Mardi Gras 2012

Betty and me at Hattie's for Mardi Gras celebration in Hallowell - 2012.

Valentine's Day 2012

Beautiful roses my sweet man brought me for Valentine's Day.  

Oh my . . . they look much like the ones I sent to my sweet man for Valentine's Day.   

A rather extravagant expense when x 2 but it's sometimes it's good to show the love.  Men like receiving flowers, too, right?

Then put them all together.  So pretty.  

My Mom Died This Morning - A True Story

My Mom died in October of 2001.  I've shared the story of the day she died with some but I decided to write this poem, or prose, or whatever you might call it.  

My Mom Died This Morning - A True Story

My mom died this morning

A more positive person you’d never met

At times, a difficult life of poverty and domestic violence

But through hard work and perseverance

She created security and great love

If you’d asked her she would have said her life was beautiful

And she was right

Never one to dwell on the negative

Her vivaciousness, wit, understanding, and laughter

Is what everyone always remembers about her

My siblings and I spent the night at the hospital

Knowing it was the end

Wanting to be there for a few last hours with her

She talked about her theory that when you die

You become whatever age you were the most happy during your life

I pictured her running up the big hill at my grandparents’ house

Pigtails flying, followed by any number of her 9 siblings

Headed for the big oak tree that was her steed

Her fort, her Mt. Everest, or her ship,

Whatever her fancy may have been that day

Just as the sun was rising

Her own beautiful star extinguished

All that was left, and it was much,

Was the light and laughter that was her memory

Never being one who could cry at the appropriate time

I sat there feeling empty and alone amongst a crowd of tears

I knew I had to get away and be alone with my loss

I drove home and loaded my kayak onto my car

The unseasonably warm October morning with bright sun and blue skies

Belying the tragedy of the day

A five minute drive to the river

I was relieved that the early hour guaranteed my solitude

Paddling downriver against the incoming tide

You’d think I was being pursued by a monster

Tears finally flowing, leaving a wake of despair

Stopping exhausted next to shore

I looked up and saw a beautiful bald eagle

Perched in a tree not 20 feet above

Staring down at me with a hint of concern

What can be so sad on this day the Lord has given us

He seemed to ask

So I told him of my loss

Of the feeling of becoming an orphan

Of being abandoned

No matter that I was almost 50 years old

We sat there and talked for 20 minutes

Though not a word was spoken

His understanding and compassion

Allowed the tears to flow without feeling pitiful or silly

Finally I thanked him for listening and started off again on my paddle

Peacefully at first but as the sadness returned

The paddling once more became frantic and obsessed

Again, I pulled up next to shore to rest under an overhanging tree

And as I did, much to my surprise, the eagle landed just above me

I couldn’t help but smile through my tears

And welcome him back

I shared with him memories of long talks

Of funny stories, of sad times, and beautiful moments

We laughed and cried

And gave thanks to the universe

For kindness, for adversities, and complex relationships

Again, I thanked him for listening

And slowly and more peacefully

Continued on my way downstream against the tide

I paddled hard and fast and steady for quite some time

But with much less distress than I’d been feeling before

The sun was beating down harshly at this point

The heat of the day at its peak

So the shady cove beckoned me

I pulled over and closed my eyes

Welcoming the relief from the sun

I splashed some water onto my face

And hearing a noise, glanced upwards and burst into laughter

To see my now old friend perched up above

He seemed relieved to hear my mirth

As if it signaled I was back to my old self

The woman who was the daughter my mother produced

Sensing all was well

He lifted off from his branch

And with grace and majesty

He soared down the middle of the river

Until he was just a dot that disappeared

Into the horizon

Suddenly exhaustion overcame me

The sleepless night, the deep emotions and the physical exertion

All came together

And I was grateful to allow the incoming tide

To gently bring me back

Bring me back to my less than perfect but oh so glorious life

To the guilt that every mother feels when she’s put her own needs

Before the needs of her family

To a husband who was also dying

And had only a few months left to live

To three teenage sons who were sad at the loss

Of a grandmother they were very close to

But I’ll be forever grateful for that October day

That I spent with my eagle friend

Thank you Mom for sending him to me

Once again, you knew just what I needed

So if you’re ever with me

And an eagle appears

You’ll know why I look at it with love

And say, “Hi Mom.”

This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

January 2012

I feel a simultaneous aversion and aesthetic appreciation.  It really is very beautiful but with no snow, I’d been wistfully thinking that spring was just around the corner.  It almost didn’t matter that it wasn’t because my psyche felt it there.  Now there’s no pretending.  It really is mid-January.  The lazy paddle down the verdant and wildlife infested Cobb are a distant daydream. The kayaks are covered in snow and won’t be taking me anywhere.   I suppose I must remain present and entertain myself with my favorite winter sport – my pottery wheel.   

Pottery weekend

I think this is a link to a video - not sure if it will work.

http://youtu.be/m0hB4ic8ZMY

The bottom to a casserole dish.  I made a video of throwing this piece.  I'll try to post it.  

The top to the above casserole dish.  

Batter bowl #1.  I made a batter bowl as my Yankee Swap Christmas gift this year and it got swapped (stolen) two times.  Both Jenika and Linda were quite disappointed to lose it so I thought maybe I'd make one for each of them.   

Batter bowl #2

Lisa's son, Josh, was unable to make it to our Christmas Eve celebration/yankee swap this year but asked his mom to be sure to bring home a piece of pottery for him.  I put out a table full of pottery each year and ask people to take whatever they'd like.  They are often not my best pieces - glazes didn't come out quite how I'd wanted them or the shape didn't turn out quite as I'd expected.  Anyway, Josh has a new apartment and I thought I'd make him a couple of cereal/soup bowls.  

This is the bottom part of a covered h'ors doeuvre plate.  I have a couple others of these and I use them quite a bit.    

Not sure how much I like this.  I think it's too tall.  We'll see how it looks after glazing. 

Serving bowl.  Maybe I'll make a cover for it.  I like my food to stay hot.

Christmas Celebrations 2011

Christmas Eve gathering for our Yankee Swap

Rick had been going on all night about how he was going to get #1 for the Yankee Swap and sure enough he did! 

Jared opening a bottle of Gray Goose Vodka.  Unfortunately it wasn't long before someone else traded him for it.  

Jenika was very happy to get the batter bowl I made, along with some pancake mix and real maple syrup.  

Unfortunately for her it got scoffed up, first by Linda and then later by Sara who was the final owner.  

Jared

Lisa with Chelsea and Justin looking on

Sara, Chris, and Donnie

Justin

Moi

Anytime Rick makes anything resembling a lap, Karma makes himself comfortable.

Christmas morning breakfast.

Monkey bread and egg and sausage casserole

Christmas morning breakfast

Emma enjoying her bed by the fireplace

A visit from Mom the day before Christmas Eve

Mid December 2011

I've been really busy with work and trying to get a few pieces of pottery made before Christmas.  I was surprised that the tall vase below came out so nicely.  I'd glazed this piece quite some time ago and but the red chun I'd used on it was turning out gray on every other piece I'd done so I decided to dip this piece into the celadon blue (the color of most of the other pieces in this photo) figuring it might come out some color in between but lo and behold, the red chun came through beautifully!  

My small bounty from the most recent firing.  The red chun actually came out nice this time.  

On Wednesday, December 14th, in response to our idiot Governor's effort to cut 65,000 people off our state's Medicaid program, we helped to organize a rally at the State House.  Reports said over 500 people attended, many of them staying to testify afterwards.  

It was a hectic week working with folks on their testimony and trying to close cases and getting things wrapped up so that I could be gone for two weeks.  Rick sent me a nice bouquet of flowers on Tuesday. Thursday evening we went to The Liberal Cup and listened to Back Woods Road.  Rick came down and sang a couple of songs with them.  Tammy Trask joined us as well.  

I had planned to go out shopping on Friday but ended up staying home and throwing a couple of pots.  Went to Eddie's Christmas party for a bit and then to The Mad Dog in Gardiner to listen to Rick Dosedlo and Logan.  On Saturday we went out and bought our Christmas tree and hit a couple of stores.  I got home by mid afternoon and then just puttered until about two a.m. decorating and cleaning.  

Emmy had been acting pretty sick and not eating so I gave her the bed I'd bought for her for Christmas early and she lied close to the fire and seemed to feel better after a few hours.  She even ate some canned food and was back on dry food this morning.  

Overall a very nice start to my vacation.  

A Summer Memory

The Bluegrass Festival

A weekend village has sprung up

Gulf Streams, Dutchman, Fleetwoods, tents

a bass drives out a beat

while the dobro weaves a path through it

guitars fill in the edges

as the fiddle springs to life,

and the banjo dances in and out

vocals weeping in the distance

the professor, pharmacist, salesman, and lawyer

this weekend are banjo, guitar, bass, and mandolin

the development director of a small charity

               is dancing Denise

teenagers appear at the edges of the compound

               instruments nervously in hand

only their timidity standing in their way

where else can you wander into somebody’s home

               quietly pull up an empty chair

and become part of their evening

               whether as an appreciative observer or participant

and leave later, never having exchanged names

               drunk off intimacy and community


This poem contributed to dVersePoets Open Link Night.

Occupy Augusta November 19th

I love this photo - that's me holding two signs - both mine and Rick's, Keeley beside me and my oldest son Justin, on the far right.  Rick took the photo from the steps of the state house and you can see the tents of Occupy Augusta behind us.  We participated in a meeting there today that was quite interesting. They talked about legislative actions they would like to see happen; some made sense and others I can't say I'd subscribe to, but they were all treated with respect and allowed discussion.  There was discussion about legalizing the industrial use of hemp, which only makes sense and I've never been able to understand the blind objections to it.  Maybe it's not really as useful as folks in these settings expound. I'll need to do some internet research.  

Test Glaze Firing

So I fired my test glaze pieces a couple of days ago.  I had numbered each piece on the bottom when I threw them so that I could track what I did to each one in terms of glaze thickness and placement on upper or lower shelves.  I wanted to test two different glazes:  the first, red chun, has always been a difficult glaze but when it works out well, it’s really beautiful and probably my favorite all round glaze.  However, instead of coming out red my pieces have been coming out rather gray and I couldn’t tell whether it was because the glaze was too thick, too thin, the kiln was too hot or too cold.  So I put one with thick glaze and one with thin glaze on each of the 3 shelves.  There’s about a whole cone’s difference in temperature between the top shelf in the kiln and the lower as you can see from the photo below.  

These are 5, 6, and 7 cone packs.  I'm trying to fire to cone 5.  I had to put a cone 7 in the kiln sitter and I think it still turned off the kiln a little too early. The single ones are cone 5 which I put right in the peep hole to be able to see it best while firing.  You can see that the cone 5 and cone 6 bent fairly nicely on the top shelf; just the cone 5 bent on the middle shelf; and the cone 5 on the bottom shelf only bent slightly.  

So . .

#1           red chun – thick glaze – bottom (cooler) shelf 

#3           red chun – thick glaze – top shelf

#4           red chun – thick glaze – middle shelf

#2           red chun – thin glaze – bottom shelf

#5           red chun – thin glaze – middle shelf

#7           red chun – thin glaze – top shelf

Starting from the left front they are numbered 1, 2, 4, and 3, 5 7 coming down from the back on the right.  The larger piece in the back is a red chun when behaving well - the color that I'm going for.  

There really seems to be almost no difference overall.  Each of them are fairly gray but each has a section that's got a little red tinge to it.  So I can't say that the test firing taught me anything.  Bummer.  It's still just red chun behaving badly.  Maybe it's just a bad batch.  I buy my glazes all mixed.  The glazes I'm accustomed to using are ones that my pottery teacher, Malley, mixed herself.  

The other glaze I wanted to test is the royal blue which has always been a really solid glaze, didn’t run much and showed off embellishments fairly well.  However, mine had been blistering and running and again, I didn’t know why. I think I did learn something from the royal blue test glazes.

It seems the thinner glaze on the cooler bottom shelf works best for the royal blue, though they all seem to have some blisters.  I really need to get this one right because I'm going to use it for a nice covered casserole dish and don't want to mess it up.  

It's my birthday . . .

Today's is my 58th birthday.  Hard to believe.  But life is good, I feel pretty healthy and I guess I don't look too bad for my age, at least most days.  I guess at midnight last night I was dancing at The Wharf with Betty, Melissa, and Dave Thibodeau, to music by Paul Thibeault and Alfred Lund.  Fun time!  I slept late this morning, (being a Friday) and took a leisurely shower and puttered a little around the house, spent some time on FB, and now need to pack for our overnight at The Second Street Bed & Breakfast in Hallowell.  Rick reserved us a room for the night so that we can indulge and not have to worry about driving.  School Street Band is playing at Higher Grounds tonight; they've got a killer guitar player and do some great dancing music.  We were out till 1:00 last Friday night celebrating with Regina and Lance but not sure we'll make it that late tonight.

Occupy Augusta

Thank you Paul Krugman for explaining so eloquently why the Occupy movement calls to me and so many others.

Our contingent of a small - maybe 100 as reported by the local paper - but dedicated  group outside the Capitol Building in Augusta on October 15th

"What’s going on here? The answer, surely, is that Wall Street’s Masters of the Universe realize, deep down, how morally indefensible their position is. They’re not John Galt; they’re not even Steve Jobs. They’re people who got rich by peddling complex financial schemes that, far from delivering clear benefits to the American people, helped push us into a crisis whose aftereffects continue to blight the lives of tens of millions of their fellow citizens.

Yet they have paid no price. Their institutions were bailed out by taxpayers, with few strings attached. They continue to benefit from explicit and implicit federal guarantees — basically, they’re still in a game of heads they win, tails taxpayers lose. And they benefit from tax loopholes that in many cases have people with multimillion-dollar incomes paying lower rates than middle-class families.

This special treatment can’t bear close scrutiny — and therefore, as they see it, there must be no close scrutiny. Anyone who points out the obvious, no matter how calmly and moderately, must be demonized and driven from the stage. In fact, the more reasonable and moderate a critic sounds, the more urgently he or she must be demonized, hence the frantic sliming of Elizabeth Warren.

So who’s really being un-American here? Not the protesters, who are simply trying to get their voices heard. No, the real extremists here are America’s oligarchs, who want to suppress any criticism of the sources of their wealth."

Full op ed:  http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/10/opinion/panic-of-the-plutocrats.html

  

Connection

Connection

There is a hunger for connection

Deep down in one’s soul

Under all the layers

That moment when you cut 

Through all the bullshit that

Surrounds every relationship

And connect

There are no ex wives, old boyfriends, or needy children

The stress from work is immaterial

The unsold house, the bills, the mistrust

It’s not separating us in this instant

There is only the two of us

And the ping rate is minuscule

It’s there and then it’s gone

Back to daily life

One suffers the hum drum of routine in memory of that moment

As the power of two dance before them, drawing them in

And usually spitting them out

But for the rare moment

When defenses drop and we’re given another glimpse

Of what’s behind the great wall of ego and thought

This poem contributed to
dVersePoets Open Link Night #13

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac 2011

We stopped at the "Historic Trolley Pizzeria" on our way into Lowell Friday afternoon and then drove straight to Jack's grave.  We found it pretty easy it being our 3rd trip there.   

Me bringing a rose for Jack's grave from a bouquet Rick had brought me last week.  

An assortment of offerings - the shots, harmonica, a couple of beers, my rose, Rick's book, and the single malt 16 year old whiskey we brought for our toast.

I read the 242nd Chorus from Mexico City Blues.     

After leaving the grave we checked into our hotel - not an easy feat.  It was so absurd I seriously thought we could be on candid camera or something, but it gave us a chance to talk to the other people in line and met a couple in town for the festival from Bordeaux, France and a professor from Quebec with several students.  We then walked over to Ricardo's, getting lost en route and finding the prof and his students wandering as well.  We all found it a few minutes later and had a beer, talked with Mike, listened to a NY street poet named Steve Dalachinsky whom I really liked.  Then this Jack impersonator told a little story about the first time he met Ken Kesey - not a pretty story.  :-)  

This is "Jack" hanging out at Ricardo's - the first pub on our tour.

We stopped at Cappy's Copper Kettle second where we met a pretty interesting local dude playing pool.  He told us he was a fighter - a kick boxer I think - and told Rick he looked like Kevin Nash who apparently is a wrestler.  It's very ironic that Rick is probably the only person in the bar other than this guy who would have a clue as to who Kevin Nash was.  After seeing a photo of Kevin Nash I must say I don't see the resemblance - 6 ft 7 - 300 pounds of solid muscle would be the first difference I notice.  

Next we went on to Major's Pub.  Rick had been posting on his Kerouac-obsessed blog all week that anyone who came up to him and said Rumplestiltskin would get a free book.  While Rick was outside taking photos I grabbed a table and invited some other folks to sit with us.  I got talking to Melissa, Todd and Nancy and then Rick came and joined us.  As we talked, Melissa said - hey, are you that guy with the blog?  I said, what's the magic word and she nailed it!  Rick  had been carrying a couple of books around so true to his pledge, gave her a signed copy.  It turns out she'd come across his blog when googling a Kerouac quote and saw his posts.  Her partner Todd was the Kerouac lecturer for Saturday which turned out to be very interesting.  

The last pub was The Worthen House - the same place we ended last year with all the antique belt driven fans.  As we were going in, the woman in front of us was telling the guy collecting $5 cover charge that she hadn't brought enough cash with her so I paid her way in.  We hung out and listened to Reverend JJ - a pretty good solo guitar and harmonica player and then a rather loud and unique band afterwards.  Walked back to our room about 11:30 I guess.

We had breakfast at the hotel and walked over to Kerouac Park for the bus tour just in time to hear more poetry by Dalachinsky and then a little talk and some flute tunes by Daivd Amram.  

Here's a photo of Steve Dalachinsky from Saturday at Kerouac Park.  

David Amram

People listening at Kerouac Park

We then boarded the bus and went to Jack's place of birth - 9 Lupine Street in Lowell.

Here's Roger Brunelle who grew up in Lowell at the same time that Kerouac lived there.  He never met Jack which he regrets - says Jack died before he was awakened.

We also went to the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, stopped at the Merrimack River, a couple of schools where Jack attended, and the Lowell Library where they say Jack still holds a record for having checked out the most books, among other places.  We broke off the tour when they headed to some locations we'd toured last year and went to a little Mexican restaurant for a quick bite before heading to the Lowell Center for Todd's lecture.  

We had to leave right after he finished so that we could run back to the hotel and get poetry for the open mike back at The Worthen House.  Rick had brought a poem he'd written about being at City Light Bookstore in San Francisco.  I had my moleskine  but none of the poems I had in there were really speaking to me so I decided not to read.  I really wanted some of the more recent poems I'd posted to dVerse poetry.   

Rick reading at open mike upstairs at The Worthen House

We had planned to go the the Centralville Social Club and listen to music at 8 but we were pretty beat (so to speak) at this point and decided to go grab some dinner at a cool pub we'd walked by earlier called The Old Court.  After a nice dinner we knew the music was a no go and decided we'd be redeemed if we went back to the hotel and streamed Howl from Netflix.  Loved the movie - great dialogue.  

When we got up on Sunday we decided to go down to Concord, MA to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Louisa May Alcott, and Ralph Waldo Emerson are all buried.  

Entrance to Author's Ridge

Me in front of Louisa May Alcott's grave.

Here's Henry David Thoreau's tombstone - very simple, as it should be.  There's a much larger family marker next to his stone.

Rick at Thoreau's grave.  He read an excerpt from Civil Disobedience.  

Here's me at Nathaniel Hawthorne's grave.

And here's Rick at Ralph Waldo Emerson's grave.  I read the poem, The Apology.

The Apology

Think me not unkind and rude,

That I walk alone in grove and glen;

I go to the god of the wood

To fetch his word to men.

Tax not my sloth that I

Fold my arms beside the brook;

Each cloud that floated in the sky

Writes a letter in my book.

Chide me not, laborious band,

For the idle flowers I brought;

Every aster in my hand

Goes home loaded with a thought.

There was never mystery,

But 'tis figured in the flowers,

Was never secret history,

But birds tell it in the bowers.

One harvest from thy field

Homeward brought the oxen strong;

A second crop thine acres yield,

Which I gather in a song.

All in all, a fun and interesting weekend.  We had a nice drive home during which I stopped at Starbucks for a caffeinated mocha frapacinno, so here it is 2:00 a.m. and I'm still wide awake and putting my blog together.  I'll be glad tomorrow - and when I look back in 10 years - that I did.