Saturday, September 16, 2023
Sunday, August 27, 2023
If I were doing the Sealey Challenge this year, I would embark on a re-reading of the Maureen Seaton books in my possession, having just learned of her death. I met her in Chicago and took a seminar with her, and she was an inspiration. She encouraged me to send some prose poems to Quarter After Eight, where they were taken. It became a favorite journal of mine, full of the challenging and unexpected.
I would probably start with Furious Cooking.
Sadly, I am not doing the Sealey Challenge this year--voraciously reading a book of poems a day in August--because daily life has gotten a bit too complicated by caregiving, though resting with poetry might have helped. The heat wave did not. Now I think of throwing my ivy comforter on this wooden glider, putting the stack of Seaton books beside me, and at least leafing through, pausing here and there to concentrate on a poem. But the afternoon is spoken for.
Yesterday morning, I tabled for the local Democrats at the annual Sweet Corn Circus, having many great conversations with people who stopped by, and giving away a lot of children's sunglasses, pencils, pens that are also styluses, and buttons. We heard the whistle that meant the sweet corn was cooked and ready for eating. Gammi Phi Circus performers stopped by our booth for candy. On my way out, I saw their performance space, with young kids rolling around their pool inside giant blow-up plastic balls. It was a delight. Then I took my mom to Urgent Care, as when I went to change her wound dressing, I found the wound was infected. Sigh....
That's kind of how each day goes now.
Here, at least, are some random poem titles from Furious Cooking, to give you a sense of, well, everything. And its pertinence:
"After Sinead O'Connor Appears on Saturday Night Live, the Pope"
"A Constant Dissolution of Molecules"
"Self-Portrait with Disasters"
"The Man Who Killed Himself to Avoid August"
Saturday, August 5, 2023
It turns out my sister had no Barbies of her own, just played happily with my handmedowns. I sort of remember being asked about that and saying yes, of course, and of giving her Skipper outright at some point. Where is Skipper? My daughter had Barbies of various sorts; some were sold, some may still be in the house, but she/we did a lot of responsible cleaning out, so maybe not.
My sister was here to help with some responsible cleaning out of the family home, and progress was made, and good things happened this week--medically and with home health care, etc. Joy and relief! But care and stress continue. All shall be well.
And today shall be a Slattern Day....
Sunday, July 30, 2023
I sat at two booths yesterday at our local Pridefest, put off for a month but hugely popular and well-attended this beautiful, beautiful Saturday and night. The dangerous heat had lifted, there was a breeze, there were rainbow capes and braids and a rainbow tutu (on our new lesbian pastor) and plenty of temporary tattoos. I saw a snippet of the glorious drag performance in front of the Bistro, and then left, pooped. Today, I met a new caregiver for my mom, and she had attended Pridefest as well, an excellent omen.
"Where's home now?" she asked. It was not in regard to the sale of the family home. It was a polite question she asks people she knows she knows...but can't quite recall. It's the first time this has happened to me, but the timing is so perfect, I can let it be.