Haiku #252

In the parking lot--
snow in a neat mound on the
bumper of our truck

Haiku #251

Snow falls so
ice hits my face and melts
I am not alone

Potpourri

1. Have finished a great semester teaching courses that I love: fiction workshop, Modern Poetry, Native American Lit, Creative Writing Thesis class.

2. Subscribed to a new magazine of poetry: Rattle. I highly recommend it. Reasonable price, no ads, page after page of great poems.

3. Wrote a few poems myself.

4. Been reading a book about koans. Enlightening!

5. Been thinking a lot about my trip out West this summer. I want to go back.

6. Been thinking about my friend, Dawn, who just had surgery. Get well, Dawn.

7. Been thinking about friends and students, old and new.

8. Made Allen a very good stew!

9. Been enjoying the snowfall. We went out yesterday to eat and to get groceries. We picked up some five dollar movies and watched one of them in the wee hours of the morning, a movie based on a Fante novel: Ask the Dust.

10. Been sleeping late: always a treat. Drinking coffee with a spot of brandy. It's all good.

When You Least Expect It

Sometimes writing happens when you least expect it. I took a long bath tonight and reread The Essential Haiku (ed. Robert Hass). My reading gave me the idea to try something. (I seem to always get my best ideas in the bathtub).

When I got out of the tub, I grabbed my little journal and wrote a brand new poem based loosely on the Renga form. Then I rewrote an impromptu poem I'd done when I was in California recently, again loosely adopting the Renga form. I was very happy with the results!

Goodbye, Lolita

Photo taken in late summer. She'd followed me out to the Airstream.

Lolita, a.k.a. Teater-t0ts, a.k.a. Six-Teaters, died today, apparently peacefully in her sleep. We found her atop a sleeping bag in the shop, still soft and still warm. She came to us as a kitten, a stray, so small she slept in my husband's shoe. She's buried in the field, where she loved to walk with us in the evenings.

Haiku #250

Water pot sizzles
at five in the morning
atop the woodstove

Haiku #249

Here in Ohio
coyote sings in the light
from my small window

Haiku #248

A bright patch of sky
comes this way across the field
Look! the trees are white!

Haiku #247

two clear-eyed sparrows
pecking cat food in blue bowl
this morning of first snow

Haiku #246

The dogs return home
covered in ashes and blood
this November night

Keeping the Light On

I know most people my age remember that Motel 6 commercial about keeping the light on. I took this photo yesterday evening after sunset. I was struck by how small our house looked from the field. It just doesn't take much distance to make your life seem like an insignificant speck, but the light made my own life seem welcoming.

It's also nice to be able to walk the back field and know that although I'm far from home, I'm not lost. There's a light to get me there.

The Far Field

I went on a walk through our field yesterday and snapped this photo. You can see the Airstream. And you can see our house and garage further back.

My previous photos were so green. The field was full of grasshoppers and other insects. The thistle was just shedding its blooms and there were wild berries still, for the birds to peck at.

I've been working on the second Floreta story tonight. It is shaping up, but the drafting has been slow. After three hours, I only have three good pages. I have lots to pull from in the early drafts, though. It's not like I'm really starting over.

The Floreta Stories

I'll call them my Floreta stories. That's the main character. The first Floreta story was completed a few weeks ago. The second story went haywire but I think it's found its feet now, just this afternoon.

I Wanted to Sit Down, But Didn't

I have a bad habit.

I leave drawers and cabinets open. I'm especially bad about this in the kitchen when I'm cooking. "For convenience," I say. When I need something else from the cabinent, then it's easier to get to. I don't have to touch the cabinent doors with my flour-dusted hands.

Harder to fathom is why I leave my dresser drawers open. Sometimes I'm very good and close my dresser drawers. I feel good about myself when I do that. But lately I've been falling back into the habit of leaving them open.

I have the same dresser I used as a child. The dresser has traveled with me to many homes. I'd have to think for a while to remember how many. Poor Allen, he has carried the weight of that dresser so many times. It's a very nice wooden dresser. I remember my mother picking it out for me. We were standing next to the set in a furniture store. (Allen uses the chest of drawers from the set). The chest of drawers was taller than I was. Back then the furniture seemed massive and mysterious. For some reason I remember the salesman telling my mother it was made of "fruitwood."

Tonight as I was dressing to go out to eat with Allen, I glanced at the floor, looking for my boots. And I saw that my bottom right drawer was open.

Allen and I recently rearranged our bedroom and moved the dresser. The right side of the right drawer used to face a wall. Now it's exposed. The bedroom light was shining on it. The side of the drawer was scribbled with crayons.

It struck me that my one of my boys had done that, when he was little. In a moment of perfect joy, he had decorated mommy's dresser drawer. That was a different life. That was my life as a mother of little boys. I hadn't thought about that for a while. My boys have been grown now, since forever.

I wanted to sit down for just a minute, but I didn't.

I hope I didn't reprimand him for doing that back then--in my long-ago life as the mother of little boys. Because now I think the crayon marks are the best thing about that dresser. The very, very best thing.

Found Poems, Stories, Thanksgiving

I just found this poem today and really like it:

In the Orchard

'I thought you loved me.' 'No, it was only fun.'
'When we stood there, closer than all?' 'Well, the harvest moon
Was shining and queer in your hair, and it turned my head.'
'That made you?' 'Yes.' 'Just the moon and the light it made
Under the tree?' 'Well, your mouth, too.' 'Yes, my mouth?'
'And the quiet there that sang like the drum in the booth.
You shouldn't have danced like that.' 'Like what?' 'So close,
With your head turned up, and the flower in your hair, a rose
That smelt all warm.' 'I loved you. I thought you knew
I wouldn't have danced like that with any but you.'
'I didn't know, I thought you knew it was fun.'
'I thought it was love you meant.' 'Well, it's done.' 'Yes, it's done.
I've seen boys stone a blackbird, and watched them drown
A kitten... it clawed at the reeds, and they pushed it down
Into the pool while it screamed. Is that fun, too?'
'Well, boys are like that... Your brothers...' 'Yes, I know.
But you, so lovely and strong! Not you! Not you!'
'They don't understand it's cruel. It's only a game.'
'And are girls fun, too?' 'No, still in a way it's the same.
It's queer and lovely to have a girl...' 'Go on.'
'It makes you mad for a bit to feel she's your own,
And you laugh and kiss her, and maybe you give her a ring,
But it's only in fun.' 'But I gave you everything.'
'Well, you shouldn't have done it. You know what a fellow thinks
When a girl does that.' 'Yes, he talks of her over his drinks
And calles her a--' 'Stop that now, I thought you knew.'
'But it wasn't with anyone else. It was only you.'
'How did I know? I thought you wanted it too.
I thought you were like the rest. Well, what's to be done?'
'To be done' 'Is it all right?' 'Yes.' 'Sure?' 'Yes, but why?'
'I don't know, I thought you where going to cry.
You said you had something to tell me.' 'Yes, I know.
It wasn't anything really... I think I'll go.'
'Yes, it's late. There's thunder about, a drop of rain
Fell on my hand in the dark. I'll see you again
At the dance next week. You're sure that everything's right?'
'Yes,' 'Well, I'll be going.' 'Kiss me...' 'Good night.' ... 'Good night.'

Muriel Stuart

I'm disappointed in myself that it's been so many days since I last posted to this blog. Been so busy. And tired as a result. I've been to California teaching workshops at Esalen, then teaching, then working on my other blog, The Letter Project. I'm planning something special there for November 12 but it has required some preparation.

I reread my most recent finished story last night. I was afraid I would find it to be terrible, but it isn't terrible (I was relieved), it's very good. It's slightly different from anything I've ever written. I like that. I'm growing.

I've bogged down in the second story; I think I lost my momentum when I had to prepare for the California trip. I'm looking forward to getting back to it soon.

Looking ahead to Thanksgiving...good food, family, time to collect thoughts. Lots to be thankful for.

Moodling

Brenda Ueland, bless her old soul, speaks of the necessity of the writer for what she called "moodling." She meant slowing your pace, diddling around, until you find the origin of your inner resources. It's a concept tailor made for me.

My mind catches fire, but not before lots of poking around in the ashes, searching for embers.

I came to this blog three times already, trying to think of something to say. Then moodled around on the computer while listening to music. Dylan's "Not Dark Yet" was playing as I read a status update from Amy Newman, a fine poet I met when she was a visiting writer at BGSU. She wrote of October and how we can't trust its pretty days.

That prompted me to find an October poem, and I stumbled on this one by Frost:

October
by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.

What is left for me to say, except Frost has said it all, bundled all my perceptions of October and presented them to me as a gift. "Make the day seem to us less brief," he writes. October does remind us there is no forever.

Nothing profound from me here. Just moodling.

What I did today

1. Last night in bed watched a pretty good Hitchcock thriller called Jamaica Inn
2. Went out to eat with Allen today.
3. Cleaned and arranged the front room to be my art studio.

The rest of the evening

1. Cooked a simple supper for Allen and me.
2. Took a very long bath during which time I got all kinds of new ideas for the story I'm currently working on. I had a pencil beside the tub but no notepad, so I wrote the notes inside a book. How confused the next owner of this book will be upon seeing scrawled on the page "About the author."

Rain, rain, rain

Nepenthe-why not eat alone

At window > was the meal so bad at Mex?

eating-Totem pole

in shower-Wash Willy

> Mirror Lake

basin > connect to Ohio River

A very good day

Had a very good day yesterday. I slept in--always a pleasure--and spent the afternoon thinking about and planning a letter to Lauren Carpenter. She was a student in many of my classes at BGSU and now has graduated.

Tomorrow the letter will be sent and it will give me so much pleasure,thinking of it making its way to her new apartment in Columbus, of her getting out of bed or coming home from work and finding it waiting for her in her mailbox.

As soon as she receives it and has a few days to take it in, I'll post it here and also at The Letter Project. I think what is in it might benefit others.

Lauren is fast becoming my muse!

Lauren has also mentioned that she'll be sending me a new letter soon. Since I started The Letter Project, my mailbox has been an exciting place again.

Watching the movie Bright Star, I was experiencing Fanny's excitement at receiving a letter in the mail. To hold an envelope in your hands with your name on it, to pause and wonder what is inside: it is better than Christmas, for we can offer this pleasure many times throughout the year, if only we would take the time.

It's so good to look forward to a real letter. As I once mentioned in a letter to my friend, Beth, letters are "fossils of feeling." This letter is at The Letter Project, too. Speaking of Beth, I wonder what has become of her? I think marital bliss has absorbed her or consumed her. I hope she's happy!

Yesterday, I also combed through my new story and made some changes. I made some decisions about how to proceed. I must teach tomorrow but then I have another long weekend to work on it. I don't know when I've been more happy about the way my writing is going. These stories just feel right. I am folding them into the material from the novel. I think it is--at last--the real story that I want to tell. What a confusing process it has been, finding my way into the river novel. So many times I've thought I had the answer, only to have the narrative bog down after 100 or so pages. I think I have found the power of the narrative now.

What I did today

1. I slept very late.
2. I had coffee with lots of cream.
3. I stayed in my pajamas all day.
4. We had a simple supper of beans and cornbread.
5. I wrote a letter to a friend.
6. I started a new story.
7. I worked on the novel.

What I did today

1. I slept late.
2. I had coffee with lots of cream.
3. I stepped outside this evening at about 5:30 and saw a large group of buzzards flying south. I've never before seen so many buzzards in the air; there must have been more a hundred. They were moving very slowly. Perhaps they are leaving us now, before the cold weather arrives.
4. I went out to Rudy's and had a Molson.
5. I looked at books at Books-a-Million and didn't buy anything.
6. I went with Allen to see Bright Star at Levis Commons. A triumph of a movie for Jane Campion.

Haiku #245

misty rain that makes no sound
speaks from inside my own bones

What We Found

It was getting near sunset this evening when I told Allen I was going to walk the trails in our field. He'd just taken the mower down there and they were fresh-cut. He decided to come along and so did the dogs.

About a third of the way down, we heard Uno, one of our cats wailing, trying to find us. We stopped and called to him and he came bounding to us through the weeds. He's just a beautiful black and white cat. He was just a kitten when we first moved here. We used to walk the field then, too, with his mother, an all black cat, and other strays that we adopted.

I picked Uno up and carried him, which is what he wanted. He frequently follows us to the mailbox for the same purpose. He will keep cutting in front of us until we give him a ride back to the house. He brother, Dozer, was like this, too.

Allen used to pick Dozer up and put him inside the hood of his jacket and carry him that way. Dozer has been dead a long time. He was killed out on our highway. So was their brother, Spotty. Uno and Stinky (his sister) are the only two left of a once-thriving family of cats.

The field is so beautiful right now. The white of the Queen Anne's lace has given way to yellows and purples. Once in a while, during our walk in the field, I'd have to shift Uno from one arm to another, as he's a pretty heavy cat. His claws would dig into me because he thought I was going to put him down. He didn't want that.

We were on the last leg of the trail when I looked down and saw something white, a skull. It was recently cracked, probably by the mower wheel. "What is it?" I asked Allen. But as soon as he turned it over, I knew.

"It's a cat," he said.

Two of ours had disappeared this summer.

Uno jumped from my arms and smelled the skull. Then he sat there next to it, looking. We started walking again but he stayed there. I turned frequently to look back at him. Each time I looked, I saw him sitting completely still, just looking the skull.

One of the cats that disappeared this summer was his mother.

New Website

Slowly...slowly...building...a...new...website...here http://theresawilliams.wordpress.com/

Haiku #244

late summer crickets
make perfect sound of December
sleigh bells just listen

Haiku #243

Tired? Don't go to bed
go outside make a fire against
the darkness instead

Haiku #242

Newly mown field green
smelling sweet four buzzards circle
eyes to the ground

Page a day: Ikkyu

Sweet Pea in her new water vest.
(A humorous take on Ikkyu)

I'm alive! right? don't we say that?
we don't see the bones we walk on
--Ikkyu

Haiku #241

Seagulls fly over the Maumee

I took this photo with my old point and shoot camera. I wished I had my SLR with me because there was a moment when the scene was all birds, wing tip to wing tip. By the time the point and shoot got fired up, the most beautiful part of the show was over.

Late summer we ready

our boat on shore a crow laughs

at us from his tree

Page a day: Ikkyu

pleasure pain are equal in a clear heart

no mountain hides the moon--Ikkyu