Windows

I love the blue of the sky as seen through the broke panes. I imagined the windows fully glassed, how blue the sky must of looked to everyone inside, how hard it must of been to stay inside, with the promise of that sky, always calling you to come outside, tempting you with a case of spring fever. I am still struggling at the edge of the what if twilight zone, but with God's grace I am gaining ground and mostly groovy.

Salt Publishing

The mailman brought me a couple of presents on Wednesday, The Opposite of Cabbage by Rob. A. Mackenzie ( which I haven't read yet) from Salt Publishing, inside my package was a hand written thank-you from the sunny UK, from the editors. Once I get a chance to read the book, I will post my thoughts here, the book came recommended from several friends, so I am anxious to read it. I also received a care package from my friend Nicole, a CD of songs, a framed print of a poem she wrote for me, home made soap and a beautiful letter of warm and caring thoughts. A care package that was needed and came at exactly the right time. Thank-you my friend.

This week has been tough for me, physically I have not been 100%, and emotionally I have been a soppy wet dishrag. I have been undergoing physical therapy for some degeneration of a couple of vertebrae, that in itself is no big deal, I am closer to 50 than 40 ( that looks awful does it not-50) and my body has had its share of bumps and bruises along the way, and luckily no surgery is needed. The cure however may be worse than the disease, as all of the nerves in my hands and legs are wide awake and speaking in tongues.

I can not decipher what they are saying and why, only that they are noisy and fully awake. I am a diabetic, and have been for 16 years, and honestly have not always done exactly what I should of been doing and have apportioned a generous share of self loathing and guilt to my psyche for diabetic n0n-compliance. I have been lucky, knock wood that I have no serious diabetic side effects, no nerve or tissue damage, fully functioning kidneys and during the last twenty years have really only had a few times when the disease was kicking my ass. I know I could of done better, and when I start serving myself a slice of guilt pie, all of my fears float to the surface ( both fear and hope float) and I struggle. Two years ago I had an episode of angina and a massive panic attack ( my first of three-thankfully the last two years mostly panic free) triggered by arthritis in my left shoulder, following the episode, I had every heart test known to man, the result being I had a 42 year old body. Considering I was 42, I was okay with this. This episode however was the first time I tasted fully my own mortality, and I realized that I was not ready to move on, that I wanted a full measure of life, to see my daughter married, to hold my first grandchild and to drive that handsome man I married crazy another 20 to 40 years.

These weird rumblings that have been echoing through this body of mine, resurrected my fears, and I spent a few days in fear's twilight zone. A place I wish on no one. I went to my doctor ( who's name is Gabrielle and might be my guardian angel) who listened to my fears and ordered a test that would rule out most of the worse that had hold of my imagination. I also asked my friends for prayer, I am a spiritual person, I believe in a God of Grace, and that all living things are connected, that there is reason, purpose and a pattern to all life. That the force of life that spark that defines us, comes from God. I am a Christian, and have always struggled a bit with my own faith, I am the proverbial Doubting Thomas, but I am still here, still believing, and still trying to live my life in a way that honors the gift that Jesus gave me. This week a trial for me, but also an experience of love, as several of my friends shared with me their own experiences and taught me how to pray in a way that frees the heart from fear, and for that I want to say a heartfelt thanks. With God's Grace, I am mostly groovy.

The Last Trufula Tree ?


My brain is an odd and random place, I thought of the Lorax and Sneeds when I saw this tree, and of course the last Trufula Seed. As a child I read the book, watched the TV program, and always wondered if the seed grew into a tree. I believe it did, and here perhaps is my proof.

Flitter: Poetic Innie or Outie

The last several days I have been thinking about the pursuit of creative endeavors, my creativity expresses itself through words and images. Creativity is personal and in many ways it makes us vulnerable, we open up ourselves for others to read, to view the world through our filters. I have asked myself the last several years.

What makes a writer?

What makes one write?

Is there a artist or poet gene?

Why do I write?

What compels me to lay open my thoughts and images?

A friend relayed a conversation with another poet about writers either writing to get in or get out--I likened it in my abby normal way to having a innie or an outie writers navel. Writing for me is a conversation, sometimes it is a conversation with myself, sometimes with others, sometimes with God, it is simply how I process. The words flow easy for me, they are for me a song that accompanies everything I do, even when I am not writing, they are there--they are never still or quiet. I believe that as humans we have an innate desire to create, perhaps because God created us in his image, and that each person creativity manifests itself differently. Me, I am a curious talker and a visual listener. I am an amateur. I am good with that, I'd like to think perhaps a time or two a photo or a few lines of prose or poetry approaches what I like to call "the more", something that might transcend and reach out to others. I struggle with time restraints and commitments, contiously. My creative time often comes in fit and spurts, and I sandwich it between the other roles in my life, still I make a concerted effort to fit it in. I went through a large period of discontent wanting to spend every available minute in the pursuit of the creative; either writing or taking photos, yet I found I began to miss my own life, my friends, my family, these things I had pushed to the back burner temporarily to make more time for being creative. Over the last couple of years I strived to find balance between the roles in my life. I am not always successful but I have reached a good place in my life, I know who I am and I am comfortable in being me, the good, the bad and the in between and every day I make a few minutes to feed the creative me. I challenge us all to feed their creative sides, in whatever way it manifests itself. I believe in the process of being creative we often reach beyond ourselves to others to create a bridge, to allow for compassion and respect of others. It unites us in our global humanity. The photos some of my earliest, with my first camera a Kodak, I love them for thier imperfection, for my inability to capture the butterfly in flight, so that the wings are merely a suggestion, a blur of color, a flitter of movement. For the record, my poetic belly button is an innie.

So let me know are you a poetic innie or outie?

Amateur


With my lens I tried to beguile poetry's
living form; the colors of the desert
subtle hues of gold and amber; the sudden
flash of brilliant blue, how the wind transforms
jagged rock into river stones. Here the earth
absorbs all color. Life is resilient in the respite
of mans shadow. These simple stones become runes,
desert talisman that practice the mimicry
of stream. One day the sky will darken bursting
forth with ferocity; the desert spirit
long practiced in the art of denial,
is graced with the presence of water
and a river, transitory as man's fragile
breath on glass flows. Sepia images curl
into song and I only hazard a guess.

Picture Story


What shall cast the shadow on the mountain? In this unbroken terrain, I found that I was lost in the world of subtle darkness, I had abandoned my shadow to the mine, I freed it to bleed into the dark heart of the desert, the quickening of the lands breath as clouds covered the mesa, the halo of dark that surrounds the cactus flower, the taint of my shadow on untamed land, I held in my hand a shard of pottery, in another millennium a woman pressed clay into a basket of stray, and placed the clay lined basket into fire, and from the purification of flame a vessel was formed.


These shards spoke to me of a simple life, in my hand they felt warm to my touch, as if I had an affinity to the potter that a millenia ago crafted them from straw and clay. A people of hunters and gatherers, moving from location following the streams, the promise of water, these vessels were broke on purpose, each pot smashed as to not allow bad spirits to follow them from place to place. I arranged them on a tableau of stone, and I photographed their beauty, I tempered my urge for possession, and following the custom of their creator I scattered them to the earth. No evil spirits followed me from that sacred place.

Black and White Studies

Dog and Garden

This weekend I worked in the yard, played in the pool and spent some time with the creature who loves me the most, my dog Blondie. We have always had a dog, in the 23 years we have been married Blondie is only our second dog, both dogs have been Chow mixes and surprisingly both have been really good people dogs. I believe we are a family of cat people, we have 4 cats right now and at one time we had 6, I think that cat people should have cats and dog people should have dogs. My husband and daughter bring home puppies, with full expectation of us becoming dog people, who play fetch, and Frisbee, and speak dog. That never happens, our dogs begin to metamorphosize into cat-dogs. Cats are their friends, they build survivor alliances with one or more of the cats to protect their dog food, on occasion you can find them sleeping right next to one of the cats. We are the worst of dog owners, we undog our dogs. Blondie is loved fiercely in our cat people way, and she is a happy dog, so perhaps this is okay. I always want more for my dogs, I want my dogs to have true dog people like my sister and her husband, who raise hunting dogs. We raise cat-dogs, my husband refers to her as that big blond-cat; she is however my dog and I am the center of her universe ( perhaps why I prefer cats-as I am not equipped to be the center of any living creatures universe)and she is old. She will be 14 on Christmas day, and of late she has been slowing down. When I was gone last week, she refused to come out of her crate, she sulked, some days she is stiff and spends her day sleeping at my feet , and other days she is a great big puppy bouncing around the yard. She has cataracts, but no other old-dog diseases, other than a somewhat leaking bladder, yet I feel a shift in her, a sense that we are near the end of her life, as if she is telling me it is time to go. I worry when I go out of down for two weeks in August that she will simply slip away. I am hoping that God will give her a true dog angel as her companion. The flowers some lilies I planted in the pool side garden.

the shapes of this world are not unique, there is a familiarity of pattern, a sense of rhythm in all living things, the fabric's textures change, but there are both stars above and below. And I being a simple person, find that miraculous


its beauty is transitory, fleeting and yet i find comfort in the cycle of the seasons, the promise of other springs, and its honest propagation of its species.

the sun through the leaves of my neighbors trees creates prisms. I could not capture the subtle hues of their rainbows, the way the rose bled into the afternoon sky, only these circles, halos of light to showcase the rose.

and the desert blooms

Postcards from the Edge

Office Space and Fake Families



I am on the road again, and while I often miss my family, the field work has always been my favorite part of the job. I have been an environmental scientist for 24 years. It is a job that I am well suited for, a good mix of scientific principles, many disciplines and one that is dynamic, that changes often and frequently presents to me a puzzle that I need to figure out. I believe strongly that man should be a steward for the environment, and my work affords me the luxury of doing something I believe in. I feel I have been damn fortunate to be able to do a job I love for so many years. This week I am going to New Mexico, one of my favorite places, I am taking my camera. I hope to get some good pictures, some green chillies and perhaps a sopapilla and a lot of work done. When I get back, I am going to the graduation of Ian, the son of my dear friend Bonnie-Jean, a much loved and surrogate nephew. I heard him once introduce Rachael to his friends as a fake-cousin and I smiled and said so that makes me a fake-Aunt. I have to find time when I land on Friday, to shower, change, and stop and buy an apple-pie and vanilla ice-cream, as I have been bringing Ian apple pie since he was toddler, it is both of our favorites. I am swamped in all things, but mostly groovy.

What was I Thinking?


Yesterday I took Rachael back to the orthopaedic doctor, the final verdict was a hairline fracture and a partial tear to the ligament. The good news is that the doctor believes surgery is not necessary, the bad news is that it will be at least 12 weeks before she can participate in sports again, her summer will include a hard cast, a soft cast and physical therapy. No mosh pits (yes she actually asked the doctor if at concerts could she go in the mosh pit), no summer gymnastics, and perhaps no gymnastics again, the doctor told her if she had another sport she loved, to keep it in mind, just in case. All in all her spirits are good, she was really frightened about the prospect of anaesthesia, and is excited that hard cast part is only 3 weeks. I lasted only 2 days in a 30 day challenge, my poorest performance to date, and once again I am behind in all things. Rachael has 6 days of school left, and because of the arm, is having a hard time finishing up her end of year projects, where I have now become the typist, hopefully by Friday she will be caught up and we can all relax for summer. The same rose as before, photo taken with the new camera on the macro-setting, I am getting a little better at using the new camera, but miss the Nikon, I see a macro lens in my future. Really a camera is like a pair of shoes, a woman can not have too many.

Roses and Thorns

After every girl scout event, the girls play a game called Roses and Thorns, where we ask each girl to say something they liked, and something they found challenging.   This weekend I played Roses and Thorns, the Thorn being that Rachael broke her elbow, and we were not able to go backpacking, the Rose being that I had a wonderful weekend at home.  Rachael may have to have surgery on her elbow, we will know on Tuesday (thorn) , however she realized this weekend that she is still somewhat dependent on her Mom and Dad (rose) and that she still likes us (rose); even though she hates that (thorn).  I also realized that I still need to mother her a bit, at times I get so frustrated at her for not being more self sufficient, for not stepping up to the plate, that I just want to beat my head against the wall, this weekend we cuddled in, we watched movies, I babied her a bit, and yet at the end of day, she came to me and said thanks Mom.  She also said, I hate being dependent on others, I can't even wash my own hair, and I said we will do it together, and she said thanks Mom. She is maturing, perhaps not at the rate I did, but we are getting there, and sometimes a little adversity is good for growth, perhaps in three years she will be ready to leave the nest.  I played in my garden, wrote a few new poems, and jumped into a 30 day challenge with the thought of excercising poetic muscles, trying new things, exploring topics that are tabu--perhaps working off of prompts, focusing on craft, and learning.  The poems coming out of this excercise might not end up being my best, but I suspect the ones that follow the excercises will be better.    I am mostly groovy. The photoa rose left on my porch by a fellow girl scout leader, a much needed cheer me up on Friday morning after Rachael broke her arm. 

Backpacking and other Minutia

Tomorrow I am going backpacking in Arkansas with a wonderful group of young women and three fantastic women. I am looking forward to it, I have never been backpacking before--this will be mine and a few of the girls first time, and I am a bit nervous, but I think physically I am up to it,and emotionally I am ready. The thought of being away from civilization for three solid days sounds like heaven, I am taking my bible, blank paper and pen, two books, my noisy brain and my new camera. My husband and my daughter gave me a Olympus Stylus Tough 8000 for a combination mothers day/anniversary present and this will be the first time I will be trying it out. Everything we need for three days we will be carrying in on our backs, I have been thinking it will be turtle-esqe. I am still a bit behind in all things, on all fronts, School lacks 10 days if you are counting, and we are counting, with bated breath, as once again my daughter is walking the edge in a few of her classes. I think she will come in over the wire. I am tired, she is tired, and honestly it will be nice to have three months where we don't argue over school, I miss her and frankly I think she misses me. Poetry wise I have been receiving rejections right and left, one rejection sucked my air out, and one rejection breathed life and resolve back into my poets heart. I will not have a poem in the Texas Poetry Calendar, which broke my heart, but I will try again next year, the Texas Poetry Calendar is a wonderful publication and I hope everyone continues to support it, I know I will. I also received a rejection from Hanging Loose, but with ink, they wrote, these letters have merit, please send us something new. I am looking for something new, I have started to send out my chapbook, keep your fingers crossed that I find a home for it.

Inside Bone There's Always Marrow



I love chapbooks, I think of each book as an individual work of Art, as a reader I feel like its an oppurtunity to begin a conversation, sit down and get to know another poet over a cup of tea, a mug of coffee, or a glass of wine. I have been reading Rachel Mallino's chapbook, Inside Bone There's Always Marrow. Rachel is a friend and the warden (founder) of the inmates at Inside the Writers Studio. She is also the founder and editor of Tilt Press, a small independt press that supports new and emerging writers. I found her book surprising, full of both hard protective edges and soft tender spots much like bone. As I sipped my cup of tea, I found at times I wanted to hi-five her for her incredible sense of self and independence, other times to reach across the room to give her a hug, often I found myself nodding yes and yes as I read. A wonderful conversation about life, love and poetry; a beautiful work of Art from Rachel Mallino. I would recommend that you sit down with a cup of tea and meet Rachel. The book is available at Maverick Duck Press for 5 dollars.

Forget-me-Nots

I had a wonderful mother's day, we hung around the house and pretended to be a family and it was wonderful. My husband did some work for me in the zen garden, restaining my table, moving and refurbishing our aging grill, and my daughter vacuumed and hung outside with us, forsaking even her texting for a few hours. We grilled steaks and chicken and then Rachael and I cuddled in the floor of the den and watched Disney Movies, we watched Beauty and the Beast, Mulan and Anastasia ( which is technically not a Disney Movie) ate cookies and cream ice cream and just snuggled in. My husband also gave me a "a coupon" for the macro lens, told me to send him the link and he would order whatever lens I wanted. I actually decided not to get the lens, but instead decided on a Olympus Tough Digital Camera, one with super macro capabilities (focus length at 2cm), the camera is shock proof and water proof to 33 feet and it is 100 dollars less than the cheapest of the macro lenses. The bonus is that I will once again have a good purse camera, my last purse camera was a Casio (which I loved) but my girl scouts dropped it and it was toast. I have borrowed either Michael's or Rachael's when I needed a small camera so this new camera is the proverbial two birds with one stone; macro capabilities and the joy of always having a camera with me and the ability to take underwater photos. So very damn cool beans. I finished my draft chapbook and am mostly happy with it, I sent it to two friends for comments, I even printed it out and folded it so it looks like a real book, and it felt good. We will see how I do. My friend Chrissie, wrote a wonderful essay on the role of mothers, that made me whoop and holler. I think that as parents it is not our job to make our children happy, it is our job to give them the tools to seek their own happiness. Her essay is beautiful and eloquently written, you can check it out on her blog November Sky. I had Rachael read it last night, and she said nodding her head, well I could be happy if you bought me those 90 dollars Lucky jeans. I said nice try. She said you can't blame a girl for trying, and then said I love you Mom. The flowers forget-me-nots they reseeded themselves from last year, volunteers as I like to call them, one of my favorite things.

Lily and Me

I have been in the garden, the rain has brought new flowers.  I read a quote today from Ansel Adams that spoke to me, 

When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence. --Ansel Adams

so for now I am still mostly silent. 

Touch: The Journal of Healing

I just wanted to take a few moments to say what a beautiful journal this is, I am honored and humbled to have my poem in the debut issue. The journal is filled with such beauty in words and in image, I am in awe. The editors O.P.W and Daniel did a incredible job and I am just tickled to be included. Please visit the journal to read works by Dennis Greene, Ed Bennett, Esther Greenleaf Mürer, Laura Levesque, Maria Basile, Bebe Cook, Yvette Wiley, Christine Klocek-Lim, Larina Warnock, Colin Ward, Stephen Bunch, Mary Susan Clemons, Donal Mahoney, Alarie Tennille, Sherry O’Keefe, Toni L. Wilkes, Murray Alfredson, Christian Ward, and Arti Subramanian.

Blair



and other stories, more or less. This frog made its way to my swimming pool on Sunday night, as I turned the lights out I saw movement in the water. I went outside thinking it was a lizard which get washed into the pool from the waterfall, where they like to sun. Much to my surprise I found a frog. We have toads that I find from time to time in the garden, but generally not true frogs with web feet. I think of Frogs as needing more water than toads and associate them with ponds and creeks. We have several small creeks that run through the neighborhood, and if my zoology is right, frogs just need a pond to lay their eggs and can survive in any moist place. This frog was enjoying the pool, swimming all over the bottom of the pool, and then resting on the ledge to catch a breath and then swimming again. I was worried that the frog could not get out of the pool, but kept checking back and it seems my worries were for naught. I used to have a toad ( also named Blair) that lived in the zen garden in a terra-cotta planter under a huge tree. Year after year a toad would make its home in the pot--likely a new toad each year, but I named them all Blair. It seemed to be easier, and I liked the thought of my garden being real-estate for the resident toad population. A family vacation home for toads. Three years ago, we lost the big tree in the zen garden, it was split into two halves by wind. With every gust of wind; each half of its massive trunk began to beat like a heart. The tree was old, according to the arborist not salvageable; we were forced to cut the tree down. Without the tree the garden dynamics changed from a shade to a full sun environment, and many of the species planted did not survive the brutal Texas heat. The following year the toad family did not return to the terra cotta planter. No summer house. Now I have frogs in the pool garden, life is good.

Happy Anniversary

We were married May 3, 1986, twenty-three years today. Marriage is hard work, we have been lucky, we have had good, bad and in-between years, but we have always faced them together, hands held. I love you my Michael.

Shrooms

We have had glorious rain all week, which introduced these mushrooms to my yard and garden, I have been watching them as they propagate and last night I crawled out on my knees to photograph them. I am not sure what draws me to the dank, the musty, the organic, the pungency of the earth that seems to be captured in mushrooms. I find that I like to see the colonies, the shelf like species, last year I had some wood mushrooms that kept creeping up my fence-line but I neglected to photograph them. I am keeping my camera charged these days, and mentioned in passing to my husband, that perhaps I needed a new camera body, one with more f-stops, and his only question was could I use my current lenses. I need to buy that macro-lens first--maybe for Christmas I could ask for a Nikon D80. I think this weekend I am going to bite the bullet and order a macro-lens, perhaps not the Nikon lens, it is close to 500 dollars and a knock-off is half the price. I had a poem accepted by Touch: The Journal of Healing, which will be out in May, I am excited to be included in the debut issue, as I have much respect and admiration for the editor. The swine flu still has me a bit nutso--but I have pulled my fear out in the open and am doing my best to stay on the normal side of odd. So far I am succeeding.