Today, I have many things on the brain. Can they make a unified post?
--On this day, in 1962, my parents got married--yes, during the days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I wrote about it here. Love and the Threat of Nuclear Annihilation: maybe some grad student 100 years from now will write about my work in those contexts.
--The rest of the nation enjoys Halloween weather--or Christmas weather, if you live in Denver. We're back to summer: humid and sweaty. I've lived in South Florida long enough that Halloween sweating feels normal to me.
--Long ago, I wrote a disjointed poem with Halloween images. I still like these two lines:
Heat drapes itself over Halloween,
a candle scorching our pumpkin insides.
--Kathleen writes a post about Halloween weather, but she actually has traditional Halloween weather. She's got great art with this post--wow. I clicked on her link to see more work by the artist Kathleen Lolly. Wonderful!
--This article at The Washington Post made me want to grill pumpkins. Don't delay, though. The Post only allows free access for 2 weeks. And soon, the pumpkins will be gone. Christmas is just around the corner, after all.
--As we approach the last day with our RIFed colleagues at work, I keep thinking about Halloween images and the downsizing workplace: ghosts and zombies and werewolves . . . I feel like I have more than I can use. I'm thinking of a series of poems, but my spouse has challenged me to write a long poem. He's observed that most of my poems are of a similar length. He's right. Maybe I'll challenge myself.
--I'm also working on a poem inspired by Hirsch's "I Am Going to Start Living Like a Mystic" (a great poem on its own but also part of this beautiful larger blog post). My poem: "I Am Going to Start Living Like a Hospice Chaplain." Many days my job duties feel more like hospice chaplain duties than department chair duties. Or maybe any job I took would draw those qualities out of me; maybe I would always frame my duties that way (at least recently).
The Trouble With October
4 weeks ago