Wouldn’t it be nice to every once in awhile, sluff off the old things that we are holding onto, or that are holding onto us, the attitudes that define us, the thoughts that won’t grow up? ...
This time is the time I feel closest to the page; here, at this table, with a warm cup of coffee, now, in the wee hours, dark all around me, sun not ready to peak over the ridge for several hours, chi...
It’s like a fireworks: well, no, it’s really like a Persian rug.” Rainer Maria Rilke It is a comfort that even great writers fumble over themselves to find words to describe loveline...
There is nothing like the smell of fresh Rosemary fresh between fingers, fresh from the garden, dirt under nails from digging, dirt on knees; you could say from praying, but it isn’t, really. Un...
This morning, I started out my reading time with a little poetry from Billy Collins. The title of this article is a line from his poem Canada, from the book, “Sailing Alone Around the Room.̶...
A Red-Breasted Robin perches on a limb at the edge of an airport runway. As a plane approaches and slows to zoom onto the landing strip, I wonder at the bird eagerly watching. I remember standing on t...
T.S. Eliot is another one of my favorite poets. The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, perhaps, being one of the most haunting and beautiful poems I have ever read. He has a way of speaking that is lilti...
Just thinking of the word Perspective tweaks my brain a tad. There are so many points to consider. Last night, my boys and I worked on the idea of a Vanishing Point in art. We looked at some YouTube v...
In only seven stanzas and a little introductory phrase, a quote by Paul Cezanne, I am plunged into the world of beauty, where art, science, philosophy, farms and haystacks, baseball, the history of ar...
Another night. Another gift. Dinner was amazing – homemade hot-dog buns, homemade mayonnaise, homemade relish, homemade potato chips. Big, honkin’ Hot-dogs. Delicious. Then while Bean was ...
Ever since last week, I cannot help hearing the name Dessa Darling, a poet nearing Pop Icon status, and wrecking my serenity just a tiny bit. Only a tiny bit. Of course I’m happy for her. She is...
Thanks to my son’s take home Scholastic News magazine, I learned that November is National American Heritage Month. For Language and Literature night tonight, I pulled a free printable from Teac...
“There’s a great — with the significant risk of sounding a bit pretentious — there’s a great Camus quote, in which he says something like, I may paraphrase, but, ‘A man’s...
The last thing you hear on the audio version of this recording is someone saying into the microphone, while the crowd is going crazy, “The Blues Does Not Get Better Than That!” This is Par...
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. These are the opening lines of the famous poem, The Jabberwocky, by Lewi...
(Inspired by the first five paragraphs of Sven Birkerts’ essay on Emerson’s “The Poet” – A Circling, Poetry, April 2012) This, then, is why and how, and all the other i...
Over dinner we got into a big discussion of not judging a book by its cover. We talked about the people we met at the Art Gallery, who were disabled, and how some people would look at them and think ...
Our lives are very busy with art and life and living and creating. It’s not always easy to keep up with all that the boys do, but I figured if I take one night a week to try to sum up the last w...
What I want is a Stage… and an Audience… and a Community of Artists! Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our ligh...
The Valentine’s Day card Ben and I made on the computer to pass out at the 2nd Grade Party My seven-year old hates Valentine’s Day. He will make that known to anyone who will listen to him. Yet ...
Today I may flywith my hair stickingstraight outin every directionfrom the electicityof a circular slide. Spinning dizzy on a grassy fieldmay happen next, or rollingdown a hill, arms plasteredto my si...
(Although, if I must be confined… here is where I’d want to be banished!!) Today I am feeling less than authentic. What happened, I wonder? In an attempt to connect and get to know other w...
The poem I read this morning from the little City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology, edited by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, was The Origin of Baseball, by Kenneth Patchen. It didn’t have much to do with basebal...
These were the first words in my head this morning as I sat up in bed. I knew it was time to write, and it is the last day of the month. The last day of the first month of the year. We are 1/12 of the...
It is so lovely to be getting lost in books again! It feels like I’ve never left, like I haven’t spent the last few years being too exhausted to read. I wasn’t too exhausted. Somehow...