Letter Fodder and other Obscure Observations

We are home from the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and it feels good to return to Muggle status. We had a great vacation at Universal Studios and Cocoa Beach. Of the two I preferred Cocoa Beach. Perhaps I have outgrown theme parks, or more likely as it is with movies, I simply prefer books over cinematic interpretations of a book. While I thoroughly enjoyed our vacation, I found that I kept running list of the bothersome--a mental eye tic of sorts, one that I feel compelled to share. An affectation of my personality that manifests itself in the form of letter writer. I am evolving into that person, that letter person that makes mental notes and fires off the unsolicited letter to business establishments, manufacturers of odd products and hotel management. Is it that I truly believe that these entities want and value my opinion? Or that I have some point of view so unique that it has not yet been vetted through focus groups that conduct consumer research for these mega corporations--not likely. Do I have some David and Goliath, Erin Brockovich need to be the little voice that could--hardly. It is more that I believe that feedback is a good thing, that without the giving and receiving of feedback nothing ever changes. It is merely my fear of utter stagnation that fuels my need to elucidate my point of view. I write letters in response to extremes, good and bad. I write snarky letters when fired up; and heartfelt letters of gratitude in response to a kind turn. I am not naive--I know most of these letters end up in recycle bins. Every now and then I do get a response other than the polite form letter--sometimes a small action. I am okay with that. That ticker gene of mine, the one that counts on fingers and simultaneously rolls eyes--the one that is not equipped with an off button--no matter how hard I try---took notes this weekend in Florida.


Artifacts of a noisey brain so to speak.


1. All rides end in a souvenir shop

2. Where were the healthy food choices (are the calories a fairy tale too?)

3. How many people, people and more people can you fit into a small wizard village? Inquiring minds want to know.

4. Why do parents bring children under 2 to theme parks (they are too small to ride and they won't remember--quit using your children to gain admittance--fess up-admit that you love HP and hire a babysitter)

5. Prevalence of mediocre customer service. (Does knowing this is a once in a life-time experience negate the need for service that might bring you back)

6. Hotels that do not provide complimentary coffee before the restaurant opens up and 3.00 a cup Folgers after the restaurant opens.

7. Door to Door shuttle services that stop at 5 hotels between start and end point.

8. Hotel Guest Services desk and information kiosks where service/information are contingent on a 1.5 hour time share sales pitch.

9. The unavailability of women's souvenir shirts larger than an XL. Honestly this fat girl is living proof that a mans 2XL is not a flattering cut on a women of size.

10. Why no where inside Universal Studios can you buy a Ogre Fiona Doll. I found it untenable that the quintessential anti-princess movie--one which celebrates the non-traditional hero and heroine--would not sell a Ogre Fiona. When asked if they were simply sold out of Ogre Fiona---I was told that little girls only liked the "Beautiful Princess Fiona"--and that they quit selling the Ogre Fiona dolls, even those dolls that were both Ogre Fiona and Princess Fiona. I did point out to the sales clerk, that both Fiona's were infact Princesses.

11. Families that wear Thing 1, Thing 2, Thing 3 and Thing 4 t-shirts.

I am still working on my letters--one to Universal for that Ogre Fiona snub and one to Holiday Inn for that customer service Thing 1 through Thing....


The photo of me and my Michael, one I just love. No bearing on the post what-so-ever.

Sunrise in Suburbia

I likely have used this photo before, one I took the first day I had my Nikon. Tuesday I was backing up some photos and this was the last directory I had opened, today's shot courtesy of pure laziness on my part. I had titled the photo Sunrise in Suburbia, add recycling to my offenses today. Today we get floor, tomorrow we get carpet and I will be not be here to see the first look of everything put back together, which oddly makes me sad. My daughter has fall break and we are going with my best friend and godson to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I am excited, I loved the books and the movies and its been about 5 years since we have been on a trip with Trish. When Rach and the boys were young we went most every year, and then puberty and mid-life care of parents hit and we kept running out of both time and money. We had been holding off to take the kids to Europe, but frankly we simply can't afford it. Rach is applying to go to Iceland through Girl Scout Destinations in Summer 2011--and I am hoping that she will get accepted. Several girls went last year and between fund raisers and scholarships raised most of the money themselves. So perhaps she will get a bit of international travel next year. Universal has some great trips including air-fare, hotel, tickets and round trip airport transfers the cost worked out to be around 500 a person. We simply have to not go overboard on Harry Potter goo-gaas (licensed merchandise) and 5-star restaurants.

I am packed and ready to go. I have a magic carpet bag, a rolling angled laptop case/overnighter with pockets for everything. I can pack my olympus point and shoot, computer, phone, ipod and 5 days of clothes in this bag or all of the above, my nikon and 3 days of clothes. I have become a connoisseur of luggage during my 25 years as a road warrior. I packed for 5 days in a third of the space my daughter did. I am hoping Michael will send me a pic of the living room when it gets done, and I will send him a pic of Hogwart's.

Considering Opting Out

I am thinking about opting out of such things like Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace, I miss the blogosphere, when most of my friends kept blogs--and we visited each other and left notes, it seemed more cozy and less frenetic than the mass social networking phenomenon. I have a 176 friends on Facebook, most of those I know through poetry, high school, family, friends and work--and a small percentages of these friends I have known most of my life. Without Facebook I would not have an extended network of writers or have been able to catch up with high school friends. The remainder of the friends I have not lost contact with and can pick up the phone and talk to them anytime. I would love to start a letter writing campaign--I love to write letters, to receive letters, to communicate fully through the written word. I don't want sound bites, 140 characters poems, clever wordplay, or hidden innuendos--I like people, I like to talk to others, to share ideas, to explore thoughts on politics , the environment, child raising, the changing role of woman, the pressure on girls, how to get a B student into a decent college, what it means to be wife, mother, writer, photographer and environmental scientist. Okay maybe not politics as I myself am pretty politically neutral. A dear friend of mine describes Facebook as an opium for the masses and I am beginning to think he is right. Perhaps it is time to opt out.

Santa Fe at Sunset

My friend and I went to see the Aspens turn colors, drove up a winding road through the mountain to the ski area (which actually we never saw) as we stopped to gawk and photograph on the way up,and the sun set about a mile before our final destination. I took over 150 photos, still processing them, finding the ones that I like the best. I generally only like 5-10% of the photos I take. Much like my poetry, I tend to generate alot of excess before I find one I like.

Nic Sebastian has a fantastic new audio journal, Whale Sound, guidelines for submissions can be found at Whale Sound and Very Like a Whale. I would highly recommend you check it out. I have three poems up at Flutter, (Thank-you Sandy) and a few more forthcoming in Red River Review (November)and Illya's Honey(November).

I have one sub out that I have been waiting 127 days for a response (if your counting) that I'm nervous about. The sub is for what I call my Death and Dying poems, ones that I feel strongly need a home. I read three of these poems at the DPC First Friday Poetry event. I was nervous reading as they are odd; I was unsure if they would translate to spoken word. My voice shook and I felt like I was in junior high. The poems were well received for being a bit on the macabre side.

My poetry toe is still broken and I am struggling with finding the time to write well. I am not sure how this will resolve itself, I wrote a poem in response to a prompt recently (something I loathe doing) and I pushed myself to completion. I haven't yet decided if I like the poem. I am excited/relieved/proud of being able to craft the poem. The poem of course,a bit dark--which I find odd as the happier I feel the more macabre the poem.

Do you know

The way to Santa Fe? Photo taken on the road between Albuquerque and Santa Fe. I love the southwest, not sure why, just it makes my heart smile. Perhaps it is the green chili stew, the discussion of new projects at work and the company of one of my dearest friends. I am groovy, hope the same for you.

Gene Pool

These are my feet at a hazardous waste site. I am not afraid of working in chemical goo--I am trained, proficient and experienced. I can take samples from tanks all day long. I am comfortable in this environment. I am however inadequate in all things domestic. I do not have the M.S. (Martha Stewart) gene. I am not a domestic....diva, engineer, or miracle worker. I never took home economics in high school. I was too busy breaking the gender barrier in Agricultural Science--I was on the Dairy Judging Team. To this day I can still recite the Future Farmers Pledge(FFA) and say the greek alphabet 3 times holding a match (ADPi). Skills that might come in handy during a discussion of stupid animal tricks, but are absolutely useless when one is remodeling. I have been way out of my comfort zone since we started this project. Do you know how many choices of flooring and carpet are available? That there is laminate, engineered wood and wood flooring. Wood flooring can be scraped, hand scraped, stressed, distressed, strips (2.25 inch) or planks (3 and 5 inch). We went to Floor and Decor and I nearly had a panic attack, rows and rows of tile--so many choices of color, texture and material--that I was literally frozen to the spot overwhelmed by possibilities. My husband and I walked every aisle like we had never been to the big city, mouths open, mind numbing. So we decided to hire a professional---first question out of their mouth was "What do you want?". Floors can be wood, tile, carpet ? What I want is to go to bed and wake up with a completely remodeled living room...Can you do that? I want you to send me on a vacation and come home to the perfect house (I know it happens that way on T.V.).

We are at week 3 of the remodel (of course the wood we finally chose was back-ordered and the carpet can't be laid until the wood is in). We have beautiful haze colored walls (the color of the sand on the mesa); white ceiling and trim, faux-wood blinds (actual material not specified); a new fireplace mantel--no furniture and concrete floors. This weekend we bought furniture--to be delivered on October 13th (provided floors arrive). I drug my husband to 10 furniture stores from low-end to high end--over two days, we must of looked at hundreds of sectionals--we loved only two--one at the high end of the low-end and one at the low-end of the high-end.

We opted on the high end of the low end--mostly because it could be available by October 13th, we saved about 800 dollars and our daughter could sit on it. The other sofa might be ready in time for Thanksgiving; but for sure by Christmas. The low-end/high-end also contained down pillows (which our daughter is allergic to); the salesman said they were hypo-allergic and sealed-- We were unsure if this was a pro or con--

Pro: It would ensure that the our daughter and her flock of teenage friends would use the den and leave the living room to us

Con: It might also cause our daughter eyes to swell shut (like when I surprised her with down pillows--also hypo-allergic sealed) and we found out that she was in fact allergic to down).

We opted for our daughter to be able to sit in the living room with us (she doesn't believe us-but we really do love her). We are however not putting a T.V. in the room so that it can be a reading room.

Today we have furniture on order, carpet on order, wood on order, and a very big empty room with concrete floors in which we taped the dimensions of all of the future furniture (to ensure that everything will fit). If I close my eyes and tap my heels together 3 times I can visualize it done. I am simply praying that everything matches when it finally arrives. If it doesn't I am going to Garden Ridge and Tuesday Morning and purchase a "inspirational piece" in a bright color and toss it around the room in pillows, candles, drapes to tie it all together. That is what Martha would do.

10 Reasons

Why I'm not writing

My poetry toe is broken, currently immobilized
with violet athletic tape to my index toe

We are remodeling; Spackle covers everything
including my desk and folded grey matter

Our house echos without carpet
the noise of my words is deafening

It's annual bureaucrat bean-counting
time; I am a bureaucrat

I wrote myself out in 2008
I have nothing left to say

Sometimes when I write, I miss my life
Sometimes when I live, I miss the poem

I found out yesterday that a childhood friend died at 51. Our families where stationed in Alaska together, his sister my first best friend. His parents surrogate Aunt and Uncle to me and my sisters for a period of about 10 years. Over time we had lost contact, oddly my note yesterday mentioned his sister. Funny how the mind works. I remember him with love. When I was 6 he let me play battleship with him. When I was 18 in college, when we would end up at the same bar, he came over and played big brother. He would ask me if my date was behaving, and offer me a ride home if I needed one. Mostly he just wanted to let my dates know that someone was watching out for me. I never needed the ride home, but I always felt safe knowing that he was there. My heart goes out to his family.

Odd

I woke up this morning thinking about people I miss. Some have passed and some I just haven't been seen in a long while. Momma, Daddy, Barbara, Sherri, Trish, Heather, Judi, Michelle, Shane, Justin, Bonnie, JW, Aunt Betty, Sissy, Raegan, Maddie, Mel, Molly Jenkins, Gran, Pa, Haddy, Mark, Michelle, Haddita, Granny, Tracy, Jen Jen, Aly, Uncle Shelby, Karl, Melanie Boyd, Leslie Smith, Jordyn, Wes, Jason, Susan, Uncle B, and where in the world are Kelly Jo and Bobbie Jean. Odd thoughts from an odd brain.

Random

We are remodeling. We are excited. We can't wait for it to be done. This is how we are spending our vacation. We are remodeling. I will never build a house from scratch. I do not have sufficient Martha Stewart type genes. We are excited. We are remodeling.

Rainy Days

It's been raining. A tropical storm ( I forget which letter and name) crawled up the coast, and we have been blessed with glorious rain-- I found myself standing at the window with my coffee cup in hand hypnotized by the rain. I toyed with the idea of swimming in the rain, but sadly common sense prevailed. Today I am hunkered in with deadlines and work--me, work I love, and the rain. Seems about perfect.

Orphanage Road

Moon Burn

My friend and fellow poet, Jayne Pupek, died this week and I am deeply saddened by her death. I have been going through the emails we shared over the last 4 years and I have found that within the letters she sent to me there is much discussion on writing. She befriended me (the new writer) within the confines of writers workshop, a place akin to the Betty Ford Clinic for Poets. We write. Simply. She took time to send me encouraging words, suggestions on places to submit, funny stories (we shared a wicked sense of humor)and we became friends. Of all of my fellow writers her and I shared many things in common, we were both Southerners, of the same age, mothers to teenagers, both successful in other careers, insatiably curious, and neither one of us took ourselves too seriously. I realized that I wrote over 200 poems with her and my other cohorts, supporting each other, whispering words of encouragement, it is a safe house. I am reading and rereading my emails, I hope to be able to sit down and pull out tidbits of our conversations on writing. What comes across to me is not the truly gifted writer but the wonderful person she was, she had an incredible beauty and generosity of spirit, she shone. I remember her as she is with her words, quirky, vibrant, challenging and full of grace and generosity of spirit. She rocked, She was one of my personal heroines, she challenged me. She will be deeply missed.

Moon Burn: A phrase my sister Sherri coined in a galaxy far far away ( a pasture in east Texas, in the last century) one I have always loved. This moon is why I get up at 4:30 to swim, there is something pagan about swimming under moonlight, perhaps in another incarnations of light, I was a pagan moon worshiper.

Open

Seems a bit how I feel of late. Open and questioning. I have been swamped on all fronts but amazingly groovy. I turned 47 yesterday and oddly the number 47 did not bother me at all. I love middle age, the sense of acceptance, of freedom, of wisdom that accompanies this in-between time is liberating. I no longer worry what others think, I am comfortable in my own skin, my place and it is in many ways a time for renaissance of spirit. Children are leaving the nest and doors open for new avenues for exploration. In these years I have returned to the passion of writing that I had in my youth, acknowledged that perhaps there was a bit of the creative in my nature explored the visual in both doodling and photography. My husband and I are re-igniting our relationship. As our daughter becomes an adult we are returning coupledom with less time being spent in the combined role of parent. She is not an adult yet at 17, though there are at times we get glimpses of the adult she is becoming and we relax a bit (as we believe she will be okay). I find that I love this time in my life and at 47 I am looking forward to learning new things, taking classes, and spending more and more time with my husband. We are going to take up hiking as soon as the heat gets below 85 in preparation for our trip to Kauai in May. I want to be able to explore the island with camera and pen, hand in hand. Color me romantic, but I am thinking this is going to be a great year.

Goose Flesh

Its August 23 and we have had 22 days of 100 degree plus weather this month with promise of likely another week of brutal heat. The garden is dead, the grass is near dead--the temperature of the water in our pool is 93 degrees. There is no relief for any living creature. We found a dead black bird floating in our pool skimmer. A young bird in glass eyed rigor. Did heat inversion make it impossible to fly? Did it land in our pool hoping for fresh water and the density of salt in water prevent it from returning air bound? Did my aged birder--my feline Sir Bug awake from a dream of feathers, longing for a hunt, stir from retirement to chase the bird toward the pool.

Yesterday when I came home from a meeting there were more than 25 birds in my front lawn, picking at the wet grass, turning their heads towards me slowly as if I was the interloper. A few of the birds flew-up and then landed on the far end of yard, as if to accommodate my need for entry, and to show me they would not be easily intimidated. They waited, all eyes on me until I crossed the sidewalk to the door. Goose flesh. Who in the future walks over my grave of decaying sinew and bone? Momentary glimpses of Hitchcockian deja'vu. I toyed with the thought of reclaiming my yard. A simple flick of the hand to turn off the sprinkler would dislodge the flock of blackbirds and the lone blue jay. I remembered the Birds and the lifeless juvenile I found afloat. Dead eyes reminiscent of obsidian, depth-inscrutable, glazed yet still open, and I wondered why I averted my form from his vacant gaze. I went inside and quickly closed the door.

Happy as a Toad in a Drain Spout

Going home today from a long and somewhat emotionally draining week. Tomorrow is Mom and Daughter day, and this weekend I am going to mostly be a home body. This fellow the only creature happy about the tropical rains this week. I laid down in the grass to catch his happy smile. It will good to be home.

From the Sky




I am learning how to use the panorama feature on my Olympus point and shoot. I took this photo enroute to New York. I still need practice. Today is day 5 of a 30:30 and so far I am limping along. I am creaky rusty and it is much harder for me to write than it was a year ago, part of it likely due to letting my tools get a bit rusty, part of it is my own dissatisfaction with my work, part of it is simply a matter of time and competing priorities. I am learning to be more focused in my work, what I call being a "grown-up" poet. I want to explore and develop poems on specific themes, experiment with form and hone my natural voice. Most of my work originates as a free write, and then after time has passed I can go back and mine out and develop the kernels that eventually become my poetry. Sometimes there is virtually no real difference between the free write and finished work, and other times they bear absolutely no resemblance to to each other. This process is hard to do in a 30 day forum, yet I love the creative energy of the forum. For now I am focusing on getting out the free writes and identifying those that are worth the investment of time. This from a women who has over 300 poems in draft and submits to less than 10 journals in one given year. Don't do the math its depressing. So for now I am going to feed the muse and see what happens.

In Transit.



I have returned to road warrior status for most of the month of August. I spent last week in New York City, a city I love, a city that speaks to me. I find myself engrossed in it's architecture, its people, its sounds and smells. I would love to go their on vacation, and simply spend time on foot walking and photographing, introducing myself to street vendors, talking to shop owners selling fruit and wine. Every time I have gone for work and spent 8-5 inside. I went to Brooklyn for the first time to see a hazardous waste site, of course I did. I loved the home feel of Brooklyn, the sense of community, brownstones and trees, flowers in pots, a much more familial feel than Manhattan. I made a mistake in bringing only my Olympus camera, as I missed the Nikon and I found by day 2, I didn't want to take pictures anymore as the discrepancy of what I wanted to capture on film and what I did capture on film became greater. I tried to take a panorama from the 30th floor, but the glass was so thick my image was reflected back on the lens.


In this photo both myself and the person standing behind and to the right are imposed on the landscape, it is as if we are ghosts that have been imprisoned on film. The drawing a 3-day doodle I completed during the meetings. This one perhaps not one of my best, but I am finding they are becoming more cohesive over time. Perhaps their is even a theme to this one? Not that I would reveal what it was, every person responds differently. The line between visual art and poetry is very slim for me, as in poetry I believe that each person brings their own experiences to the reading of a poem, a viewing of a photograph, a painting, and the intent of the artist and the life-experiences of the individual transform the art into something new. I find that exciting. I am not sure my doodles qualify as art, they are simply an artifact of the noisy brain, the need to keep in motion, a coping mechanism for a women with a bit of excess energy, a way to siphon the first layer of energy that allows me to listen with understanding. I do love them, I am thinking about putting one on a t-shirt for my nieces and sisters. I have a poem up at Red River Review. Big thanks to Bob and Michelle. I am groovy, I hope the same for you.

Bebe's Toes



When I first started this blog, the first photo I posted was the one titled "My Sister Toes in a Wetland" a photo my sister Sherri took and sent to me, which prompted my baby sister to send me a photo of her toes " The Baby's Toes on the Bayou" and to date I have taken countless photos of my toes. I have pictures of my feet in hazmat boots, hiking boots, on tundra, on the beach, in the ocean, in my garden, and in Niagra Falls. This is the first photo of them that I mostly like. I have ugly feet. I have Hobbit feet, short, wide, squarish and without the shaving of my big toe, a bit hairy. Technically they are deformed, my little toes grow sideways. I have 4 inch scars running from big toes to ankle due to surgery at 21 to correct foot alignment and genetic bunions. The surgery involved breaking bones and realignment, metal pins and reduced the width of each foot feet by 1.5 inch, stabilized my arch and, eliminated constant shin splits and the need for orthodoctics. The pins were removed later and I still tend to hide my feet as someone will almost invariably ask me about my sideways toes, I love my deformed feet they serve me well. Tomorrow these feet are going to walk right over and join my sister's on the side bar.

Sky

I am in love with the chameleon sky, I find myself watching the movement of clouds. I am star struck. I am a child of 4. Covered in wonder. I believe I love dawn and dusk best because of the fickleness of the sun's light as it flirts with the clouds. I am forever running inside for my camera to somehow preserve that instant of awe and wonder.