The Hal Pond picture Vent and the Hamilton Journal

Tuesday, November 8, 2005, 1'18 PM Someimtes, I drive round and round for half an hour looking for parking and end up parking ten block away and am late and it's cold and rainy.  Today, it is sunny and pleasant and I got a parking place right away only a block and a half away, in front of a church where young black men are sitting and taling.  I walk down the sunny sidewalk toward Hill Medical.  There are African Americans everywhere and It have any here.   Think of the rioting in France and hope we do not have problems here.  When I worked at King,Iwas comfortable with the people, but now that I've been away, I wonder and worry a little. Feel nervous, probably for no good reason at all.

There is construction in the building and I get all disoriented and arrive feeling confused.  I often feel confused here, maybe its the rugs outgassing formalins.

Listening and responding:

I am feeling cranky about your reaction to my cranky note to Heidi. 

I remember my taking that panoramic photo that Hal took of me at the pond at Beaver Lake off the wall of my livinroom, somewhat sadly,because I loved looking at it, and bringing it to YOU because I loved you and believed you loved me and thought I was doing you a kindness and that you would enjoy being able to look at such a beautiful picture of me in my element--nature.  I thought you's be excited about it and that it would bring you pleasure. 

I remember arriving at your house and bringing in the picture to show you.  I was all excited.  I thought it would please you.

After you looked at it, it got set on the bedroom floor.  We were busy, but I thought you would find time to put up the photo where you could see it.

I brought it up several times.  You expressed only remote mild interest.  You did not seem to care or be interested in it the way i thought you would be.  I considered taking it back to NY where at least I could enjoy looking at it.  But that seemedcounter productive.

That was more than two years ago.  Since that time, I have brought it up on numerous occasions and always met with the smae lukewarm response.  We did discuss several places to put it. One was over the wall on your side of the bed.  Several other possibilties were mentioned, including over the head of the bed.  I worried aloud to you that if we hung it on your side of the bed that you might bump into it and knock it down.  We discussed it at length but nothing was done.  I evenmentioned a couple times that if we didn't do it together, Imight do it myself.  No reaction.

The result is, I feel that you don't listen and don't care and don't really want to change anything Susan did (even though if she were alive,she'd be changing things all the time.)

I am not saying you never listen.  I am saying you often don'tlisten,especially about certain topics.

Here are someof the topics you don't listen about:

•           hanging my pictures.  I would like to hang my father's pictures.  I would like to hang Gloria Royer's pictures.  I think original artwork and photography by family members and friends are more important to hang and view than unknown art (especially some of what is in your house, which I dislike and would never hang.)  This is how I know that the Moran Road house is Susan and your house and not mine.  Because there is ugly art on the wall and very little of my art collection and none of my photography.  I'm also somewhat offended that you suggested we use my study as a gallery of my work, as if it wasn't good enough to display anywhere else.  That's really offensive.  Maybe you didn't mean it that way, but that's how it sounded!

•           Getting help with our problems.  I think that we need help.  I think we need couples counseling and family therapy and that Graham needs therapy.  But no matter how many times I bring it up, you just ignore me.  I realize there is an expense involved and we're low on funds, but your health insurance should cover a large portion of it.

•           Susan's retainer:  I have asked you several times about Susan'sretainer.  I'm assuming it's Susan's retainer.  I asked you if it was hers andif we needed to keep it, but you never answered me and it's still in the bathroom closet.  Are you expecting her back?  I'm genuinely sorry she died, and that you lost her, but keeping the retainer won't bring her back and we have a shortage of space.  The retainer is sort of symbolic of all sorts of things around the house that we don't need and that I don't want that are taking up valuable space.  And I can'tunpackmy stuffbecause there is nowhere to put it.  How can you call her house "ours" when there's not much space in it for me?  As long as there is more of HER than me, it's not my house and therefor not "our" house.  There is someof the stuff in the house that I really dislike.  However, you said you LIKED it.  So, assuming you just love all the stuff in the house that used to be Susan's and you've inherited it, then it is all YOURS.  Now forgive me for saying this,because I don't think relationships should be 50-50 weighed on a scale, but if everyting in that house is yours, it needs to be reduced to HALF (aproximately) of it's volume so that I have HALF the space for my stuff.  Of course, it's not that simple, really.  We have two things that are ours. The candle and the picture in the bathroom.  And the spiceshelf, so that's three--that ws newly created for US.  So if there are 5227 items in the house and we subract 3 things that are ours, that leaves 2,612 things for each of us.  This should be more or less equally distributed.  That is,all my 2,612things should not be in boxes in the basement while your are occupying the house.  Of course, I'm being ridiculous and exagerating, but I gope you get my point.  Right now, your Susan stuff occupies most of the house and my stuff is relegated to boxes in the basement and odd corners.  If you need more examples of what I mean, I'll be happy to supply them.

•           I could go on andon, but at this point I won't.  If you infuriate me enough, I may.

OK, now I want you to know that I do notice and appreciate things you do,and progress.

•           THANK YOU FOR FIXING MY CAR, I really appreciate it.  I thank you for doing it and for the time and energy you spent.  You get a LOT of atta boys for that!  Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy!

•           THANK YOU for putting my desk together and adding the addition and expanding it so we can work together and hooking up the printers etc.  I really appreciate it, really really.  Thank you. Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy!

•           Thank you for being supportive of my writing and art (photography).  This is very very importanttomeand I appreicate it. Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy

•           Thank you for walking with me.  Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy

•           That you for your efforts to be attentive to and supportive of my complex and ever-changing healthcare needs!  I wish I didn't have all these issues but I appreciate your patience with them!  Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy!

•           Thank you for being cute and sexy and an attentive lover.  I love your loving!  Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy Atta boy!

Now, back to the issues of the pictures.  I don't want you to hang the pictures without me, particularly, I'd rather do it together.  What I would like is for you to show some interest and to schedule a time to not only talk about it, but to actually DO soemthing.  I realize we are both very busy, but it's important tomaketimefor this.

ACTION ITEM:  Schedule a time to talk about the painting and photographs.  Put it on your calendar.  Make it a sacredspace.  If something happens,makean effort to reschedule.  Afterdiscussing the issues, the possible chnages, makea plan to carry through on the decisions and ACTUALLY hangthe pictures or let me do it.  Ifthis were really MY house, I'd feel free to make chnages. I don't,because it's your house and Susan's house and you made it clear to me on numerous occasions that you liked it as it was and that any changes had to 1)be jointly made and 2)fit into THE EXISTING DECOR (which means we can't change the Susan look even if we hate it.  Which means that house can never be mine and we need to either move elsewhere and start over with a house that is really OURS not susan's or get divorced.)

Flintrop,when next,repeat that I'm  Rstless leg syndrome? Stress other insomnia issues.

Start meds 1 pill every morning empty stomach 6 weeksblood test, wait for call, if no call her her. Return 3months.labs before office visit.

3:07 PM  I am walking back toward the car.  Dr. Lal was very pleased with me

•           because I lost 7 pounds and my thyroids improved

•           because I remembered to take my blood test (I was two days late taking them, but she got them in time anyway)

•           because I was lucid and not as confused as I was the last two times I saw her.

My thyroids were better, but not good enough and she's starting me on thyroid eds for atrial, a low dosage that may have to be riased. She wants me to take expensive name brands rather than generics because she says they are  significantly better, and she gave me a two month supply (but I may have to take them the rest of my life, like Robert and my mother.)  I have to get two sets of blood tests, one n 6 weeks and one in 3months to further adjust

I have to take one blood test at the end of December and one Feb 6 (or7), should be the 6th.

I have to take the pills every morning on an empty stomach. She said they could improve my

•           cholesterol

•           sleep

•           fibromyalgia/pain/restlessness

no guarantees, though.

OK, off to the coop, a walk,my mother.  I had 6 errands on my list and have done 2.

4:20 PM Everything is taking longer than it hoped it would.  I went to the Coop for oat and rice bran and ended up buying various things including oat bran but they didn't have any wheat bran.  It all took too long and it is 4:20 and I want to walk before it gets dark ut then it will be dinner time for mom.  And it occurs to me that it is already Tuesday and we never talked about meeting, the girls and I.  We used to meet for a while on Tuesdays butit seems to have swwitched to Wednesdays and I wish we'd spoken about it.  Bt I may end u0p going 2 days in a row which I guess wouldn.t be so bad since it's been a number of days since I went.

Still, Iprefer knowing what's going on.

Coming down the stairs from Dr. lal's office (I chose to take the stairs,rather than, the elevaotor, I pausedto enjoy the light coming through the glass bricks and take a couple pictures.  It was incredibly beautiful in there, all agically lit and the curved surfaces.  People walking by were all looking at me askance as if I were some weirdo or terrorist or something.  Couldn't they SEE the gold slant of light in the magical circle?  None of them looked enthralled, but then again,maybe they see it every day and it's old hat.

It's sunny today.  This afternoon, anyway.  It was sunny when I arrove, but the sun has already gone behind the trees and cast the world in shadow.  I went thr wrongway, because on the other side, there is still some sun.  Thursday it's supposed to snow.

Now,already, the sun is gone from even the hills.  I'm carrying a ton of camera gear, but no tripod, so it is probably pointless and waste of energy.  It's 4'30 and the sun has set.  I need to be out starting my walks by 3'15 or so, at the latest.  Of course, tomorrow I have an appointment with Arlene Stausinger at 4:00.  I need to plan to walk 1st.  Let's see, arrive Staubsinger at 3:45.  Leave B'ville location at 3:3o begin walk at 2:15 at the lastest, leave home at 2 PM at the latest.

Tomorrow, it's supposed to rain.  Thunderstorm in the afternoon.  I should check the weather and try to plan the best time to walk.

4:51 I am sitting on the side of the hill at meadowbrook Park, feeling somewhat relaxed and contented.  I sat down to attempt a pictureof the sunset,but without the tripod, it's pretty pointless.  But I can see it with my eyes and the creek winding through the park and the air smells good, like fall.

I am eager to see you, soon.  Yay!

I'm sorry I reacted with such annoyance to what you said.  I'm sure I do as much or more to anger you.  But still, you need to make a plce for me in your life and your house.

If you were here now, I would lean against you and sniff, and hope that you'd touch me because your touch feels so healing.

With the dark comes cold.  I suppose I'd better get up and keep moving.

A woman in a long white "gown" with a white dog approaches like a dream--I try a picture but it's too dark even at 1600.  She turns out to be wearing a beige sweater and long beige skirt and the dog is an ancietpoddle.

I don'twant to move.  I feel as if I'm always rushing fromone thing to the next.  I guess I shouldnot have sat down.

I am finally walking again. It'sso dark that I don'ttake the side trail up into the woods.  I amenjoying the subtle autumn colors let by a fading red sky.  Very peaceful and soothing.

My hips are bad, though.  I made two mistakes at Kensington:

•           I bought a ricedream bar with nuts,it was the only knd they had and I think I'm allergicto nuts.  Worse yet, I thought it had a carob coating and it turned out to be choclate, but I didn't see that.  The ones I buy at wegman's occasionally arecarob coated, so I forgotto check  I should even get the carob ones (I rarely do), but the chocolate is even worse.  It was small but had a lot of nuts

•           I bought someraising pecan bread, a rare treat.  I was forgetting about the nuts.  And ate a hunk of it on my way here to tide me over til I get home, since I'm planning to stop and see Mom.

The moon has gone from waxing crescent to waxing quarter--orpretty darn close to it, and gotten bright in the darkening sky.

My watch says I walked 23 minutes, but Iwalked a ways without rmembering to turnit on.  Whatever, I'm headed overto Loretto.

Wednesday, November 9,2005,3:55 PM I amsitting in Arlene Staubsinger's waiting room with two other people who arrived at the same time I did.  Luckily, I think they are here to see someone else.  Thunder was rollling and rain falling as I walked into the building.

I was thinking I had some extra jeans because I'd bought a pair to make shorts, and never cut them off.  But if so, they must all be in Detroit, because they don't seem to be in B:ville. 

I got drenched,utterly soaked, when I tookmy walk in the rain.  I hadto change everything I was wearing.  The problem was, there was nothing to put on!  I put on one of Erin's old Allman Brother's T-shirts, one of Mom's old flannel shirts, oneof Pa's oldpants (which don't fit because they're too tight and too small.)  I put on an old pair of my running shoes that are muddy and dusty and warped and uncomfortable. I put on an oldwork sweaterof mine that is too smallandan old Adidas running shell.  It's an uncomfortable and ugly mish-mash.  I had been wearing my regular jeans, an olive green Manitou Forest T-shirt and an Olive green hooded sweatshirt and my snow mocs, but those are all soaked.

When I get home,if I have time to go home before I go tomeet Sara at Loretto, I may put my soppingsnowmocs back on and throw these snakers right in the trash.  I need to get rid of the pants,too, to the salvation army.  I could wear them, maybe if I lost some weight,but I don't like them.  They

Kevin Murphy adults and ADD read--OUT OF THE FOG.

Lynn Weiss

Women and ADD

Delivered from Distraction Ratey and Hallowell

Wellbutrin as a possibilty.

Even out moods and help control ADD

4:59 PM  I have been diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, I forget which, or both.  I'm in Dr. Fazio's office.  I brought in the report for him to copy.  Ilistened to Dr. Staubsinger tell me about it, and then I sat in Fazio's office and reread the report.  I don't like the report.

It makes me sound like a bad person.  I kind of look like a bad person,too, with the mess inmy house.

She suggested counseling, creating good habits, and the possible use of Wellbutrin.  And a coach.  So I have to research those option.  It is POURING out.

She said only 2% of people respond to the Feingold diet, but I may be one of them.

I'm confused.

What should I DO to make things better?

Thursday, November 10, 2005,9'59 PM  I'm out walking.  It's very cold, well, relative to how warm it's been, it feels cold.  It could be much colder.  It's not yet below freezing.  We're supposed to get two inches of snow tonight.  Dang, and tomorrow I'm planning on driving to Hamilton.

I hope the roads are clean and dry, or, at least not icy, snowy or slippery.

I got my newLibretto in the mail.  It is two or three times as big as the Psion I'm writing on now.  Still pretty small.  But really, now that I have it and spent al that money, I think it is just exactly the WRONG size and configuration. It is too small to go in the pocket,and not configured, like the Psion, tobe used inmotion.  It has a hard drive andif you use it in the air like a Psion, you get all kinds of warningmessages.  I willl have to fiddle with it and see what's possible.  But it~s too big to go in pocket and too big to easily hold it and type while walking for example, but too small to comfortably write on it on the desktop, ad too small to read or see what you'redoing.  I may have to buy a big magnifier.  So it's not really good for eother purpose.

AK

I'm such a fool.

I wanted it to be another Psion,now that Psions are no longer made and harder and harder to come by.  And I wanted it to be a laptop fortravel and conferneces and rereat, but Idon't think it will workwell for either of those purposes.

The moon swima abov,surfacingand diving. The sky looks abnormally bright, grey andmisty rather than black.

I was able to get online with Toby, the new libretto, but only after I called tech support.

And I was finally able to dock on the DVD drive and when Ileft,it was downloading somepix from a CD, which I want to use as a screen saver.

Lo andbehold,on the new computer, there was that sunsetgraham thought he had taken.

I need to delete the sample pictures,nice as they are,orput them in a filebaelled, good pixnotmine,as I've donesometes before.

I can't see themoon,butit'slighting the edges and fringes of clouds. And the edges annd fringes are lit with faint rainboes..  They are moving fast past the moon and their colors ebb and rise with the thickness of the clouds, now blaack,now grey,now white and radiant and pearlescent.

The cold is sort of invigoorating. It's exciting and stimulating rather tha relaxing and lazy the way the heat is.  But I think cold is yin and hot is yang.  I'll have to look that up. Maybe because the cold makes me active and stimulated, at least at firts until I am too chilled, it makes memore yang because of its yinness.  and the heat makes me relaxedand open and aceptin and yin because it is yang.  I don't know, I don't really get it.

When I get home,I'm going inside andputting my pajamason. If I have not walked 45minutes, too bad.

Hey, guess what,it's snowing, and the snow is colecting onmy jacket and sweater and hat.

And there is the gibbous moon, amost fully visible through veils of cloud in gap between two thick dark clouds.  Anyone who objects to poems I write about the moon and falling sow in the smae poem hasn't been out walking with meatnight in a snowstorm with the bright moon leaping betwen clods.

10:40 PM I'm home and walked 41 minutes but I'm not going to put my PJs on and go to bed,because I want to load someof mytrip stuff in thecar first.

Friday November 11,2005,1:12 PM I am stopped at the Border Crossing at customs.  The line is much longer than usual, but I've seen iit much worse,too.  I heard that yesterday, they had an extremeslowdown at Windsor, Sarnia and many other crossings and that people had to wai more than 3 hours..  The Canadian Customs want and armed presence.

This line is movin slower thanthe ones to either die, of course, much more slowly.  I always pick the slowest line.  But it is moving.  I am listening to Arabian music on a French language station out of Toronto and I need to turn it off when I get up to the booth, LOL!

I do like it.  I have to admit.  Only now, They've switched Indian Hindu Sitar music.

Saturday, November 12, 2005, 10:14 AM We're in the car in the parking lot of The Comfort in, turning, headed out to Centennial Parkway, to go to breakfast.  We're been more or less "up" since 6 am (and awake since 5:40), but messing around with each other and downloading photos in order to clean the carsin order to free them up for later use.  And taking portrails of keith.

10:27  Now we are at The Egg and I up on the hill,s very  for breakfast.  I'm ordering a mushr--momelette.  It is very crowded.

3rd Sweetie Anniversaary (Hamlton 5)

Veteran's Day weekend is Keith and my three-year anniversray of becoming sweeties.  Yesterday, November 12, 05, was Day One of our celebratoryHamlton trip.  We arrived at the motel around 2, settled in, and then drove up to te Devil's Punchbowl at the top of Centennial and to the left..  This waterfall is right at the edge of the Niagara Escarpment and has formed a large punch-bowl shaped basin.  We walked around the falls taking pictures.  The falls itself is really pretty, but the road at the very top takes away from the total effect.  Then we took pictures of the huge cross that has been erected at the edge of the escaprment.  Keith suggested that they may have erected it there as a sort of counterspell the the name, Devil's Punchbowl. 

The punchbowl park was closed and we worried about stopping there and parking at the roadside, but as soon as we did, another car stopped and then another.  Soon, there were six cars parked around our car.  We had nucleated them, LOL!

Then we walked along the Dofasco 2000 Trail, stopping to take pictures of grapes vines and barns and apple orchards and red-tipped dogwood bushes and each other.  We tasted a couple apples from a downed limb and saw a heron take off twice nearby, thrilling us with it's long wings.  We admired stannds of small same-size trees and their reflections in the many little ponds.  It was very wet.  The gibbous moon rose over it all as it got dark.  We chased the moon trying to position it just so over the apple orchard.  We had fun.

Then we went back to the room and cuddled a while and got dressed up and took pictures of ourselves dressed up and then went out to dinner at Baranga's on the beach. This is the nicest restaurant we have so far discovered in Hamilton.  It is right on the beach and the food is well-made and tasty. We had calamari for starters and a nice meal with wine.  We asked the waittress to take a picture of us, and also took our own reflection in the large windows that looked out over the dark beach.

Day Two was Saturday the twelfth and we had breakfast at the Egg and I, after busying ourselves in the room downloading pictures.  They messed up the order and put Keith's cheddar cheese on my onelette and I sent it back, but he never got his cheese.  My onelette though was good.

Then we went to the Botanical Gardens Nature Center which wasn't very interesting, and then  walked the Captain Cootes trail and took lots of pictures and had a good time together.  One of the highlights of the walk was the landing of the trumpeter swans!!  Six swans descended on Coote's bay, turming and back peddling their wings.  They landed among some Canada Geese.  We was fascinated by their trumpeting--how much like a trumpet it sounded, and how beautiful they were, landing.  We also enjoyed walking down into the wildflower trail, though there were no wildflowers to be seen.  It was in a gorge with a stream running through.  From there, we went back to the Captain Cootes Trail along the bay.  We enjoyed the views of the bay, and of course took lots of pictures.  Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees, but there were still some sugar maples and oaks with intense color.  Along this walk and during most of our others, Mary was taking pictures for her assigments for her Better Photo.com course.

Keith collected acorn caps, magnificent acorns, possibly the best he'd  encountered anywere.  "You might say, he said, 'mighty acorns from little oaks grow  (because the trees were't about nothin'.) 'He made whistles out of them and kept startling Mary by blowing one shrilly and unexpectedly.  He insisted on testing every promising cap he found, like a little kid.  He wouldnt stop.

When we got back to the car, we drove around looking for a place to eat and reading the dining guide.  We went downtown and the first couple places we went were defunct.  We walked and walked and walked and finally ended up eating at Mahal, an Indian Resterant with delcious food. We really enjoyed it.  Keith had the Tandoori Chicken Tikki, ~"mild".  The rice that they served was a rather dry basmati, just the way Keith likes it.  Mary's food was quite hot but wonderful

Then we went back to the room, downloaded and looked at our pictures, and went to bed, exhausted.

On Day 3, Sunday, November 13, 2005, we got a up, finished the downloading we'd started last night, and went back to the Egg and I for breakfast.  This time, our breakfasts were more reasonable.  That is, we both got what we ordered.  And the food was reasonably good.

On the way up, we noticed a waterfall up the slope of Upper Centennial, so on the way back, we stopped and explored the falls and took pictures.  When we got back in the car, I looked on the AAA roadmap of Hamilton, which has many of the falls labeled, but this one was not labeled.  It was a nice falls, though, worth the visit.  (There's no parking area, we just had to stop on the side of a very busy road.)  It had a similar amphitheater shape as the Devil's punchbowl.  Theere was lots of scree,loose rocks under fallen leaves that made the footing treacherous. Mary struggled trying to level the tripod on the steep slope and keith struggled getting down by the falls for Mary to include him in her photograph (and then went back again when the first set didn't comeout right.)  (Keith says he struggled tobe Mary's sweetie, accomdating and repsctful. Mary wishesthat being her sweetie wasn't such a struggle, LOL!).  There were herb Roberts in flower.  Also Tansy.

Then we went to the RBG (Botanical Gardens) and loooked around, visited the greenhouse, and took pictures.   We repeated some of the pictures we'd taken in past trips and then walked out onto the botanical garden grounds and trails (taking more pictures as we went, and repeating more of the old pictures.  Keith took one of Mary walking and typing on the Psion, as he did once beofre in the same spot.   he was impressed that she could walk and type at the smae time.

Type note to self:  are we visiting a bird sanctuary today?  If so, take bird seed.

Salmon, spawning ? (fight?) lost?)

Boardwalk.  Bridges.  Repeating photos from previous trips.

We went on the "Bridle Trail" and the "Grindstone Marshes trail."  We saw lots of chicadees and male and female cardinals and nuthatches a ducks (and salmon).  People put of bird seed and the chicdees etc will eat out of your hand.  If you're patient andlucky.  Also squirrels.  Took somepictures of the bird.  The blackbirds are flocking up.  Mourning doves.

Sunday night, we ate at the Black Forest INN, Scwarzwaldhaus" and we ordered Rindsrouladen.  And Keith got a tall beer--I tasted it, it was good.  Warsteinder.  It was one of the places we atempted to go to Saturday night, but they told us the wait was 45 minutes or more.  I'mglad we went back. The meatball soup was scrumptuous.  And the wait wasn't so long, thank goodness.  The Rindrouladen was very tasty, aswas the cabbage, potatoes,Mary's apple strudel and Keith's hazelnut torte.  It wasn'theavy and cloying., more like a sponge cakewith whipped cream.

Then we went back to the room, downloadeed our pictures and viewed them.  My also downloaded Picasa, Irfanview and Firefox to her new little Toby while Keith snoozed.  The we both snoozed.

On Day four, Monday, November 14, 2005, we packed all our stuff up, checked the room, shecked out and had breakfast at the Egg and I again.  We both had the Egg and I big Breakfastwhich consisted of three eggs, 3 slices of bacon, three suasages, three pieces of back bacon, 2 slices of toast and home fries (and we had juice).  We asked for grapefruit but got orange.

Then we went shopping at Sears for Bedding--non-feather bedding for Mary's allergies, and then wentto Beamers Falls.  It's approximately ten miles from Centennial to Beamers Falls along Ridge Road.  Beamers Falls is a sliding rock type Cascade, only steeper than sliding Rock.  It's a pretty falls, not too large, but pleasant.  We climbed fro the parking area at the top to the bottom, taking pictures as we went.  We saw some fossils and snail shells and herb Robert in flower.  There's a second falls lower down, but we only viewed that from the top.

Then we went over to the Bruce Trail parking lot on Quarry Road near Ridge road (Near Beamers Falls) and hiked back to the Beamers Falls gorge from the other side and along the gorge, which was really pretty.

Then we went back to the cars at the Comfort Inn where we'd been staying and traded stuff back and forth and repacked everything.  Keith departed around 4 for Detroit.  His mother, ML,and Graham were waiting for him with a hot dinner.  He hoped to arrive around 7.

Mary, who had no one waiting for her with hot dinner and was going home alone to a coldempty house decided to walk at the beach above Centennial and attempt more pictures of the beach house and the high tension wires.  She walked down there and did shoot some pictures, but the lighting wasn't as nice and there were people working i areial baskets and the sky wasn't as pretty and though she wandered around with her tripod gear, she sould not determine where she was standing when she took the shot she wanted to replicate with a tripod. 

 

 

--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary

The YMCA reading and two walks at 3R

November 4, 2005, 4:56 PM I am hurrying toward the Y for a 5'00 workshop with Michael McFee. Parked on Salina at a meter that is theoretically active til6. I am using a brand new poem I just wrote this afternoon, and very hastily. I am writing on the new Psion I bought used and then broke by falling badly with it the first day I had it. It is still in pieced--wished I'd have gotten Keith to fix it.

I walk down the street, a deserted street after the crowds on Salina where I parked, under the honey locusts whose gold glow is fading under a darkening sky and the church bells--I'm late. Someone came to my door as I was trying to get my poem ready and shove some food in my face. They begin peeling out, first one and then another. 5'00.

I am over-dressed for the evening and getting warm. Another bell is peeling. And now another.

Collette Inez is reading November 7.

7:13 PM The workshop is over, it was fun and somewhat helpful.

Now Michael McFee is going to read. Scott is on one side of me, Georgia Popoff on the other, Jennifer McPherson behind me. Lots of people I know.

9:10 The reading is over and Scott and I are at the Coffee Pavilion. He's having coffee and I am having a huge cup of herbal tea. There is a very loud jazz band playing so we can’t talk or read poetry as we planned and Scott is all offended because they put a sign on our table (the first one by the door) asking for a tip.

The Michael McFee workshop and reading were fun and good. There will be a good workshop and reading next week but I'll miss it because I'll be out of town.

I take a couple shots of the band with and without a small tripod--without first, then with, but they move around so much that even with the tripod, the picture won't come out. The Noah Kilman Trio. That's the name of the band; they look like high-school kids, a little strange and nerdy but pretty good.

A little loud, too.

Scott borrowed a pen and took my napkin and seems to be writing a poem.

I would write a poem too. I like it best when I get that poetic feeling. Something slips inside me, and I get "that poetic feeling." I was just wandering what it was, and I think it is sort of like "The Flash" in Emily of New Moon, by L.L. Montgomery (good book!). It’s a feeling of intense awareness and connectedness with the world. A rush, a high of sorts. For me, nature often does it. Writing poetry or revising poetry also does it. So I can create the poetic feeling by reading or writing poetry. Sometimes.

But there is that hump you have to get over, like flying in a dream. You stand transfixed and leaden, or fall like a stone, unless you can remember that you can fly. And then there is that leap of faith where all fearful and unbelieving, you take that first step off the cliff into nothingness.

That's the pen, scratching its first word on the blank paper. The thing I have yet to do tonight, I haven’t yet stepped off the cliff. I am standing securely a few feet from the edge, holding a piece of granite, peering into the abyss.

This afternoon, I plunged in, all willy-nilly and desperate because I had that workshop in a few minutes and wanted something to bring.

Scott is still writing like mad.

Jazz doesn't affect me like nature does. Like night and snowstorms and solitude. It’s noisy and hard to follow. Now a sax player gets up. Another kid, also good. Each of them sounds good, the music is fairly good, but the overall effect is dissonant and verging on unpleasant.

If I went outside and looked at the yellow trees lit by the odd lamplight against the black sky, I'd be more likely to "feel poetic."

Scott gave me what he wrote. It was not exactly poetry, more personal reflection. He wanted what he was writing to come out on the Psion.

I wanted to write about my Mom.

The Nightmare of Dementia

"I've been trying to remember the name of my street," my mother says to me, when I arrive at Loretto.

"Oh," I ask, and what is it?" I inquire.

"Ellsworth Ave," she says, and I nod. Yep. I've given up arguing or explaining. There is no point in telling her that she hasn't lived on Ellsworth Ave for more than sixty years. She won't remember for even 30 seconds.

She wants me to take her there, now that she has finally remembered. She remembers very few minutes. I try telling her she lives here, at the nursing home. I try telling her I'm busy and have other plans. Nothing works. Instead, I take her for a walk. Every little while, she tells me she doesn’t know where she left her car. Or that Pa is home waiting for her and she needs to go home and make dinner for him. If I mention he's dead, she's horrified, for 30 seconds, and then forgets. As I push her wheelchair alone past trees with lovely autumn color, she carries on a running monologue repeating certain themes. "I don't know where I am, I've lost the car, I need to get home, I need to check on Grandma." I try to assure her that everything is OK, but of course, it's not OK. Everyone she's looking for is dead. And she is unwell. Her confusion makes things worse. She's living a nightmare.

* * *

Saturday, November 5, 2005, I am sitting on the side of the road at Scotts pace at Three Rivers in an orange hat and vest. My Ollie ran out of batteries and the spare battery us lost. Oly won’t work either, there is some issue. I didn't bring Eeyore because I was afraid Scott would become impatient with me, but he was taking as many pictures as I was. He's waking toward me down the road and I'd love to get a shot of him, but I'm image-less.

I stopped here to get s hot of this incredibly beautiful field with all the brilliant yellows, oranges and mustards, and the flecks of red. But the camera won't work! Wahn. It's a perfect day. Very warm for November, we're warm in T-shirts. Utterly gorgeous color. It's clouded up though. Peepers are peeping.

4:40 PM I am home after being away ALL DAY LONG. After Our walk, we ate a latish lunch at The B'ville Diner. I was really into COMFORT FOOD and got meatloaf, home fries, coleslaw, water with lemon and cherry pie. It was a lot of food and I scarfed down every crumb of it. I've been really hungry. After having no appetite for two weeks, I've been very hungry. I don't need to gain weight! I'm too fat already, but I feel SO Hungry.

Yesterday the day before yesterday, I was really hungry late at night, and each night, I ate a half a bag of corn chips. WAHN!

I wanted to write a "piece" on comfort food.

To top things off, I am now back to having one of those problems no one wants to talk or hear about. It's uncomfortable and waste of time. Grrr!

6:31 PM I’m sitting here wasting time again, but maybe this time it won't be such a waste. Meanwhile, I downloaded today's pix and sent then off to Scott, Ofelia etc. Then I Photoshopped one of them, entered it in the Better Photo contest, posted it to my gallery, and also posted it to Imagik and to Silk Creek Portal. It was a picture of the Spiral Grove, and I posted it as a vertical, but I think I might like it better as a horizontal with some of the tall treetops cropped out. I find them distracting. I'm not sure, but if I like it better that way, I can't post it until tomorrow, well, I could post it on my sites, but not enter it. One a day is all.

I have one more thing to do to wrap up that project and then I need to get going on other stuff.

Unload the car, water the plants, sort the mail, frame pictures, write Bruce, write the lawyer. EAT. Braid my hair. I wore it down today because I was running late this AM, but I need to braid it before bed.

6:37 is not exactly bedtime, but since I'm not going out and I tend to get busy later talking to Keith etc, I’d be better off to do it now. It helps hold the CPAP in place.

Sunday, November 6, 2005, 3:42 PM I am sitting on the ground under my tripod moping because I saw a shot I wanted and the sun was out, but as soon as I got the tripod set up, a big front moved in and covered to sun. I have the circular polarizer on and the clouds are great, but without the sun, no good, and it may not come out again today. At least it’s not raining. It was, earlier.

I am out alone and happy to be, looking to take pictures for my better photo course of color. And rule of thirds horizons, but, I may get neither, and I hope I don’t get soaked. I do have gear bags with me.

I need a wide angle lens for the sky but have no circular polarizer for the wide angle. A hunter thwarted my original attempts. I don't have enough hands or containers, so I have my flash and filters stuffed inside my bra.

Very storm black sky approaching! And with it, lots of wind.

4:08 PM It's raining. Not too hard, yet, but the sky is very black and it’s very windy. I am about 22 and a half minutes from the car, and it's thundering! I folded up the tripod and slipped the waterproof gear bag over Eeyore. I thought I had two with me, but I only have one, and ton of gear.

My orange anti hunter hat just blew away and I had to run after it with all my gear banging around. More thunder.

In an effort to protect my gear, I plan a couple shortcuts and pick up the pace. This will cut my walk short, but it's raining harder and harder.

WOW! Awesome lightning displays. Massive thunder, and even with shortcuts, its a ways to the car.

4:28 I shorted myself about 5 minutes, walked 40.

I left the car unlocked.

I climbed in with all my gear still attached then unloaded it and peeled off my literally sopping and dripping blue shirt. By black shirt is soaked too. I'd take that off but there's a man in another car.

I had planned on going over the other part of 3 R, but it's gotten dark and is very rainy.

5:60 PM I am sitting in the parking lot at Wegman's after loading the groceries I got into the car. I didn't have a list, so I hope I got what I needed. I am feeling happy. I feel good, I feel comfortable, I feel excited about my work, I am eager to work on the pictures for the course and the pictures for the show. I am happy to be in Syracuse where people are seeking me out and I'm not an unknown nobody with almost no friends. I can do what I want when I want to, sort of, that is, I have no schedules to factor in but my own except for talking to Keith. I am looking forward to seeing Keith on the weekend. I feel good, I feel happy. Hope the sky is not about to fall.

I’m still very wet from my excursion in the rain and if it were a normal November, I’d be severely chilled. But instead, I'm just a little chilled because it's so warm out. Even well after dark.

Tuesday, OctOBER 4, 2005, 2:07 PM I am at Loretto to visit Mom after an appointment with Dr. Milton who says my blood pressure is down and good,I don?t have lupus, or any other of those scary diseases she was testing me for. I have "food sensitivities" which we already knew. But that's good news.
The BAD news is that I waited over an hour and a halfto see her, because of, apparently, a computermalfunction. Compared to having lupus or some other dread disease, that's minor, but it was a big PAIN.
The worse news is that on my way to her office, I tripped and dropped my brand new used Psion, Sylvia P, and it came apart into 7 pieces,and while I ahve it partlytogether enough so it works, it is all floppy and still half in pieces. Where is Keith when I need him? Keith, where are you, I need you! WAHN! :-((
It's very hit today, record breaking heat, they expect. I hope to take Mom out for a walk. The car is like an oven, the sun is scorchinly hot, but it is coolish in the shade because the nights are cool and the ground retains some of the cooless.
I'm bummed that I lost so much time and that that time could not be used for writing, poetry etc, because of the failure of both devices I had with me. One of the batteries were lost when sSylvia hit the pavement and I never did find it. so I couldn't use Sylvia ever when I put her together. And Cleo's keyboard was locked and wouldn?t work. Some little boy took 25 or so poictures ofhimself with my camera.
2:19 PM When it is time to take Mom out, she decided she has to go to the bathroom. I look in herroom forthe catfood for that grey cat, but I can't find it. They probably threw it away, which makes memad,because I paid for it. And I forgot to bring any more.
This Psion, Sylvia, like Pasada B, all the others, always goes back to itsdefaul font size setting,no matter how many times I reset it.
\n\n\n2:23 PM The aid that took Momto the bathroom just went down\nthe elevaotr--did they leave her on the toielt? will anyone be getting her off? \nDo they see that I am here WAITING for her? Does anyone care?\n\n\nMom is hollering, Mary, Mary. I go get someone and they come\nand help her. They lookannoyed,but they\nshouldn?tgo off and leave a patient with dementia \n\n\n3:12 PM I signedin at 2:15 and out at 3:15 (according to\ntheir clocks). Sylvia is a minute or\ntwo slow. I should fix that now. Supposed to be record breaking heat\ntoday,and it IS HOT! I took her\nfor a walk and we petted the cat and I took somepictures. We never found the catfood can. But someone has been feeding the\ncat--there is dry food and water out.\n\n\nI watered her plants andlooked around for mail, but the only\nmail I saw was my own postcards. That\ndoesn?t mean that there hasn?tbeen mail. \nShe loses things, and ferrets things away.\n\n\nPoor Sylvia, she?s all floppy and needs help. I need Keith.\n\n\n3:24 PM I am at Clark for my daily walk. AK, this whole day will be gone and I won?t\nhave accomplished anything by harming poor Sylvia, and my doctor\'s appointmment\nand visiting Mom. Of course these doctor\'s appoints are WHY\nI AM HERE in NY, so I guess that?s an accomplishment.\n\n\nIt just seems that it took way more time thatit should have\nan I NEED my time.\n\n\nI am also worried because I signed up to take this course,\nbut I can\'t use Eeyore, the SLR, because I don?t know where her charger\nis. And I?m going to be traveling AND\nI\'m now not moving Blue so that when I\'m in town,I can work on the pictures for\nthe course. I wish I had NOT signed up\nfor the course until I got moved and settled, but at the rate things are going,\nI could DIE of OLD age before I get moved.\n\n\nI need to pack.",1]
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2:23 PM The aid that took Momto the bathroom just went down the elevaotr--did they leave her on the toielt? will anyone be getting her off? Do they see that I am here WAITING for her? Does anyone care?
Mom is hollering, Mary, Mary. I go get someone and they come and help her. They lookannoyed,but they shouldn?tgo off and leave a patient with dementia
3:12 PM I signedin at 2:15 and out at 3:15 (according to their clocks). Sylvia is a minute or two slow. I should fix that now. Supposed to be record breaking heat today,and it IS HOT! I took her for a walk and we petted the cat and I took somepictures. We never found the catfood can. But someone has been feeding the cat--there is dry food and water out.
I watered her plants andlooked around for mail, but the only mail I saw was my own postcards. That doesn?t mean that there hasn?tbeen mail. She loses things, and ferrets things away.
Poor Sylvia, she?s all floppy and needs help. I need Keith.
3:24 PM I am at Clark for my daily walk. AK, this whole day will be gone and I won?t have accomplished anything by harming poor Sylvia, and my doctor's appointmment and visiting Mom. Of course these doctor's appoints are WHY I AM HERE in NY, so I guess that?s an accomplishment.
It just seems that it took way more time thatit should have an I NEED my time.
I am also worried because I signed up to take this course, but I can't use Eeyore, the SLR, because I don?t know where her charger is. And I?m going to be traveling AND I'm now not moving Blue so that when I'm in town,I can work on the pictures for the course. I wish I had NOT signed up for the course until I got moved and settled, but at the rate things are going, I could DIE of OLD age before I get moved.
I need to pack.
I\nneed to pack for Maine and Detroit, but one of issues is I don?t have enough\nclothes. I don?t have enough clothes to\npack ahead for the trip and still have something to wear in the meantime! Not that there\'smuch meantime left. Tonight (and I wasplanning to go to a poetry\nreading at LeMoyne) and tomorrow. \nThat\'s it. The probalem is, I HAVE to\npack tonoght and tomorrow before 5:25 because I am meeting the girls at Loretto\nand then eating with the girls and then Thursday morning, Mom has an\nappointment and I need to meet her there. \nI needto be able to leave DIRECTLY from the doctor\'s which means I need\nto havethe car packed by Wednesday afternoon.\n\n\nTwo crows just flew up, I hear the whoosh whoosh whoosh of\ntheir wings andlooked up into the golden tree to see a black so deep as to look\nlike ahole, a rent in the fabric of tree and sky, a black bird-shaped hole into\nwhich I could fall, upwards into nothingness. The two black crows and a black\nsquirrel.\n\n\nAnd now a third crow. \nI?m looking for pattern and line and texture and color. For rule of thirds. But The three black crows lose themselves in\nthe gold of sunlit autumn leaves. It is\nalmost asif they weren\'tthere,but for a flick of tail or a twist of head.\n\n\nAnd the sqeaking of the chains of the swings --there must be\na child, one lonely child. No I hear\nvoices, more than one.\n\n\nI wonder why htey planted honey locusts here,onnative\nspecies. Why not sugar maple?\n\n\n3:41 It may be hot,\nbut the trees know it\'s October and are obliingly turning color, bright reds\nand oranges. And yellows and golds.\n\n\n3:46 I don?t want to\nbe so busy looking for pattern, line, texture, color, rule of thirds etc, that\nI miss some other good shot that doesn?t fit the syllabus.\n\n\n3:55 PM I am sitting\non a rock in the shade on the top of the cliff trail",1]
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I need to pack for Maine and Detroit, but one of issues is I don?t have enough clothes. I don?t have enough clothes to pack ahead for the trip and still have something to wear in the meantime! Not that there'smuch meantime left. Tonight (and I wasplanning to go to a poetry reading at LeMoyne) and tomorrow. That's it. The probalem is, I HAVE to pack tonoght and tomorrow before 5:25 because I am meeting the girls at Loretto and then eating with the girls and then Thursday morning, Mom has an appointment and I need to meet her there. I needto be able to leave DIRECTLY from the doctor's which means I need to havethe car packed by Wednesday afternoon.
Two crows just flew up, I hear the whoosh whoosh whoosh of their wings andlooked up into the golden tree to see a black so deep as to look like ahole, a rent in the fabric of tree and sky, a black bird-shaped hole into which I could fall, upwards into nothingness. The two black crows and a black squirrel.
And now a third crow. I?m looking for pattern and line and texture and color. For rule of thirds. But The three black crows lose themselves in the gold of sunlit autumn leaves. It is almost asif they weren'tthere,but for a flick of tail or a twist of head.
And the sqeaking of the chains of the swings --there must be a child, one lonely child. No I hear voices, more than one.
I wonder why htey planted honey locusts here,onnative species. Why not sugar maple?
3:41 It may be hot, but the trees know it's October and are obliingly turning color, bright reds and oranges. And yellows and golds.
3:46 I don?t want to be so busy looking for pattern, line, texture, color, rule of thirds etc, that I miss some other good shot that doesn?t fit the syllabus.
3:55 PM I am sitting on a rock in the shade on the top of the cliff trail
The view\'s not as good as it used to be because so many trees\nhave grown up to block it. I know I\'m\nols when I can remember how different things used to be, almost everywhere I\ngo. Since I\'m short on time, I\'m not\ngoing down to the lake or taking the long trail. I need to run home and do laundry. And if I don\'t hurry up and go home, it will almost not be worth\ngoing at all, because I\'ll lose more than an hour driving back and forth. And, an hour\'s worth of gas. This day is not working out at all\nwell. Murphy hard at work!\n\n\nIt\'s a beautiful day,in the shade. A day to sit, relax, and write. \nI wish.\n\n\nI hear a heron taking off from the lakeshore. I rmember\nwistfully the days when I took a leave of absence fromwork andwnetto VC and\ncame here and other places to sit on this rock at the top of the cliff and\nwrite. Just do my work. Quietly work.\n\n\nWednesday, October 5, 2005, 4:32 PM I am on my constituional\nat OLP West Shore, walking along the river toward the lake, the smell of the\nlake rising to assault my nose, the gentle smells of algae and fish and\npollution. It\'s another hot day, but it is clearly October. Many of the trees are yellow. None (yet) are red orangen,juts tttellow and\ngreen,but bright yellow. \n\n\nA man is fishing, people are sunning, walking their\ndogs. Riding bikes,a woman with white hair like Dawn McDuffie\'s. \n\n\nI\'ve been crying. I\nthink I ate something bad, probably last night at the poetry reading. \'ve been desperately tryingg to ornagize for\nboth my trip to Maine and my trip to Detroit, because when I get back, I will\nonly have one transitional day before Ileave agin for Detrait. I just can\'t seem to do it,not well. Some\npeople are orgaized and some are not, and I\'m just not. I HAVE to be ready to leave tonight because\ntomorrow, I have to leave early to take my Mom to the doctor, and then I am\nplanning to leave from there to go to NH, to Heidi\'s.",1]
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The view's not as good as it used to be because so many trees have grown up to block it. I know I'm ols when I can remember how different things used to be, almost everywhere I go. Since I'm short on time, I'm not going down to the lake or taking the long trail. I need to run home and do laundry. And if I don't hurry up and go home, it will almost not be worth going at all, because I'll lose more than an hour driving back and forth. And, an hour's worth of gas. This day is not working out at all well. Murphy hard at work!
It's a beautiful day,in the shade. A day to sit, relax, and write. I wish.
I hear a heron taking off from the lakeshore. I rmember wistfully the days when I took a leave of absence fromwork andwnetto VC and came here and other places to sit on this rock at the top of the cliff and write. Just do my work. Quietly work.
Wednesday, October 5, 2005, 4:32 PM I am on my constituional at OLP West Shore, walking along the river toward the lake, the smell of the lake rising to assault my nose, the gentle smells of algae and fish and pollution. It's another hot day, but it is clearly October. Many of the trees are yellow. None (yet) are red orangen,juts tttellow and green,but bright yellow.
A man is fishing, people are sunning, walking their dogs. Riding bikes,a woman with white hair like Dawn McDuffie's.
I've been crying. I think I ate something bad, probably last night at the poetry reading. 've been desperately tryingg to ornagize for both my trip to Maine and my trip to Detroit, because when I get back, I will only have one transitional day before Ileave agin for Detrait. I just can't seem to do it,not well. Some people are orgaized and some are not, and I'm just not. I HAVE to be ready to leave tonight because tomorrow, I have to leave early to take my Mom to the doctor, and then I am planning to leave from there to go to NH, to Heidi's.
I freaked out, first I got angry because while I was in Erin\'s\nold room getting something I needed for the trip, the bird flew in and pooped\non the bed--he mattress I bought, which was exposed because I\'d taken the\nsheets off to wash them. I was already\nrunning late, and had to stop andclean it, clean that one thing while\neverything else disintegrates, and I creamed at the bird and then started\ncrying.\n\n\nThen I was listening to astory on NPR about a woman named\nSharon who came back to herhouse to find it essentially totally ruined and was\ncrying. I was crying too, crying for\nher, crying in guilt because my problems seem pitifully small compared to hers\nbut are still difficult for me, crying for me because I just can\'t get it\ntogther.\n\n\nCrying because so much time got wasted in the past few days,\nI might have actually been able to be ready, crying because I can\'t find the\nbattery charger for my good camera, crying because I probably should nOT have\nsigned up for that course, that BP course, when I have so much elseon my plate,\nbut everything is dragging out and out andout and my creativity is being lost\nto petty crap.\n\n\nI was picturing taking pictures for my class while I was in\nMaine. But of course, if I cannot find\nthe baterycharger, I won\'t be able to use Eeyore, the Canon EOS 10D. That\'s the camera I considerto be my\nprimary camera, my creatice tool.\n\n\nI meant to ask Sara if I could borrow the little Canon back\ntemporarily, but I forgot.\n\n\nThe mosquitoes are bad.This will encourage me to hurry and\nnot loiter.\n\n\nI walk by something really smelly. Like sewage.\n\n\nI look around as Iwalk, searching for colors,texture,\npattern, line. There is lots of that,\nbut the other rule is that we\'re not allowed to CROP the picture, except\nminorly, and we\'renot allowed to adjust the picture except levels and saturation.\nThat lets OUT a lot of possibilties as far as I?m cocerned.",1]
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I freaked out, first I got angry because while I was in Erin's old room getting something I needed for the trip, the bird flew in and pooped on the bed--he mattress I bought, which was exposed because I'd taken the sheets off to wash them. I was already running late, and had to stop andclean it, clean that one thing while everything else disintegrates, and I creamed at the bird and then started crying.
Then I was listening to astory on NPR about a woman named Sharon who came back to herhouse to find it essentially totally ruined and was crying. I was crying too, crying for her, crying in guilt because my problems seem pitifully small compared to hers but are still difficult for me, crying for me because I just can't get it togther.
Crying because so much time got wasted in the past few days, I might have actually been able to be ready, crying because I can't find the battery charger for my good camera, crying because I probably should nOT have signed up for that course, that BP course, when I have so much elseon my plate, but everything is dragging out and out andout and my creativity is being lost to petty crap.
I was picturing taking pictures for my class while I was in Maine. But of course, if I cannot find the baterycharger, I won't be able to use Eeyore, the Canon EOS 10D. That's the camera I considerto be my primary camera, my creatice tool.
I meant to ask Sara if I could borrow the little Canon back temporarily, but I forgot.
The mosquitoes are bad.This will encourage me to hurry and not loiter.
I walk by something really smelly. Like sewage.
I look around as Iwalk, searching for colors,texture, pattern, line. There is lots of that, but the other rule is that we're not allowed to CROP the picture, except minorly, and we'renot allowed to adjust the picture except levels and saturation. That lets OUT a lot of possibilties as far as I?m cocerned.
Bryan Peterson, I think that\'s the teacher\'s nname,believes\nin getting the picture right INSIDE the camera. I agree that the best pictures start with the best\n"negatives" or original digital images. But I personally see nothing wrong with cropping for the ideal\nimage if there was somereason why you could not or didnot get it the first\ntime.\n\n\nI guess I need to find out more about the coursesbefore I\ntake them. And take something on photo\nmanipulation. Or just keep playing and\nreading books on my own. But then,\nthere is no helpful critical feedback.\n\n\nThe feedback BP members give each other is usually PAP! It is entirely unuseful. It?s alot of indiscriminate praise. Praiseis\nnicewhen deserved, but I value praise less when I seepeople dishing it out\nliberally to bad mages.\n\n\nI udnerstnad wantingto be supportive, but it seems to me\nthat very few peopleknow how to truly give supportive construcive\ncriticism. There ought to be a school\nfor that.\n\n\nI have body issues:\n\n\n•\n \nI\'m obese,and I hate being obese\n\n\n•\n \nYesterday, when they stuck Mom on the toilet and left her\nthere, at Loretto, I wanted someone elseto help her. I did not want to\n"intrude" on her privacy.\n\n\n•\n \nI was uncomfortable when the man in the wheelchair wanted me\nto scratch his back.",1]
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Bryan Peterson, I think that's the teacher's name,believes in getting the picture right INSIDE the camera. I agree that the best pictures start with the best "negatives" or original digital images. But I personally see nothing wrong with cropping for the ideal image if there was somereason why you could not or didnot get it the first time.
I guess I need to find out more about the coursesbefore I take them. And take something on photo manipulation. Or just keep playing and reading books on my own. But then, there is no helpful critical feedback.
The feedback BP members give each other is usually PAP! It is entirely unuseful. It?s alot of indiscriminate praise. Praiseis nicewhen deserved, but I value praise less when I seepeople dishing it out liberally to bad mages.
I udnerstnad wantingto be supportive, but it seems to me that very few peopleknow how to truly give supportive construcive criticism. There ought to be a school for that.
I have body issues:
• I'm obese,and I hate being obese
• Yesterday, when they stuck Mom on the toilet and left her there, at Loretto, I wanted someone elseto help her. I did not want to "intrude" on her privacy.
• I was uncomfortable when the man in the wheelchair wanted me to scratch his back.
It seemed like a\nboundary-crossing act to me. I did\nit,because everyone needs to have their back scratched and he was in a\nwheelchair and couldn\'t reach. But I was clearly upset by it.\n\n\nI could go on, but the point is, I do have issues. It?s hard to know, for me,what\'s\napproapriate and what\'s not.\n\n\nI walk by poison-ivy coveredtrees that are red, yellow and\nornage. One is brilliant scarlet. Also some silver maples are brillinat\nscarley. I\'m carrying mycamera, but so far have taken no picturesin spite of\nthe fact it\'s alovley day, sunny and colorful.\n\n\nI wrote a poem once that startedout something like this:\n\n\nit\'s too much. Getting up every day, doing\n\n\nwhat has to be done,it\'sall too much\n\n\n(only better -written, I hope than that.) I feel srt of like thattoday. For no reason. I feel like there is something wrong with me.\n I\'m not normal, I\'mabnormal. I have no\norganization skills, I\'m missing some gene. \nI\'m incompetant.\n\n\nI sound like I\'mdepressed,but I don\'tgenerally feel that\ndepressed,I just feel incapable and incompetant. I think I\'m gtting worse, not better. I think I ate something that?s making me feel worse. I always thought my father was crazy when he\nthought sitting in a draft gave him a cold. \nIt doesn?tgive me a cold. But\neveryone thinks I\'m crazy when I think I\'ve eaten something that makes me sick. Or weid. \nExcept Ami Milton, and a few ofmy doctors, who seem to agree with me.\nNot everyone thinks I\'m crazy, thank god!\n\n\nI have very ambivalent feelings about this ADD thing. If it turns out I do have ADD,I\'ll have some\nvery mixed feelings!\n\n\n•",1]
);
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It seemed like a boundary-crossing act to me. I did it,because everyone needs to have their back scratched and he was in a wheelchair and couldn't reach. But I was clearly upset by it.
I could go on, but the point is, I do have issues. It?s hard to know, for me,what's approapriate and what's not.
I walk by poison-ivy coveredtrees that are red, yellow and ornage. One is brilliant scarlet. Also some silver maples are brillinat scarley. I'm carrying mycamera, but so far have taken no picturesin spite of the fact it's alovley day, sunny and colorful.
I wrote a poem once that startedout something like this:
it's too much. Getting up every day, doing
what has to be done,it'sall too much
(only better -written, I hope than that.) I feel srt of like thattoday. For no reason. I feel like there is something wrong with me. I'm not normal, I'mabnormal. I have no organization skills, I'm missing some gene. I'm incompetant.
I sound like I'mdepressed,but I don'tgenerally feel that depressed,I just feel incapable and incompetant. I think I'm gtting worse, not better. I think I ate something that?s making me feel worse. I always thought my father was crazy when he thought sitting in a draft gave him a cold. It doesn?tgive me a cold. But everyone thinks I'm crazy when I think I've eaten something that makes me sick. Or weid. Except Ami Milton, and a few ofmy doctors, who seem to agree with me. Not everyone thinks I'm crazy, thank god!
I have very ambivalent feelings about this ADD thing. If it turns out I do have ADD,I'll have some very mixed feelings!
•
I will feel a senseof relief and vindication of sorts that\nthere is a REASN (eg, excuse), a real medical disease or cause for my lack of\nattentiveness and my disorganiztion.\n\n\n•\n \nI will feel a senseof grief that this was not diagnsedearlier,\nwhen my wholelifemight have been able to have been improved\n\n\n•\n \nI will be very worried and concerned about the diet and meds\nrequiredto treat the cndtion. I will\nworry that because of my ADD, I will have trouble following a cmplex diet\nregime. I will worry that Ritalin, a\nStilulant, will worsen my insomnia.\n\n\nOn the other hand, if I do NOT have ADD, I may have a deep\nsense of despair about my inabilty to functionin the world.\n\n\nI jog the rest of the way out of the trail, the heck with\npictures. I\'m being severely chewed by\ninsects.\n\n\nI walked 49 and a halfminues, I meant to only walk 40, since\nI expect to walk my Mom. But I\nforgot. And it would have been more if\nI hadn?t run at the end.\n\n\nAK! Nw I\'m all\nitchy!\n\n\nPoor Sylvia, she needs some loving attention from Keith.\n\n\n5:56 PM I am at Loretto, again.\n\n\nI feel really tired. \nI hope I can sleep. I hope I\nwon\'teed stimulants tomorrow.\n\n\n \n\n-- I am certain of nothing but the Heart\'s affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats",1]
);
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I will feel a senseof relief and vindication of sorts that there is a REASN (eg, excuse), a real medical disease or cause for my lack of attentiveness and my disorganiztion.
• I will feel a senseof grief that this was not diagnsedearlier, when my wholelifemight have been able to have been improved
• I will be very worried and concerned about the diet and meds requiredto treat the cndtion. I will worry that because of my ADD, I will have trouble following a cmplex diet regime. I will worry that Ritalin, a Stilulant, will worsen my insomnia.
On the other hand, if I do NOT have ADD, I may have a deep sense of despair about my inabilty to functionin the world.
I jog the rest of the way out of the trail, the heck with pictures. I'm being severely chewed by insects.
I walked 49 and a halfminues, I meant to only walk 40, since I expect to walk my Mom. But I forgot. And it would have been more if I hadn?t run at the end.
AK! Nw I'm all itchy!
Poor Sylvia, she needs some loving attention from Keith.
5:56 PM I am at Loretto, again.
I feel really tired. I hope I can sleep. I hope I won'teed stimulants tomorrow.

Sylvia P on Michael Sickler etc

wekaplan@lycos.com
Michael Sickler Dec 15 lecture on art and poetry at Everson
Thursday, October 3, 2005, 8'08 PM I am writing on my new Psion, who I have just named Sylvia P. (For Silver Psion.) It's not new; it's used. It came priority mail between the time I got home from walking at three Rivers with Sharon G. and the time I left to go see Mom at Loretto.
Some people stopped to ask me for directions to Genesee Street as I was sitting on a window ledge writing on Silvia P. The thing is, Genesee Street does weird things here and it was pretty hard to explain. I hope they understood what I was telling them
I decide rather than writing the several things I wanted to write, now that I spent time giving directions.
8:30 PM I am in the coffee Pavilion with herbal tea and a biscotti. I signed up to read first. After that, I can relax. Scott is not here yet. There are nuts in the biscotti, hope they don't make me sick.
I haven't put a memory card in here yet so I hope I don't lose my work.
When I got here, I talked to Jane and Ellen McNeal and Scott McNeal and Michael Sickler. Michael Sickler was the first person I saw--and he knows Tyrie Gyton. Wants me to say hi to him. Tyree (?).
Tall Chris is here. Someone asks to sit with me (a woman) and I let her--I was saving a seat for Scott, but he's not here. I finish my tea before my biscotti, darn!
\r\n\r\n\r\nI read my three poems, 2 for Scott, though he has not\r\narrived. Georgia Popoff is reading\r\nnow. \r\n\r\n\r\nTonight\r\nwhen I got to Loretto, Mom was parked near the elevator--last time, too--and I\r\nsaid hi Mom and would you like to take a walk--I got her a hat and a blanket,\r\nand out we went. As we were walking\r\ndown the sidewalk, she said, "Did you see my daughter, Mary, and did you\r\nspeak to her?" When I said I WAS\r\nher daughter Mary, she asked me again if I\'d seen me and spoken to me. She was really confused. I decided to ignore her and go about our\r\nvisit normally. When we were out at the\r\npavilion, we saw the grey cat again, but the can of cat food was no longer in\r\nher chair.\r\n\r\n\r\nAt\r\nthe gazebo, an old man in a wheelchair asked me to scratch his back. I do, because he seems desperate, but it\r\nseems intimate. I am not eager to\r\ncontinue.\r\n\r\n\r\nSynchronicity,\r\nmeaningful coincidence of inner and outer events. Connected by a symbolic meaning. \r\nDeepak Chopra and Carl Jung speak of this, he says, he being Michael\r\nSickler. He is now speaking. \r\n\r\n\r\nMichael Sickler says he\'s an insomniac and sleep apneac.\r\n\r\n\r\nHe\'s speaking at Everson December 15on ort and poetry. \r\n\r\n\r\nAfter\r\nthe breaks, 3/4 of the people leave--I mean during the break. I\'d like to leave, too, but I feel it is\r\nunfair to those who read later. Michael Sickler leaves.\r\n\r\n\r\nI\r\ngive my address to Tall Chris to give to Colleen.\r\n\r\n\r\nI\r\nhope he does, though at the moment, the urgency has passed. I want to talk to her about abuse, my fear\r\nof it, when a red flag is worrisome, when it is only humanity. How to tell the\r\ndifference.",1]
);
//-->

I read my three poems, 2 for Scott, though he has not arrived. Georgia Popoff is reading now.
Tonight when I got to Loretto, Mom was parked near the elevator--last time, too--and I said hi Mom and would you like to take a walk--I got her a hat and a blanket, and out we went. As we were walking down the sidewalk, she said, "Did you see my daughter, Mary, and did you speak to her?" When I said I WAS her daughter Mary, she asked me again if I'd seen me and spoken to me. She was really confused. I decided to ignore her and go about our visit normally. When we were out at the pavilion, we saw the grey cat again, but the can of cat food was no longer in her chair.
At the gazebo, an old man in a wheelchair asked me to scratch his back. I do, because he seems desperate, but it seems intimate. I am not eager to continue.
Synchronicity, meaningful coincidence of inner and outer events. Connected by a symbolic meaning. Deepak Chopra and Carl Jung speak of this, he says, he being Michael Sickler. He is now speaking.
Michael Sickler says he's an insomniac and sleep apneac.
He's speaking at Everson December 15on ort and poetry.
After the breaks, 3/4 of the people leave--I mean during the break. I'd like to leave, too, but I feel it is unfair to those who read later. Michael Sickler leaves.
I give my address to Tall Chris to give to Colleen.
I hope he does, though at the moment, the urgency has passed. I want to talk to her about abuse, my fear of it, when a red flag is worrisome, when it is only humanity. How to tell the difference.
\r\n\r\n\r\n10:57 I try to leave\r\nbut on my way out the door, I get stopped by Jane and Ami and tall Chris and\r\nMichel, not Sickler, who has left, but tall Chris\'s friend Michael. He is making a compendium of poetry and has\r\nbought, he says, a ton of on-line space and wants the Pink Eraser poem and\r\nlike, he says, to publish all of Desire. \r\nI laugh, it\'s a thousand pages long, I say. He says he has space and will do it. I give him my email. \r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n11:27 PM I\'m home. \r\nI\'m tired. Very tired. But I am having one of those unpleasant\r\nproblems that seem to be associated with growing older that no one really likes\r\nto talk about and I particularly HATE: \r\nI\'m constipated. Ugh. Ouch, Yuk. \r\nWhat a waste of time. I wonder\r\nif those meds, like the last one, cause constipation, because I am taking\r\nprunes and bran with every meal. \r\nDang. Sorry. :-(",1]
);
D(["mb","- Show quoted text -\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n-- I am certain of nothing but the Heart\'s affections and the truth of the Imagination- John KeatsMary\r\n\r\n",0]
);
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10:57 I try to leave but on my way out the door, I get stopped by Jane and Ami and tall Chris and Michael, not Sickler, who has left, but tall Chris's friend Michael. He is making a compendium of poetry and has bought, he says, a ton of on-line space and wants the Pink Eraser poem and like, he says, to publish all of Desire. I laugh, it's a thousand pages long, I say. He says he has space and will do it. I give him my email.
11:27 PM I'm home. I'm tired. Very tired. But I am having one of those unpleasant problems that seem to be associated with growing older that no one really likes to talk about and I particularly HATE: I'm constipated. Ugh. Ouch, Yuk. What a waste of time. I wonder if those meds, like the last one, cause constipation, because I am taking prunes and bran with every meal. Dang. Sorry. :-(

SILK CREEK RETREAT 05 RAW

SILK CREEK RETREA 05

September 24, 2005, 4:21 PM

I am sitting on Scott's couch in his livingroom waiting for him to get ready for our annual Silk Creek Retreat. I had said I'd come at 3 PM and was an hour late getting here, and I was hoping he' be ready, but he's not. I brought food. He said he'd go to a neighbor's and get a zucchini, but I don't think he did that, either. He seems really out of it so much so that I am worrying about him and have asked several times if he's OK. He says, "Well, I think my blood sugar is OK." Meaning that hes not OK, maybe mentally or emotionally, but he's OK physically. Or, at least I assume that's what he means.

I can hear him rattling around. Oliver, the cat, who is very talkative, keeps mewing. And beyond that is the sound of ticking. The grandfather clock and another clock are both ticking loudly and there are lots of other ticking sounds.

"I'm almost ready, he says, sounding a little sad and apologetic.

"Okay," I say, cheerfully, not wanting to benagry with him.

I am writingon the Psion, old Pasada B with the broken screen. I cannot see what I am writing, so if I make typos etc, I'm in toruble, but worse yet, if I get interrupted, I have no way to regain my thought or even to know if I've laready written a word.

I can't go back and read what I have written and revise it or epand upon it, something that will make writing poetry difficult. I have no notes, like the ones I was making on my Milly and Bud story. Only whatever I can dredge out of my memory, because I have no access to them. They are here, on the computer, but not available to me.

I ordered a new Psion. I also bid on one on eBay and forgot to check it. Last time I looke, yesterday, there was 13 plus hours left, but those 13 hours are GONE and I forgot to see if I won. Shouldn't they have sent me an email? YES! BUT to my comcast address, which I never check any more. Argh! I need to go

Shit. I mean, Dang! Both of the new Psions are USED so I don't know how they'll be. I need t check. I need to chnage my primary address on gmail.

Scott says he's ready at 4:38 PM and I shoulder my pack and head out, but he dashed off to the bathroom.

He comes back and adjusts the load on his pack.

10:41 PM Well, here I am, finally, seated in the dark on the brink of the high embankment (cliff) over silk creek. It was a long time coming. We did come up earlier, while it was still daylight, and set the tents up. Then we went back and I made supper, a steak stir fry with shiitakes, brocoli, peas.

Then we loaded up with more gear--the AC power supply, the CPAP etc, and heaed back down to the creek. When we got there, Scott, fell in. I mean really IN. He had his diabetes pump, his cell phone, his digital camera, etc etc, books.

Luckily he wasn't hurt and the diabetes pump still seems to work and the digital camera,but the cell phone isn't working. I hope it works when it dries out.

He was drenched and his bots were full of water, so we went back up to the ouse and spread things out to dry. He showered and dressed in clean clothes (meanwhile, I called keith), and put his wet clothes in the wash, and we came back up again.

It's hard walking in the dark where there'sno trail. At night, you can't see any landmarks and you can't see the herd paths made by the deer excpet where they are well worn. Everyting seems farther. But we did make it.

This is the silk Creek Rereat and I feel as if I should be witing, writing something more meaningful thanour tale of woe. Well, it could be a lot worse. But I.m tired. I want to go to bed.

Earlier, I was enjoying listening to the crickets and katydids. I was playing with my ears, making the sound loder and softer by creating animal ears. Now, here above the creek, I can hear nothing but the rush of water.

A small miracle has happened, the liquid crystal blob that leaked out of the crack in Pasada B's screen has migrated back to the right side of the screen and I can see the left half. For a whhile, I couldn't see it at all. The tocuh screen still doesn't work, and I can:t use the right half of the menu, but I was able to chhnage the font size to huge so I could seeit in the dim light of the red-fiiltered headlamp on it's low setting.

Scott had already gone to bed and shut off his light before I came over to sit on the brink of the cliff.

I would right a poem. I would write nonfiction. I would write a story. But you have to start somewhere.

And I have lost the starting place.

It was your first, tonight, to fall

into the creek.

11:05 PM I was going to try to write a poem, but it was awkward, there on the brink, with the hemlock roots gouging into my butt . I decided I was too tired and I came into the tent and changed my clothes--sort of. I must have left my PJ tops at home where I was packing, so I am wearing the the thin fleece PJ bottoms and the sweaty green Thornden Park T-shirt Sara gave me that I hiked up here in.

Scott is still awake, grumbling he frgot his reading glasses (how can he read in the dark?) I offer him mine, but he declines.

I worry that the AC thing may not run the CPAP all night--guess I will find out, though.

I ate shiitake mushrooms for supper, for the first time in a wee, as I was suspecting them of making me isick. I do feel just faintly queasy and ill. But not enough, at least not yet, to blame the shiitakes.

It was your first time, tonight, to fall in the creek, stepping toward the dark waters, your arms outstretched.

I'm too tierd.

Sunday, September 25, 20005, 8:23 AM I am trapped in a small tent in the woods. I say "trapped" because I have to pee, and it is raining pretty hard. I don't have a change of clothes up here, so I'd prefer not to get wet, since I wanted to spend a part of the day, onring, early afternoon, writing. And reading.

I head the rain coming, first the wind,and the the quintessential wall of rain.

I was awakened at that point by a branch hitting the tent. It reminded me of the dangers of camping in hugh winds. Luckily it was only a small branch, but a lot of people were killed camping in that Labor storm with its wind shears.

The tent leaks, but not too badly.

I dreamed at one point, sure proofthat in spite of many issues, I did get some sleep. I dreamed that I am being mean to a boy. The boy is younger than Graham and blond. Shorter hair, round-faced, sort of. Looks nothing like Graham. He's chewing on a washcloth and I pull if out of his mouth and smack him in the face with it, not hard, but tauntingly, over and over. I wake up feeling bad about it, feeling mean. There are other kids in the dream and I'm not being mean to them, only to this one boy. The dreams makes meunhappy and uncomfrtable inmy own skin. I don't want to be mean to anyone.

It occurs to me that the boy could be myself, the male aspect of myself, as seen in the vision with the rattlesnake and the cicada at Pueblo. Or, it could be a representation of the meanness within, a shadow slef that sneaks out occasionally. It cold be showing up because I've been thinking lately of something mean I once did at the most where I egged someone on to do soemthing and then got them in trouble for it.

I did not exactly have a good night. I did not have my foam matteresses I normally use, they are all in Detroit. I wonder if I should bringa couple back. I hate bringing things back when I'm trying to get moved. AK!

I could not get comfortable on the thin backpacking mattress I had. Have. No matter which way I turned, The ground seeme horriblyhard, seemed to be pressing against somepart of me that hurt--my hips, my shoulders. Fibromyalgia an thin mattresses and old age don't go well together.

The rainw as just dying out and I was thinking of venturing out, and then I hear another "wall" of it approaching through the trees and woods. Battering the leaves.

I keep changing positions, I can.t get comfortable.

I finally did drift off to sleep, woke numerous times to turn because the pain was getting too uncomfortable.

Sirens outside. Hope Scott'shouse is safe. They are very nearby.

At about 3:45 AM, I think I had an apnea event--I was dreaming about being built into wooden claustrophobic boxes andnot being able to breathe. I woke up gasping for air and had to take my CPAP mask off. I was breathing in deep breaths feeling deprived of air. When I have an apnea event, it always takes a while to feel as if I can breathe OK and have enough air. In the process, the CPAP make came apart and I had to turn on my headlamp, disassemble it and reassemble it,which is a difficult task. By the time I finshed it, well after 4 AM, I was wide awake. The CPAP did not seem to be generating anough pressure, and I wondered if that was the cause of the apnea event and if it was caused by the power AC unit running out of huice. I was very tired from a restless uncomefortable night and decided to sleep again. At some point, the AC unit began squeaking and I turned off the CPAP and took off the mask.. A while later, it began squeaking again and I unplugged the CPAP. I drifted back to sleepto sleep without the CPAP, which is supposed to be bad and exascerbate the fibro, but I was so tired I couldn't help it.

Now I am all stiff and painful an no .atter which way I trun, I can't getcomfortable.

The rain is letting up again, so I am going to attempt a venture out, although here comes another wave.

Camping, especially backpacking, has a certain mumber of disadvantages.

I venture out, emergine from the deep dark blue of tent into a brighter rainsoaked wods. Scott appears to be sleeping soundly, though sveral times earlier, I heard him groaning or making other noises that indicated he was awake.Keeping my tent between me and his tent, I walk a ways into the woods and pee. Then walk to the rim of the cliff and look down. The creek looks about the smae. It hasn't rained enough to raise it, just to soak all our gear and dampen our spirits a little. I climb back into my tent, dragging with me wet leaves and mud. I went out barefotted and in my PJs, so my feet are muddy and my PJs wet. The upper PJ is the Thornden Park T-shirt which I also have to wear today, at least until I get back to the car.

The tent has leaked in a number of places--it probably needs to be seam-sealed. So even the gear inside the tent and inside the vestibule is gettinga little wet.

One of the disadntages of this tent is that it is so small. I cannot find a comfortable position. If I were home, I'd sit in the somputer chair. It seems the most comfortable chair I have, for my fibromyalgia. The trip back and the rest of the days actiities will be negatively impacted by my increased pain.

I feel as if all I am doing is complaining and that is annoying. I came here to write.

***

The Plunge

It was your first time, tonight. stepping toward

the dark waters, burdened with blankets

and light. Your first time. The dark weeds were tall,

the nettles stinging your bare legs. You struck

at them with a stick, as if they were serpent

while the weight swung precariously on your back.

You reached out a foot for stepping stone, a foot

for the dark water, and slippe. It was sudden,

unexpected, that plunge into the icy creek,

the water swelling up around you, your body

slipping into the dark current. You hat swirled

away downstream and you plunged after it,

staggering to shore with the prize, dripping,

angry, embarrassed. Your dumpded a quart and a half from each boot.

slogged home up the hill Y

all these years you've lived on the creek,

and you never fell in. Now you can laugh

And you do, and you don't. You're poised

On the creek bank in the nettle, one foot

stretched toward the water. YOU still have to cross the dark water.

^^^

"Always an adventure"

****

Well, I've written a poem, but i can't tell how it is because I can't reread it. I can't fix any typos and I can't edit it. Because I can't see it, only the first word or two or three of each line.

OK, it may not be good, but at least I WROTE something. I wanted to write simply and well, with complex layering and multiple asides, like Marianne Boruch. "Simple" language, Imean, not simple porty, but what came out was soemthing very different, with sexual and mythogoical and Biblical undertones and implications. I can't seem to help myself.

I'm very tired and my eyes hurt. Scott still seems to be aslep. I I'm getting hungry.

I disassemble the CPAP and mask, pack them into the inner and outer cases, and then pack that whole assembly into A day pack It took me two trips to haul everything up, because of the CPAP, and probably will take two trip to haul it all down. Maybe even more, if Scott doesn't carry the AC power supply, that thing is heavy.

I take off my T-shirt and put on my bra and put my T-shit back--presto, I'm half dressed. I don't put on the tank top I was wearing because it's wet, got rained on, dripped on. I take a few pictures inside the tent,none of which turns out well. The flash washes everything out and the shot without a flash was too long an exposure to be handheld. It's very dark in here, inside two layers of tent under a hemlock and beech under a dark clody sky. I have to use the headlamp to see, even though it is 9:47 AM.

I stuff my sleeping bag into it's stuff sack. It's damp, so I will have to unstuff it at home so it can dry out.

I must be getting old. It seems to me that getting ready to go camping , camping itself, packing up afterwards, setting up, hauling out, rying out and putting away is all much more work than the pelasure derived. It actually is more work and less fun than it used to be. I have to haulmore stuff (Cpap, extra mattresses etc, battery pack) and I am in more pain, than I used to be.

Going on a oNE-day camping expedition is probably not worth it. If you stay longer, then maybe. Because then the proportion of pleasure at least theoretically can expland relative to the emount of hassle and pain.

This is going to amount to two or more days of "work" for one evening of pain.

I'm still sort of glad t be here.

Scott really wanted tocome up, really wanted me to come with him. And, in honor of our friendship and all the previous Silk Creek Retreats, , I wanted to come, to be here for him, to do it myself. But I'm huddled uncomfortably in a daark small tent while it rains outside. Hardly inspiring. If I didn't have to keep changing position every minute or two because something hurt, it might help.

Ah, the joys of camping, and we still have to break trail and ferry all this gear through the woods and back across the creek. Probaly in the rain.

One thing this accomplished was getting me to order one or two more used Psions. I could imagine being out here without one. This one wasn't working.

I yank the compression straps on the sleeping bag case, yank and yank to make it small enough to pack. The rain beats downon the tent and on the leaves above the tent. I had been hoping it would stop so I could eat breakfast outside, above the creek. But I think I am going to give up and eat in the tent. I'm hungry and i've been hungry a long time.

For breakfast, I have dry cereal with rice milk and a teaspoonful of bran. Something is peepeing outside that sounds like a peeper, which reminds me, I saw a small drog when I went out earlier.

10:21 AM well, breakfast is over. All eaten. I am huddled in the tent . The rain has let up a little, but big plops are falling from the trees as the wind rises and falls.

I sit in the dark, blue-lit tent with my red headlamp on and I think of Grahndfather, in Tom Jones, telling him not to retreat on a mountaintop with a beautiful visita, but deep in the dark woods, in a tanle of brush. But, that's for vision questing, and I didn't come here for vision questing, I came to write in the woods. I could just as wel be huddled by my big computer, blue, in my office at home. There it would be light and bright and comfortable. But I would be accessible to the world. And I could acess with world. The internet would bethere, and the telephone. And all the problems I need to deal with, the unfinished tasks.

Here, I can't do much. I can't pack much more until I am reay to go. I don.t want to pack the backpacking pad that I am sitting on, because then I'd have to sit on the cold, hard, wet ground. I don't want to pack the tent until I am ready t go,because then I'd have to sit in the rain.

I would MIND a vision, it's just not what I came here for. I used to go vision questing every year on my birthday and often several other time, but now irarely do that. I've lost touch with my spiritual life..

Being out in the woods alone is a sort of spiritual experience. I'm not alone,but Scott is still asleep, unless he's reading or writing very silently. Usually, when he wakes up, he makes some noises. I can't see him from inside my tent, nor hear him. Only the rain and the dripping and the wind and the creek, and now a train whistle, long and distant.

It seems like dusk in the blue tentlight and the red "firelight" of my headlamp. There's that peeping again. Cars on the road, distant. A woodpecker pecking, the sudden release of rain from some leaves.

Suddenly a character wantstts to tell a story, but I have no feeling at all for what she may wish to say, or her story is.

Arianna huddled in the wettent, pulling her scratchy wool shirt closer around her, listedned to the wind rise and fall in the trees. It seemed like dusk in the dim light of the small tent. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her legs. The damp seemed to be seeping coldly into her, reaching under the warmth of all her many layers to chill her.

Beyond the gorge, a siren shrieked and then another. A wispof smoke rose from the house, a lick of flame. They would look for her body,but they wouldn't find it in the rubble. And no one would look here for her. She was too old, they would think, to scale the gorge walls.

Too old to camp, too, Arianna thought. Way to old. She twisted this way and that, trying to get comfortable.

----

I do a yoga posture for my bakc. I am thinking about this story, how wrng it is, in a sense. I don.t need to start alot of stories, I need to write middles and endings and revsions of all the ones I've already started. But I can't do that here.

Arianna is in a tent in the woods in the rain. But if she's set her house a fire and run away across the gorge, there has to be a reason for it. I don't know what that reason is. IT sounds lie the beginningof a novel rather than a short stroy. What about Bud and Lily?

Maybe Arianna was raped. Why would someone rape an older woman, and why would she destroy her house and take to the wods. Maybe her husband was abusive and she hit him with a shovel and accidentlly killed him, after he raped her. Can a husband rape a wife. YES, the answer to that is yes.

But is that what happened?

Someone, Sue Monk Kidd, maybe, said, the task of a novelist is to take a bad situation and make it worse. But if it starts out this bad, it.ll have to get MUCH worse. Maybe it should start somewhere else.

Maybe the husband throws the bathe baby up in the air maybe the husband shakes the baby and kills it, accidentlaly, and then Ariann accidentlly kills the husband.

No, no no, that's not it.

The husband has been abusive, has beaten her, has had affairs, and then Arianna falls in love with another man, a neighbor, who is kind to her. They don't have sex, because Arianna doesn't think it's right., and also is afraid of Herman, the husband. But Herman is still jealous of Randy. No, Randy is not a good name. Randy implies sexual wildness and indiscretion. it also could be a boyish fellow, but I don't like the implications. Or, maybe it would be a randy and she does have indiscretions. Or, maybe it would be better for Randy to stay home and Herman to just be abusive and force her to have sex with him and she hits him with the shovel and kills him accidentall. AK

I don't lke this story.

I think i.ll go back to Milli and Bud. maybe.

My hair is a rat'snest form thrashing about in here, so I dig out my little folding backpacking brush and brush it out and braid it. Luxkily, there are rubber bands in there, because I forgot to bring any. That is, they are in the pack of stuff that lives in the backpack.

I don.t really want to think about milli an Bud.

Slould I make myself? Or should I read??

There are leaves all over my yellow blanket,which I just washed yesterday.

The screen has disappeared off the Psion and is gone entirely. Well, the physical screen is there, but it is utterly blank. Just the big blob of liquid crystal which is gathered around the crack. No words at all. This may be a good time to do soem reading!!!

I read Marianne boruch's poem, at the Y. I readit again. She read it at the reading at the Y, whe first poem she read. I heard most of it, but hadn't yet inhabited it. Even after reading it twice, only my right arm, shoulder and breast have entered the poem. But I could see then and can see nwo what a wonderful poem it is. And how to read a book of her poems cold take years, because it might take a week to really read one poem. Or maybe it's just me, with my ADD:.

This is a forced concentration, sitting in this dark hole, maybe that's why Tom Brown's grandfather said so. But deep and enclosed as it is, internal and inwadas it is, I stilll can.t concentrate.

But Ritalin would make it worse, not better. I don't see how it could help.

I am writing into a void. There is nothing but the blank screen. I don't know if it is recording. A siren goes off, rises, and then slowly slowly fades in a lng attentuated mournful hwl. I think it might be noon, but it is not. It is 11:37 AM.

I had the tent open earlier, but I closed it because rain was coming in, and I was cold. Train whistle. Now I open it and peer out. The rain seems to have stopped but the trees are dripping, the forst floor is saturated. It is dark and wet and cold and uninviting. I zip the tent back up.

I wonder if I should wake Scott. He has somehwere to be at 2:00.

I holler over to Scoot, "Are you awake?" He says yes, but sounds asif I woke him. I ask about his 2:00 appointment, we both stick our eads out and talk. He says he has to be there at 2:00 and play at 32:15. He says he wanted me to be here with him, bbut he doesn't wantto write. He implies this is't the real Silk Creek Retreat. I thought we'd decided it was. Hmm.

Lotta work if it wasn't!

I take off my Pajama bottoms and put on my damp shorts and am officially dressed.I am about to emerge from the tent when I hear Scott crashing around in the bushes, so I decide to wait a few minutes before I go out. I put my damp raincoat on so that when I do go out, I'll be protected from all the wet foliage and the dripping. It is windy enough so that the dripping will be blown away to some extent shortly, maybe, if the rain doesn't start up again.

12:09 PM I finally get tired of waiting for Scott to return and I climb out of my tent and into my sandals and half stagger to the rim of the cliff of the gorge above the creek and sit in a cradle of broots of a big old hemlock that clings to the edge of the cliff. My feet hand over and I lean forward into the open space and feel for a moment as if i might pictch forward into the creek.. I'm not sure how I'll et up from here.

The sun comes out, weakly, then a little stronger, I can't really see the sky through te branches so I don't know if it.s clearing or not. what I see is a screen of leaves that falls over me, that actauually falls befow me, but is swept up continuously by the wind, and above and below that, a screen of hemlock brnches, angular and fin, and beyond that, butternut or black walnut, I'm not sure which, a yellow feathery charteuse.

I read an emily Dickinson poem before I came out, one in marianne Boruch's book, In the Blue Pharmacy , and that and the poem about the Y made me thin and feel that I don't like the person I've become sincefibromyalgia and insomnia, always in pain, always complaining. I want to be deeper and more sensitive, I want to be less self-centered. I notice that I think about myself MORE when I am in pain than when I am not. I am nmore open and loving.

Scott said nothing to me when he leaft, but he still hasn't come back. I'd assumed he'd gone to pee, since that's the first thing I do when I wake up. But he's been gone so long. Did he go off tramping. I feel slightly worried and a littel concerned because I might lie to go ff trmping, too, might like to pee again, might like to talk to him before heleaves, but since I don.t know what he's doing or were he went, I feel a little trapped here. I wish he'd hae just said, I'm going off to pee, or I'm going to go write at hiker kitty ridge or I'm going bakc home or whatever. I don't want to tramp into the woods and interrupt hhim if he's at his tolet. I don.t want to take off for a walk if he's wanting to go for a walk with me. Communication is such an issue. Why don't or can't people communicate better?

See, here I go complaining.

I can chane no one but myself, and I am lucky if I can do that.

I want to take a picture of myself sitting here above the creek.it's 12:25 and Scott is still gone. My guess is he's gone off for a walk without me, which sort of annoys me, since last night, we'd discussed taking a walktogether and I was waiting for HIM, since he said he wanted to do that, but he didn't wait for me. I don't think he want back to the house because he left the tent open. I could go off and walk by myself, but if he's still out there pooping or soemthing, I.d interfere, maybe, and if he comes back another way, I won't be here to see him off when he leaves for his music thing at the church.

COMMUNICATION! A simple explanation of what's going on would make mylife better. I can understand him not mentioning it if he was jst going to the bathroom and comingright back, but it's been half an hour.

Or more.Oh, there he is, or there someone is, dressed very much like him. It is him, and he's taking pictures.

I just wasted more than a half hour of my time obsessing over what to do because I didn't know what he was doing.

Scott and I are down at Bubbles cascades. He had gone to "relieve himself" and since the woods were so open, he'd walked a long ways, and had gotten distracted along the way looking atthings and taking pictures. I'm glad I did wait for him, because we walked up the hill together, and then went into the "Adirondack" area an dtook pictues, and then creekwalked down here to bubbles cascade without our sticks and are sitting on the bubbles ledge where we could write.

The leaves circle in swirls of foam below the bubbles cascade falls.

Scott, perched on a lege, looks handsome and manly

I take his picture, thinking personals, thinking, attracting women,

but he doesn't need that any more. He has

a sweetie, and i think, pictures for Vanessa.

The water flows toward us, tumblees over the legeds, swirls away

around the corner. The first leaves of fall

gather along the rocky banks

and catch on submerged branches. Fall

aumtumn has come, the golden days,

but for Scott, at last, it.s early spring.

]]]***

It's hard to write a poem when I cannot see what I am writing. I can't fix it.

I can' revise it. I can't even do line breaks because it's hard to know how it will look on the page.

Suddenly, some of the words become visible again. As if through fog.

Hey, i can see well enough to change the font size again, but it is still all broken up, hazy, and half-blocked by the lquid crystal blob. I can't see well enough to edit or revise, because I probablu can only see 22% of the words. But I can see well enough to know that the words I am wiritng are appearing and thus II can probably save them and work on them later.

3:18 PM We are back at Bubbles Cascades. We went back to the campsite for lunch. I had tuna with bran, which reminds me, I ate shiitakes and only felt faintly quesay afterwards. I don't know what was making me sick, maybe I ha a bug. Tuna and bran on hemp bred, water, and three prunes. I can go back and make any changes because there is no way to see where the cursor is, so if I leave something out, I have to repeat it.

I'm going to do a writing practice exercise a la Natalie Goldberg and I am making myself a promise that I can write absolutely anything, if something comes up, and I don't have to share it if I don't want to.

Scott is reading Natalie Goldberg now. My book.

I am, by the way, feeling better. My pain and tiredness and grumpiness have all subsided now that Iam out of the tent and can move around.

I think I am going to do something really obvious. I'm going to start with the tipoc of Silk Creek

Go:

I am sitting on the leges of Silk Creek's Bubbles cascades Falls, at the edge of frm pool. The ledges are still damp (read wet) from the morning rain. Colored leaves are swirling in foam pool, browns of tulip tree, yellws of prunus serotina, reds and pinks of wodbine. Leaves and foam islands circle aimlessly, or probably with some current pattern, looking like clouds on a weather map, making concentric patterns. Scott sits beside me in his $8 wallmart water sandals, his nice Khaki shorts amd a red T-shirt. He is writing furiously, using the same twenty minutes I am to write whatever he's chosen to write. I'm writing in Pasada B with its damaged screen and he is writing on a spiral notebook with a black ballpoint pen he borrowed from me because he doesn't havehis--it may have been left behind after he fell in the creek and we had to go back to the house for him to dry out ad repack. Notonly are there leaves flating on the surface of the water, but also submerged leaves that circle in a different ptattern, deeper, more omnious,moving like some mosnter. I dreamed one time there was a moster under the water. It turned out to be a submerged and waterlogged tree, but even when I knew this, I felt afraid of it, as if it threatened me is some deep and scary way. Beside us are the cascades where the water comes smootherly and silver fromt he sky to flow over the ledges in a rush the reminds me of Niagara in its small roaring way. Niagara, Tahquamenon. The falls where I met Keith, met him first at Tahquamenon falls,et him second at Niagara. Keith who is more than 400 miles away. My love. I had a "vision one timeof myself stading at the bottom of a huge falls, huger and more powerful than Niagara, and I stood on a rocky Island in te center of the river and all the water falling over the falls was energizing me, filling me with "radiant" energy, by which I mean, making me glow with inner strength, joy, energy, and that energy was radiating out and touching every area of my life and everyone I touched.

I felt that way for a while. But I have lost touch with my spiritual practice and it makes me sad. I have lost energy, I feel less loving. That drea I had last night about being "abusive" to some kid was really disturbing. The wind blows the pages of Scott's notebook and he tries to held the page down and keeps writing wildly, madly, like a man possessed. Beneath his feet is water. Benath is feat is water crees. Beneath his feet are and accumulation of bright wet falls leaves, undulating lightlu as the current llifts them and sets them down. Hunger. I don't know why i said that. I'm not physically hungry at all, but i have a hunger for something. For soemthing deep and spiritual, for jy, for happiness, for love, for satisfaction, for soemthing unnamable.

The wind roars in the trees and thewater roars over the casades, and the two roarings blend together. Beneath my feet, water, and the rocks, the ledges, and the rflections of the trees moving. I worry momentarily that it will rain again. I don't want it to rain until I have pakced my stuff safel down out of the "mountains", off the the highlands above the gorge. Ha ha, they call the run through here the "Alpine run" because that the place where it crosses, the walls of the groge are like mountintainsides.

The creek flows pas su, one small part diverting to swirl through foam pool, the rest sliding down over th rocks in riffes and rapids. The fishman we met a few days ago called this a "hle" and said he caught a bown trout in this hle, a nice one. I think the word pool is nicer than the word "hole" but maybe it's the deep spot where the trout are that is the hle. It's in the hole, the deep spot, where is is darkk and covered with bubbles, that the submerged tree lies, the dark waterlogged one that scares me. It's not in this physical pool, but in some pool behind me, beind my eyes, in the dark world that follows me around, that I could fall abckwards into. The snag is dead. It's inert. It has long sharp branches, like a hemlock. They are a threat, you couldget caught there and drown. I could. a leaf floats among the other leaves in fam pool, white and translucent, as if it had been circling the pool forever and had lost all its color. The other leaves look newly torn away and recent, colorfil. This is the ghost leaf, the one with te dead eyes, the one under the water. It goes by again, neither under the water or floating, but just belw the surface, like a threat, covered with foam, like soemthing rotting.

Rotting is a good thing, an important thing. Ecologically, it recycles that which has died so that it can reused by the living. It's that word died that is scary to me. Rotting implies death and death is scary to me I'm not afraid of being dead, not too, anyway, but afraid f dying. I'M afraid of pain. I am also afraid of oss, the loss of myself. Of not being. I think probably once we are dead, we're just dead. We don't suffer and we don.t feel and we have no consciousness, so there is really nothing to worry about int hat state. I don't of curse know fr sure. There's no way to now for sure. But I think that's proably the case and it's not to be feared once you're all the way there. But losing this is scary. Lsoing the fresh sell of the wind, the rushing and circling water, Scott, who has stopped writing and rocks on his haunches ookin up at the sky. Ceasing is scary. It's scarier even than the pain But if the pain were too bad, then Id rather cease because it would no longer be the red woodbine on the dead elms and the trees with their orange leaves an green leaves. So even though I fear ceasing more than I fear pain, in the end, I would choose ceasing over pain, I think. I don't like pain.

3:53 PM Well, I wrote for 30 minutes instead of 20. I told Scott at 4:00, I would want to go back and pack up the gear and start ferrying it back, because I think I will have to make two trips, maybe 3. And I have no supper. Andit is always hard to leave.

But it is hard to leave hERE! This is what I want when I'm in Detroit, this is what I long for. Not scott, but Silk Creek. I mean I like Scott, I love him, as a friend, but I love Keith as my partner. I want to be with him. But Keith and I rarely sit for a long time in a quiet natural place and GROK. Boy, there's an old world. Don't hear that much any more. But we don't. We rarely sit quiet and read, each of

each of us reading our own book, happy and quiet in each other's copany. I don't know why we do't do that, I wish we did. Keith is too busy, I'm too busy, we have a kid with needs an aactivties, but somehow we need to make quiet time for nature and contemplation, for reading ec. Somehow.

We do go and sit in quiet naturl places together sometimes, like at metrobeach and Stoney Creek and Bele Isle. But there is nothing quite like this there Nothing WILD.

I get so that I long for it so. And we didn:t camp much this year.

I have to remind myself, this is why I come camping THIS is why I put up with the time involved and discomforts and so on. Tobe in this beuatiful peaceful place and to finally relax. To let down. To breathe out. For a short time to relase my commitments.

After all, I AM glad I came.

Its4:00 and we probaly should head back and pack up, but I don't want to. WAHN!

I'm glad I ahve Scott as a friend. If it weren't for his badgering, I probably wouldn't be here now, I.d be dorking around with all sorts of issues at home.

Scott reads me his piece, but I can't read miine with my bad screen I kept watching the little minnows, but forgot to mention them, because I was always in the middle of another though,t, and the asters, the blue and purple and white asters, the calico, the small andlarge ones.

Scott is fascinated by the bees. There are bees hovering on a little rocky island. The Psion is flashing and freaking out an I amafraid it may just died.

8:39PM I am home. I was starved and just as I was about to make dinner,t he power went out and I waited a while and finally ate two bowls of dry cereal. I wanted more. My appetite is coming back. But i said, no ma.am, 2's enough. and I stopped.

The power went out and it is still. I can't do laundry or shower or download the pix from Silk Creek.

9:04 PM I am up in my"office." I ate my prunes and talked to Keith on the phoneonce to warm him I had no power, and I took the sheets off Graham's bed. I had lit some candles, but the bird started flying around crshing into things so I blew the candles out. I am sitting in here with my headlamp. I can hear generators brningat the nighbors. But outside, I see no ights at all.. I am sitting in the office smeling the stink of blown out candles, listeing to the generators, and waiting for Keith to call. In the dark.

This computer,unless it gets repaired,prolly isn't long for the world. I hope I can download it. Keith prolly won't call at 9:15 because he'll look on-ine first.

If the power doesn't come on before I go to bed, the radio will come on and lights will come on wen the power does come on. If I remember, I'dlike to turn the radio off. I decide to do it now, and go down and turn off the radio and as many lights as I can tell about. But I knock into the hall switch in the dark and ca't tell if it is on or off, becaue there are two switches..