Saturday, November 01, 2008

Vote 2008

I stood in line for six hours
and all I got was this lousy sticker.
Actually, I am happy to say I voted on Friday. As harrowing as it was to stand on line for six hours, it's done. Rob has to work on Tuesday so we really had no choice but to do something about our voting today.

And the line we were standing on was filmed for one of the local stations. Yes, if you know who/what to look for you would see us but I'm not going to make anyone actually look. And a local newspaper took pictures of my lying down in the grass but since I didn't ask what paper I probably won't see a link to it any time soon.

You can see I am all about the publicity and camera thing, can't you? *sheesh* I dare the papparazzi to start following me around. I'd obviously be oblivious.

EDIT: Here are the pics I found. The first is of me and while you can look very hard to see Joe and Rob in the background, you can't see them very clearly. (The caption for this said I was enjoying the sun. Noooo . . . I was lying down trying not to throw up.)

That's Rob on the very far right (barely in the pic) and if you look to his left and behind the woman talking on the phone there is a person also talking the phone with a hat on. That person behind the peron is Joe.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Friday with quotes poetry and more more more

First and Foremost
Happy Halloween
My daughter took this picture of her cat Raven. She didn't do anything to touch this up. That's just pure, unadulterated or photoshopped, Raven's eyes.
Perfection is terrible; it cannot have children.
Sylvia Plath

I read this quote in a context that suggested that perfectionism stifles creativity. I read it and thought about how my children have exposed the very worst in me as a human being. If I had any delusions of being a good person, being a mother has proven otherwise. Every flaw, every failure, every weakness has been revealed. I have never been so bad as a person as when I was my worst as a mother. With all of this said, my children have also honed my best, become my best, and made me better than I might have been without them. I may not always love my own reflection in relationship with them but I never looked away and never would. Sometimes I see something lovely in how I am reflected in their eyes.

Snowdoll had a good appointment with the vet who commented on how beautifully she is doing, all things considered. (All things being she was so very young and had so many puppies.)

See? She has her waist and everything. And she's happily chewing in a piece of rawhide. We've also noticed that her coat is getting soooo much softer. I have to brush her teeth more regularly. That's my fault. Not hers. Since the appointment I've been brushing them every day. According to the vet, dogs only need to have their teeth brushed four times a week. I figure it is best to aim for daily because then I can miss a day without messing it up altogether.

And Romanov looks so very happy. He's not doing as well. He has an ointment and we are hoping . . . well, for goodness, naturally. He's happy. He's beautiful. And hopefully in a few weeks he'll be all better.

In this post I wrote about Elaine Equi and then this week I read in the latest issue of Poetry a poem by her that blew me away. I'll need to seek her out more.

............A Start

The ......silver .............hour drops-- a spider on the mirror. ........... * Silver the hour like drops of a spider's mirror. ............ * The silver drops, the spider's hour, the mirror ...

And for those who care, this is where Rob will be tonight, working and hopefully enjoying himself enough for the both of us.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

The Spoken Word Revolution Redux edited by Mark Eleveld

The Spoken Word Revolution Redux edited by Mark Eleveld is a follow-up to a spoken word anthology that perhaps is the best representation of the best of spoken word I’ve ever found. Naturally, I was so excited to see a return visit to brilliance. I waited to read it until I felt uninspired, knowing the content would breathe into me until my word filled self exploded on the page. I touched the spine excited to know that when I felt empty I could come to this collection and be refueled. And yet when the day finally came I read with frustration the carelessness of typos. Why, when spoken word has to be defended against the arrogance of academia saying this is a disgrace to poetry, would anyone be so careless as to not correct lightning and so many others that I stopped numbering the mistakes? Dammit! And yet listening to the cd I am reminded of all that is best about spoken word and this fusion of poetry, art, performance. The street arrogance that gives finger flip what academics have to say. The fusion of laureate and hip hop is a mind-fuck of brilliance. Damn damn damn. And yet the content of the book is good, if you can overlook having to read some of the line more than once to finally say, “Oh. That’s a typo. Not poetic license.” No. This is not as good as the first. It’s good. Better than some. Disappointing only by comparison. If you haven’t read either, start here, then move onto the other. If you’ve read the other, don’t hold your breath in hopes this will live up to the former. Just let it be what it is, flawed and an argument for why spoken word is accused of being careless and unworthy of being called art. A shame, really, because there’s so much art inside in spite of the carelessness. *sigh* Here is a sestina by Lucy Anderton. Brilliant. Both in the book and on the cd. Damn! Eve's Sestina for Adam I wanted the blood from the lip you'd bite open for me. I wanted the soft back of your knee that glowed like an otter's eye, the flag of hair you'd throw out through the wild sky, singing praises to Him through the air. Clearly put, I was not born to be one more pretty poppy in that garden. One more handful of fruit just for you to bite, a patch of dirt where you could plant your heirs. I was a song you had to put your back into. The first born fairy. Artless, wild and bare. And I wanted more than my eye saw, more than the final glance of your eyes after you pinned me. No - I wanted one of your ribs. So I took it. Felt my wild heart crack with arias as my nails bit into your side, sliding my fingers back out, waving that slim wet bone through the air— spinning myself in sass and yards of air kisses - turning my nose and loud ass eyes up to Him. And yes His fire split my back as if He'd snatched from its cloudy bed one virgin lightening bolt and threaded its bite through my bold spine — as if I wasn't wild enough. As if loving me was too wild, too blasphemous an idea to air in Eden. Who was I to need a bit of love from the gold apple of His eye. Adam, you helpless egg. I slipped you one kiss and bled for us, but you were all back and shoulders to me. Offering your tears back to that giant nipple. Crying of wild blood on your thighs. He only could hear one side. So when that apple dropped through the air I took it deep in my mouth and then I saw that the bliss of absolution bites straight through the heart of any one error. So, yes, I backslapped Eden with my bloody wild, But then—who gave you the Universe to bite?

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

The Way of the Journal by Kathleen Adams

The Way of the Journal by Kathleen Adams serves as both a journaling workbook and resource. Anyone familiar with Adams’ Journal to the Self will recognize some of the exercises. In fact, anyone who has been journaling for any length of time will recognize most of these exercises. So what’s the point? Personally, I have a long list of journaling ideas but I rarely use them. Technically, I almost always do the free writing in my journaling. I occasionally tuck in a poem. Sometimes I list. So it isn’t that I don’t use journaling exercises. Rather, I do what feels right at the time. Which is why a workbook like this has its benefits and its problems. Some of the exercises did not inspire me to write anything beyond the surface (eg AlphaPoems). Other exercises allowed me to tap into some depth but withdraw before I felt overwhelmed (Sentence Stems). Others I could easily manipulate to write only what felt safe (Character Sketch). This is not surprising. I suspect that another person working through The Way of the Journal would find the same exercises I found uninspiring very stimulating. There is also the matter of my state-of-mind. I know from years of journal writing experience that there are days when free writing feels easy and other days when it is a struggle to fill the page. Knowing this, I imagine that if I were to choose one exercise and commit to doing it daily for one week, I would experience the same sort of journaling highs and lows regardless of the exercise. Trying one exercise once gives me a taste, an idea of the exercise’s potential for me in my journaling experience, but I suspect that my assessment of what I felt was a “good” exercise says more about me on that day than it does the quality of the exercise itself. I’d pretty much written off buying any new books on keeping a journal. I’m glad I broke that restriction to add this book to what will now be a permanent addition to my personal library. I look forward to exploring this book again, perhaps even doing the same exercise for a week or more as I mention above. I know I will also recommend it with no hesitation. It is simply that good! Why? Because the exercises lend themselves to all levels of self-exploration and it is not easy to find a workbook that allows the reader to only go in as deeply as they can and still feel safe. And when dealing with the psyche and psychic wounds, retraumatizing or triggering are risks someone cannot take along. Thankfully, with this workbook there are suggestions for how to approach even the darkest parts of the self without sinking so deep one can't still see the light. I doubt it will be matched any time soon--if ever.

Monday, October 27, 2008

I Received an Unvitation

On Saturday, at 7:47pm, I received a call. "Hope you'll be there tomorrow morning. Bye." This from someone I haven't heard from in over a year except for one brief email asking a favor and when I said I couldn't help . . . nothing. No asking how I'm doing. No suggesting we get together soon. No "I understand and maybe next time." Of course "tomorrow morning" was when I would be up baking a cake and making cheese blintzes and wrapping birthday presents so even had the call come at 7:47am I wouldn't have been able to say yes. This is Joe's cake. White cake with coconut custard filling, chopped cherries, cherry syrup, white frosting, coconut on the frosting and, as you can see, a few cherries on top! Marc's cake is a white cake with white chocolate mousse filling, raspberry pie filling, and raspberry syrup, white frosting, more raspberry pie filling and white chocolate chips sprinkled on top. Need I explain why I was too busy for a last minute invite to anywhere? I had to be home to eat my share before everyone else devoured it! In any event, today marks five more days before nanowrimo begins. Ack! I am ready, or as ready as I can be, I suppose. I could write more of an outline but it is all pretty tight at this moment. There's a chance I don't actually have a 50k word story. If that proves to be the case, I'll finish what I do have and then I'll pick up one of the other ideas that didn't spark me as hard as this one did.