Okay, I admit I am sitting her in the Starbucks at Sumner Place taking advantage of the wi-fi as well as the banana bread, waiting for Eliza to finish with paddling practice and weight training. Liam is sitting opposite me finishing off a pumpkin cream cheese muffin, reading The Catcher in the Rye.
The light along the river was beautiful earlier, a little bit of sun on the trees, the water catching the light, calm, quiet. The banks along the canal and the trees are still green with the exception of small patches of red leaves and white and purple asters. My husband, David, and I found four white puffballs on the forest floor the size of volleyballs! A far more positive experience than the one I had on Monday afternoon when Eliza and I went shopping for fall clothes, yes, at Target and Old Navy. Don't get me wrong. Eliza and I had fun. She is delightful to shop with. But to "balance" things out, I felt compelled to go into Barnes and Noble (Yikes! Another large chain!) to browse. Not a good idea! I nearly had a heart attack when I walked into the store and found the whole front taken over by Nook and Nook accessories! No words, no books. I felt lost and more than a little sick. The poor Nook sales clerk, asking if he could help, took the full brunt of my woe. I think I just bewildered him. "Where are the books?" I asked. Little did he know the poet laureate of Alexandria was about to have a hissy fit right in front of him. He gestured vaguely to some distant corner of the store as if books were a bother and entirely irrelevant to one of the largest bookselling chains in the country, which apparently they are. "Oh, you mean those dusty things with pages?" he might have said. He didn't know, however, that I'm not actually opposed to the Nook or the Kindle. I find them rather clever and appealing for a number of reasons, but I still want a place where I can go and pick up a book and browse. I want to see what commuters are reading on the Metro; I will miss reading the thick spines of the tomes they lug religiously with them and sink into on their paths to and from work. I can see why they might want to tote something as light as a Nook, but I increasingly feel like I am missing out, like I'm no longer a part of the larger community dynamic, invited or not...Which brings me to my last topic. I want to invite you to tell the people around you about a wonderful benefit concert taking place this Sunday, October 24th from 2:30-4:00 at the Australian Embassy. You will be among real people listening to live music and helping out an important cause. I invite you to go to this website: www.Hydroassoc.org and purchase a ticket or tickets to see Peter Yarrow perform for the benefit of the Hydrocephalus Association. There is even a poster for it here at Starbuck's. There might even be one on your e-book!
October 11, 2010
A Literary Loss
As I was folding clothes and half-listening to the news on WAMU just a few minutes ago, I learned of today's loss of Carla Cohen, a local and national saint of the literary world who co-founded Politcs & Prose. While it was known that she was in ill-health and that the store is up for sale, news of her death was like the sounding of a bell, or a fog horn bellowing its sorrowful warning. It can't be ignored. What she and her partner Barbara Meade provided was a rare haven for those who are tickled by and live for words. I am not sure she would appreciate this comparison, but I think it is fair to say that Carla was a sort of St. Francis of the book world.
And as I was writing this, I heard Alan Cheuse reviewing a book called Breathing in Dust, a first book of fiction by writer and poet Tim Hernandez, new to me. I went into the other room to catch more clearly the cadences of Hernandez' writing as read by Cheuse. Out the window I caught sight of a neighbor walking with his daughter who has not yet mastered the art of two-legged locomotion. She staggered to her own rhythm over the lumpy grass in our yard, her blonde head bobbing beneath the ripening crabapples.
I think Carla, though I did not know her personally, would somehow appreciate this scene, the inevitable connections between what is read, what is seen and what is heard, how they all seem to feed each other and in so doing feed our humanity. Carla's service to humanity will be sorely missed, but not forgotten.
And as I was writing this, I heard Alan Cheuse reviewing a book called Breathing in Dust, a first book of fiction by writer and poet Tim Hernandez, new to me. I went into the other room to catch more clearly the cadences of Hernandez' writing as read by Cheuse. Out the window I caught sight of a neighbor walking with his daughter who has not yet mastered the art of two-legged locomotion. She staggered to her own rhythm over the lumpy grass in our yard, her blonde head bobbing beneath the ripening crabapples.
I think Carla, though I did not know her personally, would somehow appreciate this scene, the inevitable connections between what is read, what is seen and what is heard, how they all seem to feed each other and in so doing feed our humanity. Carla's service to humanity will be sorely missed, but not forgotten.
September 25, 2010
Poetry in Music and Motion
There are small poetic moments in our everyday lives, that tend to happen in the corner of our eyes --the way the dog curls up on a chair, the way a simple vase with flowers catches the light in the kitchen window, the sudden uprising of sparrows from a bush, a girl riding a tricycle in her tutu-- and then there are those larger moments that seem to embody all of the smaller ones.
This weekend two of those moments have come together and though one is not at all related to the other, I see them as complimentary. First, and probably most importantly for the Washington DC area, the National Symphony is celebrating the start of Christoph Eschenbach tenure as Music Director. My sister, Rachel, is a cellist in the NSO and after one rehearsal is feeling more inspired than she has in years. If you click on his name above, you will be taken to a promo that left me welled up and reminded me again of the power of music to reach inside us and fine tune all the settings that make us human.
Simultaneously, our son Liam and our daughter Eliza are competing in the National Whitewater Slalom Championships this weekend here along the Potomac in Dickerson, MD. Paddlers from all over the country (and the world) will be racing tomorrow in this small sport. The Washington Post gave it very nice coverage today, as did the Baltimore Sun. Our kids were thrilled that someone was paying attention. Several years ago, when asked why she liked the sport, Eliza answered "It is like dancing on water" and the picture on the front page of today's Post speaks to the beauty of the motion of boat and paddler and the water as partner.
As I picture the kids racing tomorrow, in my mind I see the arcs and turns of their boats, their pivots and their rolls all against the backdrop of the Mirant Power Plant, accompanied by the powerful and evocative sounds of the orchestra under the baton of Eschenbach. Water music!
This weekend two of those moments have come together and though one is not at all related to the other, I see them as complimentary. First, and probably most importantly for the Washington DC area, the National Symphony is celebrating the start of Christoph Eschenbach tenure as Music Director. My sister, Rachel, is a cellist in the NSO and after one rehearsal is feeling more inspired than she has in years. If you click on his name above, you will be taken to a promo that left me welled up and reminded me again of the power of music to reach inside us and fine tune all the settings that make us human.
Simultaneously, our son Liam and our daughter Eliza are competing in the National Whitewater Slalom Championships this weekend here along the Potomac in Dickerson, MD. Paddlers from all over the country (and the world) will be racing tomorrow in this small sport. The Washington Post gave it very nice coverage today, as did the Baltimore Sun. Our kids were thrilled that someone was paying attention. Several years ago, when asked why she liked the sport, Eliza answered "It is like dancing on water" and the picture on the front page of today's Post speaks to the beauty of the motion of boat and paddler and the water as partner.
As I picture the kids racing tomorrow, in my mind I see the arcs and turns of their boats, their pivots and their rolls all against the backdrop of the Mirant Power Plant, accompanied by the powerful and evocative sounds of the orchestra under the baton of Eschenbach. Water music!
September 03, 2010
Back to School and Beyond
Oh, the lazy days have passed. The books, the painting projects, the plans. We hop from one storm to the next. Only the seasons change. Blizzards and hurricanes.
I am back at work readying my room for students, painting my door, unpacking my things. This year as I begin with my students at The Lab School I will also be guiding a workshop for adults through Alexandria Parks and Rec. I am pleased with the response so far and am looking forward to interacting with my fellow Alexandrians this way. Perhaps they will consent to having some of their writing posted to this blog which is woefully out of date. (I apologize.)
In the meantime, I am trying to get back to writing. I can't seem to get away from the havoc the most recent storms wreaked on our area and I feel for the trees. So many are left standing raw and wounded. Look under POEMS for the most recent storm poem.
I am back at work readying my room for students, painting my door, unpacking my things. This year as I begin with my students at The Lab School I will also be guiding a workshop for adults through Alexandria Parks and Rec. I am pleased with the response so far and am looking forward to interacting with my fellow Alexandrians this way. Perhaps they will consent to having some of their writing posted to this blog which is woefully out of date. (I apologize.)
In the meantime, I am trying to get back to writing. I can't seem to get away from the havoc the most recent storms wreaked on our area and I feel for the trees. So many are left standing raw and wounded. Look under POEMS for the most recent storm poem.
August 10, 2010
Stormy Weather
Last week's storms were more the fodder for photos than for poems, although in this instance, seeing was not even believing. Telephone poles suspended in mid-air, branches piled a story high, trees like fallen giants between houses, groups of neighbors wandering the streets in the rain, tops of trees blown into other yards...But, nonetheless, the muse was not silent, so a pen and legal pad were employed. The result was a poem now posted on the corner of Stewart and Dewitt and on the poetry fence (the fence was damaged, but there are new poems there for young and old). See This Poem is Being Written After the Storm under POEMS.
We regained power on Saturday afternoon thanks to the efficient work of power crews from near and far! At a glance it was hard to know whether we were in a three ring circus or in the operating theater. In the end, I decided it was the operating theater. I watched from our porch and second floor as the crews strategized under a tangle of wires, telephone poles, and branches. Then the surgeon in the bucket snipped and tied with his rubberized hands, a switch was flipped and we had power!
As I write I know there are still those we are without power and who are in bad humor about the rotting food in their fridges and freezers and I know there are those who are agonizing about the cost of having trees removed and their homes repaired. I know there are those who would like to remove every tree they see in sight. I would recommend the opposite. Plant more trees! If you live where you can plant a shade tree, do! Trees help regulate the climate and provide shade and habitat! They give us far more than they take away!
We regained power on Saturday afternoon thanks to the efficient work of power crews from near and far! At a glance it was hard to know whether we were in a three ring circus or in the operating theater. In the end, I decided it was the operating theater. I watched from our porch and second floor as the crews strategized under a tangle of wires, telephone poles, and branches. Then the surgeon in the bucket snipped and tied with his rubberized hands, a switch was flipped and we had power!
As I write I know there are still those we are without power and who are in bad humor about the rotting food in their fridges and freezers and I know there are those who are agonizing about the cost of having trees removed and their homes repaired. I know there are those who would like to remove every tree they see in sight. I would recommend the opposite. Plant more trees! If you live where you can plant a shade tree, do! Trees help regulate the climate and provide shade and habitat! They give us far more than they take away!
August 04, 2010
TC Seniors Tackle Essays
I am ready to write my college essay! Not really. That is long, long behind me, but after helping out at the college essay workshop at TC this afternoon, I feel as inspired as the 25 or so students who showed up. A range of volunteers from TC staff and alums to journalism professionals showed up as well at the gentle urging of TC parent Karen Schwarz who is organizing the 4 session workshop.
We explored how to look at ourselves objectively from the outside and realized that with the right hook almost anything can be turned into a story as long as the writer inserts his/her personality. It's all about being specific, painting pictures, demonstrating passion and getting the admissions officer to ask more questions.
Used to working with younger students, I was not expecting the level of passion and commitment I saw in these students of all backgrounds. Never mind that at first they were painfully reluctant to offer their contributions publicly. Kudos to Karen for creating an atmosphere where students felt they could experiment without having their heads bitten off. Good food always helps too! Writing burns a lot of calories, believe it or not.
Good luck seniors!
We explored how to look at ourselves objectively from the outside and realized that with the right hook almost anything can be turned into a story as long as the writer inserts his/her personality. It's all about being specific, painting pictures, demonstrating passion and getting the admissions officer to ask more questions.
Used to working with younger students, I was not expecting the level of passion and commitment I saw in these students of all backgrounds. Never mind that at first they were painfully reluctant to offer their contributions publicly. Kudos to Karen for creating an atmosphere where students felt they could experiment without having their heads bitten off. Good food always helps too! Writing burns a lot of calories, believe it or not.
Good luck seniors!
July 19, 2010
Del Ray's Poetry Fence
On the corner of Windsor and Dewitt in Del Ray, there is a long gray fence. For several years now, it has been a home to poetry. Poetry lovers have hung their favorite poems there and the fence's owner keeps a dazzling array of poems on display both for adults (with appropriate content warnings) and for youth. It has become a quiet presence in the neighborhood.
I always stop to read what is there and have wanted to thank the fence's owner for sharing the fence and the poetry. Here is my homage to the poetry fence:
The Poetry Fence
The poetry fence has arms.
It reaches out and grabs you by the shoulders
and turns you so you are square to the words
hung there,
This week, ‘corsets’ and ‘breasts’ for those over eighteen,
and the Land of Counterpane for the younger set.
The fence is faithful, like a mail carrier,
steadfast in all weather:
“Western wind, when will thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?”
The small poets patter by with boots and umbrellas
in the shapes of frogs and ladybugs.
And the poetry fence calls out:
“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home!”
The poetry fence is lonely though.
It invites you to linger just a moment longer.
“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky…”
Just you and whoever is with you and the fence in its grey suit
with its heart of poems.
- Amy Young
I always stop to read what is there and have wanted to thank the fence's owner for sharing the fence and the poetry. Here is my homage to the poetry fence:
The Poetry Fence
The poetry fence has arms.
It reaches out and grabs you by the shoulders
and turns you so you are square to the words
hung there,
This week, ‘corsets’ and ‘breasts’ for those over eighteen,
and the Land of Counterpane for the younger set.
The fence is faithful, like a mail carrier,
steadfast in all weather:
“Western wind, when will thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?”
The small poets patter by with boots and umbrellas
in the shapes of frogs and ladybugs.
And the poetry fence calls out:
“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home!”
The poetry fence is lonely though.
It invites you to linger just a moment longer.
“Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky…”
Just you and whoever is with you and the fence in its grey suit
with its heart of poems.
- Amy Young
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