Most people I know are having mood swings in this pandemic. On top of feeling isolated and penned in, there’s much to fear—for ourselves, our loved ones, our nations, and for humanity.
Reading poetry can help me when I’m in a funk, as can sunlight and the outdoors. I don’t think I can write my way out of a funk, but sometimes I’m able to put pen to page despite low spirits. There’s a chicken-egg conundrum to this; I’m not clear what comes first—whether writing helps me get away from the gloom, or I’m already on my way out and that allows me to give voice to my feelings. But they do often seem to go hand in hand.
Today, a poem I wrote near the darkest point of my recent funk—during a two- to three-day period starting on Holy Thursday of Easter week—made its way into the wide universe. “What I Fear Most” is published now on Headline Poetry and Press, and the editor who accepted it made my day by telling me it had struck home personally with them, voicing what they considered a common experience.
It’s gratifying and comforting to know that something positive can come from sadness. I’d rather not have gone through (or put my husband through) that 1 1/2-week funk. But having done so, I’m glad to think I might help someone else muddle through as well.
I intended this blog to serve as something of a social distancing diary when I started writing daily posts with the institution of shelter-in-place orders. Clearly that plan has crumbled, given the nearly two-week gap. But sometimes it’s hard to write, and hard to share. I’m forgiving myself.
Photos of the day
I used most of yesterday’s good photos in yesterday’s blog post. Here are a couple taken while the sun was out one day during my funk. Dogs on the deck—a recipe for contentedness.
I believe I might have entered the baking stage of coping. When I made my Pi Day pie back on my first day of social distancing, I was carrying out an annual tradition unrelated to our current situation. I would have made that pie in normal times. Granted, my husband and I might not have eaten it all by ourselves, but…
A week or so ago, when I made chicken pot pie for dinner, that also didn’t count. That pie was just a normal dinner. I already had the filling in the freezer, waiting for a crust.
Even when I made cookies last week, they were a treat that didn’t feel like a pattern. Now, I think they might have been the beginning of one. Yesterday I made cheese scones. And with a birthday coming up in our household—and yes, we will have a party!—when I made the grocery list that included evaporated milk and coconut for German chocolate cake frosting, I told my husband at the last minute to get extra evaporated milk so I’d have the makings for macaroons.
There are two of us in this household, and I don’t think sharing baked goods with neighbors is an approved social distancing activity (though if you know the answer and it is, please let me know). So that’s a lot of baked goods needing to be consumed. And in my mind, I’m all ready to make more cheese scones the minute the current batch runs out.
This is either stress baking or sublimating. Or are those the same?
Goal setting
I didn’t actually write down goals yesterday, but I did have them in the back of my head throughout the day. I did alright—washed a bit of laundry, made those scones, wrote part of a blog post for Escape into Life—maybe most of one, but it doesn’t feel right yet, so I’m unsure. Also I determined that we don’t seem to have fishing line, which I want for a particular creative project, so now it’s on the same shopping list with the building supplies for the new raised garden bed I’ve been planning since last fall. Today’s goals include one for the husband: order those supplies. Mine look something like this:
Dog walk
Exercise walk
Poetry or other reading
Clean towels
Stretch goal: Finish that blog post
Photo a day, of course
Photo of the day
I’m a day behind in sharing, so here’s one from each of the last two days. In the first, I was focused on the doorway, which intrigued me because of the lighting; the cat was a bonus and maybe my favorite part of the picture.
This one shows Rolo’s newest habit: leaving the ball on the window ledge where she needs it in her mouth as a pacifier when she growls and shakes at other dogs. Apparently she’s grown tired of having to run through the house desperately looking for it when she sees a dog coming.
Reading is a temporal affair, isn’t it? Temporal in the sense of time, not place. The reader’s mind connects with the writer’s and, as with conversation, time matters. What I think today will be different from what I think tomorrow; what interests me changes from moment to moment, even more so from day to day or month to month. So whether a book grabs me (or a poem or essay) is as much about my own mind space while reading as it is about the quality of the writing. Nick Hornby used to make that point regularly in his “Stuff I’ve Been Reading” columns; he wouldn’t write about books he put down or didn’t like because he knew that he was part of the reading equation and didn’t think it fair to criticize the author.
This morning I pulled two small books of William Blake poems out of my bookcase, books that I apparently picked up in a Bangor, Maine, book store on vacation years ago (maybe 10?). They must have really resonated with me at the time—I bought two, after all—but rereading Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience over my morning coffee today left me ready for something else. A couple of pieces resonated, but nothing that would have moved me to buy the book. (To be fair, I suspect it was Blake’s Selected Poems that moved me more in that Bangor bookstore. I’ll probably look through it later today to see how I respond.)
What did move me today was a piece shared on Escape into Life’s Facebook page: a therapist’s advice turned into poetry: “An Anarchist Quaker’s Prayer to Soothe Anxiety.” I’m also reading a lot of Billy Collins and Maya Angelou and Mary Oliver these days. Is anyone else having trouble settling into a novel or non-fiction book? I don’t seem to have the focus for even the best novel these days, probably a result of underlying anxiety that I’m not much noticing otherwise. Poetry generally seems to be where my head is right now.
RIP Bookmarc’s
Finding the bookmark from Maine made me look up the bookstore to see how it’s doing these days. I’m sorry to report that Bookmarc’s went out of business a couple years back when its owner (unsurprisingly named…Marc) decided to retire. Its website is gone, but the Bangor Daily News informs me that Marc was planning to set up a booth in a local antique market, so I’m hopeful his longtime patrons are still able to find him.
I’m always sad to see an independent bookstore close down. I’ve spent many joyful hours of discovery in small bookstores all over the country, and they are among my favorite places—right up there with libraries. I can peruse tables and shelves happily in any bookstore, but a shop whose owners and staff offer recommendations and favorites and mini-reviews is a special treasure. I’m pleased to report that my community has several independent bookstores, both large and small. I have a favorite, but you might find me in any of them.
On Memory Lane
That Bookmarc’s bookmark has me remembering that lovely trip to Maine—the only time I’ve been there, and believe me I want to go back. What I remember most are the lighthouses, the oddest little Airbnb we’ve ever stayed at (but absolutely enjoyed—it came with farm-fresh eggs stocked in our little refrigerator every day!), fresh air and family hikes, lobster and blueberry pie, and the discovery of blueberry beer. All happy memories, and I might be inspired to dig up some of the photos later today to share in a separate post.
First, though, my report on yesterday, with lots of photos.
Goals, photos of the day
Yesterday was almost a lost day for personal achievement. I was so very tired, worked a full day on two hours’ sleep, and probably came close to achieving none of my personal goals. I saved it, though, by deciding I needed at least a short walk before bed. Two miles later, I arrived back home after a trip through our local park that I realized I needed because it had been a couple of weeks since I was in any kind of green space. I had my camera with me, and photo-a-day turned into several shots I’m not embarrassed to share. The park was restorative, restful, beautiful, and just what I needed. My goals today:
Letter to a friend, not just a postcard
Create something
Cleaning and laundry
Photo a day
Dog walk, weather permitting
A nice dinner, ordered in, with my husband and maybe some friends (virtually, of course)
And here are those photos. It was wet in the park between rain showers, and the tree branches and buds and berries glistened in the light. I really can’t decide what shots I like best. (Bonus shot of Tank at the bottom.)
Today’ is Illinois’ first full day of sheltering in place, my hometown’s fourth, and my own eighth. I’ve gone more than a week now without leaving my house and yard except to walk the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I’m a little bit stir crazy, but I’m okay.
I have big plans today: virtual Church of the Informed Citizen, via Skype, and a fire pit social at the edge of my front yard with my next-door neighbors. How will we manage the fire pit, you ask? The plan is: Fire in the center, two chairs on our side, two on theirs, always 6 feet apart. I think we can do it!
Goal setting
I think goal setting is probably a good idea while we’re all sheltering at home. I can easily get up in the morning and fritter away an entire day, so it helps to tell myself early in the day what I’d like to accomplish.
Here’s how yesterday’s goals tallied up for me at the end of the day.
Chicken pot pie—check
Dog walk—check
Exercise walk—nope, just with the dogs
Laundry—check
Place my seed order—check
Read—only at bedtime, but check
Create something—check
Photo of the day—check
I added the photo-a-day goal mid-day. Being cooped up in one place, I think challenging myself to take a photo that’s worth sharing each day might be a good way to keep from falling into a rut. I’m pretty good at ruts. I need the challenge.
Photo of the day
I over-achieved yesterday on the photography front. We walked past someone’s terrific sidewalk chalk art on our walk, and that’s the picture shown up top. Rolo got in on the action later by being too cute for words, twice. Here’s one of the results:
And then, of course, there was the chicken pot pie. Rarely can I resist the urge to take a photo of a pie that I’ve baked, be it savory or sweet. It’s not great photography, perhaps, but food porn really isn’t about the photography. I can assure you it was delicious, served with a side salad.
Yesterday’s creation: poem art
A while back—a long while back—I bought an old book of illustrated children’s stories to transform into something. I was thinking at the time of some sort of altered book, but that idea gave way to poetry at some point. Yesterday, I took a page of it, found a poem in it, and then looked for a picture to go along with it. The result: a teeny-tiny poem called “The growing darkness.” I had a lot of fun putting it together, I think largely because it made me work with my hands. Here it is:
I think next time I might start with a picture and find a poem specifically for it.
Goal setting
Here are today’s goals:
Photo of the day
Dinner from scratch, by me, probably spaghetti carbonara
I added cardamom to my coffee this morning, three firm shakes in the basket with the beans before grinding. It’s a treat I usually save for weekends, when I have more time to savor the morning brew.
Working from home, I have that little bit of extra time now, to sit with coffee in hand or at my side, listen to the birds outside, read some news, or watch the sky lighten behind the houses to the east.
A poem for today
I started my day reading Billy Collins, one of my favorite poets, because his words are deceptively simple and accessible, and because he’s funny. We all need laughter, and funny poetry can be very funny. Billy’s a really good reader (see how I’ve put us on a first-name basis? It just feels right with Billy!) Here he is, reading one of my many favorites among his poems, “Consolation,” which I think is a timely poem for those among us who are reluctantly canceling travel plans right now.
#AmWriting
I wrote a poem of my own this morning, too, one that I think will need a bit of work to polish but perhaps not too much. It happened because I opened up my computer and discovered that all of my browser tabs were gone and I couldn’t recover them. Sadness ensued, followed by poetry, and all was well with the world.
I finished rereading Peter Wohlleben’s fascinating book about trees yesterday and yearned for the woods. So off we went. It being already late afternoon, we didn’t have a lot of time, but long enough to clear our lungs and feed our souls. It was spring, and the woods were both soggy and somewhat snowy and the lakes icy. The sun helped lift our spirits and offered a picturesque sunset before putting itself to bed. All in all a satisfying afternoon, though not the same as being in the country.
I grew up in the country and miss nature and solitude. The tradeoffs, though, are culture and museums and ethnic restaurants, and those would be hard for me to give up. Unless I moved to Ireland, in which case I feel I could trade everything else and never miss it. I could be wrong.
I read a while back that Irish tourism officials were looking for someone to run a coffeeshop on Great Blasket Island during tourist season, and a friend (who clearly knows me very, very well) sent me the same article this week. I actually find this enormously tempting, despite the fact that the island has no electricity. Sadly, my two old dogs put me in no position to travel right now, let alone ship myself overseas for six months. But maybe next year? The thought of living and writing on the west coast of Ireland fills my soul. I might only write odes and celebrations.
This is the only picture here that isn’t from yesterday’s walk. It’s from Ireland. Sigh.
Not now, though. The first poem I ever wrote was born from bleak frustration, and sometimes I just need to get darkness onto a page. I had a poem published this week at Headline Poetry & Press that was one of those. One sunny day came about because January was literally so very gray in Chicago, and the news accompanying it seemed uncompromisingly bad. With an impeachment trial emphasizing our national divisions, I could barely bring myself to read or watch the news. Then February rolled in, and on the evening of Feb. 1 the sun peeked out for five minutes, and then the poem came. It’s intentionally ambiguous, straddling a no-man’s land between depression and hopefulness. I’m grateful to Headline Poetry for giving it a home.
Isn’t that some cool fungus?
Also this week I had a poem accepted to Back Patio Press, where it will be published on March 4. That’s one day after another piece will come to life at Tiny Seed Journal, and two days after my wedding anniversary, so I’m looking forward to early March. Also in early March is the next meeting of my book club, when we will discuss White Fragility: Why it’s so Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, by Robin Diangelo. I’ve just started it and am looking forward to the conversation. If you’d like to read it with us and discuss virtually, I’ll see you in the comment section.
