Poems and a toothbrush

Written last night:
Dear Friends,

Today was the poetry roundtable in the Sacramento Room of the library. It’s maybe a dozen people; some are kind of my age and others are 40 years younger. I arrived a little late and they were all around the table talking — don’t ask me about what. These are word people. I think three are lawyers on their lunch hour. Another is a teacher who had the day off.The rest didn’t tell. Then we started reading poems one by one. I read hag riding by Lucille Clifton and the Witches’ Curse (Double, double…) from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. 

And one crazy thing. (“What," you say, "Crazy? Kathleen?”):

I left my electric toothbrush in the hotel room in San Francisco. Judy is going to mail it back, and in the meantime I’m brushing the old-fashioned way, using my own power. But I’m so used to the automatic one that I keep brushing my teeth, waiting for it to stop.

Love,

k

Friends fill you like music

Written last night:

Dear Family,

It was an uneventful, windy day. I wrapped up loose ends. I was going to send you a Good Friday poem that I wrote years back, but today I find it sad and untrue. God was speaking and he/she was disappointed (in Jesus, no less!)  I’m not disappointed. I’m happy to be where I am and with you in this way today!

I did make three postcards to send to friends, along with this poem about friendship. It's a favorite of mine.

Love,

k

What are friends for, my mother asks.

A duty undone, visit missed,

casserole unbaked for sick Jane.

Someone has just made her bitter.

Nothing. They are for nothing, friends,

I think. All they do in the end —

they touch you. They fill you like music.

                   —Rosellen Brown

A deeply happy visit

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

What a flip of worlds! Sacramento to Columbus and back to California …

The time and the weather were most different. Even the angle of sunlight (when there WAS sun!) set me askew.

It was a deeply happy visit. Steph and Patrick were there. And on Sunday Patrice and I, with help from Rachel, had a wedding shower for Gretchen, who is marrying Rich Thompson in May. 

Love,

k

Patrice, Gretchen, Mary and me

with shower friends in the background

at Lindey’s in Columbus

 I wrote a poem for Gretchen

Little Christmas Tree

This spray-painted twig and string of lights is my idea of a Christmas tree that could stay all year. That cardinal on top reminds me of Ohio (state bird), feeding my seasonal nostalgia. Poet Linda Pastan echoes the mood in  this morning's Writer's Almanac.

Noel

Linda Pastan

Like a single
ornament,

the red cardinal
on a pine

outside
the window

is our only
decoration,

until
the snow.

I can't read

Heart of Glass

Heart of Glass

No pulse, no

blood, no

hurt. Only

splinters.

My favorite poet & a meatloaf sandwich

In the awful moving of a shelf of books I came across poems of someone I love -- me!

Certain men won't cry
until they learn
a beloved dog
is going to die.

For lunch we had meatloaf sandwiches: buns, tomato slices, some shredded Napa cabbage and horseradish sauce. The meatloaf was good the first day too, with baked potatoes and broccoli, It  suited the gloomy day.

For a guide, I use Sarah Leah Chase's recipe from Nantucket Open-House Cookbook. She calls for flattening out the meat mixture and spiraling it around provolone and prosciutto, which I skip. I used grocery store meatloaf combo of chuck and pork, and I did not exactly measure the other ingredients. I didn't have tomato juice, so used broth and squeezed in a little tomato paste from a tube. Here's the basic recipe:

Sicilian Meatloaf

Mix (I used my hands.)
1 1/2 lb. ground sirloin
1 lb. ground veal
1 medium onion, chopped
4 coves garlic, minced
2 T. dried Italian herb blend
1/2 C. chopped parsley
2 1/2 C. fresh bread crumbs

Add
2 eggs
1 C. tomato juice
1 T. salt
2 tsp. or less pepper

Form into a loaf shape on a baking sheet or shallow casserole dish.
Bake at 350° for an hour, or until the center is not pink.

Words failed him -- until they didn't

I'd like to ask adults how they learned to read, especially if they had some initial difficulty. I want to know what made it happen for them. Philip Schultz's essay in today's NYTimes is a start. Schultz is a winner of the Pulitzer Prize for poetry and he has a book coming out: My Dyslexia. 


As I continue tutoring, I get more awed by the mystery of reading. If you have a reading story, please let me know.