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O! Library!

2012-01-28T21:16:00.000-08:00

Well, ever since the new year, when all the old leaves became irrelevant and it was nothing but new-on-new, in terms of leaves, and I was just turning them over and over, the leaves, nothing but good intentions!, I have been checking books out of the library like a madwoman (so that I could "Read all the time," or whatever the resolution was, exactly). Checking books out of the library, as readers of this blog know, is of late made super-cinchy because of the library robot and its machinations, now deliverable entirely through the interwebs. So first I saved up my lists of books, to wit:

Jo Nesbo bookery. Recommended by several.
A Karin Fossum book--Norwegian, policery, good if it's as good as the others.
Another Scandinavian police procedural, picked up entirely on the merits of its Scandinavian author and its cover.
An entire John le Carre suite of Smiley books.
The first of the Mist-Born series, on Middlebrow's recommendation.
Game of Thrones. What? Is it trashy? I don't know.
The beginning book of a series by Sjodahl and Wahloo, recommended by Radagast.

And then I ordered the library robot to find and deliver them to my local branch library (library robotics part 1). And then I crept into the library like a ninja and checked them out without talking to NO ONE (library robotics part 2).

(Not my library's actual robot.)

Now: of the above books, I have completed, as in "read":

one Nesbo.

I am also partway through

another Nesbo.

In my defense, first I had to read some books of poetry for my book group, and that one French detective novel, and that one English detective novel, and also Mindy Kaling. And also Diane Keaton.

I am now receiving notices from the robot (library robotics part 3), reminding me that some of my books might be coming due, to wit: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which I had every intention of reading before I saw the movie, but whoops, too late. And there's the Nesbo middle, which I am still in! So I can't really start a whole other spy novel, especially when I have already seen the movie. I'm sure you see my dilemma.

Let me pause to deliver a short discourse on scarcity and excess:

A Short Discourse on Scarcity And Excess.

Sometimes there is not enough of things, such as when I wander from room to room and say, "When will Fred Vargas/Arnaldur Indridasen/etc. write another book so I can read it?" This is scarcity, and it is intolerable, or nigh unto.

And sometimes there is more than enough of things, such as when someone says, "You should really read X," and I say, "Wait a minute while I dial up the library robot!" And as a consequence of the robot-dialing, there are piles of X, I mean books, the titles of some of which I am sure I'm forgetting, and I'm not sure where all of them even are in my house! and I have already seen the movie of some of them! That is excess, and I am in the middle of it, and don't even get me started on how much I may need or not a pair of pink ballet shoes, to go with my other ballet shoes, including my other pink ballet shoes, but not this particular color of pink. That is also excess, and I am (always already) in the middle of it. And it too is intolerable, or nigh unto.

Well, anyway, I am going to go dive back into the middle of Nesbo, because I finally got a running start at it and it's kind of exciting at the moment. At the moment, there is the exact right amount of Nesbo, and it is very good.

Artifact.

2012-01-27T22:36:00.000-08:00

So that, above, is how it went down today--we all made broadsides, and talked about the history of broadsides. I'm having the same, lucky experience I had last time I taught this class, which was also the first time: massive nerves before each three-hour session, and something close to exhilaration afterward. This time, I have the luck of having Dr. Write and another colleague, Kati Lewis, with me as compatriots.

After teaching, I came home, but not before losing my cell phone at Target (found and retrieved). I hung up a bunch of clothes I had heaped in the closet-in-all-but-name that is, essentially, the rest of our bedroom, and took a short nap. We saw A Dangerous Method tonight, which I loved.

Somehow, this weekend I need to squeeze in about three times more stuff than I have actual time to do it in. Huzzah for expandable weekends!

Tomorrow we will be talking about and making broadsides in Publication Studies.

2012-01-26T22:16:00.000-08:00

from the National Library of Scotland (1821)

from the National Library of Scotland (1719)

from the Poetry Foundation For the Fridge Archive

from the Library of Congress Printed Ephemera Collection

from On the Walls and In the Streets: American PoetryBroadsides from the 1960s, James D. Sullivan

Paint.

2012-01-25T22:29:00.001-08:00

Key facts.

2012-01-24T22:23:00.000-08:00

My favorite kind of reading glasses

routinely break like brittle china.

Ergo, I order a pile of them. So I have more when they break. Perhaps I should consider a new style/brand/Lasik? I don't know. They are my favorite.
It is the historian's birthday today. He has a cold. Is that fair? I ask you.
We are watching the Australian Open. Rod Laver and Roger Federer are talking. It's kind of great.
My classes were awesome today. Sometimes it feels like, if you set things up right, your courses turn into little centers of industry, with all kinds of good things happening, humming along. Or, y'know, things could fall apart tomorrow. But I don't think so.
Today this book arrived at my house:

Vatnasafn/Library of Water
Roni Horn

it is awesome.

Even though it was a birthday, it was a work day. Where is the birthday cake? I ask you. I guess that's why birthdays last a week. They do, don't they?
Okay. Time to get you a little more DayQuil, honey.

(happy birthday to the historian, the best of the best of the best, sir! he is above the system, and he makes it--everything--look good.)

Prognosticator.

2012-01-23T20:33:00.000-08:00

The Academy Award nominations are tomorrow! Here's a list of films that might get nominated in the big fat categories (I put a * by what I think should get nominated, and a # by what I think will get nominated):

(image: NYTimes via Getty images)

Academy Awards NOMINATIONS

best pic

Melancholia * (foreign? English-speaking...)

Midnight in Paris #

The Tree of Life *#

X-Men: First Class *

Bridesmaids *

The Help #

Rise of the Planet of the Apes *

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows *

Hugo *#

The Artist #

War Horse # (haven't seen it)

Take Shelter * [not a chance this will get nominated, but I thought it was beautiful, maybe my favorite film of the year, so I'm putting it on the list anyway.]

best actor

Christopher Plummer, Beginners *# (or is this a supporting performance? probably)

Brad Pitt, Moneyball *#

George Clooney, The Descendants *#

Michael Shannon, Take Shelter ** (the only thing as good as this was J. Dujardin, and maybe also Brad Pitt in Moneyball)

Ryan Gosling, Drive *#

Paul Rudd, Our Idiot Brother *

Brendan Gleason, The Guard *

Jean Dujardin, The Artist ** (I was not in love with this movie, but I thought this performance was sublime)

Leonardo DiCaprio, J. Edgar ? (haven't seen)

Michael Fassbender, Shame #

best actress

Vera Farmiga, Higher Ground *

Elizabeth Olsen, Martha Marcy May Marlene *

Kirsten Dunst, Melancholia *#

Michelle Williams, My Week With Marilyn #

Rooney Mara, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo *#

Meryl Streep, The Iron Lady # (haven't seen)

Glenn Close, Albert Nobbs # (haven't seen)

Kristen Wiig, Bridesmaids *

supporting actor

Ryan Gosling, Crazy, Stupid, Love (or The Ides of March) * (in C, S, L, I thought Gosling was pretty much brilliant)

Michael Fassbender, X-Men/Jane Eyre *

Andy Serkis, Rise of the Planet of the Apes *#

Matt Damon, Contagion * (of a pile of great performances, this was one of the greatest)

Jeremy Irons, Margin Call *#

John Hawkes, Martha Marcy May Marlene *#

Armie Hammer, J. Edgar # (haven't seen)

Kenneth Branagh, My Week with Marilyn * (this performance gave me such joy--so funny)

Albert Brooks, Drive * (pretty great performance)

Ralph Fiennes and/or Alan Rickman, Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows

supporting actress

Viola Davis, The Help *# (deserves every possible acting accolade--she is brilliant--and is this a lead performance?)

Octavia Spencer, The Help *#

Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids *#

Jessica Chastain, everything she was in *# (literally: brilliant in everything.)

Charlotte Gainsbourg, Melancholia *

Carrie Milligan, Drive and/or Shame #

director

Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris #

Martin Scorsese, Hugo *#

Terence Malick, Tree of Life *#

David Fincher, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo #

Michael Haznavicius, The Artist #

Lars von Trier, Melancholia *#

David Cronenberg, A Dangerous Method ? (not here yet, haven't seen)

Steven Spielberg, War Horse #

Alexander Payne, The Descendants *#

Bennett Miller, Moneyball *

special note for Jude Law, who was fantastic in Sherlock Holmes blah blah blah and also in Contagion.

p.s. I loved this list.

p.p.s. happy birthday Amelia!

Sunday.

2012-01-22T23:24:00.000-08:00

I'm back! or, Action movies, an essay.

2012-01-21T20:51:00.000-08:00

Today, I bought eggs from Chad, went to the Roasting Co. to work on a poem (why do I have to go to another place to write a poem? another post for another day), ate lady fingers (but not really--they were actually langues des chats, and they were both darling and delicious), and cried my head off at a movie (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close--you will have to decide for yourself if a movie that insists that you cry this much is your poison, but I expected to pity and perhaps despise it, and did neither, really). But that's not what I want to write about.

What I want to write about is action movies. Yesterday, when I came home from a day in which I got up at 6:30 a.m. (boo hoo hooooooo) to go to school so that I would be ultra-ready for my 9 a.m. class, which went swimmingly thank you very much, then had a meeting and a post-meeting chat, wait: where was I? Right: yesterday, when I came home from that day (see above), I met the historian who was finishing up some dishes, and as I plunked down my burdens (computer, purse) and poked around for the entertainment section of the newspaper, and didn't find it, I asked, "Where's the movie section?" and the historian said, "I took it to work, but there's really only one movie to see, I think, and that's The Artist," after which I predictably sulked, privately, because: who says? But then I said, "Great!" because I am nothing if not a trouper (< -- patently not true). So off we went to enchiladas and The Artist, and it was good.

But this morning, as I was scanning the long-lost entertainment section for what other movies there were, I saw that Haywire had also opened this weekend, and then I was all, "What? Soderbergh!?" (because white people love to talk about movie directors, I guess.) So I went to the historian who may or may not have just been waking up, and I was all, "You know what else opened this weekend? Haywire. And do you know who directed it? Soderbergh." And he was all, "Oh!" Honestly, that's not necessarily the conversation you want to have before you've eaten your pancakes.

But then, while we were driving hither and yon on our adventures, I said, "I am lately kind of taken by action movies."

The historian said, "Oh? Why is that?" Polite like that, because he really could not care less about action movies. Even after I made the fine distinction that I was only talking about well-made action movies, not stupid ones, not the ones where stuff blows up and the hero walks away in slow motion while things are erupting behind him in sheets of flame and a power ballad amps up on the soundtrack. But whatever: I am pretty sure I will not convince him at this point that action movies are a category worth making allowances for, when your movie-going choices are on the line. At this point the historian knows his own tastes, and what he likes is (a) nothing set in a fantasy realm: no wizards, elves, dwarves, fairies, or orcs; (b) nothing where a bunch of stuff erupts in sheets of etc.; (c) no movies that are stupid; (d) small, human-scale movies that are plausible and something interesting and thought-provoking happens; (e) no gratuitous arty stuff, although he can tolerate that if the movie also exhibits characteristics of (d) above; (f) so-called little, "quirky" movies (also, see (d) above) (upon reading all of this to the historian, he points out that "little" and "quirky" are not necessarily the same category, so you can divide or merge the categories as you see fit--I'm leaving it up to you); (g) comedies that are actually funny (unlike so-called comedies that are not funny); and (h) the occasional good thriller and/or heist movie. [note: after reading this whole post to the historian, he points out another category all this leaves out, the western, and particularly old westerns, which he loves. And I also think of the sports movie, which is an action movie of a kind, but not really what I'm talking about here. Also: dance movies omg.]

I agree with most of the above, by the way: the differences between us are mostly a matter of degree. For instance, I don't love fantasy movies, and found the latter two of the Lord of the Rings films to be excessively orc-filled. But I can enjoy a fantasy element or so in a movie, if the movie is good. I really, truly loathe action movies that have the explosive elements mentioned above. On the other hand, a movie with awesome fighting or chases or kinetic forms of intrigue--that movie I will probably enjoy, and may possibly love.

For instance, I really, really loved Collateral, that Michael Mann [again with the director fetish] thing that had Tom Cruise as a killer who seemed composed entirely of nerve and muscle and an assassin's instincts. And I loved The Hurt Locker, which was both a war movie and an action movie, and the more awesome for being both. We both liked the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmeses, but one thing I liked about them was the chasing and the fighting. The Bourne movies were swell, for sure (I liked them a fair bit more than the historian did). And--this is probably the clincher--the art-house martial arts films, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers and Hero (others as well). I'm pretty sure I haven't seen any of the early great martial arts films, no Bruce Lee, none when Jackie Chan or Jet Li were in their prime. But I was absolutely riveted by these arty films. And recently, I enjoyed myself enormously at Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol--perhaps just a tad too long, but otherwise, fantastic action sequences where I marveled simultaneously at the gorgeous well-framed sequences and shots, and the spectacle of the human body in motion.

Isn't that really it? what movies can do, show us--the human body, strong, vulnerable and irrepressible, at the thin margin between life and death? When it's made well, the action movie shows us this, and it's thrilling.

I may or may not persuade the historian that he will enjoy Haywire, but I am pretty sure I will have to see it. Also, I may need to see MI:GP on an Imax screen. I hear it's mind-blowing.

Time for breakfast.

2012-01-21T07:40:00.000-08:00

Whoa: last night, after coming home from dinner (enchiladas) and a movie (The Artist--good), I fell upon my pillow and fell asleep around 10:30 and woke up in my clothes at 1 a.m., got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, undressed, and fell back asleep again until 8.

I did not, as you see, collect my thoughts and write a blog post. Alas. I am acknowledging this.

If we're keeping score--are we?--that means I now have a small slip on my record regarding my "blogging every day in 2012" initiative. But as I was opining on some other topic yesterday when I said "God is not a lawyer," well, neither am I and frankly neither are any of you, I don't think--if you're reading this and you're a lawyer, welcome! I have nothing against lawyers and, in fact, kind of wish I were one--so I shall negotiate this small issue with myself and atone for it the only way I know how, which is: one post now, backdated for yesterday, and one post later today, for, you know, today.

And now I am going to make pancakes.

Notes at the end of the day.

2012-01-19T21:08:00.000-08:00

1. Sometimes it is good to lower the bar, like when your alarm goes off at 6:30 and you think, screw it. 7:15 will be better.

2. Waking up coughing in the middle of the night could not be less delightful.

3. I like going to a meeting with people I like and kvetching about work in a friendly way.

4. That entity known as "Cling Wrap" occasionally over promises its clinginess vastly.

5. Getting in the car, ready to jet off to deliver green salad for 40, pasta salad for 20, and 120 water bottles to singing son's house, so they could take it and a half ton of more food to the Road Home for tonight's dinner, was made ever so much more enjoyable when running son came with and we listened to Coldplay and Sufjan Stevens on the way there and on the way back.

6. For, like, a year, I have been waiting for the guy and the girl to get back together on this, it must be admitted, perhaps less than stellar sitcom. A year or more. And finally it sort of happened on tonight's episode, and that was pretty darn satisfying.

7. I predict more coughing in the night. What the hell.

The curd: an inquiry into its nature and uses.

2012-01-18T21:16:00.000-08:00

What is lemon curd? It seems like an almost existential question. I have made it several times, given it away here and there, and yet I am not quite sure I know what it's for, even though it is delicious.

I made some lovely Meyer lemon curd and gave a bottle to a friend for a New Year present. She told me the other evening that she had just finished it, and in the ensuing discussion, she said that you could put it on chicken. What? This use had never even occurred to me--although I almost never eat chicken, so there's that. I think I'm less a sweet/sour person, unless it's in the context of a dessert.

This leaves me with my questions about the curd, and my one-two-three uses.

One: put it on a muffin, or a scone, or a crumpet, or an English muffin. This means to spread it on a toasted baked good. This makes sense to me. It puts curd in the category of jam or honey. This also makes sense to me, since I generally decant it after cooking into a half-pint jar, just like jam and just like honey (except for the kind that comes in a plastic bear, but that is another category altogether). I know it's probably not good logic, to generalize contents from containers, especially when I was the one who put the thing in the container in the first place. Regardless: use one, on baked goods.

Two: make it into lemon squares. I did this tonight. Yes, I arose from my bed of affliction a couple of times, when I wasn't feeling as crappy, i.e., at the apex of the Day-Quil effectiveness parabola. First, to make the curd (see below), and second, to make the squares. Although technically, since among my zillions of baking pans I happen not to have a square one, neither of metal nor of glass, I baked my squares in a round pan, so really they're lemon wedges. And actually, they're lime wedges, since I happened to have a bounty of key limes, so my curd was lime. Use two.

Here's how I made my wedges: I took 1 stick of unsalted butter, cut into little pieces; 1/4 cup granulated sugar; 1 c. flour (I used King Arthur's White Wheat flour); and a pinch of sea salt. These are Ina Garten's proportions, but not her directions. I put all that in a glass bowl and microwaved it for about a minute, until the butter was softened; then I used my fingers to rub the butter into the flour and sugar, and when that seemed to be "happening," I collected the crumbs into a dough, and patted it into the round cake pan, a 9-incher.

You bake this crust for 15 minutes in a preheated 350 degree oven.

But before any of that, you make lemon (or in this case lime) curd. I did this earlier in the afternoon. Here's what you do: whisk 3 large eggs, 3/4 c. sugar, and 1/3 cup lime (or lemon, depending on your citrus fancy) juice in a heavy saucepan. Whisk it good. Put this over medium heat. Now, when I made the Meyer lemon curd, I did as my recipe suggested and rigged up a double boiler. But this took for freaking ever, and I realized that, with as much attention as I was paying to that double boiler and the curd therein, I could simply pay an equivalent amount of attention to a pan directly on the heat, and probably do just fine, and I did. So whisky frequently, perhaps constantly, or almost. You're aiming for the eggs/sugar/juice mixture to thicken, like hollandaise sauce or sour cream.

When it thickens--and it will, and if you've been paying attention, it will have thickened without (a) burning or scorching on the bottom or (b) curdling (I know--ironic)--remove from the heat and add 4 T. butter, cut into small-ish pieces. Whisk that in as it melts. When that's done, add 1 T. zest to it all. Pour it into whatever container you're keeping it in. It will continue to thicken as it cools.

To make the lemon/lime squares, wedges: after the crust has baked for 15 minutes, take it out of the oven and pour your half-pint of curd over it. Spread it to the edges. It will not be thick, but it will be adequate. Put this back into the oven and bake for about another 10-12 minutes. Cool and then behold how dang good it is.

Back to the curd making: while you're pouring the curd into your chosen container, you'll find, I'm sure, that you have a pan to scrape out with a spatula and maybe a cooking spoon. You should by all means eat the scrapings/spoonings, because it would be a crime to leave any of the curd whatsoever. It is delicious. This leads me to my third and final use: eat it out of the jar with a spoon. You could probably put away an entire batch of curd in this fashion over the course of a week or two. Is it good for you? Of course it is. It's delicious and it's made of eggs (protein!) and citrus (wards off scurvy!).

Soap.

2012-01-17T22:27:00.000-08:00

Here is a fact about my secret past when I was in junior high and deeply uncool: I used to get strep throat an abnormal amount. So much so that my doctor used to swab my throat, look up with a concerned/grossed out expression on his face, and say, "And she hasn't had her tonsils out." Nope, never.

Here's another fact: when I used to have bouts of strep throat, and had to stay home for days and days and days on end while the penicillin worked its bitter magic (oh penicillin! bitter and yet so efficacious!), I watched the soaps.

I was a fan, mainly, of such soaps as The Edge of Night and Days of Our Lives. Of course, I can't remember a thing about them. What I do remember is that you could get away with watching these programs about once every two or two and a half months and not miss a beat, that's how slowly they eked out the narrative. It's like if those stories were constructed out of atoms of narrative, it would take them two years to put together a complex molecule. But that was cool, since I was wracked with fever and pretty much incoherent for at least the first two days of The Sick, so I couldn't have handled much more narrative than that. Sometimes I would ask my mom for a little tip or two as to why this or that bejeweled heiress was behaving in such a bizarre way, but mostly I could hold my own.

I can't remember if I was not allowed to watch Dark Shadows, or if I was just too nervous to ask. Maybe both. Anyway, I got through my strep phase (although there was one brutal bout of it my junior year in high school, where I was out of school for two full weeks and came back a svelter, practically tubercular version of myself, boy howdy!), and I really didn't watch soaps after that. Until now.

Now, as I lay upon my bed of affliction (who knows what rude virus/bacterium has lodged itself in my sinuses?), I watch Downton Abbey (so sorry I cannot seem to stop myself talking about this by the way you can follow a discussion about it! on Slate! (work your way backward)). And Glee, though I am predictably behind the curve here--everyone is so over Glee, whereas I am in a protracted rapture about it, swooning over it and crying at the heartbreak and majesty of the teenage-ness of it all. And, frankly, The Good Wife, which is So. Great. it cannot fully be expressed words. It started out great and has never yet let us down.

These stories are practically sprinters compared to the daily soaps of old. They leap lightly from day to season to year and much has to be inferred by the canny viewer, who perhaps is not at her best at the moment, fighting off the viruses/bacteria of wintertime. However, she laughed, she cried, she drank her tea, and also watched the Jazz win. Is it The Sick that gives her courage to watch whole games now, as opposed to giving fearful glances at the screen? Who can say? She shall not stay sick forever: and the narratives will be parsed and discussed, and the Jazz will (knock wood cross fingers) keep winning, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.

p.s. Read this.

Winter: a pro/con analysis.

2012-01-16T21:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I dreamed that I took a Bichon Frise dog over to Oprah's house, along with all my youngest son's friends and I think my former was in there too. It was very bad manners, clearly--in real life I would never invite so many people plus a dog to Oprah's. By the way, she was none too happy about that dog.

Today, the day it snowed, I felt some irritating little illness waiting in the wings. So I read and slept and did some dishes and laundry and laid around some more. We watched a lot of Downton Abbey. The second season is even soapier than the first season. Sudsy. I can't wait for the next episode.

I hope it snows all week.

(p.s.: happy birthday mom!)

Short letters.

2012-01-15T23:03:00.000-08:00

Dear three-day weekend,

I appreciate the way you have magically transformed Monday into a more lovely thing.

please come back in February,

htms

*

Dear kitchen,

Please clean yourself. I really want to bake, but I can't when you're as messy as you are. I realize this is probably at least partly my fault, but I'm also a little demoralized.

at least get me started?

htms

cc: my study, my bedroom, pretty much my whole house

*

dear impending snowstorm,

finally!

hurry up,

htms

Making music with my friends.

2012-01-14T23:15:00.000-08:00

Tonight over at singing son's house, a bunch of friends and family played and sang and knocked Abbey Road out of the park. I wish I had video and/or audio to share with you. On the other hand, it's probably better that I don't--it's the kind of thing that is better in the doing than in the recording.

Here's how it works:

1. singing son notifies his family and friends that they'll all gather on a specified date. In the meantime,
2. they should study up and listen obsessively to a specific recording, so that
3. on the specified date, they can bring themselves, their singing voices and relevant instruments, so that
4. everyone can play and sing the entire recording.

It is very edifying.

So far, it's been Bridge Over Troubled Water, Rumours (Fleetwood Mac), and tonight, Abbey Road. I have been at all three. What have I discovered?

everyone doing their part really does make the whole greater than the sum of the parts.
every part doesn't have to be virtuouso, because see the above.
homemade music is one of the very, very best things.
so many talented friends!
(I know I'm their mom, but) my kids are awesome.
there is nothing whatsoever--nothing at all--better than making music with other people.

I got to play a lot of keyboard parts tonight. Highlights: obtaining The Beatles: Complete Scores, a truly miraculously complete volume; how awesome it is to actually play and wade around in the sonic volume of "I Want You (She's So Heavy)"; how great it is to slide from "Polythene Pam" into "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" (ohhh look out!), just about as good as it is on the record; how sweet the beautiful piano parts in "Golden Slumbers" and "Carry That Weight" and "The End" are; how beautifully people sang the gorgeous gorgeous harmonies on "Because."

As I said to the historian on the way home, there were a lot of wonderful parts. Some not wonderful parts, too, but the wonderful parts were really wonderful, and that's really the point.

Last: a friend who came to the Rumours party said that she kept trying to tell people how great it was, but after awhile it seemed like she was just bragging, so she stopped. Yep, that's kind of how this feels. But I have to tell you: it really was awesome.

In conclusion, let me leave you with this, just in case you need a refresher (we sounded almost this good):

The weekend.

2012-01-13T22:12:00.000-08:00

Possibly a little more than I bargained for.

2012-01-12T21:51:00.000-08:00

Finicky, finicky, I am fussing over the very last of my syllabi, since the very last of my classes, Publication Studies, meets for the first time tomorrow, and God knows if there were even more time to flutter and flap and quack around that syllabus, I would take it. But just now, having added the last (ha! no way!) reading and activity and event to the schedule, I am reckoning with the fact that, right around April, there will be a lotsa stuff a-happening, such as the new issue of Folio, my last as faculty advisor; the chapbook launch; consultations a plenty, since in December I decided in a brilliant flash that all of my students--all!--would do better if I consulted with each of them twice in the semester instead of once; and portfolios to review; and drafts to read at the very last minute; and so on and so forth.

This explains why--I'm owning up to this fact--I saw the opportunity to not be in my office this afternoon. Most Thursdays I will be in the Writing Center and then at meetings. But the Writing Center is quiet until next week, and I had no meetings, so I talked to the young poets about devices of sound, and we read the hell out of a little Bob Hickok poem, and then I checked my e-mail one more time and hightailed it outta there lickety split, to come home and finicky finicky fuss around with that last syllabus yet one more time (if by "one more time" we mean "all afternoon").

p.s. I love my delicious account. I was able to harvest a kajillion interesting links from it today as I flarfed around with the course. Yay social bookmarking!
p.p. s. College daughter...back at college. Christmas is over! We opened all the presents!

I am reading.

2012-01-11T22:46:00.000-08:00

You may recall a recent resolution of mine to "always be reading," and I am enjoying this aspect of the adventure we're all calling "2012."

I recently finished Diane Keaton's memoir, Then Again. Keaton isn't a stylist, but she is a collagist, and her assemblages in this book--of her own letters, diary entries, memories, juxtaposed with her mother's extensive journals and scrapbooks, make a book that is more than compelling--it's poignant and evocative.

While I was reading Diane Keaton--I had to stop at certain sad parts--I was also reading An Uncertain Place, which is a police procedural with vampiri, or people who were said to be vampiri. also, there are forays into both London and Servia, and the original vampire's name is Blagojovich, believe it or not. I love this series by Fred Vargas, with Commissaire Adamsberg. They always seem to be maybe just a little bit too whimsical and random, and then they knit together in such satisfying ways. The only problem with this series is that they don't get translated into English quickly enough. Get on it, publishers and translators!

Now I am reading a novel by Jo Nesbo, The Devil's Star. I fear that I didn't get the first book in this series, which means I will have to pull the history of this series together out of sequence, harumph. Even so, I loved the writing in this book from the very first paragraph. However, the Scandinavian detectives--they all have issues with alcohol, it seems. I don't think that's a spoiler. Also, the detective's name is Harry Hole. I'm sure that doesn't signify the same in Norwegian, but still.

I have piles of books waiting to be read when I finish off the Nesbo. There's another Nesbo and then another Scandinavian writer whose name I can't remember--it was a book/cover (and Scandinavian name) (and genre) scenario. Oh, and also another Scandinavian, but a different one. That's three Scandinavians. I also have piles of Le Carre, but possibly my motivation has slackened, since I already read Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. We'll see. I will start the novel and see. I really have loved other Le Carre.

Finally, when I was at Target yesterday, not buying shoes, I bought Mindy Kaling's book. I already put a hold on it at the public library, but I was like number 1257 in the queue (< -- exaggeration). I picked up the book and read the part that talked about "BFF Rights and Responsibilities," remembering my oldest friend. But then I put the book back and said to myself, get real, this book will come out in paperback or someone else will buy it and you can borrow it or 1257 people is not so many, it'll go like [snaps fingers] that! Then I picked the book up again and read where Mindy said that the ratio of getting ready to write (organizing snacks for writing and looking stuff up on the internet and getting comfortable clothes and making tea and what not) and writing itself was about 7:1.

Oh yeah, I bought that book.

You must change your life.

2012-01-10T21:01:00.000-08:00

Recently I have been contemplating these:

For your consideration: cherry red velvet Dr. Marten 8-eye lace-up boots. I know: there's really no reason to have Dr. Marten's nowadays, except: velvet. And I saw this one picture where Alexander Wang was wearing velvet Dr. Marten's, and I thought: killer. (In this velvet-boot wearing fantasy, I am a slightly built Asian man, obviously.)

Awhile before the velvet boots, I was contemplating this:

This is a Pamela Love sword ring. It is badass, it cannot be denied.

What these two talismanic items have in common is that they inspire in me a belief that they will change my life. Or motivate a change in my life. A belief that I would be more awesome with this stuff. (One more thing they share in common: they cost more money than I am currently willing to pay to indulge in magical thinking like this.)

What really needs to change in my life is the belief that stuff like this will change my life. Maybe. But sometimes a talisman works, right? New basketball shoes symbolize a new season and the joy of playing ball, or so I'm told. A new haircut symbolizes a new start. New shoes . . . don't even get me started.

Today in Target while buying my college daughter a couple of last things before she goes back to college, I tried on a new pair of shoes. They were pretty gorgeous. Magenta suede (faux), very tall, absurd for everyday life. I believed in myself, for a moment, walking around in them. And then I put them back, because come on--super tall shoes? magenta? Although I may go back to get them, I can't guarantee that I won't.

When college daughter goes home, I will put my energies into my new initiatives, aka my resolutions. (I believe I may have energy to burn when she leaves, because of the sadness.) I read an article about resolutions in the Times on Sunday. To my surprise, it said that resolvers actually are more likely to make a change than non-resolvers, even with the same goal, motivation, and means. That said, the likelihood of a real change is still pretty dismal. Read it for yourself. One other thing it said is you can't resolve more than one difficult thing at a time, because you actually have a finite amount of willpower. That's right. It's not endless. So, if you're trying to stop shopping, you can't also try to lose weight. (Seriously, this idea kind of comforts me.)

I'm pretty sure, though, that I would have more willpower if I had that badass ring.

...and the teaching begins.

2012-01-09T20:47:00.000-08:00

I know this, because last week I received several e-mails from a student, one of which said, "Still waiting for that syllabus, so I can get started." Before the semester even had officially begun, the people. I am giving myself "good teacher" points for not responding in a tart tone.

Today I published that course, and there are responses to the first discussion, so. You know. Teaching.

But I am actually looking forward--so much--to starting the semester. It's possible that I am cramming too much stuff into pretty much all of my courses. I want my students to have it all! All the learning! So we'll see how that goes.

All that remains is for me to pick an outfit. And, you know, make my notes. Like, prepare.

p.s. In my files, I found a letter I wrote to my students in an online version of the poetry class I'm going to teach tomorrow. I really loved that class. Here's some advice I gave them that I've decided I should remember myself:

"It’s all choices, and [poetic] forms give you some more choices,maybe. Anyway, I hope that you feel yourpoetic means have increased as a result of the work you’ve done in theclass. As I’ve observed your work, itseems to me that each poet has done some new and surprising things as a resultof these forms. That’s something worthcherishing, in my book.

I wanted to give you some advice that’s been hard-won forme. Maybe you get a head start on yourpoetic life by my sharing it with you. Here it is: take the feedback youget and weigh it in your own mind. Atthe end of the day, it’s always still your poem, and you get to decide whathappens to your poem. One more bit ofadvice: no one—and I mean no one—gets todecide for you whether you write or not. Only you get to decide whether you write, and what you write. You don’t need anyone else’s permission."

Cheers to all my teacher peeps. Knock 'em dead. You know, teach.

2012 movie report, edition 1.

2012-01-08T23:08:00.000-08:00

Last week, when I should have been creating syllabi, I went instead to Mission Impossible with Dr. Write. I must say, I found it terribly satisfying, until the very end, when it started all of a sudden to seem long. My son-in-law tonight pointed out that it was a physicist who was outrunning Ethan Hunt and bringing him nigh unto a terrible fate. A physicist--just one of several features of the film that strained his capacity to suspend disbelief. (Me: I loved Simon Pegg in that role! S-I-L: see, you have a a guy who's passed the field test, and he's a chattering moron? Me: not a moron, just nervous... ) I can see his point. Still: nothing like an extremely well-made action movie that's not wholly made out of gelignite and other explosive devices to make you feel that speed, strength, and nerve are what life is, or should be, made of.

On Friday night, the historian and I saw Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. I bemoaned the fact that I had checked out all the other Smiley novels from the library, but was still waiting for TTSS to show up. Then, the library's robot e-mailed me and said it was in! So I checked it out, but did not and could not read it before Friday night. But that's okay. I've heard some people offer their criticisms of the film. It is not, apparently, as good as the Alec Guinness version. I can see this point. But not having that film to compare this to, I must say that I found this version terrifically absorbing and entertaining, and felt it added up quite nicely. It was great: after eating enchiladas for dinner and sitting through several bombastic previews, I felt a little sleepy during the opening scenes and I thought, dang, I am missing stuff that will be important later! and so I sat up a little straighter and tried to pay a little better attention. As it went along, I realized I hadn't felt tired for quite awhile, every scene seemed to pay off in some future scene, the characters were fascinating and they were many, and Gary Oldman is awesome. In conclusion: spy movie yay!

Saturday night, we saw Tintin. We probably should have seen War Horse. I am nervous about that movie. (a) it is a war movie (b) with horses which makes it likely that (c) I might find it unbearably sad. Layer onto this dreadful triumvirate of reasons not to see it the historian's reasons: (a) the history might be (b) bad or (c) wrong. So instead we saw Tintin. Now I have read some critiques of this film. One critic said s/he thought it was exhausting. I can see this point. However, I would argue that there is nothing wrong with this movie that chopping it into 15-20 min. long cliffhangers, and showing them before other movies, wouldn't cure. Memo to Steven Spielberg: consider doing this on the DVD.

Saturday stats.

2012-01-07T21:53:00.000-08:00

Consumed: toast with almond butter. pineapple and pink oranges with a little mint sugar. spritz cookies, salted pecans, sugar cookies, diet Dr. Pepper. french fries. root beer. papaya salad. panang curry.

Mood: desultory.

Viewed: 30 min. of episode one, season one, Homeland. Tintin.

Listened to: Amy Winehouse. Sufjan Stevens. Julian Casablancas. Kanye/Jay-Z. Brandon Flowers. Keane. Modest Mouse.

Visited: my folks in Orem. MacDonalds (see french fries above).

In company with: my two youngest kids.

Housework: the dishes.

Read: The Movie Club (on Slate). More of An Uncertain Place (Vargas).

Waiting for me: Mistborn (at the public library).

Constitutional: (pending) walk with the dog.

Decisions still pending: what shall I make for dinner tomorrow? what shall my policy on late work be? how shall I begin the next poem? shall I hope for more snow?

Short letters.

2012-01-06T22:38:00.000-08:00

Dear hard chairs,

Today, you were ubiquitous during the meeting after meeting after meeting I attended. You did not make my life any easier.

Sincerely,

htms

*

Dear cafeteria lunch,

I basically swore you off at the end of last year. 2012 was going to be the healthy, bring it from home food year. Yet there you were, with your BLT hack, your barbecue potato chips and Dr. Pepper. I resent you for reminding me how very weak I am.

I will not be eating you again anytime soon,

htms

*

Dear all-day tall boots,

You are too cute for words, and while I was wearing you, you made me feel a little bit like a goddess. However, you wore out your welcome by 3 p.m., it must be said. Perhaps you are more like 5 and a half hour tall boots.

I will make a note of it,

htms

*

Dear motivational speaker,

I wanted to do grievous harm to your PowerPoint slides and especially to how you said "bing!" when you wanted the next slide to come up. Seriously?

Never darken my door again,

htms

A walk by the river part 2.

2012-01-05T20:10:00.000-08:00

In which I am taken to task yet again.

2012-01-04T20:16:00.000-08:00

At breakfast:

Grandson (4 and a half years old. Conversationally): Our tree is down.

Me: Really? Mine is still up.

Daughter 1: MOM.

Me: What? I've only had it for two weeks.

Daughter 2: MOM!

Grandson: You need to take it down.

Me: But I like it! It still smells good and it looks pretty.

Grandson: Christmas is over! We opened all the presents!

Me: I might leave it up a little longer.

Daughters: [roll eyes, collectively]

Grandson: Take down it.

Notes on optimism.

2012-01-03T20:25:00.000-08:00

As readers of this blog may have perhaps heard me say from time to time, I believe that, in a democracy, it is one's duty to be optimistic. However, today as I listened to a story on NPR about the Iowa caucuses, the probable role in this election of the young people who organized for Obama last election, and that full-o-crazy slate of Republican hopefuls, I admit that my optimism flagged. A bit.

My Shakespeare professor from my undergraduate years, who had been knighted (seriously) by the Queen herself, once recounted the anecdote of the dog, who began his week-long stay at a kennel believing that all bees were flies, and ended his stay believing that all flies were bees. Point being--belaboring it--that neither optimism nor pessimism is realistic. But that's a dog, of course. What about optimism that is like an engine? that keeps you going?

Today while I was working away on my online course, I felt so hopeful that this would be a great semester. Not the kind of hopeful you have to talk yourself into--the kind of hopeful that just wells up.

Here are a few things I am looking forward to: new episodes of 30 Rock. My son's Abbey Road party. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Reading Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Watching Mission Impossible tomorrow in the middle of my syllabus-writing. Writing every week. Making new flavors of ice cream (recent flavors: amaretto-cherry and meyer lemon). Mad Men. Teaching poetry this semester. Wearing my pink sweater. Watching the Jazz get better.

But not, if I'm honest, the upcoming election. Just worried. Not quite pessimistic, not yet.

I am, though, way, way excited for the upcoming semester. Excited to keep going, building my courses, making plans, coming up with ideas that will make my teaching life a little more challenging and quite possibly just a little more amazing.

Close-up.

2012-01-02T21:36:00.000-08:00

About two-thirds of the way through last semester, with great gnashing of teeth and rending of garments I declared that I was going to do everything differently this semester, absolutely EVERYTHING, I was going to bin every single thing I was currently doing and every premise on which I based the things I was currently doing. It was all crap and my teaching was in bad faith. Terrible.

A couple of weeks later, I realized that I always feel this same way at the two-thirds point of each and every semester. So I decided to settle right down. In this more mellow mood, I took many, many notes on several tiny pieces of paper, some of which I still have, with the ideas I had for improving the stuff I was currently doing. Like: find a few new readings; give more detailed instructions about this and that; have two consultations in the semester instead of one; set standards and enforce them, do not yield! etcetera.

Then I turned in my grades and life turned blissful. It has been thus for a couple of weeks. I explicitly told myself that I would not think about school until the new year.

Today, the people, is that new year.

Suddenly, as I look more closely at how much I need to do to be ready, my notes seem rather inadequate to the task. Alas.

However I DO have some resolutions for the new year. That is, I have resolved to

attend one literary reading per month,
plan writing time each week,
take a longer walk several times each week,
plan a family dinner once a month,
make more music,
always be reading,

and I am also going to try to take the longer view when I feel like I'm the worst teacher in the world, or the lamest writer, or whatever. The long view, the people. 2012 is all about the long view.

A note from the proprietor.

2012-01-01T23:25:00.001-08:00

It is my intention--that is, I intend--to blog every day in the year 2012. So check back here as often as you like: I will have fresh goods.

2011 in books.

2012-01-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

Here are the books I bought/read in 2011, in no particular order:

susan hill: all the inspector simon serailler series. the first I read was the pure in heart, and it was so good that I immediately read all of them, ending with the most recent, the betrayal of trust. sometimes her town, lafferton, seems a little too crowded with people to care about, but mostly that means she's a good novelist and not just a genre-ist. recommended.

best american poetry 2011: I will be using this to teach with in the spring. some fantastic stuff in there, including a poem by sherman alexie and three sonnets by olena kalytiak davis.

walks through lost paris: a journey into the heart of historic paris (leonard pitts): so interesting. I was maybe hoping a little for a sense of the medieval paris, but this focuses on the transformations of the haussmann era, which were vast. lots of amazing pictures.

understanding style (glaser). I heard this was more accessible than kolln's rhetorical grammar. this remains to be seen. I will (maybe) report, once I've taken a closer look.

fearless speech, foucault: bought because I saw it featured on brian kubarycz's website. the historian read it immediately, so I have his report on it. I must, in fact, retrieve it from his desk.

the kingdom of ordinary time & what the living do (howe): I heard marie howe read at awp last year and loved her. these poems are beautiful and plainspoken.

kindertotenwald (franz wright): to read for this month's book group. I really enjoyed wright's walking to martha's vineyard, so am looking forward to this.

an uncertain place (vargas): the latest installment in fred vargas's commissaire adamsberg series of police procedurals, which are, to my mind, almost folkloric, mythic in their uptake of the genre. I am reading it right now.

at home: a short history of private life (bryson): for book group this fall. still to read.

great house (nicole krauss): I really loved this. four characters and their circles are connected by a large writing desk which is in each one's possession for a time. in retrospect, I can understand the critique that the voices of the four characters should have been more differentiated, but I loved the intricacy of the plot and found the entire story very moving.

a visit from the goon squad (jennifer egan): as dr. write says, perhaps this would have been better as a novel, with the most interesting stories more fully worked out. yet, just as she did, I loved this book anyway--there were so many parts that really seized my heart, and she's a very good writer.

wanderlust (elizabeth eaves): I recommended this book to my book group on the strength of an npr interview with its author. sigh. it was better conceptually than it was in execution. still, readable, especially if you slide over the iffy parts.

onions in the stew (macdonald): another book in the unending quest to find the one book that was in my parents' house growing up--it wasn't a children's or young adult's book, it was a novel or perhaps a memoir, I loved it, read it multiple times, but cannot remember the title or author or anything about it except that it had a yellow cloth cover and an illustrated flyleaf. alas, this is not the book I remember, although it does have a yellow cloth cover. betty macdonald was the author of the mrs. piggle-wiggle series, in case you want to know.

eeei (byrne): "envisioning emotional epistemological information," is what the "eeei" stands for. david byrne uses powerpoint as an art medium. I love that.

modern english grammar (oxford): everybody needs one.

crossing state lines: an american renga (bob dolman, carol muske-dukes): dolman and muske-dukes coordinated a massive renga project, where fifty-four poets wrote connecting stanzas of the same poem. an awesome undertaking, don't you agree?

I think I love you (pearson): for book club. loved this book--found it enormously moving by the end. featuring david cassidy as a character.

I don't know how she does it (person): after reading the above, I felt I had to read this. I read it in one fell swoop--it disturbed me and worried me and I found it quite good by the end.

the mystic arts of erasing all signs of death (huston): recommended to me by middlebrow. a little gory and a little unsettling, but ultimately this story of a guy who works for a crime clean-up crew and (of course) gets tangled up in some actual crime--pretty awesome. this charlie huston can write.

come on all you ghosts (zapruder): loved this. heard matthew zapruder read at awp, part of a panel on using history to write. his was the least literally historical, but I loved the flat yet somehow still capable-of-liftoff qualities of his voice, particularly in the title poem.

5 very good reasons to punch a dolphin in the mouth: comics and illustrations and other visual awesomeness. from the oatmeal, aka matthew inman.

that this (howe): bought this book as a consequence of hearing susan howe read at awp (sensing a theme here...). I don't know that this book is "readable," exactly, but it is beautiful--it has as a centerpiece text-collages taken from the jonathan edwards archive.

bird lovers, backyard (field): I have dipped into this. it has poems/essays using factual and scientific material, blended with poetic and fictive means.

sacred sites: the secret history of southern california (suntree): adding this epic/historic poem/essay to my collection of works about southern california. there's a lot to learn, especially about the pre/non-historic.

the book of ten (wood): this book of poems comes highly recommended. now if I can only find where I put it...

wise men's fear (kingkiller chronicles, day 2) (patrick rothfuss): I read this compulsively on my trip to scotland last March. it's the sequel to the name of the wind, which was the better book, maybe, but this had lots of pleasures. now rothfuss needs to get on that third volume, and make it snappy.

electronic monuments (electronic mediations) (ulmer): I love greg ulmer because he is an optimist. this is a fairly recent book, his meditation on the act of monumentalizing, especially in light of the debate about how best to officially commemorate the events of 9/11 in new york. he sees the memorials created by ordinary people as an alternative method of memorializing.

kiki smith: a gathering, 1980-2005: a volume to accompany a retrospective of kiki smith's work, which we saw at the walker art center in minneapolis. fantastic.

instant indesign: designing templates for fast and efficient page layout: still learning.

the bridge (remnick): a wonderfully readable book about obama's life and political rise, ending with his election. I loved reading pretty much every word of this tome.

kraken (mieville): still in the middle of this. I love mieville--this centers on a squid-worshipping cult in london, and the theft of a giant specimen from the natural history museum. fast-paced, squalid, funny...also, there is a giant mess of a plot, which I may or may not be a little lost in. just saying.

bossypants, by the inimitable tina fey, who is so dang smart it is ridiculous. I loved this book.

the troubled man & the man from beijing (henning mankell): the last of the wallender novels and a non-wallender novel. both very readable and intelligent. may I politely say, one last time, that I don't find mankell to be the most amazing writer ever? I did love the character of kurt wallender, and the settings and the crimes, but I thought the books were uneven, or rather, some books were not as good as others. however: I did read each and every one of them. so there's that. adios, wallender. I will miss reading those stories.

the financial lives of the poets (jess walter): swell. just swell. a little absurd but still: swell. in that vein,

the anthologist (nicholson baker): also just swell. I loved both of these books that are, in part, about the literary life.

I think there are probably some more...for instance, I may or may not have reread each and every one of the harry potter novels at a time of great stress. I found them comforting. but this list will do.

The year in movies, 2011.

2011-12-30T22:29:00.001-08:00

This year, I saw the following movies, not in order (notes on each, with "!"s where I particularly liked the film):

hangover two: if I laughed at the first hangover and was a little ashamed at myself, I can at least congratulate myself that this movie was (a) no hangover part 1, and (b) crappy in its own right. sequels can go to hell, based on this evidence. my only defense is that I saw this with friends.

pirates of the caribbean: on stranger tides: for heaven's sake. a waste of whatever it was that they made this out of--those little paper umbrellas, plastic sword fruit skewers, and recycled soda pop bottles, I guess.

bridesmaids: !!! one of my favorite movies of the year, and also one of my all-time favorite comedies. if for whatever reason you have not yet seen it, rectify that situation asap.

something borrowed: another wedding themed movie, not nearly so good as bridesmaids. kate hudson was amusing as the narcissistic, bitchy friend. whatsisname was pretty as the love object. blah blah blah they did a lipsynch. it's not that I didn't enjoy this. I saw it with my daughter, and we had fun. moving on.

hanna: !! I really, really liked this movie. there are certain types of movies that I wish they could make again and again, and this--spy thriller action with excellent young actress, not horrifyingly violent--is one of them. that saoirse ronan--she is good. with an excellent eric bana as well.

source code: my son got it right about this movie--it was pretty good, but for heaven's sake, why wouldn't the vera farmiga character just tell the jake gyllenhaal character what was what? why not? head-smackingly obvious. but, you know, if that kind of thing doesn't bother you, then you might like this movie. it was actually pretty affecting.

the adjustment bureau: coupla cute kids try to hook up but the eponymous adjustment bureau, bosses of your fate wearing trench coats and fedoras, won't let them, because it's supposedly a bad thing. for both of them and maybe the whole world? I don't know. all I know is, matt damon is cute and so is emily blunt, and terence stamp can be purty menacing. diverting and that is all.

rango: ! I thought this was pretty imaginative and visually arresting, and I dug it. we took some grandchildren--I'm not sure they felt the same way. johnny depp's performance as a lizard was way better than any other johnny depp performance I saw this year (jack sparrow and whatsis hunter s. thompson standin, I'm looking at you).

cave of forgotten dreams: !! I read a bunch of stuff about this film--some people hated the sound track and called it new age-y; others thought the filming didn't do justice to the cave paintings. I really loved the experience of this movie, with technique and so forth being sort of beside the point, since I was seeing something that, literally, I had never seen before. highly recommended.

jane eyre: !! I loved this, full stop. some of my friends thought it was florid. I did not. I loved fassbender as rochester and mia wasikowska is swell. judi dench, as always perfection. I loved its gothicism along with its stringency.

the music never stopped: ! this movie is sentimental, sure, and so on. but I loved it all the same. the grateful dead as redemption--not a fan, really, of the dead, but I was persuaded that it could be so.

certified copy: ! odd and interesting. what is the nature of the relationship between juliette binoche and william shimell? what is the nature of any intimate relationship? ambiguous and a little unsettling.

blue valentine: ! the disintegration of a marriage. really, really sad. but also very, very good.

the dilemma: remember when vince vaughn was in into the wild? and how good he was? I think he is actually an actor, but he needs to pick better movies and parts. this isn't awful, but it's not really good either. with winona ryder, quite good, and that's something. also kevin james. who can resist him? (well, maybe me, in that one zookeeper movie. but otherwise.)

i love you phillip morris: ! quite enjoyed this movie, which was predictably hammed up by jim carrey (I actually don't have a big problem with that), but made sweeter by the adorable and versatile ewan macgregor (see also beginners below).

somewhere: !! my daughter thought this was a terrible, terrible bore. I thought it was lovely, beautifully composed and acted, a poem of a movie. set at the chateau marmont. not, however, as good as s. coppola's first two movies. I still haven't seen marie antoinette. shall I netflix it?

morning glory: ordinarily this kind of thing is right up my alley, and mostly it was. diane keaton was awesome and hilarious, and harrison ford was harrison fordian, in the best sense of this term, which I just made up right now. the movie lost me when the ever adorable rachel mcadams runs down the street for a big-network job interview wearing a floaty sundress and strappy, perilous high heels. bull shit, I say. give me a break. that's right: I lost faith in the movie because she wore an inappropriate outfit. this, however, didn't stop me from seeing it a second time with my daughter. because I like to give a movie a second chance, when I can.

fair game: based on the valerie plame affair. let me say two things: (a) I pretty much straight up love Sean Penn, can't help myself. (b) naomi watts may or may not be a good actress. based on this movie, I say: not. you be the judge.

the switch: ! here's an example of how a romantic comedy, almost any romantic comedy, will do in a pinch. that said, jason bateman plays such an unlikely romantic lead that it's kind of awesome, in a small way, how unromantic this romantic comedy was. jennifer aniston is reliable and charming. I am still on her team (but see tree of life and moneyball below, for evidence that I am also on brad's team).

barney's version: ! freaking good. well, pretty good. too saga-ish. a paul giamatti performance is still to be treasured. whatsername, rosamund pilch, is beautiful and swell as his wife. good enough.

the company men: ! square and good. it has chris cooper, tommy lee jones, and a slightly less smirky-than-usual ben affleck. go team! (also: kevin costner, whom I am cherishing in his paunchy middle age.)

cedar rapids: !! good good good. john c. reilly with big fish/small pond swagger is great, and Ed Helms--funny, sweet, hilarious. anne heche--very nice. also, alia shawcat, aka maybe funke, does well.

red riding hood: as I said earlier this year: "a fantastic hot mess of a movie, much in the vein of the first Twilight, and what do you know? The wolf is no wolf. No, the wolf is a WEREwolf. Of course. Amanda Seyfried looked very fetching in her cloak. Julie Christie was beautiful and a little scary as the grandmother."

win win: !! good good. again with the great paul giamatti performance. this one is rather superb, and also features the perfection that is amy ryan. wonderful.

the lincoln lawyer: ! why not? perhaps an only serviceable michael connelly novel gives rise to a swell matthew mcconaughey movie. yay! even better, there's marisa tomei and possibly dastardly rich people. fun for everyone!

midnight in paris: ! people raved about this, and I did see it twice, once with my oldest friend, once with the historian and some friends. here's what I liked about it: owen wilson made a graceful and beneficent fill-in for the woody allen figure. adrien brody was hilarious as dali. the guy who played hemingway--funny. and darling alison pill was perfection as zelda fitzgerald. what I did not like about it: why did the rachel mcadams character need to be such a bitch? it was entirely unnecessary and added a sourness to the whole affair.

kung fu panda 2: !! 'swonderful, 'smarvelous, 'sgo right away if you haven't already!

the tree of life: !! well, I pretty much think brad pitt is a great movie actor. yeah, he's pretty, but he's no longer at the prettiest phase of his career, and he is absolutely mesmerizing to watch, and revelatory too. the historian said of this movie that he didn't think he had ever seen a better portrayal of a boy's childhood--the pleasures and dangers of it. I forgive this movie, pretty much, its weirdnesses, if forgiveness is even called for. it was an entirely original and beautiful thing, weirdness and all. (jessica chastain also gives one of her several gorgeous performances this year.)

beginners: !! loved. christopher plummer was and is almost always great. ewan macgregor was lovely. the story of a boy coming to terms with his father late in life--very moving. and a special pleasure: goran visznjic, who is just wonderful. beautiful and wonderful. also featuring a soulful dog.

X-Men First Class: ! loved. my favorite by far of the x-men franchise. snappy pacing and soulfulness on the part of both the leads. kevin bacon as a bad, bad bad guy.

Super 8: ! charming. perfect for a summer movie. add to your list of movies about kids who make movies (son of rambow) or maybe just good movies about kids.

The Trip: !! an odd, rambly little movie with steve coogan and rob brydon, taking (wait for it!) a trip around England to visit odd little inns and restaurants, then write about it. the actors play versions of themselves, and there are parts of it that are sublimely funny, and parts that are curiously melancholy. worthwhile.

Buck !! lovely and moving. here are some things I learned: horses are amazing. this guy knows his way around a horse. it's possible for a person to emerge from a childhood of suffering to become an adult with great intelligence and gentleness, but it is nonetheless a heartbreaking story. some people don't know what to do with a horse. robert redford can be fairly inarticulate, if also kind of a riot to listen to. in conclusion, this was a very good movie, and you should see it if you love horses or people or life itself.

Larry Crowne: well, I hate to say it, but this movie is kind of a trifle, and probably not worth your time. tom hanks should not be making this movie, and neither should julia roberts. yet we saw it. well, some things just defy explanation.

Horrible Bosses: ! funny, and as I have gone on record many a time saying, all I require in a comedy is that it make me laugh, and this did, plenty. it was no bridesmaids, don't get me wrong, but it was funny, and charlie day, from the inexplicable it's always sunny in philadelphia? so funny.

Tabloid: weird. weird, sad, funny. the story of joyce mckinney, who went to England to "rescue" her Mormon missionary boyfriend from the clutches of missionary-dom and tied him to a bed for the weekend. there are more oddities to this story than can possibly be summarized. it's errol morris, it's an original, you should probably see it. but first put the kids to bed, it'll weird them out.

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows !! like everyone else in the world, I saw this last summer. I made this note: "In July, a bunch of people, including my daughters and me, went to see the most recent Harry Potter, I pretty much full-on sobbed when (seriously? you haven't seen/read it yet? what is wrong with you? spoiler alert) Snape died. After the movie ended, my daughter with the wicked wit said, "Are you okay?"." yes, I was. I thought the movie was a fitting end to the franchise. I am, I confess it, a little sad that there is no more harry potter, neither book nor movie.

Friends with Benefits ! surprisingly funny. perhaps you are of the camp that finds justin timberlake a little smug. I have heard this may be true. however: I am more of the camp that finds him funny and attractive, the camp that is grateful to him for bringing sexy back. mila kunis is, of course, terrific. I add this to the "happy surprise" category of romantic comedies, and I am always grateful for an addition to that short list.

Sarah's Key: both this and incendies have a similar problem: each is a movie about a horrific crime of a past war, with a parallel in the present-day. each, therefore, finds itself with a problem of allegory: the present-day dilemmas of the characters who investigate the past cannot bear the weight of the comparison. that said, I found this film moving and sorrowful. your mileage may vary.

Incendies ! see above. this was a better film than sarah's key. based on a play of the same name. very good performances.

the future ! the vexing Miranda July. a striking and disquieting film. good. not like anything else I've seen, quite.

Crazy, Stupid, Love: oh crazy, stupid, love, with your excessive commas and one romantic subplot too many: you had a lot going for you, so it was annoying when the surplus love story kept coming back up. where was your discretion, your aesthetic sense, your narrative balance? why squander the two compelling love stories by throwing another into the hopper? where was your restraint, your judgement, your modesty? why do I have so many questions for you? weren't your excellent leads (Steve Carell, Julianne Moore, Emma Stone, Ryan Gosling) enough? well weren't they?

The Guard !! a little thing, but a pleasure. I have quibbles about it (call me a prude, but I am mostly not interested in hilarious call girl scenarios), but mostly I just loved this. brendan gleason and don cheadle, so very good. one of my favorites. on the strength of my enjoyment of this movie, my youngest son finally got me to watch in bruges, which was also pretty darn good.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes ! so much better than I thought it would be. andy serkis's chimp = perfect.

The Change-Up: one small piece of evidence that Jason Bateman can do wrong. ick.

The Help ! : I liked this. Its great, great strengths are the wonderful performances given by viola davis and octavia spencer. everyone acquits herself quite beautifully, including Allison Janney and Jessica Chastain.

One Day: in an open letter to the movie studios of america, I wrote the following regarding one day:
It was certainly our own fault that we chose One Day as our Friday night movie option. However, having now viewed this film, we have the following constructive criticisms to make, in the spirit of better movies for everyone: 1. You should hire somebody who can tell you how to make a movie better, because pretty much any fool could have told you what you should have done to make One Day a better movie. 2. No amount of bad haircuts, Doc Martens, and wire-rimmed glasses will make Anne Hathaway the "plain" girl. Also, sorry and no offense, but Anne Hathaway's accent sucked. Shoulda hired a British actress. Sincerely, htms.

Brighton Rock: I literally could not believe that there were characters this stupid in literature or in life. featuring the incomparable helen mirren wearing excellent lipstick and convincingly embodying worldliness and common sense, in exceedingly short supply in this story.

Higher Ground !! loved. the splendid vera farmiga in a movie about belonging and not belonging to a fundamentalist religious group. one of my favorite movies of the year.

Our idiot Brother ! gentle and sweet. paul rudd could not be more appealing or cuddly, and all the women who played his sisters--perfect. a slimy steve coogan, very funny. and the darling adam scott as rachel mcadams's love interest. what could be better? hardly anything, that's what.

The Debt: oh, fine, but this is not all that great, is it? just because it has helen mirren (always perfect, I admit it). get over yourself, I mean it. (but jessica chastain--in every movie possible this year--is always very very good.)

Contagion ! chilly and chilling. scary. I liked how many movie stars there were in it, and how no one, not a single person, seemed movie star-ish. matt damon, who keeps getting better and better, is very good. laurence fishburne. kate winslet. jude law. jennifer ehle. all superb.

Moneyball !! I looked forward to this and was not disappointed. so much fun. who loves seeing brad pitt's big face on a big screen? I know I do.

50/50: good, if a little conventional. I guess it's possible to have too many movies where people learn life lessons because they get really really sick. but if they are well-acted movies this story can still work, and I thought this was good. I loved anjelica huston as the problematic mom. I love love love joseph gordon leavitt, and seth rogen was quite good. but you can decide for yourself if you are allergic to this kind of uplift.

The Ides of March: I liked this, but it felt a little smug to me. I don't like it when I have to say that about george clooney, but I feel I have to say it: his performance was a little smug. boo to that. (but see the descendants below--george redeems himself.)

Take Shelter !!: this movie was the best one of the year, in my book. gorgeous, unpredictable, extremely well-acted, full of dread--great, great, great. I loved this movie.

Footloose: saw this with friends--good dancing, not that great acting. but good dancing. so there's that.

Margin Call ! sharp little financial thriller (if you never saw the boiler room, I recommend it as well in this category). a fairly lucid dramatization of how the financial crisis of 2008 went down. smart and well-executed.

Martha Marcy May Marlene ! creepy and slightly mesmerizing nonetheless. must note that john hawkes gives a great performance as the patriarch of a cult.

The Rum Diary: gaaa why? johnny depp: stop this crap.

Melancholia !! ponderous and still pretty amazing. gorgeous film, a wedding fallen apart, and then the end of the world. also unlike anything else I have ever seen. a splendid kiefer sutherland and charlotte gainsbourg...well, there's no one who isn't fantastic.

The Descendants !! thought this was just great. a special note for a nice beau bridges performance thrown in there. also: matthew lillard from slc punk and, let us not forget, she's all that. george c. is all that he should be and more. really good. one of my faves from this year.

The Muppets ! YES. the true question of the year: are you man? or are you a muppet of a man?

Hugo !! some people thought this was overwrought, but I did not. I thought it was magical. so there.

My Week With Marilyn ! good for the performances: a lovely michelle williams, and an hilarious kenneth branagh as olivier. there is one delicious moment when branagh bestows his benediction on the script readthrough with an invocation to "motion pictures," where he pronounces "motion" with a soft "s"--it is priceless. if you're the kind of moviegoer who treasures this sort of thing, well, there's plenty to be had in my week with marilyn.

Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows ! a.o. scott says that this is the latest installment in the decline of sherlock holmes into action picture territory, courtesy of guy ritchie and robert downey, jr. oh, boo, a.o. loosen up your cravat a little and have some fun. which I did at sherlock holmes: game of shadows. kudos especially to jared harris as professor moriarty. I so enjoy him.

Young Adult ! I thought this movie was good, but it bummed me out. best part: patton oswalt. a beautiful, funny, and fully human performance.

Le Havre ! a working class comedy, I guess, of manners, or something like that. quite lovely and idiosyncratic.

We Bought a Zoo ! : is this your thing--a family movie, by which I mean a movie about a family, who (you'll never guess!) buys a zoo? I weighed it in the balance: it's cameron crowe; but it could be so sentimental!; but I am kind of a sentimental gal; it's about a zoo, for heaven's sake!; so...there might be lions? etc. in the end, I went with my daughter, and loved it. pluses: there are lions and tigers and bears. matt damon. scarlett johanssen, very good. a cute child actress. patrick fugit. minuses: oh, I don't know--were there any, really?

New Year's Eve: I saw this with my daughters. we enjoyed ourselves and had popcorn. none of us deluded ourselves that it was anything but a product. the end.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo !: the last, or next-to-last, movie of our movie-going year. I have quite looked forward to seeing it, and it's a better-made movie than the swedish ones. I liked noomi rapace a lot as lisbeth salander in the swedish ones; I very much liked rooney mara in this one. and yet, this movie was not the grand improvement on the serviceable swedish films that I thought it would be. some reviewers said that in the end, fincher couldn't triumph over the source material--but the source material is lurid, pulpy, sensational, and gripping--this movie didn't quite grip. it was good but not great. let me add that I think daniel craig makes a very good mikvael blomquist, and stellan skarsgaard is splendid almost always. but rooney mara: she is just terrific.

That is all.

A walk on the river.

2011-12-28T19:59:00.000-08:00

The historian and I are planning to walk the length of the Jordan River Parkway over the next few weeks. This was the first section. Actually, it was partly doing a little walk by the L.A. River last spring that made me want to do this--something about an urban/suburban water way, its very presence in the cities and towns in which we live--seems worth knowing more about.

The baking commences.

2011-12-21T11:10:00.000-08:00

And you know what that means--the grading has ceased! Last night at about 10:15 p.m., I finished my reading, for better or for worse, of the revisions (or "revisions," in the case of more of my students than I would have liked) and portfolios and final projects and exams. C'est fini, and I feel, frankly, okay about it all. The reckoning was prolonged but it was just.

Therefore and thus, as we speak there is babka a-rising (pictures to come). And the people, there is butter in my refrigerator and it shall not be spared! In fact, more butter than I presently have is called for, and thus there will be store runs for butter and other sundries. Powdered sugar. Maybe some more sprinkles. Cream? Because there will be cookies galore, and more caramels, this time not slightly overcooked, and Christmas breads of various kinds.

One of the three out-of-town children has come home to roost. She is waiting for me to watch another episode of Glee with her. Two more come home tonight. The tree is fresh and it smells good. There are poinsettias. The goose is getting fat, the people. FAT.

A writing teacher's Christmas haiku.

2011-12-20T10:16:00.000-08:00

lopsided Christmas
tree, so festive you've made these
last portfolios!

Me and Almost Famous had brunch together at the Oasis, but I still don't have a Christmas tree.

2011-12-18T11:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, at the Oasis, I saw Patrick Fugit. I had to put on my glasses to double check. I said to my companion Kati, "I'm not sure, but I think that's Patrick Fugit!"

She put on her glasses and said, "That is Patrick Fugit!"

Now, Patrick Fugit and I go way back. He plays, basically, the doppelganger of Cameron Crowe in Almost Famous, a movie I love because it's basically about my life, if I had been a boy and had started writing for Rolling Stone when I was 15. But Cameron Crowe and I are almost the exact same age and really essentially have lived the same life. (if I had become a writer for Rolling Stone and gone on to direct movies such as Almost Famous. A movie I love. I think you can see my point here. CC=LisaB., but for minor differences barely worth pointing out.) Also, Patrick Fugit in Almost Famous looks almost exactly the same as I did in my yearbook picture, junior year. My daughter tells me that I look like Almost Famous, which only makes sense, given all of the above.

Speaking of this daughter: a few months ago, due to the vagaries of luck, fate, etc., she got to go to L.A. and stay at the Chateau Marmont with her niece. I made her promise me that she would text me all her celebrity sightings:

"janice dickinson looking like an old paper bag at the polo lounge at the beverly hills hotel."
"jessica lange checking out next to us!" [me: how'd she look? daughter: she looked old and beautiful.]
"ryan phillipe and his two kids at fred segal."
"just now we rounded out the trip with mischa barton."
"at the pool with the world's most annoying actor john leguizamo."
"dining across from elizabeth moss. also kevin dillon. both smoking up a storm."

So I think we can all agree that when I spotted Patrick Fugit at the Oasis, I owed my daughter a text. But when I reached for my phone, this text was waiting for me, as if preemptively:

"You have five hours to get a tree before I show up with a fake tree. This is for real."

To which I replied:

"I am at the Oasis and almost famous, aka Patrick Fugit, is here! Take that, Chateau Marmont! (p.s., I am getting a tree for reals tomorrow.)

To which she replied:

"Tomorrow! If you have time to be star struck you have time to get a tree! (Tell him he looks like you as a teenager.)"
Update:

Enough with the not posting.

2011-12-17T07:35:00.000-08:00

Here's what I've been doing:

1. getting ready to grade
2. chasing after rainbows, by which I mean the chimerical student with his/her final project(s)/exams in hand, trying to entice him/her to give it up already so I can grade it.
3. grading
4. watching Glee (old episodes) while grading
5. thinking about baking
6. hacking off slices of caramel from the batch I cooked just a wee bit too long
7. contemplating AGAIN the purchase of a Christmas tree which protraction of a joyful event leaches pleasure from it WHY do I do this every year WHY?

But anyway.

Soon my family will descend upon mi casa and that will be fun whether I'm ready for it or not.

Progress report.

2011-12-11T22:54:00.000-08:00

Christmas Tree. I will get one. by lisab

My men and my women:

2011-12-06T18:49:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, I noted the faintest dust of snow drifting lazily down and asked myself: shall I go out or shall I stay in? and more importantly, shall I bake? As it turned out, I went into the wild world to try to find fancy dresses for granddaughters, and came back sort of wasted. But in the meantime, an idea set my head on fire (sorry, just now watching Glee) and the idea was this: apple turnovers.

Maybe I looked at Tartelette, and there was a recipe for crazy mille feuilles, along with a rough puff pastry recipe, whoa. Maybe it was that there's a bucket of apples in the garage that came from our very own trees.

Maybe it's that every weekend of late, we say "Let's make applesauce!" and then we never do. And maybe, periodically, I need to wrestle with some complicated pastry to prove that pastry is not the boss of me. I don't know.

But that rough pastry recipe called my name. And the context in which it called my name was the turnover.

I have some history with the apple turnover. I think you can still buy those turnover kits made by, what, Pillsbury, in the refrigerator case. Which I have done in the past. In the past, when I was a teenager, I may or may not have made some of these turnovers for a crazy church event where girls brought a picnic something or other and boys bid on the picnics? Can that be real? I think it was, and I'm pretty sure I had some vaguely French-slash-bohemian fantasy that also may or may not have involved some kind of unusual cheese. Okay, closing that memory up for good, and moving on. Where was I? Apple turnover, right.

So, this pastry. After you make the basic dough, all puff pastry requires multiple rollings out, foldings into thirds, rests in the refrigerator, then more rolling out, etc. This is what builds the layers. For classic puff pastry, you make a square of butter and enfold it in the dough, then roll it out, etc. But with rough puff pastry, you incorporate the butter into flour, as if you were making pie crust, add water, gather it into a ball...and then you roll it out, fold, rest, etc. Does this rough version sound easier than the classic? Not really, am I right? Are you even still listening?

Well, let me say that upon the first assemblage, the dough was very rough looking, and I questioned indeed whether it would be puffy at all or whatsoever, or if instead it would be a tough, horrible catastrophe of a dough that would make me sad that I had ever had the apple turnover idea overtake my mind like a fire. But guess what? After the second rolling out, it started to kind of look suave and as if it might contain the possibility of puff.

(but flat, right? can you believe that the above would ever expand into delicate and sophisticated layers? me either, to tell the truth.)

But after the third rolling out, I was all, let's get the apples!

And here's how it all turned out in the end:

Untidy perhaps, but undeniably flaky and delicious. Apple turnovers YES.

In summation.

2011-12-04T20:03:00.001-08:00

Me, to the historian, while the television is muted during a commercial break whilst watching The Good Wife: Guess how much work I got done today?

The historian: How much?

Me: Not any.

The historian: [expletive.]

But who's counting.

2011-12-03T22:16:00.000-08:00

Still have drafts to read, assignments to grade, comments to bestow, consultations to hold, but today I made waffles for breakfast, which we lingered over; picked up eggs and kale and apples from Chad; browsed Sophia's Christmas fundraiser boutique (for a worthy cause); admired the Spiderman detachable arms (can't possibly explain this) applied to another action figure by Deacon; shopped for Christmas presents for the Scotlands (denied!); and bought delectable assorted groceries and flowers. And talked to the oven repair guy (news: not good). And saw Hugo. Which we loved.

With the Folio reading over with, I feel a small window of not-panicking. All last week my lower back was aching; two nights I could barely sleep; I felt, sometimes, like I was only barely keeping it together. No more. Thursday night I slept the sleep of the blessed. And Friday, even with multiple consultations, a short presentation, a meeting, and appointments to help three students bind books, I felt released. Free.

Obviously, the grading/consulting/commenting regime reimposes itself, like, tomorrow. But I am also going to take a long walk and I am going to remember to breathe the December air. I will cook something delicious, maybe some things. And on Monday I am getting a Christmas tree. The end.

Sometimes, everything is okay.

2011-12-01T22:23:00.000-08:00

Like today, for instance.

Knowing that there was a race against the clock, printer-wise, and that while there was a good faith promise to get a printed magazine delivered by 4:30 p.m., there was on the other hand every chance in the world that things could go awry, I was unable to sleep last night, which meant that I was behind, just a little, in all my appointments, etc. today.

Yet after all--after the fouled-up print job and the promises, after the not-enough-sleep and the ten-minutes-behind day--after all this, the book was delivered a half an hour early, it was exquisite, and the reading--the whole event--was just splendid.

Here's what the internet said about it:

And just in case you want to check it out--you can go here to see the whole digital edition, and here to see the pdf of the print edition. If you want yr own book, you can come to my hall at the SLCC to pick it up for yourself. It's a beauty.

(It's possible that I am filled with love for humankind at the moment. Just saying.)

It goes a little something like this.

2011-11-30T20:46:00.001-08:00

Today, the issue of Folio arrived from the printers. The student staff and I were kind of excited to see it. Tomorrow is the issue launch and reading, after all. It's possible that we sent an excited inquiry over to Print Services, who is now our middleman. And maybe a phone call, after which our design editor put her coat on and went over to take a look.

"Is there something wrong?" we asked her. She looked concerned.

"Maybe something aesthetic, not content," she said, like a mysterious Zen master of design. And off she went. We went on planning the issue launch slash reading slash web issue unveiling slash multimedia extravaganza (there will be refreshments!).

Fifteen minutes later, Zen Design Master came back. She did not have an air of equanimity. Her face looked a little stormy.

Issue (a). One page was bound in the book upside down.

Issue (b). That page was a repeat of a page about seven pages earlier in the book, where said page was bound right side up.

Issue (c). Page 70 is missing.

What. we said. We said What. The. Hell. We really couldn't believe it. I, Faculty Advisor, had gone through the book before sending it to the printer. The Design Editor had surely gone through the book only about a zillion times. She and the Print Services middleman liaison person went through it together before sending it off. This was not an advisory oversight problem. This was not a layout problem. This was not a middleman liaison person problem. This was a printer problem, one with only a little more than twenty-four hours to turn it around.

The Print Services middleman had what I can only imagine was a terse, perhaps even spiky, conversation with the printers, who are now reprinting the book. Her followup e-mail to me even said something like "as we speak," which I can only hope was literally--and I mean literally literally--true. We agreed to have a less-matte finish than we had originally ordered on the cover (WOE!) and they agreed to have the book to us by 4:30 p.m. Which is precisely 90 minutes before the reading slash issue launch slash multimedia showdown slash web issue extravaganza is supposed to start (there will be tea!).

Meanwhile, I have about 30 photographs, illustrations, drawings, prints and paintings in my office, which will need to be carted over to the venue, along with the putative magazine. Catering will be delivering crackers, cheese, fruit platters and assorted tea bags along with what we hope will be very hot water, to celebrate what may be a phantom book.

But by golly come to the event! It's an issue launch, art and multimedia gallery, web-issue debut, and reading. With refreshments! And hopefully a magazine!

Koans.

2011-11-28T22:09:00.000-08:00

Sundance Catalog: why fingerless gloves?

***

Tinychat: what is "please do not spam/flood the chat"?

A couple of dyspeptic memos, with feelings in them.

2011-11-27T19:39:00.000-08:00

TO: Student, whom I like quite a bit and who is still in the game at this late point in the semester, so...there's that.

FROM: Professor, easily appalled because of this same late point in the semester.

DATE: Today

RE: What you said about Chekhov

When you said you loved Russian writers but you also thought that writers from this period tended to make small details "unnecessarily long-winded" and that Chekhov was "no exception," I felt a little murderous.

Chekhov was, well, first of all, Chekhov is Chekhov, for heaven's sake. Secondly, sir, he was a Russian writer. The winters in Russia are long. What was there for Chekhov to do but write long, elegant, wintry sentences?

_______

TO: Student, whom I like but who always disagrees with me in every damned online discussion, literally EVERY single one.

FROM: Professor, who's a little tired of this nonsense, at this late point in the semester.

DATE: Today

RE: Your critique of me

Today, when I read your critique of the question I asked in the online discussion, particularly where you told me I should write more clearly and my questions shouldn't have so many parts, I felt annoyed.

My dear, you may be right. But I shall continue to ask my many-parted questions until forever or when I find a simpler way to ask them. You go on thinking every question can be asked in a single, straightforward, uncomplicated clause. You'll probably make piles of money and I will still be a community college professor. But I will have my dignity. And my fat, gnarled questions. And this tiny bit of rancor that I shall cherish, a minuscule needle that I will keep in my satchel of teaching memorabilia.

The sparkly: a love story.

2011-11-22T19:12:00.000-08:00

When I was little, the thing I wanted most out of all life was a pair of red shoes. And also to be Mary Poppins, which I think we can all agree is a contradictory set of desires. (Also to be Maria Von Trapp, both before and after she was a nun. Fine, novice.)

Red shoes are, of course, less sensible than a brown or a black shoe, just for the "what will this go with?" factor. So it was right that my shoes be brown or black, or perhaps a sassy navy blue. I'm pretty sure, however, that I remember trading shoes with a girl on the playground, and I'm pretty sure her shoes were red. You can imagine, I'm sure, my mother's bafflement-slash-horror when I came home with some other kid's shoes. But because you just didn't hop in your car for no good reason back in the day, I got to wear those shoes for one glorious night. At least I think I did. Maybe I'm making this all up. Either way a memory/fake memory of borrowed red shoes is a key dimension of my own narrative. I think you can see where I'm going with this.

Point is, colorful is better than not colorful. And better than colorful--better by far!--is the sparkly.

I remember sitting with some lovely women a couple of years ago, and one of them said to the other, "You can't find a sweater without sequins on it," making it clear that the word sequins did not describe a good thing. But I thought, secretly, because I wasn't prepared to out myself yet for the magpie that I was/am/always will be, How piquante et amusante, because I am looking for that very thing: a sequined sweater. A cardigan, to be exact, not just embellished but encrusted with sequins. I was looking not for a restrained sparkle but a full on bedazzlement, a cardigan that, were it hoisted into the heavens, would be capable of guiding ships home from the sea.

Did I find this cardigan? Why, yes I did. It was gray, merino wool, with the whole front covered in tiny little sequins. Did I pay a small fortune for this sweater? Possibly. It turns out that I was ahead of my time, as is true in so many fashiony things.

I have, since the Great Sparkling Cardigan Acquisition of 2009, bought many, many new sparkly things. I talked myself out of rainbow colored sequined ballet flats, and then talked myself back into them when they were on sale. These shoes are absurd and they are glorious. It tickles my soul to see them in my closet, and it makes me feel like a ballerina princess from Shinyland when I wear them. I also have several sequined shirts, and a sequined dress and, recently, I acquired a sequined skirt. It is pink and fantastic. The sequins, they are everywhere, and I am laying in the shiny for the lean years, when I predict everything will be matte and we will all drown in our own gloom.

Most recently, I saw these and gasped:

Reader, I bought them. Obv.

It is better to sparkle than not to sparkle. Words to live by, the people.

In the middle of the middle of the end.

2011-11-21T12:56:00.000-08:00

Why does blogging seem like a big question mark, wrapped in briars, right now?

I don't give a damn about the blogging zeitgeist. I have loved this space as a little art gallery, as a place to try things, as a small space to speak. I think I still do love it. I'm sure I still love it, but something is getting in the way.

Is it that the many ways to enter this space--visual, textual--crowd its entrance?

Is it that life itself seems thick with sadnesses, potential and real?

Is it that the marker of my work life, the semester, is at its most crushing point?

Oh, let's focus on the semester. By all means, the semester, with its thicket of grading, its consultations, its many indicators that my optimism may be unwarranted, that I am not, as it were, succeeding in aiding my students toward their achievement of the course outcomes? Is it that school life is filled not with nouns but nominalizations? Is it that the semester's weather has finally settled into its wintry trajectory?

I want and do not want to talk about the many deaths that seem to be accompanying me along my path. They're not my deaths--am I even allowed to talk about them as if they were my own story? The walk alongside a loved one, if briefly, in the valley of the shadow, as it is said--not my story. My own age pressing on me--this is my story, but it is not delightful.

I know I have delightful stories to tell. I live them almost every day. I'm sure I have small amusing anecdotes to tell about the inventive definitions my students are concocting for syntactical terms. Pictures to post. Things to celebrate. I have them. They spill out of my handbag whenever I go looking for my lipstick, and fall out of my pockets with the small change, and trail behind me, an invisible vapor, when I walk from here to there.

I feel like I just had to say this: it has been a long year with much grief, some of which feels very close to me and which I don't have the blog-language to talk about. Maybe I can say it in poems, but only maybe; and if I don't say it here, anything else I do say would feel dishonest to me. So tomorrow, I hope to be able to set this all to the side, at least for the moment, having acknowledged it, and get on with the business of joy, which business I want to choose every day if I can.

Top five favorite things at this very moment.

2011-11-15T21:13:00.001-08:00

1. there are two kinds of bread at our house.

2. the movie Take Shelter.

3. that there is a French detective novel waiting for me to read it.

4. that Friday is just a couple of days away.

5. my bed my bed my bed.

(plus the top one: each and every one of my beautiful children is alive and well and on this planet.)

Autumn light.

2011-11-10T22:19:00.000-08:00

At home, 4:30 p.m., after a long long long day.

Me, already prone, reading: Will you turn on that light? No, wait.

Historian, with hand on the lamp: Are you sure?

Me: I just want to enjoy that natural light (gestures vaguely at window) for a few minutes longer.

[seven minutes later]

Me: Okay, turn it on.

In other news:

Just let me watch my shows. by lisab

On the other hand, hot cheese.

2011-11-09T21:53:00.001-08:00

As of late, I have found myself marching across the quad with purpose round about lunchtime. I have two basic lunch options:

the BLT hack, wherein I order the optional bacon (an extra .75) with all the veggies and some pesto mayo, which against all condiment-related odds, tastes fantastic. I fill out the order form, hand it to the sandwich guy, who computes all the little ingredients I have checked off, then says: "No meat? or cheese?" and I say (defying the obvious point that bacon *is* meat, because I know he means "no meat-for-the-regular, i.e. -included-price?"), "No," and then he's all, okay, I will erase the "bacon-for-an-extra-charge" mark you put on your order sheet, and I'm all, thanks dude, and the upshot is that there's a BLT, basically, with chips and a drink for less than $5, take that, Subway! Plus: pesto mayo, who'd a thought, because mayo, the most blighted of all condiments, is unexpectedly enhanced by "pesto," please don't tell me what's really in it.
cheese pizza.

This pizza, which I eat on the average of two times a week, is Chef Tom's, and it's foldable, and it's kind of greasy, garlicky, and moreover, it never lets me down. I usually sprinkle it liberally with those red pepper flakes and wolf it down before it gets even lukewarm, because its true essence is only delivered for the two minutes, three minutes tops, that it's piping hot and thereby--and here's a conundrum for you if ever conundrum there was--risking roof-of-mouth burn.

Hot, melted cheese is one of the all-time indicators that human civilization is not just a giant and cynical joke. I refer also to the melted cheese open-faced sandwich, as well as the grilled cheese sandwich. These are no laughing matter, ladies and gentlemen. Rather, they illustrate that the application of heat to food is--and I'm just spit-balling here--as sublime as, say, great literature, maybe not Shakespeare, but Tennyson. Or symphonies. Or Rodin. Can Rodin warm you up on a cold winter's night? or after Writing Center hours, or Discussion Team, or strategic planning? I submit to you that Rodin cannot. But cheese pizza can.

I also submit to you perhaps the apotheosis of hot cheese dishes: Green Chile Quiche. This was a dish that rotated into the family recipe canon later--i.e., I did not grow up eating it, but my mother made it, and now the recipe has a place in my generation. The recipe involves cottage cheese, Monterey Jack cheese, green chiles, eggs, and a little butter and flour to make it meltier and simultaneously bind it together a little bit more. This is a crustless quiche, and thus it can be made in a single bowl and then poured into a lightly greased casserole, baked at 425 for 10 minutes and then 375 for 40 minutes more, give or take.

This quiche, with a side of salad or broccoli or God forgive us corn, will warm your very soul. If you don't think there is such thing as a soul, this quiche, with said sides, will prove the soul's existence. And the people, when there are leftovers for breakfast? this quiche will prove to you that there is an organizing principle in the universe. That there is order, and goodness, nourishment, light, and truth. This, the people, is the power of hot cheese.

happiness.

2011-11-09T19:19:00.000-08:00

happiness. by lisab

From Rilke.

2011-11-06T18:36:00.000-08:00

" In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need us:

they are weaned from earth's sorrows and joys,

as gently as children outgrow the soft breasts of their mothers.

But we, who do need such great mysteries,

we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit's growth--:

could we exist without them?"

(go with God, John Fritz.)

Quince.

2011-11-06T17:21:00.000-08:00

This is a quince.

From this photo, you can deduce that the quince is fuzzy, but you probably you cannot tell that it is hard. Like unto a rock, albeit a rock with a lovely perfume.

I found this out when I embarked on a quince tart today for my writing group. Luckily, I had my chef's knife* back, from when I left it at the cabin in, like, July. I hewed the hard fruit into quarters, after having washed its fuzz away, then cutting it into lovely slices, which I then cooked for awhile in a maple/butter caramel sauce**. The thing about a quince is, you have to cook it to make it edible.

After bathing the quince slices in caramel, I arranged them in a pretty-ish concentric pattern in the fancy tart dough. I lightly poured a little of the caramel over the quince and put it in the oven to bake, whereupon I went to work a little more on my poem, whereafter I kind of forgot about the quince tart.

It baked a little past the point I would have likely taken it out had I not forgotten about it--maybe five to seven minutes longer--but that all turned out for the good: the quince turned pinkish, which it is supposed to do; the crust was perfectly crisp and buttery; the whole thing smelled divine. I whipped some cream with vanilla and a little sugar, and served it up, and it was about the prettiest and most delicious thing ever divined by persons with an interest in tarts, such as myself.

This is a quince tart, half-eaten:

*Here is the trajectory of my chef's knife this summer and beyond:

it drove with us from Salt Lake to Idaho, where we used it to make all kind of dinner and deliciousness.
we left it in the knife drawer. Perhaps others used it, who can say?
we came back up to Idaho and left it in the knife drawer again.
I asked my mom and dad to bring it back with them when they close the cabin for the winter. Which they did.
awhile later, I went down to Utah County for a visit and a birthday pedicure. I developed a quick-release cold, so the sneezing &c. therefrom prevented me from remembering to take home my knife.
my sister brought the knife up to me when we had breakfast, but I left it in my daughter's car when she dropped me off.
FINALLY on Halloween, I retrieved the knife and brought it safely home,

where I could use it to make quince tart.

**--ingredients of the maple/butter caramel sauce: maple syrup and butter.

Submit.

2011-11-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

This year, for some unknown reason, I have set aside my usual and time-honored antipathy to Halloween. I wore my raven tee shirt for two days running, because it is awesome and because I got compliments the first day I wore it. I bought pumpkins although I did not carve them. The weather yesterday was so sublime, and as the light faded, that spooky All Hallows feeling--go figure--felt kind of delicious. And what's the point of resisting, really. All the reasons I never so much loved Halloween--pressure to make an awesome costume, the balance between being at home and going out, going out in bad weather, general grouchiness--seemed so beside the point. Who cares? Might as well give in.

We split the difference between home observance and family visits, as we always do with any holiday, because there are children and grandchildren scattered hither and yon all over the valley. In this instance, we poured a bunch of cheap candy into a big bowl and made a little sign that said "BOO" in orange oil pastel, taped to a pair of Chinese takeout chopsticks. We put the bowl and sign on the front steps, and headed out to see the scary creatures at four different households.

First, we stopped at the house of Spiderman Will and Batman Van. We also had a little bit of penne and tomato sauce--delicious. Spiderman had a small brontosaurus in hand, which roared, only adding to the scary.

Next, we stopped at the house of a princess, a vampire princess, a ladybug and a cupcake. We were able to witness a little trick or treat action at the neighboring houses. The trees in this neighborhood were ablaze, the light waning, the jack o' lanterns aglow. The cat, Sheen, who lives at this house wanted to be a part of things. He scampered in and out of the shrubberies, venturing up the step on a porch, the little family familiar.

After that, we went to the house of Bumblebee the Transformer, so high spirited in a brief hiatus in his trick or treating that he called the historian Optimus Prime and me Megatron. We had a bowl of minestrone there to sustain us.

Last of all the game, we visited Obi Wan Kenobi (or Kenobio, as a little brother called it), a ninja, Mario, and a tiny frog. Here, too, we assisted briefly in the trick or treating. It was dark. The moon drifted in a cloudy sky. The neighborhood decor flared as we turned a corner or stepped up a walk.

Earlier in the afternoon, I gathered my wits and mailing supplies about me to put my manuscript again into play. Here's how that went: I submitted to two competitions online, and four IRL, which necessitated the following analysis of supplies:

four manuscript-sized kraft brown envelopes. Check.
four long regular envelopes, for notification of results. I had three.
four stamps for long regular envelopes. I had three.
four binder clips, except that as of late, three competitions specify that they would like the manuscript to be submitted in a folder with no other binding implement. Did I have folders? I did not.

This meant going to the Office Max to

copy the manuscript;
buy envelopes;
buy folders.

Then, I wrote checks for each of the entry fees; figured out how to fit a folder-enclosed manuscript into a slim-fit manuscript-sized envelope (here's a clue: you have to fold the folder); binder-clipped the one manuscript for the competition that allowed binder clippery; made sure all the parts of the submission were matching; then used all available saliva (just my own--sorry, gross) to seal the envelopes.

AND THEN at 9 p.m., we went to the P.O. to engage with the P.O. robot, so that the manuscripts can be sent. But first we had to buy stamps, so the one envelope for return of results could have a stamp on it.

That's how it goes, though. What's the point of resisting these steps? You just make the trips, buy the stuff, copy the manuscript, and send it off, all the while trying not to allow the pointlesspointlesspointless mantra to take hold. And why think about pointlessness, anyway? All the reasons--the overwhelming negative odds, the expense, the hassle, general grouchiness--seem, today, so beside the point. Who cares? Might as well submit.

The show.

2011-10-30T12:03:00.001-07:00

This week felt like a long, very busy one, but we found time to watch the World Series. I can't remember how long it's been since I watched baseball--maybe that series in 2001, right after September 11. I was in an artists' colony in Vermont. There were a host of New Yorkers who made the argument that it would be so important for the Yankees to win--it would lift the spirits of the city. Churlishly, I did not agree, though I mostly kept that sentiment to myself, I hope. I remember being taken by the freakishly long-bodied Randy Johnson, who threw like some kind of ancient raptor (that's how I thought of it, in any case), and I was stony-hearted against the charms of young Derek Jeter.

The historian has always tracked the Cardinals, if he is not an active fan. That's because his favorite player ever is Stan "the Man" Musial, who was a great player to be sure and also "a good lefty," as the leftist-and-a-half historian likes to point out. So we were, of course, rooting for the Cards. It was fun to watch, for me, since I had really no stake whatsoever in the game, and nonetheless a team to root for. In sports, there's not much more beautiful than a great pitcher hurling the ball, than a great hitter settling into his stance, then connecting with the ball. That sound is a wonderful sound (much like the sound of a basketball going through a net--heaven.). And I have a special admiration for a great fielder--the absolute attention he gives to the ball arcing toward him, the way he moves to be under it, the stillness just before the ball hits the pocket of a glove, or the lateral dive to snatch it before it hits the ground. And I love feeling the vicarious elation of a winning team, and more, a winning town, since St. Louis clearly loves that team; simultaneously, I find it a little heart-rending to see the dejection of the losing team. It's a great spectacle. I was glad to reconnect with it.

This weekend, after something of a movie hiatus--several weekends with illness, more illness, social engagements, fall break--we saw a double-header, 50/50 and The Rum Diary. (In between, in case you're wondering, there was curry.) There was no good reason to see The Rum Diary, and the reasons we did see it can be summed up by the names of movie stars, and also the fact that it was at the same theater in which we saw 50/50, and we wanted to see two movies. Back to the movie stars: honestly, it wasn't the acting that did this movie in--it was a story that begged to be told with more verve and brevity, and instead it was made with slog and long-ass-ery. Sad. But not that sad. Again, no stake in it. It was a movie. Although it must be admitted that one of us turned to the other at about the three-quarters mark and said, "Is this long?" Okay, it was me. Point being, I don't know how long the movie actually was, but it felt long.

But 50/50 was actually not half bad. In fact, I would say it was pretty good, and very good if you minus out an unnecessary romance. There were passages in this movie when I wept (big surprise)--cancer is scary, more scary in real life than in movies, and there was a lot of this movie that got that scariness pretty close to right, both the historian and I agreed. The movie also got this right: that we have the chance to show up for each other in all kinds of ways. That it's worth it, both the showing up and the noticing.

This week, I have been thinking about how hard it is to pay attention to what is there, right in front of us. For a month now, we have had one car between us, and there are moments when what feels like dependency and constrained mobility and, you know, lack of freedom has grated sorely on not just my nerves but my sense of self. It has felt so trying to me. But it's also the kind of thing that makes me ask myself: it's a car, so what? You can't stop at the store on the way home, you don't have that buffer of solitude between home and work, between work and home. Can't you just adjust?

My daughter, on her blog, wrote this week about longing for something missing. But ultimately, she finds, what she has is enough: ultimately, she says, "I do not want to spend my days longing."

I have been thinking about her words during these golden autumn days, days so blessedly beautiful, full of light and warmth and a splendid chill in the mornings and evenings. This morning we planted tulip and daffodil bulbs together. We took Bruiser to the playground for a romp. I made us oatmeal. I want try harder to just be there for whatever fills these days, for all the days we--all of us, beloveds and friends--have together.

One thing at a time.

2011-10-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

Today I took direct action like a Wobbly, as opposed to working through the system: I bought a new printer. But that's actually (almost) the end of the story. Let me start over.

Have you ever felt like the odds against you--the forces armed against you--the lack of inner resources that you bring to an almost insurmountable task--might slay you before you even get out of bed in the morning?Well, that is exactly how I've been feeling with regard to readying my house for winter. And by "house," I mean my whole life, obviously.

Here are some things that need to happen:

tulip bulbs: plant them.
perennials: trim them.
apples: sauce them.
grapes: juice them.
mice: eradicate them (this will never happen. Obviously. We live by a field, and we will not poison them. Hello mice my old friends, I've come to send dark thoughts your way again.)
kitchen table: for the love of heaven, keep it free of stuff!
poems: write them, revise them, publish them for the love!
grading: get caught up.
weatherstripping: put some on so the wintry drafts do not veritably chill our very souls come December.
blog: write more regularly.
spending: whip it into shape. And conversely,
buy: this one thing that is *obviously* an exception to "spending" above.
car: OMG get one before I lose my everloving mind.
vacuum cleaner: fix it.

As you can see, there is enough on this list to flummox a person of regular powers. Or, you know, maybe a person of regular powers would just start with the items on the list and do them. In an orderly fashion. Whatever. Maybe I am just lame. I certainly feel that way.

For instance, I did a little book review project this summer for a little cash. A nice little piece of cash that could aid in any number of the above projects. Or I could spend it. Whatever. But because I did this project in the summer, and because my printer was acting like a prissy little diva, and wouldn't print, and because I did not want to go into work just to print, or at all, it is now OCTOBER and I have still not sent in the forms so I can get paid.

Not to mention that I do have a few poems in progress that I could be working on. But because I am sick sick sick of screens--online teaching you are my nemesis!--I thought, I just want to print them out. But did I print them out before leaving work? No. Did I have a car so I could go somewhere to print them? No. Did this make me feel like giving up on life and simultaneously pitching a huge fit like a child? YES.

The people: I got up this morning and went to Target directly upon its opening hour, bought myself a printer, set it up LIKE A BOSS and now I can print, and wirelessly. And all of a sudden, everything else seems manageable.

THE END.

The facts.

2011-10-13T22:28:00.001-07:00

The thing about October is, it's different wherever you go.

Idaho Falls, where my father was raised and my grandparents lived, is about 10 degrees cooler, generally, than Salt Lake City. And Island Park is generally 10 degrees cooler than that. In Yellowstone, the days are in the 40s. The sky is quilted with cloud.

Because of this general sinking of the year, which is further along the further north you go, the roads and byways of Yellowstone are blissfully unbusy.

The same beautiful rivers, forest, flumes of thermal steam and geyser. The inveterate fisherpeople, who must have to catch and release, but still stand for hours, hip-deep in the Madison. But almost no one else.

Everything is slower.

We're going a few places we haven't gone--the Porcelain Basin, with its siliceous sinter which makes everything opalescent and the pools a serene, rather chilly blue.

The road between Canyon and Tower is closed. There was snow earlier this week and the Dunraven Pass is just too high. Tomorrow we hope to get up early and drive to the Hayden Valley, and see what we can see.

The sick, which is the enemy of going to the movies.

2011-10-09T15:12:00.001-07:00

I am better now. However, in the gift economy that is unique to marriage, the historian was stricken with the very same sick. This means that for two successive weekends: no movies. The horror.

The sick has also given me, us, our pack of three, opportunities to contemplate things like:

how much dust there is everywhere.
how much money I have spent on stuff.
how things like buying a car to replace the smashed Camry or grading seem completely monumental when considered from a prone position.
that I am mortal and we are all going to die.

It is good to be on the upswing from the sick. Really good. It's good to take a walk in the afternoon with Bruiser and admire the weather, which itself is on an upswing from the rain/snow of earlier in the week. We have figured out how to buy the car, or The New Camry, as I like to refer to it. I am grading, or blogging, same thing, right now, and it seems possible that I can dig myself out of the grading hole, or hell, same thing, that I am in now.

Maybe that's the best thing about being sick--when you get better, you just feel grateful for what is. Getting back the ability to not feel defeated by your life.

Complaint: a litany.

2011-10-03T12:49:00.000-07:00

I feel sweaty and sniffly, and am nonetheless in my office, hiding behind a firmly closed door so that I can get some online grading done, because

the internet at my house is out.

OUT.

I called the helpful folks at my ISP, and they said

"unfortunately Ms. HTMS, the red power light means your modem is broken. It's what we call "a hardware issue," and no amount of phone-based troubleshooting will alleviate what ails you. However, we can send you a new modem, which will be $99. And it will arrive far too late for you to stay home and nurse your cold for one more day, because you will have to go into your office to use the internet there, since you really, really must get on that online teaching you didn't do this weekend because you felt sick, and you wasted your Friday going to a meeting."

Thanks, helpful folks at my ISP. No, seriously.

Sweaty, sniffly, hot-eyed. Internetless. Broken modem'd. Be-Dayquil'd. Vicksed up.

Also, my e-mail box is possibly at its limit of over-fulness.

Uncomfortable chair.

Way, way behind in my work.

Adventures in British television, starring Idris Elba.

2011-09-30T22:53:00.000-07:00

We've been watching Luther, a darn good police procedural in the vein of the troubled detective who wrestles with the existential moral dilemma of the thin blue line, not always being sure if he's so much better than the violent, murdering criminals he must bring to justice.

My friend Ann recommended it, and the historian and I have watched an episode each night this week, and two on Friday, aka tonight (streaming on Netflix!). We have enjoyed it. Note: British TV gets away with a fair amount of gore in the pursuit of justice. It stars Stringer Bell, or Idris Elba if you prefer, and he is very good. There are an assortment of psychopaths, dirty cops, and unfinished romantic business. Very good stuff.

One of the great things--as with The Wire and Mad Men--there are amazing and always perfectly apropos songs to end each episode. Here's the song that ended Episode 6:

Now, when I heard it, I couldn't figure out who it was. Also, it took a minute, and also a tiny Google search, but who's counting? to remember that the version I had heard of this was done by The Animals.

The historian: Who's singing this?

Me: Dunno. Let's see who did the original. (google google google). (pause:) Huh.

Turns out, this song was written expressly for Nina Simone, who recorded it in 1964. And The Animals recorded it the following year. So, see? Television + Google: they're for educating minds.

Dear my uninspiring lunch,

2011-09-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

Is it you or is it me?

Thanks for keeping me alive, I guess.

htms

TAGS: ungrateful

Dear grading.

2011-09-26T12:34:00.001-07:00

Dear Grading,

I am in the middle of you, and I am not speaking metaphorically.

As a bonus thought, I will be in the middle of you until December. And then it will be Christmas, and there will be Christmas stuff to be in the middle of. And then, January, and by January 20th, say, I will be in the middle of you again. Until May.

Grading, you have a large, all-encompassing morass of a middle.

Sincerely,

htms

Notes.

2011-09-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

I am writing. As in, this morning, I wrote. A poem. I am still working on it. Also, there is a new poem percolating in my brain.

At night for the last month, we've been hearing the crickets singing away.

I bought a little earring--a brass wasp, a tiny stud. I had it in my earlobe last night while we were walking Bruiser. In checking it obsessively, I brushed it away and it is gone. Tiny little brass wasp, gone.

Moneyball is here. I can't think of a recent movie I have been more excited to see. There are also worthy movies showing currently at the Broadway. By "worthy movie," I mean the kind of movie that will make you feel like a better person, a more virtuous person, if you see it. Tonight, we are going to see a worthy movie. It will probably be pretty good. I will, I'm betting, in fact feel like a better person for seeing it. But tomorrow night, we're going to see Moneyball. I'm thinking of it this way: if we wait one more night, that's one more night I can look forward to seeing it.

Last week, rather than see Drive, we went to see The Guard again. I really, really love that movie. Anyone who has seen Drive--was I wrong?

And there's a barrel that I didn't fill.

2011-09-17T21:53:00.000-07:00

Autumn is my favorite season, I'm pretty sure. Paradoxically, autumn makes me anxious.

We went to the farmer's market today, and it was the very essence of the season: peaches everywhere, and tomatoes, and all the things that go with tomatoes--basil, eggplant, peppers, garlic. Corn. And grapes, berries of every imaginable variety, the beginning of the onslaught of apples. It's utterly beautiful. You can smell everything, too, there's that much of all of it. Brilliant, heaped in baskets and boxes and on tables.

We bought a box of tomatoes, for roasting. I am thinking about peaches--if I want to make more jam; if I want to bottle some. Or if we should just eat them as they are, as many as we can, until they're gone.

There are two poets for autumn, or maybe just two iconic poems: Keats' autumn ode, and Frost's "After Apple Picking." Both of these poems I read when I was much younger, though they have more power for me now.

Frost says,

I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

"Anxious" seems to mark things these days. Weary, too, but also anxious: how shall I spend these days? What shall I put by?

The last stanza of Keats:

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

The music is beautiful. It is wailful, it is rumbling, there's nothing for it but to let it sing.

I am in the middle of these books.

2011-09-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

I am reading Great House for my book group. I'm about halfway through it, and so far I am finding it rather brilliant. Each new chapter brings you up short, because it is in the voice of a character you haven't met before, but whom you will discover to be linked to the threads of the other chapters/characters in some unexpected way.

I am also reading this book about Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher's several years spent in Dijon, back in the late 20s and early 30s. Her style is desultory and devil-may-care, and she apparently ate and drank like a wolf and a fish, respectively. And I can respect that. The historian gave me this book for my birthday. This may be the closest I get to living in France sometime. I hate to be pessimistic, but there you are. However, I think I can say without a trace of pessimism that this is the closest I will get to living in France in the late 20s and early 30s, and for that fact, I want to express my gratitude to this book and its giver.

I am also reading this book, another birthday book. Actually, I have only read the preface to this book. I am afraid that this book is going to make me cry.

I am also reading this book, given to me by my mom and dad for my birthday. I love its author. She is a true original.

I am also reading this very interesting account of several family journeys to the places on the American map (lower 48) that seem to have the least human habitation, as evidenced by a nighttime aerial map, which shows where there is artificial light. The places include a stretch of the St. John river in Maine, central Pennsylvania, southeast Oregon, and part of the Gila Wilderness in New Mexico. It is very interesting, as I too have a fascination with what is vast and empty.

This is a lot of books to be reading at one time. I am finding, though, that picking up nonfiction, particularly, a little at a time means I end up finishing more books than if I insist that I plow right through. I also have some books waiting in the wings, such as A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore, and Kraken by China Mieville, and some things I am supposed to read and watch, such as Andre Agassi's memoir Open and The Pianist, and the last season of Saving Grace and the first season of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, which I would very much like to do. I would, however, like to find an uninterrupted, oh, month, to do that reading and watching. A month in another dimension. Can't we, in this modern era, come up with the Uninterrupted Month Dimension?

recollected.

2011-09-12T22:43:00.001-07:00

My so-called TV life.

2011-09-08T20:51:00.000-07:00

What's that?--you want to know what I watch, week to week, on television? I thought so. Well, I am happy to oblige.

I feel like I'm maybe the only person in the world who still watches TV, as opposed to watching television shows via the internet, and likes it. This makes me feel a little like an old person, but the habit of regular TV watching can be explained: I believe it is due (a) to having come of age when watching TV was your only option, as there was no interweb, and (b) to liking the rhythm of a week being paced, in part, by the show that's on each night, if there is one. (I can feel your horror radiating all the way over here, through the tubes and onto my screen, because of how much TV you surmise I must watch. Well, horror away. I do watch that much TV. And I like it.)

So this means that, if the world is good, there's a show on most nights of the week that I like to watch. This is especially important for week nights. The world is most in balance if I can get through my working day on a Monday, for instance, and there's an episode of The Closer awaiting me at its appointed hour. That episode redeems whatever drudgery or difficulty or simply the long hours of the day that preceded it. On Tuesday, The Good Wife; on Wednesday, Modern Family; and on Thursday, the glory that is the NBC lineup, but especially Parks & Recreation. And 30 Rock.

Well, I have just named the television shows that are my mainstays at the moment. Like every other thinking person, I am awaiting the new season of Mad Men. I have several little DVD things lined up, because I either didn't have HBO, or I wasn't able to finish the series in real time (The Wire/In Treatment and Saving Grace, respectively). And I am about to go into mourning because The Closer is winding up its current stint, which will lead us inexorably into its very last episodes ever.

This summer, I started to watch Criminal Minds with my daughter, who is a huge fan of the show. I myself love a police procedural, and I came to appreciate the show. I am looking forward to the new season, which I will have to DVR so I can watch it later, as it is up against Modern Family, and the historian and I watch that one together. The DVR is hooked up to the downstairs TV. Currently, running son is residing in the downstairs lair, so it's possible that there may be a whole slew of Criminal Minds for me to watch sometime, when I don't feel I will be intruding on the whole lair-ness happening down there. Who can say.

I would like to have a bunch of new awesome shows to watch. I wish I had started Breaking Bad when it started. Ditto Men of a Certain Age and other stuff, like House. I guess. I guess I should have watched Downton Abbey, so maybe I'll try to catch up on the first season before new episodes start.

But I need to get this whole project organized. The television routine is part of what keeps everything else in its proper place, and I need that, the people. I need it, or everything else, and I, will feel crazy. Or maybe I might have to, what? do something else, like something productive. Write, or read.

But I don't want to get ahead of myself. I will be checking out a few things in the new season. And if you have something you think I should watch, something that's still broadcasting in the real world, in real time--on television, and not on my DVR--please let me know. I will consider it an act of generosity, and a kindness, which I shall never forget.

(thanks to Amelia, who pointed out this post on every day I write the book)

The good news is,

2011-09-07T21:17:00.000-07:00

And lo, there was pie.

Archival research, the people.

2011-09-06T21:55:00.000-07:00

I know of no one, and I mean no one, who is better at it than my husband, known to you as The Historian, whose book is now a real thing, printed on paper and bound in cloth, with a dust jacket and dedications, historical photographs and captions, fat chapter titles, footnotes galore, and an index that his co-author did himself.

Did I mention the archival research? This meant looking at microfilms of newspapers and minutes, then searching newspapers online, not to mention looking at all manner of other dusty documents with their relevant secrets well hidden. It meant trips to Special Collections and the LDS Church History library. It meant reading more socialist writing than you can shake a stick at.

It required patience and diligence and persistence and invention. It is the completion of a many years' long task, and it tells a story that almost no one knows about.

And it is a damn book, the people, and that--that is something to celebrate.

Find out more about it here. And the authors will be at the Book Festival on Oct. 22 (more information here).

Cooking & cleaning.

2011-09-05T19:45:00.001-07:00

Well, mostly cooking. With a little laundry and dish-washing on the side.

In the cooking department, though, in a grand flourish, commensurate with the great wealth of fruits and vegetables at the market of late, I:

roasted some squashes, some just on the verge of being not quite good anymore, along with some garlic, onions, and peppers;
steamed some yellow beans;
roasted some green beans with olive oil and garlic;
made some corn salad;
made some caprese salad;
made a quinoa salad with some beautiful Rancho Gordo beans, and various herbs, greens, etc.;
and roasted some potatoes, to eat as they are in their olive-oil-and-garlicked state, or with leftover harissa.

And what did I learn from this cooking extravaganza? Some things:

you need a vat of olive oil when you start a cooking extravaganza.
having already-made food in your refrigerator, the result of a cooking extravaganza? A truly excellent state of affairs.
we buy a lot of food at the farmer's market, and it takes a detailed logistical plan to eat it all.

For instance, I have a giant bag of basil in my refrigerator right now. (Me, to farmer: Is that whole bag for sale, for real? Lady Farmer: The Pesto Bag? Yep. Man Farmer: We call that "the pesto bag," because that's about how much we use when we make pesto. Me: Gimme that.) I'm going to make pesto out of it. But I need to get on that right away, and after my cooking extravaganza, I might not have quite enough olive oil up in here.

I would also very much like to make, or at least have, a pie--and I have got the peaches, blackberries, and blueberries to do something pretty spectacular in neighborhood of pie. But I need to make pie crust, and you know--logistics. What I mean by this is, I wish there were already a pie crust made. But what with having extravaganza'd around in my kitchen for hours, my desire to make a pie crust is kind of diminished, from my formerly ambitious state. Can't have everything, I guess. Although, having now whined for awhile about this, I feel strangely in the mood to actually make a pie crust. Check back for further information on this very important topic!

(I should add to the "cleaning" portion of this post that I also cleaned out some sad greens and herbs and a handful of leftovers and whatnot from the refrigerator. So now the fruits of my cooking extravaganza labors fit in there. Barely.)

Three songs.

2011-09-03T15:41:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, my son and I ran to breakfast (at Virg's, radagast, in case you're reading--it was dang good, so thanks for the recommendation!). Whilst driving there, we were listening to The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner, the last studio album of Ben Folds Five. The last controversial studio album of Ben Folds Five. Anyway. It has a great two-song sequence, beginning with "Army,"

which contains, near the end, these lines:

"and my ex-wives all despise me
try to put it all behind me
but my redneck past is nipping at my heels"

a song which is followed immediately by "Your Redneck Past":

which begins with these sharp lyrics:

"choose from any number of magazines
who do you want to be?
billy idol or kool moe dee?

if you're afraid they might discover your redneck past
there are a hundred ways to cover your redneck past"

(My son and I agree that those first three lines are some of the best beginning lines of any song, ever--"Billy Idol or Kool Moe Dee?" Ridiculous.) But all of this talk of rednecks reminded me of another song, called "My Redneck Friend," by Jackson Browne, from the album For Everyman, which I loved when I was in high school:

All of which made me think of how many ways we weave the connections between the things we loved in the past--I listened to this Jackson Browne countless times when I was young--and the newer things we encounter. Also, is there a thing about rednecks in popular music? Is redneckery the guilty secret of rock? Something to think about.

Here's a little sequence I have been mentally connecting:

Rolling Stones - Paint It Black by SamFisher037

I'd be interested in hearing about your little three-song chains, the connections you make between your past and present through song.

Dear Bruiser,

2011-09-01T19:31:00.001-07:00

Today, in the mail, I found the following:

I once believed--when I thought about it, which was not, truthfully, very often--that you could not read. But who knows? You're now getting mail, addressed to you. With some news for you, Bruiser!

I'm sorry to say, though, that the news is a little presumptuous. In this newsletter, there's a coupon:

I don't know what "senior" means in Dog, but around here, when we hear "senior," we demur. We protest. We flat out deny. I am speaking of myself here, obviously.

And when we were out walking today, I thought, how can they say "senior"? to Bruiser? Because you were cantering and prancing and, in fact, took me for a little drag when a small, yappy dog behind a wooden fence had a thing or two to say. It was impressive, B, I just want you to know I felt your vigor--was, in fact, moved by it--and I thought, I don't know if a so-called senior dog would have that kind of gumption.

I say, let the people keep their labels to themselves. Labels cannot contain you. (I am speaking of myself here, obviously.)

love,

htms

Crying at the movies: a memoir.

2011-08-31T16:04:00.001-07:00

Last night, after my birthday movie, I came home to find myself tagged in this post on my son's wall:

"It turns out the lady was your mom." I will pause so that you may reflect.

Well, I do have a long and storied career as a movie cryer. Here are a few movies I have sobbed like a motherless child at:

The Way We Were
Terms of Endearment
Stepmom
The Notebook
Marley & Me
Titanic, obv.
uh, every single Harry Potter movie, probably. More on this later.

I have also cried like crazy at indie movies, such as:

Summer Hours
Friends with Money
Whalerider
Into the West
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Things You Can Tell By Looking At Her
Blue Valentine
Bright Star
The Fall

and probably a whole bunch more that I may or may not care to mention. The Sex and the City movie, for instance, after Mr. Big stands Carrie up, sort of, at their wedding and she looks so miserable. Or, like, parts of Superbad, which the relevant youngest son pointed out to me wasn't remotely poignant to him. Or Into the Wild, with director Sean Penn pulling the cry-now strings like mad.

My kids like to say that I cried at a Rugrats movie, and maybe at a Pokemon movie. I don't know. I'd like to see their evidence--we all know from about a billion Law & Orders that eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable. But I will not deny that if a movie tugs at my heartstrings, I am generally happy to oblige, although sometimes if movies are trying to work me, I resist. I'm not that easy. Okay, I am. But sometimes the weep machinery is just too much, and in those circumstances, I stay dry-eyed.

Usually, though, I cry. And I don't particularly care. So what? Why bother to think of sports? I used to cry a lot about life-y things, and sometimes I still do. But these days, I just don't like it--it makes me feel bad, and my eyes get puffy, and it's all just too tragic. At a movie, though: crying at a movie lets you release feelings that need to be released (see: catharsis), but mostly in a limited, self-contained way. I don't usually cry too much (except for at Marley & Me, and Stepmom, and Terms of Endearment--I wept so much in those movies I had to take to my bed afterward to recover. And if one of them comes on on cable--forgetaboutit.), but frankly, it feels a little bit cleansing.

Anyway. In July, a bunch of people, including my daughters and me, went to see the most recent Harry Potter, I pretty much full-on sobbed when (seriously? you haven't seen/read it yet? what is wrong with you? spoiler alert) Snape died. After the movie ended, my daughter with the wicked wit said, "Are you okay?"

Yep. Just fine. Now leave me alone, I'm fishing for my Kleenex.

Today

2011-08-30T22:52:00.000-07:00

was my birthday, so I

acknowledged to myself that I am old(er) with a small but private and very limitedly miserable sulk, then
opened birthday presents from the historian,
wept over a sweet note from my oldest friend and a sweet note from my dad, after which I
ate a birthday custard,
took a quick birthday trip to Target (what. That's totally a thing.), and
took a birthday trip to work that lasted a lot of hours, where I
had a birthday interview with a student candidate for the editor of the literary/arts mag, then
received a phone call wherein my grandson sang me "Happy Birthday," whereupon I
spent a birthday hour in the Student Writing Center, whence I gave birthday help to a student, after which I
fretted over a birthday lesson plan and a birthday grammar & style activity, and then
taught, after the birthday fretting, a great birthday grammar & style class! I then
ate my birthday sandwich and birthday potato chips, and drank my birthday Dr. Pepper, with my friend, while concurrently
doing my birthday office hours online; then I
went home before having a
birthday taco and watching a
birthday movie with the historian.

In conclusion, birthday birthday birthday! BIRTHDAY, oh yeah.

As Monday abolishes the weekend.

2011-08-29T12:26:00.001-07:00

This weekend we saw Our Idiot Brother, which was charming and delightful. We enjoyed it very much. We bought peaches and tomatoes and onions and eggs and bread and beans and squash and grapes at the market. I ate a lot of watermelon. I just can't get enough watermelon. We also bought the most beautiful berry threesome: a basket each of blueberries, raspberries and strawberries. We went down to Utah Valley for a family gathering. I finished my Swedish thriller. I read a manuscript for the press I'm on the editorial board of (nice prepositional ending, eh?). Took Bruiser for several walks. Commented on the initial posts in my online classes. Watched two episodes of the old Adult Swim show Home Movies (streaming now on Netflix, highly recommended). Talked with running son, who jumped back into Utah life this past Thursday, surprising me in my office with a bag of Lays Classic Potato Chips. Read the New York Times sitting at the table under the cherry tree. Listened to a big cracking thunder and lightning storm last night.

Today, I have been in my office interviewing editorial candidates for Folio. And while I confess I wish the unstructured, wander-where-you-will qualities of summer, which often eluded me during the actual time I was off work, would last a bit longer, it's been kind of nice to listen to these potential editors talk about their ideas, their plans, their enthusiasms. The show-up-on-time qualities of fall are pretty good, too.

The last day of summer, technically: an FAQ.

2011-08-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Q: How's that prep coming?

A: Oh, swell, thanks for asking.

Q: Seriously.

A: None of your business.

Q: What'd you do today, the last day before school meetings start tomorrow morning?

A: Would you like that in a paragraph, or a bulleted list?

Q: Bulleted list, please.

A: Excellent choice:

picked up one grandson from his house at 9 a.m.
picked up other grandson from his house at 9:25 a.m.
drove directly to Target, where we purchased 2 varieties of Spiderman (Arctic Attack Spiderman and Spider Sense Spiderman), various snacks including Kung Fu Panda Fruit Roll Ups, and a pair of shoes for me (I really needed them!).
drove home, where we engaged in long bouts of Spiderman play, interspersed with discussions in which we parsed the various features of the two Spidermen.
had Happy Meals for lunch. Bruiser finished off the last chicken nugget neatly, when it was left unattended and, one can safely assume, therefore unwanted. Except by a dog.
watched Iron Giant. Our viewing was enhanced by a video chat with an auntie in Scotland, and discussions about whether the giant was a good guy or a bad guy.
resumed Spiderman play.
built a Spiderman garage with blocks.
took Bruiser for a very short walk.
had a snack.
had a little rest with some Wonder Pets to amuse and inspire us.

Why, what'd you do?

Q: How on earth will you be ready when classes start on Wednesday? Don't you have long meetings tomorrow?

A: What's a long meeting and a laptop for?

Weekend stats.

2011-08-20T21:58:00.000-07:00

Peaches: 16, from two vendors.

Nectarines: 3 exorbitantly priced ones, from our fruit guy, who has a very high opinion of his fruit in general, and his nectarines in specific.

Movies: 1, unless you count watching A Few Good Men on AMC for the zillionth time, in which case: 2. Wait! also significant portions of The Misfits on TCM, because it was Montgomery Clift day, which we watched while laying around this afternoon and also reading portions of a Swedish mystery novel.

Pants purchased on sale at the Gap: 4 pair, cute if I do say so myself.

Successful technology challenge sorted: new charger for my Macbook Pro, which was (I bet you can guess this:) failing to charge.

Dollars spent to sort technology challenge: 0. That is "zero." That's because of the brilliant Apple Store Genius, Tomasi, who figured out, I guess, that my charger was still warrantied, or something? Anyway, Tomasi was awesome. Tomasi is a solutions provider.

Syllabi finished, worked on, or started: 0. That is also "zero." I have no further comment to make on this point.

Fantastic culinary adventures: 1. I made harissa, to go with roasted potatoes omg it was aMAzing. It was for my poetry group.

Birthday girls who ate pancakes with us: 2. At Dee's! --a brief panegyric on Dee's: unpretentious; full of cheerful folk but still with a table to be had, without any waiting whatsoever; with the best hash browns I've had in quite some time, and, judging from the several bits I stole from one birthday girl's chocolate chip pancakes, with an excellent chocolate chip pancake.

Rating, on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "hideous" and 10 being "stellar," of the weekend overall, thus far: pretty much perfect.

Dear Movie Studios of America,

2011-08-19T20:47:00.001-07:00

It was certainly our own fault that we chose One Day as our Friday night movie option. However, having now viewed this film, we have the following constructive criticisms to make, in the spirit of better movies for everyone:

1. You should hire somebody who can tell you how to make a movie better, because pretty much any fool could have told you what you should have done to make One Day a better movie.

2. No amount of bad haircuts, Doc Martens, and wire-rimmed glasses will make Anne Hathaway the "plain" girl. Also, sorry and no offense, but Anne Hathaway's accent sucked. Shoulda hired a British actress.

Sincerely,

htms.

Let us review.

2011-08-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

I think it is healthy, salutary, to pause at the end of something to assess what one has accomplished. What one has learned, if you will. And it is in this spirit of self-assessment that I offer firstly a consideration of what I thought I might accomplish this summer; secondly an enumeration of what I did indeed accomplish this summer; and thirdly, a reflection upon what the two data sets, compared, might reveal.

Firstly. I said I would make movies, write poems, revise a couple of manuscripts. I said I would "Gather my wits and be the happy genius of my house" and that I would lay "hands upon a will, a desire to start again, an urge from which I will not be diverted." I also had ancillary plans to organize and order my house.

SECONDLY. What follows is a detailed but not complete listing of my accomplishments since I turned in my grades in May:

I organized the footage for exactly one video, as yet incomplete.
I did a radical and far-reaching inventory of my poems, both manuscripts, to better understand what my poetic project is and what my poetic means are.
I did a revision of one of my manuscripts, but that was before item 2 above. So I don't know what I think of this revision. Also, the version of this manuscript that prompted the revision--it had had, to a very recent point, seemed to have absolutely no traction--no one was interested in it. Yesterday, I heard from a competition--this no-traction ms was a finalist. God. This possibly leads one to wonder what revision even means.
I traveled hither and yon, here and there, far and wide. L.A., NoCal, Idaho, the wilds of Nevada.
I spent lots of time with my daughter who has since departed for Louisiana. I did not anticipate that she would spend quite a bit of time here this summer, as she moved out of her apartment in anticipation of the big move. We also took two of my grandsons (her nephews) to Idaho in advance of their parents' arrival.
I saw a fair number of trashy movies, and some of them twice. One of them three times.
I read a pile of police procedurals and some other books, even some good ones.
We got a new roof.
I have not yet lain hands upon a will, a desire to start again, an urge from which I will not be diverted. At least not consistently.
I recently wrecked our car.
I have written no new poems. None. Whatsoever.

finally....

I have found the recurrent cycling in and out of my house of my youngest two children to be more of an emotional event than I would have predicted. Or maybe that's not true. Maybe I really expected it, but it has still hit me hard. I miss them, and I know that missing them is no tragedy, rather a necessary step that comes before whatever's next. Still.

Even so, one of the great pleasures for me--and one of the most meaningful--was to have spent that time with my daughter. I did not expect it, but I will remember this summer as the summer my daughter left, and before she did, she lived here, we talked every day, we ate together, we watched endless episodes of Criminal Minds because it is her current favorite show. I loved that. I am still watching it, because it makes me feel connected to her.

I am still finding my way back to writing--the act of writing. My friend Renaissance Girl says that everything, for a writer, is writing--walking out in the green world, thinking about things, mourning them. And I think she is right. I would like, though, to be back at making the things. This last week, I have been collecting notes for a couple new poems. I think they are poems. I'm going to try to make them into poems. We'll see.

The lack of blog in the last several months--the paucity of posts, certainly, but also a failure of delight in making them--is indicative of something, and I want to see if I can do something about it.

One day--the day after I had finally articulated my own depletion to myself--I said, aloud, to myself whilst walking the dog, Just be happy. Why not just be happy? And this sort of seemed like an answer. For awhile, anyway. I just want to assert my words, my little words, into the world. Just let them have their say, let them work their way to the surface, let them become these statements, poems, whatever. I want to keep trying.

No art.

2011-08-08T19:07:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow morning, my daughter is leaving.

She had to find a home for her bunny.

This summer we've had colts in the back field.

We had a party to see her off.

And on the Sabbath day,

2011-07-31T18:00:00.000-07:00

I made jam, because it was apricot day at the market yesterday. It might be apricot day again next week, but you can never tell, really, so it's good to seize the day.

I like to use citrus instead of commercial pectin. It makes the fruit taste more like itself, and also like sunshine. I am not kidding.

It's half a lug of apricots, about 2 c. of sugar, juice of 2 oranges and 3 lemons. Bubbling away.

Sharpies were made to label jam jars. True story.

So this is about 2 half pints and 10 little quarter pint jars. I might give one to you if I really like you.

After the jamming--which will continue into tomorrow after I buy more lids and rings and probably more jars--I had plenty of apricots left to make a blackberry apricot galette. The blackberries were because yesterday, it was also blackberry day at the market.

Magical household.

2011-07-29T14:31:00.000-07:00

My washing machine did heal itself. Apparently, it just needed a little break from its job, much like the rest of us do. Shortly after I posted yesterday, and after I had tentatively switched a few breakers on and off like I knew what I was doing, which I patently did not, the washing machine drained itself and went into the rinse-and-spin cycles. Like the champ that it is.

Now, if my household would just

vacuum its own rugs,
clean out its own refrigerator,
hang up its own clothes,
sort its own excess,
clear the kitchen table of its mail and books and whatnot, and
do the thinking for me about my poetic project, so that I can
revise my manuscript into the winner I know it can be,

then I would

solve the debt ceiling crisis.

I don't think that's too much to ask.

Mundane update.

2011-07-28T16:34:00.001-07:00

Today, a day mostly at home, I washed clothes until I (apparently) broke my washing machine; washed dishes; made bread; made dinner; contemplated my own poetic project as well as my poetic means until I felt a little dizzy; walked the Bruiser; felt just fine.

A day mostly at home is pretty swell. But I wish my washing machine would spontaneously heal itself.

After a long walk, we arrive at the water's edge.

2011-07-23T20:46:00.000-07:00

Early in the evening.

2011-07-23T09:38:00.000-07:00

Fields of wildflowers on the mountain.

2011-07-20T21:24:00.000-07:00

Awhile ago, when my daughter decided what day would be her very last day of work as a manager of sandwich artists, we planned a trip to Idaho, her last before pressing the eject button on her Utah life, landing in Louisiana for her shiny new full-of-possibilities life. I checked to see if the other kids and grandkids could come, too. They could, but a day or two later than her possible dates.

Then a brilliant thought occurred to me: what if she and I drove up a day or two early with the oldest two grandsons? Then their parents and the historian could join us, after we'd had this small adventure. All agreed to this splendid plan.

So this morning, my daughter and I scurried around: she cleaned out her rabbit's quarters. I wrapped a birthday gift for a soon-to-be seven-year-old who lives in Scotland. I packed, she went to buy rabbit food and mail the package. I gathered together a bunch of comestibles. We picked up one grandson. His mother affixed his car seat into our car; we stashed his little suitcase and plush puppy. We drove to the other grandson's house across the valley. Car seat, back pack, Spiderman action figure. A quick trip through the Wendy's drive-thru, then we were on our way.

The boys chatted back and forth to one another, occasionally exchanging toys (good sharing, boys!). We talked about where we were going and what we would do there. Along the way we pointed out horses, cows, farms, motorcycles, trucks, lakes (reservoirs), the huge sprinkler pipes in the fields. We stopped in Malad for a bathroom-and-snack break. In Ashton we bought some sundry groceries to add to the mountains of food in the trunk. In the grocery store, the boys made a break for it after hours in the car; we raced after their shrieks, collected them and had our only stern--brief--moment of the day.

When we arrived, I showed the boys how to turn the water to the cabin on. We took out the store of antique toys to play with. We ate dinner, we walked over to the park, we gave the swings a whirl. My daughter and I served as regulators of the teeter totter.

When it was time for bed, we took the boys upstairs. They hadn't slept all day, and they were both tired. With the smallest of protests, each nestled into his bed. The younger, Will, said, "I want my mom and dad." I told him that for tonight, it would be just us--his aunt, his grandma, his cousin, and himself--and in about a minute, his breath slowed, evened. Asleep with the plush puppy in his arms.

The good things.

2011-07-18T14:29:00.001-07:00

Having my daughter home for a few weeks before she launches into a big brand-new adventure.

Cherries in the fridge. Iced tea morning noon and night. Lemonade. Toast.

AC in the afternoon. The breeze sifting through the trees in the morning. Windchimes. Sitting on the patio for an hour or two, writing.

A beautiful, big, wonderful dog who wants to go on a walk, morning noon and night, and who greets us at the door with a whole-body wag.

Realizing that I have the doldrums every single summer at the exact same time, a realization which allows me to mitigate it, even if a little, even just by writing a list of the good things.

Writing, always. Always.

An old friend, a new friend, the oldest friend.

Daughters and sons, hither and yon.

The beautiful, loyal, funny and smart historian, who is always on my side.

Open letter to my depletion.

2011-07-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

Dear My Depletion,

Did you happen to know that I lost my agenda when we got back from Idaho? --by "agenda", I mean my actual, physical calendar, but now that you mention it, the word could refer to the figurative thing as well.

This past week was crowded: with dinners and breakfasts and lunches, LMS trainings, focus group meeting, writing group, date nights and family Harry Potter, shopping and movies. All of these appointments and their various delights I kept in the agenda of my brain, because the actual calendar was gone. Often, My Depletion, the calendar and its busy agenda are harbinger, the very symbol of you. This week, however, you hummed in the background of all these events and reminded me:

you are not writing

summer is almost over

you are not writing

something is so very wrong with you

I literally hate your song, My Depletion. But I have not been able to come up with a substitute.

I have notes on slips of paper, that say things like "Monday: house stuff! film." or "T: write 500 words." And who knows? Maybe Monday or Tuesday--maybe Monday and Tuesday--will be the days I hop out of bed and take Bruiser for a walk when the morning is still cool, and say pish to the internet, whip out my sewing machine or catalog my film clips or even write 500 words! I can see, theoretically, that this is possible. Saying so, maybe, makes it more likely to be so.

But nothing like this will occur unless--it must be said, My Depletion--you stop humming that goddamned song. It is getting on my last nerve.

Sincerely,

htms

Lazy, a little bit. Or a lot.

2011-07-07T13:21:00.000-07:00

Well,

After getting back from Idaho on Saturday, and on Monday having the Fourth of July barbecue at my daughter's (fun!), and on Tuesday, having a haircut and a meeting and some hours writing a little bit strenuously and sweatily and not very attractively, I'm telling you, and then seeing a movie and meeting with my book group (fun!),

I have settled into the following routine:

wake up not very early.
loll around until later than that.
make breakfast, or
possibly whine about the fact that there is no bread for toast.
take Bruiser for a walk when it's less cool than it would have been if I'd taken him earlier, when I was still (a) waking up not very early, or (b) lolling around until later than that, or (c) making breakfast, or (d) possibly whining about no bread, or (e) all of the above.
take a shower.
look at who knows what on the internet while
contemplating what else I could/should be doing.

It's not very productive, I am forced to admit. I am "writing" and "making a film," but the measurable outcome is infinitessimal. Like, for instance, if someone were making a documentary of my summer writing/filmmaking, and they did time-lapse photography, maybe over the course of several days you might see a half of a haiku emerge.

Not really. It's more like a big messy spill of bleah, out of which might be excavated a haiku. But no one really wants to see time-lapse photography of that, do they? Or do they? I wish, maybe, I could make that movie.

Or not.

Actually, I am reasonably happy making the movie I'm making. It has lots of parts to it, and many pieces of footage, and decisions to make about what goes where, and what I should say in my voiceover, and so forth. So away I go, to look at the footage some more and take a few more notes and maybe write the other half of that metaphorical haiku. Or maybe just a half of the other half. I don't want to rush it.

In case you're interested, I am making salad for dinner. And toast. Because now there is bread, which around here, we like to call "progress."