The Stories We Carry

“Their story, yours, mine - it's what we all carry with us on this trip we take, and we owe it to each other to respect our stories and learn from them.” - William Carlos Williams

Silas Joins the Family

This is Silas' Forever Home Photo. He has now been adopted and is no longer a foster dog. He is a sweetie.
He joins Barry and Klaus in our household.

We think he is perhaps 6 months old. He like to play. Likes to go for walks. Is still working through some anxieties. He's adorable when he rubs his paws over his nose.

My daughter Meghan initially took him in - you would not recognize him today from how he looked then. Meghan worked wonders with him. I may dig up an earlier photo she took of him  to show the contest.

A Morning Thought...

Even the old lame dog wags his tail.

Confession Tuesday - Full Disclosure Edition

Dear Reader:

Tuesday again...  Here I am ready to enter the confessional for what will be a spontaneous confession as I have not given this much advance thought today. And Maybe that is where I should start. I confess that probably less then half the time I spend much thinking about the confession more then an hour or so in advance of actually showing up here to do it.  So like tonight, I'll take a deep breath and see what I can get off my chest.

Before arriving here I received an email rejection from an editor.  I mention it just for the sake of acknowledging the humbling experience that it is. That and the fact that several others I know mentioned on Facebook today the received rejection in the last couple of days. Perhaps it's the alignment of the stars. But maybe the poems really just were not a good fit. Some days when I am feel especially ridiculous I conjure up the image of the editors standing in front of a mirror trying poem after poem and casting most into one pile for the ones that don't quite fit. Anyway getting today's rejection only make me that much closer to getting one that an editor feels is a stunning fit. I confess to optimism.

Father's Day was Sunday - this is a day that I always have conflicted feelings about.  On one hand, I really have no connecting Father's Day experience as a son. I only know it as a father. In some respects it becomes a day in which I perhaps think of the lack of a father in my life maybe more then other days, though it would be fair to say that much of my life I have been troubled by this fact. My father and I had only minimal contact and that didn't occur until I was of adult age. That I can recall, I never saw him until I was out of high school.

My family has always been very generous with me on Father's day. I often feel that the attention is more then I deserve. None the less, I certainly appreciate it. This year my son gave me two new San Francisco Giants baseball caps. The girls, they went in together and gave me a subscription to Ancestry.com. I've done a little genealogy research in the past, but this will make it easier. I confess that part of my  interest in our family history relates to the minimal contact with my father's side of the family. I confess there is a bit of irony in the gift from my daughters on father's day. And as for my son, he knows he can never go wrong with anything related to S.F. Giants.

My right eye has felt like it has had something on it all day. I confess that efforts to flush it or deal with it in any fashion through the day had me in a cranky mood. I hope it was not apparent to the rest of the office. We didn't have a court docket today and I was in my office for the most part and as is sometimes the case, I had the door closed most of the time. I've put something in it since I've been home and it was a little better but it seems to be wearing  off. If this remains like this tomorrow I think grouchy would my baseline and I'd only  get worse from there. [This post constitutes my full disclosure and warning]

Amen!

Confession Tuesday - on Wednesday Morning

Dear Reader- 

Forgive me for not blogging my Confession Tuesday post last night. You see, I met with other poets last night and it was good. 

Confession Tuesday - Tooth & Tire Edition

Dear Reader:

In's been one blowout, one new tire, one root canal, one rejection letter, 5 days of dog sitting, headaches too numerous to mention (but I guess I just did), several poems written, a lot of journaling, some searching questions about my life, few answers, numerous readings aloud my own manuscript, frequent charging of my cell phone and virtually no television for 5 days since my last confession.

I'm home. I must say that. I made one last trip to let the dogs out and feed and water them after work, but my son should be arriving home about now. I'll say it again... I'm home. I'm Home!  I confess it sounds good.

I stopped by the house yesterday after work to see Cathy for a short bit as well as our dogs. I got to see the dogs but no Cathy. She was called to the hospital yesterday because her step-mother was taken their and she was eventually admitted and I had to leave before she could make it back home.  She was at the hospital much of the day, and I arrived home to find here here and on the way back to the hospital. I'm home but it's just me and the dogs for now.

I confess I spent a lot of time focusing on  work I've written over the weekend though I did find time for a couple of new poems.

I confess I read my manuscript  to no one but myself (the dogs may have listened but offered no feed back) and when I do that in my studio it's one thing. It feels altogether different  in someone else's home, even if no one is there. I confess I wondered at times what I was doing and was tempted to just crash and burn.  My energy level was not  good this week and I feel it especially tonight.

Over the weekend I really did an examination about my own creativity and how it could be energized.  I came up with a couple of simple things to try, but I haven't implemented them yet.

On several occasions patience was really called for at work. I believe I was able to exercise it relatively well. I wish I could be more patient without having  to focus so much on it. For it to just be like natural.

I found myself smiling at some small but funny stuff and the smiles would often last to get me through  the day.

I confess that I have had some anxiety about  something (I won't go into right now) over the past couple of weeks and It weighed heavier on me this week.

I have another dental appointment this week to look forward to. Somehow that sounds funny.  And yet another the week after.

In spite of the upcoming dental appointments, anxiety, and all else going on, I look forward to a better week ahead. More time at home. Actually getting to see my wife and chilling with Barry, Klaus and Silas. Evie or cat is too cool and never needs anyone to chill with her.

That's my week - how was yours?


Amen!

Learning How And What To Expect

Sometimes I get wrapped up in expectations. Occasionally everything goes well but often the expectations do not turn out as I might have expected. I think practicing art any art form with expectations is risky, but that is not an argument against planning and establishing  some level of expectations.

As I write this, I'm currently dog sitting and using this as a bit of a opportunity for a writing getaway. It's quite here, the dogs are pretty low maintenance compared with the dogs in our home.

I arrived last night with a variety of books (I always want books at arms reach when I am writing in case I need to pause and move my mind into something else - perhaps inspirational), my laptop, my  journal and a crispy clean refill for it in case I finish the remaining  pages.  I have my Kindle and the novel I am currently reading. I have a supply of diet cream soda and coffee. I have a hard copy of  my working  manuscript as well as the digital file on my  laptop. The only think missing that I can think of at this moment is I wish I had a glass of Chardonnay.

Yesterday afternoon I arrived. First order of business tend to the dogs. This did not take rocket science and everyone was soon chilling, including me. I found it difficult for some reason to find a rhythm that I felt could get me on track. I was like a pitcher throwing and not pitching. (sorry for the baseball analogy. Okay, you know me better so I'm not really all that sorry. Just a little bit). The difference between a pitcher throwing  and pitching is this - he can stand on the mound and direct the ball over the plate. That's throwing.  He can mentally decide where around the plate he wants to put the ball and how it arrives at the point. That's pitching!

I did not sleep well last night. At 2 or 2:30 I was still awake. Not because I was doing anything, but because I wasn't simply could not get my mind to shut off. Trust me, there was nothing spectacular going on in it. I changed where I was trying to sleep at and recall looking at the clock several times after that and finally at some point gravity got the best of my eyelids and I somehow fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning I was still tired. Got the dogs out and fed them. It was not until maybe 10 AM that I could begin to get on track with writing related tasks. I started the day feeling what the hell, and just try and relax and forget about any expectations. And to that aim I decided just to pick some individual poems at random and read them aloud - slowly, one after one. Soon I felt like moving on to my hard copy of my manuscript and reading each of these poems aloud. There is something about reading  your own work a long time after it was written. The perspective will sometimes shift. Sometimes you like it better. Sometimes not so much.

My point is that I have now eased myself into what I wanted to do after all - work on the manuscript and I found the way to get there in spite of how I got started off. Expectations always expose you to risk. The possibility that you might be disappointed in yourself for one. But that is how art is as well. It risks disappointing.

Sometimes things go as you wish but mostly not so. The important thing is to make the effort. Show up. That's a good part of the battle. And maybe that poem you are trying to write is not the poem that wants to be written. Sometimes our failed expectations provide something serendipitously  better then we had originally sought.    

If you'll excuse me now, my manuscript is calling again.