A Change in the Air, Lavender Festivals, and Melancholy

Sunflower among wildflowers

A Change in the Air

I know it’s only late July, but I can feel a change in the air already, as days get slowly shorter, and the garden, still in bloom, somehow seems to be nearing its end. We still have another whole month of summer, but the sunflowers coming up remind me not to wait or postpone, because change is already here. I spent most of the week sick, but am getting better, and it allowed me to get some reading done, and some thinking about the upcoming season: Fall.

Lavender field with summer wildflowers

My parents are coming out for a visit in two weeks, and after that, I’m going to a short residency to work on my manuscript, and maybe on some more essays. I’m trying to be more deliberate with the time that I spend and still put time aside for joy, relaxation, and all that stuff we type-A folks are bad at. If I don’t put time aside for rest, I won’t do it. I’ve been writing essays for five weeks, and enjoying it, and even sending some out. I’m waiting to hear back from publishers on my latest poetry manuscript, but I’m wondering if putting together a book of essays might be a smarter way to spend my time. It seems urgent to get voices out about disability, and while both books deal with that subject matter, the essays might be a better choice for a wider audience. We’ll see.

Goldfinch

Lavender Festivals and Melancholy

This weekend was the lavender festival at our local lavender garden (JB Family Growers Lavender Farm), and we went both days and had fun, and the weather blessedly cooperated (no rain, but also not crazy hot). I also noted that a lot of my friends and family members are experiencing a melancholy that isn’t specific to one bad thing, but rather a pervasive mood. Maybe that makes sense, politics and plagues and wars are bound to make a dent in our souls, and if they don’t, maybe something’s wrong with us. Walking at sunset in a field of lavender does something good to our nervous systems, or spending time picking blueberries or watching birds and going to the forest. We need to remind ourselves of the good things still in the world, of the possibilities. We need to give ourselves something to fight for.

Ha! If all you saw were my smiling photos, you wouldn’t think I had a thing to worry about, right? But you and I know better. We know the happy times are fleeting, and the hard times long, worries and sadness and even disabilities sometimes invisible. (I learned a lot this week researching an essay about Elizabeth Taylor’s myriad health problems related to the same genetic mutation that gave her double eyelashes, and how they related to her death and multiple hospitalizations.) We have to appreciate the good days and cope with the bad and stay open to what life is still teaching us. Anyway, if you are struggling right now, you are not alone, and the bad times don’t last forever (though they can feel that way). Another day when the sun rises, or the moon rises, and you feel alive and yourself again, inspired—I wish this for all of us.

New Nature Writing Conference in La Grande, Oregon, Ecology and Hope, and Grateful for Home

Oregon Wildfire Sunset (From car)

New Nature Writing Conference in La Grande, Oregon: Ecology and Hope

Well, we drove through multiple mountain ranges and wildfire smoke both ways in the five-hour drive to and from La Grande, Oregon. Average temperature? 92°F—with red flag-level winds. I’d never seen how empty most of the states of Oregon and Washington are east of the Cascade mountains. Lots of twisty mountain passes, then miles of semiarid scrub, barely a McDonalds or Starbucks to be found. La Grande, almost at the very Eastern end of Oregon, is a little mountainside oasis—a drive-thru Starbucks, little Eastern Oregon University, where the low-res MFA program held its New Nature Writing Conference. We made it there the first day and we were pretty exhausted, the heat and smoke were hard on my MS symptoms, so I barely had any sleep before I had to get up, dress, teach a class on Solarpunk poetry, and then get ready for a reading and Q&A. Immediately after, we turned around and made the five-hour drive home, barely getting through the mountains before the dark settled in, and once again chased by wildfire smoke. The faculty, staff, and students at EOU were warm and friendly, and I felt very welcomed and thankful to be invited to speak—especially on nature and ecology, which are definitely subjects I’m very interested in, but man, physically this trip was hard. (Pics below include Glenn and I in the hot wind of the hotel parking lot, me with the director of the MFA program, and a pic from last week’s birthday celebration.)

One question I was asked during my class was “how do you keep your optimism with things like these wildfire evacuations?” (One of my friends texted me during the class she was evacuating her nearby small town.) How do I keep optimism? I wish I could remember how exactly I answered. There are always reasons to hope, however slight, and though I consider myself a realistic optimist—or an optimistic pessimist—it is hard, though imperative, to keep a view of the light, however dim. Hayao Miyazaki—along with Octavia Butler—sort of the godfather and godmother of Solarpunk—have visions of the future that, although dark, contain seeds (Parable of the Sower puns here) of how it is possible to have a more equitable, balanced world where technology, humanity, plants and animals co-exist in peace—usually after an apocalypse. So, maybe it’s around the corner any day now? During the class we discussed the Foxfire Books—rural surroundings mean someone in the class HAD heard of them.

We got home, showered, fell asleep exhausted, and today was mostly recovery (my body definitely showed me it was not happy with me with various symptoms) and unpacking and deciding if such a trip might be doable again. Next time, maybe not in the desert in the middle of July surrounded by wildfires?

Grateful for Home

Grateful to be home with my cats, my own bed, my own (allergy-safe) food, I considered how lucky we were to live in a place with such a moderate climate—today in Woodinville the high was 73°—and to live next to a beautiful lavender farm and have just enough land around my house to have a little garden. Pics here are from this evening, the last legs of the weekend’s Lavender Festival—so we mostly missed it but got there before closing to celebrate.

On the journey, I saw a LOT of closed hotels, motels, gas stations, and restaurants—and a LOT of wide-open nothing—no hospitals, no hotels, no restaurants at all. There were no Barnes & Nobles to drop into, no chain restaurants at all along the whole drive. The last place I’d seen with so many closed businesses was Akron on my visit to the University there almost twenty years ago, when the oatmeal-themed cookie shop was the only open store in the entire mall, and the hotel we stayed at was being run by one already-laid-off elderly employee and was being closed after we left. In Ohio, Tennessee, Kentucky—places I’d lived in—there was a lot of poverty, and where my relatives lived in Missouri as well—but I guess I had not really seen it here in the Pacific Northwest (beyond getting lost in a particularly meth-riddled row of closed gas stations and restaurants in Eugene OR on the drive from California back here on one of our moves). Class inequity was really brought home for me on this drive—along with viewing a lot of Trump signs, which you don’t see in and around my home much. Seems like the billionaires in our state could be doing more to help out the rest of the area, but it seems like that isn’t happening.  If the farms in Eastern WA and OR are growing our food, but have no restaurants to sell it to—or hospitals to go to if they get sick—or hell, even a rundown mall to see a movie and get a pizza—what is happening to those farmers and the farm workers? I even passed, strangely, a couple of wine tasting rooms tucked into the middle of what seemed to be wasteland, and a few vineyards on sunny hills that were otherwise barren. Woodinville’s wine country never looked so good to me. This is truly my happy place—away from the severe weather of the desert (or even the Midwest) most of the time, green year-round, cloudy enough to keep me safe with my sun allergy, blessed with good hospitals and libraries and bookstores and indie coffee shops and yes, chain restaurants.

Anniversaries, Birthdays, Best of the Net Nominations, Essays, and Where I’ll Be: Nature Writing Conferences in Oregon

At the lavender field on our anniversary

Celebrating: Anniversaries, Birthdays, and Best of the Net Nominations

This past week was Glenn and my 31st anniversary, pretty low-key, and today is Glenn’s birthday, which means two celebrations in one week. One thing I love about Glenn is for his birthday he made chocolate chip cookies that he took to the neighbors and the workers at the lavender farm. He just spreads joy 😉

I am also happy to say I was nominated for a Best of the Net by Flare Magazine, for a poem “There’s Something Wrong with Me, I Said” which I posted about a few weeks ago there. Thank you, Flare Magazine!

Where I’ll Be Next Weekend, July 19: La Grande, Oregon’s Nature Writing Conference

Morning shot of hot air balloon

You guys know I don’t travel a ton, so note: I’ll be on the road next weekend to do a workshop on Solarpunk poetry and a reading of eco-poetry from my books at a Nature Writing Conference from Eastern Oregon University’s low-res MFA program in La Grande, Oregon. I have never been to Eastern Oregon and I look forward to meeting new people and seeing new desert landscapes. If you’re in the area, come out and see me—here’s the schedule! 

Essays – and Poetry?

I’ve mentioned last week that I’m taking an essay class and enjoying trying out a different genre. It exercises part of my writing skills that I’m not used to using, and it occurs to me that poets could benefit from trying other genres. I know poets who’ve written fiction and excelled at both. I’m not sure yet that I’m excelling, but I’m glad to be challenging myself. I want to take risks, be more vulnerable, and sometimes it helps to feel like a beginner again. I am also starting to think about the difference between what poetry and essays can do, and the differences in what makes a good one. Essays definitely require more narrative and can’t rely quite as much on lyric language.

Anyway, next time I post I’ll be able to tell you more about Eastern Oregon! Hope you have a wondrful summer week – try to get outside and eat some popsicles, no matter the weather (we’re under a heat advisory here, so I will be staying indoors in the air conditioner til after 8 PM!)

Disability Awareness Month, the Big Bill Spells Disaster, and Essay Writing, Plus a New Poem in Cave Wall Review

Goldfinch in wildflowers

A Tough Week: Disability Awareness Month, the Big Bill, Essay Writing

Did you know this is Disability Awareness Month? I’ve been spending a lot of time deep breathing and walking in the lavender field to take my mind off the stress of this week’s passing of the “Big Bill” that will end up taking away money from disabled people, hospitals, nursing homes, and of course, hungry children. I didn’t celebrate July 4th at all—no fireworks, except Glenn made a cake to share with neighbors, which feels appropriate. I guess after cutting SNAP we better up our donations to food banks too. Not feeling very fond of my country, and especially its leadership, right now.

Glenn and I in wildflowers in Woodinville

So, my anger and the urgency of the issues made me turn to an unfamiliar genre—essays, which will be read by more people and faster than poetry. So, I sent out two essays and one of them was already accepted (to be published in September). Luckily, the timing of my essay writing class could not be better—prompts and workshops every week and I’m already feeling more confident. I feel like the abled world does not understand the thin thread that disabled/chronically ill people walk between dying and not dying all the time—based on insurance, availability of drugs and doctors and hospitals, and oh yeah, a caretaker because you can’t do everything anymore.

This “big beautiful bill” puts everything on that thin line in jeopardy, and Republicans that signed it have signed the literal death warrant for disabled people, people in poverty, and some of those poor and disabled will be children. I hope the tax cut for billionaires will be worth it for them. I hope they all lose their seats in congress when people figure out what they’ve done. I cannot wait for Trump and the GOP to be out of power. It cannot happen soon enough—and literally, if it doesn’t, I will be forced to reconsider leaving the country. Did I mention Microsoft has laid off 15,000 in two months? (That’s where my insurance comes from, from Glenn’s job.) So that isn’t helping my anxiety at all. I am looking at viable options for both school and work out of the country at this point, just in case. A place with free health care and free school would be amazing. Why don’t we have those things in this country? Why don’t we start demanding them? One of the themes of this year’s Pride parade was “loud” and I feel like that applies to Disability Awareness Month as well. Keeping quiet will not protect us and it won’t protect others.

Sylvia with Cave Wall

New Poem in Cave Wall 

But I would be amiss if I didn’t say I was thankful to receive my contributor’s copy of Cave Wall, where I had a poem, “Self-Portrait as Wisteria on a May Night.” There were lots of friends in the TOC too. Here’s a sneak peek at the poem, but check out the whole issue too.

Hummingbird in fountain

Next Week: Anniversaries, Birthdays, and Guest Teaching in Eastern Oregon

So next week is eventful—Glenn and my anniversary, Glenn’s birthday, and me getting prepared for the trip to Eastern Oregon for a teaching/reading opportunity at the low-res MFA program’s New Nature Writing Conference. I’ve never been and I’m looking forward to meeting the people and the students and seeing what Eastern Oregon looks like. I’m just trying to juggle a lot right now, plus the stresses mentioned at the beginning of this post. Thank goodness for hummingbirds and gardening and writing. I hope you are all taking good care of yourselves—and check this space for more info on essays soon!

New poems in Flare, Upcoming Appearances: Nature Writing Conference, Not Being Fearful, More Lavender and Hummingbirds

Me in the lavender garden at sunset

End of June: New Poems in Flare, Upcoming Appearances, Lavender and Hummingbirds

Hello! It is nearly July and it is finally acting like summer here after a prolonged gray and rainy period. I’m happy to share a couple of pieces of poetry related news in this update—new poems in a literary magazine called Flare, and an upcoming appearance in Eastern Oregon.

On top of that, talking about fear and more lavender and hummingbirds because that is what I think might make the world a better place. The lavender garden is J.B. Family Grower’s in Woodinville, and the hummingbird perched on penstemon is from my back porch. Tonight when we visited at sunset, Mount Rainier was out, and the garden smelled amazing. I’m trying to sneak in as many visits as possible into our busy schedules.

New Poems in Flare

Mount Rainier, lavender at sunset

I’m happy to share three poems that are up in this new issue of Flare Magazine, a newish online journal dedicated to chronic illness. The three poems are: “There’s Something Wrong with Me, She Said,” “Before the Infusion Center,” and “After an Appointment with a Disability Therapist,” all based on a true story 😉 I am actually proud of myself for writing these poems because they are much less guarded than I usually am about my disability/chronic illness. The truth may scare some people. But I am trying to push past my fear and write more authentically about my experiences in the hopes it will help others do the same, or at least feel more comfortable talking about their experiences.

Check them out at the link below.

3 Poems by Jeannine Hall Gailey

Upcoming Appearance at a new Nature Writing Conference in Eastern Oregon

And I’m going to visit a new Nature and Ecology Writer’s Conference out of Eastern Oregon University in just two weeks. I’ll be doing a reading and a workshop on solarpunk poetry on July 19th. What? Never thought you’d see my name and “nature writing” linked online? Thought I’d be more likely to be talking at a sci-fi conference? Usually you’re right! But I’m really trying to push the envelope on my own writing in terms of writing truthfully about the environment but also finding hope when talking about the future.

Here’s more about the conference, in La Grande, Oregon:

The EOU New Nature Writing Con returns for another year

When Am I Letting Fear Take the Lead?

And I’m trying out my boundaries and saying yes to more opportunities. Who knows, maybe I’ll even teach again? I don’t want to live my life in fear anymore, especially when the world is so uncertain around us. I can’t wave a magic wand and make everything better, but I can stop letting fear make my decisions.

So, I am starting a new class on essay writing, and I may try to put together a manuscript of essays. I may even try my hand at YA fiction after many years of avoiding it.

It starts inside us. If we are afraid of everything, we will not act in the way that’s probably the best for our lives. And our lives are so short! If you follow this blog, you may have noticed that I’ve been talking about the deaths of two friends in the last year. It made me realize that no matter how safe, how good, how many right things you do, you really can’t protect yourself, and in that case, why not: write the authentic truth about your life? Venture further out into areas that might not be exactly the best for your disability or food allergies but might be an excellent way to connect with a new community of writers? Why not try walking a little further every day in the lavender farm (or your local trail), because maybe right now is the best my body will ever be? Why not stand up to bullies in politics, or befriend someone who is a little different form you, or read whatever books you like no matter who says they’re okay/appropriate? If I am a poet, why can’t I also write essays or fiction? Lots of my writer friends do this already. This made me think about the cages we put ourselves into, the prisons that are our routines or relationships that hurt us or a country that doesn’t value us, or people that don’t treat us with respect. Why not reach farther, try a little bit harder, face more risk? I don’t think that my basic personality has changed, but perhaps I’ve started to think harder about my decision making, my day to day life, what really brings joy or makes me feel like I can make a difference in the world? Courage interests me. I want to try to be braver in a world that is pushing us to conform and obey. Once again thinking of writers and artists in the French resistance during WWII—they may not have been perfect, but they tried to make a difference when a lot of people kept quiet…and didn’t. What about you? What would you do if you felt a little more daring, a little less trapped? And scientists that won’t shut up when the population doesn’t feel like scientific thought is worthwhile, or maybe it’ s inconvenient for them to think about what the scientists are saying.

Wishing you all a joyful and authentic summer in a time where joy and authenticity feel like rebellion.

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.