I have an algae problem

Dear Blog,
I apologize. I have abandoned you again. I have no good reasons, just a lot of crummy excuses: I'm busy with this or that; I'm a procrastinator; I'm afraid what I have to say isn't important enough or interesting enough; I'm spending more time thinking about whether or not this well be read and how people will react to it than I am to the words stuck in my brain that want out.

It's a problem. When I neglect my writing my blood grows sluggish with unwritten words, unexpressed thoughts. I feel like if I were able to consistently skim off the surface layer of words-- the algae blooms of my mind-- I  might be able to get to a clear vantage point, a path to the deeper stuff below where the brilliant tropical fish weave just so through the beautiful coral. But no. I'm all lake scum and minnows and turtles forever sunning on the same logs. Alas.

But I'm here now. Forever stopping and starting, meandering, trying again. Speaking of which, this morning a friend posted a link to this Buddhist thingy called Starting Over, and it's coming in handy right at this particular very second.

Readin' and Writin' and Suchlike

Lots of books about market gardening and chicken rearing and how to build chicken coops. I intend to purchase four baby chicks next weekend. So that oughta give me something to write about, huh?

Also, currently reading Astray, a fascinating book of historical fictions by Emma Donoghue. And an equally fascinating book of I-don't-know-what-to-call-it, by David Shields. Title: Reality Hunger: A Manifesto.

My ever so wonderful writing group met last night and I brought an unfinished piece that I suspect is going to turn into something much longer, about my retiring from midwifery. I have quite a lot to say about it, as it turns out, and it appears I am finally ready to start saying it. Stay tuned. 

Good Eats

The Beachland Ballroom kitchen, run by super-chef Brian Doyle, had a soft opening this afternoon to test out a new lunch menu. My friend Amy and I went, and hot damn, was it ever good. Highly recommended by us: Sweet potato tater-tots with curry aioli, Fresh "pealafel" bites with garlic-tahini sauce (it’s falafel made with peas instead of garbanzos), Brian’s Asian salad tossed with Thai vinaigrette (made with cabbage, lettuces, carrots, peppers, cilantro, and bok choy), North Coast Turkey Sandwich with Slovenian style locally produced bacon, smoked turkey, tomato, avocado, poached free range egg and Gruyere cheese sauce. There was more too, and all of it was delicious. And since it was a soft opening, half-price! Score! But I'll happily be back to pay full price later.

My Adorable Child

...makes me wish I was rich. The school I want to get him into is $18,000 a year. The summer camp I'd like to send him to is just under $5000. And his last dental visit turned up six cavities which will require a special pedio-dentist visit, likely to be out of network and out of my price range. How did this kid end up with six cavities? He gets less sugar than almost any other child on the planet. The poor child has always been forced to drink water instead of juice. WTF?

Nothing Fancy

Hellooooooooo!
echo
echo
echo

Yeah, so about this ghost town here. My bad. My intention was to write here often. I figured it would be a good way to practice, given that I fancy myself a writer. I guess that's a bit of a stretch since a writer, according to traditional convention, typically...writes. But hey, I'm writing now, am I not? And this is because I complained about my own lack of blog posts to a friend who blogs and asked for an assignment. She obliged, as follows:

Your assignment is this: find three general categories of activity or thought in which you engage fairly regularly (you like food, could be food, or parenting, or existentialism, or candy, or movies, or presidential history. It doesn't really matter. Whatever floats your boat) - make headings out of them - now write no more than one paragraph about the latest instance of each. Repeat on a set schedule (every other day). Rules and structure can be very useful in a creative endeavour.

So this is what I will do now, at least until I come up with some other sort of inspiration on my own, assuming that such a thing may happen someday.

Okay, so category number one. Humm. Let's call it:

Readin' and Writin' and Suchlike

I just finished The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx, which, as might be expected of a Pulitzer Prize winner, is a damn fine novel. Just started reading Barbara Kingsolver's The Lacuna. Also reading a book by Joseph Sestito, called Write for Your Lives: Inspire Your Creative Writing with Buddhist Wisdom, which I happened upon in the local authors section at my local library. I'm hoping to win bonus locavore points for this. As for writing, you're looking at it. Not much of a paragraph, this, but I'm going for quick and dirty today.

Next topic. Yes, I suppose food floats my boat, or at the very least, keeps it from sinking. Thus:

Good Eats

Today I had lunch at Lemon Grass with my friend Sandee, the managing editor for The Funny Times, where I have worked off and on in various roles for over 25 years. I had Chicken with Thai Basil. Quite good. Good lord, this is ridiculously boring. It needs some spice, I think. Try this: I was daintily nibbling on a jalapeno pepper when all at once, a flying zombie vampire hobbit dressed as Abraham Lincoln...aw, screw it. That one's been done to death. I'm having chicken soup for dinner. Might make some Paleo biscuits to go with it.

Two down. I suppose the obvious choice for category three would be:

My Adorable Child

My adorable child hates to read. This really irks me. And apparently, yelling at him and telling him that he's going to LOVE reading someday, dammit, is not going to help him like it any better. Go figure. For now I'm looking for books with only one sentence per page, as this seems to keep him from getting overwhelmed. I can tell he really does want to read, he just finds it difficult and doesn't want to do all the practice it takes to get good at it. Just where in the hell he picked up that attitude, I can't begin to imagine.

There. Done. Not pretty; nothing fancy. But it's a start. Or a restart, anyhow. More to come...

I think.

Breaking in

Have you noticed something different about me lately? Well, yeah, I did henna my hair, but I was referring to this. Right here. Ta-da! I have a blog now. I've suddenly become a Person With A Blog. I think it looks good on me, don't you?

So I'm going to start you off with a story, because this particular story will explain the name of my blog. Plus it's a good story.

When I lived in Seattle in the late 1980's, I frequented a little coffee shop called Espresso Roma. I had a lot of studying to do; they had free refills. So I spent a lot of time there. It just so happened that I read a book of James Wright's poetry around that time, and I fell in love with his poem, “A Blessing,” in particular, the last three lines. And one day, I wrote those lines on Espresso Roma's bathroom wall:

Suddenly I realize / That if I stepped out of my body I would break / Into blossom.

I signed it “JW.”

Well, it must have been a week or two later that I returned and found that someone had written directly below those lines, in tiny, perfect, print:

I'm out, Broken, Blossoming.

TC

And I fell in all over love again. With words, with poetry, with TC whoever he or she was, with the whole of everything. 

It's surprising, isn't it? How a small, seemingly pointless, action can make a world of difference? How a few words, placed just so, can step you out of wherever you were and break you into blossom?

I guess that's why I'm here, wearing my freshly pressed blog. I hope you enjoy it. Stop by again, Okay?

A Blessing   by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.