tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62020045804971956132024-02-21T07:01:17.363-08:00slips of paperlynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-63317166290874075742018-10-19T14:53:00.002-07:002018-10-19T14:53:42.267-07:00Well look what I found, today, my long abandoned blog site! Nothing ever disappears on the web. maybe I will start posting again, who knows? I could use some good self talk these days. A lot has changed since 2009: we sold the place at the river, my mother died, some of our kids moved closer to Michigan. We got older. Rich and I creak a bit, and sleep more. We are at the three-quarters of a century mark and beginning to realize we're encountering more limitations. (Part of the reason we sold the cottage on its steep bluff above the river)<br />
I am surprised I'll be 75 next year. Surprised my children are near 50! How did that happen? My beloved aunt, 102, died this year. My father, 99 didn't. He is a miracle of tenacity and will. The year was hard for him, with injuries and changes and new limitations, and I am old enough to see my future (if I should survive that long) in his curved spine, his spongy bones, his legs that just won't carry him. Am I frightened for him--or for me? Both, I guess. He presses on.<br />
When you have had a parent around for 74 years you grow pretty accustomed to their being a part of the world you know. A world without them in it is unimaginable. That may be so between all parents and their kids, however old we are. I don't know. I wonder if I am especially blind to reality.<br />
My parents lost their parents before they reached their seventies. I have friends and family who lost their parents at young or middle ages. I wonder if, losing a parent at a young age, you grow up faster and take on more responsibility. No longer a parent to turn to for support or approval. After Dad is gone there will only be one person who has known me all my life. My sister. If she has ever known me. We are not particularly close. Still, we've drawn closer as our father gets older. As if we needed to hold hands, face what's coming together. We'll need each other.<br />
<br />lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-66736338228677761982009-10-09T14:28:00.000-07:002009-10-09T14:31:38.547-07:00Reading<br /><br />Sunday, October 11, 2009<br />People's Church, Kalamazoo, MI<br />10:oo am Forum<br /><br />Anne Hutchinson and friends<br />(Elaine Seaman, Lynn Pattison, Marion Boyer)<br /><br />Poetry on themes of: Family, Loss Persona, and Nature.<br /><br />Join us.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-42298728375226205662009-08-15T13:00:00.000-07:002009-08-15T13:07:42.315-07:00Summer has been a swirl of activity: family reunion, children visiting, a great writing class with Di Seuss, time at the river, a wonderful group reading in honor of Marion Boyer's new book (biggest crowd for poetry in a long time). We've been driving up and down I-75 more times than I care to recall--the schedule hasn't been easy. I am spending the week here alone, trying, among other things, to produce a clean, finished copy of my new mss. So far the rickety printer has been cooperating. <br />Anne-Marie arrived in less than two weeks!lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-32156559507487610902009-04-22T07:00:00.000-07:002009-04-22T07:27:53.107-07:00During our visit to Seattle we took the opportunity to go for a walk in a local, Sound-side park. Heading down a trail to our car, after giving Anne's dog, Archie, a grand outing, we saw something glittering around and beneath a car in the parking lot below. A closer look revealed a huge accumulation of pop/beer cans on the tarmac, being run over by an old Dodge Dart, or something like...<br /><br />Back and forth, back and forth, flattening the cans. It was not efficient, it looked like it would take forever. We agreed the object must be selling scrap. But the most perplexing question was how did all those cans get there---it certainly didn't look like they could have all fit in the Dart. I mean there was a small <em>lake</em> of them. All day we argued about whether the cans had got there in the Dart. My (minority) opinion was that they had, that only the ones in the front, by the driver, were in bags, and that the others were loose, under the seats, snugged in layers on the deck of the back window, tucked into the spaces between door latch and door, crimped and pushed into glove box and console, stacked carefully, seat-high, all the way round, just enough room for the driver to work his pedals. And the trunk, of course. I knew it would have to be done skillfully, the modern day version of building the load on the hay wagon. No one agreed.<br />Mainly, though it was just that we couldn't get that momentary image, of the driver rolling over the carpet of cans, out of our minds. We told everyone we saw.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-1087963744186588842009-03-17T17:30:00.000-07:002009-03-17T17:31:05.391-07:00lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-55676637648226404472009-03-17T17:21:00.000-07:002009-03-17T17:41:23.397-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcpNc-7cq4FNj-jUcWitxD2CG0aDva2bpCogV-P1gvL_c24aNkzBhKpB2N3FQJI3RXcf8wj6lBFYDaBZmdyx7KaO4007GoMsKwOTZ311sOSqVJjN1aU3cPfMZe11FC-KFeDlmGlG7XRZO/s1600-h/100b5330.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314317871371140210" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilcpNc-7cq4FNj-jUcWitxD2CG0aDva2bpCogV-P1gvL_c24aNkzBhKpB2N3FQJI3RXcf8wj6lBFYDaBZmdyx7KaO4007GoMsKwOTZ311sOSqVJjN1aU3cPfMZe11FC-KFeDlmGlG7XRZO/s320/100b5330.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Mt. lion in the morning through one-way window. Desert Museum. We photographed early, before the animals got sick of people and tucked in for naps. I took coyote, wolves, and a couple of great raptor shots. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDB-kGBdc-D97xpV6G5jm220ah0-uI_6XwrL2_71h6lvefjuv5ACtdT4noB-OJHD_hzF6hpleBJFEIHKV1SCVyC4-bFq2dvgiu1AzqXPVrxmn-MjG2QSRYT7YZJfenL_gyGPW4uHKDhPu/s1600-h/100_5229.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314317862062110722" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDB-kGBdc-D97xpV6G5jm220ah0-uI_6XwrL2_71h6lvefjuv5ACtdT4noB-OJHD_hzF6hpleBJFEIHKV1SCVyC4-bFq2dvgiu1AzqXPVrxmn-MjG2QSRYT7YZJfenL_gyGPW4uHKDhPu/s320/100_5229.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />A display of beads at the giant international gem show---Tucson. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSJoGf-p0yMfGDggr3cWt3Co_-ixYpnCKlXma1ynjZhe5ItfHIou0fgv8wqs3-FihzfFXxbQ9Dp1ay_42y18HoAsnNJQr1lvA1Gxp1mukHhpBPiYCUF196ivyYQSx5Nb_nsfBaQRwaVGm/s1600-h/100_5937.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314317850923592674" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSJoGf-p0yMfGDggr3cWt3Co_-ixYpnCKlXma1ynjZhe5ItfHIou0fgv8wqs3-FihzfFXxbQ9Dp1ay_42y18HoAsnNJQr1lvA1Gxp1mukHhpBPiYCUF196ivyYQSx5Nb_nsfBaQRwaVGm/s320/100_5937.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />door to our room in Tubac. Great little porch. Rich so wanted to sit out there and drink his morning coffee. But it wasn't gonna happen, temps hovered around 35- 40 all the time we were there. his consolation, building fires in the chiminea(?) out in the garden and watching the stars. Big sky--no street lights.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-994043023903884342009-03-12T16:10:00.000-07:002009-03-12T16:29:46.973-07:00Great American Train AdventureRich and I are just back from our version of the GATA, having spent 6 weeks "on the rails." Well, really, we only spent 10 or so days on the actual rails, the rest of the time was spent visiting friends and relatives in the SW & PNW. We had a grand time, both at our various destinations and in our tiny Deluxe Room on the train. (Deluxe refers to the tiny self-contained potty and shower chamber that sticks out into the small bedroom. There was also a mini-sink, where washing of faces and brushing of teeth proved to be both challenging and hilarious.) I became quite adept at showering while rocking and swaying inside a phonebooth sized compartment.<br /> <br />We traveled from Chicago to Tucson,(where we stayed with friends, then moved to Tubac for a week in a B&B, and on to Green Valley for a couple of days). Boarded the train at 4 in the morning (we owe Ione and Rob much, and many thanks, for driving us to the RR station in the middle of the night) for stays in Los Angeles, Oakland, Bodega Bay, and finally, Seattle. We enjoyed a variety of great hikes, readings, parties, beaches, cave explorations, botanical gardens, zoos, and even, one night, a hockey game.<br /> <br />Now to rest up. More to follow.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-46638097616912192032008-12-16T15:43:00.000-08:002008-12-16T15:55:46.130-08:00Catching up<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53FBY8Ofb4yp2JijK2-pIy0A7Itbb_DM_8NeSv2zTrBiqmRbXWi_vLMt6yQJUvx-7wBWSSOotklHEpVZh9vlmQq3fI2K6MHXrIrPL5csM8GyuFkZFFqv0pjS6-ZN6gQWW1t11sz_PPDhY/s1600-h/100_4151.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53FBY8Ofb4yp2JijK2-pIy0A7Itbb_DM_8NeSv2zTrBiqmRbXWi_vLMt6yQJUvx-7wBWSSOotklHEpVZh9vlmQq3fI2K6MHXrIrPL5csM8GyuFkZFFqv0pjS6-ZN6gQWW1t11sz_PPDhY/s320/100_4151.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280538957820758770" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePfeMQjeDb1ZjmSwRPQROEscXoqKZ12iuPsTxpaCewebzDMyoQecDvaJ8ca5Gwz0UJcp1Zt8dkUIzpKVWrxnyUIv9Q6hk3RJoFXqPF83DAPeJnSZxO_kLPsMaJNY9WtmDwvSBbJRpV_x1/s1600-h/100b4140.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePfeMQjeDb1ZjmSwRPQROEscXoqKZ12iuPsTxpaCewebzDMyoQecDvaJ8ca5Gwz0UJcp1Zt8dkUIzpKVWrxnyUIv9Q6hk3RJoFXqPF83DAPeJnSZxO_kLPsMaJNY9WtmDwvSBbJRpV_x1/s320/100b4140.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280538947635647618" /></a><br /><br />It's been many months since I added anything here. Summer and fall flew by, and now, in December, I can hardly believe I haven't added anything since May. I intended to do better.<br /><br />The photos are of a tree at the river. I am sure it is home to the spirit of a deer, reincarnate. How else to explain? My friend Vicki says that 8 & 10 pt. deer wanderup to nibble bushes under her windows at night and she watches them, only inches away. <br /><br />Our experiences this summer related to wildlife (at the river)included a bear, some snakes and frogs, and a skunk who liked our shed. For some reason, no deer. I have a theory about that I will share another day.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-16702182543275967732008-05-21T14:08:00.000-07:002008-05-21T14:11:21.112-07:00Astromaniacal<strong>there are some who say that there is a right <br /> and a left in (the) heaven... – Aristotle</strong><br /><br />Times when the world <br />is most spherical, casting <br />its curved shadow<br /><br />on the moon, water <br />and light follow <br />rules, there's a grid <br /><br />you can count on, but<br />now, in this alley of slant- <br />time when an iron hand<br /><br />draws a latitude/longitude <br />of shattered glass, a chaos<br />geography turning, <br /><br />in the heat, to dogma, <br />we're caught in an old vise,<br />pressed narrow, almost flat.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-22817415609689776352008-05-01T10:17:00.001-07:002008-05-01T10:20:07.534-07:00New neighborsThe eagles are back, and we are able to get a clear view---till the surrounding trees leaf out...we love watching from a distance. Shot these about an hour before sundown. Momma and Poppa were switching places on the nest.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-11890136526788958342008-05-01T10:16:00.000-07:002008-12-09T21:12:07.625-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEVLMrajvXjiE3toc79EPS0CC5lxoyN1FLcF7FVGty0FUcNaehkf3hUoGIj88oWPZIilu0CHvpuRerwrNqMuGgPlmdaTi9fTj5i580o13Tk-AQIDNphUYNql3lfeDzytqzQ4fOql1xTRe/s1600-h/100b3990.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEVLMrajvXjiE3toc79EPS0CC5lxoyN1FLcF7FVGty0FUcNaehkf3hUoGIj88oWPZIilu0CHvpuRerwrNqMuGgPlmdaTi9fTj5i580o13Tk-AQIDNphUYNql3lfeDzytqzQ4fOql1xTRe/s320/100b3990.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195459676608323490" /></a>lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-47946183002965892892008-05-01T10:14:00.000-07:002008-12-09T21:12:07.776-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4j5mICaSqRdq3shLtW8L9mst4WF1jZNRR5r3Nlg-xUDC_4HUpejL12ewGdNwn-sFtltOF-tJ1swhBIonCSzhtzG4dQoD_v0MQUuJkUFTEhrcsUCOlAfOH_sWAD_fxLuEvZvWACA_8l5GA/s1600-h/100b3911b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4j5mICaSqRdq3shLtW8L9mst4WF1jZNRR5r3Nlg-xUDC_4HUpejL12ewGdNwn-sFtltOF-tJ1swhBIonCSzhtzG4dQoD_v0MQUuJkUFTEhrcsUCOlAfOH_sWAD_fxLuEvZvWACA_8l5GA/s320/100b3911b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195459229931724690" /></a>lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-55133034974745663132008-03-18T10:32:00.000-07:002008-03-18T10:39:07.688-07:00Cherry PieFor Bonnie Jo, and anyone else who hasn't read "Cherry Pie", From Con Hilberry's chapbook, The Fingernail of Luck: <br /><br />...between/ two buttered crusts.../flesh so deeply sugared it/ astounds the mouth./ To coax it all to bed, a downy// pillow of whipped cream./...<br /><br />Salivate, salivate...lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-47229144766580168192008-02-10T09:57:00.000-08:002008-12-09T21:12:07.938-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sLZIXXQkQmsnkD1YujkyI7MHltd-7fy5F-WwS9o6OM9wav5Z-sL_pRmLGIjclOc2wMawPsmvUd8D9D5LgLcCYPmFf1FoEpvu2ybAhmbGAN1xAinWDEsbewrlj8GXcI6KRCaBhITqYR9M/s1600-h/100_3370.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sLZIXXQkQmsnkD1YujkyI7MHltd-7fy5F-WwS9o6OM9wav5Z-sL_pRmLGIjclOc2wMawPsmvUd8D9D5LgLcCYPmFf1FoEpvu2ybAhmbGAN1xAinWDEsbewrlj8GXcI6KRCaBhITqYR9M/s320/100_3370.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165412385137430306" /></a>lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-83208162395915808212008-02-10T09:55:00.000-08:002008-12-09T21:12:08.064-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXia8JRM2oya7v4nPZGOQtMjrbA4ewwPIy4V4W-dzZD_2kogk6YtWjEbgXAccE_K0taV7PlUsYOUW8z-VfIW8Mc0RvrRHufKXb9cYyeaEiibtu6hygd6kbOk22pELVulrnDsRj1xMRtbT/s1600-h/100_3351.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcXia8JRM2oya7v4nPZGOQtMjrbA4ewwPIy4V4W-dzZD_2kogk6YtWjEbgXAccE_K0taV7PlUsYOUW8z-VfIW8Mc0RvrRHufKXb9cYyeaEiibtu6hygd6kbOk22pELVulrnDsRj1xMRtbT/s320/100_3351.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165411874036322066" /></a><br /><br /><br />Quite the contrast in pics, eh? What a difference a day's flight can make: <br />sun, surf, fresh seafood, and angels loking out for us through the night...lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-39106347989311701772008-01-24T15:13:00.000-08:002008-12-09T21:12:08.494-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhtH8qpHyjUqBw34AWF5dRHu3o0pEa2dzsTjAPhkNp7moBXzVZgJExvlxyqTMoRvixuiu-dwwJ3aEHWjcBxX13C8M7-haOoyeAjkIo69qaLZbqZ-n5xyc1nY7IM2yzgMW0kBzQZZwWUVu/s1600-h/100_3278.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYhtH8qpHyjUqBw34AWF5dRHu3o0pEa2dzsTjAPhkNp7moBXzVZgJExvlxyqTMoRvixuiu-dwwJ3aEHWjcBxX13C8M7-haOoyeAjkIo69qaLZbqZ-n5xyc1nY7IM2yzgMW0kBzQZZwWUVu/s320/100_3278.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159186038368428898" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjwy_EjxMcWZ3JtZQ6WsxQP3EZQa_v1_AuGLkveHZTSD43ahTqLTnRP2nWPZySJvTLhYMIYBuh-Uzc-lKzwUGADAavc3rvJjniu-2GX30whanMsgfywmXCH-j7XBWw-AXUk_De-hv7QEo/s1600-h/img_0698.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjwy_EjxMcWZ3JtZQ6WsxQP3EZQa_v1_AuGLkveHZTSD43ahTqLTnRP2nWPZySJvTLhYMIYBuh-Uzc-lKzwUGADAavc3rvJjniu-2GX30whanMsgfywmXCH-j7XBWw-AXUk_De-hv7QEo/s320/img_0698.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159186055548298098" /></a>lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-79761460996028334062008-01-14T07:01:00.000-08:002008-01-14T07:10:37.184-08:00new linkI'm adding a link to Tracy's blog. She spends many months in Thailand and its bordering countries, and Japan, and her accounts of people she knows/meets, her lovely photos, and the her accounts of cultural info. make for good reading. Tracy teaches language some of the time, and travels/sightsees. You may enjoy following her travels over the coming months (she has just arrived there from Kalamazoo) or, reading her accounts from last year. The photos alone are worth a visit. A nice taste of warmth in the middle of winter. I followed her link to a guest house where she stays. The unbelievably low rates for accomodations made me rethink our winter get-away plans.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-25175898427658077602008-01-11T06:53:00.000-08:002008-01-11T07:28:53.734-08:00ambiguity-resolving machine"Researchers say our brains aren't like cameras, or siesmic recorders. They don't directly input raw data and and faithfully reproduce it. The brain "analyzes and deconstructs" input, then reorganizes it, constructing its own reality based on the weft & woof of our experience, the associations and parameters the brain has acquired/developed. One writer calls the brain the "hypothesis generator" and cautions, "Sensation is an abstraction not a replication of the real world." Which explains a lot. Why we can never entirely understand each others' experiences. Why it's so impossibly difficult to get our sense of something down on the page. It's why we hunt around for some way to show on another what's going on in our brains for even a few moments. If our every sensation is, in fact abstract, it's no wonder we tumble ideas and images around and around in our brains, hunting for the combination, the order, the rhythms, that can paint that sensation in a way that is justours. A way that represents our hypothesis---our resolution or lack of it. <br />Here I am full circle, trying to wrap my brain around what I've read, trying to tell you how the information weaves itself into what I already think I know. And prose isn't doing it. I need a poem, for lack of anything better...lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-40208385577031539822007-12-23T11:01:00.000-08:002007-12-23T11:14:12.421-08:00Snow storm predicted, and big wind. Rich and I just inherited two pair of gorgeous snowshoes from neighbors (the old-fashioned kind) and are happy at the prospect of trying them out. A good ol' blizzard is overdue in this part of the state. Winter has seemed rather stingy and crotchety. We get the cold, and patches of ice, but not the big-hearted, lavish munificence of a week's worth of fallen snow, that pure abundance.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-18123221298287437122007-12-04T08:57:00.000-08:002007-12-04T09:14:24.877-08:00travels, travels...I'm off tomorrow to see Ben & Holly, who just got back from Hawaii where, snorkeling, they got up close and personal with several whales--and lived to tell the tale. Not looking forward to passing thru airports and waiting in lines. Hope the storms in the NW don't move here and stop up flight schedules.<br />Daughter, Anne, visited last week, and got back to Seattle in time for the wild weather there, we took her to Chicago to catch her flight, and stayed a couple of nights. Saw a play, The Sparrow. Sloshed through ice and sleet to make our way there---were glad we made the effort. Great production (Apollo Theatre), very moving. Talented troupe. I'd see it again this week, if I could. <br />Here, the classic midwest darkness and fog. The air, dirty wet. Sunshine and gleaming snow is in order---maybe when I get back.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-59259889364737658372007-11-20T14:37:00.000-08:002007-11-20T14:55:49.691-08:00Simple<br /><br /><br />Salt is the opposite of ice<br /><br />mix of acid and base we launch with gunpowder<br /> to rocket into the new July night: sunburst and pandemonium.<br />A sunbeam though is old mail---over 4 billion years–<br />no cause to crane our necks, cry out.<br /> <br />A stone is for carrying under your tongue<br /> or filling your pockets on your way into the river.<br />If it's soft carve eyes and ears holes. Grief<br /><br />is the long fish<br /> with gauzy filagree of scales<br />that moonlight paints on the bedroom wall. The one<br /> that swims toward you, or away,<br />on your saltwater tears.<br /><br />Love is nothing<br /><br />you ever saw— and satisfaction's just a hole<br /> you fill that you dug and dug<br />tearing your nails raising blisters.<br /><br /> Dance<br />a while in night's back alley<br /> and loneliness lumbers out<br /><br />a wall-eyed beast<br /><br />wraps you in his arms, his stink,<br /> and maybe hands you your pen:<br />your last straw, your slice<br /> of life, your wafer of transubstantiation,<br /><br />your third eye with its psychic powers<br /> and little clocks, your courage, your rising tide,<br />your price, your poison, your prize,<br /> duty, modus operandi, your hocus-pocus.<br /><br />Your Barium salts burning wicked<br /> green, your Strontium-red<br />your Copper Oxide<br />blue cascade,<br /> your blinding<br /> white<br /> titanium blast.<br /><br /><br /><em>First appeared in Notre Dame Review</em>lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-7044838184750780602007-11-15T07:31:00.000-08:002007-11-15T07:33:05.686-08:00essayistIf you've checked my profile, you know I've been reading essays with renewed interest. I heard essayist, poet, Lia Purpura (On Looking) read at Western Michigan University a few weeks back. Gorgeous stuff. Whether she's describing the experience of watching an autopsy, or the nuances of the view from a certain window, her language pulses with vitality and poetry. I don't know if the autopsy account is difficult reading for some. I took Anatomy & Physiology at U of M when I was enrolled (briefly) in their nursing program. We studied cadavers in an old lab—horror movie potential, with it's marble slab tables you tilted with the big iron wheels at one end. Though not as shocking as dealing with the just-dead, the experience lends a slight advantage. Even the most squeamish reader, though, is bound to be caught up in the author's wonder and respect, her effort to understand what is in front of her. I enjoy her ability, like Goldbarth, to weave associations, questions, ruminations, through tangential paths, to establish her circuitous connections with ease and logic. They both leap topic at stunning angles, then find the perfect curve that brings them back to it.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-65855971776715495632007-11-05T13:12:00.000-08:002007-11-05T13:15:02.822-08:00<strong>Photograph </strong><br /><br />Legs<br />knees<br />a boy<br />ankle deep<br />in cold lake water<br />and nearly submerged beside him<br />crooked in the silt, a white bird cage. Lake reflections<br />show sky empty of cloud or bird, no freed parakeet<br />circling. Makeshift fish trap, salvaged<br />toy? Look close: caged rocks,<br />a rope. Pray<br />he's bound<br />for<br />shore.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-37508238723668737442007-11-03T08:59:00.000-07:002007-11-03T09:54:38.513-07:00Drastic Angles<br /><br />Angle of slope, corner, turn. Having to do with the setting of the ladder, whether the walls are plumb, and the attitude of the mirror propped against the wall. But also, motive: <em>What's his angle?</em> His perspective on the situation, point of view---which depends, we know, on the angle from which he sees. The photographer freezes a specific moment, coloring future interpretations and memories depending, in large part, on his camera angle. Detectives, forensic scientists, & therapists must look at things from every conceivable angle, of course, and reporters continually angle for a scoop. (If they get it, they'll need a fresh angle for writing the story.) The angler on the northern lake drops his line and sees it bend beneath the surface, though he knows it's just in his eye. Say he works for the road commision, say giant mounds of salt and sand, delivered this week, shifted---angle of repose changing for no apparent reason---just as he passed between the piles on his way to clock out. If no one sees in time, he doesn't get to the fishing lake, instead, ends up at the mortuary, where the table pitches toward the drain (I typed <em>grave </em>here, instead of "drain," which also works.), technicians reset his neck at a natural angle. All this is just to say that life is all rays and tangets. We don't anticipate the angle at which one act or choice reflects, refracts, intersects---we absorb the bounce, then see what's next: straight on till morning, off on a tangent, at an unexpected crook in the road, vertex... For instance, I started out intending to type <strong><em>angel</em></strong> up there at the start.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6202004580497195613.post-12869430132253802542007-10-31T10:31:00.000-07:002007-11-06T14:52:11.729-08:00<strong>Astronomaniacal </strong><br /><br /><strong><br /></strong>there are some who say<br />that there is a right and a left<br />in (the) heaven... – Aristotle<br /><br /><br />Times when the world<br />is most spherical, casting<br />its curved shadow<br />on the moon, water<br />and light follow<br />rules, there's a grid<br />you can count on, but<br />now, in this alley of slant-<br />time when an iron hand<br />draws a latitude/longitude<br />of shattered glass, a chaos<br />geography turning,<br />in the heat, to dogma,<br />we're caught in an old vise,<br />pressed narrow, almost flat.lynnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14397459530241907290noreply@blogger.com2