Floating

I started reading Michael Burkard's My Secret Boat a few days ago, and it is stirring things inside my writing brain. I've been stuck for awhile, unable to access the places where the words live. But simply reading Burkard you have to go into those places and muck around. This is not a book you can read on the surface and consume, or at least I can't. It's more of a soaker. I read one page, maybe two, and then I let everything seep for a time. So, I love it. Maybe I'll have a new poem one of these days, and I'll loan the book to you, whenever that time is when I get to the end. Here's a small part:

"You die a thousand deaths in a private secret life, for no one knows what you do, what you love, and of course others are doing it, as with song, and you always hear this and die some more. And you usually wind up converting the private life into some other form, a form which will allow the secret life to remain a secret, yet will still feed the new form. With me it was writing. The cost of the conversion was immense--it is twenty-five years later and I am only beginning to realize the cost, even as I write here, to it, for the first time. For the conversion calls for still another layer of identity which often (although, I agree, not always) obscures the real even more. It is layer upon layer. Identity to one's self, others, identity to one's hat--my hat the writing hat, my arm the arm of memory--now I prefigure a drawing of a man whose arm is abstract, but active--and who has a hat for a head! And where is the heart? A secret mark, breathing still, what a miracle!"

The DNA Thing

Rachel's Bread

I've found a possible location for the next writers' thing, if I can drag you people out of South Bend. Tom had a gig last night at Rachel's Bread, 212 W. Washington St., Goshen, and it is the place. It's next door to the farmer's market, organic, with good beer and good coffee and great food... They had hearth roasted salmon and greek pizza. So, the gist is I liked it, a lot. But I know, it's far, gas prices... We'll see. They only take cash, too, which is not such a bad thing. And, because Rachel wants a little break, she's going on vacation for two weeks, so they'll be closed during that time. This is definitely my kind of business. The pic above is (left to right) Spencer Short, Ben Petrie, Tom, and Eric Simpson, in all their Irish band glory.

Looking Out My Back Door

My messy nature.

Miss Honey Pie Chicken eating her breakfast.

It all goes a little wild this time of the year. The volunteer cherry tomatoes are crowding everything, including this hisbiscus Yolanda gave me a few years ago. To the left of the hibiscus is one of Gene's hops plants that he started this year.

From The View

Every writers' get-together is vastly different from the previous ones. They all take on their own little personalities, which is cool. There were six of us at Howard Park, Chris, Naoko, Rachel C., Neil (with text messages from Chad who absquatulated to Florida) and David K., so we adjourned to The View for better beverages and the necessary smoky atmosphere. I don't think there were any plots to overthrown anything, but I might have missed that part again. Anyway, it was fun. Let me know what and when we should do something next. I'm starting to run out of ideas over here. Chris is playing at The Hearth in two weeks, which is fun to watch but not necessarily good for conversation.

Rain or Shine - But Probably Rain

Okay. It’s going to rain. We’re still meeting at Howard Park at 6:30 for the writers’ get-together, congregating in the parking lot, but we’ll probably then convoy to either the Bucket or Chris O’Brien’s, depending on who brings kids. Thanks to Chris for offering her abode! Hope to see you all there. Chris lives close to downtown, and is a very congenial type, so it's all good.

Writers' Get-Together - Howard Park Map

Here's the requested map to the writers' get-together for Thursday evening. What if it rains? I don't know. Why do I have to decide? Someone tell me what to do if it rains. I like rain, but maybe not everyone does. We need the rain, anyway. I'm tired of hauling buckets of water to my baby blueberry plants. I'm bringing cookies. You don't have to bring anything, unless you really want to...

The Woods

It's still a week before the Keweenaw, but I'm already throwing things in piles so I won't forget them. Extra batteries for the GPS, hiking boots, maps, a box of jelly jars so I can make thimbleberry jam if there are any berries in my super-secret thimbleberry patch that only that one black bear knows about. I'm trying to figure out which books to take. My headboard is getting heavy again. Work has picked up and I haven't been able to read a darn thing except for court transcripts and blogs. Waiting to be read:

The Complete Stories Flannery O'Connor

Already Dead Denis Johnson

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek Annie Dillard

I hate to see that evening sun go down William Gay

Legends of the Fall and The Beast God Forgot to Invent Jim Harrison

My Secret Boat Michael Burkard

I obviously don't need to lug all of that, so I think I'll choose two and probably not finish anything. Usually the best stories up north are the ones not written down.

I'm working up my nerve to more fully explore an abandoned cemetery tucked away on the side of this cliff, but we'll see. It's the companion cemetery to the one I love at the bottom of the cliff that's sunk into the muck. Back in the day the Catholics were buried in the lower cemetery and the Protestants in the upper cemetery. I've probably posted this pic before, but it's from the lower Cliff View.

Champion Dog

On Monday nights Jojo takes Max to dog obedience and agility training classes. He is not particularly gifted in obedience, but he likes hanging out at the fair grounds with his dog friends. We had high hopes that he would do well in agility, because he can jump all the way to the top of the screen door when he wants in and he can run like the wind when he escapes from our fence. However, they don't ask the dogs to do those things in agility training. They have to run a course, in the right order, and use a timer. It was like one of those poetry exercises! I really had a lot of sympathy for the dogs. But Max prevailed. He only ran away twice and ran through all the obstacles faster than the other two dogs in his class. So, he got both a white ribbon (for subpar performance) and a Champion trophy for beating out the two other dogs. We are so proud.

Time to Change Your Air Filters

Every week we think we might hear some definitive answer about Gene's job, but months have gone by and we still don't know. As it stands right now, sometime in the future, perhaps, he will start a new job 50 percent of the time in the field engineering department. "We'll get back with you and schedule something." In the meantime, we're on standby, "as you were." Whatever. So since we're flying into the realm of limbo in perpetuity, we're doing the only reasonable thing we know how to do. In a couple of weeks we're heading for the Keweenaw air. Whew.