Ancestors

In a dream I rode on a bus with aunts,

Aunt Maude, Aunt Belle, Gloria.

They placed their ancient hands on mine,

gentle as moths,

as each of them said my name.

Road Trips for NAMI

Just talked to my friend Gregory. I have now been published by him in his online profile. "My friend says I am Buddha's brother." He is--infinitely kind and gentle. We traveled all over King County a couple years ago giving talks for NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Alliance). He used to complain that I made him miss the exits because I would bring up an interesting topic just before we were supposed to turn. "Did you know that Churchill called his depressions 'the old black dog'?" I'd say. "Really?" Gregory would say and then "Damn, I missed it." At his request, I worked hard to stop distracting his driving. After a year, we knew each other so well, we were like a married couple. We're less like that now except when we are.

Colors Passing Through Us

Today at writing group, we celebrated color with the help of art supplies and Marge Piercy's marvelous poem, Colors Passing Through Us. After creating an explosion of crayon on my paper, I wrote this: "When I see this color, kind of a neon green, I feel happy. I saw it on the collar of a woman's coat yesterday and had to restrain myself from touching her coat. If this color was a room, I'd go missing. If this color was a boat, I'd never come home. It is a singing color, my mother belting out a Christmas carol, my two sisters playing the flute in church, Chopin, a lone whistler on a quiet street. This color says, Marry me, and I say, I do. We go to Vegas. The preacher, of course, looks like Judy Garland and, hat low over one eyes, she winks with the other and is this color. This color is the last Olly Olly In Come Free of summer and I am twelve and say to myself, I will never get tagged out again, and I am right."

The Skype Incident

Today, my friend Bill set me up for skype, however, my computer has audio but no videocam. He tested the system later in the day. I was just out of the shower and sitting on my bed half-naked when I pressed on the receive button. I got confused about what could be visible and yelled, "Did you see me?" He and another friend were watching a football game upstairs and were helpless with laughter. "Yes, we did!" they finally sputtered. Their faces were live and mobile. I was being incinerated by embarrassment before I realized they couldn't have seen a thing. Both of them nailed an impression of my voice to repeat at dinner. Dead-on. I swear I try to live like a dignified lady and I never quite pull it off.

Fly Fishing with Doris

I dreampt that Doris Day in her slightly scruffier later years made me a sandwich. Then she and I and several others went fly fishing off a cliff side. The sun was out, and Doris, who was in fine form, caught a salmon. Although it was sunny and breezy, I and a boy I didn't know, sang Singing in the Rain loudly and off-key.

In My Dreams

Sunday afternoon and we're all home, except Phil. Projects upstairs, down. The dryer clanking. NPR on the kitchen radio. "I'm going to be emotional," a woman said as I listen on my way to the restroom, having no idea of context. Then the woman is emotional and the NPR reporter so graceful about it. Deb is blending apples from the tree. Bill is sawing. I'm cleaning as usual. Light dapples the house. It is fine to be my age. It is fine to have arrived here. In my dreams from childhood, this should have been one.

Early Zines

"Burke's Printing Poetry [was] the essential text for aesthetics, design, and letterpress production of handmade poetry books. Craftmanship is meditative, and it is in a way devotional," he wrote. "We watch our hands leap to the work, well trained and eager.

From Ink under the Fingernails by Bob Rose in the anthology, Fishtown and the Skagit River.