Gleaming Spires...

So I'm in an advanced poetry class this semester. We were assigned to pick one of the five or so poems we read during the first class and write a poem inspired by that...and this line "the spires of that gleaming kiln" stuck with me, kept coming back to my mind over and over, much as it did to Gretel in the poem "Gretel in Darkness" by Louise Gluk. Anyway, here is what I've got so far. I foolishly volunteered to be one of the three people who's poem will be workshopped today in class so I'm a bit nervous, but on the other hand I'm pretty excited too. I'm not feeling that great about this poem, other than there are some strong images in there, for me at least, and I am interested to see if any of them got across.

Also I haven't thought of a title yet.

We circled up as the smoke rose

above gleaming spires of fire,

burning logs spelling out our names

with thrown sparks and embers.

Our names were free,

set free, let loose,

we loosed ourselves into the wind.

We followed each other,

the spires of that gleaming kiln followed.

I can’t think well enough

of that day turned into night,

the night that seemed to last all day.

Strangers sharing substances unnamed

and nameless—new communities

joined for twenty-four hours and no more.

Looking at glass crafts—seeing the spires

of that gleaming kiln through mind’s eye—

we connected to each other, felt our hands

without looking, and held conversations

without speaking.

I close my eyes and see spires of smoke and light

rising up. They seem to go on and on without end,

touching the clouds that shield the stars

from our view. This memory has happened

so many times I can’t tell if it’s from last weekend

out in Idaho wilderness with a few hundred friends

and family gathering to buy, sell, trade

items and stories, or if it’s from any of the Labor Day

weekends spent at the Gorge with thousands

of fans, all gathered to see DMB play

on the cliff’s edge—lights and fog

filling the stage and floating ever up and out.

Lights and smoke draw us in, moth-like,

and we are enchanted. We keep these memories

the way smoke and lights kept us close

during the dark nights.

Pantoum Diagnosis...

Loosely emulating "Pantoum Evangel: Billy Sunday" by Gabriel Calvocoressi for an assignment in Intermediate Poetry. I highly recommend her poetry to anyone! This is not as metaphoric and is more narrative than her poem, but I wanted some of my family to be able to read it easily so there you go. This is not quite the final draft either so maybe I will update this when the poem is really finished...

Pantoum Diagnosis: Renal Cell Carcinoma

My dad is the strongest man I’ve ever met,

but that autumn we could all tell his headaches

were driving him crazy. Our family never saw doctors

so I knew it was serious when he made an appointment.

That autumn I could tell these headaches of his

were getting in the way of managing his life,

and I knew it was serious when he made an appointment

with a doctor to find out what was happening.

What could get in the way of his expert managing?

He must have been in so much pain to let

doctors try to find out what was happening.

They said it was anemia: a kidney tumor.

He must have been in so much pain to let

them schedule a complete nephrectomy

to stop this anemia by removing his kidney and tumor.

They even gave him morphine for the pain.

They scheduled a nephrectomy for December

 so he would be okay in time for Christmas.

The morphine they gave him seemed too much.

One day he could barely get out of bed,

but we needed him to be okay in time,

so they did another test. An MRI when it snowed,

the same day he could barely get out of bed,

and by evening his eyes were empty ghosts.

After the other test, the MRI, while snow piled outside

mom started packing. She asked me to sit in the car

with Dad. I could hardly meet his eyes--empty ghosts

looking blankly at me from under drooping eyebrows.

Mom finished packing and came back out to the car

telling me they had to go to Spokane right away.

Dad’s eyes staring blankly, under drooping eyebrows,

I asked “Why?” Tears contained she says: “Brain tumor.”

They had to go to Spokane right away

or he might not make it. He might not make it?

I ask myself why and cry over the words brain and tumor

haunting my mind all night. I went to school

thinking he might not make it, he might not make it,

while smiling at friends and teachers, waiting for a call

haunting my mind all morning. I'm at school

while everyone else is at The Sacred Heart with Dad.

I keep smiling at friends and teachers, waiting--

the call comes in the middle of English class.

While everyone else is at The Sacred Heart with Dad

they call me and say “He made it through surgery.”

The call came in the middle of English class

and I had to start talking about who it was

that called me, and say who made it through surgery.

We never thought the hospital would give life and infection.

I had to start talking about Dad’s cancer

and the surgery coming up in December,

except the hospital gave him a staph infection.

Then they gave him I.V. antibiotics for eight weeks.

With the surgery pushed to early spring,

or whenever he could rid his body of the staph

his eight weeks on I.V. antibiotics was too much.

His strength began to melt off his bones.

Whenever he could rid his body of the staph

was enough for a nephrectomy during Spring Break.

His strength had melted off his bones

but somehow I thought the worst was over.

His kidney was removed during Spring Break,

and they gave him an infection there, too.

Somehow I thought the worst was over

before he spent three days in the I.C.U.

They gave him an infection in his blood

and it all could have ended right then,

but his three days spent in the I.C.U.

let him come home for a while.

It all could have ended that spring,

but even though we kept looking for cures

that let him come home once in a while,

we had to start accepting he might leave

even though we kept looking for cures.

His body now weaker than the mind could handle:

We had to start accepting he was leaving.

My dad was the strongest man I'd ever met.

SUPRISE! New typewriter soon!!

I love the interconnectedness of everything.

First of all, I know this woman who used to be the Image Studios office manager when my dad was still alive and boss of everything--she was also a staple at Christmas Eve dinner, and a lovely person to run into unexpectedly working in one of the engineering offices at the university when I was working there.

Well, her eldest daughter messages me on FB the other day...
"Hi there! I have an odd question...do you still collect typewriters?"

I'm thinking, welllll maybe. Depends. And then I read on.

"While cleaning out my grandma's house we found an old typewriter in a black box/case...a Smith~Corona. I'm not sure what year it is or anything, but it looks to be in pretty good condition. I looked on ebay and similar ones seem to sell for about $30. Would you be interested in it at all? I thought of you when I found it so thought I'd check and see. If you want a picture I can send one when I get home from work. 

Hope all is well with you my dear!"

So that sounds pretty cool. Could be a nice machine, but could be one I already have...but for $30? Sure I'll take a look! (that's what I was thinking, not what I actually said to her which was much more polite)

So she sends me this picture:

My response: (this is pretty accurate, I was looking at it at work with my friend/colleague Eve, who rolled her eyes profusely at the excitement)

Whaaaaaat!!!!!! OMG. WUT IZ DAT. I want it! Oh yeah!

I'm really excited. She said it was in pretty good condition, and as long as there's no mechanical malfunction I'm pretty good at cleaning, and have new ribbons if needed! AND nobody has to pay postage or risk the damage of mailing this beautiful machine (even though she is in Post Falls) because her lovely mother is going to bring it to Moscow sometime in the next few weeks! It'll definitely get some NaNo use if all goes well.

HOORAY!

I'm ridiculously excited about this.

Life is wonderful. Even if it's cold, raining, and I have no raincoats and no umbrellas.

Why can't it be a couple/few weeks later already!?

Oh right...exams, homework, and other things have to get done too. I guess I need more than a millisecond between weeks. SIGH

Satchmo Weezel signing off.

Hey Typospherians! It's Hanx at those keys again...

Not sure if any of you had seen this yet...pretty neat though!
It seems some folks from Nerdist sent Tom Hanks a neat typewriter as a bribe an incentive for getting an interview.

And hey--it worked! Haven't had a chance to listen yet...but after school today I'm all over it.

Yes, but now time for Calculus. Mmm, series......

Auto-Coffee is the best. Ever.

Blog posts don't have to be a big "thing." I know this, and yet my blog sits dormant most of the year, only experiencing brief and occasional bursts of This must be shared somehow--I know! The blog! What I would really like to do is get used to posting, oh I don't know, maybe not every day, but more often.

I have everything I need: a computer, and internet at my apartment. (FINALLY, well since August) So it shouldn't be so hard! And when I get my camera back I can even typecast some of my posts!

I also have a great (free) computer desk chair my grandparents gave me recently (last night) which is definitely a game-changer. I can sit comfortably and high enough to use the keyboard on it's little slide-out thing, then raise the chair up for using typewriters on the desk's surface! THE AMAZING RAISING CHAIR! I haven't had one for a few years so it's maybe more exciting than is necessary or natural.

That's okay. That's just how I roll.

Here is something fairly adorable:

An old picture of me and my (sniffle) late best-friend Samuel Rex-Manuel the Kitty. That was a few weeks before I shaved my hair off, so it was taken over two years ago. Someday I'll take a picture of my current hair and we'll go from there.

For AFTW...thank you, thank you, thank you.

This album (Away From The World) is changing my life right now...partially because I can't tear myself away from these songs to focus on reading assignments for poetry class tomorrow! ARG! But YAY! 

It's streaming for free on iTunes until the 10th. Released on the 11th. I should have it 2-4 days after that!!! I sprung for the super-deluxe edition...because when it comes to DMB I can't help myself, really.

For instance, an excerpt from my particular favorite (and having only heard the entire album once all the way through...well I've heard this song five times! haha) The Riff:
...
Sitting in a box away from the world out there
a world piled high with boxes just like this
but please don't ever leave me alone in here
take me out, shake off the dust, shake off the fear.
...
Remember how we used to dance, baby
just like it was everything?
(crazy great guitar riff and accompanying wonderful instruments, esp. drums)You stay with me
and that don't mean we have to stay the same
you stay with me
baby, you and me can make the change
you stay with me 
but that don't mean I wanna stay the same.
...
And then of course there's If Only:
...
Well maybe it's a game
You win some and you lose some
But when you've found a good one
Don't you let her get away
Don't let her go


Oh yeah
If only I could have you
Just the way I want you
Oh, to have you back again
Back again baby

Oh, I'm just a fool baby
Playing Mr. Cool baby
Rolling round like I got nothing much to lose
But I know you and you know me
And I know you can see
So help me find my way back to you
Back to you
...

Those two songs...those two songs make me ache and groove and hope and reminisce and smile and want to cry all at the same time.

I guess you could say I'm a fan.

***

BTW I have a new apartment! And INTERNET AT HOME! IT'S A MIRACLE! So maybe after I spend some time uploading much-delayed photos to my FB friends and family I will wrangle a typecast out of my school/work/etc schedule.

Brainstorming/freewriting...cancer and curiosity

This is sort of brainstorming for an essay I'm working on...it began with my recent research into "rcc" that was motivated by writing a terrible essay for a class I really enjoy. I am working on ideas for the revision and began looking it up...it spawned a few epiphanies, not all of which are mentioned here, but this is my trying to tie in enough ideas to possibly weave into another narrative along with the patterns of time of year. Cancer and curiosity was only how this began...I was surprised to tie in so many ideas into one free-written piece...it will of course change while being intertwined with other things by the time it's finished, but it's progress! (Progress in work as well as emotions.)


***

I tend to think of myself as a naturally curious person. It doesn't take long from the moment I hear of a new idea or word to the moment I type it in a search bar or grab a dictionary. Yet it took me over five years to type the words "renal cell carcinoma" into any sort of search engine. Those words are listed on my dad's death certificate that was hanging on the back door of what we call "The Old Studio." Listed as "cause of death," I carefully memorized the words five years ago so I would know how to talk about it with people when they asked "but what kind of cancer?" as a follow-up to the usual inquiry about his passing. I wanted to know after the fact, but I didn't even know what it was called for most of the 10 months we were watching it maul my father's body and wrack our family's support system in ways we would never have imagined.

I knew it was kidney cancer, I knew it had metastisized in his brain, but not once did I look it up to see what was happening to his kidneys, to his blood and brain. I didn't know that from the time they diagnosed him with a brain tumor from the kidney cancer he only had a 5% chance of living through the next year. I didn't know that until I was 21. He died when I was barely 16.

He left in the summertime, right as the feverish August arrived when Moscow usually reached temperatures in the 100s. We had never been in town for that particular time of year as a family, taking our vacation to the Oregon Coast for the last week of July, first week of August, trying to bring the clouds and rain back with us from the beautiful, blustery never-above-80-degrees coast. When he died I was in California visiting my half-brothers and friend of my grandparents. They lived near San Francisco, and we happened to be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge when my mom called with the news. They were 7 and nearly 5 years old at the time, and could hardly understand what was happening, but their words of solace meant more to me than anyone else's could at that time.

I tried desperately to see him in my dreams that night, or to imagine how I might change my flight home to go to the cremation with my mom and sister. I wasn't able to, and in the long run it was probably better to be there for my little brother's 5th birthday instead, but I still wish I had seen him. I wish I had seen his body somehow so I wouldn't have spent months hearing him coming around the corner, or with my heart pounding when I heard loud steps on the stairs or someone solidly shutting the front door. Years later I can still hear him, although briefly, in the next aisle at the grocery store, or in the voice of a friend's parent, before I realize it is someone else's father, or brother, or partner.

Soon after that day on the bridge I began dreaming of his return. In the dream his arrival was subtle to everyone but me, and I would rush into his arms and whoop and hollar and happy tears would run down my face into his big belly....the dreams used to end there. After some months we started having time to make plans, and a few years later I almost had enough time to ask him questions like "Are you proud of me?" and "When did you take your first photograph?"....but I still don't know the answer.
Sometimes I can go for months without a dream of him, and then a wave breaks over my nights and at least once a week we'll see each other, but always the restlessness of my disbelief at seeing him again wakes me up too soon. Waking rips me out of his big-kahuna arms into a cluttered, dark room, with me under the Disney comforter he bought when I was 12. (It is still the most comfortable one I own.) His impossibly red, bushy, curvy eyebrows slowly fade away in the relief of orange streetlights peeking through my blinds.

Then time goes on, I talk about the dreams and his death, write a poem or two. I move on...for the most part. Moving on from losing a family member like that really means you move forward, you continue living, but you never leave behind those feelings, those days spent worrying about, realizing, and accepting something like renal cell carcinoma moving in and tearing apart your life, among many others, so quickly and thoroughly.

Gahhhhh Issues. On Thursday? How sad.

I am having some big issues lately. As many people (all?) do, but tonight they're all colliding. It's my favorite day of the week (Thursday! Only slightly marred by the frequency of essays due Friday), and it upsets me that I'm so upset.
I am going to vent in a list, and iron out some thoughts. Maybe I'll fix some things next week, after the Halloween madness subsides. (I'd better)

1) I went to the costume store too late and they were out of Peter Pan hats. At least they're easy to make. and the felt, feather, and little sword were the only things I had to purchase for my costume! $15 total probably by the end. Cheapest Halloween? Perhaps so far.

2) I still don't have internet at my apartment.
(My roommate B's computer can mooch internet at the dining room table from some neighbor-or-other, but mine cannot, and it is too slow to use for homework anyway.)
This is both bad and awesome.

Why no internet at apt. is awesome:

• internet is intimidating and frightening. 
• I have a terrible sense of time when involved with internet. (Where did the last four hours go?)
• People that are visiting your house always have funny videos to show you, or you have funny videos to show them, and your whole evening becomes absorbed by internet.
• The dishes get done, clothes put away, and carpet is "vacuumed" (carpet-sweeper, no vacuum) much more often. It's like entertainment, since I only own about 5 movies and 3 seasons of Smallville that I've seen 5 times each. Because it's clean we can move the coffee table next to the old steamer-trunk and have wicked-awesome dance parties. No internet = more dancing.
• internet is frightening and intimidating (enough to be listed as such twice).
• I don't like either of my two choices of companies for internet service at my apartment. Neither local company can service my apartment for various reasons, so I can have Time Warner Cable or Frontier (Verizon)...
• I have to pay for the intrusion on my time and mental stability.

Why no internet at apt. is bad:

• Posting typecasts is much more complicated, so I have a small pile of things I *meant* to post and never did, also I am bad at keeping in touch with most people without internet (semi-related: I also have trouble with phones). 
• I need internet to do my math homework, so I end up spending a lot of time at cafes, or my mom's office, doing a lot of math at once instead of spreading it out over the week, this takes time from my other homework, and I am home less.
• I also can't check my email (if class is cancelled or for other important info) or email assignments to myself in lieu of having a printer. This forces me to lug my laptop to school when I don't' need it for anything other than emailing and printing an average four-page assignment.

So in the end it saves a little of the time it consumes...but I have a hard time biting the bullet and just calling either company. B has a landline through Frontier (getting rid of her cell soon), but when she moves (March-ish) I'm not going to be able to afford the landline, since I'm keeping my cell phone. I think I'd rather do business with TWC, and I'm fairly certain the same amount of $ will result in faster internet.

3) My computer is glitchy, and it has nothing to do with 3 1/2 years of age.
My backpack fell a week or so ago, and now my computer screen turns off on its own allllll the time. Randomly. Certain angles help it stay on longer, and I can't turn the brightness past 1. I can no longer use my computer when it's light outside, so I spend a lot of time at mom's office, and way too little time at home. There's internet here. (see above)
I need to go to the bookstore on campus and talk to the Mac-dudes (or whatever they're called), but I always forget before I leave campus. Which brings me to my next point:

4) My car is kaput. (Well, it's "Mom's" car technically.)
After 5 years of being my faithful sidekick and safe-place for all thoughts, long drives, and loud music, the ball-joints gave out, and she's not worth enough to spend the money fixing her.  It was my Dad's car until he couldn't drive anymore, and I miss driving it more than I am comfortable missing an inanimate object/material possession, but there it is. Miss it a sh*t-ton.

5) I can't seem to start essay-writing until 11:30pm the night before it's due. A personal, ongoing problem with procrastination that this storm of uncomfortable (though not necessarily depressing) feelings is not helping in the slightest.

6) Still having trouble responding to any sort of correspondence (mail, phone calls, emails, etc) within a reasonable time-frame. Sorry to all inconvenienced and/or hurt. Working on it...

7) Need a second job. Probably will end up being in retail, since they're hiring for the holidays. Might not get to go to Boise for Thanksgiving (family tradition since "forever") for the 2nd year in a row. Last year it was the weather.

8) This isn't exactly an issue but more of a concern:
Monday is the "real" Halloween (as opposed to the inevitable celebrations tomorrow and Saturday)...to drink or not to drink?
It is my first Halloween after 21, and there is a Halloween party/costume contest/blue Monday combo at the bar, which I have rarely gone to since early September (baaad decisions were made, hangovers were experienced, lessons were learned). I also work at NINE in the morning Tuesday. We'll see what happens.

Aaaand last and least:
9) I don't like writing about literary criticism. Writing about writing that was written about writing is...extremely "meta" and bothers me. Maybe that's the straw that wrote this blog post.

Lengthy, but refreshing. Talk to you soon. (If I survive Halloween, get my computer screen fixed, and call TWC to install internet)