Time Change, A Poem in Waterstone Review, Surviving November in the Second Year of the Plague

November Sunrise

Time Change and the Pacific Northwest

I am not a big fan of time changes. I wish it just stayed on Daylight Savings Time all year round, which gives Seattle more sunlight when we’re actually awake. We actually voted as a state to get rid of the time change, but turns out states don’t have that power.

This picture is not the sunrise this morning, but a few days ago, when it wasn’t quite so gray and gloomy. In fact, it occurs to me the poem I’m including in this post is very season-appropriate!

November isn’t the most picturesque time in the Pacific Northwest, but I did manage to get a few pictures this week that might fool you into thinking it is. Here’s Glenn and I at Chateau Ste Michelle, their harvest decor, and a rainbow on one of our stormy/sunny days this week, with our last blooming cosmos.

Sylvia with Water~Stone Review

A Poem in the new 2021 Water~Stone Review

So happy to get my contributor’s copy of Water~Stone Review’s annual print issue, which included my poem, “On the Autumn Equinox, 2019” but also poems by friends like Oliver de la Paz, January O’Neil, Todd Kaneko, and Alison Pelegrin.

The letter from the editor for this issue begins: “This issue is haunted.”

Here’s a sneak peek at my poem: (Click to enlarge)

From the Water~Stone Review

Surviving November in the Second Year of the Plague

There’s a spot on the grounds of the Columbia Winery near my house where I can reliably find Fairy Tale mushrooms (or Amanita muscaria) every year, but not until the flowers are nearly done and it’s started to feel like winter. It seems like a metaphor for the hidden beauties of this time of year; sometimes they take a little seeking out.

There was a meme going around on social media, something like, “This month I’m doing a challenge called November. It’s where I try to make it through every day of November.” That feels very true this year, in which we find ourselves confronting the end of the second year of the pandemic, getting booster shots, still unsure of whether it’s safe or not to…travel? see loved ones? have an indoor holiday dinner? It’s deflating to think that we are still dealing with the uncertainty and misery of the pandemic even after vaccines, plus now empty shelves at the stores (supply chain issues,) and a general feeling of malaise that’s hitting everyone from doctors (my brilliant hematology specialist of 18 years is going on “unlimited sabbatical” and my ER doctor friend from Alaska has moved to New Zealand) to mailpeople and retail workers. Don’t feel bad – this is hard. It is not your imagination. Do what it takes to survive this winter, and don’t feel like you have to be your usual ambitious, sparkling, driven self. I know I am casting around, looking for escape – should I move again? Get a job in a different city? Should I just decorate for the holidays way early, put on pajamas for the whole month and constantly stream Christmas specials?

“Adjusting expectations” seems like a continuous lesson of the pandemic. If you can’t get across country to see your family, well, you can still walk around a new neighborhood, try a new apple variety at your local farmer’s market, pick up a new book you might not usually read. If you miss shopping in stores in real life, there’s online shopping – there’s Facetime for talking to friends – and hey, it’s the perfect time to clean out your closet and send a box of clothes to charity or ThredUp. Yeah, these aren’t the options I was hoping to be facing at the end of this year, either. I sort of never want to hear the word “resilience” ever again. Anyway, if you are feeling down, or off, that’s okay. Rest up. Make whatever your favorite fall thing is – pumpkin pie, caramel apples, or just a grilled cheese sandwich or have a hot chocolate. Try to be kind to those around you – your family, friends, and people you interact with are likely also struggling. Don’t try to be cheerful when you’re not feeling it, don’t push yourself to fake anything right now. Read Yeats’s “Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” which feels timely always, but especially right now. Light a fire; hang some lights; burn a favorite candle. It’s Diwali, Southern Asia’s festival of lights, which celebrates the triumph of light over darkness and good over evil. I believe in that, in turning away from giving in to despair and trying to hope, to think of light in the darkest days.