If it's Tuesday, it's time for your confessions. Share a bit of yourself with us and we promise to do the same.
I'm feeling a little mad these day. And by mad, I mean crazed. And by crazed I mean crazy busy. Wish I could completely attribute it to spring. But no. I attribute it to poetry.
I've been carrying a lot of stress lately. It is a tightness in my chest, like my skin is pulling toward a center.
The card above is from the Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst, MA. The card itself was a gift from Lis, a friend and festival volunteer. This is one of the many kindnesses my friends have given me during the past few weeks. Little gifts, invites for dinner, hot chocolate in the afternoon, an extra hand watching the kids--all from friends who know the late nights and early mornings I've been working between festival planning and teaching.
My undying gratitude, folks. Thanks for keeping me sane in an insane time.
After the festival, I want to take a day trip to visit the Emily Dickinson grounds. Maybe I'll spend the night in Amherst to explore the town for a mini-writing retreat.
As you might expect, I've been off on my poem-a-day challenge, but only by a few days. I have freewrites waiting to be turned into drafts. Hoping to work on them tomorrow morning. Ahhh, blessed by my Wednesday mornings at the Salem Athenaeum. That's where a small group of writers get together to write. Most weeks, I can get a solid hour or two of writing in. I'll take a picture tomorrow of this quiet, cozy space.
I may pick up the poem-a-day challenge in May as a self-imposed "do-over." But I haven't given up on April yet.
In conversation with my six-year old daughter, she confused Red Sox great Johnny Pesky with former U.S. Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky. We've been listening to Pinsky's new CD POEMJAZZ so when she saw Pesky's name in a Red Sox book, she confused the two.
Pinsky. Pesky. Pinksy. Pesky. It can happen.