Procrastination and Resolutions

So what does a graduate student do to procrastinate writing her thesis? She explores the internet. She listens to some strange information on YouTube about Mormon undergarments. She views random blogs, she checks Facebook, and she reflects upon a conversation she had with a young undergrad student yesterday. Every once in a while, a student comes along that thrills an educator. This student is an English major, and a communications major. She's currently reading mother Theresa and Nietzsche, she's just finished a novel and has declared she loves people and loves to think. She wants to spend more time thinking and getting to know people. I wish that any person that has any kind of penchant toward writing could feel the same way. Writing is thinking, and learning, and growing. While I am here at the end of the month of January, I spent time this month analyzing what I need to do differently in need to write more, I need to think more, and I need to take better care of myself. So instead of resolutions at the beginning of the month, I'm hammering them out at the end of the month. Part of my writing will be returning to Journal keeping. I've let this go over the last several years and it's time to return and to do it for no one but myself.
Here's a poem I wrote several years ago during the summer and a recently revised it. And please know that I'm only slightly obsessed with tomatoes.

A Tomato Sandwich
The wooden cutting board is an altar.
With sacred elements gathered,
a gleaming chef’s knife, salt shaker,
a jar of creamy mayo
and soft white bread,
the first virgin fruit has been plucked from the vine.
Rubenesque, rosy and fertile, it glows like the summer sun.
Tenderly, the first harvest is laid upon the holy table.
With the knife piercing the skin and slicing through,
its virtues are laid bare as the eyes of heaven watch.
The succulent, red sacrifice
cast upon the bread ---
An offering of salt sprinkled to refine flavor.
The ecstasy of that first bite --
scarlet juices mingle with the purest white mayonnaise
trickling down the chin of a mighty ravenous god who is
satisfied….
for a while.

So I'm following a reading challenge this year.
I'll read 50+ books.

Reading is so important.

A post about nothing

So what does one do when going stir crazy from writing a document proposal for a thesis? I found ever other way that waste time… I checked eBay …checked e-mail checked Facebook. Now I'm looking at blogs. And then I remember: I have a blog. When's the last time I wrote on that blog? Oh Gee, if had any followers they've probably given up on me. Not that I'm all that interesting and not that I'm writing to an audience because if I thought I had an audience, I may get an ego. So I've been in the house for three days because we've had a foot and a half of snow and I'm supposed to be working feverishly on my writing: a document proposal, an essay, an article on the importance of reading to children, an article on green household cleaners, and an article about the modern farm woman. My husband, who is away, tells me that work expands to fit the time allotted. I'm afraid he's right. I guess that is what happens to procrastinators or perfectionists, of which I'm both. It's 10 o'clock in the evening, I haven't eaten since noon and I'm trying to decide whether to eat before I go to bed to toss and turn and not sleep till 3 AM because I have so much work to do and it's on my mind.
I don't really feel like a midnight ride to Wal-Mart but I don't know that just a ride around town would work. I'd like to eat at the diner in the next town but not sure I'm worth doing it alone. My husband and I want this place at 2 AM when we been doing something crazy like taking late-night pictures for find ourselves bored with the usual fare. I wrote a poem about a diner a few years ago in the short order cook there. But I just did a search on my hard drive and can't find that poem to share. So I guess I'll go find a snack.

Another fabulous book

This is a review of the book Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams that I finished last night. I had a difficult time getting started into this one but I pushed through for several reasons. It was recommended to me by my grad school professor. So, of course, I wanted to read to understand more closely the mind of this mentor and I like the idea of the subtitle "An Unnatural history of Family and Place." I had not heard of Williams previously. Initially it had too much naturalist talk for me and then its other subject matter is the author's mother's struggle with cancer. So sad. I put it down at one point because it made losing my own brother to cancer so fresh. And my own fear of getting cancer emphasized. But this is a bittersweet and sacred story of one family's journey through losing those they(a mother, two grandmothers, and aunts to cancer) love. Williams speaks for herself, her deep personal intimate feelings (which were some of the most moving parts of the book) and speaks for the others remaining. She is known for the essay at the end of the book that serves as the epilogue. It is entitled "The Clan of One Breasted Women." The irony of this book is that these people all live in the western part of the country - Utah - where there was much nuclear testing during the 1950s and beyond. Williams, a Mormon with clear lineage to the beginnings of the movement, presents the evidence that these research projects are the cause of the cancers in her family. She also chronicles her concerns over the lack of environmental respect that is given to the Great Salt Lake and the surrounding region. Part of her refuge is spending time in the bird refuge that edges part of the Great Salt lake.
While at first, I wasn't sure I would like this, I gave it a chance. And I'm so thrilled with the outcome. How can one be thrilled with such a bittersweet book with death as an outcome? Williams says that "Grief dares us to love once more." That parallels a recent song I've heard by artist Amy Grant - "Love has made me unafraid." It's no mistake that two different people in the midst of the human experience have discovered this deep truth for themselves in entirely separate ways. I'm glad they brought to my attention something I knew but had not yet articulated.

A poem I wrote several years back.


Bathe

Condensation beads over the mirrored image
Of a woman reclining in a porcelain tub.
Long limbs, excessive curves, and delicate neck.
Full lips invoke, “Grandmother.”
A petticoated figure draws close on a wooden stool.
The worn faucet burbles shut the flow of steaming water.
Vapor ribbons rise with the deep scent of lavender.
The ancient voice whispers secrets.

“Catch the light when it dances across your palm.
Quickly child, or it will be lost!”

“Let a man know you are strong. Don’t let him weaken you with need.”

The windowpane is sprinkled with flakes
From a shimmering winter sky.
An elderly hand smoothes back damp ringlets
Before a sponge, lush with suds, glides across naked skin
Bestowing the grace of ablution.
Age-soiled skin sags while
Water baptizes a firm, freckled shoulder
Sending rivulets to race over pale-nippled breasts.

“Hold tight to your trust
– but live life with an open hand, not a closed fist.”

“The sooner one realizes she is flawed, the stronger she will be.”

The hum of womanly conversation mingles with
The lap of the bath. Swirls of soap pool around one knee
Magnifying the sliver of a scar gained from a teenage tumble
Against a broken bottle. The older woman traces the mark
And winks at the younger.

“Savor each failure --- and each accomplishment.”

Wizened eyes once bright are dimmed now in death.
“There is no wisdom greater than kindness.”
With a sidelong glance in the evening light, drowsy lids open,
“Embrace the wonder of each new experience”
The water is icy and an unforgiving gurgle escapes the drain.
A solitary figure is reflected in the dressing table mirror.
“Dance on the dawn of each passing moment.”

copyright.ragamuffingurl.2010

I've got to set a better record than posting once a year.

Here I am again. This time, I'm challenged by all the possiblities that summer holds.
I'm responsible to add to the beauty of this life and so I'll try. First I must beautify and believe in myself. I do... and I should practice the creativity that is uniquely my own. So here goes.

I've been following a fellow blogger and admiring her creativity. She inspires me and yet she doesn't know me...
Thank you Willow.

I write. Not for money... well maybe an occassional magazine article, freelance, or for work... I direct an academic support center at a small college. and I write for my degree ... I'm working on a graduate degree in Literature and Writing.

But I write not to impress but to have fun... to enjoy... and to know myself. Simple really. I often have opening lines... but seldom pursue them.

I hear words in my head (no... not voices) lovely words like bliss and bold and Madagan and twinkle and twilight.

I will be attempting some writing and some reviewing and some reporting on gardening soon.

Look for my next post in a response to Magpie Tales.

I have been very absent from posting for a while and would like to get back in the swing of things here in the blogger world. I've had a glorious summer off and enjoyed growing some tomatoes and visiting farmers markets.
I recently visited Harrison Arkansas and had the opportunity to taste true Arkansas Traveler tomatoes in the great state of Arkansas. This will certainly have me appreciating my own AR Travelers when they start coming in.
I plan on expanding this blog to include some more interesting thoughts about life, faith, small town life, movies, books and the wonderful world of academia of which I am a part. Stay tuned!