tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62734132011-04-21T11:58:46.746-07:00A basement full of dusty jam jars, rusty faucets, cobwebs. Coincidentally, also the place I hang my laundry to dry. Lights or darks, depending on the load.Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comBlogger3111100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-21829160455159855022007-09-14T09:58:00.001-07:002007-09-14T11:06:20.911-07:00

Thanks for your interest and support over the past few years. I can't explain why exactly, but this blog hasn't been a priority for me the last several months - I've been happy and I think more specifically, occupied with interactions with my partner and kids during the times of day I used to post in the past. Writing has gone by the wayside for a while. Maybe its true that my writing is largely

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1176058612909661152007-04-08T11:48:00.000-07:002007-04-08T11:57:25.416-07:00

I apologize for being such a delinquent blogger. We went into overdrive trying to nail down a builder and designer for the house before they filled up for the building season. If we don't make some progress I won't have much more story to tell about the property until 2008!In the meantime, thought I'd share some other good news with you....

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1169192757899441102007-01-18T21:55:00.000-08:002007-01-18T23:56:33.826-08:00

CustodianWe followed the trail from rusted wheelbarrow around sequoiaPast shrugging rhodys on to the broken foundationWhere we found the scurried consideration of a foray into the trench. "Nothing of interest there" decided, Prints doubled back and up to the brick wall wherePaws would have found a break from the icy coldA balance beam run and down onto the sidewalkLeading under the shelter of

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1168993307128554462007-01-16T16:17:00.000-08:002007-01-16T16:21:47.130-08:00

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1168989002753710882007-01-16T13:52:00.000-08:002007-01-16T16:10:35.356-08:00

There's this tenant, see. Wayne.I'd change the names to protect the innocent but we figured out several months later that no one knew him by this given name anyhow. We met Wayne the day we toured the property with the real estate people. He worked nights so we needed to visit on his day off to see the house, but he was still there when we showed up. The broker who showed us the property was

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1168327528589885282007-01-08T23:32:00.000-08:002007-01-08T23:29:41.080-08:00

Actually this story about the land starts a few months back, but its been pretty busy and so I'll just have to work to catch things up. Lucky for you, that should leave out some rather boring stretches.Every five or six months since I first moved to Portland 20 years ago I'd been driving up a certain road a few miles east of my house. This may seem a bit odd, but there was a little turn out at

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1168327717101984852007-01-08T23:25:00.000-08:002007-01-08T23:28:37.116-08:00

A late Christmas greeting...captioned "Bah Humbug" by said feline.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1164271521890735862006-11-22T23:28:00.000-08:002006-11-23T00:45:22.713-08:00

Dear Dad,I'm writing you this letter, partly to reassure myself that when tomorrow comes, I needn't dread the loss of you again. A man only dies once I remind myself. Its been quite a year since you died, a lot of things have changed. I'm lucky to have a great relationship with a man whom you'd have loved talking to. Those stock ticker tapes you used to watch all the time when I'd come over?

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1154761328956071372006-08-04T23:51:00.000-07:002006-08-05T00:02:08.960-07:00

Moonrise over 23rdNarrow sidewalks force me close enough to smell their gin spiked breathCitric laughter floating on the air leftIn the wake of strappy sandalsCasually expensive beltsAnd a black lace bodice dressReminiscent of one I wore once to a murder mystery party.I was the madam of ill repute. (But only my fake eyelashes were murderousAs it turned out.)Tonight I am just a drab watcherOf

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1153951441708582712006-07-26T14:41:00.000-07:002006-07-26T15:04:01.763-07:00

Grief, eight months onIt seems like the files in the file cabinet that neatly held everything are now disorganized and bursting even though the file named "Dad" seemed to have enough room when I slid it in there. The capacity in the other files has become constricted and now I have to reorganize it all, bit by bit, not really knowing which pieces of paper have been squeezed out until I try and

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1153170946801940252006-07-17T14:14:00.000-07:002006-07-17T14:15:46.826-07:00

Need FoodFour small kidsSitting with you at the curbOf my affluent suburb strip mall.How could they knowThey were pawns in your struggle?Sacrificing their dignityFor handouts.You know itAs I look in your eyes-You know I can’t walk byThose little faces unmoved.You turn away, mumblingA barely heard thank youThe kids eagerly offering to carryBags of groceries bigger than they are.Will they ever see

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1152600945014886292006-07-10T23:40:00.000-07:002006-07-10T23:55:45.050-07:00

Powerlines cross waterLilies harboring their rumble of bullfrogsFollowing the path of miscast fishing reelsA tangle of bobbins and hooks caught near the feetOf his blue silhouette.Dusk brings out the zigzag flutter of batsHarvesting a sky full of tiny wingsYour eyes can't help but track their flightSo that by the time your gaze recalls, The silhouette is no more.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1145575369354254142006-04-20T16:06:00.000-07:002006-04-20T16:22:49.403-07:00

A trio of typecasts... NotI am waiting for someone to join me at Fred Meyer (our local version of a superstore) when a white Dodge Caravan, late model, drives down the parking lot aisle searching for a spot. The driver is probably 40ish, Caucasian, blond, and has all the markings of a "soccer mom" (stickers on her review mirrors to boot) except this: As she drives by me, through closed windows

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1144774210685679252006-04-11T09:46:00.000-07:002006-04-11T09:50:10.700-07:00

A Eulogy of SortsHe’s got one of those fork-tipped weed diggersSitting in the afternoon sun out frontVin Scully calling pitches on the grainy AM radio“Damn crabgrass, gets into everything” he’d swearAs I sat down on the lawn to watch him fightThe endless battle with our weeds.It was nice sitting there with him outside, I’d dig a bit too.“Talk his ear off” Mom’d sayI don’t know what I said…Only

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1144379994780980102006-04-06T20:18:00.000-07:002006-04-06T20:19:54.790-07:00

Ok I lied, this was too apt not to want to post it here.Posthumous By Jean Nordhaus Would it surprise you to learn that years beyond your longest winter you still get letters from your bank, your old philanthropies, cold flakes drifting through the mail-slot with your name? Though it's been a long time since your face interrupted the light in my door-frame, and the last tremblings of your voice

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1144130136277023062006-04-03T22:50:00.000-07:002006-04-03T22:55:36.290-07:00

On hiatusI'm having some rather debilitating migraine/muscle issues which seem partly related to computer work. I'm also feeling more than a bit stressed by the estate stuff and events of the last couple of months, which are time consuming and leave me tired, either tired happy or tired sad and perplexed, but tired. I'm working on the eulogy I need to deliver on Saturday, and otherwise, I think

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1142489487224434412006-03-15T21:48:00.000-08:002006-03-15T22:11:27.270-08:00

SnapshotsThe bar is smoke-drenched and populated by loud people drinking too many shots. He sits down at the adjoining table, ordering a turkey sandwich and a water and looking like the next Ethan Hawke - a bit too classy for this crowd. Leaning close to yell over the din of a reggae band we ask him "What was the best thing that happened to you today?" "My friend talked me out of taking

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1142362423282378172006-03-14T10:20:00.000-08:002006-03-14T14:27:58.096-08:00

SnapshotsHer dress a 70s A-line princess cut v-neck sleeveless number with an oversized black crazy daisy pattern on white. She fills it out boldly, making the flowers seem even larger, this is flower power at its best. Her mate, dressed in a nearly identical dress, a wild green paisley swimming around her plus-sized form. He leans into me and confides that they are likely the ugliest women he's

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1142305619191112092006-03-13T19:02:00.000-08:002006-03-13T19:06:59.203-08:00

SnapshotsIn one of those luxury SUVs, making a left out of the Kaiser parking lot. He looks like Tony Randall in the Odd Couple days, but with a beard. His tongue is extended way out, the tip pointed as if trying to catch a snowflake or to re-wet the point of a pen. There isn't anyone else in the car.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1140213403635773892006-02-17T13:54:00.000-08:002006-02-17T13:56:43.653-08:00

Heard this on the way in to work today.and yes, life carries on.I think its time to write about living again 'cause that's what we are here to do, isn't it?Been crossin' that bridge,With lessons I've learned.Playing with fire,And not getting burned.I may not know what you're going through,But time is the space,Between me and you.There is a light through that windowHold on say yes, while people

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1139450791178868472006-02-08T17:18:00.000-08:002006-02-16T15:28:37.020-08:00

Thanks for your patience friends. I fear at times that in writing to help me process my grief, I end up raising memories or doubts for my readers, things that are possibly more painful for you than me. For any of that, I am sorry. And I appreciate the comments and emails. Death leaves me, leaves probably every one of us with a set of doubts and regrets I suppose. Certain memories of the last

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1138240354029952732006-01-25T17:44:00.000-08:002006-01-25T17:52:34.040-08:00

When foresight and hindsight converge in the darkness and manifest as self doubt, I realize that predicting a bad outcome and thereby avoiding it does not always merit congratulations. So many reacted to the news assuming it was consolation that we prevented the greater disaster, but I have been too uneasy to accept this relief. The dread gathers a vocabulary now… selfishness, impatience,

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1137786581800751462006-01-20T11:38:00.000-08:002006-01-20T11:49:41.816-08:00

I sit a long time in the bathroom at LAX, watching feet and luggage pass in front of the stall. Tennis shoes, pumps, boots dragging carry-ons go by. Staring at the disembodied shoes, I realize I am stalling here tonight, wonder if it’s the taxi ride in the darkness that I need the nerve for, or the destination that has me dallying. I was last here in April. In my suitcase then, three pages

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1137650018081595312006-01-18T21:50:00.000-08:002006-01-18T21:53:38.093-08:00

I cannot tell you if it’s the aggravation of a sticking mouse ball,The suitcase still on the floor behind meFilled with odds and ends of his Still unassigned to any home The demanding clamor of the wind-chime made complainant by a restless south windOr the nagging ache where my teeth have clenched too oftenBut each day I turn away from the screen before the keyboard can register my

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1136875431792293572006-01-09T22:36:00.000-08:002006-01-09T22:43:51.803-08:00

Been clearing out Dad's house to get it ready to sell, and various smaller and larger complications are keeping me offline, but to tide things over, a picture taken this weekend of Mango, that tiny little ball of fluff, who now goes by Monster at our house. He already weighs over 8 lbs. The picture is off my picture phone and a bit blurry and exaggerated by the angle, but he really does look

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1135717712485230272005-12-27T11:47:00.000-08:002005-12-27T13:20:13.380-08:00

I hope your holidays were warm however you spent them. As expected, we had a mix of joy and sadness, and a lot of moments in between, busy might be the best way and simplest way to describe the last two weeks.The kids are getting to know mr. xxx, which is interesting, challenging and fun. The difference between what an 11 year old boy understands about relationships and what a 13 year old girl

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1135118511128842842005-12-20T14:28:00.000-08:002005-12-20T14:50:57.253-08:00

There is something about watching a man shave. Sitting on the hamper in my parent's bathroom, watching Dad shave, shaving soap dabbed on my nose from the tip of a old fashioned shaving brush. Standing next to the man I adore, watching in the mirror as he stretches his chin up, running the electric shaver up and down over his neck. Someday I suppose I'll be watching my son shave those little

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1134504043390395962005-12-13T10:34:00.000-08:002005-12-13T12:00:43.436-08:00

iHis mailbox still fills withCollege reunion remindersMedical bills and financial statementsFurniture ads and donation requestsWhile mine carries sympathy cardsAnd holiday wishes tempered with bittersweet remindersThat something is missing.There is so much I want to rememberAnd so much I wish I could forgetThe postman delivers it all unbiddenA grab bag of emotion.iiIn my dreams, I am wandering

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1134025618160729372005-12-07T22:26:00.000-08:002006-11-03T22:58:32.350-08:00

I suppose it must be obvious I don't have many words right now, or maybe there are too many to know how to refine them into anything succinct or meaningful. But thank you for all your kind thoughts left here these last few weeks, they help, really so much you can't imagine.Dad came home last night, after being cremated per his wishes. The sweet man who brought the box and the veteran's flag to

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1133160122422039262005-11-27T21:40:00.000-08:002005-11-27T22:50:43.270-08:00

Grief is a Pair of Shoes, Standing Empty You might think death hasn't fazed youAs you stroke his quieted brow and then laterStand at attention, unshakableAs they gurney his lifeless shell out of the bedroomInto the waiting van.Acting the part of stoic honor guard, You think: "This isn't so hardStaring directly into the face of death"Only to be knocked flat, days laterIn a stealth attack from the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1132986138043518532005-11-25T22:04:00.000-08:002005-11-25T22:23:31.616-08:00

Untangling my fingers from his, I stand up and say in my best you better be listening to me voice:"Dad, I'm leaving now to have Thanksgiving dinner with my kids. M. is going too, but John your caregiver will be here with you still. We will miss having this dinner with you, but the kids need me to be with them tonight so I must go. I'd bring you back some turkey, but we both know you aren't up

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1132346558333445432005-11-18T12:19:00.000-08:002005-11-18T12:42:38.356-08:00

We've been in the hospital since Tuesday. Not sure when we will go home, maybe early next week. They've told me that we don't need to push food anymore. Chemo was ruled out, so we are playing an "end game" as he puts it. Two months maybe. Is the glass half full or half empty? Better than 2 weeks, sorrier than 2 years. Next week we figure out nursing care and hospice for helping at home.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1131950832454561552005-11-13T22:04:00.000-08:002005-11-13T22:47:12.506-08:00

Today's stealth approach involved arriving with a bowl of mashed potatoes topped with (something you might remember from grade school lunches...) chicken fricasee. Now that I look at that, I'm not sure I've ever tried to spell it. You stew a chicken with onions and celery and carrots, bone it, and thicken with cornstarch. Pour it over some sort of starch. This is the dish my mom often cooked

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1131756806571298812005-11-11T15:26:00.000-08:002005-11-11T16:53:26.633-08:00

Slipping AwayI am drinking a latte that is really too hot, its scorching my throat on the way down, but I'm ok with that. Today when I walked into his bedroom, I found myself watching to see if the breath was still finding its way in and out of his body, wondering if and when that stops, exactly what I will do. He looked very small and fragile, a strange impression to have of one's father, but

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1131437922122390922005-11-07T21:47:00.000-08:002006-11-03T22:56:37.013-08:00

i."I'll burn the hotpads" He warns the woman (the one he has transformed into a conflagration of desire)As if a little scorched fabricCould damper this flame. ii.Below them a flowing wet blackness called WillametteAbove, cables stringing pavement to milky skySucking her fingers into his warm mouthA bridge of heat carries them Between river and starsiii.Slowly drying skinArms loose, outstretched;

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1107496644576947202005-10-24T22:56:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:55:05.763-07:00

From the Jim Collins book Good to Great" online, about the experience of Admiral Jim Stockdale as a POW in Vietnam..."“I never lost faith in the end of the story,” he said, when I asked him. “I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which, in retrospect, I would not trade.”Then he turned to

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1129657228452803992005-10-18T10:16:00.000-07:002005-10-18T10:40:28.486-07:00

Then there is being awoken at 2:00AM by a rather substantial nip on the cheek.I am not a mother cat I sternly tell him.He is lying on his back curled under my arm reaching up with tiny puff ball paws to pat my nose, and he wants me to think it was affectionate but I know he was banking on milk. He confirms this by kneading my shoulder. I turn over. I am sleepy.A short two hours later, he is

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1129313876601859372005-10-14T11:11:00.000-07:002005-10-14T11:17:56.606-07:00

I work in a building filled with engineers where overheard hallway conversations consist largely of technical jargon and acronyms that make little sense and of codewords used to disguise intellectual secrets from passing visitors. Quality problems called fishhooks and chips called Ranier or Lakeport.Today I heard this:"After the rooster got in there I'm afraid to give you any.You know, when you

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1129057996966262352005-10-11T12:10:00.000-07:002005-10-11T12:13:16.973-07:00

There is a charming middle aged bald man who we often see on our drive to school out walking four, sometimes five, fairly large dogs. We have a dear fondness for this stranger and lately I have threatened to roll down my window and call out to him"Marry me!"But of course, my children object. They assume I am kidding.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1128922915965453392005-10-09T22:32:00.000-07:002005-10-09T22:41:55.966-07:00

Introducing.... Mango

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1128580684204269442005-10-05T23:05:00.000-07:002005-10-05T23:38:04.236-07:00

Accordion-pleated heartBowing my grief to the sinkLike some offering bowl to catchThe tears squeezed out each morning and nightWhen I brush my teeth, wash my face,As if she is still perched there on the counter beside meWaiting to steal drops from the faucet.Now she steals them from my eyes.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1128470559838102542005-10-04T16:49:00.000-07:002005-10-04T19:36:27.466-07:00

One last Lydia story. During the holidays for many years we've hung red plastic chile lights on our front door, and over the years we'd notice that the chile covers would seem to end up in odd places. But we didn't think much about it. Then one year we had a charity go through our neighborhood leaving rolled up garbage size bags at each of our doorsteps soliciting donations. Over the next two

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1128359597709208502005-10-03T09:57:00.000-07:002005-10-03T10:13:17.736-07:00

Exponential declineBeen helping my daughter with writing equations to describe the growth rates that go with different types of word problems, how rapidly the bacteria are multiplying for example. Is it (10 + n to the 3) or just (n to the 13)? 12 days ago the vet told us he thought we might have 4 months.4 days ago the veterinary oncologist told us we might have 1 month.1 day ago I started

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1128144978733329502005-09-30T22:22:00.000-07:002005-09-30T22:36:18.736-07:00

Reminders to myself:Its not always my job to mend the fence. Its not always my job to fill the silence. Its not always my job to bandaid every hurt. Crying is not something to hide. Not from the vet, not from my co-workers, not from my kids, especially not from my friends. The rest of the balloon is under less pressure, in fact more durable when a little air is leaked out.I could consider

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1127940582096055642005-09-28T12:59:00.000-07:002005-09-28T13:49:42.146-07:00

After lunch yesterday I spent a couple of hours at the bookstore, a trip I had postphoned from last week when other errands became more urgent. Only now, I found I wasn't sure why I was there. The book sections were rearranged so I was further confused, but with a bit of wandering I found myself in the travel aisle and lost myself in descriptions of places I haven't been and some I have:

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1127756870781396422005-09-26T10:44:00.000-07:002005-09-26T10:47:50.790-07:00

Does a spider angst over the imperfections in its web? Its good enough to catch a meal.Now stop.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1127755695144446422005-09-26T10:27:00.000-07:002005-09-26T17:33:33.183-07:00

Hurricane SeasonSeven weeks left they sayNot I, I counter, I have had enough of thisSwirl of despair wrapped around its deceptively calm eye.You might say she has weathered the storms well-Ignoring the evacuation orders.But numb acceptance of the inevitableIs not a disaster relief plan whenThe next gale is headed this wayLevees already damaged and needing repair.I am sorry butNext when you turn

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1127520344073700602005-09-23T16:05:00.000-07:002005-10-05T09:54:24.250-07:00

Its been a busy and emotional week here, so its been hard to get a post up on the blog. I had a great visit with a college friend from Los Angeles Monday which reminded me what friendship is made of, and how easy it is to be with certain people even when ten years elapses between visits. But Wednesday's vet visit with Lydia brought a sad verdict of a cancerous and malignant tumor under her

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1126904951374196702005-09-16T11:57:00.000-07:002005-09-16T14:09:11.420-07:00

Thanks for all the nice comments and support for Dad's relocation. He's still doing really well. His stuff finally got delivered from the movers, and has started to settle in more. We stopped by yesterday to drop off some extra dry catfood to hold him over until we go to the pet store this weekend, and he was in a great mood. He had eaten over in the dining room again, and there was an

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1126764833328438952005-09-14T23:13:00.000-07:002005-09-14T23:13:53.330-07:00

As of this moment, Kurt has officially arrived at another birthday (if you count Nashville time.) I highly recommend visiting him and wishing him the best today.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1126764650058109702005-09-14T22:07:00.000-07:002005-10-07T22:41:34.150-07:00

I realized with a sudden jolt last night that the book I was reading at lunch as a source of comfort and inspiration had a completely different basis of belief about a person's control over their destiny than the book I was reading at bedtime for the same purpose. Yet oddly enough, I seemed to be buying into the implications and suggestions both books were offering.This is not right I thought to

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1126419645810212252005-09-10T23:01:00.000-07:002005-09-10T23:20:45.816-07:00

I thought maybe the blog needed a bit more cheery post for once.My Dad is settling into an assisted living "cottage" maybe a mile and a half from my house after moving up from LA last weekend. Well I should say after he and his cat moved up. His furnishings are still enroute. That's another story that's somewhat less cheery so I'll just leave it there. He's 85 and lived in his last house for

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1126244571983128152005-09-08T22:17:00.000-07:002005-09-08T22:42:51.986-07:00

After two weeks there are finally some words.Gentle ones. Tentative and sad and kind.Many of which are mine. This pile of rocks Knocked down, kicked and scattered wideNow to pick carefully which onesTo replace on the cairn.I suppose it dependsAre we marking tomb or boundary?But for now, the smoother stones are a good place to start.Time will tell which others to bring.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125899204281295572005-09-04T21:53:00.000-07:002005-09-04T22:46:44.310-07:00

To Drown You OutThere are six voices in my house nowSometimes they all talk at once.I must remember my checkbook tomorrowI will buy that artist's photo-Bright faces to smile back at me from the wallAs I take a load of laundry down the stairs.We need crickets and cat foodand a prescription refill.So there is plenty to do and no lack of laughterOr good foodAnd I meant it when I said "thank you God"

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125467331168990282005-08-30T21:57:00.000-07:002005-08-30T22:48:51.200-07:00

Drawing to a CloseThe scent of the blackberries along the footpathHas shifted this week, from fresh to fermentedSyrupy wine in my nose, soon to be lost for another season.I watch evening commuters lined up at the stoplight, The tired reflection of a day's work, done but probably not finished, Carried home in the lines of strain around their eyes.Clinging to my dog's fur, crumbled seedheads of

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125444507801499232005-08-30T16:27:00.000-07:002005-08-30T22:59:43.966-07:00

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125443601348429522005-08-30T16:11:00.000-07:002005-08-30T22:59:21.853-07:00

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125244586883839392005-08-28T08:38:00.000-07:002005-08-28T08:56:26.890-07:00

Compassion is... feeling angry and protective about my dog's wounds, and feeling sorry for the other dog owner who took her dog to be put down yesterday.Compassion is... feeling glad my Dad is moving here on a trial basis next week so we can spend more time with him, and feeling sad he has to leave his comfortable house of 50 years.Compassion is... recognizing parenting is a sucky job when your

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1125094884787525122005-08-26T15:16:00.000-07:002005-08-26T15:21:24.793-07:00

crying is so pointlessfifteen minutes, half a box of kleenexyet nothing feels better, its not like anything suddenly becomes cleareror I know what to do with myself nowany better than I did beforeyou'd think the human body could devise a bettergrieving device

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124980382711220422005-08-25T07:29:00.000-07:002005-08-25T07:33:02.716-07:00

Today's self assessment"Since everything is none other than exactly as it isone may as well just break out in laughter"-Long Chen Pa

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124864113910115972005-08-23T22:41:00.000-07:002005-08-23T23:15:13.916-07:00

It was sweet when she recognized that little spark of hopefulness that could only be fueled by naivety.Sweet because she feared there was nothing left but cynicism and that leaves the heart sour.Now it seems merely foolishness, like wishing on a star, or trusting the fortune cookie to be rightShe is still unable, just yet, to snuff it outAs the edges curl away and brown in the listless

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124749696826166192005-08-22T15:00:00.000-07:002005-08-22T15:28:16.836-07:00

Wanting my game backMy son picked up a cheap chess set this weekend at a garage sale and we've played five or six games since then. I used to think I wasn't a big enthusiast because it requires thinking several moves ahead, which I find tedious. But after about the fourth round this weekend, I found myself dreading capturing and losing pieces. In a couple of games I ended up escaping my way

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124434298601403912005-08-18T23:33:00.000-07:002005-10-07T22:43:35.790-07:00

(This pause in blog action brought to you by a pitbull attack)Joey is recovering from two bite wounds. Joey is the wonder dog although at the moment he seems a little unnerved.Mom (me) is recovering from holding the other dog owner's hand while she cried about having to get rid of her dog, a pitbull great dane mix, after his third attempt to kill a dog in our neighborhood. Meanwhile he is

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124175142011816642005-08-15T23:51:00.000-07:002005-08-15T23:52:22.016-07:00

Have you ever watched a dog chase a fly and try to catch it?Makes my teeth hurt.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1124084977220464172005-08-14T22:09:00.000-07:002005-08-14T22:55:07.023-07:00

My kitchen counters are now loaded with three boxes of peaches and one box of nectarines. The last two batches of jam vaporized it seemed, so now I'm making more. I picked up a bunch of "windfall" ones which I chose carefully, since I will be canning them, and only paid 15 cents a pound. A really large ripe peach seems about as voluptuous as Marilyn Monroe, so I'm a bit disappointed in these

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123743288070325802005-08-10T23:47:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:43:29.650-07:00

dear xxx,Just a short one tonight.The terror has taken hold again. I am sure we are never to be.Sure I am burying my heart alive, several shovelfuls a day as I get more attached.I think a wiser person would bolt. As would a stronger one. I picture your face in my rearview mirror getting smaller very quickly.I always turn the car around.It is good that these don't get sent to you. love,me

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123571163383760292005-08-09T00:09:00.000-07:002005-08-09T00:08:46.166-07:00

For some context, a couple of posts ago I talked about my divorce, and there have been some really good comment threads there which are helping me think about the contracts we make with a partner.... Tonight I was reading an article in the NYT magazine called "Will We Ever Arrive at the Good Death?" and clicked onto a series of photographs titled "As They Died."At first this will seem unrelated

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123481555358229422005-08-07T22:07:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:45:11.943-07:00

dear xxx, Do you remember that evening in March, at the pub, tapping your toes and singing along with the song piped in over the speakers? You had this smile on your face. An unburdened, surprised, perfectly joyous smile that seemed to have everything to do with being yourself, being in the moment, being with me. It was easy to see directly into your heart, and I guess I would say that was the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123351465789987652005-08-06T10:25:00.000-07:002005-08-06T11:08:40.820-07:00

Well tonight the kids, their dad, and his parents come over for a BBQ. My son's birthday is next Tuesday and we'll do an early family celebration with his grandparents here.I was out early with the dog this morning walking in the neighborhood and met a former neighbor who apparently cheated on his wife a couple of times and then refused to see his part of the problem such that his wife divorced

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123218320490806442005-08-04T21:45:00.000-07:002005-08-04T22:05:20.496-07:00

I read yesterday about the Korean cloning of an Afghan hound. Besides the inane commentary about the particular breed of dog they chose to clone, the article raised the topic of cloning for commercial rather than scientific purposes, and ever since I read the story something has been nagging at me. I don't know that I've really thought it fully through, but the kernal that wants attention is

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1123134943741356022005-08-03T22:01:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:46:39.226-07:00

dear xxx,If you were here right this second I'd be asking you to scratch that place right in the center of my shoulder blades that I just can't reach. As it is, the ice cream scoop will do a reasonable job, although it is seriously lacking in any kind of followup action. Especially in the absence of any ice cream around here. But that problem will get remedied on Saturday when the fresh

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1122964457651457422005-08-01T23:31:00.000-07:002005-08-01T23:34:17.656-07:00

"We have both, throughout the forty years of our marriage, continued to respond with excitement to the same beauty-for instance, to certain pieces of music. I remember driving up to Crosswicks one early spring day when we heard, over the car radio, the beautfiul flute solo from Gluck's Orfeo and our response of delight was such that it has always been special music for us. On a cold and dank

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1122707439111096252005-07-30T00:11:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:48:44.323-07:00

dear xxx,Well here I am again, there won't be a send button pushed tonight, but still I write, because I've become accustomed to your audience. It's easier to keep writing, pretending you are listening now, then to face the silence cold turkey.I could tell I asked some good questions in the meeting I went in for this morning, even though I wasn't sure at first I was bringing up anything relevant

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1122307044720977222005-07-25T08:52:00.000-07:002005-07-25T08:57:24.726-07:00

Dale from mole asked me to post this one. Given the temperatures here in Portland, it seemed like a good idea.WatermelonYou crack me deep, Wide open, like a watermelonCleaved one end to the other, revealingSummer red flesh, Sweet and juicy.No longer protected under hard green rindI yield up my secrets, Black and seeded, And you Eat me all, not caring, not bothering to spitInto the wind, onto the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1122136971716305432005-07-23T08:47:00.000-07:002005-07-23T09:42:51.766-07:00

If you were mineI bet you can make a mean batch of biscuitsI imagine I'd wake to discover you goneWander downstairs to steal coffee-breath kissesGet out the utensils you'd be hard pressed to findPester your shorts while you cut in the butterTill you shoo me off to sit on a stoolNot long till I'm back underfoot like a catRubbing and sliding till you must turn around You threaten to grab me with

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1122100963548343222005-07-22T21:47:00.000-07:002005-07-22T23:42:43.603-07:00

I park as light starts to fallIf there is to be a sunset tonightThe sky will color farmhouses and newly mown fields here Where only ghosts and unwhispered stories will join me.I wander across the small grassy plot behind an old wood sign waitingFor the paintbox to spill across the sky,Waiting for some noise to break the silence of stones,long dried bouquets, empty flagpoleWaiting to hear the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1121036020219198222005-07-16T17:42:00.000-07:002005-07-16T16:07:33.740-07:00

They walk up to the bakery together, setting up at the sidewalk table just opposite my window. She retrieves a third metal chair, while he pulls a somewhat pudgey boston terrier out from under his coat where he has been sheltering it from a light sprinkle against his chest. He sets the dog down and she proceeds to carefully shake out a navy blue chennille throw and fold it carefully into

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1121037045826060052005-07-10T15:53:00.000-07:002005-07-11T17:29:04.010-07:00

Purchasing the various supplies for a bachelorette party at Michael's, a craft and party store, I land on a white and silver feather boa, and decide this is perfect bride apparel for the festivities. Checking out, the cashier oohs over the boa and runs her hands over its length. She is probably late 50's in age, wearing the telltale signs of several children and a lot of hours on her feet,

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1121019574062765842005-07-10T10:41:00.000-07:002005-07-10T17:07:05.703-07:00

She seems to recognize that my human fingers and nails are the equivalent of her feline toes and nails.I know this as she goes to work on washing my finger using the same lick and bite technique she uses on her paws. I cooperate by turning my hand and spreading my fingers the way I see her doing.This is Rainbow Shooting Star, third cat who lives with us.She spends much of her time perched on top

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1120936293653355622005-07-09T12:07:00.000-07:002005-07-09T12:11:33.666-07:00

If you believed that a person could be damned(in the religious sense of the word)Is it obvious the person would know itWhen it happened?

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1120894782534458632005-07-09T00:16:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:49:49.180-07:00

He made an offer I couldn't refuse.Somehow he knew exactly which offer he could make that I couldn't refuse.There's a certain kind of glorious abandon in knowing just what to do to "reach" another person without having to think. Instinctively anticipating how the other person will react. Things come so easily.There's a certain discipline in not making those assumptions too. Remembering to ask the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1120718133684325972005-07-06T23:30:00.000-07:002005-07-06T23:35:33.690-07:00

Ok I'm a slacker for not posting, but since I've been kinda overwhelmed and busy with work and kids this week, can I just recommend you view some awesome photos instead?Check out Rachel's Sicily pics here

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1119989899249139752005-06-28T13:09:00.000-07:002005-06-28T20:25:08.176-07:00

I made some cookies last night, a friend needed some cheering up. If you knew me real time you'd learn I almost never make a recipe the same way twice, there are a few things I don't mess with but in general I don't like stifling the creative juices with absolute directions from a cookbook. But you can try this if you like. They turned out pretty well. I took the regular chocolate chip

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1119821623838868962005-06-26T14:29:00.000-07:002005-10-24T22:50:54.926-07:00

Dear xxx.Ok I admit it, that was really a boring email wasn't it?It basically says in code, "I wish you were here" 300 times. I spent the last 2 hours reading and sitting in the bathtub. I cried a little. I was happy a little. I thought. I learned a new term today: emotional fusion. It is something I am really good at. Apparently this is not a good thing. I put the book aside before I

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1119419172644499902005-06-21T22:10:00.000-07:002005-06-21T22:46:12.663-07:00

A quick update, was hoping for a creative streak tonight but none came. The antibiotics have done the job and I'm for all intensive purposes well. Yay.Which means work and house and kids and dog are all demanding make-up time. Yikes.Gonna go put the laundry in the dryer and make kids lunches for tomorrow. Sleep well.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118952260641682592005-06-16T12:33:00.000-07:002005-06-16T16:19:49.070-07:00

I have a good dad. The type who nags you about going to the doctor and getting enough rest and worries that he's not there when you're sick, even though you're 46 and he's 84 and this would beg the question who should be taking care of whom right?ANYhow, I was reassuring him last night that I had finally gone to the doctor and gotten some antibiotics and he was lamenting the fact that he wasn't

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118893715297761452005-06-15T20:38:00.000-07:002005-06-15T20:48:35.303-07:00

"Inside every turning leafIs the pattern of an older treeThe shape of our futureThe shape of all our historyAnd out of the confusionWhere the river meets the seaCame things I'd never seenThings I'd never seen" --StingCall it a prayer of hope for those in need

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118792848086453552005-06-14T16:01:00.000-07:002005-06-14T22:27:27.590-07:00

Funny how emptiness can be so saturatingAs if I have been dammed upBehind the absence of you.No no, I did not forget myself,I just cannot hear over the steady roarOf reminders that you aren't there.I got those new tires, see? When I looked down my throat with a flashlight my tonsils looked like plump satin pillows! And I had this dream about you last night. But I shouldn't say that either.All

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118637916739701632005-06-12T21:21:00.000-07:002005-06-12T22:07:19.700-07:00

It is nearly dark and I am walking my dog and we are walking "the short block" (which is actually about 6 blocks) as I am unwilling to be walking at all tonight and he is desperate to be walking at all tonight and this is our compromise. We approach the halfway mark and he is straining because there is a small child across the street on a bike he'd like to go sniff and she calls over to me, the

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118469191898070132005-06-10T21:45:00.000-07:002005-07-10T16:46:02.153-07:00

Friday Catbird Blogging She's a tuxedo cat, but a bit lopsided. Half a white mustache, alternating white and black eyebrows, depending on the molt, and nowadays a small circle of grey fur on her forehead betraying her age on an otherwise pretty typical black and white domestic short hair feline (B&W DSH, as they record on the vet logs.) She's 13, which I easily remember because she was one and

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1118165447694046302005-06-07T09:52:00.000-07:002005-06-07T10:30:47.743-07:00

I've been thinking about a question posed to the attendees of this birdwatching trip I went on last week, raised by Eric Bergman, naturalist at the Pine Butte Ranch run by Nature Conservancy. "What is Natural History and the role of a Natural Historian?"So here goes with my response.It is the story the natural world tells us, but it's also the unique perspective the observer brings who collects

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1117254851899442102005-05-27T21:25:00.000-07:002005-05-27T21:34:11.913-07:00

Beating record highs, the sun sets and the sky turns shades of pink and aqua better suiting the Caribbean than Portland. There are a couple of hundred little walking sticks infiltrating my flowers now that the oothea has yielded up its harvest of pest-vacuums. Tomorrow morning I fly to Montana with binoculars and bird books carefully tucked in a borrowed backpack to spend a week in relative

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116955073059035672005-05-24T09:21:00.000-07:002005-05-24T10:51:41.346-07:00

I am standing in the Rite-Aid (multipurpose drug store) waiting for my daughter to come out of the bathroom. I have suppressed the irritation that comes when a child has to go NOW just as we are walking out of the store, instead of waiting the 10 minutes it would take us to drive home and I am also suppressing the irritation of going to Rite-Aid for non-existent advice on allergic reactions to

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116619436981506902005-05-20T12:07:00.000-07:002005-05-20T13:03:56.986-07:00

An explanationImagine me the sea, and you a riverOur relationship the place we come together,Estuarine, dynamic, often brackishAsk the moon to govern where you begin and I endBut in the fertile silt you drop at my mouthI spawn new life, adapted to this marginOf unpredictability,I nurse the abundance growing in the dilute brine of our intersectionFlood and withdraw, a tide of changesWhile you keep

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116483120306550612005-05-18T22:56:00.000-07:002005-05-20T12:07:15.363-07:00

Baby update:The killdeer in the parking lot at work hatched at least two very active little kildets (my term, don't go looking that up) and there may have been others down in the grass this morning. It seems a bit miraculous that they successfully nest there, darting back and forth between cars rushing to make a late meeting. If the eggcase (ootheca) full of praying mantis is dilating, it sure

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116261755312519812005-05-16T09:16:00.000-07:002005-05-16T15:34:30.436-07:00

A watercolor by Lerri Peterson of Malaga Cove Library:Beth wrote a beautiful post about her trip to the library last week. It made me remember going to our tiny neighborhood library in California, an old stucco building with a red tile roof sitting under massive trees, always cool and a little damp feeling (looking back I hope not! damp isn't good for books!) I spent an awful lot of time there

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116100416586472692005-05-14T12:08:00.000-07:002005-07-10T17:04:56.683-07:00

Friday Catbird Blogging: A portrait for Dave, a day late, although you could say yesterday's attempt at poetry was more "cat-bird" appropriate anyhow.She is petite, dainty even, with a small pointy face and delicate paws. She is fully grown but much smaller than the others, owing to childbirth at such a tender age and then subsequent starvation by the despicable humans who dumped her. When I

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116054964763336272005-05-13T23:37:00.000-07:002005-05-14T00:16:04.766-07:00

The cat's nails drag across the door.Dog whines, a louder echoOf the faint cries from the vaux swiftsThat have nested in the brick chimney. All else is a waiting silence.Still, you don't speakAnd gradually I become the voidVibrating in our ears...the low hum of a trainIdling at the station, The dial tone on a displaced phone.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1116051818087190472005-05-13T23:08:00.000-07:002005-05-13T23:23:38.106-07:00

You'd be amazed how often I stare at the "create post" screen and never type a damn word.

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6273413.post-1115748544142740762005-05-10T10:42:00.000-07:002005-05-10T11:10:06.380-07:00

A friend at work has been bringing our department camera to events lately and as usual, all the pictures of me turn out terrible. I think there are probably fifteen photos of me in existance that I like (or at least 15 from my adulthood) and the rest I would gladly burn. This is not so surprising - many people dislike photos of themselves - other than I usually look at myself in the mirror and

Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06589478267236138595noreply@blogger.com