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.

Rebecca Solnit and Journalism, Ducklings, Wisteria, and Struggling with Grief

Me and brother Mike at Rebecca Solnit Town Hall

Rebecca Solnit and Thoughts on Journalism

My brother and I went to see Rebecca Solnit at a very crowded Town Hall here in Seattle, and the talk was great (though she’s very smart, she had a very soporific voice—not how I thought she would sound)! It’s rare that Mike and I get to spend time together, much less with an author we both admire, so it was a good outing.

Since there were several thousand people there, few of them masked, I wore a KN95 all through so Mike and I snuck out a few minutes before the end of Q&A (those masks—urgh). We bought our books and had some good catch-up talk—and then I also had the good luck to see briefly former Utah Poet Laureate and author Paisley Rekdal, whose new book on teaching poetry is fantastic.

Me and Paisley Rekdal after Rebecca Solnit

One thing that stayed with me from the talk was an answer Rebecca gave to a question from the audience about what media sources to trust. She mentioned several major papers that reported 122 times on negative stories about Biden during Trump’s first hundred days, during which he disregarded the rights of citizens, the Constitution, and accepted bribes. These places included The New Yorker, the Atlantic, the New York Times, the LA Times—not the usual suspects we think of as biased journalism. But after she said it, I couldn’t stop seeing it, especially after I saw four stories in one day (before Joe Biden’s cancer was disclosed) where the headline was “Biden was ALMOST in a wheelchair” which I found really offensive. because you know what? We are ALL almost in a wheelchair, as someone who was in one myself for close to six years straight. “Almost in a wheelchair” is NOT a story. Why not report on the current President and his ruining of the economy, or deporting infants with cancer without their medication (surely dangerous criminals in the making, right?) or any manner of terrible things from the current White House? The answer might be made clear in John Oliver’s discussing this evening of Trump’s very politicized FCC and his lawsuits against large media companies—two ways to silence journalism at its core. Very sobering for this former journalist. Anyway, once you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it. (As a side note, Rebecca recommended Rolling Stone, Wired, and the Guardian.)

Duckling Season, and Dealing with Grief

Duckling and wary mom

Spring continues with its springing, and I saw my first duckling of the season (with wary mom nearby). I also saw my first black-headed grosbeak, who visits faithfully each May.

I have had a heavy heart this week with the loss of my friend Martha Silano (I found another picture of her from 2023, at my reading at Open Books—see how she radiates joy?) It is always hard to lose friends, peers, and members of our local community, but this has hit me harder than I expected. It comes on the heels of losing my college roommate, Tara, who was such an amazing force, scientist, and friend. So senseless.

My friend Roz, me, and Martha in May 2023 at Open Books

It occurs to me I don’t really have enough coping mechanisms for grief. I did the things that usually cheer me up—thought the weather has been miserable, cold, and rainy for this time of year, spending time outdoors when I can, going to bookstores, watching lightweight subject matter. One day I spent the entire day in bed with the TV on one station, and again I noticed the repetitiveness and lack of clarity in the local news, and almost all the programming, actually. This is pretty unlike me unless I have the flu or my MS is acting up. I’ve been trying to write about Martha as well as reading through an early version of her last book, Terminal Surreal, due out in September. I was moved by how she wrote about her circumstances with precision and a lack of self-pity and a continued joy in the nature and the outdoors.

As seems appropriate, with its teardrop flowers, the wisteria is in bloom, so we went to the Seattle Japanese Garden (who doesn’t feel at least a little better there?) and smelled the wisteria and observed the koi and water lilies, turtles, and I also got to follow the end of a tea ceremony. The rituals of the season—the rain, the blooms, the ducklings—reminds me that the world continues turning when our loved ones die, and when we die, it will continue then, too. Our small contributions—planting a tree, feeding pollinators, or writing a poem—can seem small indeed, but maybe better than the alternative—causing great destruction, which is far too easy to do.