Busy is Better

In order to push the pen into my hand a little more often, I’ve signed up for a poetry workshop this semester with David Rivard. Who knows? I may even get a chunk of my book written. One of the two collections, at least, will benefit this winter/spring. It needs to happen.

It’s never easy to start writing again after a hiatus. Not that I’ve been completely neglectful. Once in a while I jot down a few lines, tweak an old poem I’d put away for a few months, or resubmit something that’s been rejected three times. But it has been a while since I’ve felt like a writer, a poet. That changes right now. After half a bottle of wine this evening, I tucked myself into the couch and stared at a blank Word document. That same file, two hours later, is no longer blank. It may be a couple of weeks before the full groove has returned. Right now the process feels forced and I’m looking forward to the days when soon the old hat will easily slip right on the moment I sit down to poem. We poets are creatures of habit, you know. It’s all about the ritual.

I’ll be taking two lit courses this term, as well (Beowulf and Early Modern Drama). And there’s the usual teaching bit, too. My plate will be full. And did I mention I’ve found a new yoga studio? I’m placing things back on track. Busy is better.

 

Leaving Snacks for Hammy

We’ve made a new friend, dubbed Hamilton James Squirrel, esq.  Hammy is now officially Braghan’s mascot and can occasionally be seen building his nest on the rooftop of the house next to ours. He looks to be a grey squirrel, bushy tail and all (though not as flamboyantly bushy as some – he’s modest, you know). Sometimes we leave little edible presents for him. The other day as we sat on our rooftop veranda, sipping coffee, reading, and grading papers, I felt obliged to offer him the remains of my bagel and cream cheese. This as an homage to Foamy the Squirrel, surely. We assume from Foamy’s example that all squirrels appreciate the bagels and creamy cheese. As he nestles in for the winter, we hope he has stored up a sufficient amount of nuts.

For further updates on Hammy, I refer you to the Braghan and Squirrel page.

 

October Summary

I’ve been meaning to catch up the blog on my adventures in October. It was a full month, living by the sea, spending Canadian Thanksgiving with family in New Brunswick, carving pumpkins on my porch with good friends, and finally moving into my new apartment in Dover.

In brief, a photo summary: We must start with the beach. Just how wonderful was it to have this in my back yard? Equalling thrilling, however, was finally being able to move into my new apartment. Since the move, I’ve been enjoying a central social life, including a fabulous pumpkin carving evening.

Pumpkin carving.

Our respective pumpkins.

Braghan’s trivia night triumph

The latest bit of news, however, is the merger of Brad and myself into Braghan. See Braghan and Squirrel for more details.

 

Life’s a Beach

 How happy am I that I get to wake up to this every morning for the month of October? Answer: very. The second I step out my door, I get a whiff of salt sea air and listen to the waves, just feet from my little studio vacation rental.

I moved in yesterday (in the rain and drizzle) with the much-appreciated help of Brad. After unloading Penelope (good girl, Penny), we went for a walk on the beach and up and down the boardwalk. While I have my choice of a plethora of fry doe joints, there is not, however, an abundance of good restaurants (or, really, just food that hasn’t been in the deep fat fryer). A word of advice: if you’re ever on Hampton Beach boardwalk, make sure you don’t eat at Mamma Leone’s. I’m pretty sure it belongs on an episode of Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. Yeck.

Good foods dearth aside, I’m looking forward to a month of Atlantic inspiration. The commute is doable – 30 minutes to campus – and well worth the moments of seaside glory. Yesterday, I waded knee-deep in the water, surprised at the mild temperature. My jeans were half-soaked and, after I hung them up to dry, I think half the beach was left on my boot-cuts. Now I get to walk around with beach attached to me. I feel like a fugitive of income tax evasion, staking out my time on an off-season resort.

I love October.

 

Izak the Goat

Meet Izak the goat. He’s friendly, pure white, eighteen months old, and likes to patrol around Dover, NH with his loving owner. Ah, the benefits of knowing your town’s local characters. Sadly, as I was out for a walk today, I did not happen to take my phone or camera with me and, therefore, did not get a snapshot of the cuteness that is Izak. My new goal is to remedy this as soon as possible. Stay tuned for more updates on Izak…

In the meantime, I have five more days until I move out of my current quarters and into a lovely vacation rental on Hampton Beach for the month of October. Yes, I have finally found roof and respite for my favourite month. This time next week I will be snug in my beachside studio. Very excited. You can count on many seascape pictures in the near future.

 

Hunting for Any-Coloured October

Today, I secured my living situation from November 1, 2011 to May 31, 2013. Yes! Awesome little one bedroom apartment in Dover, you are MINE! Here I come!

But wait… not yet. I still need somewhere for October. My temporary housing situation is about to run out in two weeks and I still haven’t figured out where I’ll be storing myself and all of my belongings for the greatest month of the year (Hello? Halloween? Fall colours? Apples? Caramel? Sweaters? Pumpkins? Air I can breathe?).

Something will work out, I’m sure. In the meantime, all I’ve been craving is a moment to write a poem. It’s been a busy week; I’m exhausted. But I couldn’t end my day without jotting down a few lines. For inspiration, I thought of Craig. Some sappy sap for you, boss:

No Closure Wanted

Give me your genius –
all the work
you were going to do.

Stay.
Give me advice;
I’ll give you the credit.

Keep pointing your finger.
Help me love.

Write with me.

 

Stealthy Stealthy

Brad and I went a-hunting.

We explorers find the worthwhile nooks and crannies in life that make it seem like we’re children in a no-adults-allowed tree-house we’ve secretly built ourselves.

Newly formed: the Stealthy Stealthy Society for Yawpers.

Our meeting place(s) are unique. We obtained our latest acquirement through a few hours’ detective ninja work, leading finally to a nifty off-limits hideaway. There is pleasure in finding places you’re not supposed to find…

YAWP!!!

 

All Worth Remembering

Tenth anniversary of September 11. I have to say, I could only take so much of the memorial on NPR before I had to turn to other things. I’m an easy target for tears and – I think we can all agree – this event can never be remembered without bringing up harrowing emotions. For me, the combination of tragedy, love, hate, heroism, survival, sacrifice, trauma, community, horror, etc., is all too much. Overwhelming becomes an understatement.

Yet, today was a good day, and one to remember as well.

Last night, the University of Michigan football team kicked some Irish shamrock and I was still reeling when I woke up this morning, albeit slightly hoarse from having yelled a bit too loudly the night before. I believe most of Dover heard me. GO BLUE!

Right now I should be reading for my class in the morning. Instead, I’m glad to pause in order to write about the great evening I spent with great friends in our English department. We’re lucky, I think. The few I’ve been fortunate enough to spend time with have been terrific and I’m delighted I’ll be spending the next two years with them.

Tonight, Alison – most modest, yet talented fiction MFAer – made us fish tacos and corn on the cob while the rest of us (Jon the poet, Anna, my newly-appointed supermodel partner in crime and lit PhD extraordinaire, my soon-to-be-neighbour and Shakespearean sympathizer Brad, and Lisa, future NatGeo Renaissance woman) gabbed and gargled wine. This was soon followed by an attempt at Scrabble. I say attempt, because it seems as though we weren’t paying enough attention to Anna’s handsome dog, Roscoe (decked out in bow-tie and painted toenails), and he declared the game officially over by knocking all pieces off the board. Good boy! Kiara, on the other hand (Alison’s 12-year-old puppy) was a little princess in the corner who didn’t seem to mind our vocabulary mischief.

It’s going to be a good year.

(Photos, compliments of Lisa M.)

 

Getting Unstuck

It’s been a long, exhausting week. Having only been here three weeks, it feels as though everything has been dropping all at once.

This week my family and I said goodbye to my uncle Doug, known to me as the Candyman. Doug owned a candy shop in Saint John, NB when I was little – any child’s dream, right? Every time I’d visit, he let me fill up a brown paper bag of penny candy. Or, later, when he owned a malt shop off Loch Lomond Street, he supplied my addiction of chocolate malts. Each year at Christmas, he sent a box of candy to me in Michigan, and something sweet on my birthday in August. My own personal Willy Wonka.

Sadly, I couldn’t make the trip home to Canada for his funeral, which took place today. I’m told it was a lovely service at noon time and there were many in attendance who loved him. For my part, I sent home a poem to be read – “Dirge without Music” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Sometimes another poet’s words are more eloquent than your own.

Added to that is, naturally, the muddle of getting to know a new place, meeting new people, missing home, missing family, and getting used to a new university and a new way of doing things. Luckily, my haven has been my course on Wordsworth. Each Wednesday, I get to sit in a small classroom at a table with eight others and, for three hours, discuss the marvels of one amazing poet.

I’ve also been dealing with the stress of finding a new apartment. The one I’ve had my eye on is currently being renovated and it was only today that I put the paperwork in for it. Hopefully the contractors will push to have everything ready by October 1. My current situation is a strange mixture of comfort and inconvenience. I’m a social person who likes to be within walking distance of coffee shops and street lights. Here, I’m surrounded by dense forest and darkness. I’ve had to walk home from campus each night with a flashlight. It’s a beautifully finished basement apartment, but in an isolated location. Plus, we have mice. Oh, yes. The mice – my little friends in the ceiling. So, there is the stress of waiting for confirmation on the new diggs.

While on my way to put in the paperwork this morning for said new diggs, I got in my car and learned the hard way that all the rain we’ve been having lately has washed away half of the make-shift driveway in the woods where I’ve been parking. The ground is now just a pile of loose dirt and too soft to get any traction. Penelope slid and got herself stuck on some bizarre angle. Her left tires were spinning and her back right tire wasn’t even touching the ground.

I called Brad, who will soon (hopefully) be my new neighbour in Dover. He picked me up and took me to his building to meet with his landlord (soon to be my landlord). I left Penelope in her pickle until I could devote ample time to call AAA and get her out. She was patiently waiting for me when I got back. I called for roadside assistance and a large flatbed came to haul her up to paved ground. It wasn’t easy. Each time they pulled, her back left tire sank deeper into the loose dirt. Finally, the guy got out a shovel, dug her out around her tires, and placed a wooden plank to give her a sort of runway. At last, Penny is free and I’m planning on parking in the street from now on.

There are still things to stress over, of course. I’m still working out the kinks with my scheduling (my students, classes, homework, etc.) , still figuring things out financially, and just overall adjusting to a new life. But my optimism hasn’t run dry. I think it’s going to be a good two years here, once things finally settle.

 

Michigan moves to New England

A little more than two weeks ago, I was cramming in a birthday, a final exam, and a two-day moving trip in a small amount of time. It all hit me at once and, like ripping off a band-aid, it was too quick to feel.

The exam was a pleasant experience. Williams insists on calling them writing opportunities and now I understand why. He dislikes the term exam and now so do I. Thankfully, it was a pleasing end to a lovely summer term with my academic hero and I came away with another “A” from the University of Michigan – something I’ll be using for future application to their PhD program.

The past nine months at Michigan in Ann Arbor have been a great bonding experience with my home town. We experience our hometowns differently as we grow, I feel. I don’t see it the way I did when I was younger. In childhood, it was simply the place where my mother worked and I went to Catholic school. In high school, it was the place to come and do something – anything to get away from the small town of Hamburg, just north of A2. But who truly appreciates their hometown when they’re a teenager?

Oscar Wilde understood the change when he left Ireland and loved his home country from across the Irish Sea in England. Yeats often wrote about Ireland when he was away from it. They discovered the shift that happens in the relationship with one’s home. I’m starting to understand that now.

My parents wanted me to go to Michigan for my undergraduate education. However, being a teenager, I wanted to “go away to school.” The typical response, I believe. I don’t really regret that decision. Nor do I regret not applying to Michigan for my MFA, since my experience at Wyoming was so amazing. And now, for the next two years, I’ll be out east at the University of New Hampshire for the Masters in Literature, since Michigan doesn’t offer an MA program.

Just this past week, I gave my students an in-class writing assignment to describe their hometowns. It was a chance for them to discover that they can be proud of the places from where they come. A few responses stood out from the others, pride showing through with small descriptors that set a clear scene. It was obvious who truly knew their hometown as though it were an entity and character, as opposed to those who were simply telling me about Anytown, USA. That old “show, don’t tell.” We’ll work on that.

The trip here was a long haul, with my Honda Element (Penelope) so stuffed with boxes of books and my bike (O’Malley) that I couldn’t see out the back. I broke the drive in half by spending the night in Ottawa with my aunt Lizzie. I was lucky enough to get there in time for dinner and a walk on the River Parkway with my cute little cousin, Julyan. Naturally, I came bearing gifts of maize and blue and taught him the importance of saying “GO BLUE!” whenever he wears his new presents.

I’m excited to be in New England, a mere six hour drive from my family in eastern Canada. For the first time ever, I’m in a relatively close proximity to them. Already, I’ve planned to spend Canadian Thanksgiving in Saint John, NB.

I also can’t wait to explore the Maine shorelines. I’ve already spent a day-trip in Ogunquit, Maine and walking the Marginal Way – a footpath following the shoreline that leads to Perkin’s Cove. Here, I stopped for a lobster roll and some salt water taffy, which I took back to the beach with me to watch the sunset.

It’s going to be a a good two years when I’ve got this in my back yard: