tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-122017732011-11-23T18:11:03.679-05:00Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comBlogger3071100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-67407483577618133282008-10-12T11:30:00.001-04:002008-10-12T11:30:50.831-04:00

I've moved to a new online home...email me for the address!Love,Deliaxoxoxo

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-16861630791021980822008-08-08T13:29:00.002-04:002008-08-08T14:19:52.384-04:00

OFF-LINE LIVING*****(photo by pleasebreathe)*****Dear You,It used to be that I turned on my computer and found myself lazily drifting through emails and websites while frost licked over the windows and the cold settled deep into my bones, chased off by cups of chai and blankets. It used to be that I had tons to report about myself, my writing, my view of things from here but I've gone incredibly

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-9124978632082741182008-07-28T12:39:00.003-04:002008-07-28T13:25:17.899-04:00

REPLY HAZY, TRY AGAIN.L. and I went to a psychic a few days ago, just for old time's sake. I was curious...right until the woman gripped my hands in hers and said, "I need you to think of two areas of your life where you have questions."I closed my eyes and gave my questions their silent space."Okay," she said, "Now I will read your questions with my mind while you say them out loud."Wait a

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-44331388522109455812008-07-24T12:45:00.008-04:002008-07-25T12:51:35.101-04:00

BIRTHDAY INKHe gruffly asked the reason why, sitting behind the desk looking over the designs I gave him to consider. "It has meaning to me," I said boldly in spite of his half-sneer and the devil tattooed over his neck. I guess that seeing girls like me walk into the shop provokes an instantaneous eye-rolling wonder. Another chick who's gonna want butterflies, birds or flowers, I can almost hear

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-29528039630548361692008-07-10T21:34:00.007-04:002008-07-11T17:11:49.086-04:00

DAYS LIKE THESE...are flooded with light. High summer skies and an abundance of sunflowers greet me whenever I slow down enough to notice them. Things are changing for me lately. So much happening that I almost cannot get the words out to express how incredibly *different* it all feels. Since I last shared here, my "baby" turned five. She is growing like the leggy stem of a sunflower...taller by

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-54239166947696987312008-07-01T09:49:00.005-04:002008-07-01T10:43:52.660-04:00

WORDS: LOST & FOUNDI have been a woman lost in words so far this summer and this disjointed, rambling post may reveal as much...Lost in:*my students' words: autobiographies--including fascinating stories about childhood experiences in Kenya, Japan, Uganda and, um, New Jersey...metacognitive analyses--every bit as exciting as they sound...novel evaluations--on this book.*novelists' words:

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-27976542118234598132008-06-13T12:06:00.003-04:002008-06-13T13:10:48.119-04:00

FOLLOWING JUNELately, I have fixated on the June sky...noticing it at odd angles, with telephone wires and barbed wire fences, with the saturated colors only summer can bring. June means the sunlight has withered my eager clematis vine and has forced such a frequent watering routine for the strawberries as to almost be futile...I swear the water dissipates in clouds of steam before ever reaching

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-12536034707286666722008-06-05T11:30:00.006-04:002008-06-05T12:18:16.282-04:00

READING SEASONBooks are stacking up again in messy heaps beside the bed, the bathtub and the door to the deck. I tuck into the sheets with the windows wide and listen to the nighttime birds while I'm lost in words...I relax in the water and let the phrases cleanse my mind of its clutter...I slip outside and read wantonly in the sun. I have copies tucked in my car in case of a traffic jam and in

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-2116928171975949032008-05-31T22:34:00.002-04:002008-06-01T07:44:56.373-04:00

TEN(photo source: here)If you read around this blog often, you know by now that I very *rarely* take on memes--but this one was just too intriguing. I came across it at a fellow Literary Mama's blog, here.Ten Years AgoI was in college with two majors. A year earlier, an advisor said that my one low semester meant I wouldn't be able to graduate with the English Education degree. She told me to "

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-44714139416005266312008-05-23T11:05:00.004-04:002008-05-23T12:54:12.850-04:00

(on not) QUITTINGOn a quiet Sunday my sister's cat waited patiently beside their pond, watching the clusters of Koi skirt the edges of the water. Orange, white and gold--so tempting in their gilded flickering that a few times it was enough to provoke the cat to crouch low and flex her claws on the stones. Once, the impulse to have the fish--right this minute--nearly set the cat tumbling over into

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-66347769112074375092008-05-20T12:50:00.003-04:002008-05-20T13:55:42.418-04:00

BACK TO BASICSIt matters notWho you loveWhere you loveWhy you loveWhen you loveOr how you loveIt matters only that you love.John LennonI am slowly finding my voice again & it echoes this word:L-O-V-ESomehow, it is the only one that matters.photo source: here

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-49515818499783207232008-04-18T12:55:00.004-04:002008-04-18T14:03:01.424-04:00

FOLLOWING THE PATHSpring fever has fallen in over me with the fierce intensity I always forget...each year, this season--or summer quick on its heels--finds me at a loss for my own words, wild and craving green like sugar gritting in my teeth. I'm going to be taking a little break from this blog as I have many times before. Feel free to drop me an email/letter to check in while I'm "away". I can

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-82892230895912410942008-04-13T09:02:00.002-04:002008-04-13T09:38:16.137-04:00

CLOSER"Though the tree drinks from hidden roots, we see the display of its branches." Though I'm currently drawing from the underground myself--I see the blossoming on the tender boughs. It is spring and everything is uncertain...the weather flares from a steady chill to balmy sunshine. The earth is already a little lovesick with all of this rising and falling--throwing out her most luminous

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-24581091215853854952008-04-04T13:01:00.002-04:002008-04-04T14:11:07.051-04:00

REBIRTHWe wandered over the woods trail through quiet inner landscapes and as usual, I saw symbols everywhere. To clarify, litter is never just a scrap of paper thrown carelessly on the pavement to me. No, I am convinced the bold print: FREE!!! is telling me something about my life...The penny (heads up, of course) on the sidewalk must mean luck and so I'll pocket it eagerly. I search through

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-82185937924181256052008-03-31T13:16:00.006-04:002008-04-11T12:44:15.430-04:00

WAKING UP(About The Ten Year Nap)At twenty, I was a dreamy girl halfway through college until a brisk full-moon night laced with snow and stars revealed my firstborn's shocking existence. I fell into motherhood clumsily...ineptly. I hadn't necessarily wanted to be a mother--was never a girl who had her dream wedding planned since seventh grade with the ideal set of matching babies to go along

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-47123861543971169032008-03-25T10:59:00.006-04:002009-02-02T19:22:46.785-05:00

LOST AND FOUND"For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),It's always our self we find in the sea."~e.e. cummings~{final photo, amazingly blurry, but taken with much love by my daughter featuring my mother, my sister, and I at the very high-class--note: glass and expensive antiques plus my three children and a heady dose of maternal anxiety about what all of that could equal--at my fellowship

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-74679403580517415902008-03-12T12:31:00.005-04:002008-03-12T18:31:44.511-04:00

THOUGHTS FROM MY MORNING OFFICEThis morning, the woman who now owns my favorite cafe had a tall glass of vanilla chai waiting for me when I came in and sat down in the windowseat. She asked how the writing has been going and I smiled, thinking of my poetry group meeting last night where my friends there were reveling in my fellowship win with me...people who were strangers to me a year ago but

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-15985542872249572722008-03-03T13:44:00.003-05:002008-03-03T14:40:10.359-05:00

STANDING TALL“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do. ”--Eleanor Roosevelt--Today I am standing tall in a pair of shoes my sister gave me yesterday. I have coveted

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-88886088233915818522008-02-28T13:50:00.003-05:002008-03-01T15:12:43.505-05:00

GESTATIONToday I sat in my cafe window seat and counted clouds of birds. The fixation I have with their pinwheeling forms reminds me of about this time last year, when I noticed how the undulating flight revealed my novel characters to me...and the title of my manuscript was chosen, Migration Summer. I have finished this book now and feel a little adrift. It hasn't been sold yet and I am in flux,

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-26002733048204688892008-02-21T12:22:00.006-05:002008-02-21T13:17:03.284-05:00

SKY: a review and 300th post book giveawayBack in August, I was lucky enough to be a part of the first Writers Revealed Bookclub live podcast where Meredith Hall, author of the lyrical memoir, Without a Map, allowed readers to interview her about her book and the writing process. It was a wonderful experience all the way around, as was the second one I participated in for Dani Shapiro and her

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-64339122530395815612008-02-18T10:40:00.003-05:002008-02-18T11:35:49.346-05:00

JUST RIGHT OF CENTEREvery morning, a rowdy cloud of birds descends on the deck to steal food from the dog's bowl and gossip wildly about the woman sitting behind the glass door with her tea and her words--how this gathering of thoughts must be as essential to her survival as the thievery is to theirs. For so long, I felt I led an incredibly balanced life. My place, centered...my roles, clear...

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-64944165515201073352008-02-07T12:24:00.001-05:002009-02-02T19:25:44.546-05:00

"You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have really lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.”--Henry Drummond, Canadian Poet--Rosie and I spent a summer mostly outside--in parks, by pools, by the creek with our shoes caked in mud. This child is unlike any other...she is spirited, spunky, determined, imaginative, and more than just a

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-89935340049008650982008-02-04T14:28:00.000-05:002008-02-04T15:02:59.615-05:00

WINTER LONGINGThere comes a time each winter season, usually by February's arrival, where I find myself longing for springtime like a forgotten lover...hungry for rain and green, for fresh blossoms, for the gathering slant of light. Today, that bittersweet pull has found me--and today I have found a poem which says all that I cannot about the pull of the coming magic of spring.Some Kiss We

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-63352666028721712102008-01-28T10:45:00.000-05:002008-01-28T13:21:45.565-05:00

PEELING BIRCHESAges ago now, the sweet Michelle tagged me with an award to write about writing. As she put it, "there are two rules that come with the award: 1. write three writing tips and 2. award three other bloggers." After a particularly rewarding writing session yesterday at a favorite cafe, I feel like I have a few thoughts--finally--to share. 1. Find a favorite cafe. Yes, I know this one

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-76884631875700312242008-01-15T13:12:00.000-05:002008-01-15T14:14:31.831-05:00

TRAVELING"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." --Leonard Cohen-- If cracks let the light in, I am a shooting star--trail of luminescence streaming behind me. Over the past few months, every single thing I thought I knew about life, love, and myself has changed. To say I am on a journey into the next stage of "ME" is an understatement I cannot fully explain here now. But,

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-4756382167939743872007-12-13T12:57:00.000-05:002007-12-13T13:44:28.735-05:00

DECEMBER and AFTERThere are some things I can write about now that I once thought I'd never be able to, stories of loss and learning and growth and my own failures and successes. But, there remains one I cannot give words to and until I can, I am going to be taking a break from this online world. My whole life has shifted--high tide and hailstorms ever since September, but I am still navigating

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-77612020817061003802007-12-11T16:34:00.000-05:002007-12-11T16:47:48.302-05:00

MY DECEMBER: 3: LIGHTS

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-86740888327519074472007-12-02T12:06:00.000-05:002007-12-02T13:29:57.314-05:00

DECEMBER VIEWS "We need quiet time to examine our lives openly and honestly . . . spending quiet time alone gives your mind an opportunity to renew itself and create order."--S.L. Taylor-- Sharing the Inspiration: Last December, I shared daily photos instead of words to chronicle my shift into the Winter season. I was originally inspired by this talented photographer...who used the month before

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-42184521674001860832007-11-26T12:17:00.000-05:002007-11-26T12:35:32.987-05:00

MY DAY On Thanksgiving, I decided to spend my morning alone--walking in the woods and writing down the things I am grateful for onto the faces of leaves. I dropped them behind me as I covered the trail in that quiet pregnant sort of silence where the best thoughts come. At the crest of a hill, I paused on this bench in the cathedral of trees and sat there with my notebook and my full heart. This

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-26289928421143987652007-11-19T13:26:00.000-05:002007-11-19T13:50:31.590-05:00

BURNINGFriday, right before my boy-o came home from school with a raging migraine, I huddled down against the chill of the air on the porch with my notebook and challenged myself to write five American Sentences (seventeen syllables only) in five minutes...inspired by this new website and my previously-established obsession with poetry. In one moment, I was an inferno of Autumn color, in the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-41254182871112960032007-11-14T14:36:00.000-05:002007-11-17T09:18:14.202-05:00

NOVEMBER 14: (back to our regularly scheduled programming...right after these announcements)Announcement One: Yesterday, a package finally made its way to me from Paris and a certain lovely blogger there who picked my name for a contest of hers a while back. It contained a British child's shoe last "purchased at Chatou in France" and an old French "sideways" key. I am convinced that these two

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-70241600874841862752007-11-13T08:53:00.000-05:002007-11-13T09:31:49.735-05:00

NOVEMBER 13: The Daring Book for GirlsDISCLAIMER: In order to review The Daring Book for Girls for MotherTalk today, I had to brave the unruly chaos of my eleven-year-old daughter’s bedroom to find it. This book has been in her clutches from the moment it arrived, and, surely enough, I located it easily...tucked beneath the pillow on her bed.Last spring, this same daughter and I were spending

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-75974296973524435762007-11-12T14:08:00.001-05:002009-02-02T19:30:38.136-05:00

“ In life you can never be too kind or too fair; everyone you meet is carrying a heavy load. When you go through your day expressing kindness and courtesy to all you meet, you leave behind a feeling of warmth and good cheer, and you help alleviate the burdens everyone is struggling with. ”- Brian Tracy (b. 1944) author, motivational speaker Reading this quote today and thinking about what each of

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-9607893452072385452007-11-11T11:16:00.000-05:002007-11-11T19:37:52.328-05:00

NOVEMBER 10 & 11: HOLDING ONTO FALLI missed a day of NaBloPoMo yesterday...so now I am catching up and also catching my breath at the tail end of a busy weekend. Fall is in its full glory right here, right now. Reaching its zenith just before all of the trees are suddenly naked and the wind is suddenly so fierce we cannot spend whole days luxuriating outside anymore. At first, I don't even mind

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-6365453977312852162007-11-09T13:13:00.000-05:002007-11-09T13:39:27.886-05:00

NOVEMBER 9: OFF AND RUNNINGThis weekend, the boy-o's football team will make their last stand on a cold field lined with parents and spectators--hoping for one more win. My days and nights will be filled from here until Sunday with yet another concert...family functions...games...and some stolen writing time. An unapologetic chill laces the air--the edges of fall starting to slip away for the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-12676126525036016692007-11-08T12:18:00.000-05:002007-11-08T13:42:02.574-05:00

NOVEMBER 8: (admitting that NaBloPoMo is pushing me well beyond my comfort zone...and rambling about Josh Ritter)(Josh Ritter*)As a person wildly in love with words...with sharing stories and listening to others' thoughts, ideas and feelings, it would seem that blogging, in general, and a challenge like NaBloPoMo, in particular, would be as easy for me as breathing. Except for the fact that I've

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-42886098843698833422007-11-07T14:16:00.000-05:002007-11-07T14:23:28.156-05:00

NOVEMBER 7: WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-39675024264941687872007-11-06T12:42:00.000-05:002007-11-06T12:59:09.195-05:00

NOVEMBER 6: What I wear (out there)...Summer might be over, but the yard work never ends...

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-32978930150156015252007-11-05T10:18:00.000-05:002007-11-05T12:22:38.405-05:00

NOVEMBER 5: Dad's brand new ink (still healing)"Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old."--Franz Kafka--When my sixty-five-year-old father revealed his new ink at the tavern he once owned, Mr. S took one look and said,"Hey, it's another way for them to identify the body in a couple of years, right?"and he laughed.When he showed it to me, my heart caught--I saw the bold, "IRISH

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-81289451493755043832007-11-04T23:05:00.000-05:002007-11-05T10:14:18.928-05:00

NOVEMBER 4: SUNDAY STILLNESS"Happiness is as a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, my alight upon you."Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804 - 1864)

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-52304396899047494762007-11-03T16:07:00.000-04:002007-11-03T16:45:26.206-04:00

NOVEMBER 3Jack Kerouac Photo: © John CohenJune 16, 1947Just made one of those great grim decisions of one's life--not to present my manuscript to any publisher until I've completed it, all 380,000-odd words of it. This means seven months of ascetic gloom and labor--although doubt is no longer my devil, just sadness now. I think I will get this immense work done much sooner this way, to face up to

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-44523698233743682252007-11-02T11:52:00.001-04:002009-02-02T19:33:20.573-05:00

There truly are some things money just cannot buy. Ecstasy, like a four-year-old child's when she gets to play, wildly, loudly, with abandon--this has no price. How she closes her eyes, frames her face, and takes a deep breath standing in a slash of sunlight--this laces itself through my memories...this holds when other things break, clatter to the ground, or fall apart. I am in love with this

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-8217602895680029972007-11-01T14:27:00.000-04:002007-11-01T14:52:01.907-04:00

NOVEMBER 1: (a poem, because it is still Thursday)I have posted about her before, but since I am re-reading her latest book of poetry and her words amaze me, here is another:Poetry Punishes You for Your AbsenceShe's not an easy lover who simply tilts her headwhen you appear on her front stoop.Will she allow the porch light to cast heavenly redemptionlike a bare bulb in a church-basement Christmas

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-1929609911795349802007-10-29T11:12:00.000-04:002007-10-29T11:16:56.504-04:00

NOTE TO SELF"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life:itgoeson."--Robert Frost--

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-89816606203945701442007-10-09T12:21:00.000-04:002007-10-12T09:27:20.985-04:00

POSTCARD 4: RENEWALThere is so much to be said now that words don't even hold up beneath the weight of the sky. I write for myself in my black-covered notebook or in the red one, the color of the Chinese maple leaves on tree outside. It isn't that I don't want to keep publishing my work or sharing it here, it is just that I am in a deep state of change. A few more publications still wait in the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-70662084458735046432007-10-02T14:09:00.000-04:002007-10-02T14:33:17.637-04:00

IT WAS......SO GOOD IT STILL HURTS. Love,D.

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-20535430104489825282007-09-28T10:13:00.000-04:002007-09-28T12:29:19.502-04:00

POSTCARD 3: pumpkin powerThere is something about the autumn season where I feel more renewed, encouraged, inspired, and yes--more powerful--than any other time of year. Rather than feeling like the end of something to me it is a chance to start over...the heat-induced stupor gone, the wildies back in school, the structure I need to support my messy creative mind fixed securely back in place

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-88366186014359683682007-09-26T21:05:00.000-04:002007-09-26T21:43:21.532-04:00

Postcard: 2THE HARVEST TIMEIf I could take you there, I would...big sky days like these where the colors are as saturated as my heart. My words scatter away from me whenever I sit before this screen, content to curl over scraps of paper and journal pages. I want to tell you something, but then there is a break in the routine, a day with overripe apples and fields of gold I dare not cross into.

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-60264768495327328352007-09-23T10:10:00.000-04:002007-09-23T11:29:44.182-04:00

POSTCARD: 1Hi, my name is Delia and I am now obsessed with bathroom self-portraits to the point where even when little old ladies at country club weddings are staring curiously at me just beyond the edge of the camera lens as I shoot frame after frame of myself trying to get the angle I want, I smile at them like it is the most natural thing in the world and just keep going. Why this matters is

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-92129021187937994542007-09-13T13:34:00.000-04:002007-09-13T15:14:40.990-04:00

THROUGH THE GLASS MOUNTAINfrom Q and A: Where do you get your ideas? Answer #1by Julianna BaggottI'm afraid of truth. Once it's givenit becomes a gift.Memory cannot retain pure memoryonce spoken...I'd prefer to give away the replica, not a bit of the soul,to turn the truth in my hand like a globed village snow-blurred.But poetry demands the soul, and once you give it over, how easyit becomes, an

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-1574046424633839262007-09-11T23:20:00.001-04:002009-02-02T19:45:27.384-05:00

SPECIAL GUEST POST:REVIEW by my daughter, PetuniaFor the last MotherTalk review I am on-schedule to do for a while, I decided to get my sweet-sweet Petunia to assist and post a guest review all her own of The Dark Dreamweaver, the Juvenile-fiction book by Nick Ruth. For me, any novel that can get a dialogue going between a mother and her (almost) eleven-year-old daughter is a very good thing.

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-6470650386841822832007-09-11T07:22:00.001-04:002007-09-11T11:58:24.436-04:00

ON BORROWED WINGS: A REVIEW"Mother once said I'd marry a quarryman. She looked at me as we washed clothes in the giant steel washtub, two pairs of water-wrinkled hands scrubbing and soaking other people's laundry. We were elbow deep in dirty suds and our fingers brushed under the foamy mounds."Some mistakes are bound to be repeated," she murmured."But the main character, Adele Pietra, in the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-9041372906266548832007-09-10T14:19:00.001-04:002009-02-02T19:46:53.367-05:00

RED LANTERNS“He liked to observe emotions; they were like red lanterns strung along the dark unknown of another's personality, marking vulnerable points.” --Ayn Rand--If emotions truly are red lanterns strung to mark vulnerable points, I must be illuminated by the crimson light of a thousand candles. There is so much richness in my life--so much beauty, but there are unsaid challenges I hold

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-7251735144672309692007-09-07T18:09:00.001-04:002009-02-02T19:49:04.234-05:00

THOUGHTS BETWEEN THE STITCHES(or, how knitting is like writing)"Hearing the unsaidThoughts woven between stitchesThe heart knows it all"--Maria Fire--Posting this just to remind my writerly-self...you CAN finish what you start. In this case, a knitted and felted bag...even when you had no idea what you were doing (knitting in the round). Lined with a delicate floral fabric...learning the skills

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-73803723886722677422007-09-06T00:00:00.001-04:002007-09-07T12:03:37.764-04:00

THE TRAVELING POETRY SHOWThis week, poetry showed up to offer me comfort...to grant me some perspective with its inherent slowing down of time and space. When I read poetry, the world opens up--when I am writing it, the whole universe does. I have been up to both...poetry writing while my cup of tea cools at my side and the sky is, as my oldest child called it, a bowlful of spilled-sugar stars...

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-28503211988702268692007-09-02T22:08:00.000-04:002007-09-04T10:00:26.774-04:00

SEPTEMBERTouch Meby Stanley KunitzSummer is late, my heart.Words plucked out of the airsome forty years agowhen I was wild with loveand torn almost in twoscatter like leaves this nightof whistling wind and rain.It is my heart that's late,it is my song that's flown.Outdoors all afternoonunder a gunmetal skystaking my garden down,I kneeled to the crickets trillingunderfoot as if aboutto burst from

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-51088895416973394402007-08-30T11:01:00.000-04:002007-08-30T12:35:56.485-04:00

AN OPEN WINDOW"Poetry often enters through the window of irrelevance." --M.C. Richards-- To me, this quote means that poetry finds us when and where we least expect it. Creeping in through an open window, stealing across the rambling front lawn, blistering up in the cracks in the pavement. I started this blog in April of 2005 because I had just returned from a life-changing, year-long writing

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-72304740681858496962007-08-26T17:27:00.000-04:002007-08-26T17:35:24.617-04:00

BACK TO...1. Writing Table, 2. A school, 3. words on board, 4. Score: 92, date:2/14, 5. Untitled, 6. New Word Wall, 7. School's Out, 8. The Little Yellow Bus......., 9. words [school project], 10. SCHOOL Time Capsule, 11. school, 12. Literacy wall word searchGoodbye to children sleeping in, tousle-headed and full of mysterious dreaming...to lazy days poolside, a unique perfume of chlorine and

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-15873973471631112982007-08-23T12:15:00.000-04:002007-08-23T14:46:28.153-04:00

IT IS GOODToday, my words bow reverently to these:Homage To Lifeby Joseph StroudIt is good to have chosena living homeand harbored timein a constant heart,to have seen one's handstouch the worldas an applein a small garden,to have loved the earth,the moon and the sun,like old friendsbeyond any others,and to have entrustedthe world to memorylike a luminous horsemanto his black steed,to have given

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-39290036868931200512007-08-21T08:01:00.000-04:002007-08-21T09:37:12.558-04:00

GETTING UNSTUCKWaking up this morning to rain as I have for a few days now...cooler air filtering in through the window screens, the last crickets of the season still singing their jagged-edged notes, and the rhythm of the raindrops a staccato lovesong. It is a perfect day to write. I imagine myself settling in across my desk here and pushing through an even dozen of the last pages of my book,

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-29421315940376570812007-08-20T12:28:00.000-04:002007-08-20T12:37:20.933-04:00

PATTERN OF WONDER"There is no use trying," said Alice; "One can't believe impossible things.""I dare say you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast." --Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland--

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-12243738539512805772007-08-19T12:06:00.000-04:002007-08-19T12:48:53.680-04:00

SO WHY DON'T YOU BLOG ABOUT IT...My little brother is engaged! Which means, of course, that he had to state in his smart-ass way, "Ooohh...so why don't you blog about it?" Well, here you go, kid...I just did (with pictures even). Not only did my brother go off and decide to get engaged this week, so did two of my cousins. Congratulations to each and every one of you...with my brother-in-law and

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-34360328073853001382007-08-12T09:35:00.000-04:002007-08-12T11:04:22.737-04:00

GOOSEBUMPS: A TRUE STORYMy brother was a hunter. When he turned seventeen, camouflage began to show up in our house and he began waking earlier than the sun to go sit in blinds on the edges of fields--waiting for geese to fly overhead. We argued about it, even then--when I was just a ten-year-old girl, I had strong ideas and couldn't fathom that this brother who rarely so much as raised his voice

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-63600216580949212852007-08-10T08:12:00.000-04:002007-08-17T09:03:11.385-04:00

THE OTHER MOTHER: A REVIEWGwendolen Gross wrote and successfully published two novels about women's adventures and self-discoveries in the wilderness, Field Guide and Getting Out, before marriage and motherhood. In each of these books, the female protagonists immerse themselves in the natural world and find strength and solace there. Gross had a wealth of personal experience living this rugged

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-68167900232770215662007-08-08T09:17:00.000-04:002007-08-08T09:28:38.217-04:00

A PATTERN OF HANDSfrom First Pregnancyby Julianna BaggottI could not believe a child. Instead, I envisioned a landscape,an ocean turning in on itself,a moving mountain, a fieldthat could fold and unfold,my body overtaken by a living map.Even once when her hand appearedfrom the other side--a five-fingered handprint...I could not accept the benediction.--In This Country of Mothers, 2001--My

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-7368499413200639452007-08-06T14:58:00.000-04:002007-08-06T16:26:01.693-04:00

SUNGLOW(Photo by Petunia)I want to write about the very full weekend we just had...my brother's house, crabs and beers for the adults, and a sprinkler for the wildies to run through. Conversation, laughter, and oppressive August heat that just does not yield. I want to write about our friends' house the next day with horseshoes ringing through the yard, an impromptu wiffle ball game, and a

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-20744915939776651322007-08-01T10:49:00.000-04:002007-08-01T11:05:55.387-04:00

SELF-PORTRAIT: PATTERN OF SHADOWS"If you simply follow the classical pattern, you are understanding the routine, the tradition, the shadow - you are not understanding yourself.” ~Bruce Lee~

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-73787959928850713742007-07-31T08:58:00.000-04:002007-07-31T10:18:12.236-04:00

THE RANDOMEarlier, I braved the humid air and sat outside to write my journal pages in the first hours of the morning--my house was full of sleeping babies, the sink full of dirty dishes. A robin sat on a nearby telephone wire in a ribbon of sunlight, phosphorescent...illuminated. He watched me as I sat there and I wondered briefly if he would head home and record his observation of a human

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-21973773264600894152007-07-30T08:45:00.000-04:002007-07-30T08:58:40.549-04:00

I CHOOSE TO SEE[When you live under the mountain] When you live under the mountain you do not see the mountain.What mountain, you ask, stirring your tea, as your visitor falls silent before the clouds.--By Lola Haskins--Today, I choose to believe in the indigo heart opening up in the clouds for me...even if the shape isn't perfect, even if this heart--like my own, is a bit crooked and prone to

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-18595720682011786152007-07-29T10:32:00.000-04:002007-07-29T19:14:33.723-04:00

DOG DAYS OF SUMMERThe Dog Days of Summer...a phenomenon described here as "conjuring up the hottest, most sultry days of summer". This is where we are on the calendar page and in life around these parts--the heat sinking teeth into our lungs with each humid breath, grass bleached out to paper, cicadas thrumming in their desperate longing for mates after years spent deep underground--waiting for

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-73514471091125248132007-06-28T09:23:00.000-04:002007-06-28T10:36:54.671-04:00

CROSSING OVERSummerAh, what a pleasureto cross a stream in summer--sandals in hand.--Yosa Buson--Last night, in true summer form, a thunderstorm rolled in all around the house just after the children had been settled into bed. I dashed outside to move all of my perpetually thirsty plants out into the rain to let them drink deeply, indiscriminately. I saved the document I'd been working on, my

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-89561810168817410772007-06-25T12:42:00.000-04:002007-06-25T20:22:47.496-04:00

Out into the EnvironmentMy writing has been hiding... *on the leaves blown down from a thunderstorm.*in the scarred kitchen table where words have been spilled by me more often than I can say.*in the soft wilting of the thirsty basil plant.*in the creases on a well-loved book's face.*in black ink Pilot rolling ball V7 pens.*in the birdsong in the trees out back.*in the belly laugh of my little

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-28517312597087761502007-06-19T09:17:00.000-04:002007-06-20T08:34:56.088-04:00

SPC--Environment ThreeSometimes, I want to live outside...my feet in clover, my head in the trees. For me, there is no greater place of inspiration. This week, I took many photos on our woods walk, but none of the ones of me turned out. Nature decided on my invisibility in every shot with a well-placed tree limb or an unexpected shadow, multiple ones catching only my hairline or the edge of my

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-16900802472928271042007-06-14T09:30:00.001-04:002009-02-04T20:02:01.771-05:00

THE FAIREST...(In honor of Poetry Thursday with no rules or prompts, I offer this meme from here which says:"Give us at least 10 quotations pertaining to poetry—from 10 different writers and/or poets—that best coincide with your philosophy, vis-à-vis ars poetica. They can be posthumous or otherwise. The order is not important—unless it is to you."1. "We live on the leash of our senses." --Diane

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-10484236817694954992007-06-11T08:03:00.001-04:002009-02-04T20:03:31.366-05:00

GLIMPSES: a self-portrait"Don't go outside your house to see flowers. My friend, don't bother with that excursion. Inside your body, there are flowers. One flower has a thousand petals. That will do for a place to sit. Sitting there, you will have a glimpse of beauty inside the body and out of it, before gardens and after gardens." --Kabir--Sometimes, sitting inside of your body, you may even

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-40461723705867530772007-06-08T10:38:00.000-04:002007-06-08T11:14:03.459-04:00

ONE-TWO-THREE, GO!(ONE: every morning, Rosie eats the same oatmeal "with dinosaur eggs"...every morning, while the water is heating, she makes a nest in her bowl...my little magpie)(TWO: spent a large part of yesterday creating an inspiration board out of chicken wire, staples, canvas stretchers, and more than a few scratches...my idea to recycle the old fencing from the yard failed when the wire

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-87617865003333125452007-06-05T09:04:00.000-04:002007-06-05T09:33:34.844-04:00

ENVIRONMENT: a self-portrait(barefoot in clover, the ninth moment of my day)The first: Rosie calling out, "Dad!" from her bed. His eyes fly open and he goes to her...she asks if he'll please rock her in the rocking chair now--which answers the question of my last moment yesterday before sleep. (M. worrying because she will not let him close to her lately and me replying, "It's just a stage, it

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-66513516334443638352007-06-01T08:45:00.000-04:002007-06-01T10:40:16.757-04:00

BLUE MOON BOOK REVIEW(image Kostian Iftica, c/o NASA)A blue moon in common folklore refers to two full moons appearing in one calendar month...Last night, we sat out outside and watched the only calendar blue moon for the next 2.73 years rise through the trees in our backyard. The term has nothing to do with color, (as my children were disappointed to discover) and everything to do with frequency

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-82406295605548197182007-05-30T10:47:00.000-04:002007-05-30T13:02:37.856-04:00

ON PAPEROver at the CAC website, paintergirl wrote about Marcel Proust and his history with self-questionnaires. I never actually answer the weekly questions there, though I always plan to--but, in honor of Proust, whose writing has always floored me, I will gladly play along. Proust is a writer readers either love or hate--very little in between. I can clearly remember the first time I read "the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-6260593076639270012007-05-28T07:05:00.000-04:002007-05-28T08:41:28.081-04:00

ONCE UPON A...Time ago in these suburbs, I was waiting for my firstborn to return home from school. The bold yellow bus dropped her off right out front back then, and she would dash wildly across the street--glad to be home. So much of what I do as a mother always has involved this sense of waiting, but it was different with that first child. Waiting anxiously for the bus to take her from me,

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-68042006219756349022007-05-27T09:55:00.000-04:002007-05-27T10:30:09.710-04:00

SIMPLE JOYS OF THE SEASON (so far)Clockwise from top left: 1. Citronella candle at my brother-in-law and fiance's house where we spent Friday night grilling and talking. 2. The Happy Mail from the CAC swap, thank you! 3. Rosie's last day of preschool (she's in the white shirt) and her favorite teacher. 4. Petunia and Rosie in a Friday evening hammock. 5. Coronita Weather. 6. The widowed

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-85579879637064356772007-05-22T14:41:00.000-04:002007-05-22T15:00:53.607-04:00

WISHESI gave her a penny as we stood by the ornate fountain with its arcs of water shooting over the heads of unsuspecting cement horses. She marveled at its shine while I marveled over the year, a decade before she was even born or imagined. She insisted that I make my wish first, which I did in silence. "Good job wishing, Mommy," she said, and I nodded in agreement--knowing how lucky it is that

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-4209686560640313922007-05-20T10:00:00.000-04:002007-05-20T11:22:10.475-04:00

UNMASKEDThis is a Sunday Scribblings prompt that intrigued me: Masks. Literal: making or wearing masks for Halloween, Carnival, Mardi Gras, the theater, any other masky occasion. Or, you know, psychological: a mask you wear, that you hide behind; the face you present the world, or that you present just to one person.My initial instinct was to post some flash fiction--some poetry around the idea

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-26040903879464123142007-05-16T12:34:00.000-04:002007-05-16T13:04:05.263-04:00

THE LITTLE THINGS"...I became a writer instead--a work no less tiring, really, and requiring the same inclination to listen with a hand pressed to the holy bone, to hear the thrum of the body and all it longs to tell. As I wrote, I found myself mapping a history of myself as a history of my body: my female body, with all its scars and beauty marks, its imperfect love beating away inside the chest

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-1181377613993575782007-05-13T11:38:00.000-04:002007-05-13T11:43:02.811-04:00

SECOND CHANCESJoe Some mornings, the weight pressed down on me before I even opened my eyes and the ache of my bones foretold of a journey. “Hell no,” was the first thought, “too much to do right now down at Baylor’s—gotta earn the extra cash while summer’s in full swing here. No distractions.” Opened my eyes and yes, I was pinned to the pillow. A distraction. I was leaving here, going down to

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-29362424820555151312007-05-10T09:57:00.000-04:002007-05-10T11:19:22.654-04:00

DIG THISRenee Gregorio first flashed onscreen for me in an indie flick I watched in New Mexico where women poets were being interviewed about femininity, turn of phrase, and life in general. She had a shock of dark hair, a beautiful face, and an animated way of speaking--her whole body an instrument for the expression. The next morning, I went to the bookstore there and bought The Storm That

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-79945187519831611612007-05-03T10:00:00.000-04:002007-05-05T08:56:02.567-04:00

I HAVE BEEN...*outside...taking long walks around the neighborhood counting flowers and turning down the volume in my own mind to listen to the calls of nesting birds. I say hello to the man and woman who walk six rescued greyhounds at dusk, nod to an older woman with perfectly coiffed silver hair who speeds by in her crimson sneakers, and wave back to the toddler twins who exuberantly shake

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-7177868768249779532007-04-27T10:37:00.000-04:002007-04-27T11:38:14.501-04:00

LOOK BEFORE YOU LEAP: on Becoming FearlessI know how fear has been a driving force in my life...how I wanted to avoid calling up any darkness by carefully guarding myself against it. I know that this hasn't served me...hasn't worked. I also know when I started to let go of my fears and open up to life, love, and motherhood with all of its terrifying possibilities. The women over at MotherTalk

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-73149778535595346802007-04-24T10:58:00.000-04:002007-04-24T12:40:37.454-04:00

QUIET SPRING(self-portrait)The sky today is overlaid with clouds, but humid and warm. How I love this weather...Along the edge of this morning, the sky was purple ribboned with gold. I sat, pen in hand--children still sleeping, and watched as the sky tugged at those laces and the sun spilled out from between the clouds. Just a glimpse, just a flash of sun for one sultry moment. Then, sober again,

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-69764498407411996992007-04-19T10:45:00.000-04:002007-04-19T11:15:39.466-04:00

The Stillness AfterI wanted to go out into the world and drop poems in random places as they are doing here today. Especially after a week like this one I feel like someone happening upon a poem taped to a bathroom mirror or tucked into a textbook could be a comfort, a blessing in miniature. The truth is, I haven't intersected much with the world this week. Boy-o was in the hospital yesterday for

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-72042766553982774942007-04-17T10:47:00.000-04:002007-04-17T11:00:27.175-04:00

SICK: A SELF-PORTRAITmy hand, his backHe has been sick since just before dawn on his birthday on Friday: a cancelled party, many many baths, and five days later and he's still struggling to hold down food and drink. I am here, quietly holding on and waiting for this cold rainy weather to pass, counting moments until my boy-o will run wildly over the saturated green of the grass...a stick sword in

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-3551693921978264252007-04-13T07:56:00.000-04:002007-04-13T08:51:33.568-04:00

SEVEN"You will be carrying a lanternas you enter the world crying,and I cry to hear you cry.A moment that, even now,I carry in my body."--Elizabeth Spires--Dear Boy-o,You didn't enter the world crying, as I'm sure you know. You entered the world silently--reverent and purple as a bad bruise. The midwife unfolded you, like a blossom...like a bird's wing--but she didn't give you to me, though the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-85390730813565072222007-04-12T19:52:00.000-04:002007-04-12T20:07:59.048-04:00

EVENING FRAGMENT for Poetry Thursdayfragment (untitled)The Evening held her breath, and thenlet night lick a trail of stars down her spine--yielding like Daytime said she wouldwith purple smudged eyes,a bored yawn,and her heart too splintered by constant goodbyes to care anymore.Or, that's what she saidto Evening's roseblue faceas she ripened over the aging afternoon,staining the sky's edge with

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-27651667096969315612007-04-11T07:49:00.000-04:002007-04-11T07:59:21.063-04:00

BITS AND PIECESThe body: A Heart of Stone The words: My feature at Poetry Thursday

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-9106787525634088732007-04-09T08:12:00.000-04:002007-04-09T08:58:11.071-04:00

DAYS I AM PROUD OF (and a few photos from our Friday afternoon)"So I am proud only of those days that pass inundivided tenderness,when you sit drawing, or making books, stapled,with messages to the world.Or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.Or we sit at a table, with small tea carefully poured;So we pass our time together calm and delighted."from the poem "For My Son, Noah, Ten

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-52603223990470494692007-04-05T09:21:00.000-04:002007-04-05T09:51:08.692-04:00

Ordinary BeautyIt was raining and colder yesterday...but I realize I can see the season developing like a photo when I slow down enough to look at it. There are at least two dozen shades of green where I live. This, in part, is why I'm not looking to re-locate far from here when we put our house up for sale next year. There is so much to say about this--about how it feels to plan to leave the

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-54953912999004638052007-04-02T12:39:00.000-04:002007-04-02T14:05:55.806-04:00

THE STORY OF THE FIRST TATTOO(a self-portrait challenge)At sixteen, I told my mother that I was going to get a tattoo. She turned her face away from me and said, "I think that's ridiculous--but when you're eighteen you can do whatever you want." I knew where it would be, my left hip...but I didn't yet know what it would be. I was full of ideas and possibilities, but I had already seen girls in my

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-17439705660408949302007-03-29T10:15:00.000-04:002007-06-27T11:30:49.788-04:00

POETRY & SPRING RANDOMNESSPoetry: April is National Poetry Month...I am planning to volunteer in my children's school to get the students writing poems and hearing poetry read aloud (as it really is meant to be, any poet will tell you). This isn't the first time I've done this...and last year I even had my own students breaking up their technical writing essentials with the "luxury" of poetry. To

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-9539477848924726002007-03-27T10:33:00.000-04:002007-03-27T12:08:43.694-04:00

WISHES IN BLOOM"Dreams do come true, if we only wish hard enough."--Sir J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan--Words seem to skitter away when I sit here to blog lately. I am dreaming my big dreams, wishing my countless wishes, and taking it one step further--putting my work where my ideas are. This is what is usually missing for me...the work part. I have always thought of my creativity as arriving in wisps

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12201773.post-80188563754171636672007-03-22T09:38:00.000-04:002007-03-22T12:27:58.973-04:00

At the Beach...We talked about poetry, about the economy of words, about how words rise as currency not for sale but for spirit. And it all spoke to me about the reality that our stories are poured into novels, essays, poems, songs, paintings, photos--to say something that cannot be said--to offer a fragment of the self which calls out, "Yes, I was here...I did exist...this is what it looked

Left-handed Trees...http://www.blogger.com/profile/06057727021295729384noreply@blogger.com21