WRITING

RESIDENCY, day 7

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I used the forecast of rain to skip my run, but it’s not raining, and now I feel guilty for still sitting up in bed, draining my second cup of too-strong coffee (the only coffee I like), and listening to Jack Driscoll in a video from January of last year. I was there. In “First, Do No Harm” from January 2023 in Seaside, Oregon, Jack reminds us: find your character on your page, care deeply, even for the flawed characters, especially for their flaws, because that’s what we all are. That story he read got me again. [I hope the link opens.] I have not heard the other two talks that are linked on the residency Bulletin. I’ll need more time to go there.

Marsh Hall at the end of the walk, my favorite entrance to campus.

For Jack, Gary went over to campus and sat on a bench and played “Parting Glass” by the High Kings, the live version where the pipes come in [at 2:32], turned up all the way on his phone, and cried because it was for Jack and because of the pipes and because… We think Jack would like that. We’ve listened to it a few times now.

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RESIDENCY, day 6

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Today is Wednesday, which is noted at the top of today’s residency schedule, but which I find myself in need of reminding. Wednesday, and the last day, the day of graduation, will be Saturday. Count the days. [3.] I will introduce one more faculty reading, celebrate this 20th anniversary of my MFA program, and then leave after graduation on Saturday. There will be bagpipes!

In the center of this photo is a mature Douglas fir tree. “Mature’ but not first growth, 30+” wide and looming, but not as big as a Douglas fir can become left to itself for another century. Many trees on the Pacific University campus are enormous [watch for the redwood I’ll post tomorrow), but all of these trees are second or third growth or planted trees. Farmed forests in the Pacific NW are logged off every thirty or so years. East of our coastal home, there used to be the stumps of old growth, trees several feet across, a sixteen foot or larger circumference. There is little of that left. Molly Gloss’s novel Wild Life is set in the period when the great old-growth forests were vanishing.
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RESIDENCY, day 5

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A little short of sleep, but went out for a short run at 6am and felt better. At the beach, I run to landmarks, in Portland I count city blocks, but here I run purely for time—measuring my slow ten-minute miles. Gary is coming to see me this morning, and I am ridiculously excited about that. I don’t think I have slept without him since I left this program in 2007. I have managed to make my own coffee, but miss the conversation. I miss him.

The weather forecast was for 63° and “partly sunny” at 8am, but it was already 68° and not a cloud by at that time, so I’m thinking a hot day.

The darkish/blackish blot in the center is a bumblebee—so many all over campus! There are several species of bumblebees native to Oregon, two of them are indistinguishable except under a microscope. I know this from my friend and neighbor Mary Jo, who has such a microscope and reports to bee people at OSU. [The honeybees we sometimes see are all imports gone wild; bees are not what you might call fully domesticated.]
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RESIDENCY, day 4

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I am trying something different, something obvious. Instead of writing my report of the day all at once the following morning, I begin this day with my own beginning: I have four miles today, two running, which is usual for a Monday. When I was a student here in 2005-2007, I ran further and away to the west. Five miles, six. Faster. I cannot do easy nine-minute miles anymore. This morning, I ran close to, through, and around campus. I circled dear Marsh Hall and Old School Hall each several times, ran all the way north to highway 8, and walked a cool-down mile. I slept better last night—seven hours. I will nap this afternoon.

Here are the three linden trees in a row, north to south. I stand under them, close my eyes, and breathe the scent between naps and presentations. As I was walking back to Gilbert Hall this afternoon, there was a loud crack! and I watched a limb come down, but not from the lindens.
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RESIDENCY, day 3

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It feels very much like bragging to say I’ve so far had lunch with Claire Davis, dinner with Molly Gloss, and lunch with Omar El Akkad. But there, I’ve done it. Saturday, Claire and I talked about what book covers can do to reveal a book or damage its sales. Molly and I talked about the program and our writing. Sunday at lunch, Omar and one of his students and I talked about Portland, fire and how wealth insulates some people even from disaster while leaving others homeless, and that the best Indian food he ever had was while appearing at an event in Iceland. We talked about food. He asked about my novel, would I tell about it? Well. You know the answer.

Lavender.
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RESIDENCY, day 2

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It is the middle of the night after the second day of the Pacific University MFA program residency. So far: five crafts talks and two faculty readings, but I skipped the second student reading last night in hopes of getting a better night’s sleep. [That last is not going well. I should not be awake.] Yesterday, I ran in the morning, napped twice, and so much has come on so quickly, I feel simultaneously sated and drained, inspired and exhausted.

I should know what this sweet-smelling tree is, but I don’t. (Apricot Irving tells me it’s a Lindon tree—we both stood under it this morning and breathed!) I stopped during my cooldown walk to enjoy the scent. There is also lavender and butterfly bush, drifts of roses, and my one of my favorite native ground covers, kinnickkannick. Even now I remember the scientific name Arctostapholus urvaursi [though I may have spelled it incorrectly] because it is as charming as its “common” name. And so many trees! If I know those two trees are redwoods, does that make them different from the Western red cedar, the Douglas firs and hemlocks? All those lives I learned in college to name in Latin. Ursula unnamed the animals, and perhaps the trees, too, might discard the names we’ve chosen and have proper names for themselves. Elephants might name themselves as a group “the great ones” “those who wander” “the live long and prosper people”, since they call to one another by name. I am only amazed that anyone is surprised.
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RESIDENCY, day 1

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I am in Forest Grove, Gary too far away. This week is the residency of the Pacific University MFA program, my alma mater. I am the emcee for the seven evening faculty readings. The faculty are astonishing and wonderful, the reading last night was wonderful, and I am filled with wonder.

I made this quilt for my first residency at Pacific University in 2005. The pillowcase, too is from that time.
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EXPERIENCE

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First, I concede that I possess the arrogance of a person with experience. This is tempered by the many things I don’t know or how to do—many more unknowns than knowns. Even so, there are things I have been doing regularly for decades. I may not be the best or perfect at doing all those things, but I do know what I’m doing.

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I will use the example of Paul Hollywood, a professional baker who has written books about baking, and has been the host of The Great British Bake-Off (known as The Great British Baking Show in the U.S.) since it began. I willingly concede he knows more than I do about baking. He achieves perfectly even bakes and has experience with more products than I ever will. He is a professional.

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READING ALOUD

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The latest research claims that “learning styles” are a myth but that reading aloud to one another is a good thing. I have to wonder sometimes if educational researchers ever consider their own biases?

Gary worried, when he brought me these stems, that they were bamboo from our neighbors’ ugly bamboo hedge. I think: No. At least, I hope not. Anyone?

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MOTHERS DAY

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Today, at least where I live, was a day to honor mothers. My mother and my husband’s mother have left the planet, as Gary says. Our fathers too, both of lung cancer, both Camels smokers, both veterans. His father died on Mother’s Day 1979.

I want to say something about mothering, because whoever birthed the people we care about, many of us mother. And father, too, is a verb with a broad implications. My mother used to say, “Think how the other person must feel.” She said this when someone was impatient or lost, more often when I was myself impatient or lost. She must have said that to me a hundred times.

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