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This week is the last week of classes before finals and so I have been caught up in the whirlwind of it all. I have a great many things to do, but not more than it is possible to manage which stands out in stark contrast to my midterm exams. If anything it is the life tasks pulling me under rather than the school tasks. I am eagerly looking forward to the end of this semester which has been hard and unpleasant in even more ways than I anticipated. I've been considering trying to take an online class overlapped with my other classes in order to better prepare myself for what I need to do in terms of extra work outside of regular enrollment but I'm concerned that 5 classes and two jobs may be too much. Luckily I have a little bit of time before I have to decide. I have also been considering archiving parts of this blog on wordpress since it's easier to manage in a lot of ways. I will update as necessary. The future looks bright and I can't wait to get there. 

Links
Marvel and ESPN have joined forces and it's pretty great! Plus I was happy to discover many of my favorites (subjects and artists) made the list.
NPR's book concierge is out and I'm really happy about because more books are just what I need.
It's gift season. I've been looking at this general homemade gift board and this weekend knitting and crochet one
I'm really attached to the idea of making molten halva lava cakes when I get home for the holidays, my family will likely be less enthused. 


Poem of the week 

Maggie Says There's No Such Thing as Winter
BY JANET MCNALLY
 
If you believe in snow, you have to believe
in water as it's meant to be, loosed
 
from clouds arranged like asphodel. Because that's
what it's like to come back: a slow
 
surfacing, memory spiraling away. You can sleep
so long, whole seasons are forgotten
 
like a hospital-room plaster, spidered
with cracks in Portugal shapes. You can love
 
sleep like water, love your heavy limbs
pushing river and ocean aside.
 
After Maggie woke, the doctors had her stringing
bracelets of semiprecious beads, and she
 
couldn't stop counting the kinds of blue.
Here, summer, in the high shade of a ginko,
 
she pulls up a handful of stones on silk
and we drink grapefruit seltzer, listening
 
to the tinny chime of bubbles
rising to the air. She can't remember
 
autumn, so we tell her someday this tree will drop
its fan-shaped leaves all at once,
 
golden in the October crush
of every plant's frantic strip show. Later
 
we'll see mountains through the scrim of empty
branches, and if we can look straight up
 
into the atmosphere, see the same plain old sky
revolving. When we ask Maggie what color it is
 
she always says iolite, picturing beads
like raindrops, shining azure on the table.
 
She forgets that sometimes things don't stay
where you leave them, that the sky fades
 
to white even before snow begins
to fall. It's hard, but we have to tell her
 
even sapphires don't glow blue
without some kind of help.
 
 
Source: Some Girls (White Pine Press, 2015)
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 Given that November will end in only a few days, I feel okay giving a summary of the month today when I sort of have time. I'm going to try a new method of summarizing, we'll see if it sticks. 

November has been a long month. It feels like it's been a million years since the beginning of the month. November stretches from hell week through midterms to Thanksgiving break. I desperately wanted to do NaNoWriMo but it simply wasn't to be. I was able to find other ways to be creative and I had a good year at the craft fair even though it was quite a haul to get there. The weather was unseasonably warm for most of the month and once the play was over, I was able to find more time for myself. Here's looking forward to December. 

November by the Numbers
Number of times I felt like giving up - embarrassingly high
Number of nights I went to bed before midnight - maybe 5
Number of times I regretted ever signing up for theatre - so many
Number of successful performances of Flare Path - 3
Number of hours spent fighting with the printer - at least 12
Number of days I called in sick to work - 2
Number of classes I skipped - 1
Number of times I went from school to home or home to school - 6
Number of parents who visited me 3
Number of friends times I went out on the weekend - 1
Number of plays seen 2 (counting Flare Path
Number of tests failed - miraculously 0
Number of overdue library books - 2
Number of late assignments - 0 
Number of books read - 6
Number of things I have to be thankful for - too many to count

Poem of the Week
Barter
SARA TEASDALE
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
 
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
 
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.
 
Links
StoryCorps is a national storytelling initiative 
Top ten fictional weather events makes for fun reading
This food and travel blog has beautiful photos 
I miss crocheting I don't really have time but I can't help but look at pinterest boards and dream
These little moles are so sweet 


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 I am taking the morning off today, to eat sugary scones and think about nothing. After a few weeks of uncharacteristic warmth, the cold has finally hit with a vengeance. I've been thinking about the future this week, about what I want and where I'm trying to go. I have many things to be grateful for this week (and every other week), my family, my friends, my opportunities. This will be a week of celebrations. 

Links:
These cloth tissue packs are simple but what a great idea 
I want a yarn bowl for Christmas. I love this one but with my life, ceramic might be out of the question
It's cookie season! My friends all tease me about being a snob with my "all natural" ramen and dislike of Kraft Mac and Cheese but when it comes to childhood favorites all bets are off (case in point: raspberry ribbon pie). I grew up in church basements and school bake sales and I am not above ooey-gooey cake mix bars.

Poem of the Week
November for Beginners
BY RITA DOVE
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.
 
So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing
 
a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!
 
 
November 1981
Source: Poetry (June 2012).
 
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 For the first time in weeks I feel like I might actually almost be on top of what I need to get done going into this week. 

I've been thinking about tragedy probably more than I should in light of the deaths in Paris and the bombings in Beirut and everywhere else where people are losing their lives to senseless violence. There is no antidote to senseless violence but if there was, I would imagine that it would be purposeful kindness. With that in mind, I am resolved to do my part to be kind even when it is hard and perhaps especially then. 

I haven't been writing much lately, but when I start again, expect the return of Six Sentence Sunday.

Links
I'm planning Thanksgiving dinner this week. It'll be quiet this year, just three of us. I'm planning on making whole roasted cauliflower, corn bread, cranberry sauce, a vegetarian version of this stuffing, this turkey breast, the pie I mentioned yesterday and spiced cupcakes probably modified from this recipe which is always one of my go-tos.

Other recipes I'm feeling right now are these butter sandwich cookies and these glazed cookies.

After Flare Path, I've got the 40s on the brain. I'm loving this style board and this one with knitting. There were some really great sweaters going on. 

Speaking of knitting, it's yarn season. I'm making this scarf for my mum and when I finish that, it's on to these gloves for my friend and this hat for our neighbors new baby. 

It's my baby sister's birthday next week and I don't know what to get her. I got her this book last year. I've been thinking about arts and crafts stuff. I remember loving this shrink plastic kit but it might be a little old for her. I'll also be making cake of course. I'm hoping for something like this frosting wise. 

I haven't been reading lately but there are a lot of middle grade books on my to-read-list including The Glass Sentence, When You Reach Me, The Boundless, The Apothecary and many more. I also just finished Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and it was great. 

Poem of the Week
from The Hard Season by Kathleen Lynch

Don't hold back now, have
chocolate, throw extra
 
kindling on, even though
skies urge cover & hoarding.
When mice pitter in
 
for crumbs, compliment
their small feet and fitting
ways. When your mouth
 
houses a curse, swallow,
think how you once
had no words at all
 
yet managed
your hungers.
 
 
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It's hell week and I'm too tired to say anything interesting.  

Links:
Recipes:
Cornmeal pound cake recipe
Bagel recipe
"Louisa's cake" recipe

This Week's Poem of the Week:
Approach of Winter
by William Carlos Williams
 
 The half-stripped trees
struck by a wind together,
bending all,
the leaves flutter drily
and refuse to let go
or driven like hail
stream bitterly out to one side
and fall
where the salvias, hard carmine,—
like no leaf that ever was—
edge the bare garden.

Last Week's Poem of the Week
Buckwheat
by Carl Sandburg
 
There was a late autumn cricket,
And two smoldering mountain sunsets
Under the valley roads of her eyes.
 
There was a late autumn cricket,
A hangover of summer song,
Scraping a tune
Of the late night clocks of summer,
In the late winter night fireglow,
This in a circle of black velvet at her neck.
 
In pansy eyes a flash, a thin rim of white light, a beach bonfire
ten miles across dunes, a speck of a fool star in night's half
circle of velvet.
 
In the corner of the left arm a dimple, a mole, a forget-me-not,
and it fluttered a hummingbird wing, a blur in the honey-red
clover, in the honey-white buckwheat. 
 
From Smoke & Steel


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  This week's poem of the week comes from Hoa Nguyen 

Love and Level

by Hoa Nguyen

Love and level the sleeves
              Eating is a hand
here        Leave laughing if you must
like leave this creamy celery root

We push out                     jerking
a sleeve of we    & I cover you
horses sourced in sea

(weave in waves and manes)

Hoa Nguyen, "Love and Level" from As Long As Trees Last. Copyright 2012. 

Taiye Selasi has something to say about where she's from
And it's well said. I teared up at a couple points because it hit so close to home. 

Why print in the darkroom?
Alternative and historical processes
I am looking forward to getting back into the darkroom sometime within the next month or so. 

A super dedicated journaller 

My family came to visit me this weekend which always leave me off balance searching for my place in my day to day life but this week was better than last week and I just need to hang on and ride the wave up and in. 
moongoddessgirl: (Default)
 Today I did some work and then went to the harvest festival at my local co-op. It was very lovely and came with an abundance of free samples which is always a plus.

This week's poem is very short but it's, one of my favorites. 
 
In the Library
by Dorothea Grossman
The library always smells like this:
an ancient stew of vinegar and wood.
It’s autumn again,
and I can do anything.
©2008, Dorothea Grossman

Links
Onform is a drawing exercise/game
Animated shorts that pay tribute to female pioneers of the field 
Playlist that I'm listening to right now (I'm really feeling the Eastern Canandian vibe having just returned from a short trip there) 
Recipes I want to try: Sweet and Savory 

moongoddessgirl: (Default)
This weeks Sunday Six comes from an essay on mediation because it's finals and I'm very busy. 

By now, I can slip into the place where all of my thoughts hover, ebbing and flowing in tiny eddies. I imagine my mind into a big vat of boiling sap. My thoughts foam on top and I skim them off as necessary. Below that is the roiling sea of embryonic ideas. And below that is the place where the sap turns into syrup, thickening to slow moving amber. This is where I want to be.





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The poem of the week is late this week but I'm going to pretend that it was on purpose because today is the first day of poetry month. I chose one of my favorite poems for this week instead of searching for a new one because it's Hell Week and I'm very busy. I'm so stressed that I've crossed back over into happy.

Also I'm at a place in my life where spending an hour testing the aerodynamics of foam potatoes is just another Tuesday.

A PRAYER FOR THE 21ST CENTURY
by John Marsden

May the road be free for the journey,
May it lead where it promised it would.
May the stars that gave ancient bearings
Be seen and be understood:
May every aircraft fly safely;
May every traveler be found;
May sailors in crossing the seas,
Not hear the cries of the drowned.

May gardens be wild like jungles,
May nature never be tamed.
May dangers create of us heroes,
May fears always have names.
May the mountains stand to remind us
Of what it means to be young;
May we be outlived by our daughters,
May we be outlived by our sons.

May the bombs rust away in the bunkers,
And the doomsday clock be rewound;
May the solitary scientists, working,
Remember the holes in the ground.
May the knife remain in the holder,
May the bullet stay in the gun,
May those who live in the shadows
Be seen by those in the sun.
moongoddessgirl: (Default)
 Poem of this week:

The Cappuccino Life
by Jen Karetnick
 
The dead eat with their fingers,
dismembering poppy seed muffins,
 
pinning crumbs to the table like correct
answers to crossword puzzles.
 
Skeletons heat their hands on cups
of soy latte and chai tea. Unearthed,
 
they snake panini sandwiches
from state-of-the-art ovens
 
without tongs. At Cafe Posada,
they troll the newspapers, reading
 
about Christmas rituals in Latin
America, the geography of Poland,
 
the 1330 battle in the Hungarian-
Wallachian Wars, until their bones
 
burn with ink. But even then,
they leave no identifying prints.
 
From Brie Season, Kelsay Books, 2014. 

Poem of last week:

Keeping It Simple
BY MARY RUEFLE
 
I take the bird on the woodpile,
separate it from its function, feather
by feather. I blow up its scale.
I make a whole life out of it:
everywhere I am, its sense of loitering
lights on my shoulder.
 
Mary Ruefle, “Keeping It Simple” from memling’s veil, published by University of Alabama Press. Copyright © 1982 by Mary Ruefle.

moongoddessgirl: (Default)
for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me
i pledge allegiance to the already fallen snow
& to the snow now falling. to the old snow & the new.
to foot & paw & tire prints in the snow both young & aging,
the deep & shallow marks left on cold streets, our long
 
misbegotten manuscripts. i pledge allegiance to the weather
report that promises more snow, plus freezing rain.
though i would minus the pluvial & plus the multitude
 
of messages pressed muddy into the perfectly
mutable snow, i have faith in the report that goes on to read:
by the end of the week, there will be an increased storm-related
illegibility of the asphalt & concrete & brick. for i pledge
 
betrayal to the fantasy of ever reading anything
completely. for i will do/undo what was done/undone to me:
to be brought into a patterned world of weathers
 
& reports. & thus i pledge allegiance to the always
partial, the always translated, the always never
of knowing who’s walking around, what’s being left behind,
the signs, the cries, the breadcrumbs & the blood. the toe-
 
nails & armpit hair of our trying & failing to speak
our specks of here to the everywhere. dirty snow of my weary
city, i ask you to tell me a story about your life
 
& you tell me you’ve left for another country,
but forgot your suitcase. at the airport they told you
not to worry, all your things have already been sent
to your new place by your ninth grade french teacher,
 
the only nice one. & the weather where your true love is
is governed by principles or persons you can’t name,
 
imagine. it is that good, or bad.
 
moongoddessgirl: (Default)
SILENT SOLSTICE (WINTER  BECOMES MAINE)

By Denis Dunn

sleet against the windowpane
or maybe a mouse in the wall…
I listen…
but silence knows no direction
outside,
heavy pine boughs,
deep in the woods
so quiet, so still
a deer steps
inside, warm, 
the sound of a cat’s paw
disturbs very little
as it hunts in a dream
silent as sleet

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