The one in the middle is my great-grandfather.
My dad, circa 1941(ish)
My parents, as newly-weds.
My grandparents, in Mexico. This is the bank-robber grandfather, btw.
My parents' wedding.
too much going on these days--and too little internet time--to worry about blogging much.
I'm totally unpacked and settled into the new place (only a month after I move in) and getting a lot done in terms of poetry and class prep. The best part? Reading two blogger-buddies' kick-ass manuscripts.
Thinking about my family, especially my mom, tonight, and wishing I was still with them.
Going to go home now, pour a glass of wine, and stare out the window. It's that kind of night.
Despite the general discomfort of riding a bus, I love the trip between Cleveland and Chicago because of views like this one. The megabus is a double decker, so the perspective is totally different than in a car and I just can't get enough of it. It's hard to take good pictures, though...
*
Anyway. I'm back in my teeny tiny studio after having spent 5 days with my parents in Chatham, hanging out with Mom, playing with Maxi, the river dog (who is in the jumping/biting phase of puppy-hood, which means my arms look like I've been through a shredder), and arguing with my dad about, well, everything. As you can tell from my earlier post, Dad's a republican, and he likes to watch the news. Now that the election/inaugruation is over, I've gone back to my general disinterest in politics, but when I'm around him, I remember why I cared so much about the election, and think maybe I should start paying more attention the rest of the time.
My time in Ohio was not in any way relaxing (despite the fact that I managed to get about 10 hours of sleep each night) because of all the errand running and trying to see folks I hadn't seen since August (apologies to anyone I missed! There's just never enough time!), and trying to keep up with my homework as well (also a major fail). But it was good, nonetheless, to be home, where places and faces are familiar and people know my history. Had a long talk with a prof who's known me since my undergrad days who gave me some really good advice on how to deal with my angst over my new program--and it was advice that someone who hasn't known me for 8 years wouldn't have been able to give, I don't think. Also spent one evening with my bff since 5th grade which was long, long over due.
But now I'm back. And strangely enough, feeling quite at home. I was oddly proud of myself last night for my ease in hailing a cab at Union Station, and also for knowing a couple of different ways to get home if I hadn't felt like taking a cab (but it was 11pm, cold, and I was dragging a giant suitcase, so I did feel like taking a cab). I'll never give up my self-identification as a country-bumpkin or small town girl, but I guess I'm getting pretty good at playing the part of a city girl when I need to. Everyone I saw in Ohio (who were, for the most part, people I hadn't seen since I moved) wanted to know if I liked Chicago...and I feel like a traitor to myself when I want to say yes. So here you go (esp. Brandi & Mary): I like Chicago. I get fed up with Chicago pretty quickly sometimes, but I get fed up with my parents and my sisters, too, and I would lay down in front of a CTA bus for them. I won't deny that the transition has been difficult--exhausting and soul-crushing at times, even--but I'm okay with where I'm at, finally. It only took seven months...
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And that brings me back to the present, and the impetus for this post's title. I made a tiny little dent in my gargantuan to do list for spring break, and now have less than 48 hours until I'm back on campus for Week 11. I don't think it's possible to conquer the to do list in that time, and I'm wondering when my sense of urgency is going to kick in. The problem is that a lot of what I planned to accomplish is based on my own deadlines, not deadlines that anyone will force me to meet. However...if I don't do these things now, they're just going to pile up, and when else am I going to have time? It's 9:24 on Saturday morning and already, I'm procrastinating (is it really necessary to write a blog post this long ever--let alone when I'm swamped?). Twilight is sitting on top of the pile of mail begging me to watch it (even though everyone says it's crap) and I'd really like to spend today lounging around...but class identity (paper 1) and neo-confessional poetry (if there is such a thing) (paper 2) and grading are all calling my name. Blah! I don't wanna.
So, trying right now, thisverysecond, to motivate myself to stop loafing in my pjs and go to the library (which, by the way, will be at least a 45 minute commute each way) to pick up a couple of key sources (one for each paper), which I then must force myself to read today so that tomorrow I can start my rough drafts. Or something like that. But I just poured a fresh cup of coffee.
Yep, still can't find that sense of urgency I'm looking for.
is the opposite of poetry.
I love--adore--my parents, but this constant conservative chatter is going to crush my spirit.
At least Mom is making spaghetti for dinner. That will help.
Can I just tell you, making people show up to class on the day before Thanksgiving is just mean. And scheduling conferences on that day: also mean. I'm really, really annoyed that I'm not on my way back to Ohio yet, and won't be until midnight. That's right...I'm riding a bus over night and will be arriving in Cleveland at 7:30 Thanksgiving morning. Lame!
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Okay, so that last one was me looking at the clock and realizing I have to go shower and get ready for class (stupid day before Thanksgiving class). I probably won't be back here for a while, so happy Turkey Day, ya'll.
This is my pops. He's 70 today. 70! Happy Birthday, Dad. And thanks for the pep talk.
I haven't left my house in days. Since Wednesday, I think. A little weird, I know. I'll blame part of it on being sick, since I really was in bed for most of the day on Wednesday and Thursday. But what's my excuse since then? I've got everything I need here. An over-stocked fridge and freezer, my laptop, the 104 books I need to read, cold medicine and cough drops, and my roommate and his girlfriend if I get lonely. (And C. even bought me orange juice yesterday...the one thing I didn't have and she brought it to me!)
My roommate and his girlfriend. It is so strange to share living space with people for the first time in 4 years. I go back and forth between loving it and hating it. It's nice to have built-in company sometimes, to have someone to share the pot of coffee with, someone to ask "what's missing from this sauce?" or "Does my hair look stupid like this?" and Michael knows that even when I'm being a raging bitch, all it takes to calm me down (usually) is a hug. But then there's the bad part--the I-just-woke-up-and-don't-want-to-talk-to-anyone mornings when someone else is in the shower or on the couch exactly where I wanted to be, the inevitable couple spats that I have to hear, and the fact that being a loner and a single girl living with a very social couple starts to make me wonder...is there something wrong with me? They go out, like, every day! and if they don't go out, they have friends over. Don't they need to be alone, ever? I don't get it. But they're probably thinking the same--or worse--about me. Doesn't she have any friends? Why is she in her room 18 hours a day? Poor thing, nobody likes her.
Woe is me, right? I know. I've had worse living situations before and I know that Michael is more patient with me and my weird habits than most people would be (we're related, he has to be!) and 98% of the time, everything is great. But the 2% always seems bigger.
So, this is my promise to myself...when I move out of here, I will never, never have roommates again. It's too hard to be a hermit when someone is sitting right downstairs.
I guess if I ever get married, we'll have to buy a duplex so I can live on one side and he can live on the other. How romantic.
but my blogging addiction has to be fed.
*
Speaking of addictions. I've smoked since I was 19, but I hid it from my mom until I was 26. After I confessed, she asked me to continue pretending I didn't smoke around her. That lasted for a while, but when I spend a lot of time at her house, it's really hard to watch my family go out to the porch to smoke. And my refraining may be part of the reason Carla and I often want to kill each other.
So, I decided since I would be at Mom and Dad's for 3 days, I would quit pretending. But still, every time I went outside, I felt guilty. And embarrassed. Is shame a good reason to quit? I've heard good things about this. Maybe I'll try it.
*
Thanksgiving was good. The house is very small, though, and I am clausterphobic. All of my sisters were in attendance, as were 5 of my seven nieces and nephews and 2 of their 4 kids. Plus all three of my brother-in-laws. It was crowded. I love having a big family, but sometimes it's not good for the recluse in me. I wonder where Thanksgiving will be next year. Will Mom and Dad be in Florida then? Will I be far, far away in PhD-land? Who knows.
Oh, that reminds me. I've known my sister Carla's husband since I was 13 or 14, which was long before they started dating. He's a pretty quiet guy most of the time, but when he loosens up, he's often quite sarcastic and a little mean (perfect for my sister, really). We get along pretty well, but 98% of the time, if we're talking, he's teasing me. So imagine my surprise when, during dinner the other day, he said something nice (and not even a little sarcastic). I was talking about applying for PhD's and said "if I get into any programs..." and he said, "when you get into a program..." I know. It doesn't seem like much, but if you knew Ryan, you would know that was a pretty big compliment. Another thing to be thankful for.
*
I've finally procrastinated long enough that I'm motivated to get things done. I have 2 book reviews due on Wednesday and a presentation in Non-Fiction a week from Monday. Plus that nasty personal statement and my writing sample for PhD apps. And the apps themselves. But I like filling out forms.
*
I'm graduating in 2 weeks. Well, I guess it's technically 3 weeks until commencement, but I'm not going to that. My graduation reading is in 2 weeks, though, and that feels more official and important. I'm still working myself up for a really sentimental MFA-in-review post that will be full of nostalgia and fun pictures. Mary doesn't understand my love for all things sentimental (cheesy pop songs, romance novels, chick flicks, etc.) but I bet she'll get a little teary-eyed when she reads my graduation blog.
After that, there are going to be some changes around here. For one thing, my "fledgling poet" tag line has to go. And I still want to think of a new name for the blog (suggestions welcome). I'm also going to go through old posts and censor some things because I'm going to have my Comp 2 students write their own blogs next semester and I don't want them finding my "I don't know how to teach" posts. Also planning to update my background and blogroll. And maybe trying to do some more po-bizy posts.
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Okay. I got my blog fix. Back to Baptist Confidential.
"Your ETD submitted paper looks great and is error free. My records indicate that we still need a signature page from you. Please make sure to submit one ASAP."
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I'm off to "teach" in a minute here. Several people in my class are already on their way home for the holiday, so I imagine there won't be much actual teaching happening. There may be a game of pictionary, though. Do all students love drawing on the chalkboard, or just mine?
After that, I'll be heading out to Mom and Dad's house and will probably be there until Friday. When I first got my driver's license, I loved the trip between Mom and Dad's house and Akron. Sometimes drove it six times a week in a 1980 Lincoln Continental that got 8 miles to a gallon and leaked oil. Opened my sun roof, cranked up the radio, and barrelled down the high way at 79 miles per hour (I was convinced if I didn't go over 80, I wouldn't get pulled over. And I didn't get my first ticket until long after my 
trusty Lincoln was in the land-yacht grave yard.) I had school in Akron, and friends in Akron, and I was happy to drive to see them. These days, I try to see as many people as possible while I'm at my parents' house so I don't have to drive back and forth. Sometimes my plan back fires, though. Last Christmas, I went out there and then got a call that my friends from high school were hanging out in downtown Akron. I called ahead this time. (And to the left, a slightly embarrasing picture of me with the brown beast. I called her Bessie.)
Anyhow, I hope everyone has a good Thanksgiving. I imagine it's going to be pretty quiet around the blogosphere for the next few days, so we'll see if I can stay away as long as everyone else does.
This is going to be one heck of a week. First, I'll be driving all around the NEO stalking H.L. Hix. Okay, not really. But he's speaking in Kent today and hanging out in Akron on Thursday, and I'm going to try to make it to as many events as possible. But before that, I need to read some of his poems.
Then...Thesis Defense on Friday! Holy Crap! I know I'm ready. But it's still scary.
After that, it's off to Winter Wheat. Me and some other NEOpoets (Jen, Jay, and Jessica S.) will be talking about workshops, poetry pedagogy (is there such a thing?), and genuine responses on Saturday at 2:30. I'm thinking about doing a little celebrating on Friday night, but since Mary's job market talk is first thing in the morning, maybe I'll save all my energy for Saturday night. I'm looking forward to meeting some people (Gary, Adam, who else?) that I somehow missed at AWP last year.
*
Mom and Dad are moving to Florida. Well, nothing is set in stone just yet, but they've been talking to a realtor and their friends in Florida are scoping out houses for them. I guess I'm pretty unusual in that until I went to college, I lived in the same place my whole life. Mom and Dad bought the house I grew up in in 76 or 77 and have lived there ever since. But now they're moving. I would love to be in a position to buy the house from them, but I don't think my tiny little stipend will pay a mortgage. Besides, I'm supposed to be leaving, too.
That's what's really weird. Mom and Dad's house has always been the center of our family, and we (me and my 4 sisters) have tried to stay relatively close (except Carla, who has been bouncing around for the last 10 years with her then-boyfriend/now-husband while he learned how to be a periodontist). Now, the folks are planning to leave, Carla's in VA, and hopefully I'll be somewhere far, far away, too. Maybe I'll end up at Florida State and I'll be able to "go home" on the weekends. Or maybe I'll end up in Nebraska and no one will come visit me because they'd rather take their vacation time to go see Mom and Dad.
Regardless of where I end up, I think my family as I know it will soon fall apart. I don't know that we'll stay as close when we aren't geographically close. (Although Carla and I seem to get along better the further away she gets, so maybe I'm wrong.) Most of us hate talking on the phone. Between jobs, limited incomes, and other obligations, none of us have the luxury of traveling frequently. We do like email though.
I'm afraid we're going to turn into one of those families that gets together on Christmas and can't wait to get back home. I'm afraid that my sisters and I will become distant, unfamiliar. I suppose I have as much control in not letting that happen as anyone, but frankly, I'm bad at keeping in touch between visits at Mom and Dad's house now, so how good am I going to be at it while studying for the comps or writing a dissertation?
My mother's favorite bit of advice is to not worry about something so far off in the future that you can't do anything about it. So I suppose I'm wasting time and energy fretting about this now. What I should be worrying about is those PhD applications, b/c if I don't get those done, none of this really matters, now does it?
If you were driving west on 224 yesterday, you would have seen something like this. I'm kind of disappointed in fall this year. I don't know if it was the extended summer (90's in the first two weeks of October) or what, but it seems the leaves are falling off before they turn. For the most part. I do have to say that the weather was nearly perfect yesterday, the sky just the right shade of blue.
My family liked the chocolate pie I made, and the ranch bread was all right. Let's face it, Traceys will eat anything with melted cheese, so it wasn't too difficult to make people happy. But my god, the smell of clams was driving me insane. To tell the truth, I can't remember the last time I tried a clam or anything made with clam juice, because I hate the smell. And I don't know about you, but I can't eat something that smells bad.
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My mom sometimes reads my blog. She asked me yesterday if it was very professional to use the acronym WTF in something that a future employer or publisher might read. Now, you should know that my mother hates "the f word" and any word that sounds like it or is a euphamism for it. "Oh fudge" is a little offensive, frigging or fricking is just as bad as the real thing. She once caught me flipping her off (my bedroom door was shut, she came in without knocking--I would have never done it to her face!) and didn't talk to me for three days. But WTF seems pretty tame to me. What do you think?
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A while back, I mentioned my final project for my non-fiction class--the one about me being a klutz. I wrote a 5 page mini-essay a few weeks ago that morphed into something more about body image and family, but I think they can work together. Now, I have to write a five page object essay for tomorrow, and the object I'm writing about is my folks' kitchen table. Somehow, some way, these two little essays are going to fit together. I'm not quite sure how yet.
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The rejection letters have been streaming in steadily over the last week or so. About half of my HFS has come back already. At least it's a constant reminder to keep sending stuff out.
Almost every year, my family puts together a clam bake in the fall. It's a great tradition, but I hate clams. In fact, I hate clams so much that I won't eat anything that was cooked in the steamer with them. And I certainly won't eat the chowder.
Since I don't eat the clams, I make a bunch of munchies. I have a serious weakness for finger food. So, by this time tomorrow, all the food in the picture will become: zesty ranch bread, spicy sausage dip, and some sort of chocolate mousse pie (I forget what the cookbook calls it...hence the lack of cheesy adjectival description). The only one I've made before is the sausage dip. I hope the rest is good.
*
I don't know what my deal is with blast-from-the-past photos, but here's one of me and my nephew (now roommate) scrubbing clams. That's the best part about not living at home any more. There are really few things grosser than scrubbing the sand and grit off of live clams. (Oh, and this is during my never-ending awkward phase, around 14. And I had a cold. I'm not always a mouth breather.) You know, I forgot I used to be taller than Michael. Weird.
Since they're someday going to be famous because of my poems about them, here are some pics of my family. The first one is Mom and Dad. The second one is me and my sisters, minus one.
My mom almost called the cops on me yesterday... she asked me to drive from my sister's house to her house (about five miles) to get something she forgot. 45 minutes later, when I wasn't back and didn't answer my cell, Mom started to panic. Sent one of my brother-in-laws out to find me, thinking he would see me in a ditch somewhere.
The thing is, I stopped to visit Shelly, my first boss. She lives right across the street from my parents and I always say how I should go see her, but then I never do. I did yesterday. Wow, that was weird. I started working for Shelly when I was 14. She had just opened up her dog kennel and grooming business and I was her first employee. For the next 3 summers, I walked dogs, cleaned up poop, started learning how to groom and train. I think she wanted me to work there forever and be her apprentice, but I had more important things to do...like writing angst filled poems and working somewhere that didn't involve poop. Anyhow, it's been about five years since I've seen Shelly and even longer since I've wandered around the kennel and meeting her 47 dogs (okay, that's a hyperbole, but it is well over 10). Brought a lot of memories back. Made me wish I had a dog. (but glad I don't own 15!)
that it's been pretty quiet in blog land lately? Even I didn't find anything to ramble about for three whole days!
Last night, I had a dream about line breaks...and how perfect mine are. I wish my consciousness had that kind of self-confidence.
It's April. National Poetry Month. I haven't written my poem for today yet, but then, I've only been up an hour.
I think I've conquered the prose poem beast. I now have two prose poems, and I think they're good. And long. Way longer than anything I write with conventional line breaks. I usually lose steam after about 20 lines. I'm excited to send them out.
Speaking of sending things out, I got a rejection from Cimmaron Review yesterday. No ink. : (
Last Thursday, Joyce Dyer came to campus for a lecture/reading. She's one of the University of Akron Press's authors, and her memoir, Gum Dipped is about growing up in Akron. She spoke about Creative Non-Fiction--what it is, how to do it, the ethics of it, etc. Got me thinking. I've always wanted to write a memoir but I didn't think I had the "right" to. So I've shoved personal experience into bad fiction and into poems (that I hope aren't bad) instead of just writing personal essays. I'm starting to think I might just let myself try that memoir thing next.
JD also talked about how to deal with revealing family secrets/depicting family members in flattering or not so flattering ways, which made me think about my family poems and the way my family is depicted. In "The Orchard," I describe one of my sisters as "lurking." When she read it (from what I heard) she was a little miffed. I wonder what she's going to think when she reads the poems that are specifically about her? I said something to my mom on Friday about this fear of mine, and she said it was too bad for "them" if "they" didn't like what I write. I wonder if she'll still be saying that when she reads the poems that are about her? (Love ya, Mom!)
I'm reading RHINO 2007 this week. I'm loving it so far, especially the Editors' Prize winner "Etudes for El Paso and Spanish Guitar" by Akron's own Thomas Dukes. Dr. Dukes is such a smart, funny person and this poem gives me goose bumps. He's reading at Mona's Open Mic this month and I cannot wait!
Speaking of readings, Northeast Ohio seems to be quite the touring spot. Joyce Dyer last week, Mary and Craig on Good Friday, Jimmy Santiago Baca on the 10th. I'm sure there's more that I'm not thinking of off the top of my head. Oh, duh! Upstart Crows Open Mic on Thursday and my own reading on the 13th with several other local "emerging" poets (I have emerging in quotes because it feels really pretentious to call myself one). It's a good thing I don't have a social life, otherwise there might be some conflicts with all these readings.
Well, now that I've been blogging for 30 minutes, I am going to go find something to eat and finish re-reading Becoming the Villainess for class next Saturday.
I have to miss this today because my family decided today is the day to help my dad clean out his ginormous barn. To call him a pack rat is an understatement (he built this building special for his stuff) and it is definitely going to be an all day project. Maybe it will be long enough for me to figure out how to describe the smell of the place. It's my favorite smell in the world, kind of musty, kind of cold, but there's something else to it and it makes me feel at home. I've never figured it out.
Oh, and if you look real close, you can see the blue Ford tractor that appears in "The Orchard"
Last year, I discovered that my grandfather (who had a shady past of bank robbing and possible mob connections) and the rest of my family were great fodder for poetry. I come from immigrants--I don't think anyone I'm related to was in the US before 1900--and I think there's a great wealth of poetic "stuff" (for lack of a better word) in my poor, old-world, non-English speaking ancestors trying to make a life in Pittsburg and Cleveland for the last 100 years. However, as I started trying to write these poems, I realized I just don't know enough. My family is pretty tight-lipped about our history, so I'm going on bits of stories and rumors. So, it seems research is the next logical step.
Unfortunately, I find myself caught up in other things--really tough classes last spring, trying to be a good teacher now--that have prohibited me from doing that research. So I've turned my family series into a series of childhood poems. I like the childhood poems, but I want very badly to go back to my original impetus.
Earlier this week, I decided to do a search on the Ohio State Penitentiary, where my grandfather lived from 1946-1956. Holy crap, does that place have a sordid and sad history! Riots, over crowding and deplorable conditions...most during the time when my grandfather was there (at it's worst, the prison held somewhere around 5000 inmates, and this was in 1955). Also, in the 1860's, it was a POW camp, and in 1930, there was a fire that killed hundreds of inmates and guards. Ghosts, perhaps? This is exactly what I was hoping to find. Yet, now, as I try to put a poem together in my head (I haven't gotten to paper/keyboard yet) I have no idea how I will combine what I've read with what I know and remember about my grandfather. I'd have no problem writing a research paper...but how does one go about writing a research poem?
