This was such a sad week — I was in a hotel all last week where the story of the killings at Virginia Tech dominated my room in a constant moan, continuing after I had turned off the news. Even the walls were weeping. So tragic, words fail. And the bloodiest week in Iraq. Too
I remember when my daughter Kelly was getting married, her husband to be, Brian, wasn’t all that thrilled about going with her to pick out china patterns and such. But he was emphatic about her not going alone because he was afraid he would wake up the day after the honeymoon sleeping on ruffled
First of all — I LOVE when teachers have kids think of questions for the author in advance. Of course we NEVER stick to the questions on the index cards, but it gets kids to thinking beyond what kind of car do I drive and did it hurt to get my ears pierced. Pre-thinking makes
Ever go looking for one image and find another? I’ve had that happen countless times with poetry — I start out writing about one subject and it twists and turns and backflips into something totally different. Photography is supposed to be more straight forward. Point and shoot. Right?
Not when there’s a joker in
Writing is a team sport. I know we don’t mostly think of it that way, but what is a piece of writing without an audience? This realization came back to me as I read at Fremd this week. Tony Romano, one of the English teachers at the school and a very soon (April) to be
He says he was a geek in school — not athletic or a band member. He thought he would become a poet to make himself stand out, carrying heavy books under his arm to enhance his biceps. He wore costumes. Finally after posing as a poet for some time, he decided he would actually try
Okay. I’m still obsessing. (see previous post) It’s 4AM. My brain is balled up in a fist and I can’t get it to relax.
This weekend Michael and I drove to Indiana University which is not in Indiana, it’s in PA. We went to Dr. Lynn Alvine’s birthday party — which was lovely. Had a
Thirty misspent minutes. Running out the clock until 11PM, Michael and I watched a fraction of a blood dripping, roller coaster crashing, skin burning teen horror movie. Finishing up a couple last rows of knitting, putting the dogs out — I wasn’t really watching, it was just ON. But I couldn’t get to sleep with
In Oxford, MI. In the middle of a major blizzard. Cold hands. I stop by the local K Mart to buy gloves. I am more than familiar with K Mart’s stock of gloves stock. More than I should be. I bought my first pair of the season (black with fake fur and thinsulate lining) in
Williamsport, PA is the birthplace of the Little League. Proudly smiling from the trophy case at Jackson Elementary was this snowman made of baseballs, the perfect metaphor for a baseball town in chilly February. I spent two days at Jackson — one day with the students and one with the teachers. Warm and receptive,