What I Did on My Summer Vacation

There's still about a week left before I head back to London, but the place is clearing out, the weather is closing in (not that it's been that good this summer), and I feel myself getting ready to get back to my real, workaday life (whatever that is). So, as my first official act to mark the approaching end of the summer, here's my list of what I've been up to, in no particular order, some with photographic evidence, some not:

1. Watched gallons of rain pour out of the sky, but still managed to get a tan.

2. Enjoyed my garden

.

3. Spent lots of time with family and friends.

4. Grilled an ocean-full of fish (but only

sustainable ones).

5. Rode the waves as often as possible.

6. Watched the sunset

off the deck of my favourite restaurant on my anniversary.

7. Did lots of yoga and ran a road race.

8. Grew a pineapple and

then ate it.

9. Flew to England for the weekend to go to the Polyverse Poetry festival and see "Dreams of May" performed.

10. Watched the Red Sox beat the Yankees.

11. Wrote one poem and did some minor revisions on the new novel, but mainly spent a month NOT working.

12. Moved Number 2 Son into college and began to gaze into the depths of an empty nest.

13. Mourned the passing of Ted Kennedy.

A pretty full couple of months, by any account, and I'm sure there's much that I left out. I know the next twelve months will be full of new adventures, accomplishments, frustrations, moving forward and stepping back. You can now expect to hear from me on a more regular basis to keep you up to date on the latest of the life of this one writer-wife-mother-sister-daughter-friend-teacher-student.

Gone Fishin'

Takin' a break for a couple of weeks. It's time for family, fun, eating just caught striper, going to the beach when the sun comes out, packing as much into each day as we can. Should come out of it all by the end of the month, but in the meantime, here's a little something I found on TED that I thought might tickle your collective funny bones.

Enjoy the rest of your Augusts everyone....

Billy Collins Comes to Town

Photo Credit: Juliet Van Otteren

Last night I was among 300 people who came to listen to Billy (we all just call him "Billy," it seems) read under a big white tent with failing chandelier light. It was magical, but watching him do his thing is magical no matter what the surroundings. I first saw him read in a school auditorium in London nearly ten years ago. It was magic then as well, but I mean real magic, at least for me. At that time I was just starting to take my poetry writing "seriously" and was trying to find my voice. That's hard to do under any circumstances, but I was finding it especially difficult given my status as American living in England. Different languages, so much history....but then I discovered Billy's work and automatically felt as if he had given me permission to just cut the crap and write who and what and how I am. It helped.

I have tried before to explain why I love his poetry so much. His poems start with a wink and a nod and before you know it, you're in the depths. He seems to have an unfiltered and direct line to his childhood brain...he still sees the absurdity in everything around him, still questions what he sees and tries to draw conclusions by refusing to accept anything as it literally is. He draws masterful, out-of-this-world connections. He's very funny. He's very musical. His lifelong love affair with jazz infiltrates his poetry constantly. It's there in his rhythms, his meters. He starts off with a theme and then goes off on wild tangents that always lead him back to the dominant, but it is now a dominant that has more weight. And when he reads his work in public, you feel as if he's chatting with you in a coffee shop, or making observations while waiting on line outside some museum. He starts to introduce a poem and a murmur rushes through the crowd. People turn to each other and whisper, "Ooh, I love this one," as if we were at a Grateful Dead concert.

I wrote a poem after the first time I heard him read. I actually sent it to him, which I find unbelievable even now. Last night, before the magic wore off, I dug it out of my "poems not to be published" file. Here it is (I'm among friends, right?):

Thank You, Billy Collins


So now I know.

I don’t have to discover obscurity
in an orange,
or preciousness in the sound of
scaffolding growing next door.

I can say the words I’m used to,
divulge my private jokes,
treat myself to how funny life can be.
Maybe, even, how funny I can be.

So now I know I can save those furrowed eyebrows,
sincere glances, pathetic gestures
for later,

for conversations with my mother, perhaps,
or lectures to my towering, teenage son.

Pay It Forward

Several months ago, I asked to be a part of the blogging gesture "Pay It Forward" that Angie was offering here. Time passed, Angie got busy writing and revising and, I believe, losing her appendix. But while I was briefly in the UK last week, I stopped home in London and found a package, all the way from San Francisco. It was full of the most wonderful treats -- chocolate, a small notebook, a pen, a card, even a handmade piece of jewelry! Everything was beautiful but perhaps made even more so since it seemed to come out of the blue. Months had passed since the offer was made and so now the gift seemed even more heaven-sent. Thanks, Angie!!

So now I'm offering the same gesture to you. If you'd like to sometime, somehow, when you least expect it, receive a package from me, let me know in the comments box and I'll send something to each of the first three people to request it no matter where they live. You'll owe me nothing, but must agree to then do the same for three other people at a later date and blog about it. Oh, and you'll need to send me your snail mail address. I can't promise that what I send will be as delicate and beautiful as what Angie sent me (I'm all thumbs and have no crafts ability whatsoever), but it will be sent with all sorts of positive thoughts and good wishes, and it will definitely be a small piece of me flying its way over to you.