Taking Advantage of Sunny September Days to Do the Things We Missed All Summer: a Visit to the Japanese Garden, Open Books, Elliot Bay Books, Time at the Flower Farm

Taking Advantage of Sunny September Days to Do the Things We Missed All Summer

I was rejected from my infusion clinic on Thursday because I had some cold symptoms (negative covid test, thank goodness), but we used that day instead—since we were up early and downtown—to do something we’d missed doing all summer—visiting Seattle’s Japanese Garden. With the launch of Flare, Corona and various readings, radio things and podcasts in April and May, and family visits and illnesses and smoke over the summer, we haven’t had a lot of leisure downtime. So, we set out to use a string of sunny September days (warm, but not too warm, and no smoke!) We planned so many things: the Zoo, La Conner, visiting Roq La Rue art gallery, Open Books, and the Japanese Garden, plus visiting our local flower farm before it transforms into a pumpkin farm. Was that a realistic plan for three days? It was not. But we did have some great outdoor time in and around Seattle.

Pink dahlias at Volunteer Park in Seattle

Outings to Open Books, Elliot Bay Books, and Volunteer Park

Seattle people tend to have a bit on panic in their eyes this time of year because their FOMO is activated by the arrival of the “Big Dark.” We are probably no different, having been here so many years that we automatically go into outdoor plan overdrive on nice days.

Now, getting to Seattle from Woodinville took an hour because literally every way to get everywhere was closed due to city construction—and feel sorry for those dependent on the Bainbridge ferry, which was down for cars, bikes, and scooters for a week. Does Seattle DOT have problems? It does! Do they have a ton of tax money to fix it but somehow manage not to? Yes!

Anyway, once we got downtown, we didn’t want to waste the trip—so we hit everything at once—after navigating the construction on the main UW hospital campus (yes, also a nightmare)—we chilled out at the Japanese Garden and went to the UW district’s awesome Bulldog Newstand, which has a ton of obscure lit mags and foreign magazines of all types, and now they also have fancy ice cream.

Mandatory book selfie at Elliot Bay Books

The second downtown trip we originally wanted to hit the zoo and Roq La Rue, but because of traffic, everything was closing as we arrived, and we made the decision to only hit Open Books before they closed. We got new books by Oliver de la Paz, Terrance Hayes, Major Jackson, and checked out a ton more. After we stayed ’til closing time, we went a couple blocks down to Elliot Bay Books, where we picked up the new Lorrie Moore book, marveled at the terrific poetry section (where Flare, Corona was fronted at the top—squee!), bought a few more lit mags, and chatted with the friendly book salespeople about our favorite releases and theirs.

We hadn’t really visited Volunteer Park since before the pandemic, so we decided on a stroll before the long car ride back to Woodinville. We were pleasantly surprised by a new amphitheater and a live concert by a band called Space Echo as well as a new (ish?) dahlia garden. The conservatory and the Asian Art Museum—both awesome—of course also closed super early, but we had a great time and felt a lot of serendipity with the flowers and music.

We also enjoyed “magic hour” at the JB Family Grower’s Flower Farm, where the lavender was mostly done blooming, but the sunflowers, zinnias, and dahlias were still putting on a great show. In two weeks, the farm transforms to a corn maze and pumpkin farm, so we’ll probably spend the remaining nice fall days hanging out there. Do we still want to make it to visit the red pandas at Woodland Park Zoo, see the art at Roq la Rue, and see La Conner as it turns to fall? Yes! But maybe we shouldn’t have expected to do it all in three days. Serendipity made each trip we made downtown unique and enjoyable, despite getting postponed at the hospital infusion center (now set for Monday?) and the traffic. Does the MS affect me in the amount I can do in a day? It does. Was it discouraging and frustrating to navigate the UW medical system between different standards doctors have and the infusion center? Yes. Am I exhausted now? Yes! Did I get much poetry (writing, submitting, writing blurbs) done? Well, I judged one poetry contest, so it wasn’t nothing, but it wasn’t as much as I would have done had it been cold and rainy. But we have plenty of that kind of weather ahead of us!

So I have the infusion scheduled for tomorrow (for now – unless they reject me again.) I know I won’t be up to much after the infusion so it’s good to make some good memories when I can. I hope you have some wonderful weather and time to get outside in your town and let some serendipity happen!

A Supermoon, a Surgery, and One Perfect Fall Day, Plus the Importance of Joy and Healing

Cloudy Seatle Blue Supermoon

A Supermoon, A Surgery…

So, the day of the supermoon, Glenn had a right-hand surgery, which we’d hoped would be simple but ended up being pretty complicated (read: long, expensive, involving IV antibiotics, stitches, a biopsy, etc.) He is on his way to healing now but for four days he was pretty incapacitated—and that meant I was trying to fill in the gaps—cat and Glenn caretaking, making sure we had food to eat (not much of a cook here, in case you didn’t know), and four nights of barely any sleep for me. The good news is, there was no cancer, he seems to be feeling much better. It’ll be a while before his hand is back to normal, but at least it seems to be on its way.

After four pretty miserable days, we decided to have a day off (after Glenn’s post-surgical check-in and bandage removal, of course) and devote ourselves to just doing fun things.

Lavender Bicycle at the Lavender Farm

One Perfect Fall Day—and the Importance of Joy to Healing

I have a friend who’s had pretty serious cancer for about seven years. She told me the secret of her longevity – to treat her body as a friend, to live with joy, to give her body a reason to live and to heal. That struck me as very profound and has stayed with me.

Since Glenn was recovering and I have a pretty tough week ahead (meeting with immunologist, then getting an immunology infusion at the downtown hospital), we decided to take advantage of the one day without smoke or rain—a perfect 74°-degree day, a little haze but no smoke and a wonderful breeze.

At Molbaks with Halloween display

So we started our perfect fall day and went to our local garden center, Molbaks, to check out their Halloween decorations (you can count on them having displays up by September 1) to get our fall feels, and then a trip to our favorite local lavender (soon to be pumpkin) farm, where we walked through the sunflowers, listening to the bees and the finches, felt the breeze, got some fresh air and easy exercise. We even gathered some flowers to bring home and for some time, just existed—no deadlines, nothing to do and no place to be—until it was almost sunset. I could have easily fallen asleep in the grass out there.

We came home, watched some of the Harry Potter marathon on SyFy with hot cider, and finally got a good night’s sleep. I consider all of this a type of medicine—different than that in Glenn’s IV or my infusion—a way to remind ourselves of the gentleness and beauty of life, not just the grind and the chores and the pain and struggles. There are enough of those every day—sometimes you have to turn your attention to the good.

Me in my happy place, with sunflowers

Today is rainy and cool, and we tidied the house, I organized and put away my summer clothes, and we started to really prepare for fall. We bought the last doughnut peaches for cake and made barbequed chicken and cornbread with the last good corn. I lit a couple of pumpkin coffee candles. We paid attention to the cats, who felt they had been very neglected the last few days.

I did a few submissions this week in a bit of a daze, because submission windows can be short and demanding, even when life is chaos. I also tried to catch up a bit with my reading—even picking up a few new books to start (ambitious, I know, but fall seems like a good time to acquire new books—especially important when you’re spending a long time at the hospital with a needle in your arm).

As the seasons transition, a few of my friends noted the stress of the change, the return to different rhythms. In Seattle, we pretty much say goodbye to the sun and hello the “the long dark” of the next nine months. I’m hoping to catch a few good days to visit the pumpkin farms, to pick the Pink Lady apples from the tree in my front yard I planted at the beginning of the pandemic, and even a few figs from the fig tree I planted two years ago. Fruit from new trees is always a good sign—last year we got neither apples nor figs—so I hope my trees will stay healthy until next spring.

Wishing you a kind and gentle transition.

New Review of Flare, Corona in F(r)iction, Still the Smoke and Heat, Poetry World Losses, A Blue Supermoon Coming…So Look Out (or Up)

Bench in Zinnias, at the Woodinville JB Growers Lavender Farm

A New Review of Flare, Corona is Up at F(r)iction

Very happy to have a new review of Flare, Corona at F(r)iction by JP Legarte. I can’t stress enough how grateful I am for every purchase, every review, of this new book. Thank you to those who teach any of my books and my poems. Thank you to my friends who keep encouraging me. Thanks to those who invite me to read and to visit classes. It is so easy to feel discouraged and so hard to believe in your own work. So thank you!

Here it is:

A Review of Flare, Corona by Jeannine Hall Gailey – F(r)iction (frictionlit.org)

And here’s a screen cap with a sneak peek.

Poetry World Losses

I was very sad to hear about the death of poet Maureen Seaton, who was a tremendously encouraging and supportive writer as well as a really fun writer—I’ve been reading her for years, but it is her steady kindness to others that I saw in all the mentions of her in social media. I wonder—does our work matter more, or how we treat people along the way? Either way, if you haven’t picked up anything by Maureen yet, you should. Ed Ochester, the editor of 5 AM and University of Pittsburgh Press for a long time, also passed away—another poet who was known for kind editorial notes and support for writers. Yes, he sent me some of those notes. We feel real sorrow—not just an abstract sense of loss—when these kinds of people pass away. The poetry world can be cold and indifferent, but these were people who made it less so.  It’s hard to say this without sounding like a cliche, but they were people who reminded me to be not just a better poet, but a better person, and I will miss them. I want to remember to be kind, how important it is to write that note, or that blurb, or that appreciation or review.

Still in Heat and Smoke—and a Blue Supermoon is Coming, So Look Out (or Up!)

I’ve been house-bound for a couple of days with almost 90° heat (hard on MS) and horrible smoke (hard on asthmatics) outside. The week ahead contains a small surgery for Glenn and the infusion scheduled for me, along with more fun things like my book club at J. Bookwalter’s winery on Wednesday night to discuss the novel When Women Were Dragons.

I’ve been unusually tired—falling asleep when I try to read or watch a movie, napping a lot—and haven’t been able to get enough done (whatever “enough” us). And a rare Blue Supermoon—the last for fourteen years—is coming on August 30th. I feel a little bit of anxiety (or nervous premonition?) You should definitely look up at the sky Wednesday night either way. It will probably rain here—I mean, we could use the rain, honestly, but I hate to miss seeing the moon (no matter what its portents).

Anyway, here is wishing you health, happiness, and peace for the upcoming week. May September (and the Supermoon) be kinder to all of us.

Writing from Inside the Smoke: with a Brief Respite in a Flower Farm and Is It Fall Yet (September Readings and More)

Glenn and I with snapdragons and sunflowers, before smoke

Writing from Inside the Smoke

Well, writing this missive from inside a smoke attack so bad that we have the worst air quality in the world right now. Just two days ago, it finally cooled off from the nineties to a more pleasant 75, and I felt good enough to make a brief trip out to our local Woodinville Flower Farm, which will soon—Sept 23—become a pumpkin farm too! (This is JB Growers Lavender and Pumpkin Farm, right next to Chateau Ste. Michelle, in case you want to visit yourself.)

I’m still slowly recovering and am due into the hospital for an antibody infusion Sept 1, so think good thoughts for me. These things do have risks, but they could help me get well faster and stay well longer. I’m nervous about it, but hopeful it will help. My immune system has apparently been deteriorating as I’ve aged, according to some recent tests, so it could be I’ll need infusions of antibodies on a regular basis sometime soon. I did not win the lottery in terms of physical bodies (bleeding disorder, immune deficiency, MS, Ehlers-Danlos, one kidney) but don’t worry; I have a lot of life force left.

Sunflowers, zinnias

Brief Respite in a Flower Farm

We came home, having spent time with finches singing and coming home with handfuls of corn and flowers, and decided to stay in for a couple of days while the smoke came in. It might be gone as soon as tomorrow. We’re also keeping a close eye on our friends in California which is facing a hurricane and flooding, so soon after the disaster hurricane/fire in Maui. We are hoping everyone stays safe.

So when the weather isn’t trying to kill us, we’ve got to get out and try to enjoy it. My second favorite season, fall, is approaching fast: Facebook is full of back-to-school pics, and I’m ready to shop for office supplies and cardigans—rituals I continue even without the school year structure.

Glenn and I with our hands full of flowers

Is It Fall Yet? And Doing Readings, Writing, Submitting, and Book Promotion…

I’m waiting for fall, and I need to catch up with my reading, writing, and submitting.

I’ve got a couple of September readings coming up: at Edmonds Bookshop with Catherine Broadwall on September 21 (more info here). And a Zoom reading with Red-Headed Stepchild Literary Magazine on September 28th (more info here.) I hope to see a few of you – I need to start promoting Flare, Corona again now that summer’s almost over. I feel like the book has sort of dropped off the radar a bit so if you haven’t picked it up yet, or you haven’t yet reviewed it anywhere, I’d really appreciate it.

My attack on my TBR pile hasn’t exactly been exemplary, but I finally finished Margaret Atwood’s Old Babes in the Woods—a mostly elegiac series of short stories with brief stints of hilarity (“Patient Griselda”, “My Evil Mother”) or horror (“Clamshells”). Definitely worth picking up if you’re an Atwood fan.

Zinnias

As far as submitting, I need to make inroads. I haven’t been writing much this month, but I have plenty of poems that aren’t out anywhere, which isn’t usually the case with me. So, trying to balance book promotion, writing, submitting new work, reading books—it can be a lot! Getting sick for most of August wasn’t in my plans, and it’s slowed me down, so hopefully I can catch up with writing and submitting next month. Wish me luck—with both the health and with the writing stuff! And wishing you all a safe and healthy last week of August.

More Hospital Visits (and Bobcat Visits), a PR for Poets Talk with Kelli Agodon, Glenn Graduates, and More

Red Sunflower from our garden

A Bit of a Chaotic Week—Hospital Visits, Bobcat Visits, Glenn Graduates, and Kelli and I Talk PR for Poets

Yes, it’s been a chaotic week, which included a rush to the hospital after a bad reaction to a new antibiotic, a bobcat night visit, Glenn’s graduation from Pepperdine’s MSBA program in Data Science, and a Zoom conversation with Kelli Russell Agodon about PR for poets, including talk about doing it with limited funds, with chronic illness and disability, and getting over the ick factor.

In the meantime, we’re in the middle of another hot streak—it was 90 when Kelli and I were talking PR—and our garden is giving us a last showing of dahlias and sunflowers, including the one in the picture above.

And you didn’t think I wouldn’t give you a video of the bobcat video—this was about four in the morning, the night of my ER trip. What do bobcat visitors represent, do you think?

More Thoughts on Writing and Survival from a Fainting Couch

Charlotte on the new fainting couch

This new piece of furniture—a gift from Glenn for our anniversary – could not have felt more apropos than this week, when I was barely able to get out of bed. Charlotte, of course, has made herself quite at home on it as well.

The last two weeks have made me contemplate, once again, the challenges of being a writer with my particular health challenges. This week a doctor told me my immune system was worse than her bone marrow transplant patients, and that I might need regular immunoglobulin infusions, as well as monoclonal antibodies for my current illness to be able to fight it off. The doctors were indeed worried I might not make it this last two weeks, which is always scary. I wish this week (and the last) could have been about gardening and writing, but instead it was about fighting to stay alive, with infusions of nausea meds and antibiotics and saline—not ideal. At 50 I find I have more fight in me to stick around than I did even a few years ago, when I was (incorrectly) diagnosed with terminal liver cancer (tumors still around but not dead yet.) Back then I thought, I’ve had a good life, I’ve accomplished enough—this time around I thought, I’ve still got so much to do! Maybe that has to do with the new book manuscript I’ve been working on, the new friends I’ve been making, the chances I’ve been taking, the steps I’ve been making to embrace life even as the pandemic has a minisurge and I fight to stave off even fairly normal germs. I am not ready to go yet. Writing seems like one way of making a survival stance, doesn’t it, a way to holding on, of marking down your name, of saying you were here. I’ve written eight books – six poetry, two non-fiction, and I’m not done yet. Will any of them survive a hundred years, or even outlive me? I’m not sure yet. Sorry for the more morbid bit of thought here—I tried to keep the tone light during my PR for Poets talk earlier today, but these kinds of thoughts kept slipping into my mind. Why, after all, do we promote our books? Yes, to honor the work, to honor the publisher’s work, but also, because we hope to leave something that lasts.