It's Friday

I still think of Friday as the end of the week, even though it's really only the end of the traditional Monday through Friday work week. It was a weird week in many ways--a bit stressful with emotional ups and downs. It felt very busy although it wasn't. 

I took Jace on a hour plus walk this morning. I didn't intend to go so long, but turned on a street which dead-ended into a condominium complex. I ignored the No Trespassing sign and tried to cut through the condo to another street, but there was no way to do so. We didn't mind. It was a beautiful day--sunny in the mid-fifties--a welcome change to the last few days of cold mornings in the forties. The dead end and connecting streets had much less traffic than the streets we usually walk. It was soothing to only hear birdsong (and the occasional lawn mower) instead of traffic sounds.

Jeff and I went to the gym--this was my third consecutive week of four visits to the gym. I am feeling good about finally getting into that routine.

In contrast, my writing routine is--well, I have no writing routine. On Monday, I renewed a book from the library on American railroads and wrote a little background for my Merwinsville project. I scribbled a poem on Tuesday. National Poetry Month is coming to and end, I had hoped to write more. 

There's a little time left in the week and the month. Let's see what I can do.

Spring Forward

It feels too early. Maybe because they keep talking about snow in the weather forecast. I won't complain about snow; I'm afraid the February weather gods will take revenge if I do.

Frankly, daylight saving time confuses me. I've heard it was designed for farmers, then for one of the world wars, then to save energy, then for something else. Right now, I don't care enough to look it up. I just don't want to keep changing clocks twice a year. 

Here's one of my spring poems.

Spring Forward

We move the clocks ahead tonight. The day kind of snuck up on me. It's unfair to spring forward on a cold day of rain, icy rain, and snow, bur we got off easy once again from this latest storm, so I won't complain anymore. 

I have an excuse to post this poem again. 

Spring Forward

The government stole an hour from me

2 am Sunday morning

when all decent people are asleep

no witnesses.

 

The government stole an hour from me

they don’t admit to stealing; they call it legislating

but the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

 

The government stole an hour from me

they’ve got everyone in cahoots with them

big business, schools and the media

I can’t fight them all.

 

The government stole an hour from me

they say they’ll give it back in November

But I want it now

 

Who knows?

In November, my time may be up.

Fall Back

Daylight Saving Time ends tomorrow morning. Traditionally you changed the clocks on the Daylight Saving eve, so you'd have the correct time displayed when you woke the next day. Now cable box clocks, cell phones, and smart clocks adjust to the correct time. You just have to change times on appliance, battery operated, and car clocks.

I remember the first year with my new clock radio. I didn't know it was a smart clock and changed the time and was too hours off. Luckily it didn't take me too long to figure that out. It's rough when your clock is smarter than you.

Today I wrote a companion piece to my poem Spring Forward.

Fall Back

Eight months later

in a chill November night

The government’s payback

for the hour they stole.

I’m glad to have the hour back

but that’s not enough

I want interest.

Welcome Spring

Today is the March equinox, vernal equinox in the Northern Hemisphere, a time of renewal.

In southwestern Connecticut, we have a sunny day with temperatures up to the mid-fifties. 

I think it's a good day to visit Bruce Park; we haven't been there for several months. 

Here are photos from a visit last October. 

Here's a spring poem I wrote four years ago. 

2020 Goals Review--Part Two

Writing: I had a modest goal--write 500 words two days a week. It's pitiful that I didn't do it. Now I did take writing classes. Originally my flash fiction class was supposed to start in person in mid-March. Instead we started a Zoom class in April. That class ran to mid-June. We started another on July 6 and this class ran until August 17. The last class of the year ran from mid September through November 30. Our classes were on Mondays and we missed several Monday holidays over the year. I'm happy with my work in these classes (for the most part) but most of my work was short pieces--the longest was 867 words. I can't let class assignments keep me from other writing. 

I participated in other Zoom writing classes/seminars: CrimeConn, memoir, and how to keep writing over the holidays. 

I also wanted to read and write more poetry and return to the poetry group. I wrote four poems this year. I started reading Leaves of Grass but haven't picked it up in at least a month. I am getting a Poem of the Day email. That's a start. I have not returned to the poetry group. 

I had vague goals concerning health. I went to the gynecologist and the eye doctor, got a mammogram and bone density test, got flu, pneumonia, and shingles shots. 

Finance and legal goals were also vague. I am working on these slowly. My mother's estate is still hanging over my head. Thanks IRS--we're waiting for a refund from 2017.

I said I wanted to do more "arty" things. I succeeded in this goal, despite the lack of opportunities to go to art shows. I took two in-person socially distant collage and mixed media classes September through December. It was a lot of fun, the instructor was encouraging, and I'm wondering if maybe it's possible that I am an artist. I visited the Vida Americana exhibit in NYC. Sono also held an art gallery walk from October through December. 

Cleaning/organizing: Covid-19 made a big impact in this category. I never disinfected so much; I even became a bit of a disinfecting wipe hoarder. 

Covid-19 also wiped out our travel plans to explore new areas to research for a potential move. I doubt we do any traveling for months (at least.)

2020 Plans, Goals, Hopes, and Dreams--Part 1

A bit more than resolutions.

I've been thinking about my plans for this year for some time--especially over the last month. Jeff and I have had many changes in our lives over the past few years. I'm at a crossroads age. Oh, have to think of a more elegant way to say that.

I realized that I didn't list any goals for 2019. I looked on this blog, in a file on my pc, and in journal from last January. I guess I just recycled 2018 goals.

Here are the 2018 goals for reference:

• Stop drinking for about six weeks until Valentine's Day
• Go to the gym 150 times
• Write 255 blog posts
• Write 500 words two days a week
• Read 20 books
• Do job search activities for 10 hours each week
• Turn off TV at least two nights a week
• Write one letter/long email each week
• Sleep eight hours each night

Some of these are still my goals for 2020.

• Stop drinking for about six weeks until Valentine's Day--we're halfway through this today.
• Go to the gym 150 times--I haven't come close to this goal, and I've had it for at least three years. I still say it's doable--about three visits a week. Since I've made going to the gym a priority in October, I've been 37 times through December (and was away a week at Christmas.) In 2020, I've already gone 14 times. I just need to keep it up. 
• I want to resurrect an older goal as well: exercise at least a half hour each day. I know I didn't exercise on New Year's Day, but I think I've managed a half hour on days I didn't get to the gym. It's not that hard to do some light stretching or balance poses.
• Blogging: I had picked 255 posts because it's roughly five posts a week and I did write 253 posts in 2013. (Last year's total was 135.) I've rethought this goal. In November, my goal was to write a post every day. I decided it was too arbitrary; that may also be true of 255 posts. Plus I want to make sure I have time for other writing. How about 200 blog posts?
• Speaking of other writing: I want to keep the goal: write 500 words two days a week. I only maintained it for two days, so I have a lot of work to do here.
• More on writing: I'm going to write poetry. I'm going back to the poetry group, and I'm going to read more poetry.

More to follow.

Walking with Lola: Photo and Poetry Edition

I've been taking several photos but haven't posted them in months.

Now's the time. Here's an old photo of Heroes Rock on the Norwalk River Valley Trail between Sharp Hill Road and Skunk Lane.

Here's another old picture with the "seating area" next to Heroes Rock.

A new addition that looks like a pillow.

I feel the same way.

All you need:

Snowy images from our walks: footprints at Oyster Shell Park. 

Sherwood Island in early March:

It's the end of National Poetry Month. I didn't make it to three Norwalk poetry events, didn't write a poem, haven't posted any since the 1st. 

Here's a poem I wrote on a January walk with Lola at Oyster Shell: 

A shroud of fog hangs over the harbor

As traffic roars by

Lola sniffs among the reeds searching for answers to questions I will never understand

A raindrop beads my eyeglasses

My exhalations--wisps of pale smoke

Still Lola sniffs and searches

As I ponder questions of my own.

Here's another poem inspired by an Oyster Shell walk:

striated shell shard

of sienna and oystershell

pocketed for study

National Poetry Month

Today is the first day of National Poetry Month. Here are some ideas of ways to celebrate.

I'd like to write a poem every day this month, but I'm  not sure that's realistic.

Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago.

Looking for Jesus, I found Ganesh

atop the dashboard

as I peered through the window of the Ford parked in front of my condo

a sign of my neigborhood’s cultural diversity

Norwalk's Lit Crawl

Last night was Norwalk's Fifth Annual Lit Crawl.Somehow I missed the first three. I heard about last year's crawl, but had to work at a college fair event.

The night started at the Wall Street Theater with a bunch of speeches and applause for local politicians and volunteers. I got there late, but still felt the self congratulations took too long. Actually they could have been dispensed with completely.

Attendees were asked to donate $10 to a selection of literary charities. Readers, of either their own or others' works, signed up in March (I blew the deadline.) The four poetry venues were restaurants in the Wall Street area and offered complimentary appetizers.

I expected a progressive crawl where all attendees would go together to all the locations. Instead, all venues had readers from 6:30 to 8 PM--you could stay in one spot or move around. I went to all venues, but managed to miss all the people I knew.

I enjoyed the evening and heard some good poetry. It was nice to get out even though it was a rainy, gloomy night.

Poetry and Oysters

An odd juxtaposition? Not in Norwalk. I recently attended a poetry workshop, "Oystering Then and Now" at City Hall.

We read poems about oysters, crabs and the earth, discussed poetry "rules" and explored prompts. We also looked at the oystering exhibit in the Mayor's Gallery as well as the WPA murals. After the workshop, we enjoyed oysters and beers in the gallery, and shared our poetry.

I was glad to share in a creative endeavor--it's been a while. I was especially interested because the WPA murals were part of the program.  As a docent, I've grown to love the murals and what they mean to Norwalk.

Oysters and beer were a bonus.

Another Poem: If Spring Were a Color

I recently wrote a post about the color of spring.

As I looked for my jigsaw poem, I found the following, one of several poems I wrote in April 2013:

If spring were a color

it would be green

of tree buds and grass shoots

and in the Crayola canon it is

If spring were a color

it would be yellow      

of sunshine, daffodils and forsythia

If spring were a color

it would be blue

of robins’ eggs and sky

If spring were a color

it would be purple

of crocuses and lilacs

If spring were a color

it would be white

of pear blossoms that fall like confetti

If spring were a color

it would be pink

of cherry blossom trees along the national mall

If spring were a color

it would be a rainbow

of warmth, hope, and renewal.

Jigsaw: A Poem

It's the last day of National Poetry Month. I wrote this poem last summer based on visits to Pine Island Cemetery in Mathews Park with Lola and this photo.

Historic Pine Island Cemetery

headstone broken in pieces

jigsaw puzzle of a life.

Tomorrow

I strive for all my tomorrows

Tomorrow I'll be good

Tomorrow I'll mop the kitchen floor

Tomorrow I'll go to the gym

Tomorrow I'll call Aunt Gladys.

I think I'll write tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be a good day to clean out the closet.

Tomorrow

will be a damn busy day. 

Jazz and Poetry

I knew April was National Poetry Month, but I didn't realize it is also National Jazz Appreciation Month. Then I read about "Old as New" a program at the Norwalk Library. Jim Clark, a jazz composer/saxophonist, released a new album and asked Laurel Peterson, Norwalk's Poet Laureate, to collaborate by writing poems in response to his music.

I loved the music.I enjoyed much of the poetry. Most of all I loved the idea of combining jazz and poetry.

It was a lovely way to spend part of a Sunday afternoon.

Since I was at the library, I took out four books to catch up on both the Kinsey Millhone and V.I. Warshawski mystery series.

I need to take a closer look at all the programs at the library.

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month. I was reminded of this when I drove by a big banner sign at the Norwalk Library last night.

Many are intimidated by poetry. Some forms may seem too restrictive and constrictive--strangling your thoughts and emotions. Paul Simon has a line in "Kathy's Song" about "words that tear and strain to rhyme."

Poetry doesn't have to be high art--full of obscure imagery--recited in an affected poet's voice. Poetry can be light and fun. Poems can be about anything.

 I'm not a literary poet; I'm a biscuit poet.

A Poem-of Sorts

an evening walk with Spike, as a spring tease continues

dark branches splayed across a deepening evening blue sky        

 punctuated by a full moon

February is the cruelest month...

It had started to snow as I wrote my last entry yesterday; we got another few inches of snow and ice. I drove home through flurries this evening. My car now looks like a powdered donut. We're getting more snow Monday night into Tuesday morning. I think I speak for the most of the US when I say enough is enough.

Predictions of temperatures in the forties sound good, but I was fooled by predictions before. I'll believe the forty degrees when I feel them.

I have to give a shout out to our condominium super and his staff. Our sidewalks are clear (except for that one driveway from the garage which ices up at night and melts during the day.) The parking lot is in decent shape. But damn, we are surrounded by mounds of snow--some six feet tall. It's hard to drive down the street because parked cars are sticking out in the driving lane because of too much snow along the curbs. We can't cross the street for walks because that condo hasn't cleared its sidewalks. Snow piled up on corners makes entering intersections risky.

T.S. Eliot says April is the cruellest month. But this February has to be the worst.

From the Sunday New York Times

We subscribe to the Saturday and Sunday New York Times--the only paper I read on a regular basis. I often find articles or sometimes just tidbits of interest.

This past Sunday, I found two things in the magazine.

One is a word game, Getting to the Point. It's a series of letter pyramids: the first row has four, the second row has three, the third row has two, and the fourth row has one. The first pyramid has all the letters filled in; there are eight routes from the top row to the bottom row reached by words. Two pyramid have four letters filled in; two have two; three have two; two have only one letter. Letter banks are listed under each pyramid. I haven't tried it yet; it looks challenging--very challenging.

The second thing that intrigued me was part of this article: specifically its discussion of a quote from Carl Sandburg, "Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits." (Note: the quote in the article is slightly different and longer; I chose one I read on several websites.)

I go to a writers' retreat almost every year; many of the writers are poets. At first, I was intimidated to write poetry among so many deep poets. I eventually decided that I was just a different kind of poet. After reading this article, I'll call myself a biscuit poet.

Vein of Gold

Okay, so this is a play on words for Julia Cameron and an exaggeration of the title of my earlier post on mining my journals. 

I found a few interesting things reading a journal from April 2007.

One of my many ideas is to write a poetry book with photographs about Spike. I had the title, "The Dog with with Perpetual Smile." Someone at the dog park described Spike this way; it's accurate--he is a happy boy.

I also found a haiku (of sorts) about my nephew's dog, Amos.

party dog
chaser of Polly cat
Frisbee acrobat.

I love it if I do say so myself.