All Hallows, All Saints

In moments, I am going to leave to drive over to Tieton, Washington, to attend the LitFuse 2008 poetry workshops. I signed up because Tieton is both beautiful and also the town where my mother grew up. Add poetry, and how can I refuse? Plus, Lorna Dee Cervantes is teaching a master class.

I didn't check the rest of the schedule until yesterday, when I saw that the focus of this year's workshop is Dia de los Muertos and writing about the dead.

?!?

I feel like all I've done is write about the dead. Not exactly true, but that's how I feel. Why was I going to spend a weekend focusing on it. Could I spend a weekend focusing on it?

Then I realized that most of my poems have been about death and grief and loss, the experience of the living after death. Very few poems have been about the dead, for the dead (two, though, for my grandparents who lived in Tieton).

So I'm embarking on something new after all. It's exciting.

Now, it's time to gas up and go.

Do you think

Just now musing that the more dream-like and fragmented a poem is, the more intellectual it is. Or maybe I need to be more intellectual or analytical or observant to "get" it or to "get" that I don't need to "get" it. (And I still feel like I'm missing half of it.)

I've been reading The Angel of History, by Carolyn Forche. Some heavy lifting, for me anyway. Sifting through the places, the people, the chronology, all the while reveling in the beauty of language and the human tragedy of the imagery.

Words and pictures

This afternoon, I was thinking about art—creating visual art. The train of thought rolled along something like this:

"Do artists get as many rejections as poets?"

"What if I sent art to journals instead of poems?"

"Wait, I don't do art anymore." (I did art some in high school. My grandmother thought that I was going to become an artist—but modern dance then derailed that idea.)

"But could art be my medium? Could I change?"

And I realized that words are my medium. For good or bad, better or worse, words are where I live. Changing to another medium would be like taking up pole vaulting. Or modern dance—and I tried that already.

And I also realized that I could still do art, visual art, as a means of expanding my way of seeing, expanding my voice, pushing (or leading) my understanding into new places. It probably wouldn't be "good" or sent anywhere, but it could be valuable to me.

Then again, that's time I wouldn't spend writing or trying to write or sitting on the sofa thinking about writing or wishing I were writing. Is it a good trade?

(Part of me says that doing is always better than thinking about doing—which is not the same thing as thinking about consequences, which is certainly important and, well, that conversation could go on for a long time.)

Will I dig the charcoal and pastels out from their shelf in the basement? Will I draw sketches that I can cut into blocks for printing? Will I explore papers and ways to present my poems differently—more three-dimensionally? Will I have the time or energy to do any of this (as opposed to thinking about doing it)?

I don't know.

How about you? Do you ever consider chucking it all and taking up an entirely new medium? Do you ever use a different medium to explore more of your creative territory?

Show me the colors!

I love the fall colors.

Riding up the hill today, I was seeing clouds of bright yellow leaves. But I needed to hurry and pick up my daughter, so I didn't stop to snap a picture. By the time I took these, that brilliant golden sunlight had set a little too far in the west. But it's still glorious.

This afternoon, I found myself deep into questioning mode. Again. And then I realized, "This is great!" Maybe not fun—but if those questions can lead me to some new places... For me, the trick is to follow them without feeling overwhelmed.

In the meantime, writing is always good.

Expertise needed

Any fairy tale experts out there?

I'm back in the Northwest, amid some pretty stunning colors and a seeping chill, and I've embarked on a quest of another kind.

I'm trying to find a story from a book that I had as a child. I remember the book cover distinctly. I remember that the illustrations were not very good (or maybe it's just that they were printed in black, white, and green). And I remember that the book definitely included Rapunzel and the story of the shoemaker and the elves, as well as Puss 'n Boots.

But the story I'm looking for involves three brothers who each set out to seek their fortune. First the oldest, then the next oldest, and then the youngest. As each son leaves, his mother sends him out the door with a basket of pears.

As each son saunters down the road, he encounters an old woman who asks him if he has anything to eat. I don't remember the exact details, but the two oldest brothers do not share their basket of pears and they are never heard from again. Hmmm…

But the youngest brother stops and sits down by the side of the road and shares his pears. This is where I begin to lose details. I don't remember all the events that happen next, except that they are Good Things and there is a Happy Ending.

Even though the beginning of the story is what has stayed with me, I'd still like to find out What Happened Next. Cruising online through Grimm stories did not yield any stories with brothers and pears. I'm wondering whether the tale is from Perreault, or whether it is obscure or even whether someone in the '50s just made it up for that one book.

So I'm asking: Anyone know the title of this tale?

Up in the mountains

Yesterday, we took the tram up through Chino Canyon to Mount San Jacinto State Park. Last year, the park was closed because of fire danger, but this year, we were able to hike into the Round Valley camp and then loop back.

I tried to take a movie of the tram ride up, but it was a little longer than optimal video length (and I got a little tired). If I can edit what I captured, I'll post it later. Up at the top, I had fun exploring vistas and textures, and breathing in all that high, dry air.

On the way up.

Tom on the trail.

Other women bring a daypack. I brought a purse (but my waterbottle almost fit in it).

The grass was so brilliantly gold and the sky was so blue. My camera could only attempt to capture the colors.

Tom's favorite rock.

Round Valley.

In the desert

Our little terrace, just right for beginning the morning.

Lunch!