Memoirous

  Sendak told interviewer Jonathan Cott—and I quote from a recent book, Wild Things are Happening: The Art of Maurice Sendak , Obviously I have one theme . . . It’s not that I have such original ideas, just that I’m good at doing variations on the same idea over and over again . . . That’s all we need as artists—one power-driven fantasy or obsession, then to be clever enough to do variations

I’m continuing to make changes at the Tiny House. Even small changes feel big. I’ve lived here 2 ½ years, since Oct. 2022 and because it is only 250 square feet—there isn’t a lot of wiggle room. If one thing comes in, generally, another something must go. If I decide to rearrange my upstairs loft space, then it becomes a cascade of changes, one affecting the other. Exactly what happened this weekend. I built a cubed storage system ordered off Target. I didn’t realize it was going to be so sturdy—and heavy. So I put it together up in the loft—already a tight space. It came together quite easily without mishap, which is saying A LOT about pack furniture. I then realized it wasn’t going to fit. I was like all those other women who wrote reviews saying it wasn’t what they thought. In my case, it was user error. I hadn’t measured some details, such as the exact length of the top cube, meaning it wouldn’t fit under the sloping ceiling—unless I moved the drawer system already in place. ...

In writing news I’ve had a micro piece accepted. A Study in Grief was taken by Wild Willow Magazine (where the word takes root), formally The Minison Project. It is considered a fledgling publication by Duotrope, the portal I mostly use to submit and discover publications and calls for submissions. Grief. It something I’ve been feeling a lot these days—like whenever I open the news or social feed on my phone. It settles on me like humidity before a storm. I’d like to come inside and hide from it, not come back out until after its gone. Except there is always more. I’d had a few friends who have gone through things lately like losing loved ones: partners, parents, etc. As have I. So I listed them, wrote them down with a bit of annotation. There were also things I observed, such as on a run Christmas lights left up year-round—what’s up with that? So I surmised. Like anything labeled or titled a study, it is a series. The sketches might all appear the same, but there are tiny differ...

 

I’ve never heard of this celestial phenomena—blue moon, yes. Once in a blue moon. I’m surprised the far right hasn’t protested—woke moon, LGBT DEI moon, I mean it is always transitioning. Regardless of politics, I’m here to say, I observed the pink moon. It was slightly hue-y, a bit of a rose tint. Not as big as a harvest moon or those full moons where you feel like the moon will eat the earth or are as bright as the sun. A gentler, more aesthetic moon, open to listening, wanting to know my thoughts. Beautiful. Through the trees, it glowed, despite all the ambient light pollution. Luna seemed to say we’re sisters, you and I. From high above to terra below, we’re all in this together. Be brave, be bold, keep changing. view from the back deck my diffuser with pink hue in Tiny House bathroom

 Spring Snowfall   Who’s surprised? It happens every year. After April 1. Only a fool would be fooled. One day it is sunny and sixty and the next . . . below freezing. The deck slippery. The brave daffodils bobbing above slush. The children’s picnic table brought out in a flurry of excitement for the changing season—now coated in white. A cascade of emotions overwhelm me. The first: Nooooooooo! The second, a jaded sarcasm: Of course. The third, one of despair: When will this end? In my right mind, I know it won’t last. It’ll melt by noon. By the end of the week we’ll be in the 50s. All of this is solace for the soul, but does nothing for my cold hands, the white wet clinging to my slippers, the never-ending sense of being so over this. I haven’t run for about a week. Of course, nothing is stopping me. Except for the cold, the fact I might fall, The simple idea, I don’t want to, Not until it warms up. Not until spring actually arrives. Not until the sun comes out....

I fully expected when I moved in to my accessory dwelling units (ADU) aka granny in a shed that I’d have a rodent problem. I mean it wasn’t originally intended for year-round use. Of course, it looked well insulated and secure, but I know how mice think—just like my youngest grandson—I think I can squeeze in there. If there is even a slight crack they can flatten their bodies and become like liquid and get through. I have a few cracks by the door threshold where the foundation has settled and things aren’t quite level. Believe me, I have no idea how he got in and I thought twice now that I’d scared him away—maybe—but he came back 2 nights in a row to hop into my dish bin where I deposited my ice cream bowl. Chocolate peanut butter. It was a major draw, I could hear the rattle of my spoon clinking inside the residue-glazed bowl. I imagined the creature, like the cats over at my daughter’s house licking the dirty dishes resting inside the sink, enjoying what little was left of the ...

I’ve written here about re-routing/re-directing —it’s amazing how many ways one can come to a problem when at first there didn’t seem to be any solution. Part of this is inborn anxiety—a kind of malaise. It can be overwhelming. For instance: When I first moved in I knew I needed a place for coats etc. I also envisioned a plant stand and ordered one off Amazon that turned out to be junk. It’s very lightweight=meaning made of soft bamboo. Not very sturdy for heavy plants. I positioned it near the window and out an over-the-doorframe pegged rack just by the front door so that when I came in I could easily hang up my coat. It all made sense back in October of 2022. Flash forward. My daughter commented on why do I keep orchids that refuse to bud and flower? I told her they used to, but that now they might not be getting enough light. In fact, I purchased grow lamps to attach to the plant stand. Whereas, my coats over by the French door were getting sun faded and compromised by the s...

There was a day last week that when I came home from work and ate my supper, I didn’t feel like turning up the heat only to turn it down in an hour before bed—so I changed clothes and immediately climbed the ladder to my loft bed. You see, the higher I go, the warmer it gets under the eaves of the roof line. I was warm and cozy up there reading or playing with my device.   This morning—after a garden workout the day before—I lazed about listening to the tap tap tap of rain drumming the roof as I lay abed. The room grew from darkness to dim. And, I knew I didn’t have to get up any time too soon, as my original plan had been to continue working in the raised beds I’d built the day before. No chance of that with the forecast. There are noise machines that offer just what I was experiencing: relaxing rain, the occasional bird twitter, non-confrontational thunder, a low settling rumble as if clearing its throat, shaking out wrinkles in the meteorological universe. I could lay th...

After a serious storm, the next day, the streets were carpeted with red buds, little pomegranate-looking seeds. It reminded me of a ladies necklace, of spilled coral beads, washed out over the roadway. On the back deck on the lounger left out, there was what looked like bird puke. At least that’s what flashed across my inert brain, then, I thought, no, it’s come off the trees. —Seeds are produced inside bean-like pods and can remain on the tree into winter.   Once you've seen a redbud tree flowering in early spring, you will not forget it. Redbuds cover their branches AND parts of their trunk with tiny pinkish-purple flowers. Redbud flowers emerge as early as February or March—sometimes beating daffodils. A member of the plant family Fabaceae, AKA the “Pea” or “Legume” family, the lavender pink pea-shaped flowers are what Redbuds are best known for. Flowering in the spring before the foliage emerges, barren branches explode with colorful blooms.— The strong winds raked thro...

My story, The Writer, is out in Two Thirds North, a journal out of the University of Stockholm, where I worked with a fine group of editors to make the piece stronger. As I work on the short story/hybrid collection I plan to put up at createspace/Amazon, I’ve expanded my vision to now 3 volumes! I feel like all the effort to learn the process etc shouldn’t be wasted. With that in mind my reaching out to folks for help with cover, interior formatting, figuring out the KDP dashboard, back cover blurbs can be serve several projects at once. As always, I’m continuing to write new material and hope in a few months to have further announcements of accepted work. Until then . . . Bike rides and deck sitting, springing forward.

April, new month, new vision I hate what’s happening in this country. It all seems so hopeless and my tiny efforts, futile. I see in my FB feed calls for protest, days of rage, memes. All that too seems remote, virtual, digital—whereas, I’m looking for something more analog: Present. What does it take to build a peace garden? I’d like one of those St. Francis statues of a bird resting on his stone finger. I want a whirly-gig that shatters the sun and sends fragments of facets splayed across the lawn. I want a place of solace. Let’s build it together.