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I had something different in mind for this week’s blog. But then what I was working on looks a bit weak to say the least! So I am going to write about what I really want to do. More drawing and more writing.

This week was a return to poetry meetings. It felt right. Here is the poem I wrote for the meeting. It is dedicated to Richard who wrote briefly about the last breath of a moth. It is also about coming to terms about my feelings about poetry. I think it was a good idea for me to take a few months away from the other poets.

For Richard       S. Webster

 

It used to matter

this need to be familiar

with the expectations of poetry

and my failure to understand.

 

It used to really matter.

 

Until I let it all go

stopped asking questions

so I could listen to the story

of a dying moth.

 

I am still writing, still working on my book about letters and getting a poem or two down on paper. But not having to worry whether I understand the words of others has made a difference. They understand their words and whether I do or not makes little difference.

Thinking about the other thing I need to get back to…drawing…brought me into the den to look through some of my favorite sketch books. Remember this one very long concertina book of creatures hidden in among the contact prints of Eucalyptus leaves? I thank the Australian student for her generosity in making me several to bring home….Lorraine O’Brien.

I used others for The Fairy Book and The Stoat Story among a few more. But today I found one more with lovely contact prints by Lorraine and it is just waiting for me to get busy and add my own imagination to. Look at these pages!

Maybe small poems tucked into the pockets at the bottom. It is the same size as the other book with all the animals, so there is quite a few pages to fill.

I also found on the shelf all the Haiku poetry sketchbooks that was instigated by friends in Australia as a way of still working together when we were so far apart. These were fun to do and made me think in syllables of Haiku based on the drawing subject. I kept going long after the others stopped so have many of these journals that I made for this project.

There are several of these Haiku books. Each one held two month’s worth of daily entries. I miss the routine of that. Something about the expectations I put on myself just to follow through with. I miss that. Now it seems all I expect of myself is to get 8,000 steps in five days a week. I need to do better than that. I need to sit with a pencil in hand filling up waiting pages of wonderful drawing paper.

Anyway those are my plans. I will let you know how it goes.

Til later…

 

A good friend and former doctor took me out to lunch this week. Ahi tuna salad with a glass of Chardonnay. Very nice. We caught up on news of her recent trip to France and my excursions into town and my neighborhood. I am getting more reclusive as I age.

Remember those boxes I made that contain all the special sketches and mementos from different countries? Well, that’s how I prefer to travel now. Just mix up a cocktail, sit down with one of seven countries, and fondle the bits of memory enclosed. So much easier and so full of happiness. It was such a good idea to make these boxes to look through later in life as travel would become more difficult.

When we went to the restaurant for that lovely salad, I was able to take the waitress the shirt I made for her. She was very surprised and happy that I did it. Hers is the sage-colored one on the top of the stack.

And I learned that with darker colors, never use a lighter colored thread. It really stands out. The other thing I learned was how meditative it is to sit and use your seam ripper to remove all the offending stitches.

The neighborhood is taking a bit of a chachka look as someone seems to be unloading their collections around the subdivision. Several artificial flowers in flower beds with the real thing, which pushes the idea of a southern cemetery. But this construction worker’s port-a-john really takes the prize! And yes, that actually is a bird house hanging off one side.

I did not venture a trip around the back side to see if the workers were still allowed access.

Back to poetry this week. It feels good putting down words in lines and then knowing those thoughts have found a place to be instead of rambling around in my head and heart looking for a way out. There’s an old fellow from England that I happened onto on line. He sits in his garden, apologizes for not having more flowers than greenery, shrugs deeper into his jacket and reads poems from a very large book. His eyes sit deep above puffy lower lids as they move over the words of a poet he has taken the time to introduce before reading. Just listening to him and seeing the joy he feels when reading, I want to make a cup of tea and sit for a longer time in his company and garden.

I need to do more sketching in my books. It would be a good idea to not have any blank journals left behind. We book makers do not assemble all those pages to be left blank. And I am not the type that would even consider pasting in scraps of paper with a copied phrase from Mary Oliver.

Today I will make a quiche to clean out the fridge and have six meals at the ready.

I will be able to stay at home, keep to myself, and try not to watch the downward crash of a country I once was proud of.

Today it will be a nice Manhattan at the end of the day and early to bed.

Til later….

Yesterday I cut out four shirts. Today I thought I could just whip them up. Do you have any idea how long it takes to thread a needle in a sewing machine?! Forever! Then glasses and magnifying goggles later it is done….only to have the needle drop out completely because the tightening thingy came loose! THEN I had to figure out which way it went back in…assumed the flat side went to the right, but no…after putting back on seeing aids and several missed tries, I saw I was trying to thread into the side of the needle where there is no hole! Flat side to the back, needle threaded and sewing can begin.

Of course the first under the needle was the black one. Black textured material with black thread…good grief! Now I am down to just hand sewing the bias neck hole piece. But one more snag….the pocket I attached looked too low. I am wearing the same shirt but do you think I am going to take a look at where the pocket goes? No! But it was a bit long anyway, so instead of removing the pocket to put it where it should be, I cut off the bottom and restitched to keep my keys from falling through. To say I have lowered my standards or my level of satisfaction would be an understatement.

Now three more to go with lessons learned and still lodged in my brain.  The rest of today and most of tomorrow will be sitting at the machine, threading needles or wondering if I can get away with a thread that doesn’t match.

Last Sunday when I went to my neighbor’s birthday party, I met up with a lady from one of my poetry groups. She remembered the last poem I read and to be honest, just talking about it made me decide to return. I miss people who use words. I miss people who can make me feel things. I miss the old guy who writes beautiful love sonnets, but not for those. I miss how he plummeted me into feelings for a dying moth that battered himself to get to the light and warmth only to take his last breath on the cold concrete below. I miss holding my breath as someone reads of the simple things I understand. I don’t miss the poetry with words I have to look up or ones that take on strange forms I have a hard time following. But a dead moth is worth the wait.

Today at cocktail time, I shall have an extra strong one. At least one more shirt will be finished, I will have watered my plants, worked on my own new poem, and thought about all the things old ladies think about before giving up on wondering why. Seems like a busy day, doesn’t it?

I might take a walk if only to pass these bright yellow flowers.

Maybe I won’t take a walk. Today is not a day for visiting and chance encounters. It is a day of just me with few words and fingers too clumsy to push a thread through a needle. It’s a day to remember when I could and had higher expectations of myself. It is a day for pushing myself to get something done and being happy I did. A day to keep myself quiet, hug a cat, and go to bed early to try again tomorrow.

Till later…