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Out to dinner with my doctor the other night. Delicious scallops for me and a very juicy porkchop for her. A few days later I met up with my new doctor who seems to believe i am in very good physical shape. He and I share more funny stories than test results. Next I was back to the new coffee shop to test the breakfast offerings and give the owner another chance at fixing a flat white. This was such an improvement!

Later this week I will take some of my children’s books to him and the Australian bike shop fellow. Might drop a couple off to my new doctor because his kids are just so cute! It is good to see young settlers in Hayesville. Mostly we seem to be elderly….but that is likely because I live in an area where older-ness is the norm.

Today I had a strong hankering for a Turkish coffee, so brewed one up in my ibrik. I bought this little copper one at a tea shop in Melbourne years ago. When Patrick visits he brings his shipped ibrik that is from Armenia and large enough for the three cups he, Marla and I need on special mornings. Mine is just for a single serving with a bit of cream.

As soon as I finished sipping the Turkish coffee I used up some scallions, ham, spinach, and parmesan in assortedly-shaped savoury scones.

Very good and pass for a meal in my book.

A neighbor and friend brought me this gift the other day. She knows me quite well by now.

I returned to a poetry group this last week and read the poem I shared here last week. Robyn Gordon from South Africa shared it on her site and because she has such a large following, I still hear about how it touched others from far, far away.

Yesterday I decided to do something that I strongly advise others to do. I wanted to check my sketchbooks and especially journals where I might have written something that does not need to be read after I am no longer here. I pulled out the large sketchbook/journal that Nick Cave sent me as a thank you for a small book I made of his sound costumes when they were performed in 2000 something.

I found that some pages had already been removed (which is a good thing, I am sure). But those remaining had so many stories resulting from prompts by author Elizabeth Berg on writing true. There was even one on watching of 9/11 unfold. Many of the writings will make their way into the next book of essays/etc. One of them brought me back to my early dislike (fear) of water. And that steered me to this early attempt of making a collograph. It was brought on by trying to visually express that fear of water along with a call to my doctor (the same one I had dinner with this week). I was getting ready to head out on my first teaching tour of Australia in 1997. She casually asked how I was feeling. I said without hesitation that I felt like I was dragging a f***ing camel uphill. She suggested hormone therapy pills. The feeling passed, but later remembered for this collograph plate. Why not just put that camel on a boat floating among turbulent waves and sharks Hauling uphill was not enough! I think I was taking my house with me and had an additional boat on the camel’s back just in case we sunk the big one. Surely it would have been the camel’s fault! The sea was rough, the camel was looking elsewhere, and somewhere I was hanging on for dear life.

Isn’t it funny how we cram so much story into an image? I pulled one print, said something the equivalent of “WTF” and gave up. But the origins of that fear of water revisited in this writing (essay) found in the book Nick Cave sent me.

Feeling the Bottom

I clung to the side of the raft, keeping myself well-planted on the surface – only looking like I was going to descend into the water with the others. The water is so clear, so deep, so very full of its own depth with mysterious dark shapes. It was cold too – colder than what it was when the raft was closer to shore, where you could see the sandy bottom more clearly. They were all in by now – all but me had gone over the side to swim ashore, just like our swimming coach had ordered. I had frozen myself into a state of unwillingness and could no longer look at any of them. They had become as fearful to me as the water. They, too, had changed. Looking at me expectantly, then with doubt, and then just looking away. Left me there. Later big boys came out. Swam all the way! And hauled the raft in toward shore and the row of Minnows who had now graduated to Sharks. I will still be a Minnow tomorrow and probably the rest of summer. But at least I was where my feet could touch the bottom.

So, that is all I have for today. It is going to be bitter cold tonight and I have half a can of split pea soup to mix with the last of store-bought mashed potatoes. Sounds pathetic, but strangely comforting food…a bit like a hot chocolate and warm socks. A bit like a cat on each side and a glass of Aussie red.

Til later….

Christmas cards are mounted and signed. This afternoon I will address them all. They are not my best effort but the need to make 24 every year continues to matter to me. I use a very old address book just so I can be reminded of all those who have passed on.  Christmas is a reminder of many things, but especially of what is no longer here.

The new Asian restaurant in town was a lovely experience the other night. It is the same place where Elizabeth would have a Manhattan ready at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday when I arrived at my table with writing pad in hand. In fact two local bartenders came by my table to say hello. The place opens at four and by four thirty was filled up. I ordered a drink designed for the restaurant with bourbon and a crane sitting on the rim.

And then a couple of appetizers including lettuce wraps (delicious)!

And I did a final bit of fussing out front with the pots. I think sticks are so much better than fake greens. I will need to find a new home for those “life-like” green Christmas tree and boughs. Th1s nest for my old bird is perfect for the winter

Last evening a neighbor messaged me to check the sky. The cloud front coming in from the southeast was spectacular.

This afternoon I will fix myself an Australian herbal tea, send condolences to those suffering horrific bushfires down under, and address cards to those I miss.

I love this little tea strainer I made many years ago. Everyone who came for Christmas dinner had one used as a place card that sat atop their wine glass. Mine straddles Lee’s old coffee mug and waits for me to remember earlier times.

Here is a poem written last week. It is not a sad poem but a reminder that we can always find a reason to smile at the memories.

 

The Ones We Miss

 

I don’t miss who I used to be

just some of those who knew me then.

The ones who were there to be missed later

when their memory is needed to return,

to sit by my side, reach for my hand.

 

I pull theirs close to hold against my cheek,

and let them wipe away the tears of loss.

They stay with me and wait until I smile

at the stories they tell of how we were.

 

After we both grow silent,

they pull away, touch my face,

and say, “See you next time.”

S. Webster

I keep thinking that I should just stop writing poems and get a new book published. But another one I wrote just two days ago makes me want to wait until I hit a dry spell. Maybe getting stuck into a good short story will get me ready to stop poetry long enough to put them in some kind of order with an illustration or two. Maybe.

Anyway, I will carry on with my plans for today and try not to plan too far ahead. Except maybe a return trip to the Asian restaurant with pad in hand as I find the most removed table I can sit at…back turned toward the door, and my hand gripping a pen that is anxious to get something down.

Til later…..

I had a lovely dinner with kind people who thought I could use some wonderful food and company. Very nice! Then facing the house alone when usually it is Patrick and Marla helping put the two twig trees up, I managed alone. Still using sticks and stones to keep it all together, I really do not like the fake greens I bought a couple of years ago and plan on giving them all away. A few more twigs among the deer and I think I am finished!

It felt good but exhausting getting it all together…so rewarded myself with a Manhattan.

Even managed to bake myself a quiche during all the decision making of how and where to hang an ornament.

I also made a trip into town to buy local and small. I stopped at the new coffee shop to see if they could fix the flat white they promised. Apologies to Melbourne, where coffee and baristas are top notch…but the flavor was wonderfully strong. They just need practice as you can see. The pumpkin muffin was very good and I bought a loaf of bread…a very dense sour dough…good for toast.

My final order of birch sticks arrived, so I finished off the pots our front.

Then today I inked up the wood block. Not crazy about how it turned out…but am making do with a bit of cropping and mounting on black before attaching to cards.

Next year I will return to the etched images on polymer plates. I still have plenty left from Melbourne Etching.

I met up with some of the poets from the groups I recently quit going to and feel I should return. One of the women I really miss continues to call and hopes I will come back to read. I have decided not to expect solid critiques…just people eager to be heard. I have been working on essays and some poetry. The subject I would like to explore is the privacy of being ignored. It suits me…probably too well. It reminds me of the poem I wrote some time back titled, Position of Periphery.

 

Position of Periphery

Our place is somewhere on an edge

away from those centered and focused.

 

It is a not-belonging place

with expansive views

 

where we are mobile

and deliberately uncommitted.

 

Free to choose and change,

we remain inaccessible …. transient.

 

Free from doors closing behind us

and the constraints of expectation.

 

Here on the periphery we can

try on the skins of otherness

 

….and then discard at will.

 

Anyway, being ignored is a luxury of sorts. I need to find the words to explain why that is so.

And on another subject, remember the part of my essay about my father deciding for all of us what was allowed to be moved to Florida? Well it is best to let you know that he and I were fine,,,no holdover feelings of not mattering to him. We were fairly close. Within a few years of our moving, I decided I was tired of his complaining about tasting soap in his drinks. He was convinced we, especially me, were not rinsing properly. Remember these were the days when it occurring to him to wash and rinse his own glasses was simply never even thought of. I took a small pleasure in putting the tiniest drop of dish detergent into his highball glass, for my bike and for my dog. It was worth the scowls and a few years later, he and I enjoyed having a drink together.

I smile whenever I think of my long-departed parents. Once you get over being convinced you are actually adopted and muddle through the mortification of teen years, you realize just how much can be learned from parents.

Best be off… the quiche is calling with another small glass of Aussie red.

Til later….

The weather is up and down. It is almost Thanksgiving here in the states. When reading about the state of our country, there is little to be thankful for. Each week is a new low. I told Patrick not to come down for the holiday because all of them will be here in just another month. I have been asked to come to dinner by kind women who knew I would be alone. Also one of the old guys I meet for coffee asked if I would like to join him and his wife. How nice is that!

My doctor friend who usually has dinner with us has opted for a nice dinner out for the two of us to catch up. This year she cannot spend Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner with us. So dinner out at a nice restaurant seems a good option.

I ordered new boxing gloves. They are too thin so am returning them for heavier ones. I am hitting harder and at 81, need more protection for my knuckles. It feels so good to swing and connect with a good one.

Earlier this week I cut back all the dying ferns in the pots and decided to replace with sticks and stones for the winter. I have stones but had to order sticks. I like the straight birch branches. Now I am waiting for more to arrive via Amazon. A neighbor who has a good decorating eye is consulting with me and is ready to go back to a local shop with me to find more of whatever the pots need to look right. Here is one of the three by the front walk to the door.

This week I went to the monthly ladies lunch from the neighborhood. I also went to a HOA meeting. Between them I have used up my socializing in groups skills, so will retreat for a few months. Always best to quit while ahead.

Still writing. Working on essays right now. This is an excerpt from 1955, the story of moving to Florida to meet my father’s mother.

“………totally speechless, as we watched her sharpened fingernails slowly peel a nectarine grown in the back yard. Once the skin was removed, I thought she’d eat broken off sections. But no, each membrane thread had to be slowly, ever so slowly, removed and dropped onto the peelings. Then she’d look up from her tangerine to make eye contact before slowly putting sections into her mouth to savor even more slowly, offering nothing.”

I never liked the old woman. And never remember calling her anything…just wait for her to look at me and then talk quickly before escaping the room. Anyway, it is making a good essay on life in the fifties and how children stayed quiet, hoping not to be noticed. One generation later and that thinking is all but gone.

This morning I thought I would get out my carving tools and attempt a Christmas card. I will spend a few days on it before deciding whether I should, after so, so many years give it up and just buy a few cards. We’ll see. There is always the back side of the block if I screw it up.

When a wood block has been editioned, it is supposed to be destroyed. For some sentimental reason I just kept all mine. Not to use again because that is wrong, just could not part with all that work and memory of the fun in doing them. Now I wish I had buried them all with the other things some years back. We are not allowed burn barrels here, or I would love tossing them in, one by one. I will have to think of how I might do that…not here, but somewhere where I could have a bit of a farewell ceremony and a glass of something nice.

Time to get a bit of lunch and back to my audio book and carving.

Til later…

 

…….