Solstices, Poem in Shenandoah, Memorials, Waxwings Appear and Lavender

Cedar Waxwing

Solstices, Memorials, Waxwings Appear

The Solstice arrived here gloomy and rainy, which seemed appropriate for the day of Martha Silano’s Memorial. It wasn’t formal, but there was music and poetry readings and a tribute from her students. I also saw some old poet friends. I cried in the car on the way there. It’s still hard to believe she’s gone.

Cedar waxwings appeared in my neighborhood that day, which were one of her Martha’s favorite birds, and our friend Kelli has several poems that mentions a connection between grief and waxwings, including “When Women Die, Waxwings Appear” in her first collection, Small Knots.

Lavender Farm in Woodinville

New Poem in Shenandoah’s 75th Issue, Lavender Farm Opening

In happier News, I have a poem in the new 75th Anniversary issue of Shenandoah, and our local Woodinville Lavender Farm had its opening weekend. The whole issue of Shenandoah is worth reading, and the lavender farm had good turnouts—it’s just down the street from our house, and we’re so grateful it’s there—a balm and a joy during these difficult times.

And I should say, we’re all in difficult times. I came home from Marty’s memorial to see that Trump has decided to bomb Iran, and that major cities should be on “high alert”—whatever that means, none of it good, I’m afraid. Today I spent the majority of the day dodging AI-generated images of nuclear destruction. Those of us born in the 60s and 70s remember the information we were given about what to do if hit by a nuclear bomb—at school, at home, and a cute (!) video about what we do if we’re in the playground. We need all the days in lavender fields we can get.

Here’s a sneak peek at my poem in Shenandoah below, which seems to fit the nuclear-anxiety times, but you really should go check out the entire issue.

Full Strawberry Moon, First Swallowtail, American Anxiety, and More Goldfinches on the Wing

Full Strawberry Moon and the Benefits of Outdoor Time

I got to watch the full Strawberry moon rise and then fifteen minutes later disappear behind clouds, so I was glad I was outside to catch it. I had another crown sans novocaine and this one was pretty painful AND was wrongly fitted so had to be reglued a day later. These dental work things knock me out, and left me unable to even get out of bed—but I still had work to do—a tutorial to be recorded on Zoom, e-mails to respond to, an essay to finish, and submissions to send. So when I was so achey and couldn’t focus, I went out on my back porch. And guess what? I had the happy luck to see our first neighborhood Swallowtail butterfly on a neighbor’s privet, rufous hummingbirds, and even found that the fresh air helped my aches and pains. A reminder that getting outside even when you feel you can’t drag yourself out of bed is usually beneficial. And picking up the camera always brings some joy, especially this time of year—and surprises, like the Swallowtail.

More Goldfinches, and American Anxiety

Goldfinch in tree

So, every night this week, there was a new horror to confront: a Democratic congresswoman and her husband murdered in Minnesota, Iran and Israel starting an escalating conflict, the military being turned against American citizens, another gigantic plane crash, Trump’s sad and expensive birthday, and the No Kings protests (better attended than Trump’s parade, by a lot). I am working on just surviving every day and not feeling overwhelmed with horror. Anxiety dreams all week. How are you coping with all this? I am going on evening walks, losing myself in film noirs, reading new books, and trying to keep my physical self working as well as possible. I know stress is bad for the immune system, but darn it if I can figure out a way to not feel stressed right now. Thank goodness our neighborhood lavender farm is opening in another week—at least the experience of walking through those gardens, it’s hard to not focus on the smell and beauty of the lavender, the mountain, the birds, and the friendly farmers. It does not bring world peace or a change of leadership in DC, sadly, but it’s something to look forward to.

So let me know about your stress-reducing secrets in the comments.

Record Heat, Goldfinches and Hummingbirds, Busy Bee (Me!) and Feeling Limitation

Goldfinch on Fountain

Record Heat, Goldfinches and Hummingbirds, Busy Bee (Me)

Today it got up to 90°F—record-breaking heat—and the last three days have been almost as hot. This means the hummingbirds and goldfinches have appeared, usually for water, and I have been hiding from the sun. My MS symptoms have been acting up (not unusual in the heat, but still aggravating—fatigue, headache foot drop, and trouble swallowing—have all been taxing). Another day for an MS patient in summer! I feel like that Frozen snowman during the other seasons—imagining summer but not realizing how dangerous it is. Then I’m like, “Oh right, this is why summer is so tough!”

Rufous visitor

But I can still enjoy the beautiful birds and I’ve been busy with work—working on an essay, sending out poems, and working on another tutorial for Writer’s Digest. Soon I’ll be doing a class on writing essays and judging a poetry contest. I also need to get back to writing new poems and working on my next book. I just wish my brain and energy levels would cooperate. Meanwhile, any glance at the news and social media (my heart is with you, LA) just produces stress and feelings of helplessness and worry about our democracy in a country that seems obsessed with AI and not at all concerned about our dwindling constitutional rights. Trying hard not to feel trapped inside and trying not to doomscroll. Am I succeeding? Sometimes…

Glenn and I with delphinium at the Willows Lodge garden

I keep dreaming about being on a plane to Paris. Where I live is beautiful, but I do wish I had the power and health to travel when I wanted without worry, like many of my friends. I’d love to visit England, where I have a friend or two in London, Ireland, and France (again— it’s the only country in Europe I’ve spent any signifigant time in, but I loved it so much and am longing to go back).

It’s tough to acknowledge limitation of any kind—physical, mental, emotional. I’d like to be doing more, traveling more, having (or going to) parties, participating more in the world. I don’t want to let fear run my life, but I also want to be realistic. It’s a tough balance!

Wishing you a happy beginning to summer!

A Week of Ups and Downs, Birds and Blooms, and Building Poetry Community

A Week of Ups and Downs, Birds and Blooms

We had a weird week of weather, with a 85°F day coming right on the heels of high fifties and rain. I got an ear infection for the first time in twenty years. I saw the first swallowtail butterfly of the year (but no picture), and last night I was outside on the porch at dusk when a very big coyote galloped through the back yard (also not pictured).

The hot weather seemed to coax a lot of my garden to start to bloom—orange honeysuckle, reluctant peonies, and roses. Glenn and I spent time in the garden this week on the nicer days, cutting things back, weeding, fertilizing, spraying neem oil. Other days I had to just spend in bed, as I was so fatigued—plus fighting an ear infection at 52 just seems ridiculous, right? I tried the old fixes (heat packs, being cranky and rubbing my ear, sinus meds), but eventually had to go to urgent care who fixed it right up. I felt I didn’t get as much done on my writing projects as I should have. June is a busy month and I feel behind already!

roses in my garden

Building a Poetry Community

How do you build a poetry community? Is it a bit like gardening, in that you have to work at it slowly over time and then all of the sudden, blooms everywhere, and hummingbirds? One thing I want to do is to prioritize time with poets online and in-person, catching up over coffee or the phone, or having people over. Sometimes, it takes a lot of energy, but I think it’s worth it. Even this blog, or social media, can be part of building community. I think we writers work better when we have community. We need to support each other and recognize each other and shout “good job” when someone gets good news and “so sorry” when they get bad news.

Despite setbacks, I did write a poem this week, and I started submitting again. I’m editing my book for sending out again. But there has been a tick-tock in my ear lately (and not just because of the ear infection). It’s how fast time passes these days, and losses that come with getting older, and the feeling that my time is limited.

Rufous hummingbird at salvia

I wish you all a good June, full of birds and blooms and maybe the lone coyote under the crescent moon. I know some of you are struggling with stress, with bad news, with loss, with health issues. I have no fixes, but I am here. Sometimes the best thing we can do is just be, and watch for friends in need, or swallowtail butterflies, and sometimes even just taking care of yourself can feel overwhelming. We do not need to be everywhere all at once, and that’ s an unreasonable expectation anyway (hi, my type A friends!) I was telling another writer that sometimes it’s enough just to create the art—we don’t need to sell a billion copies, we just need to let the art be enough (though I am terrible at taking my own advice). We are watching universities and the arts and sciences we hold dear be attacked and defunded by the government, and we’re still dealing with a pandemic that left many of us more isolated and let’s face it, more burned out. We need more kindness, more awareness, to others, and to ourselves.

Poetry Readings in Woodinville, Suddenly Summer Weather, Goslings and Goldfinch, Searching

Goldfinch with coral bells

Poetry Readings in Woodinville

This week we had a poetry reading at Woodinville’s J. Bookwalter Winery, where I got to see some old friends from the Seattle side I hadn’t seen much since the pandemic. Suzanne Edison, Heidi Seaborn, and Cindy Veach did a great reading, and there was a lively open mic after, as well as poet discussions (over wine) that lasted until closing time. I have to say it is awfully nice to have a burgeoning poetry scene in my own neighborhood, for so many years I was driving long distances to do these things—now they’re practically in my backyard.

This week has brought with it suddenly summer weather—bright sun, warmer temps, the arrival of our goldfinches and goslings. I have been working on more outside walks as I want to be ready for the Lavender Farm when it opens next month, as well as another trip to San Juan Island (full of difficult but rewarding walking areas). In preparation, Glenn and I have made trips to the Japanese Garden in Seattle and the Bellevue Botanical Garden, and we also walked around our local wineries. Today we took the trip East to Snoqualmie Falls and Olallie Falls on the Snoqualmie river. It was nice to sightsee in our area without too much traffic or hassle, since everyone who’s able is out at their summer homes or Europe or whatever (not jealous, not jealous, not jealous…)

Glenn and I at Snoqualmie Falls

Searching

I am still feeling a bit at odds and ends—am I doing the right things? Am I doing too much—or too little? What should my priorities be right now (health vs. fun vs. work, etc.) Is this normal at my age? I’ve signed up for way too many things next month (judging a poetry contest, taking a class, doing a tutorial, plus an essay or two will be due, plus all normal things including another dental crown.) Needless to say, I have anxiety about all of this. I have been trying to reconnect with some old friends—the loss of one friend makes you realize how important that is. Here’s another kind of frightening thought—do I even want to do poetry anymore, or should I be trying something else? I have a lot of friends (poets) who’ve moved into essays, memoirs, even standup comedy. It certainly would be nice to be paid one in a while and have people actually read what you write. I don’t know what’s next. I’m open and hoping for guidance.

While the world is burning, the poet acts a little lost. She goes to the forest, where several giant trees have toppled—the forest seems more bare, though the river runs even louder than ever. The gardens have fewer plants and fewer birds. Maybe she doesn’t recognize the places she thought she knew. She worries about losing people, not just places. She doesn’t see a clear path ahead the way she used to. That can be unsettling. She worries that she used to be the hero of the story, and now she’s just the one taking notes.