Fear Not

Today I have a funeral to attend, library books to renew, and a bank deposit to make--enough to pay the next bill, thanks to my odd little freelance life. Some mornings, some nights, I lie abed in worry, but last night, instead, I did my A.M. Yoga with Rodney Yee, and this seems a good solution. There is never a good time to do A.M. Yoga in the morning now, so why not do it at night? (P.M. Yoga, the other obvious choice, is too much for me.)

This is a roundabout way (my usual way) of getting to the subject of yesterday's second-Sunday-of-Advent reflection, "Fear Not," by Bob Ryder, the husband half of our doubled pastor. I did find it comforting and sustaining, and it was fun to remember that I have a poem called "Fear Not" based on the renovation of beautiful Uptown Normal, when a big crane sat there for months. Now, where there was once a hole in the street, there is a lovely award-winning traffic circle of green space.

Driving my daughter to school in my pajamas, I got to listen to some more of her music, this time "Breakable" by Ingrid Michaelson, on the album Girls and Boys, about our fragility. Lyrics here. Albums here. News/new one, Ghost, here.  "Ghost" lyrics here. (By chance, I just sent off a chapbook review of Ghost, by Gaylord Brewer, to Prick of the Spindle. I do so love it when things coincide.) No matter how dark her lyrics, her "voice like an angel" encourages me to fear not.

Eye Candy

It's true that I decorate for the holidays partly in candy: red and green M&Ms in clear glass dishes strewn on tables around the house. It's possible to go through a lot of decorations that way, but later there's no storage problem. I will serve some to my poetry workshop this afternoon!

Here is the new issue of Stirring with a beautiful picture of Vero Beach by Stephanie Stair on the cover/contents page. More than eye candy!

I have a poem in this called "Blue Blood Moon," written during the moon-gazing fall. It's kind of sad and scary, but I like it, and dusting a desk lamp gave me a crucial image. Blood moon is one of the names of a full October moon (see Farmer's Almanac), and a blue moon is an extra full moon in a season, so I put them together and got this, though now the term "blue blood" resonates a bit for me as the end of aristocracy, as I just saw a beautiful production of Three Sisters at Heartland Theatre, and I can't remember the Italian for "window" or "ceiling." I understudied Irina years ago at Steppenwolf Theater, so my past is laying me flat with steamroller force...

Oh, yes, this is a Random Coinciday in the blog. Thanks to Dezidor for the Christmasy red and green steamroller. And to the editors of Stirring for taking my poem. I'm off to church for the second Sunday of Advent, taking my mini-sculptures of "greens" for the wreath, and some glittery pine cones with red ribbons.

Pink and Glitter

Yesterday I put together the artificial tree without too much disaster, my husband helping by replacing a bulb and  clarifying the first section to stick into the base. And then I trimmed it, and it's glittering with little white lights, shiny stuff, including a big gold butterfly and a white glass volleyball.

I love our tree.

And I fell in love with "Pink and Glitter," as I was playing the Tori Amos Midwinter Graces album (and Pink Martini) as I trimmed. Lyrics here. Video here, with just piano. And here, on the David Letterman show, with the jazzy orchestra back-up as on the CD!

Reindeer

Yesterday was World AIDS Day. While I celebrated the start of Advent here in the blog, I put on my black mourning costume over at Facebook, my Day Without Art black profile picture....

But it was also a big day for poetry. I had work in two online magazines that "went live" yesterday, and I will link to those in a moment, but first I'd like to share with you "Reindeer," by Sarah J. Sloat.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the public domain photos of real reindeer/caribou.

Sloat's poem comes from the new issue of YB, dedicated to Animals! My animal poem in this issue, "Too Late," has a calico cat in it.

To make it a Random Coinciday in the blog, as well as a Poetry Someday, Sloat and I also appear together in the new issue of Umbrella, which is celebrating its 5th anniversary. Click the umbrellas to enter the issue and find the marvelous offerings! Here's the page with my 2 poems.

I had great joy yesterday, and will have a good rest of the week continuing to read all the wonderful offerings in both of these magazines!

And if you are looking for holiday gifts, keep in mind that reindeer poop makes great tree ornaments! And necklaces. Oh, yes, there's a lot you can do with reindeer poop! Check it out at the Miller Park Zoo!

Advent

When I moved back to my hometown and started going to church, I was delighted by the home made and ongoing Advent wreath, a kind of art installation on the altar table. On the first Sunday of Advent, people bring rocks to shape in a semi-circle around the Advent candles that will be lit one at a time. The next Sunday, it's greens (evergreens or dried flowers or creative representations of greenery); then animals (photos of pets, figurines, toys); and, finally, humans.

I was so charmed by this that I wrote a poem about it, which is now published annually in the December edition of the church newsletter. I am honored. It might not make sense to anyone but us, but here it is:

Advent

First, we bring rocks: earth curves in a bow

around the source, light.  Is it miracle

or did rock bend always as the willow?

What next?  Acorn, walnut, holly, bluebell

pressed with a ribbon, tuft of baby’s breath,

pine cone, lighting of the second candle

by a child.  Magic again? Now our wreath

a parade of fauna: camels, a cat, a cow,

marble hippo, rocking horse.  Nothing yet

prepares as well for what’s to come: our own

meager arrival as human figurines,

plaster or plastic, a fragile sturdy crowd

of admirers, rigid with unspoken awe.

We stand alive, wild at heart, hope raw.

The first Sunday of Advent this year was actually November 27, when I stood on the train platform on Sunday morning, sending my son back to school instead of bringing a rock to the wreath. This Sunday I will take the weird little stand-up cardboard triangles of "greens" I've constructed from recycled greeting cards.

Here is the reflection from that missed Sunday, if you, too, want to ponder the Sacred Mystery. I was struck by the lines quoted from Mark Nepo about the seeds cracked open in the dark. They remind me of Leonard Cohen's song "Anthem," this famous verse:

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in

I just heard him singing this in the documentary Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man that I finally saw after many people had recommended it to me. Before I ever heard this song, I wrote a poem called "Damage" about banging on and cracking a wooden door and seeing the light stream in. People who read it and liked it alerted me to the famous Cohen song, which I have loved ever since. I wish I wasn't so clueless all the time...except that it allows me to fill with wonder repeatedly at the newness of what I've missed, or forgotten, thanks to the cracks in my brain.

And thanks, again, to Jonathan Koch, for another branch of persimmons! And the first, in case you missed it.