the moon right now

because it hung above

the river banks an

impossibly huge and

pitted pewter coin

ready to fall.

about the moon

I called to tell you

to look at the moon, but you

didn't answer me

About resting badly

for Liz, who is probably right

"You're doing it

wrong," she says

on Facebook in what

I imagine is the aggrieved-

affectionate tone the

Bloggess' long-suffering

husband Victor uses

when he says it to

her.  I think she's right

because other people

would not encourage

resting so much if it

did as much damage

to them as it somehow

does to me.  Does

anyone know where

I could learn how to

safely rest?  Are there

classes for this sort

of thing?  I can't see

the solution as: stop

resting because being

exhausted is bad

enough, but it's worse

when I add resting-

related injuries to the 

mix.  There must be 

a way for me to learn 

how to rest more 

safely.  Maybe

if I practiced it 

as often as I am 

supposed to, I 

would be 

better 

at it?
It can't
hurt
to
try,
right?

it takes two

Sometimes

you need two

teeny tree frogs

to get through

the day

and

two great friends

to get you through

the night.

why I'm writing this July off as a loss

Two things I learned this July:

1. Classical music can be hazardous to your health.
2. Resting can be dangerous.

I just wish it had happened AFTER I shifted the books

I suppose it was
inevitable that I
would trip and fall
on the hammock

because no blessing
has lately come to
me not accompanied
by cursing. This

is why resting has
not been particularly
restful for me
lately.

Brahms like clouds

I was trying to figure out why 

I kept thinking of clouds when 

I listened to A German Requiem, 

and I think it's because, 

in the Requiem, Brahms

--like those majestic 

piles of middle-high 

clouds--simply 

refuses to be 

rushed.

first tree frog fairy sighting

Yesterday was the first day
I spotted a tree frog  clinging
to the third story window.

I was afraid they were not
coming this year, since I
had not seen any in June.

Maybe they come this late
every year with the cicadas,

and, like everything else
these days, I just forgot.

It's good to see them again
this year always every time.

Can I have an open sing of Brahms' German Requiem instead of a funeral service when I die?

When I die, instead of a funeral service, I think I would like to have an Open Sing of Brahms' German Requiem (in English, since few of my friends understand German).  It should be conducted by someone with the intensely dramatic, passionate enthusiasm John Hoffacker brings to it (make sure there's nothing above him in reach).  If the soloists could be as good as Justin Staebell and Kristin Morant, it would be amazing.  Since I am not rich and because it's worked pretty well all the times I've done it, I'd recommend all volunteer orchestra and choir with my friends mixed in with whatever voice part they want to listen to (a hard choice since they've all got good stuff) and right up against the orchestra because that makes it even better than a recording.  I might recommend Hamline United Methodist Church, which is a physically and sonically beautiful space, (and so there can be an organ).  I'd like to request a harpist, too.  This is what I would like because this music is so powerful that even when all the instruments aren't there, and nobody can get all the way through the end of the third movement right, and my voice is shot before we finish the rehearsal, which should ruin everything for me and make me miserable during the performance, being a part of the words and the music and the skill with which they were assembled by Brahms and pieced together by an orchestra and choir leaves me with joy, hope, confidence, and peace in the love of God and the place He's prepared for His people to rest.  Those are the kinds of things I'd like people to go away from my funeral carrying.

progress

I had forgotten a game

I used to play when I rode

down tree-lined sidewalks

where I would sit up as tall 

as I could to try to brush 

the overhanging leaves with 

my bike helmet.  Now that I

do not have to be hunched, 

deliberate, and slow when

I ride, I remembered and

played it again today.

Everyone who plays this 

game is a winner.

on a beautiful day in summer

I am trying not

to let it matter

that I can no longer

remember the color

of the spring blossoms

on the backyard

crab-apple tree

of my youth.

the first thing

The first thing I liked about this home 

was the pink tree out front in full bloom. 

Not that pale pink kind, though that 

is lovely, too, and not 

the really dark, deep 

pink but the middle-darkish 

pink that smells of heaven and keeps 

it's fruit all year round, so it is 

beautifully dressed even in the winter 

when the other deciduous 

trees 

are only 

bones.

First anniversary

On this, my first

anniversary of owning

a home, I am grateful

that I have this space

to inhabit and infuse

with blues and greens

and peace and rest.

Yesterday's guilty epiphany

How can He

give you rest

if you will

not take it?

To the white moth perched on the only part of the ceiling that is not white but red

To the white moth perched on the only part of the ceiling that is not white but red:

You are beautiful
and baffling.  Perhaps

you should stay inside
where it is safer and

your inability to use
your camouflage is less

likely to get you
killed and eaten

by something more
grateful for your

mistakes at fitting in
than your success

at standing out.

3 things I don't love in late spring

Three things I don't love in late spring:

• cottonwood fluff drifting
• mosquitoes
• dead turtles smashed on the sides of the roads

the song of the temporary car

My temporary car sings me soothing songs of welcome when I get into it and when I turn it off, it caresses me with a few chords of farewell.  It is huge, with a cavernous trunk and four doors.  The rear-view mirror is magically treated to prevent glare from sun or high beam behind one.  It has digital readouts of the temperature inside and outside.  There are lots of numbers displayed.  The radio is touch screen activated.  It has power everything; I am careful not to accidentally hit any buttons or knobs or levers because I have no idea what they will do.  (One of them is probably a seat ejection button.)  The temporary car is quiet and smooth.  It accelerates and breaks with no stomping required.  It does not even have keys.  It has no rust of dings from impolite other people's doors.  Did I mention that the trunk could comfortably sleep at least 3?  They give you these courtesy cars at the dealership to tempt you with luxury.  Don't you want a better car than the broken one you are bringing in to be fixed? they ask with soothing siren songs.  Don't you want this car?  And I say No.  I can't even figure out how to work the air.  I don't care about or need all the fancy knobs and levers and numbers.  And if I got knocked off a bridge into the water, and the electrical system shorted out, I would die trapped in this fancy temporary car tomb.  No, I don't really want this car.  I thank god for my low-tech car.  Yes, my cheap little car has two spots of rust on it (curse you, hail storm), and driving it is a small wrestling match, and it hurts to roll down the windows, and it has been mercilessly dinged by other cars in parking lot battles, but the 6-year-old I took to see Peter Pan said the seat-belt buckling chime sounded like Tinkerbell, and this car is mine until death do us part, and luxury has never tempted me away from practicality.  (Also, I know that my little car has no eject button and that if I end up in the water, I can crank and open my way out to safety.)  My car is my own, and I will not be tempted away by another.

hoping for a rainbow

After the torrential rain,
hail, and wind gusts made me fear
for my windows
and forced me
off the road, I
was hoping
for a rainbow. 

And there it was.

between me and the sky

I love spring because
there is something
between me and the sky
besides the naked
bones of tree branches.

mourning dove

On the day my uncle finally dies,
I can hear a mourning dove 

on the roof of my home, and 

I cannot bear to do anything 

that makes noise because then 

I might miss 

hearing it sing.

Fortune cookie lie

You are the master

of ev'ry situation:

fortune cookie lie.

this is how I know it is almost spring

This is how I know
it is almost spring
the tree in
the front yard has
dropped nearly all
its berries
held safe
throughout the winter.

Taking a sick day

It feels like a waste for a weekend day, but I'm really feeling awful, so I am taking a sick day today.  Just as soon as I finish the laundry.  And the dishes.  And the bills. After that, I am going to lie on the couch, propped in a posturally correct position to do one thing: watch foreign DVDs with no English vocal track.  (When I do this, I can't multitask by doing other things while listening to the show.  I have to focus on this one thing.  [Whether I can or not is up for discovery.]) 

I will not

• obsess about how I should be  cleaning the floors or researching hot water heaters or using the voice recognition software to dictate quotes from books I've read to get those shelves cleaned off. 
• waste time looking around the internet for information about how to get rid of broken toasters and frying pans. 
• get bent out of shape that I can't write ALL THE THINGS. 
• take apart and put back together my tiny Christmas tree (in sad shape after two guests knocked it off its display shelf).
• read (my elbows, wrists, and hands,  are killing me), and I won't even take notes on what I'm watching. 
• berate myself for not sorting through files or any of the other cleaning tasks that remain from moving into this space all those months ago.
• think about how sleep deprived and tired I am and how much I dread going to work and having to interact with people when I feel this unwell (my patience and filters are just gone, and I say things sometimes that I just shouldn't).
• think about how helpless I feel in the face of this pain and inability to sleep.
• worry about how much more my back hurts or why it feels like I have bruises all over it.

I will

• work hard at not curling up into a miserable ball because that will make various things hurt more tomorrow.
• look out the window at the trees and the sunlight.
• remember to get up and drink water. 
• even eat something, if I am feeling less sick. ( I probably should; if this is an allergy/weather change nausea, then getting some food in my stomach to dilute all the snot draining into it is probably a good idea.) 
• rest as hard as I can. 
• hope that tomorrow will be better.

these small acts of self-sabotage

Why is it that I seem to be most compelled

to write when I am in more pain and know

that writing will make the pain worse?  I am

so ornery sometimes.  Are these small acts

of self-sabotage or attempts at redemption?

I'm sure it has nothing to do with my clumsiness

How is it
that in any
bottle of
medicine
with an even
number of
pills I need
to take 2 of
I always end
up with a
single pill?
Seriously?!

when the magic happens

Why must it always snow only
when I cannot look properly?  It's
only when I'm driving or at work
or lying in bed calmly despairing
of sleep (and sometimes even
sleeping) that the magic happens.

the tree in winter

I've told you about some of the house
problems, but have I told you about
how beautiful the tree out front is even
in winter?  Those dark, sharp, gnarled
branches and their deep burgundy jewel
berries and the long shadows they cast
from the streetlight just next to them
in the thaw or on soft snow glittering
like tiny diamonds takes my breath
away every single night I live here.

Let it Go: college magazines from 2004-2014 edition

Why is this still so hard?  I have about a decade's worth of my undergraduate college's magazines that it's difficult to throw away.  This reluctance makes no sense.  It's not as if I am going to read them.  It's not as if someone else needs them.  Recycling them so they can be something useful like toilet paper seems obviously preferable to having them lie around gathering dust.   

It's just that it feels so final, like another acknowledgement that I have given up my dream of teaching there.  As if, if I were to apply again, they would get up to the contract stage and then say, "Do you have all your alumni magazines?  Did you read them all cover to cover" and then when I said, "No," they would have to regretfully inform me that since I didn't keep the  magazines and now couldn't read them all cover to cover, they couldn't hire me.  As if my problems with them theologically and otherwise would even let me get to that point.   

Time to let go.  Maybe a symbolic, purposeful burning ceremony would be better, but I'm pretty sure my condo association has a rule against that.  To the recycling bin with ye!  May you be made into bicycles for the poor in other countries or toilet paper or printer paper or something else people will use.  Seriously.