My story was already live on Metaphorosis before 6am when I first checked just a moment ago—both the text and the podcast. ALL THE DAUGHTERS SING. [updated link to start of story… hopefully. A response on the Metaphorosis website or here is much appreciated. Bloggers may click “like” at the end of the story text. Anyone may add a comment.]
At least five years ago, I typed out the first draft of a story in which nearly all moveable life on earth had died. It was too long and when I tried to cut it back to below five thousand words… it got longer. Then it became a novella with over twenty thousand words. I managed to shave a couple of thousand words. The next draft, completed during National Novel Writing Month in November 2021 (whoops, during 2018!), was a full length novel. (NaNo requires 50k but I wrote over 75k.)
Terrible things are happening. I am not unaware, but today, only the wonderful-in-a-good-way news. I have reasons to feel amazed at my good fortune.
That critter was galloping along the shoreline when we spotted it from a distance. “What is that?” Gary said. And it was someone totally unexpected. “ASHES ASHES ON THE WATER, BURN THE HAIRY LITTLE OTTER. GEE IT LOOKS LIKE SO MUCH FUN, I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL HE’S DONE.” Don’t take this silliness too seriously—Gary and a University Book Store friend wrote it in about 1971. Gary and I both love otters. Can’t you see him?
We thought we might not get out on the beach this morning. The rocks were slippery with frost. Streams had iced over. Castaway jellyfish were frozen. And there was an otter running down the beach.
Continue readingSnow days, eagles, red snapper (warning: the fish is dead), and symptoms I am old in no particular order.
Sneaker waves, white male privilege, assumptions, earthquakes. [Mine as well.] The terrible ironies we live with every day.
SNEAKER WAVES. I was working in the Library, a Wednesday when I generally stayed late to provide access to students until the evening. However it was the last day of school, and students were furiously clearing out their lockers, signing yearbooks, and on their way to summer vacation. E stopped to say hey. He had just completed his Sophomore year, so I hadn’t had him in class yet. But we chatted, laughed, and both managed to be clear about looking forward to spending time together in the fall.
My friend was at the coast for a graduate residency. She expressed concern that students warned about sneaker waves seemed to think it was a joke.
Only invasive flies die in her story.
Three months ago a nine year old girl, a Fourth Grader wearing pink glasses and named Bobbie Wilson was collecting Spotted Lanternflies. She’d learned about the dangerous-to-trees invasive species and how important it was to stomp them out. That’s what she was doing on the sidewalk where she’d lived since she was a baby: stomping on huge flies. The man who lived across the street watched her out his window and became frightened. He called the police to report her.
“There’s a little Black woman walking, spraying stuff on the sidewalks and trees on Elizabeth and Florence,” Lawshe told the dispatcher, according to a call obtained by CNN.
“I don’t know what the hell she’s doing. Scares me, though,” Lawshe added.
NPR, 3 February 2023
Want to guess the race of the two people in this news story?
Continue readingWhen we were in college in the early 1970s, my future husband and I used to take the bus to downtown Seattle and walk through the city, visiting 5 and 10 Antiques sometimes, where my mother worked part time. I have a necklace from that shop. We always went to what Gary called the “Pubic Margaret.” Then we worked our way down First Avenue pawnshops, looking at guitars. That was our Saturday habit for ten years.
I have opinions. I am sometimes overwhelming in assertion of my opinions. So I will tell you that sunsets are beautiful and so are sunrises. My opinion.
The Pacific University MFA program from which I graduated in 2007 is in Residency in Seaside this week for the first time in three years. The Winter Residency has been here almost from the beginning. The first Winter Residency was held on campus in Forest Grove, but since classes were in session, the program provided housing in the local McMinemem’s and what with bars and transport to and from, the program moved to the coast where rentals are inexpensive in the off season. January is clearly off season. Even the luxury short-term rentals in our neighborhood have been vacant for a few days each week.
Weather has been challenging since the ice storms in Portland during the week before Christmas. We did not risk the drive to Portland to see family until the morning of the 25th and we drove back west the next day. It has rained here every day since. With an average of 90″ of rainfall, this is nothing new for us.
All of this is certainty. Or most of it. What follows is about a memory. I pieced it together from what Gary and I remember, and we recall different details, so I am not at all certain I have everything correct. It’s a sad story regardless of how it’s remembered, so you might not want to read more of this post.
Gary has heard this story too many times: It’s from years ago at one of our holiday Open House events to which we invited neighbors and co-workers and hosted forty or so. I was teaching, so for a few weeks before, I came home from school and made small savory pastries and baked cakes and cookies and stashed them in the freezer. We cleaned the house, me down on my hands and knees to scrub the floors. The party began at 2pm and ended two hours later. It was a great deal of work, but cleanup after the party took only minutes, not hours, no messes, no fights. We served only sparkling non-alcoholic apple juice. That might be why people only chatted, ate, and then went home without hard feelings.
One year, a co-worker went off on me about people who claimed everything was a matter of opinion. “You English teachers want everything to be a matter of opinion. Some things are not opinion. There are such things as facts!” He raised his voice, not quite yelling, went on for a bit, the closest to an argument we ever experienced at our parties. He was also talking at me.
For the record, I have never claimed that everything was subject to opinion. Nevertheless, I heard what he said. That uncomfortable moment impacted me and my teaching. I was careful to make that distinction with my students: fact and opinion are not the same thing. Some accepted truths are subject to interpretation and opinion. Some facts are indisputable. Know the difference.
The rewards of listening closely to someone who is not you.
—Scott Korb in his craft talk at the Pacific University MFA residency in Seaside, Oregon on 7 January 2023
I can stand on one leg long enough to put each sock on the other foot. I cannot stand on one leg for long with my eyes closed so I stopped trying to do that. I keep reading that my ability to balance on one foot is an indication of longevity.
This morning I read about the 30-second test, balanced on one foot, and with one eye closed. I can sort-of do that with my right foot and right eye closed. (I am left-eye dominant—cross dominance is more common among women than men—right handed and left eye dominant. It’s why I had to aim off-center when I had archery in high school, though I did not understand this at the time.)
The goals I set and the accomplishments I am proud of… a little planning and some realism.
IMPERFECT PATIENCE 