Monday, June 29, 2020

Our Father who art in heaven
Stay there
And we'll stay here on earth
Which is sometimes so pretty 

Jacques Prevert

Sunday, June 28, 2020

Pig and farm report

this afternoon I saw two cows engaging in some rigorous bovine sexing I have been sick but I am on the mend

the american president is a war criminal

I screamed through the house this morning about the american president because I heard on the television that his aides his personal attendants his right hand men his mobsters and lackeys can’t tell him about war crimes committed on his watch because it will make him mad

I was raised by and with some world class bullies and I never backed down and the fact that the top stooges are afraid to make the king stooge mad is fucking staggering

this the end of democracy right now

the reason I haven’t posted in two weeks is not because I’ve been sick but because of the aforementioned insanity and my own

I’ve been reading my book and making smaller and smaller terrariums the last being a completely native terrarium in a pint jar with strata and moss and tiny plants from my very own woods and I’ve been watching things grow

I went to the actual store because I can no longer afford instacart because it got too personal and because I kept getting perfectly green rock hard limes without a drop of juice in them I was shocked to see not only a full aisle of toilet paper but all kinds of flour in fact the teeming shelves overloaded my senses but I had already worked out a system with my son where I ran through the store in my mask and gloves throwing stuff into my cart then I ran out of the store to the safety of my car gasping for breath as my son paid for everything with my debit card

was this a fluke all this stuff? my perfect timing?

the american president belongs in prison right now for war crimes and for colluding with dictators to kill american soldiers

I have not written here because I am wary of writing about my mental illness not only panic attacks in the store but the fact that people are shooting guns nightly loud and close for no reason other than the fact that they have guns and it’s their second amendment right to shoot them and now fireworks on top of that it really wakes up my PTSD that startle instinct is so strong I have not written here because I am tired of writing about my about my damn mental illness and I am still without a psychiatrist

I haven’t written here because my bipolar disorder hasn’t taken a breath even though the whole wolf world is on a break and last night my mentally divergent brain was cycling so rapidly I only slept for three hours

I’ve been working on a poem but my progress with it is glacial much like watching things grow yesterday I realized that my green house is simply a seashell in the world’s terrarium and benign alien beings watch over us with love and grace





Sunday, June 14, 2020

Pig and farm report

Tonight an eagle flew horizontally at eye level straight through my front yard my heart shivered with the wild beauty of it I ran out to the porch to what? see if I could track its passage? to hear if it left me a message about my dying country? a parcel?

I have been sick a pancreatitis flareup again but it was a short (though painful) bout just a week no doctor I felt today like I might be on the mend I don’t drink and I don’t smoke but I can lie very still on top of a hot water bottle and take ibuprofen I have 12 Vicodin but I’m saving them for the apocalypse or in case I fall down and break my arms off

I dreamed I was trying to play the clarinet in an orchestra and I couldn’t make my left hand close around the upper joint the conductor was the american president a panic dream and a music anxiety dream all rolled into one I woke up in a slick sheen of sweat probably my fever breaking

that eagle though shot through the green like jesus on a bender






Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Sarah Manguso wrote in the Paris Review “How far along are you? people will ask of your book, as if the page count indicates anything, but progress on a book isn’t linear. It’s oceanic.”

I grieve for my finished unfinished manuscript. Ten years worth of research and scrawl that feels stillborn now even though it is still alive still kicking dust from the molding with its tiny shoes in the office of a publisher. I feel guilty for my grief for giving into it in such a powerful historic moment.

I line my unread copies of the Paris Review in numerical order on the child sized roll top desk from which I used to teach pretend school as a small girl believing that one day I would actually be a true scholar. I’m afraid of opening them. The smell of fresh ink makes me high. Mimeograph ink was my first drug. I would shake when I held the damp slick test paper gentian letters swimming into my malleable brain.

Since the plague I’ve been afraid to turn on my pc where my manuscript lives. I tell myself the boxy computer is going to be dead or the monitor ultra bright wavy constant updates whirling away the white mesmerizing circle on the blue field Word won’t allow me access my pages will come up as Read Only and I won’t know how to fix it my story will be broken even though I have ten copies maybe more in my email. It feels like sickness.

I sent the manuscript in various stages to four people. One of those people was a writer I paid to do some editing and she said it was ambitious. This didn’t feel like a compliment. Two people liked the first section of the book my research and notes about what living through that research was like but didn’t mention the second half of the book the poems at all. The fourth person never wrote back. I sent it to Dorothy a press I adore. The editor told me she loved it but didn’t think it was a fit. The editor who has it now has seen all of it in parts but not the finished edition with its careful red lip and smooth hair.

Writing about Queer Wing-ed writing about writing gives me a crave for something creamy in my mouth butter noodles or mashed potatoes nursery food comfort food. Maybe my life as a writer is finished. My last reading was in NYC in 2016 at the KGB Bar. I evaporated from the Seattle poetry scene. I was never good at being part of a scene. Applesauce tapioca pudding milk toast.

Coward food.

When I was pregnant everyone asked how far along are you all the time. I slapped their hands away when they tried to pat my huge belly. I hated the human attention that pregnancy brought. In my ninth month a man in the mall pointed at me in the batik caftan dress I had been wearing for weeks and told me I was disgusting that I should stay home. I got the same question from writers about Queer Wing-ed the entire nine years I was actively writing it. How far along are you? Then the question suddenly stopped as though I had birthed the book wobbly and gravid with fresh ink in line at the printer.

I walk from room to room and the blue carpet feels like a sea or a padded cell or the scarred keys of a practice piano in high school. It never feels like a classroom. I miss teaching. I use eye drops to mimic youth. I smear cream on my face when I think of it. I keep my hair long and carefully bleached. All of my skin is a problem area. I am cracked but not currently bleeding. My last violin student called me coach. I wander from room to room and the blue carpet feels like whale fur or the fungal network that connects trees or the good doctor’s big white leather chair.

Fence has four poems of mine that I sent them 11 months ago. I opened Submittable today and couldn’t figure out how to use the interface even though I’ve used it for years. I have not submitted anything since December. I just stopped at the same time the world stopped. Blogger changed its font for no reason one paragraph ago. I don’t understand the breakdown of systems. I understand less and less.









Monday, June 8, 2020

Pig and farm report

I made a frittata this afternoon with eggs from Jack and all the stuff that came in the CSA box mushrooms onions leafy green spinach and zucchini I tossed in some red pepper and garlic cream and mozzarella it made a huge meal I thought it was 2 pm but it was almost 5 I thought it was Tuesday but it was Monday I drove around the island I talked to the red calves a bright yellow budgie landed on one of my hummingbird feeders and drank beautiful and startling he must have been someone’s pet I have been on Nextdoor for my neighborhood since the plague in case someone needed help or I did just to connect even though the tone there is mostly very republican today two different people wrote that four little brown pigs were carousing on the intersection of South Camano Drive and Cross Island Road that filled me with quick joy then worry and makes this the second Pig and farm report with actual pigs

I made this Alice in Wonderland hanging terrarium for my son’s girlfriend he’s going to Seattle Wednesday I have all the feelings about it

this post has erased itself three times


I believe the american president is a war criminal who should be dragged out of his house and tried

I told my son today that I could not hear him talk about the protests I am full up with it I don’t even know where to put my emotions about it right now maybe I can keep making jars full of dirt and bury my worries inside

Saturday, June 6, 2020

In the plant hospital

I spent quiet time in my head this morning talking to my watermelon peperomia as I cut off two leaves one of the cats bit through dipped them in root hormone planted them and put them in a little greenhouse in the sun using my hands this way comforts me the same way baking comforts me the same way practicing Bach comforts me I was only interrupted once when my CSA box was delivered it is quiet here in the zero hour bar and grill and strangely still I can’t tell if it’s Saturday or Thursday it no longer matters


the babies




the mother


Father 



Friday, June 5, 2020

Pig and farm report


look at the wild dragon fringe on the berries growing under my deck
that fringe says hey stupid! eat me!

I hacked the living heck out of those vines with my machete and sharp long handled loppers that the City of Seattle accidentally left on a sidewalk next to a park where I used to live I put the thorny bastard vines in the big green yard waste box and dragged that damned box up the hill yesterday I still have work to do poisonberry vines never sleep

100% full

This is the Jimmy Troy Clown Prince Of The Air  moon

Thursday, June 4, 2020

Pig and farm report

I have this list of 198 nonviolent social actions we can take against the american president and his henchmen  and a recipe for ricotta lemon cake on my desktop I now have a personal instacart shopper named Brian S this morning I thought I’d try to order toilet paper and my brand of peanut butter (I’ve given up looking for flour I have the bag of hard red spring wheat from my CSA to hold me for a while) and Brian S texted me that he’d begun my small list the last time Brian S was here he told me he liked me through the window this time he told me through the window that he was shopping in Arlington 40 miles away when my name came up and he caught it he is in his 50 s and drives a Subaru I’m fairly certain shopping for instacart was not his original job and he likes me because I am ashamed to shop through instacart I am ashamed to be an eccentric obese woman over 65 years old in this version of america and I am ashamed to have been a smoker for 18 years though I quit in 1989 and therefore because of this shame I am a wildly extravagant tipper

Brian S is the most social activity I’ve had in three months

I wonder what he thinks of me wandering through the house in my 20 year old Microsoft tee shirt and  sad men’s pajamas from Sears my wild hair and bare feet I wonder if he’s noticed the wee stone pig and the large statue of Beethoven resting side by side near the door and the pots of strawberries on my deck I wonder if he harshly judges the number of Magnum double caramel ice cream bars I order I wonder if he’s as much of a voyeur as I am I wonder if he’s completely insane like an axe murderer or something

I wonder if I am completely insane

I found this six foot tall foxglove growing outside and this bear scat when I went out to fight the fake blackberries under my deck I absolutely adore foxglove the Dr. Seuss bend in their stalks and one never knows when one might need some digitalis in a hurry



Bears!





















answering the question once and for all about where a bear shits










you’re welcome 

What our sons say



tomorrow my son is going to photograph a protest in Snohomish a small town no one had heard of until it became patient zero for the corona virus Snohomish where I attend the county fair every summer Snohomish where a handful of peaceful protesters were greeted by a sidewalk full of white american proudboys standing with spread legs holding automatic weapons snickering among themselves not only their stances but their faces threatening and ugly

the american president’s boys with a long tradition of  hate

my son quoted Shakespeare to me this morning

The blood of the citizens of Verona makes the hands of the citizens both bloody and uncivilized; that is, not polite, and possibly murderous.

then he quoted some of the lyrics to Billie Holiday’s Strange Fruit and he said that George Floyd was lynched I think so too deliberately horribly and in the open

my son believes we are at the beginning of true worldwide revolution that the protests are not going to stop that they have just begun that the citizens of the world have been oppressed long enough they are rising up as one body to demand change and they will not stop until change is brought forth he tells me he sees children in the streets some as young as high school age young people finally finding their voices their rallying cry










All photographs courtesy of the photographer Page Loudon 

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

corona 21.

corona 21.

I have never lived in a black body
I have never pulled a splinter from my black son’s foot
I have never breast fed a black daughter
I have never feared for my daughter going to school
I have never schooled my son on how to speak to the police
I have never told my son how to hold his head when he’s sitting alone in his car
I have never been spat on for the color of my skin
I have never been yelled at about the color of my skin
I have never been arrested for just existing in a black body


my chest clenches and opens clenches and opens in grief
I hear their voices all loud frightened angry sad shouting
I can’t breathe
children risking the pandemic to be heard and getting tear gassed at the foot of the nation’s hearth


this is all I can do witness and remember
witness and remember





Sunday, May 31, 2020

Pig and farm report

yesterday we had such a huge thunderstorm that it shook the bones of my house and I was scared for the first time ever in a thunderstorm it lasted for one or two hours after I scouted for split trees but found none

my son drove me to town to find Maria Sanchez who runs the little Lopez Family Farm fruit stand on the corner next to the sad furniture store I was so excited and happy to see her that I bought an entire flat of strawberries thinking about ruby red jam I washed the berries then put them in the fridge I truly don’t know if I have the energy to make jam right now I am exhausted with frustration and anger and worry I’ll probably make a small batch of no pectin jam today then freeze the rest for smoothies and try again later

I argued with my son last night which made me sad he wanted to go to Seattle to photograph the mayhem which after all is his life’s work but I told him if he went he would have to stay there at his girlfriend’s house for two weeks to make sure he doesn’t pick up the virus from being in a huge body of people when the plague is still alive and well and waking back up as cities begin to ease restrictions maybe you think I’m being unreasonable it is clear my son thought so but my self preservation instinct is very strong I have not survived abuse and addiction and poverty and mental illness and 40 years of back breaking factory work to be brought down by a virus fuck that noise as we used to say back in the day fuck. that. noise.

I continue to work in the geranium hospital which is what I have renamed the redrum kitchen repotting these fragrant stupid plants that I love I still haven’t painted but I can’t afford it right now shopping through instacart has pretty much depleted my play money I am tired of my own damn cooking of not being able to run to the store every couple of days I continue to work in the garden weeding watering and flinging slugs with a stick every morning waiting for that taste of tomato heart that signals summer and all things good and all things well and all things joyful

today is the anniversary of the Tulsa race massacre which is something to think about to remember to consider with and to hold





Saturday, May 30, 2020

It’s quiet here on the island
in Seattle the police have turned off their body cameras have turned brutal

I believe we are on the verge of civil war

the american president today called for his private militia his proud boys his heavily armed white maga army to attend tonight’s protests

I believe we are on the verge of civil war indeed the american president may have fired the first shot with his call to arms

not much has changed sine 1963





Thursday, May 28, 2020

There’s blood in the streets it’s up to my ankles





Peace Frog
The Doors


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rEu1GD4tlpA

Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Pig and farm report



I stared too long at this owl this morning to click the camera on my phone my heart was beating hard I was both worshipping him and terrified that he was going to fly into my face I was that close he swiveled his head to stare straight at me right around the corner from my house at the North|South sign which is every bit as confusing as you might think

when I got home I watered my plants and put my first ever cashmere sweaters in the giant plastic bag our CSA box produce arrives in and stored them in my cedar chest then I took the lid off my 31 year old terrarium and cleaned the sides with a damp cloth and a pair of chopsticks I do this once every year or so this thing has been part of my life for so long raining growing changing a complete living world that holds a tiny stone frog and the filling from my tooth that broke right before I flew to Chicago to work at the Intuit and sea glass and who knows what else I have tucked in there over the years it’s a time capsule and a biosphere and it feels like a beloved family pet I have two other terrariums growing smaller in less tightly sealed jars but healthy nonetheless and endlessly fascinating to me

I made enchiladas tonight and put them in the fridge to bake tomorrow for my son who is going out into the actual world fully masked and gloved my goddamn rake broke and I have to keep the trails here passable or I’ll tip over so he’s going to the country store to replace it and of course I have a list of other things I need a strange and mystical quest for my princling son

,




writing it out here does not sound like I did much today but I’m exhausted from it


Sunday, May 24, 2020

Pig and farm report

only one of the four churches on the island was open for business today of course it was the evangelicals we drove to the park as we do and when we got home we couldn’t figure out anything to eat we just came to the end of our ideas about food I ended up having ice cream for lunch and that will probably count as dinner too I don’t even know what the kid ate

my inside peppermint geranium has tiny flowers on it which is the most exciting thing to happen this week other than staring into stranger’s windows and binge watching season three of Outlander my favorite season so far

I found some wild white lupin growing on the trail in the state park this morning

The End.






corona 20.

corona 20.

even the lawns are quiet
on the house next to the jesus house
a mermaid weathervane stretches her arm
to catch a pink star on a pole 
that never stops swinging
at the bait and tackle a new hand 
carved wooden plaque reads
IN LOVING MEMORY OF HERMAN MEYER
Always A Smile And A Ticket To Heaven
days are Sunday or Saturday 
in between days
are trying to find a meeting 
the brother’s gun loaded 
with sugar and adrenaline
I write smoking a cigarette 
blindfolded extinct among the scribes 
does my spirit without fleshy gravity 
rise or is this then an angel 
in the stupid theory of angels
we ate thanksgiving in May 
it felt like dying a little
I am an angel arm stretched 
to catch a pink star on a pole
that never stops swinging











Saturday, May 23, 2020

Pig and farm report


I’m still exploring the island in my car every day a Sunday drive as in an imagined 1950s advertisement for Chevrolet lately it’s been Utsalady Bay where the wealthy live three months a year in gorgeous houses and lower their boats into the water in slings when the mood strikes them there is a narrow road between the beach houses and the forest and when I drive along it people who live there glare at me out their windows the house in this photo had a little table outside with a petition on it to sign either for or against sex education in the schools I didn’t look that closely at it but I can guess given the political climate of this area and of course the petition was only for their neighbors not an interloper that house also had three dome cameras attached to it though it’s so out of the way I doubt if they have a lot of crime I waved vigorously at the spy eyes there really is not a lot of crime out here at all the only crime I read about on the most recent police blotter was a boat tailgating a whale alongside Tillicum Way who the hell harasses a whale anyway

I knew the whales were back though I haven’t spotted one yet since the state park reopened though camping is still restricted and I’m glad for it because it is too soon too problematic I think restaurants and bars and sports and churches are going to end up looking very different in the After but the old guard wants everything to go back to normal there is no normal now

I find it easier to believe revolution is at hand I refuse to become rigid in mind or body

my son is back yesterday he caulked my bathroom closet bless his eyes I’m reading my Robert Heinlein book and a book called Plant Magic by Christine Buckley that has some superb recipes for tinctures and medicinal teas and infusions a lot of it is kind of funny and basic for instance I have been talking to my plants and trees for years still it is a good read I am going to make some herbal infused honey once I can get some local honey I have a bee keep on the north end of the island and they will ship me a large jar for a lot of money an exorbitant amount of money actually

it’s cold and dreary this morning I have pinto beans in my wee slow cooker and I’m going to scramble us up some of Jack’s spectacular orange yolked eggs and do some mending and go to the beach and talk to my trees and plants and son and watch the sky

hello and love from Summer’s End



Wednesday, May 20, 2020

Addendum

I finished reading Peter Pan this morning and stepped up to a book I loved at 13, Heinlein’s The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress and I got going into that reading comfort place as all the images and the story flooded my malleable fire brain my wildest girlhood mind I read as a reader in love with reading reads and maybe this time I can finish

mockingbird wish me luck 

Pig and farm report

I had one day of depression that felt thick with teeth then the next day it was gone a new neuro mutation probably but I’m not going to look a gift cow in the mouth though I got close

gift cow


the last time I ordered groceries through instacart the man who shopped for me tossed my groceries up the stairs onto the deck and he yelled at me through the window that a bottle was broken then left in fact the lid had come off my fragrance free laundry detergent and the detergent leaked all over the rest of my food ruining some greens and my hotdog buns (I have spicy field hotdogs in the freezer) and there is no recourse no way to get through by phone to complain I ordered through instacart yet again yesterday this time getting a really good shopper who scored me the last block of tofu in the store why is the tofu gone everywhere who the hell is buying all the tofu and why

I have been struggling with not being able to concentrate enough to read and so I decided to go through the children’s library here at Summer’s End to try and jumpstart my brain I began with Peter Pan and I’m almost finished which feels hopeful this little book from Laughing Elephant in Seattle is so pretty



there are two peppermint geraniums behind that last picture that I grew from tiny starts their roots were busting out of the small plastic pots I started them in and it was right now time to move them into their adult pots but I had run out of terra-cotta pots couldn’t find any decent ones not even online so I called the Country Store that blessed place that smells like my grandpa’s barn so I prepaid over the phone drove to town and they loaded four pots and underdishes right into my trunk easy peasy the guy who carried out the pots wore a mask and gloves and looked surprised when I tipped him by sticking the bill through a crack in my window so I got to make a mess in the clean dirt on my deck

my grandpa’s barn I’m on the far left my grandpa’s in the hat O Idaho



on one of my daily random drives around the island I not only collected three dozen gorgeous blue green and brown eggs from Jack the Egg Man (I am constantly stunned by the color of road eggs from happy yard chickens) I pulled over at Utsalady Bay and watched this eagle on a telephone pole enjoying breakfast for fifteen minutes when he was finished pulling the guts out of whatever beast he caught he shot out a powerful stream of shit that could have taken my eye out maybe both eyes had I been on the wrong side of him it was An Amazing Thing

Utsalady eagle


my eight tomato plants have flowers the sugar snap peas are sending out their delicate tendrils the strawberries and blueberries are thriving I am not depressed today at least not so far and I have tofu

yay

Thursday, May 14, 2020

corona 19.

corona 19.

on the anniversary
my son walks into the kitchen
carrying a measuring tape
extended six feet I shoot
him with a ginger root gun
on the anniversary of my sister
my heart is bolted to my sixth
rib that broke when I ran
across a wet bathroom floor
and fell grabbing
my two year old son
as he dove into a full tub
head first feet in the air
his remarkable handstand
on the anniversary of my sister
two ambulances two sheriffs
and a fire engine scream down
the street our neighbors
shoo their children inside
draw their curtains
no one talks no one knows
what happened on the anniversary
of my sister’s death I fold down
my Snow White sheet
place her nightie
in my body’s shallow smooth
it with my hands then I lie
beside her and whisper the secrets
of the known and unknown world
into her blond blond ear


Monday, May 11, 2020

A post with curse words

Simone Weil wrote “ To wish to escape from solitude is cowardice .” I think Simone was kind of a bitch.

Here! Look at this goddamn pink flower.

Sunday, May 10, 2020

First siren I’ve heard since I moved here shockingly loud and close but everything out here sounds that way like living inside a violin


Pig and farm report

the feral kittens have just discovered that I raised the living room windows and put in screens and that feisty little Anna’s hummingbird who has been loitering about flew right down to Hal’s face and buzzed him!

foresty hijinks 

The blackberry situation

I went out to water the garden this morning and to inspect the blackberry situation and discovered another new rhododendron this one tender white with a pale yellow center growing under the red rhododendron that trots around under the deck like a made up poodle and I realized that the fake blackberry vines with their vicious thorns came from the pile of dead wood I picked up from the yard and threw up there after one of those mean windstorms last year I’m sorry whorish red rhododendron I’m sorry tender white rhododendron under the deck working through your own alien passion play starring gold bright furry bumblebees as choir and angels I didn’t even make it back into the house before a panic attack zippered through me biled my blood cramped my guts shook me in its  sharp teeth but by bog I’m going to reverse the river climb up the wall with my long handled loppers and leather gloves and fight like the street kid I have always been and hack away at that vine in pieces drop each piece carefully into the yard waste bin so it cannot further multiply and be fruitful as soon as the panic lets me loose as soon as the panic unswallows me as soon as the panic flees the house

It’s good to have a plan

Panic, begone, I will have no more of thee!
~  false Rosemary’s Baby quote

I also have to make guacamole because I suddenly am overwhelmed with avocados which is so odd in this time of want but I am loathe to waste anything so much so that my refrigerator is crammed full which also feeds my anxiety because the refrigerator is now eating for two or maybe twelve and is groaning with leftovers but the shopping by delivery is so awful and haphazard that sometimes I get twice as many (avocados) and sometimes I get nothing (peanut butter)

Prince Hal is crying for me to come back to bed but I’m resisting so far so far so far

this post went nowhere fast

here are some volunteers and one of the spectacular giant ferns unfurling




Saturday, May 9, 2020

Day 66

would it be evil/vile/live of me to admit I really really needed some solitude just some time alone by myself I am so glad I didn’t have to ask anyone to leave even though we have gone days barely even seeing each other this still feels luxurious and kind of evangelically Roman catholicky sinful


I’m ignoring the moon this is the hottest May 9th on record I just heard a boy scream down in the valley it’s startling how sound travels cross water and through forests I’ve been busy all day and I had ice cream for dinner

Some things

Some things that have sustained me during the plague an ongoing list in no particular order

1. The Kid
2. My yard
3. The beach
4. Old cable teevee shows that I have on DVD
5. Chocolate
6. Bag Balm
7. Cats and other assorted Animal Gods
8. Potted plants and their propagation
9. Writing
10. Beans
11. Cheese
12. Cows
13. The Stillaguamish River
14. My iPad
15. Coffee
16. Yo-Yo Ma’s twitter posts
17.  My writing group
18. Laughing children




I actually saw two red cows fight each other this morning they were really going at it one of the cows bumped the other cow on her side then nipped her on the ear boy something awful must have been said between them outstanding entertainment and something brand new 

Pig and farm report


I don’t know what espresso flour is but I was so excited to see this arrive in my CSA box this morning in other news I planted my strawberry starts washed half of the dishes got out my summer dress and watered the garden I was shocked to see that it wasn’t at least noon o clock time has crawled down to March levels with the kid gone I’m going to go hunt for road eggs Jack the Egg Man has not been selling his on the road lately and has not been  around for conversation not many people have been around at all  except for those who come from the big city to love on my state park and beaches I read today on my library‘s Twitter that they’re going to start testing in the parking lot of the library sort of a drive-through testing the virus started in Snohomish county which is the next town over and it took them this long to get this kind of testing which is I don’t know what it is unbelievable I guess

this volunteer rhododendron growing under my deck is absolutely spectacular it’s getting eaten by blackberries that might not be blackberries they look like blackberry vines but they might just be fierce invaders who the hell knows until they produce fruit it is folly to think you can tame blackberries anyway I have to go under there and and pull them out to save this beautiful rhodie that lights up my eyebulbs they honestly blaze and dream of whole wheat espresso bread flour and its many possibilities (espresso cinnamon rolls?)


Friday, May 8, 2020

If one single person wishes me happy mother’s day I will sincerely scream so loudly into the void that my socks will turn inside out


Pig and farm report



I have summoned the dreaded shopping guy again to replace food my son took with him on his journey (doesn’t venturing out seem like a journey now? a quest?) the worst part of shopping this way other than the cost is the constant texting do you want ripe or unripe avocados (I don’t care) can I replace whole tomatoes with crushed (yes anything but Hunts no Hunts) so Hunts crushed etcetera not only that but the phone either ringing or pinging with a text triggers my PTSD I only text with (to?) two people and one of them is my son that ping ping ping happens then waiting for a stranger to drive up sometimes texting me again asking front or back door (I don’t care) which also triggers my PTSD so I order then I crumple and hide and wait for it to end

none of this is okay but because I am 66 and have had pneumonia and bronchitis especially bronchitis frequently when I was a young I am a disposable human at least according to our government

Weekend Update

I lived through it and even got a small jar of peanut butter and just look at this sky so onward to my journey


mockingbird wish me luck


Sailing gracefully into solitude


Thursday, May 7, 2020

I cried this morning at Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah then I turned on the telly to a silly Hugh Grant romcom and the tears didn’t stop they just came harder then my son saw me crying and for that I am sorry I have been holding it in afraid that once that shield is pierced there will be no stoppering it up again not for a long while but I dried up quick enough he is still preparing for his trip to his father’s only a four six hour drive (he just corrected me on that I forgot!) but one now that feels fraught and down in the weeds and dangerous and weird

I am going to attempt to write every day during my alone time even if it is just a sentence or two this morning a poet wrote on twitter “forgive my covid lit” a sentiment I have read many times lately the old lit standard that we should not write about topical circumstances and it makes me sad that some writers try to shame other writers into not writing about such an earthshaking event the way I see it is how can we write about anything else right now also to be honest I’m not an academic poet and I have never followed those prescribed rules even though I know them I unfollowed the poet who wrote that she does not follow me or know my work so it won’t hurt her feelings a small loss

I’m going to go see if John the Carpenter has eggs then let the day unfold

good morning from the left coast


Wednesday, May 6, 2020

Pig and farm report

There is nothing happening here I dreamed of buffalo on an open plain I saw them in Montana when I was small I saw them from a train solid and sad snorting cartoon steam out of their noses this is my second buffalo dream my refrigerator sounds like a buffalo when it cycles it may be interrupting my dream head that and the wind which has not let up I don’t mind it right now nor do I mind the buffalo as long as they don’t trample my garden I read somewhere a woman wrote that her father was so miserly he turned the heat off at night and it traumatized her my theory is that while we’re asleep under down comforters and quilts it doesn’t matter so much especially if we have cats and buffalo to warm us my theory is the woman who wrote that never had to worry about money and especially never had her gas turned off in the winter because she couldn’t pay the bill I am glad for her there is nothing happening here except I feel worried and brittle and weird not mental weird but sick to my stomach weird which might be mental weird come to think of it I hope I'm still connected all the way through the neck bone connected to the thigh bone hear the word of the lord kind of connected I have a ball of metal shavings in the middle of my stomach last night I dreamed I made a huge wooden wheel maybe seventy feet in diameter and it was flat and turned like a playground wheel only not wobbly it turned very slow and all manner of animals were walking around on it dogs and cats and cows and pigs and goats and sheep and koalas and Tasmanian Devils and bears and deer and elephants and giraffes and raccoons and wombats and wolves and badgers and tigers and giant golden lions and horses all these animals walking around the wheel sauntering along then they clattered down a huge ramp and the ramp led the animals to the best place for them to live the tigers to the jungle the cows and horses to beautiful open fields and meadows the dogs to tall houses with children clapping their hands in delight and of course the buffalo back to Montana I just watched and gave the wheel a spin every now and then it was an involved cinematic dream made stronger by the new antidepressant I’m taking usually I dream I’m lost in the factory which turns into NYC if I begin having PTSD night terrors again I’m to stop the medication but there’s no nurse to tell me yes or no or answer hazy ask again later it occurred to me today that I’ll probably never eat at Bengal Tiger again that surely darling  Mohammed won’t be able to keep paying rent there with no business coming in Page is getting emails from all the taverns where he has photographed shows and they too are on the brink of ruin even The Tractor I don’t even know if there will be enough strawberries to make jam this summer I don’t know if the farmers market will be able to open or if Maria Sanchez will sell her spectacular peaches at her little stand in front of the furniture store none of us really know anything right now none of us can no anything there is nothing happening




A little red-haired girl of about twelve was there all alone. She had made herself a pair of earrings with sorb-apples; her grey linen bodice revealed bare shoulders, slightly bronzed by the sun; her white skirt was spotted with jam-stains; and her whole person had the grace of a wild animal, tense and fragile. 

~ Gustave Flaubert

ps.

Dear three people who read here,

I apologize if the below post looked bonkers to you. I posted a poem then deleted it but due to bloggerfuckery I was only able to delete part of it not to mention the different sized fonts because I typed the post first on my computer then finished it on my phone.

Love,
Your Editor Becky

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

The Sisters


these are the only trees that I didn’t plant here that I have named when I look out my front window they are the first things I see the space between them is a powerful portal that I have stacked with stones for the time being to protect myself and the Animal Gods with whom I live it is the space through which Little Bear disappeared that terrible night I want to wind pink satin ribbon around them both in the infinity symbol but satin is hard to come by these days and it takes a lot of ribbon to bypass a portal in fact ribbon itself can easily be a portal

my son is going in and out of the house working on his truck preparing for his trip to eastern Washington on Friday his father needs him too but he’s feeling wary about the trip and honestly I am going to be lost without him at least the state park is open today though the trails are closed for now but I can go stand in the old growth trees and breathe and see the Saratoga Passage and breathe

we went back down to the beach a few minutes ago and sang Brown Eyed Girl together sha la la la la la la la la la la la la la te da and marveled at the way fresh cut grass smells during high tide and tried not to think about the plague or my messy emotional state then we saw a picnic table full of noisy flag waving patriots from multiple families eating together with their ugly Amerikkkan bumper stickers and that new Amerikkkan stance that come at me bro look

I had a surplus of blueberries this week and made blueberry crisp that was too sweet by far but that’s what I had for dinner

there’s an Anna’s hummingbird that has been visiting the feeder in the front of the house she drinks then she moves a foot away and stares at me through the window then she flips me off

my blueberries are doing well and my tomatoes and sugar snap peas and double peony are going gang busters no sign of the runner bean though I planted 50,000 wildflowers out into the forest the wrens can have the those weird little hoppers or they might catch and surprise me when they grow

I wonder what I’ll do when Page leaves will I be industrious or dreamy maybe I should give myself a plan I really should work on my book which I have ignored now for weeks as the entire world seems stuck maybe I should make a mask out of the fabric with my poem Love Letter to the Whores on Aurora Avenue printed on it but instead I’ll probably bake a complicated bread that takes all day then eat it while it’s still warm or make a puff pastry or maybe I’ll finally teach myself how to make risotto because I have mushrooms I think in the guts of my fridge

I’m going to enjoy this here thunderstorm




Saturday, May 2, 2020

psps.

I watched an advert for some phone or other that featured members of the Shanghai Ballet practicing Swan Lake in masks this is the thing that broke me today that made the tears burn out of my eyes

ps.

Is the Asian murder hornet this generation’s African killer bee? I’d put money on it. Fear culture at its best.

Pig and farm report

I should have written this morning when my writer brain was still functional instead I stood outside on the deck in my jammies in the rain watching two deer who think they own the place it was so incredibly green and smelled so fragrant I should have written this morning when my writer brain was still functional instead I stood in the rain stunned by the green of it all then I drove around the island checked out the state park that is practically in my backyard the state park that will open Tuesday and I fretted over the opening of the gates and the fact that all the people from the city in their brand new gigantic trucks pulling their brand new gigantic boats will crowd in on that terrifying narrow one way road that drops off into Possession Sound and they will befoul my beloved rocky beach with their garbage and gasoline and noise and maskless faces at least for a few days scaring the deer and foxes and cougars and bears that live here and the Orca whales that migrate to the Saratoga Passage this time of year then in ten days they will all get sick and our governor will reconsider kissing the amerikkkan president’s ring in fealty in order to get PPE and ventilators and everything else we’re going to need for opening the gates too soon just like Germany who opened in April and ten days later their numbers shot up and we still don’t have testing widely available thinking about these things this morning gave me a woofy gut so I came home and made soup simple just leftovers from last week’s CSA box carrots celery onion chard lentils and organic broth

this is what my backyard looked like this morning the green that held me


I stole these lilacs because mine aren’t ready I am a lifelong lilac theif but only if they are growing out into the road and I’m careful about which branches I take understanding lilacs as I do I also stole the rosemary in the jar next to the lilacs it seemed like the right thing to do



last summer I had a glut of strawberries and I kept making small batches of pectin free jam and freezing it which seemed a wee bit excessive at the time (it was a very glutty glut) but now just a spoonful of that jam tastes like the very best day of every summer I’ve ever lived through don’t they look like rubies gleaming



I wish I had written to you when my writer brain was still functional before I stepped outside and was stunned by the astounding earth

Thursday, April 30, 2020

Chocolate pot