Monday, February 28, 2011

You can't read it if you can't find it

Thinking about why people don't read poetry anymore.  When I was a kid, nearly every women's magazine carried poetry, tucked away in odd spots, so even though you might be reading a very good serialized story by Willa Cather, here was a poem by someone you never heard of, or someone you had, like May Sarton, or Robert Graves,  and often they would be so amazing you found yourself cutting them out of the magazine to save and to savor.  I had a whole small scrapbook just for things like that.  And in magazines of the 20s and 30s and later, there was always a full section devoted to a serial novel, several very long short stories, and a dozen poems, often. 
It was there, and you read it. Not tucked away in a precious lit mag that required a subscription and often could not be found anywhere else.  It was accessible.  It was written to be read, not to impress other poets.

One by one those markets dried up,  and now people say, well, I love poetry, but I can't find it anywhere.
It's the law of diminishing returns. You cant find it, because fewer and fewer newsstand magazines carry it,
and their excuse is, well, no one READS it anymore...sigh.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Too good to pass up

oh, look, look, it's snowing again

hard to believe that in a month I will be snowshoeing out to the garden to see what's working its way
up through the dirt snow...

now and then i am reminded of the journal I once saw kept by one man for 60+ years.   In it, he had a weather diary;  every day for all of those years he would describe the weather. "Jan. 3, 1804.  Cold. Some snow.  Jan. 4, 1804.  Colder. More snow.  Jan 5,  1804.  Warmer.  Sunny."    Whatever else went on in his life, once a day he took down this huge volume, found the right page, sharpened his pen nib, and wrote, "Jan. 6, 1804. Very cold.  Windy."  ...  

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Thought for the Day

If we're always protecting our kids from danger, real or imagined, if we're always shielding them from bullies and slings n arrows,  and water pistols that look like guns, from violence and poverty and strangers, how will they ever learn how to  handle themselves as adults?

How do they learn to distinguish real danger or violence or threats from the pretend kind?  Im not saying we have to throw them out into traffic to see if they can survive, only give them the chance to make their own choices now, when the choices are still small, and their own mistakes NOW, when the mistakes are (to our eyes) minor, and know that they need to find their own levels of fear and comfort.  

I dunno. It's a jungle out there,  and we won't always be around to navigate it for them.  

Monday, February 14, 2011

 When I start ignoring the chill seeping in around my ankles, and forgetting to check the stoves when I go downstairs, that tells me, that as far as this hibernating little bear is concerned, winter is over.  Oh, yeah, I know, we got lots more, but the psychological part is done with,  and I no longer have that push to get the wood--burn the wood--tinker tinker that I had all winter.
Burn or go out, damn you.

Friday, February 11, 2011

its stupid, it's silly, it's insanely addictive (oh, just one more level...)
and gets progressively trickier. 

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Hi, Im Denny

I love what our local  shelter does to downplay 'difficult' dogs like this.  And for the past week have been thinking about what "leave it" actually entails: hands, feet, dead skunks, small reason I never go to shelters is the real possiblity that I would come  home with a Denny, a litter of something, and at least five new cats and a ferret.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Winter Meditation

All day we face the sun,
winter blooming lilies grateful
for any thin light
while clouds overflow
with snow, covering the moon,
dimming the sun.

Life slows
to the rhythm of a hibernating heart
as the long night begins,
with that terrible sleep
and winter reverie
of darkness and cold yet to come.

We burrow into ourselves
and one another like puppies
blindly scenting warmth and comfort,
waking only to turn
in our cocoon of blankets and sleep.

Balanced on a point of time
while snow falls steadily around us
we begin the journey
across that far bridge
from longest night to longest day.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Dog and Butterfly

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Happy New Month

Made it through January and to celebrate it looks like a goodly half of the country is going to be sharing a blizzard--all relative to where you are,  of course, since blizzard means different things to different people, and what is barely noticeable  here can be a snow of major proportions in a place like Georgia, or DC, or Texas.  I have a friend in Nevada who feels that no one should be allowed to live in a place where the temps drop below 32 deg.  I did tell him, well, when it gets chilly like that we do put our shoes back on and wear sweaters...

Our woodpile is shrinking at an alarming rate.  Partly because it took most of the winter to learn  how to use the new cook stove more efficiently,  partly because when my MIL was ill this fall it came in mid-September, and we just did not have the time or energy to deal with the mountain of wood outside--we're about two cords short of 'enough' to feel that we'll make it.  Oh, the wood is there, just Out There and not In There.

We'll survive, and if we have to hack wood out of the snow we will. Not for the first time.

You have got to love a weather map that looks like this...