April in Books and Birds

I finished listening to two books in the last couple of days, The Faraway Nearby by Rebecca Solnit and Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, both of which I highly recommend. 

I'm really into figuring out structure of books lately and thinking about the ways that authors assemble their thoughts, especially in nonfiction, and the image that came to mind for Solnit's book is a french braid. The entire book does this incredible job of weaving in apricots, Alzheimer's, loss, Frankenstein, Iceland and Icelandic tales, storytelling, meaning, and more. Each chapter introduces a new strand without leaving the previous strands behind, delivering an overarching gift of interconnectedness. I listened to the book on my commute, and while I really loved it, I don't think I'd recommend listening to the audiobook-- this is the kind of book that deserves a more attentive reading, a pencil, a glass of wine, and the time and space to set it down, think about it, pick it up again, and think some more.

Bird by Bird, on the other hand, was a great car listen, and since it's a bit shorter (four hours to listen, I think), it would be good for those who have a shorter commute. I'll admit that there wasn't a whole lot I hadn't heard before in terms of authorly advice, but that doesn't matter, because writing wisdom is like Bible verses: it doesn't matter how simple the concepts are, it's the doing that's the hard part, and any additional encouragement and companionship along the way helps.

Speaking of birds, I wrote two whole poems this month! This is up from zero the last year, so please, round of applause. They are both inspired by birds. It felt so fun to write new things about birds that I have something of a poetic project in mind with them. I have a secret ambition to write a poem a day in the month of May, but shhh. If it doesn't happen it, no big deal.

In other April-related news, I spent four days in Minneapolis for the AWP Conference, where I presented on a panel called Bravery and Bearing Witness: Vulnerability in Writing, and I think we knocked that panel's socks off. All of the panelists brought wonderful perspective and insight, but who's surprised by that, since they were Bonnie Rough, Kate Hopper, Brenda Miller, and Marilyn Bousquin? You just can't go wrong with that line-up. I also spent loads of time with my community of writers of faith, and that always fills the soul (and belly) like nothing else for me.

Brandon and I went to the John Hiatt and Lyle Lovett concert this past Sunday, together, alone. Date night reminds us both that we're funny and goofy and obnoxious and sexy and that we quite like each other as human beings, actually. Sometimes that's forgotten in the daily shuffle, eh? The concert, for me, put the lid back on my Pandora's box of insecurities, and from this side of the box, I stare in disbelief at that sad, hollow person who couldn't imagine ever escaping the spiral. I dislike the ebb and flow of these seasons... except for the growth and reminders of grace and mercy that come along with them.

I don't know much else, except that I will have a series of blog posts on Off the Page in the next few weeks, I think, on the desire to be desired, so hang on tight.

Back then --

2014: April Showers

2013: Tragedy and Faith

2012: Books 4 and 5: A Double Life and Bring Down the Little Birds (what's with the birds??)

2011: Explaining Easter (poem)

2010: Mark Jarman Interview in Rattle Summer 2006

2009: Thunder (poem on top of a photo... blech)

Westbound and Down, Rollin' Up and Truckin'

"we gonna do what they say can't be done. We've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there, oh westbound just watch ol' Bandit run!"

Yeeeee hawwwww!

Tomorrow morning at the wee hour of 4 a.m. I'll be zooming out of here to the airport for another year of AWP, this year, all the way in Seattle. I am so happy that I am not in the state of mental breakdown that I was in at this time last year. I have not been dreaming about flies hatching out from underneath my fingernails, and no one in my immediate family has suffered from a kidney stone this week. Given those two things, I'm in paradise.

I am reading my work TWICE at this year's conference - first as part of the River Teeth 15th Anniversary Reading (I'll be excerpting "Country Boys, City Boys") and then later that night as part of the WordFarm/Rock&Sling/and someone else poetry extravaganza (planning to read "Making the Bed" from PBB). It's going to be a busy conference, with two dinners/parties for River Teeth and the MFA Program, plus readings and signings and meetings galore. PLUS I am staying with two of my favorite writer friends! We will be... Sleepless... in Seattle.

This is the first time in recent history that my children have been sad that I am leaving. I feel a little bad because... well... I'm not sad that I am leaving. ha ha ha. I AM sad that they were sad at bedtime - Lydia even cried. I held her for a long time until she got sleepy. Henry told me, "Don't go to work, Mom," which darn near broke my heart. Why don't they do this when Brandon leaves? He's gone ALL THE TIME. (Well, not all the time. But, he certainly travels more frequently than I do.) Of course I'll miss them. Of course. But MAYBE, it's time for mama to get out of Ashland and see her writerly friends.

At any rate, three little love letters are waiting on the counter for them when they wake up. And there will be Skype sessions ahead for the three little people, too. I will get my fill of writer egos, black clothes, books, and bars, and happily return ready for hugs and kisses from the sweet ones.

My husband, on the other hand, I will miss terribly, miss him already because he's working tonight in Cleveland. Sigh. Excuse me for one second, but how good is it to be loved and to love? It's a good kind of missing happening. I already can't wait to see him on Sunday.

And now I am off to sleep as much as I can before 4 a.m. Egads.

The First Step Is Admitting You Have a Problem

"There is more to life than increasing its speed." - Mahatma Gandhi

I leave in the morning for my annual trek to the AWP Conference, this year in Boston.  I'm leaving with my homework done for this week, a packet submitted for the program, "spring break" for school waiting after the trip, four manuscripts formatted and sent to print in February, a grant written and almost submitted, all of the laundry in the house done, dishes washed, fridge stocked, living room and dining room vacuumed and clean, and all of my children healthy.  I've got my son home from Akron Children's Hospital after discovering a FREAKING KIDNEY STONE on Saturday.  A KIDNEY STONE.  In a FIVE YEAR OLD.  Why, Universe, Why?

I've also finished several glasses of wine.

My husband is supposed to fly in tonight from Baltimore to Cleveland, but it's delayed, hopefully not cancelled.  I need to leave the house at 5 a.m. to go to Boston from Cleveland.  If he's cancelled, he's arranged for a friend to come over to be with the kids so I can leave.  Which is helpful.  At least there's a contingency plan.

My eye won't stop twitching.  It's been doing it for weeks now, and it's really starting to drive me nuts.  I feel a little bit like Meryl Streep in It's Complicated, holding my eye lid up with my finger all day.

I need this trip, even though it is work and I have about fifteen different responsibilities while I'm there, I need this trip to try to regain some sanity, to try to slow down for just a second and not feel guilty for not doing something I should be doing.  Like right now, I should be putting the clean clothes away.  I should be sweeping the kitchen floor.  I should be reading through the school newsletter so that I know what's going on with Lydia's class.  I should know something about what's going on in my kids' school lives.  I shouldn't be blogging.  I shouldn't be whining.  I should just get over it, suck it up, like I've been doing, and stop making such a big deal out of it because it isn't a big deal, right, right?! RIGHT!?

Only I'm so tired.  I can't sleep, though, because if I sleep I'll dream about flies hatching from underneath my fingernails, like last night.  If I sleep, I'll miss my alarm and miss my plane.  If I try to go to sleep before I'm thoroughly worn out I will lie there and catalog whatever it is that is left to do on my to-do list that I'm ill prepared for or certain to forget about in the morning.  Better to Google, "How to know when you're having a nervous breakdown."  Better to watch Harry Potter #3 and drink another glass of wine and eat another piece of dark chocolate.

I want to quit everything.  I want to quit, to quit, to quit, burrow under my blankets and stay there until the Universe remembers that I am its center and it should do exactly as I tell it to, like we've discussed several times before, but noooooo, the Universe ignores me and does whatever the heck it wants.

I didn't work today because of the whole five-year-old-in-the-hospital-for-freaking-kidney-stones episode, which actually allowed me the space and time to reassemble the house that exploded on Saturday with unfolded/crumpled clothing and dirty dishes from Saturday from the dinner I made but didn't eat because of the kidney-stone-episode.

Let me pause in my ridiculous four-year-old tantrum that I'm throwing to tell you how incredibly grateful I am for so many friends and family members who came to the rescue with prayers and help with kiddos this weekend.  I don't know what I would have done without you.  Really.

And that's what it might boil down to, right there, that's what this all distills down to.  I know I'm not alone, but I feel so alone.  I don't want to ask for help because I'm always asking for help, but if I don't ask for help my eye twitches more and my heart starts to race and my hands start to shake and I start bawling my eyes out like I'm doing right now sitting in my kitchen sobbing like a four-year-old that's denied his ice cream cone.  I feel guilty for asking for help because I should be able to DO THIS, it isn't that hard, what's so hard about working and taking care of your kids and doing a little reading and writing here and there?  What's the big deal?  Why can't I keep it together?

I don't know what to give up or let go in order to regain some semblance of sanity.  And because I don't know what to give up, I want to quit it all, to say goodbye to work and to school, to retreat into my house and leave only to get my kids off to their respective schools, buy groceries, and go to yoga when I can because I need someone to remind me to breathe.  

But, like I've said a thousand times before on this blog, I am not a four-year-old who has been denied an ice cream cone.  I am a wife.  I am a mother.  I am a faithful employee.  I believe in my work and my family and my marriage and my God and my writing, and I know what I do is good and right, and I need to keep doing it, even though right now I'd like to curl into the cave.  This is what we do.  We keep on going.  It's only one really, really, really, long season.  It has to end sometime.

So, *deep sigh* I will finish this post, switch the last load of laundry, refill my wine glass, turn on something light and funny, or Harry Potter #3, and stop thinking for a while.  Whatever I forgot to pack can be purchased in Boston.  They actually have stores there, so no big thing.  And, if I do miss my alarm and miss my flight, hey, guess what, they fly more than one airplane to Boston.  Perhaps the hardest thing about this mini-mental-breakdown season of my life is that I know it isn't futile.  I know there's hope and an answer to the busyness, and I know that part of my problem is pride--I am proud of keeping this life balanced precariously on the edge of sanity.  Look at me, I'm doing it, I'm surviving!  But I don't want to just survive.  I want to thrive.  To live a life of contentment, as recommended by the good ol' Solomon in Ecclesiastes:

"Go then, eat your bread in happiness and drink your wine with a cheerful heart; for God has already approved your works.  Let your clothes be white all the time, and let not oil be lacking on your head.  Enjoy life with the woman whom you love all the days of your fleeting life which He has given to you under the sun; for this is your reward in life and in your toil in which you have labored under the sun.  Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might; for there is no activity or planning or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol where you are going.  I again saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift and the battle is not to the warriors, and neither is bread to the wise nor wealth to the discerning nor favor to men of ability; for time and chance overtake them all.  Moreover, man does not know his time: like fish caught in a treacherous net and birds trapped in a snare, so the sons of men are ensnared at an evil time when it suddenly falls on them" (9:7-12)

Perhaps the only real crisis will be if I don't hurry up and refill this wine glass.

Tomorrow is a new day with its own worries, and thank God, thank GOD, THANK GOD His mercies are new every morning.  He is faithful, even if his faithfulness appears in my mind like Trace Adkins shaking his head and singing, "You're gonna miss this, you're gonna want this back, you're gonna wish these days, hadn't gone quite so fast, these are the good times, take a good look around, you may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this."  I am grateful for the myriad ways He has been merciful.  God, not Trace.  Although maybe Trace Adkins is also merciful, I don't know.

 

Hello and Goodbye, AWP

Hello, home.  Hello, dog, whose behavior seems miraculously better after a week apart.  Hello, thermostat set at just the right temperature.  Hello, eastern standard time and your accommodating capacity to keep my baby asleep until a godlier hour than central time.  Hello, taller, smarter, better enunciating children-- has it only been four days??  Hello, patient and dessert-producing grandparents, and thank you.  Hello, town whose population might know the name of one contemporary poet (besides me, ah ah ah).  Hello, DVR and free wireless.  Hello, sweet potatoes and grilled chicken and food I didn't have to order or inquire about the nutritional content.  Hello, eight dollar bottle, and goodbye eight dollar glass, of wine.  Hello, open space to breathe.  Hello, mud and trees and snow and tulips pushing through, and goodbye black and wet asphalt, icy, breath-sucking wind, marble, concrete, glass, concrete, and concrete.

Goodbye, friends from other places, friends who can carry a conversation about truth and narrative, farms and marketing, about poets and writers and panels.  Goodbye, five hour ride across Indiana.  Goodbye, Sirius XM radio.  Goodbye, husband, and time alone (almost) with you.  Goodbye four days with no pick-up or drop-off or gymnastics or homework or babysitter.  Goodbye, ethnic variety.  Goodbye, writers I know and writers who might know me (ha ha ha).  Goodbye, high-heeled dress shoes, black-and-gray wardrobe, standing and talking all day, and hello, clogs and blue jeans and t-shirts.  Goodbye, extroverted Sarah, and hello, introverted Sarah.  Hello alarm clock.  Goodbye "going out for a drink" and "where do you want to eat tonight" and "it's just a few blocks away" and "we can split a cab" and "should we take the train?" and "I think we'll walk" and "do you see the shuttle yet?" and "sorry I missed you!" and "so good to see you!" and "see you next year!" and "Brrrrrrrr!"  Goodbye, Chicago union workers picking up my empty boxes and discarded discount subscription flyers.  Goodbye, brand-new rental Chrysler Town and Country with the video rear-view monitor, and hello, Ford Fiesta, Dodge Durango.  Goodbye, toll roads.  Goodbye, AWP, goodbye.