Noah

Sometimes the only word I can feel is flood, the other words are eaten and disappear.
I must have strong introvert tendencies. I wonder if Noah ever felt this way.

There was a great turnout for the writers' get-together on Friday. It was nice to see everyone together. I think I counted 17. We missed a few folks, too, but we're going to keep doing this. Talia has pics and the rundown on her blog. I'll post the new info as soon as I can.

Talia's Tag - Again

Even though I know this list is a very bad idea, will be used against me…

1. My middle name is Alien. It’s pronounced Elaine. This is the result of giving drugs during childbirth. Both of my children were born without the helpful influence of drugs. Their names are less creative, Thomas Eugene and Jocelyn Elaine. I hope they will be able to manage.

2. I despair of ever becoming a really creative person, despite my great beginnings at birth, because since then I have shunned the use of legal and illegal drugs. This is surely going to come back to bite me someday. I do enjoy a nice cold beer on the back porch; however, this may not be enough to tip the scales in my favor.

3. Once, as a teenager, I backpacked across Europe for six weeks, rode the Eurail, stayed at youth hostels, clung to a copy of Europe on Five Dollars a Day.

4. Hands down, I prefer live theater and live music to anything captured in an electronic form. I want to be close enough to feel the performers breathe.

5. I once saw eight plays in seven days in London. It was kind of like marathon sex when you’re young, something to boast about later, nothing I’d try in this decade of life. I can only remember the names of two of the plays.

6. I started out my college career at IU Bloomington in the theater department, in lighting design. I used to climb high into the rafters with a harness on to adjust the stage lights. I was the person shining the spotlight on Miss Sally Bowles in Cabaret.

7. I know how to milk goats and wash and blow dry chickens. Blowing dry a chicken is not half as much fun as you might think.

8. When I was 16 I hitched a ride with some North American Vanline truckers between St. Louis and Chicago. They put my broken down VW Rabbit in the back of their empty truck. To quote one of Andy Mozina's characters, "Don't nobody try this."

Bonus answer -- I want to see a moose in the wild before I die. The moose does not have to see me. In fact, I would probably feel a lot better about it if the moose didn’t see me. I hear they have bad eyesight, so there is some possibility that I will not die without this wish being granted.

What Was I Thinking?

For the past few days I've been reading Andy Mozina's collection of short stories, The Women Were Leaving the Men. Bonnie Jo recommended it on her blog and the title was intriguing, so I decided to give it a go. All the stories up to the title story were really incredible in the range of voices and imagination that Mozina brought to the table. Beach, just a few pages long, was especially good, but I've really enjoyed them all and so I looked forward to reading The Women Were Leaving the Men. Others give it high marks, but I'm not sure why. It's flat, unimagined, dull. I thought Mozina might say something profound about society, but really I got the feeling he was talking about groups of people who had never loved each other at all. Maybe that is the profound statement, that we live in a society that is full of structured relationships but devoid of passion and love. It's hard for me to imagine the world in this way. Maybe, too, I should have known that you can't talk about relationships in this group scenario sort of way, that nothing good is going to come of it, that we're all quirky individuals, and I like it that way. What was I thinking? Obviously I wasn't thinking.

Looking On

I enjoyed Linda Gregg's In The Middle Distance in a very laid back sort of way. It made me wonder about this poetry that is a sort of dialogue between lovers/friends. Gregg and Jack Gilbert have that sort of dynamic going on in many of their poems, they even name each other, for goodness sake, which is interesting in a gossipy sort of way, but I think the naming perhaps makes those poems smaller. I could be wrong. It made me think of David's comment about writing about sex, something like, "you shouldn't be able to see their heads." I guess the identification makes the reader stand in a different place in conjunction with the poem, a looking on place as opposed to perhaps a being a part of place. Of course, those poems are only a small part of the whole. There are many fine, fine pieces that expand inside the reader, that are not simply about the relationship between these two. I guess, too, I'm not saying that those poems are bad, just very limited in what they have to say. One wonders what the two writers say to each other in private, whether they ever say as much as the poems say.

Curtains

I’d like to wake up one morning and understand it all, just be able to hold the world in my hands, part God’s curtain, and see. Instead I get scraps of paper, electronic jolts, incomprehensible dreams. Somewhere between pages 1 and 245 in The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty are words to the effect, when you’re looking for something, everything is a sign. I didn’t mark the page, but I think that’s close enough to the theme. The curtains do part, occasionally. There are signs. Sometimes I see the hand pulling the string and I laugh. I’m reminded of one of Robert Heinlein’s old books, I can’t remember which one, where the woman becomes God, or something like that, and is busy washing the stairs. What do I do with these keys? It all seems funny to me.

I ordered new books and they have arrived. In the Middle Distance by Linda Gregg, Streets in Their Own Ink by Stuart Dybek, and The Women Were Leaving the Men by Andy Mozina. I’ve sampled each and they all seem good. I think I’m going to like Linda Gregg.

The Robins are teaching Fledgling to fly. I was amazed at how quickly Fledgling was ready to go. I just saw its whole head for the first time two days ago. We all hope it ends well. We scooped Fledgling up from our back porch last night, pulled out the ladder and popped it back in its nest after momma and poppa started dive bombing our cats. I held it while Gene got the ladder. I think it has its mother’s eyes.

After the Fledgling drama subsided we watched Mrs. Henderson Presents, my daughter’s Netflix pick. Jojo has incredibly good taste, even if she isn’t too hot at washing cars. It was a great movie, got me thinking again about desire in relationship to joy, and laughing about breasts, which is always a good thing.

Michael Nesmith - Cruisin'

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Dani California

Picnic was great. I'm sure Talia will post the details, (we learned that Spinal Tap is not a real band and that mulberries taste like trees to first time tasters -- Naoko) so I'm posting this history quiz instead. List the bands. Don't cheat.

Picnic Notes

Talia is keeping me on course with the picnic, something about organization. I don't know, planning ahead, it scares me, seems so confining. But regardless, a plan, in the form of a menu, is taking shape. I worry now about the lack of spontaneity, the largeness of having everything we need. What kind of stories come out of having everything you need? Anyway, here is the menu that is taking shape. You can comment with what you're bringing and I'll add it to the list. Or you can be spontaneous and surprise us.

charcoal
paper products
water bottles
fruit salad
chicken salad
croissants

I'm going to bring my GPS, too, and program in a couple of geocaches, just in case anyone is interested in that.

The Key of B

Finally, rain and a little breeze. The cinder block house has no central air. Whew. The rain barrel was getting low. Whew.

Birds - Ms. Robin appears to have chicks, or whatever baby robins are called. I saw a small beak Saturday night sticking out from the nest, but nothing more. Ms. Robin is always there, bending over the nest, tail quivering. I wish I could see more. It doesn't seem to be helping to stand on the picnic table. I thought I saw a nuthatch below their nest the other day, but I can't be sure.

Bees - I think they've moved their nest. I still see them around, but they're not hovering over the nest anymore.

Books - I'm catching up on 20 years' worth of reading, it seems. I'm a quarter of the way through The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty. Every story is fine. Sometimes I stand amazed that I have lived so many years and not read these things. Looking forward to whatever Denis Johnson Talia brings me.

Looking Around Wondering

The fire at VIM Recycling is about a mile as the crow flies from my abode, so all day and all night we hear sirens and the tanker fire trucks going by. They're filling up at the marina, pulling water from the river. I wonder about the process, if they suck in any fish, if any poor fellows are just swimming along happily and suddenly they're sucked up in a hose and then being grilled over VIM's flames. If fish could talk and tell stories, that would be a story to tell. "We were just swimming along one day down by the marina and suddenly Ed goes missing..."

Birds -- My friend Ms. Robin is standing on the edge of her nest and I'm standing on top of the picnic table, trying to peer in. I can see nothing from my vantage point, but I have my suspicions. If nothing were going on she'd just be sitting there, not standing on the edge of her nest. My neighbors probably wonder why I keep standing on top of the picnic table, among other things.