Confession Tuesday

My Red Shoes, 2009

Dear Reader, it's been one day since I've last confessed. Yes, after yesterday's post, I'm not sure if I have anything more.

But I'll try, it's Tuesday, Confession Tuesday, so let's go

to the confessional--

I confess that yesterday's post was rather hard to write. And when I say rather I mean really.

It was very humbling to go back over the years to see where this manuscript came from and mistakes I made along the way.

It was very hard to say I was a loser 76 times and to admit how much money went into this.

In certain ways, I feel like trying to get my book published is my ego on overload (Everyone, you must read my work! I is sooooooooooo important!) and seeing how much effort I put into my work over the years tells me I must be persistent or an big arse (or maybe a little of both).

I was emotionally drained after my post as I both wanted to know how long it took and how many places I submitted to...and I didn't.

If I try to look at it positively, I would say that I saw all the scraps of fabric in many ways before I made the dress. And even though I may have sewed on a few extra pockets, in the end, the dress was complete.

If I look at it negatively, I would say make sure you have the outfit before you purchase 76 pairs of shoes to go with it first.

Of course, in the end, one of those pairs of shoes fit. But I could have probably purchased less shoes if I hadn't been so excited about the dance.

And well, we're not talking shoes or dancing here, but it seems easier to talk about that way. And I wanted you to know the whole story because sometimes I think things seem easier when you look at someone's life.

But all of it, life, poetry, it's not easy. It's a lot of work.

And when people tell you how they submitted to only 1 contest or press and were accepted, don't think they wrote the manuscript overnight and believe it was easy for them-- just realize, they were smart enough to have finished the dress before they began looking for the shoes. And when I say shoes, I mean publisher.

And if it were easy, then it wouldn't be worth it.

Amen.

Dear Reader,

It's that time when I tell you what I've done this last week that maybe I shouldn't have done, or maybe I shouldn't have thought, or maybe if there wasn't confession Tuesday I'd have no reason to tell you these things...


Let's begin. To the confessional--

I confess I want to find the person who came up with the idea to put the arrow on the gas gauge to tell the driver what side of the car the gas cap is on because that person has kept me sane. S/he would probably be on my list for a genius grant.

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One of my favorite expressions my mum uses while driving is, "Come on, Jerko."

When I'm annoyed with someone while driving I say, "Come on, Little Man." I changed "jerko" it a bit since my daughter was younger.

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Speaking of my daughter, yesterday she saw someone (a possibly-unhealthy, quite thin, waif-model-like woman) with really skinny legs and said, "She has skinny legs, not like curvy strong muscly legs like me. I bet she wishes she had my legs!" Having grown up in a family of women who spent my entire childhood complaining about their curvy bodies, always wanting to be ultra thin, never appreciating how they look or how we look, I had this glimpse that we're so close to breaking this unwanted family tradition and actually feeling good about our bodies. If we can raise one generation who doesn't wish to look like someone we're not then I feel we've succeed a bit.

After she said this I did have to have the conversation that women come in all different sizes and it's okay for a person to be super skinny if that's their body type. But I smiled all the way through it thinking, "She didn't want to be her, she doesn't want to be her!"

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I don't think I'd be able to be happy without some sort of pet in the house with me. And maybe happy isn't the right word, but sane.

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I believe in synchronicity and serendipity. I think coincidences are easy-to-overlook miracles. I have been trying to keep track of the synchronicities in my life.

I will quote St. Elmo's Fire to finish this confession, "I'm beginning to think there are no accidents” Ally Sheedy. I confess I have always remembered that line from St. Elmo's Fire.

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I confess most of my dreams have to do with Halloween (even when it's not autumn, this is a constant theme in my dreams), being on a cruise ship or airplane, and/or buying a house. In my twenties all my dreams were about parking garages. I am so glad I am past that. I love having it be Halloween in all my dreams, though I hate the anxiety when I realize it's Halloween and I don't have a costume, haven't decorated, or forgot to take my daughter trick or treating.

Confession Wednesday (??)

I confess in the summer I lose track of which day it is. I confess Tuesday came and went without me confessing. I confess I've been busier than usual and this business of being busy makes time move faster and makes my "to-do" list become a "not done" list.

Since I'm late, let's begin...


Something has been a little wacky in my life lately and I'm not sure what it is.

I don't feel centered or grounded. Something's up. It could be be because we've been so busy lately, but it feels different than that. I haven't been to yoga in quite a while and that was really a place where I sort of centered myself. Maybe it's a lack of connection to something greater, but I know something is off with me, but I just can't put my finger on it.

I realize that yoga needs to be a part of my life.

My friend hosted a mom/daughter slumber party and I was up until 1 a.m. playing RockStar. I got 100% in my vocals singing Survivor's Eye of the Tiger & Duran Duran's Hungry Like a Wolf. I'm not a good singer, but I know all the words.

Sometimes I think there's a large portion of my brain is being wasted because it is filled up completely with song lyrics.

I didn't have coffee until 10:45 am yesterday and I was amazed I didn't have a headache.

I went to go to our of drive-thru espresso stands only to find out they have converted it from normal espresso stand to "bikini barista" espresso stand. There was no way in Kansas I was taking my 8 year old daughter through a bikini barista stand, though honestly, she would have just thought they were in their bathing suits because it was hot outside.

I ended up getting my coffee from the Covey Coffee drive thru. It was owned by a smiling middle-aged woman in a yellow sweater and run by two fully-clothed young ladies. Plus there was an image of a bird on their coffee cup.

I always get a large black drip coffee. No cream. No sugar. In my small town, there's a stand where they are $1. Here I paid $2.19

Sometimes I look at my home and wonder how I acquired all this cr*p. I would like to simplify my life again. I read The Circle of Simplicity by Cecile Andrews every fall, but I need to make sure I take time to keep its lessons in my mind throughout the year.

Eventually, I would like to downsize. I'd like to rent a small cabin on the water or rent an apartment. Of course, this probably will not be until my daughter is out of school, but I realize I am not a big house, big yard gal. I am not my khakis.


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Confession Tuesday

I have a bad cold today so everything is a little hazy, my apologies on spelling errors, missing words, or just plain nonsense in advance. My head is heavy and I keep losing things.


To the confessional--

I was reading January's confessions today--if you haven't and you're a parent that works/writes from home you should. I think it's hard if you work/write from home because family may intrude on your time in a way that wouldn't happen if you were out of the house at a different geographical location, say an office. I cannot imagine visiting my husband at work (he's a firefighter) and asking him to help me find my keys or to stop what he is doing to watch something funny on TV or look at what the cats are up to.

There is an absolutely love behind the last two requests because your family wants you to be part of something that's important or interesting to them, but the first one, these "favors" or "requests" they are the things that can make someone like me, who is NOT a multi-tasker, who can not get up from that space a poem puts me in where I am deep in the words and going under, I cannot get up and find the keys then return to that same space.

I have a shed now and it has helped. January says she goes to Starbucks. A famous poet has said something like she has told her kids to leave her alone unless something is on fire. We try to carve out our own space. It's difficult, but we try.

When you work in the home (no matter what job) it is harder to be that other person and for your family to see you as that other person. Many times you may not even feel like that other person. Just know poets and writers who work from home, you are not alone.

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I hate recycling things that can be used again, like small cute boxes that chocolate comes in. However, I'm not so organized that I have a place to store them until that perfect use comes up again.


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Someone recently said to me that they couldn't spend a $100 on something frivolous because of the economy (which is a different reason than "I don't have the money"). I thought that was interesting and wondered if other people have placed a price on frivolity.

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I hate being sick because I always think I will feel this way forever. This is why I shouldn't live in a state with the new assisted suicide option. I'm too much of wimp when it comes to not feeling good and would be ready to opt out if asked. (My husband tells me this option is not available for someone with a bad cold and that it must be a terminal illness with less than 6 mos to live.) I think he thinks I'm a little bit of a drama queen when ill.


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I am getting tired of the words "economy" and "recession." I think they should be replaced "elephant" and "recess." I would much rather hear the newscasters say, "Our elephant is in a recess" a thousand times a day. It just sounds so much happier. Play hard, elephant, recesses don't last forever.


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Confession Tuesday

Holy Confession Tuesday, Batman. How do weeks go so fast?

I'm just back from being part of a Writer's Conference (with Oliver de la Paz & some other poets) so let's confess about that ---


I spent the weekend at a writer's conference as a "publishing expert," I think they may have been playing a little fast and loose with their terminology, but it was quite nice to talk with poets and writers about their publishing goals and help them create their own path as writers.


The biggest mistake I saw from writers is putting the goal of publishing before the actual job of writing. In my eyes, there needs to be a book first and then the author photo, not vice versa.


Two words (which I've stolen from someone): Writers write.


The conference had me in a wonderful little apartment in someone's wonderful home. I could live that simply.


I am so addicted to email that I stood out on my freezing deck in my PJs facing the forest at 6 am with its morning birds singing trying to hitchhike on a faint wi-fi signal from somewhere...and I did.


I felt a huge satisfaction watching my emails download, then I went back in my room to sit in front of the fire and have coffee and a poppyseed muffin.


At first I was sad to be at the conference as an editor instead of a poet, but I ended up enjoying this new role. Though a fear I have is that people will see me as an editor before a writer. The writing part of myself is a part that I just can't lose (I've lost it before it and those were 2 very sad years for me.)


The first night of the conference, a group of us ate at the most delicious Mediterranean place (the Langley Cafe). I had the veggie sampler with hummus, baba ghanoush, stuffed grape leaves, eggplant, rice, more veggies, and feta cheese plus a glass of Shiraz. The family hosting me treated me to tiramisu when I returned back. There is a part of me that just loves being well taken care of and well fed - the other part likes to be neglected and starving (I'm kidding- I just realized what an odd statement that first part was.)


I like that Oliver takes photos of his food (and mine too). He's just generally awesome though.


I was surprised people purchased my poetry book since I was there as an editor and not a poet. But I always tend to be surprised when someone buys my book, this was just a little more so.


On the ferries, to and from the conference (I had to take 2 to get there), I had hoped to see orcas, but didn't. I did see an owl fly by my window back in my room. I tend to take them as signs, though I'm not exactly sure what for.


Here's what it says about owls--

Owl: deception, clairvoyance, insight (the night eagle) It has great intuition: it is the totem of psychics and clairvoyants. It has the courage to follow its instincts. Owl's medicine includes seeing behind masks, silent and swift movement, keen sight, messenger of secrets and omens, shape-shifting, link between the dark, unseen world and the world of light, comfort with shadow self, moon power, freedom.

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I definitely have moonpower. Sometimes (she says looking to the sky).


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Confession Tuesday

I confess, Tuesdays come faster each week.


To the confessional--


I just received an acceptance by Superstition Review (an online journal from AZ St. University) and a rejection from the Bellevue Literary Review.

I have been very disorganized in 2009 and feel as if I can't catch up.

My friend, Jennifer Culkin, is having her first book (a memoir/book of essays) published in April by Beacon Press. We worked on her webpage yesterday. You can see it at www.jenniferculkin.com

I think all poets and writers should have their own homepage, even if it is absolutely basic. Just something for their readers to connect with them online.

I believe in visualization as a way to reach goals.

I'm kind of amused at myself for that last confession as it sort of came out of no where, wasn't I just talking about homepages?

I plan on bringing 2 poems to my writing group tonight instead of one. One of the poems I'm bringing came from meeting with a friend on the Friday to write.

I think there should be something as big as the Oscars for writers.

I think if there was though and the camera scanned the audience as it does, they wouldn't be as shiny or as nicely dressed. I think there would be a lot of fleece.

Confession Tuesday....early edition

**This is what 40 looks like - And note the perfect Book of Kells gift (thanks, Susan!) **

_________________


Confession Tuesday

Where I've been--

For my birthday, I had a literary party where friends came dressed as poets and writers (I'll post a group photo soon). I dressed as a glam Sylvia Plath is a vintage 50's dress I found at a consignment shop. We had great food, wine, and conversation, and of course the evening included something that's classic to my birthday parties-- we did a craft. (We each made a frame and I'll be ordering the group print for all of us to place inside it. Mine frame is below.)




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Confession: I don't mind being 40 at all. And I kind of like it. I feel it almost gives me an excuse to be ___________________ (fill in the blank.) Many words fit in there. I may be many words this decade with no apologies.

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Confession: I have been reading More magazine (the magazine for women over 40) for at least 3 or 4 years now. I picked up in the supermarket because I thought it was a magazine for curvy women. I read a few issues before I realized it was something else...but still, I liked it.


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Confession: I'm thankful I finally have someone to brag about sharing a birthday with-- Dave Matthews. For many years, my top birthday mates were Richard Nixon, Gilligan, and Crystal Gayle. Finally, someone I have a crush on (wait... I mean, that may be an extra confession...)


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I found out today I was another finalist (1 of 30) in another poetry contest (New Issues) and instead of celebrating I growled. Is it better to lose the race by 2 seconds or not even to place? Sometimes, it's these close "almosts" that are the most heartbreaking.


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More than I'd like to admit, the sentence "And you want to be my latex salesman" goes through my head when dealing with annoying people.


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I don't know what others think, but when I see my photo, I still don't think I look 40.


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Lately, some of my best snacks include rosemary crackers, brie, and goat cheese.


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My favorite people tend to be people off on their own path and not following the rest of the crowd. They like vintage, tarot, and literature. Most of them tend to live in private rural settings with trees and chickens, or unique neighborhoods in Seattle. What I like about them is how much they are themselves. Uniquely unique.

Confession Tuesday

I took this photo in the Fremont district of Seattle. Fremont is known by the locals as "the center of the universe," so in case there was ever any question, PEACE is at the center of the universe. Just thought you should know that.


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To the confessions--


I sometimes wonder what my maturity age is when it comes to snow. Let's just say that my sled team came a little too close to the parked car and once ended up under a bush. And let the record show, that I was the one who came up with the brainiac idea of standing on the plastic orange toboggan and trying to use it as a snowboard...no parents, it wasn't the kids who came up with that one. Though I had farther to fall, and I did, and my shoulder still aches from my lack of balance and poor judgment. The kids? They did well. A few spills but no ills.

Also, earlier in the day I actually lost the children. How do you lose children when they have tracks to follow in the snow? But I did. Let's just say there is no mother of the year award for me during the snow day.

And my dog? He was also running wild throughout the neighborhood. Yes, I was *that* neighbor, the crazy one who is screaming for her dog and trying to find what hill all the kids went to. Oh, what a magical Christmas moment. My husband said, "You had them for 5 minutes, how did you lose them?" and "You are chaos in fleece."

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If you were to visit my house right now, you'd think it had been ransacked. Like that scene in that Bette Midler movie when they go to her house and Shelly Long says, "Oh my God, you've been robbed too!" and Bette says, "No, my house always looks like this." (Outrageous Fortune, that's it.)


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As the year ends, I've been thinking about blogging, what's good, what's not. Mostly my own, what can I do better, etc. etc. I started blogging because it was a good way for me to understand my own thoughts. By making it public, I had to think more clearly and be a little more articulate than I am in my own private journals, which is mostly just has wah-wah-wah entries or random info or facts that makes very little sense to me when I reread it. Also, I can't read my own handwriting and I prefer typing over pen to paper. It's quicker and less painful.

I was surprised the first time someone commented on my blog...what? Someone is actually reading this? It freaked me out that I stopped blogging for a bit, like the turtle realizing she wasn't alone, I pulled my head back in my shell and pretended the world that existed was only inside with me. When I got braver, I came out again. I deleted one blog I had kept for 2 years because as Jeannine puts it, I'm "shy online." I regret that. Don't delete your blog and if you do, keep a hard copy. You might not get that I can be "online shy" given all that write here, but the internet can freak me out a bit. Too big. And I don't always like it when the spotlight gets aimed in my direction. Too bright. Too self-conscious.

But I've stayed. Why? Because again, it comes down to waking up and organizing my thoughts, a sort of controlled morning pages. But why share them? Because I think it's important for other creative people to know that we all go through periods of self-doubt or darkness, that you can go months and months without a rejection or a good word about your writing. That we suffer from a lot of the same things-- fear, anxiety, worry, ego, pride, vanity, shame, concern, etc. etc. Name your poison-- you're not alone.

I remember when I first read Kim Addonizio's blog and she was bummed about a rejection. I remember thinking, "Her too?" She's so good, why can an editor get her down?

Because I could look into her life, I felt a little more normal myself. I think that's why I continue to have a blog and post the things I do. Sometimes I get off topic, sometimes I ramble about jars of pickles or things you could probably give a flying-duck about. But every once in a while, I hope my words somehow help, comfort, or even inspire you.

So know, I'm trying my best though I do have blogger fears such as being afraid of becoming a preachy blogger...or a judgmental blogger. If you ever see this in me, please drop me an email. I don't mind the occasional rant and if I see something I'm passionate about (Kiva.org, animal organizations, etc.) I will want to share this with you, but I don't want you to read this blog and feel bad about yourself in any way. If I start doing this, let me know. I want to inform, inspire, and entertain on this blog. Share a story or two. Document what's happening in my life. But I don't ever want you to think there is only one way of doing something or living a life or being a writer or poet, there's not, there are millions and billions of unique ways to live, to love, and (stealing from Rumi) kiss the ground and pray.

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I like the imperfect people best.





Amen.

Confession Tuesdsay PM

It's been another week and confessions are popping up on blogs to remind you that it's Tuesday. This is the morning edition to midday edition to late night of confession Tuesday. I sometimes think my morning and late night editions offer a little more than the confessions typed at lunchtime. I think we're more likely to share our secrets as the sun is breaking or turning in for the night. I've never been good at keeping secrets until I got older. I sometimes wonder if this is just a matter of forgetfulness and not maturity. My confessions for the week--

Strangers have been doing random acts of kindness to me this week-- a free bag of gingerbread cookies at the bakery (I tried to pay for them and she said no), the waitress at a Greek restaurant brought my husband and I out free dessert, and a stranger poured me hot apple cider when she learned I was cold. All these acts have warmed me. Of course, I'm supposed to be doing my 3 good deeds, so they've also reminded me I need to get on the ball.

There will always be women who still act as if they are in high school. Remember, it's not you, it's them.

I think the best Christmas present I can give others is to try to be more patient.

My best Christmas present I could be given would be if an editor emailed me to take my second mss.

I have been so busy lately that today I felt as if I was actually spinning in circles in my house. As someone who prides herself on *not* being overly busy, I've just had to deal with this and realize it is temporary and that next week I will not be so overloaded.

But, the things that I've been doing have been pretty fun.

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader,

I have much to confess around the sin of gluttony, Thanksgiving, reader. I ate more pie than anyone else. I confess. I confess to throwing a small tantrum when I couldn't find the leftover stuffing, what was I do to without the stuffing? Reader, sometimes I am ruled by my stomach.

So let's begin...

Off with the Hippo's Head (again) --

I wrote a long ranty post about the prices of kid's toys and how corporate America tries to make you feel as if you're missing something by not owing their product, or make your kids feel as if they are missing out. It was long and cranky. It talked about simple living. Opting out of the lifestyle that suggests you must upgrade often. It talked about how poorly made things were (there were some harsh words against today's Hungry Hungry Hippos game vs. the one from the 70's that actually worked without falling apart.)

But I deleted this post because I realize it was really my morning pages from Artist Way and not really a post. It was a rant. And I wanted to spare you my speech from my soapbox.

I think you already know that kid's toys are WAY TOO PRICEY and commercials just want you to feel bad about yourself so you buy something...that will probably break, or be lost, or not work, or work well enough. And you can see how this confession is moving toward rant, so I will stop and say that when the commercialism of the season gets you down and your kids (if you have kids) ask for some overpriced toy you can't afford, smile knowing you only have 23 days of this and then it's gone.

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Okay, that said, the rest of Christmas I love. I have my tree up. I'm eating chocolate out of Advent calendar. I'm singing Christmas carols in the house, in the car. I love Christmas movies especially Elf, A Christmas Story, and Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown. And this may surprise you, but I also like presents. Thoughtful presents though, not expensive presents. My best presents would be a new wonderful pillow (my dream present) one that doesn't get flat and hurt my neck. Or new PJs or yoga pants. Or a book. Or a drawing someone took the time to make for me or a note.

I just don't like it when companies tell me my life is not as good as it should be because I'm wearing the wrong pants or my cellphone doesn't organize satellites by country.

Don't believe commercials. Or ads. Or magazines. Or reality shows. Believe the sunrise and the first bite of your breakfast. Believe the "I love you's" that are said spontaneously. Believe that first blast of cold air (or warm air if you're Jeannine in Southern Cal) and how the clouds look (or don't look) and let whatever birds are in your neighborhood tell you that life is just fine. Just fine with your old computer and your blackberryless phone. Believe that the best things in life aren't things.

See I so want to rant. I'm holding back.

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More confessions--

I ate more than my fair share of pumpkin pie this weekend. And whipped cream. I didn't mention the whipped cream.

We ended up with two turkeys for Thanksgiving. One we cooked ourselves, and one smoked turkey purchased impulsively by my mum who never believes we will have enough to eat.

Every year we put our tree up the weekend after Thanksgiving. And usually sometime in December there is an accident and the tree falls over (our family tradition). I was talking to Jeannine last year on my phone when fell over that time.

I still have to come up with my 3 good deeds for my family's Christmas gift to each other. On Thanksgiving, new rules were being created like "the person you're doing the good deed for can't know that it's you." I said this with cause us all to have to dress up in a disguise or costume if we were going to do any volunteer work or give any donations. The goal is not to frighten the people we're helping. So we're remaining open on this one, but if we can remain anonymous, then we'll try to.

I don't want to overthink my deeds and most likely, will just do them when they come up, but I do want them to be thoughtful. I really don't want to be the one at the dinner table on Christmas day saying that my good deed was that I let someone merge in front of me on the freeway with honking obnoxiously at them or that I made sure I put the little red flag up for the mail lady. This is my fear--that I won't come up with something *good,* so I won't do anything.

Sometimes this is how life works. We're so afraid of screwing up that we just sit there and do nothing. Sometimes it's just better to try and see what happens. I will. Try that is.

And I promise my good deed will not be deleting my commercialism rant so you didn't have to read it. Because as I look back, I got a lot of down here. I confess, I may have snuck in a mild rant disguised as a confession. Forgive me. I thought you might agree.

And here's a challenge-- do 3 good deeds this month. To anyone. At anytime. And it doesn't matter if they can see you or know you. Help someone with their groceries. Buy and extra bag of pasta and drop it in the Food Bank bin at the front of the store. Smile at someone you would never smile at or who looks like they need a smile. Write a letter to a friend you haven't seen in while. Leave an old book at a bus stop with a note that says "Enjoy."

And drop me a note (kelli (at) agodon. com) about what happens. Or leave a note in the comment section. I'm curious about how it all works out.



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Late Night Confession Tuesday

Dear Readers,

It's been a week since my last confession, a week and a crazy weekend I am thankful turned out the way it did. Almost Thanksgiving. Almost. There will be some gratitude journals here this week, I promise. And the drawing for that Norton PC Tuneup Service as well. I'll even throw in a broadside from the Making of Peace series I edited.

But back to confessing...let me begin.

Thank you all who dropped me notes about my the mall shooting and my daughter being at a birthday party there when it happened. I appreciated each of them very much. I confess my little blog post was a little reserved, a little reflective, but honestly, I was scared in ways I have never been scared before, as a parent, I had never seen danger close to my daughter. Never seen danger in the same room and not have been there.

Know when it was happening, I could have very easy fallen apart. But I didn't. Fall. Apart. And for me, someone who keeps anxiety near her nightstand, that was a big. I don't want you to believe I have it all together. I don't. I'm not even close to having it all together, but for that moment when I needed to, I did. I had it together enough.

I am someone who can create docu-dramas in my mind of things that never happen, things that would be horrific if they happened, that part of me that wakes me up when I'm sleeping, asks, "What have you forgotten?" But I guess, this real moment where I had to wait, where something terrible could have happened, has slapped my free-floating anxiety around. In fact, I've watched a lot of normal anxiety evaporate, all those imagined seas I swam have dried up a little, and I don't know how long this will last, if it will last, but is a reminder to me that we are all stronger than we think we are.

I'm beginning to believe the demons we can create in our minds are a thousand times scarier than real life, even in the worst of times, I think creative imaginations can be harmful when they make us live in worlds that don't exist, and we live like they exist.

So thank you for your notes. For asking, "Where you terrified?" Yes. For saying how worried you would be. For knowing how worried I was.

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Here Let Me Show You My Hand Before I Give You My Heart--

Jeannine looked at my second manuscript and said I had ordered the poems in a sort of self-protection fashion, I thought that was probably the most insightful thing anyone has ever said about my manuscript.

And I'm going to try to reorder them and not protect myself as much.

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Alternative to the Material Girls Club--

We're not buying Christmas gifts this year for the adults in our family, only the kids. Our gift to each other is to do 3 acts of kindness to be determined by each of us alone. On Christmas day we will share the 3 things we did. I'm going to try to do something for a stranger, something for someone I know, and something for a group. We'll see how it all works out. We're discussing the details of this "exchange" on Thanksgiving.

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What's my blog personality? Oprah's Favorite Things Meets June Cleaver

I got this blog personality type via PoetMom via Avoiding the Muse: C. Dale Young.


Here's the personality they give my blog:


The entertaining and friendly type. They are especially attuned to pleasure and beauty and like to fill their surroundings with soft fabrics, bright colors and sweet smells. They live in the present moment and don´t like to plan ahead - they are always in risk of exhausting themselves.

The enjoy work that makes them able to help other people in a concrete and visible way. They tend to avoid conflicts and rarely initiate confrontation - qualities that can make it hard for them in management positions.

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My blog is never planning ahead. I knew that's my Capricorn self gets annoyed with it.

If you want to see what your blog is saying about you go here: http://www.typealyzer.com/

Late Night Confession Tuesday...

Sorry to have been away, I can't really tell you what happened to the week, but it went missing and even today passed quickly. But I am here, Dear Reader, and it's been 14 days since my last confession (I opted out last week for Veteran's Day), so let's begin before Tuesday is officially tomorrow...


Confessional doors opening...


I just finished mailing out the Pushcart Prize letters to six of the contributors of Crab Creek Review. It's my favorite part of being an editor, being able to say, "Not only did we love your poem enough to publish it, but we want to give it a tiara to wear." I won't say who these poets/writers are yet, but when they wake up, they'll know.

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My emotions have been off this week, so there are two realities--my reality and the actual reality which is much better than what I'm seeing through my anxiety-filled lenses. I don't know if your emotions can color your life, but mine can take a rose-tinted day and turn it blue. Sometimes I wonder if this is just a girl-thang.

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I have something to give away in the next few days. Really, I'm not kidding. An actual item that could help you or your laptop (that's your only clue). I have three of these items. I rarely have neat things to give away on Book of Kells, so I'm going to keep the surprise going for a bit. Just check back daily because as I said, I'll be giving these away in the next few days. Maybe I'll give one more clue-- if you have a computer that is running slow, you'll want to pay extra attention.

Now to decide how to give them away!

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I like having surprises.

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I find the late night version of confession Tuesday makes me sleepy. Maybe there is where I'll say my Amen.


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Confession Tuesday... night!

Live from Washington State, it's Tuesday night! How did the day get away from me? And I confess, I forgot to confess. Since I only have about 2 hours left (PST), I'll start the confessions rolling...


1) I love the CBS Sunday Morning Show because they highlight artists and odd little events and personalities no one knows about. I liked the story this week about Dewey, the library cat (from Kansas, I think).


2) I've been reading the news way too much lately. I've kind of been caught up in the drama of it--what will happen? I've always loved memoirs and this seems to be what my mum would say in a bad time, "Oh, you're just living through history..." I'm so curious how this book is going to turn out. Infotainment.

It reminds me how I was, right after Sept 11 '01. Every morning I would wake up and race down to check the top stories to see if there had been another terrorist attack, to see if the world was still around. Today I realized moments before I checked the news to see if anything had happened overnight, that I was fine. My family was fine. My house was fine. And that if I had to check in with someone else to see if I was okay, I was completely missing the bigger picture, as well as the definition of okay.

(Okay: all right: being satisfactory or in satisfactory condition)

I have come up with a few nuggets of knowledge from watching CNN today:
Even the experts have no idea what they are talking about
And Suzie Orman is really annoying.

I've decided to opt out of the information overload portion of this dilemma. I will be informed, but not overburdened. Someone, switch the channel back to What Not to Wear...


3) Tonight I made my first Apple Brown Betty of the season. However, it wasn't as good as it normally is (what am I forgetting?!) But even with that, plates were cleaned. It's time for me to find my big girl jeans and baggy sweaters, the winter body is on its way...


4)I went back and had my hairstylist "fix" my hair--basically, I had him cut off as much of the layers in the back as he could (aka my lunchlady hair). He served me green tea and chocolate (do not reward this kind of behavior, I say). The cut is now a sleek bob and takes 5 minutes to do. And when I say "sleek," I mean "easy." I realized I am hair-challenged.

5) I wish I had more writing confessions to share, but I have spent my day at a grade school and the only poetry I heard was when a little boy told me the Mediterranean Sea looked like the head of an elephant... And all of a sudden I could see it.

Confession Tuesday

Dear reader, it's been seven sunny days since my last confession. The Northwest is saying yes to global warming with 80 degrees days, summer has arrived fashionably late and we are saying yes, yes, yes!

To the confessional--

1) Half of you saw my blog post about living simply and have half of you didn't. This is my special skill as a blogger, to screw things up.

However, because I was afraid the post was a little pollyanna-ish, a little too much violin solo as the Titanic went down, I didn't work to hard to make sure everyone saw it. The core message is to try to live on less and appreciate that you have your art and what you love. I can trim things down into tidy sentences like that, but sometimes in the morning, I just gab on and on and on. I hope it didn't sound too cheer squad to my own life. I think I was just trying to talk myself out of my own concerns, remind myself what's important.


2) Speaking of cheer squad, I have the gift of the pep talk. If you ever need one, just write me.


3) I just read this in the NY times:

CHICAGO — Senator Barack Obama raised more money in August than any presidential candidate has ever recorded in a one-month period, with his campaign disclosing on Sunday that it collected $66 million and drew 500,000 first-time donors to his candidacy.

I know that some people feel Sarah Palin is all that and a big of moose chips, but do not underestimate hope. If the Democrats lose this, they will lose it with scraped knees and empty wallets- I tell you, no one is going down easy on this election, it's just too important.

Please make sure you register to vote.

Along with pep talks, I also have studied the art of the lecture. And I will lecture you for not voting.


4) I have not submitted a poem in 43 days. That's what my "Days Since" widget says. That is longer than I would like.


5) I do not like the word "widget." I also do not like these words: meme, filibuster, panties, potty. I especially do not like it when grown men excuse themselves to go to "the potty." I think it sounds weird.

6) I do like these words: hope, lackluster, hipsway (which technically isn't a real word), foxtrot. I especially like it when men carry hope in their hipsway and not lackluster as they foxtrot their way out of the potty. (See how "potty" ruins moods.)

7) I shouldn't confess at night, a pre-confession, I'm too punchy.

8) Next week I'm starting the Artist Way with 5 friends. I hope to report about any synchronicities I may have. I'm reading the "Basic Tools" section right now. I seem to do the Artist Way every 3 years. It centesr me.

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader,

The air smells of autumn, we are rounding the corner from new school shoes and supplies to a quiet house for six hours. Summer has waved a sad goodbye, the sun (which has been out sick most of the season) goes to bed a little earlier and the wool sweaters have already been taken out of storage. And with that, comes my writing life again. No more beach days or s'more evenings, the bbq is being put away today as is the patio furniture.

My Poetry Barn has been painted inside (photos to come soon) and furniture moved in. While I long for summer until it comes, I'm always a little happy when it leaves because I feel most like myself in autumn, a little warmer, a little fuller, and ready to write.

So, on this day before my official return, let me confess...

1) I have been listening to Abba pretty non-stop for the last two weeks after seeing Mamma Mia. (By the way, I learned about this great website called Pandora's Box where you can type in what song, musician, group you like to listen to and they will choose similar songs to your liking. I have Station Abba (and I'm currently listening to Super Trouper as I type this...) I also have the Indigo Girls station, Station Dave Matthews, Caribbean Reggae, Paul Simon Radio, Seattle/Grunge station, Mexican Radio, and the Jo Stafford station.

2) On painting my barn-- I realized I am the messiest painter around. I had to wear a fleece hat after bumping my light hair into a bright red just painted beam. I ruined my flip-flops (yes, I paint in flip flops), my capris, and green and gray cotton baseball jersey. At one point in the evening, I noticed a slug had wandered halfway into my paint pan & was accessorized in red paint --this is my life in the Northwest, exclamation marks created by slugs. This put me into recovery mode- washing off slug with the hose & hoping it was okay (it was.) I try to keep a personal rule of "do no harm" and well, slugs are included as well.

By the time I finished I had paint everywhere, it speckled the floor like an incomplete Pollock painting, but I didn't mind, I said this is my space and let whatever happened, happen.

3) I'm no longer worked up by McCain's nominee speech (though I think it was the most interesting technique to squelch rumors that she was raising her teenage daughter's down-syndrome baby by saying, "I can't be raising her baby because she's pregnant right now"- I definitely new approach to ending rumors) But I think what annoyed me most about McCain's VP nomination was that is came less than 12 hours after the DNC ended. It was as if we had the best party where everyone said the best things, but what is remembered is the guy who stumbled out on the lawn and threw up.

4) This article confirms my entire life as productive:

They've demonstrated that daydreaming is a fundamental feature of the human mind

5) Sometimes I forget that everyone isn't for Obama.

6) On the Caribbean Reggae station they play Musical Youth, "Pass the Dutchie..." if you're a child/teenager of the 80's you know exactly what I'm talking about -- "how does it feel when you got no food."

Confession Tuesday, The Critic's Edition

Moses by Michelangelo in the St. Peter's in Chains church (San Pietro in Vincoli) in Rome, Italy


Dear Readers,

I confess this will be last confession until September. I'll do my best to do things I can confess. I confess I am only a risk taker on paper. As a child, I wanted my Camp Fire Girl name to be Kekoa because it meant "courageous one." I think what we love in others we want to find in ourselves. So maybe this summer I'll be Kekoa, or maybe I'll just be Kelli (which stands for "Warrior Woman.") Or maybe I'll find my adventure on paper, or by horseback, or the geysers of the world.


To the confessional!


I'm still planning on a writing shed and am even a little more inspired about it today. There's a lot of cutting and building to do, but there's also a lot of summer to do it in.

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I read Billy Logan's review of Ted Kooser's poems and I felt as if Logan had just put on his big boy pants and wandered out onto the playground again. If anyone believes a well-written review includes a sentence like this--

"Just when I thought that Kooser didn’t have a brain in his head, however, he surprised me."

then you've just been Punk'd. Trust me dear Reader, when a critic is trying to be so entertaining that he pulls out his whoopee cushion and hand buzzer, there's a desperate need to noticed and not in that good outstanding glad-you're-part-of-society way, but in the "I'm getting old, insecure, and need a Corvette so you overlook my inadequacies way" he's likely to wear the Ego Trip jock strap along with the Self-Important sweat bands off to band camp just so we can overlook his broken flute.

And how simple not to like Ted Kooser's Valentine's poems, I mean, people can actually understand them so they can't be good. This is like criticizing the moon for being too romantic, for showing up uninvited and routinely every night. I want to like Billy, but he's always eating paste in the back of the room and that doesn't sit well with me. Paste is not good for anyone.

But the positive of this review is that people love a car wreck, so perhaps this show of cleverness will sell a few more books for Kooser. And in this case I find no fault in Kooser's driving as he's just been hit by the showy Corvette. You see, I own one of the first copies printed by Brooding Heron Press here in Washington and when this crash occurred, I ran first to the pick-up truck to help Ted (who actually needs no help) and not the Corvette with wheels spinning and the driving shouting, "Did you see what I just did?" Of course we did, you've got your radio blaring.

Yes, I confess I read Billy Logan because I had to see what he would say, just as I would watch the class clown fart around with a paperclip and an electrical outlet with the slight hope that maybe he'd get a zap himself-- same paperclip, different day.

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If what I dislike in others is what I dislike in myself, then I too need to find the good in others as much as possible. Wag more. Bark less.

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I recently saw a bumpersticker that said "Cheney/Satan 2008" and it made me laugh. This completely negates my statement above. I guess I should say Satan a nice tail.

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And speaking of parts of a devil, I chose the above photo because it was my favorite Michelangelo sculpture I saw in Rome. What did I love about it? The horns. Why? Because when Michelangelo was translating "the radiance of the Lord", there was a similarity in the Hebrew between the word for "beams of light" and "horns." His carving was created from a mistranslation.

I've read others say the horns represent "beams of light" because there was really no good way to show beams of light in marble, but I tend to believe it was mistranslation as I don't think Michelangelo would have carved (or painted) the sun with horns to show its radiance. Satan sun.

I think his depiction of Moses, horns and all, adds a little normalcy to a man we love to call genius. If a genius can end up making Moses look like the devil and we call it radiance, there is hope for all of us in all aspects of our life and our own creations. Our imperfections are what create our beauty and our uniqueness. Never want that perfect nose or flawless skin, there's splendor in our horns.

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Billy, I'd love you for your horns alone, but my heart belongs to Ted.

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xoxo

Amen.

Confession Tuesday

Rain God Tláloc


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Dear Reader, it's been a week of wet weather since I've last written. While part of the country heats up, cooks eggs on the sidewalk, we in the Northwest must have been raindancing because our June is liquid sunshine. Reader, I'm wearing wool, it's June 10th and it's 46 degrees out and pouring. Let me confess as a native Northwest girl, this is not cool anymore.


Now, to the real thoughts--

I am so ready for summer to begin and to put away my laptop. So ready. Though there is this thing about email that gets to me, I hate it piling up. So I'll have to check it, but not as much. Definitely not as much. If you need to reach me, call me or snail me. I love receiving letters by post.


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My 2nd manuscript-- Reader, what can I tell you? I've finished my second mss, but sometimes (recently) doubt it. I think it's because second manuscript and I have been spending so much time together. I'm admiring second manuscript's eyes, but worrying maybe they aren't as fine as I think, maybe they boring, poorly-written eyes.

Second manuscript tells me she's a hardworker, but I ask her if she can work harder. I ask her if she's really doing all she can do or if she's talking about her father just to be difficult. Second manuscript is telling me that sometimes I put her in outfits she's not comfortable with. She says sometimes I make her into something she doesn't want to be. I'm sorry second manuscript, I forget who you are sometimes. I'll try to be better.


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I never skip breakfast. Ever.


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I saw 2 movies this week. PS I Love You (DVD) and in the theatres Indiana Jones. Watching Indiana Jones was like returning to the 80's with that orchestra music in the background secretly adding the I.J. theme song into the scene. I must say, I love big movies like that with their thickness, their old-school lines that no one would ever say, their deep sounds of the orchestra and stunts. It makes a movie like 27 Weddings, which just kept me entertained enough not to turn off the TV, feel like slipping into a thin shawl instead of the big leather bomber jacket I bought on a whim after watching Top Gun.

Oh and PS I Love You? Fantastic. I love death movies that are funny. And I learned it was originally written by a 21 year old women from Ireland at 10 pm until 6 in the morning. Love that.

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I think I have one more confession coming until I begin my summer of sin. Okay, it's totally not going to be a summer of sin, it will just be a summer of totally.

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I still have to blog about a suggested blog on John Ashberry. I'm not really an Ashberry fan, but I like this last name. But think it fits a man more than a woman.

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If I chose my own last name it would be Springsteen, Costello, Madrid, or something with an O'. Like O'Malley, but not O'Malley. Something you'd name a bar after.


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I have no poetry news in the last month or so. I haven't been submitting much. Mostly I've been working on my manuscript and I put a chapbook together as well, which I've sent out to one place.

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I confess I haven't done a gratitude list in a while, but it's not because I'm not grateful. I realize that in certain ways, I live a few different ways-- one is just skimming the surface, not really connecting and sort of above the life's energy (doing a lot, but not doing much). The other, which is my preferred way of living is to be part of the energy, to feel connected and part of life and it's synchronicity. I

It's sort of life watching the people in the water from the beach. You see them, they see you, but I'm not really part of things. Lately, it feels as if I'm moving closer to the water, I'm wading around the edges wondering how to dive in.

I think it's time for me to return to the Artist Way and reconnect with the world. Gratitude is one part. Just paying attention is another.

I think I have a little tunnel vision. I think I have a lot of tunnel vision. There's a part of me that hopes there's a good friend will run by me and grab my hand to pull me back into things. There's another part that knows I just need to take that first step.

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Reader, you probably just read that and thought, WTF? What is she talking about? I have a noisy head and this is what it's thinking about. I think I need an artist date.

Confession Tuesday

It is late morning on a Tuesday and I have not confessed. Though when I think about my post it seems like a confession, or perhaps just me be whiny. Whiny does not equal confessing.

I told my daughter recently that we all grow out of whiny, but that's sort of a lie. I know a few whiny people. Annoying whiny, not funny whiny. I like when people are able to laugh at their situations and I appreciate funny whiny. Funny whiny is knowing you have to do something you don't want to do and appreciate the humor of the horrible task. Annoying whiny believes the world should change to make your life better. Annoying whiny doesn't realized the world doesn't change but we have to.

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I guess I'm sort of confessing now, I better keep going to keep the blog gods happy--


I changed my cellphone's ringtone to Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" because I was anxious for warm weather and now I'm afraid I've turned my favorite song into annoying interruption. I think I'll return it to what it was, Elvis Costello's "Every Day I Write The Book."

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I saw CD Wright do a poetry reading in her socks.


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If I'm ever filling out something that asks my favorite color, I always put "plaid." Actually, it's orange.


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White birthday cake with white frosting wins every time.


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I'm having a birthday party for a hedgehog and a stuffed zebra tomorrow. I would invite you if I could, but it's a closed gathering. The hedgehog gets a little hissy with strangers, and well, you probably wouldn't have the right shoes for a hedgehog party. I mean, who even has the right dress for a hedgehog party. I'm not sure what the hedgehog will be wearing, but I'm sure it will be sharp. (I think ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" was actually written for a male hedgehog at his birthday party.)

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Last week after my poetry group, my friend was going to give me a 20 minute demonstration of the new Wii she bought for her family. I haven't played a video game since college, since Tetris or Zelda, so old I can't even remember who made it. Probably Nintendo.

Anyway, so this Wii thing is --dare I say it-- fantastic. We played baseball (I hit a homerun and pulled a muscle), tennis (I almost knocked over her side table), I did yoga (balance poses and warrior 2), I rode a cow, I did skeet shooting, I played billiards, I bowled. When I got home, I didn't fall asleep until 1:45 because I had so much adrenaline in me.

My favorites were yoga and the balance games, tennis, and baseball. I loved tennis the most, though they did replay the scene where I lost control of my player and jumped into the stands. I've heard parents complain about kids sitting in front of a tv playing video games and not getting exercise but this really seems like quite the active game. I don't think you need to be as wild as my friend and I were, but it was quite fun that way. I think it would hilarious at parties.

I learned later that they put a wrist strap on the remote because people were accidentally throwing them into their TVs.

If you've never seen anyone play the Wii, here's a videos of how it can be different than your normal video game.

Girl Playing Boxing on Wii (she looks -and sounds-- likes she's scared or fighting with invisible bugs, but she's actually just very into the game...)

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One of my favorite luxuries in life is ground Starbuck's Breakfast Blend coffee (mild). My husband insists on grinding his own coffee, but I get huge satisfaction from opening a bag of already ground coffee, especially this flavor.

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I love it when I see sale people in the "Ask Me, I Know" buttons. Though when I ask, they usually don't know. In fact, they are even surprised to see they are wearing such a button. Maybe they could change it to "Ask Me, I Should Know" as their current slogan is a little misleading. Or maybe I should be asking different questions.

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I'm thinking about lunch now, so it's time to say ta-ta. Does anyone say ta-ta anymore. We should bring back ta-ta.

Confession Tuesday

Dear Reader, Forgive me for saying "Ah, it's Tuesday," for thinking I have nothing to confess. The weeks are moving faster. Summer is 70 degrees and sunny in between the clouds. I have broken our glass patio table in celebration of upcoming solstice. I have chased after our sun umbrella in wind.

Off to today's confession

I have never explored the southern part of the US. I've been to Texas and Florida, but I'd love to see Georgia, Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana. I regret not visiting New Orleans before the hurricane.

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How many times have I directed you to a story on Military News? Never? Well, here you go. I thought this was an inspiring story about an artist who paints portraits of the soldiers who have died in the war and sends them to their families, all with her own money and time.

Beware if you're at work, it's a video and it starts immediately, so turn the sound down.

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If you were to ask me what I wanted to do with my life, I still do not have a perfect answer.


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Sometimes my fears slide back into my life and I have to ask them to please leave. I'm the polite hostess to the drunk party crashers who have already knocked over the punchbowl.


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I believe the more we know about each other, the harder it is to have wars.

Imagine how the country would have reacted if President Bush would have said, "We're going to bomb the polar bears because they pose a threat to humans." We would have freaked out. Somehow it seems okay to bomb humans and to take human lives in the name of war, and sadly in the name of peace. I don't get that.

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War has been on my mind this Memorial Day weekend and having two dads who fought in WWII and my father-in-law as well, I hope the next president will be more of a dove and less of hawk. And I'm tired of blaming. I just want things fixed.

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My husband took his mother to the cemetery as he does every Memorial Day, while I remembered my friend at Plum Cottage. I don't have any confession about this, it just seemed important to say.

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Thanks for reading. I don't say that enough.


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I'm off to a play about James and the Giant Peach. I look forward to seeing the peach on stage. Simple pleasures.

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It's going to be a busy week for me. I have a couple suggested blog topics to write about, if you have anything you'd like me to finish up the year with, email me or leave me a comment.

Confession Tuesday

I swear, there are more Tuesdays in the week than any other day. Maybe it's because I know on Tuesday I promise to be here confessing. But I'm such a good egg, what could I possibly have to confess?

Dear reader, it's been 7 days, 7 not-so-deadly sins from my last confession...let's get these over with


1. Lust (Latin, luxuria): 10 words-- Cristian de la Fuente & Jason Taylor: Dancing with the Stars

2. Gluttony (Latin, gula): Truth-- I eat dessert every day and do not feel guilty about it. It's the reason I'm a writer and not an actress-- less paparazzi and bathing suit photos.

3. Greed (Latin, avaritia): Me time. I am greedy for me time.

4. Sloth (Latin, acedia): I am the last person into the car 95% of the time. And usually the last person to wake up in the morning.

5. Wrath (Latin, ira): I confess while most of the time I'm pretty laid back, I am very much a mama bear and will protect whatever is important to me.

6. Envy (Latin, invidia): Book-envy only.

7. Pride (Latin, superbia): I never thought this was a bad thing. I have nice wrists.