
Quote the Raven, "Nevermore..."



Here's the church where I ended up yesterday after a walk through a larger small town of 5600 people. I followed the churchbells and looked out over the water at autumn happening in every direction.
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After the church with locked doors (I tried), I ended up at another church, The Church of Used Books. I lost track of time and entered that space where time moved without me. In an old book by Theodore Roethke, I found my favorite marginalia. Under the poem, "Weed-Puller," a stranger had written, "What is he digging at?"
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A construction worker asked me if I wanted job. I said I'm happy enjoying the day.
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Later I walked by a second bookstore who had a painted letters on their window that said, "Sherman Alexie Reading!" but someone had erased the R and it took me a moment to figure out what a "She man Alexie Reading" was.
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I was out in my poetry shed when a thunder and lightning storm passed above. I survived.
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Sherman Alexie, award-winning author and poet, will speak about and read from his latest book, "The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian," Oct. 23 as part of West Sound Reads.
The appearance is sponsored by West Sound Reads, a coalition of West Sound Independent Booksellers, the Kitsap Regional Library and its foundation, and the Suquamish Tribe. Alexie won the National Book Award for Young People's Literature and the Washington State Book Award for the story of Junior, an aspiring cartoonist who leaves the Spokane Indian reservation to attend an all-white high school in a neighboring town. Picked upon by nearly everyone in both communities and facing daunting challenges of poverty and discrimination, Junior uses his considerable wit and determination to win acceptance. A book signing will follow and the public is invited.
Time: 7:30 p.m.
Place: The Suquamish Old Tribal Center and Museum. Free shuttle service will be provided from the parking lot at the Clearwater Casino Resort, 15347 Suquamish Way NE, just off the Agate Pass Bridge to Bainbridge Island on Highway 305, beginning at 6:30 p.m.
Cost: Free.
Benefits: A portion of the proceeds from book sales will be donated to the Suquamish Foundation.
Info: Call Liberty Bay Books at (360) 779-5909 or Kitsap Regional Library at (360) 405-9021.

During the 2nd or 3rd inning, my husband said, "It's over." I said, "They'll come back."
During the 7th inning, we watched many of the Boston fans leaving the stadium. I said, "They're going to be sorry they left."
I put my daughter to bed, then fell asleep myself and missed the rest of the game.
This morning, my Boston Red Sox hat was on the kitchen counter with this note: "Keep your hat. Largest comeback in playoff Hx. Final Score Boston: 8 Tampa Bay: 7 Great call."
I love it when I'm right!
* Go Red Sox!

What I'm Listening to: Sister Golden Hair Surprise (by America)
Weather: windy
Mood: here
I've been submitting poems today. I went 25 days then submitted two days in a row. I usually submit when I'm not writing, but I also wrote today.
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I've had this belief I need to be writing fiction right now, that poetry doesn't pay the bills. Corporate K (my alter ego) seems to have returned with her shoulderpads and business attire and has plans for me.
I sometimes think Artist Way, while centering me, also brings out all my fears about being a writer. The wasting-my-time stuff and the $$-stuff--the poetry-doesn't-pay blues. But I remind myself how it does pay, in ways that don't always come in a check, but sometimes it also pays in that way too.
Maybe I'm trying on new suits this month, trying to see how I look.
I'm not sure, I was a fiction writer before I was a poet (shhhh....) But then I fell hard for the genre that doesn't make the best party conversation. "My name is Slimshady and I write poetry. Here's the cheese dip."
Who knows. Maybe a little growing pains in the poetry barn, the writing shed. Maybe a little worry, a little wonder what's going to happen next. The idea that I have chosen to live my life as a poet feels kind of big these days, Talking Head big, same as it ever was. But here I am thinking and instead of writing, and that, my friend, my maverick, may be the problem.
What I'm listening to now: Dancing in the Moonlight (by King Harvest)
I confess I can't believe it's already Tuesday as today's holiday made it feel like a Sunday. But now that we have our dates in order, let's begin...
I confess, I ache for this time of year.
There is no other way to say that autumn is my favorite season and October with its month of creepy travel ghost shows. I love spooky and have always been intrigued with graveyards, with haunted houses. I used to play kickball in a cemetery when I was a kid. I used to have my mum drive me to the gate of an old cemetery behind The Drift On Inn after we went to the Drive-Thru Rice Pudding Hut just so I could see if I saw any shadows behind the gates.
Fall brings me to my childhood watching It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and that scene where Snoopy sneaks through the countryside to the Halloween party is probably how I ended up in the country, how I wanted to live in a place with fields and pumpkin patches. How I wanted to have a countryside I could disappear into.
To me, it's perfect this time of year, the color of the moon, the fog, the leaves falling everywhere, asters blooming, the farms and their harvests, the cornstalks, all of it. I like that we feel a little closer to the otherworld, with Halloween, and All Souls Day comes November 1st and Day of the Dead begins with its sugar skulls and marigold altars.
And even with ghosts and death, I see it as the romantic time of year with football mums and homecoming, nights at stadiums and wet wool uniforms, the sound of the crowd, hot chocolate spilling across a metal bench. Many years ago back in high school I remember running onto the field in the rain, I remember having someone to run to and the orange moon on the other side of the stadium watching over it all.
All this beauty and a feeling I can't put my finger on, a feeling that mirrors joy, contentment, and yet, last week I just wasn't quite right. A little sad. A little anxious.
This is the fall I am part of. The girl with the homecoming mum crying in the hallway. The trees losing their leaves in a sudden windstorm. The crisp air and the night blanket shutting down the sun a little earlier. All this and its beauty, over and over again.
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someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action
an unbranded range animal (especially a stray calf); belongs to the first person who puts a brand on it
irregular: independent in behavior or thought; "she led a somewhat irregular private life"; "maverick politicians"
_____________________
Honestly, with the world as chaotic as it is, I'm not sure how having a "maverick president" is a good thing. I would not trust my money with someone who's called a "maverick financial planner." Nor would I trust my child with a "maverick babysitter."
I want the controlled, the thought out, the think-before-I-act type of president. I've had enough of mavericks. I want someone whose not willing to take a chance with our country or the economy. I want "change" not "chance." What a difference a G makes.
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