Boh-Me

We love him! He's very gentle, loves to fetch, and so far poops in the same spot.

Gatemouth

I got my B this Jazz Fest poster of Gatemouth Brown and just picked it up from the framer. But they messed it up, and the frame I special ordered and waited patiently for is all wrong. I thought I could live with it, but I can't. So I'm going back today to have them get me the one I wanted. This is going to take FOREVER. I hink next time I'll do something else.

The frame I picked out is four inches wide, and finished to look like old barn wood (this is so th picture will fit in our music.play room, which we are trying to get to look like the inside of The House of Blues. What they sent was unfinished, but there is a thick blue-ish stripe in the middle of it. Really, I can't believe I walked out of the store with it all.

On a different note, I haven't TOUCHED my writing all week. I've been stepping over this crate by my desk with my notebooks and notes and drafts, but I haven't even reached into it. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Bohemian Shard

We're adoping a greyhound, something I've wanted to do for years. Here's the one we want, on the top of the page. You can click on his picture to see a full size picture. This guy is a retured racer, hence the cool racing name, who is being returned because his people are getting divorced. He's supposed to be very sweet, and, most importantly, he likes being around little kids.

Blog-O-Twins

Suzanne says we're twins. I think she might be right!

Who's your blog-o-twin?

Write now, worry later

It took me about three weeks to recover from this semester and its aftermath, a wrap-up which included some heavy disappointments for me. However, I have reached the point where I am taking all of this as a good sign, because it means I can go back to doing what they pay me for and pull out of the endless projects, meetings, readings, etc. that were completely draining my time. I have learned, in three short weeks, to say no. I have also reached the point that I can let go (for the most part) some deep resentment of a few individuals. This may sound like nothing to you, but for one who takes pleaseure in writing people off and holding a grudge, it's a real surprise.

So, now that the knot in my chest is gone, I have been able to enjoy writing again, not to mention my children. One of the reason I love summer is that I feel like everything in poetry sort of shuts down--I don't worry about submissions or my manuscript. I'm not even worrying too much about poems. They come, I write them down, I put them aside. None of my usual second guessng the topic, delivery, relevance, where it fits in book. I'm just writing the poems down. I'll fret over them later.

Does anyone out there have a relaxed summer approach to writing?

Blog-o-Snobs

Generally I have found the blog community to be funny, light-hearted, and supportive, but over the past few months I have encountered some pretty rude comments, I've had polite emails ignored, and recently, when someone sent out a general call for readers of a manuscript I said sure--I'd love to read it. (See how generaous I am!) Well, I practically had to go through an audition process--where have I published, who am I reading, where is my work online, etc.

Am I the only freak, or does everybody have encounters like this?

Now, on to a few things you may not know about me:

1. I had plastic surgery on my face after I was attacked by a dog.

2. I collect Jackalopes (so far I have two.)

3. I like walking, but I hate hiking (the road must be paved.)

4. I am scared to death of cockroaches.

5. When I was a little girl in dance lessons, the teacher told my parents I was klutzy and that they were wasting their money.

6. I drink WAY too much diet coke.

7. I don't have any close friends from high school.

8. I used to feather my hair and carry a comb in my back pocket.

9. (along the same lines as number seven) I can't skate backwards.

10. I was afraid to be in the room with my dad when he died.

This doesn't say much, does it?

Wild World

This weekend my son was looking out of the window and said look at the mommy raccoon with three baby raccoons, and I sort of ignored it, because he always confuses squirrels with raccoons. Not this time--he was right. There was a mom and three babies balancing on the fence early in the morning to make their way to our garbage. I though I had seen some raccoon prints the other day, but didn't think much of it. These guys are so funny to watch. There was a mom with two babies that used to come see me every day when I lived in Springfield. She'd stash the babies in a tree and then come take saltines and cat foot not quite out of my hand, but almost. They have the funniest way of eating--the eyes in that black mask are on you all the time, but the hands are moving in odd directions, shoving the food in.

As much as I want to, I am not going to feed these because a.) they do bite and they do carry rabies, and b.) the man across the street traps them and then "releases" them into a nearby natural park. I'm sure he shoots them, but he would never admit to it because I think it's against the law. When one of the neighbors died (he was old) his house was vacant for a while, and raccoons got in through the chimney and did major damage--eating through wire, etc. All of the ceiling fans had crashed onto the floor. That's when I found out about how he took care of them. So I'll be keeping quiet about our little friends. I really hope they come back.

Almost better than the raccoons was the luna moth on the bricks when I came home. The boys got to see that as well. The markings on her wings were so pretty. I know they're supposed to look like eyes, but on this moth the top of each upper wing was rimmed with brown that curled in, so the wings looked as though they were marked with symmetrical snake heads. Very beautiful. I haven't seen one of those for so long. I think this one is newly emerged, and its wings seemed wet. Since it was sort of low to the ground, I'm going to keep my cat in tonight.

Goodbye to Privacy

Blogging is such a strange thing. You get a few minutes, log into your account, then write about what is on your mind. One day you may be elated, the next you may be dejected. You may be in the mood to talk about your sex life, your children, the current issue of Poetry Magazine--whatever. You just write what you think, spell check it (maybe) and publish the post. All of this is done in the privacy of your home or office, and while you know that anyone can get to your blog and read your posts, you don't really think about that--or mbe do you.

Lately I have had lots of things I want to talk about on my blog, but I have been afraid to for many reasons. I don't want others out there to think I am petty, or lazy, or behind the times. I don't want a reviewer to quote me out of context. So I put a lid on it or talk in code. I don't know what bothers me more--the fact that I don't have the balls to say fuck it and say what I want to say, or the combined vanity and fear that makes me think people care enough about this writing to comment on it, or hunt me down.

This is Blah and Stupid

I think over the summer that I will try to be more daily in my blog writing. Yesterday and today I have had the feeling that there is a huge weight on my chest because I am angry and sad about some things I recently learned. Usually when I feel this way I can start writing--either working on a poem or writing in my journal--but yesterday that wasn't good enough. I wrote and wrote--lots of nasty details to use in two different poems, then I fell asleep and wrote some more. But when I woke up I felt like the wind had been kicked out of me still. All I wanted to do last night was watch a funny movie, so I did, but that didn't do it either.

Ray Charles has helped a little. And my kids are off at school this morning--I have another hour and a half of free time, and I've already finished a draft of a poem. I may go shopping and buy things until it's time to pick them up.

Louisiana is trying to pass a new smoking tax--a dollar a pack--and many people are outraged. I only smoke in bars, and I hardly ever go to bars, and out of extreme boredom, so I shouldn't care about the tax that much--BUT, if the tax doesn't pass, it is unlikely that I will get a raise this year. I need a raise because my salary is very small. I also just want a raise, and my health insurance premium nearly doubled. But I'm so busy writing this blog and poem that I can't be bothered to go outside to get the newspaper and see what happened.

Your Classic Cautionary Tale

There was a wedding in my husband's family this week. For most this would be a joyous occasion. For them, it is a time to unearth all past wrongs and trangressions, grudges and animosities, and cram them into the back of the Methodist Church. How do I fit into this? I don't. I stay out of the way with a casual look so that no one will think I am involved in the mess. This time around I did stand by Grampy in a show of support, because it was a very uncomfortable situation. At one point, Grampy, who I consider to be an upstanding man, was looking for a way to smear a dog turn on another family member's car. Things went downhill fast at the world's trashiest reception which followed.

Then yesterday my husband brought home "THE LETTERS" which prompted the whole thing. I read them, which I shouldn't have done. I held them up to the light. Until yesterday, I had regarded the bad blood as trivial until I read those letters. Now I regard it as trivial and sad. And I have learned things that I didn't want to learn.

I will not be keeping quiet about this in the poems. My side of the family is so much better. Most are ignorant, and we fight a lot, but everything blows over and there is alsways good food involved.