Angele Ellis's Blog, page 2
April 30, 2017
A Homecoming on Independent Bookstore Day
Last night, two months after major surgery, I found myself at White Whale Bookstore in Bloomfield, one of Pittsburgh's 99 neighborhoods. (You can't decipher the local newspapers--which routinely refer to people and events by neighborhood--without keeping a map that looks something like the state of Indiana, divided into counties, in your head.)
Pittsburgh is a literary city as well as a neighborhood city, and the resurgence of the independent bookstore--over a dozen and counting--is one proof of this. Before White Whale expanded into White Whale, it was East End Book Exchange. Before that, it was an organic bakery. Before that, a Curves--a low-impact exercise studio for women. Before that, a hair salon. Before that..I can't remember. But I'm sure there are people in Bloomfield who know all the layers of this storefront's palimpsest.
I came to read at the official launch of Pittsburgh Poetry Review #5, a print journal that came to be in late 2015--and which publishes a fair number of out-of-towners. (I had a poem in Issue #1 too.) Please consider subscribing to Pittsburgh Poetry Review if you love poetry.
Three of the other readers were poets I know fairly well. Another reader reminded me that she'd rescued my forgotten purse from the cafe at Chatham University during a conference last October, running outside in the cold to return it to me. (This too is a very Pittsburgh story.) The other three readers were strangers to me, then. Neighborly strangers...in a crowd of friends and friends-to-be.
It felt like a homecoming.
There's a certain quality of attention in a room in which a live performance is happening--focused and in this case, encouraging, appreciative. Listening is as powerful as speaking. Among other things, I learned the force inherent in the repetition of a simple word, "here," and a new word, "pareidolia" (seeing a human face in an object, such as Mother Teresa in a cinnamon bun).
I sold five copies of Under the Kaufmann's Clock, and split the proceeds 60/40 with White Whale--a perfect transaction on Independent Bookstore Day. I bought a book. I congratulated and thanked and laughed and hugged people. And I read this poem from UTKC:
How I Left You
Palming rings
stripped of meanings.
Stuffing a plastic duffle
with anonymous clothes.
Donning a tired gown
trailing useless ties.
Watching the needle strike a vein,
strangers bending to adjust
the oxygen mask to autopilot.
Blinking past recovery,
supine infant in its Magee isolette.
Tell me why I should come back.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
Pittsburgh is a literary city as well as a neighborhood city, and the resurgence of the independent bookstore--over a dozen and counting--is one proof of this. Before White Whale expanded into White Whale, it was East End Book Exchange. Before that, it was an organic bakery. Before that, a Curves--a low-impact exercise studio for women. Before that, a hair salon. Before that..I can't remember. But I'm sure there are people in Bloomfield who know all the layers of this storefront's palimpsest.
I came to read at the official launch of Pittsburgh Poetry Review #5, a print journal that came to be in late 2015--and which publishes a fair number of out-of-towners. (I had a poem in Issue #1 too.) Please consider subscribing to Pittsburgh Poetry Review if you love poetry.
Three of the other readers were poets I know fairly well. Another reader reminded me that she'd rescued my forgotten purse from the cafe at Chatham University during a conference last October, running outside in the cold to return it to me. (This too is a very Pittsburgh story.) The other three readers were strangers to me, then. Neighborly strangers...in a crowd of friends and friends-to-be.
It felt like a homecoming.
There's a certain quality of attention in a room in which a live performance is happening--focused and in this case, encouraging, appreciative. Listening is as powerful as speaking. Among other things, I learned the force inherent in the repetition of a simple word, "here," and a new word, "pareidolia" (seeing a human face in an object, such as Mother Teresa in a cinnamon bun).
I sold five copies of Under the Kaufmann's Clock, and split the proceeds 60/40 with White Whale--a perfect transaction on Independent Bookstore Day. I bought a book. I congratulated and thanked and laughed and hugged people. And I read this poem from UTKC:
How I Left You
Palming rings
stripped of meanings.
Stuffing a plastic duffle
with anonymous clothes.
Donning a tired gown
trailing useless ties.
Watching the needle strike a vein,
strangers bending to adjust
the oxygen mask to autopilot.
Blinking past recovery,
supine infant in its Magee isolette.
Tell me why I should come back.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 26, 2017
AS IF BY MAGIC: "SLIPPERY SLOPE"
During a routine Google search a few days ago, I found a poem of mine as part of a list of readings in a domestic violence prevention initiative:
https://mainehumanities.org/domestic-...
"Slippery Slope," from Spared (A Main Street Rag Editors' Choice Chapbook), was in excellent company:
Session Three: On the Edge
“The Glorious Indifference of Wilderness” – Terry Tempest Williams, essay
“The Baby Bird” – Cheryl Strayed, essay
“The Illusion of Safety/The Safety of Illusion” – Roxane Gay, essay
“Slippery Slope” – Angele Ellis, poem
“Violent Eruptions” – Maria Lusia Arroyo, poem
"Slippery Slope" also was reprinted in a wonderful anthology, Women Write Resistance: Poets Resist Gender Violence (Hyacinth Girl Press), edited by Laura Madeline Wiseman.
This is one of the unexpected thrills of publishing: to find your work cited among great writers whom you know through their work, although not personally!
A compelling video of "Slippery Slope" a collaboration between my graphic designer brother, Christopher Ellis, and myself, is on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xciwE...
Whether or not poetry makes anything happen (I fervently believe it does) this feminist writer is proud to represent. Thankyouuniverse.
Spared: Poems
https://mainehumanities.org/domestic-...
"Slippery Slope," from Spared (A Main Street Rag Editors' Choice Chapbook), was in excellent company:
Session Three: On the Edge
“The Glorious Indifference of Wilderness” – Terry Tempest Williams, essay
“The Baby Bird” – Cheryl Strayed, essay
“The Illusion of Safety/The Safety of Illusion” – Roxane Gay, essay
“Slippery Slope” – Angele Ellis, poem
“Violent Eruptions” – Maria Lusia Arroyo, poem
"Slippery Slope" also was reprinted in a wonderful anthology, Women Write Resistance: Poets Resist Gender Violence (Hyacinth Girl Press), edited by Laura Madeline Wiseman.
This is one of the unexpected thrills of publishing: to find your work cited among great writers whom you know through their work, although not personally!
A compelling video of "Slippery Slope" a collaboration between my graphic designer brother, Christopher Ellis, and myself, is on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xciwE...
Whether or not poetry makes anything happen (I fervently believe it does) this feminist writer is proud to represent. Thankyouuniverse.
Spared: Poems
April 22, 2017
EARTH DAY: "CLIMATE CHANGE"
I spent this Earth Day afternoon at a friend's poetry launch, joined later by friends who'd participated in the March for Science.
The march drew a good crowd in a city that has seen both the positive and negative sides of science--the first polio vaccine, pioneering organ transplants, robotics that include sophisticated prostheses, tests of driverless cars--and also the massive production of glass, iron, steel, and aluminum.
When I phoned my mother this evening, she reminded me that in high school, I'd badly blistered my feet on a meandering Earth Day march of many miles, done without water or proper shoes. (Early days!)
Below is one of my haibun--a Japanese poetry form in which a brief prose poem ends with a haiku that ties the poem together. It was published in December in the journal tinywords, which is dedicated to haibun, haiku, and tanka: https://tinywords.com/author/angele_e...
CLIMATE CHANGE
In winter, my father climbed our steeply pitched roof with a shovel, almost as dexterous as a goat. We kids dug endless marble tunnels—warm as igloos—in drifts that the morning plow pushed against our fences. Now I have forsaken the country of snow. The view from my terrace is like a museum diorama of the Mesozoic. I step barefoot through sliding glass onto Spanish tile to watch the downpour, a window of water flowing inches from my face.
waiting for the rainbow
I dream
of ice caps melting
=============================
My latest book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock, contains both haibun and haiku. Enter until May 13 to win a copy in the Goodreads giveaway.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
The march drew a good crowd in a city that has seen both the positive and negative sides of science--the first polio vaccine, pioneering organ transplants, robotics that include sophisticated prostheses, tests of driverless cars--and also the massive production of glass, iron, steel, and aluminum.
When I phoned my mother this evening, she reminded me that in high school, I'd badly blistered my feet on a meandering Earth Day march of many miles, done without water or proper shoes. (Early days!)
Below is one of my haibun--a Japanese poetry form in which a brief prose poem ends with a haiku that ties the poem together. It was published in December in the journal tinywords, which is dedicated to haibun, haiku, and tanka: https://tinywords.com/author/angele_e...
CLIMATE CHANGE
In winter, my father climbed our steeply pitched roof with a shovel, almost as dexterous as a goat. We kids dug endless marble tunnels—warm as igloos—in drifts that the morning plow pushed against our fences. Now I have forsaken the country of snow. The view from my terrace is like a museum diorama of the Mesozoic. I step barefoot through sliding glass onto Spanish tile to watch the downpour, a window of water flowing inches from my face.
waiting for the rainbow
I dream
of ice caps melting
=============================
My latest book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock, contains both haibun and haiku. Enter until May 13 to win a copy in the Goodreads giveaway.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 18, 2017
DAYS OF FUTURE PAST: "ARABIC LESSON."
On Sunday, Michael Simms of the daily blog of political prose and poetry Vox Populi https://voxpopulisphere.com
requested six poems from my book Arab on Radar to run over the next several months, starting yesterday with "Arabic Lesson."
I'm glad that these poems will be getting a new airing, but sad that nearly a decade on, they're still relevant.
"Arabic Lesson" draws on my unsuccessful attempts to learn my grandparents' language and on the dangerous misinterpretations of intercepted transmissions.
Arabic Lesson
Unlike the illiterate villager in an Arab novel
I know alef from a telegraph pole
single stroke of the definite article
first letter of my French name
I have chanted this alphabet from childhood
catching letters but not words
incantation of my lost culture
fractured Rosetta Stone
fever dream of our restless planet
Remember: short vowels are implied
many words are deduced from context
study the transmissions carefully
can you tell kalb from qalb, dog from heart?
Remember: khay is harsh yet soft
not the hard k that is actually qof
a q requires no u except in transliteration
which is why Koran is Qur’an
Remember: written letters are easy to confuse
mnemonics may be necessary
The Bay of Noon reminds me
dot on the b, bay, submerged under the curve
dot on the n, noon, high like the midday sun
Remember: shouf means look
insistent preface to assertions
you may read as arguments
you may read as threats
Remember: there are two ways to yes
aiwa means just yes, na’am means I agree
even if that happens only rarely
Start here: shouf
from Arab on Radar (Six Gallery Press)
Copyright 2008 Angele Ellis
Arab on Radar
P.S. Goodreads giveaway continues for Under the Kaufmann's Clock until May 13!
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
requested six poems from my book Arab on Radar to run over the next several months, starting yesterday with "Arabic Lesson."
I'm glad that these poems will be getting a new airing, but sad that nearly a decade on, they're still relevant.
"Arabic Lesson" draws on my unsuccessful attempts to learn my grandparents' language and on the dangerous misinterpretations of intercepted transmissions.
Arabic Lesson
Unlike the illiterate villager in an Arab novel
I know alef from a telegraph pole
single stroke of the definite article
first letter of my French name
I have chanted this alphabet from childhood
catching letters but not words
incantation of my lost culture
fractured Rosetta Stone
fever dream of our restless planet
Remember: short vowels are implied
many words are deduced from context
study the transmissions carefully
can you tell kalb from qalb, dog from heart?
Remember: khay is harsh yet soft
not the hard k that is actually qof
a q requires no u except in transliteration
which is why Koran is Qur’an
Remember: written letters are easy to confuse
mnemonics may be necessary
The Bay of Noon reminds me
dot on the b, bay, submerged under the curve
dot on the n, noon, high like the midday sun
Remember: shouf means look
insistent preface to assertions
you may read as arguments
you may read as threats
Remember: there are two ways to yes
aiwa means just yes, na’am means I agree
even if that happens only rarely
Start here: shouf
from Arab on Radar (Six Gallery Press)
Copyright 2008 Angele Ellis
Arab on Radar
P.S. Goodreads giveaway continues for Under the Kaufmann's Clock until May 13!
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 15, 2017
"SUDDENLY": A TASTE OF NARRATIVE POETRY (GOODREADS GIVEAWAY ENDS MAY 13!)
A number of the poems in my new book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock, are narrative poems, in which physical landmarks past and present are markers for personal experience and sometimes violent change.
An event in Pittsburgh this week brought the beginning of the following poem to mind.
Suddenly
Rita, I’m angry, but not with you. (Having woken to tubes and shame,
white curtain swathing my psych ward bed like the membrane of heaven,
I have no right to be angry with you.) I’m angry at the ways our lives
implode like doomed buildings. Like Three Rivers Stadium—
giant concrete ashtray erased from the event horizon because it was
too late, and things that seemed eternal weren’t there anymore.
Sucked into a black hole I can’t flatten with the gravity of nostalgia...
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
An event in Pittsburgh this week brought the beginning of the following poem to mind.
Suddenly
Rita, I’m angry, but not with you. (Having woken to tubes and shame,
white curtain swathing my psych ward bed like the membrane of heaven,
I have no right to be angry with you.) I’m angry at the ways our lives
implode like doomed buildings. Like Three Rivers Stadium—
giant concrete ashtray erased from the event horizon because it was
too late, and things that seemed eternal weren’t there anymore.
Sucked into a black hole I can’t flatten with the gravity of nostalgia...
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 11, 2017
TASTE #2 OF UNDER THE KAUFMANN's CLOCK (GOODREADS GIVEAWAY ENDS MAY 13!)
I think of this flash fiction--inspired in part by Raymond Carver--as a companion to the title piece, "Under the Kaufmann's Clock." Here's the opening:
A Man in a Truck by a River
It took forever to reach you. So much water—everywhere—and so much mud. I picked my way like a shorebird past beer cans that had been crushed against someone’s forehead as a joke, and eely remains of used rubbers.
In the morning chill, you stood staring at the river. I noticed the tattoo on your bicep—blue, gold, and red four-pointed stars, blazing in a ring of fire.
I sort of knew you. You came with my plumber to replace my bathtub—not a regular worker, but an irregular guy with strong muscles who got paid in cash. When he wasn’t looking, you scribbled your name and number on the back of his card. Your mother’s landline—you couldn’t keep a cell phone. You put the card face down on my vanity, and pocketed my silver pen...
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
A Man in a Truck by a River
It took forever to reach you. So much water—everywhere—and so much mud. I picked my way like a shorebird past beer cans that had been crushed against someone’s forehead as a joke, and eely remains of used rubbers.
In the morning chill, you stood staring at the river. I noticed the tattoo on your bicep—blue, gold, and red four-pointed stars, blazing in a ring of fire.
I sort of knew you. You came with my plumber to replace my bathtub—not a regular worker, but an irregular guy with strong muscles who got paid in cash. When he wasn’t looking, you scribbled your name and number on the back of his card. Your mother’s landline—you couldn’t keep a cell phone. You put the card face down on my vanity, and pocketed my silver pen...
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 7, 2017
UTKC GOODREADS GIVEAWAY STARTS TOMORROW (APRIL 8)!
Starting tomorrow (Saturday, April 8) and continuing for five weeks (Saturday, May 13), 20 ENTRANTS will receive a FREE copy of my new book, Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh (Six Gallery Press), with photos by Rebecca Clever.
The books will be autographed and contain a Pittsburgh postcard/bookmark with an original haiku by yours truly.
Twice each week of the giveaway, I'll give a taste of the book through an excerpt on this blog. Here's the beginning of the title piece:
Under the Kaufmann’s Clock
I hate the dark at Christmastime—as bad as daytime during Pittsburgh’s Middle Ages, when Grandpap had to strip off his work clothes in the basement, he used to tell me, and scrub down in the concrete shower before Grandma would let him into the real house.
That basement was like Grandpap’s den, even after he retired. He had empty Chock full ‘o Nuts coffee cans for the brown juice from his chew, and a case of Iron City in the coolest part of the room, hidden behind boxes of Grandma’s Ball canning jars. The cardboard got moldy, and the beer tasted as if someone had dropped a rusty magnet into the bottom of each can. When I was lucky to get a sip, and a wink.
Now I’m freezing under Kaufmann’s Clock, winking Christmas lights all around. In the basement, Grandpap kept a few old orange kitchen chairs with the stuffing spilling out. The one in the worst shape was in the side yard, when it wasn’t holding a parking spot. He had a stack of old Playboys behind the toilet that he cleaned once in a while—Grandma never went in there. Even today, when I get a whiff of Comet, I think about sex. Grandpap would open a centerfold slowly, like an accordion, and say, “I’d do her under Kaufmann’s Clock, Skippy,” winking with his good eye. The other eye was as cloudy as a moggie, from a long-ago accident at the mill. Of course, I was older then. Eleven...
The books will be autographed and contain a Pittsburgh postcard/bookmark with an original haiku by yours truly.
Twice each week of the giveaway, I'll give a taste of the book through an excerpt on this blog. Here's the beginning of the title piece:
Under the Kaufmann’s Clock
I hate the dark at Christmastime—as bad as daytime during Pittsburgh’s Middle Ages, when Grandpap had to strip off his work clothes in the basement, he used to tell me, and scrub down in the concrete shower before Grandma would let him into the real house.
That basement was like Grandpap’s den, even after he retired. He had empty Chock full ‘o Nuts coffee cans for the brown juice from his chew, and a case of Iron City in the coolest part of the room, hidden behind boxes of Grandma’s Ball canning jars. The cardboard got moldy, and the beer tasted as if someone had dropped a rusty magnet into the bottom of each can. When I was lucky to get a sip, and a wink.
Now I’m freezing under Kaufmann’s Clock, winking Christmas lights all around. In the basement, Grandpap kept a few old orange kitchen chairs with the stuffing spilling out. The one in the worst shape was in the side yard, when it wasn’t holding a parking spot. He had a stack of old Playboys behind the toilet that he cleaned once in a while—Grandma never went in there. Even today, when I get a whiff of Comet, I think about sex. Grandpap would open a centerfold slowly, like an accordion, and say, “I’d do her under Kaufmann’s Clock, Skippy,” winking with his good eye. The other eye was as cloudy as a moggie, from a long-ago accident at the mill. Of course, I was older then. Eleven...
April 6, 2017
"MAUCHES"
Novelist and writing teacher Marian Szczepanski included the poem "Mauches" from my second book of poems, Spared (A Main Street Rag Editors' Choice Selection), in a recent workshop at Houston's Writing Center.
Marian reports: "Some of the material we'll read and discuss in my idea-generating workshop 'Using Objects and Memories as Springboards into Inspiration': fiction by Peg Alford Pursell, poems by Angele Ellis, Carolyn Dahl, Carolyn Florek, Roxana Cazan, Diane Gilliam Fisher, and Mary Oliver, and memoir excerpts by Patricia Hampl."
Nice to see my work on this distinguished list.
Check out Marian's novel, Playing St. Barbara, on Goodreads!
Playing St. Barbara
Marian reports: "Some of the material we'll read and discuss in my idea-generating workshop 'Using Objects and Memories as Springboards into Inspiration': fiction by Peg Alford Pursell, poems by Angele Ellis, Carolyn Dahl, Carolyn Florek, Roxana Cazan, Diane Gilliam Fisher, and Mary Oliver, and memoir excerpts by Patricia Hampl."
Nice to see my work on this distinguished list.
Check out Marian's novel, Playing St. Barbara, on Goodreads!
Playing St. Barbara
April 4, 2017
37 Fun Questions for Self-Reflection--Courtesy of Dana Killmeyer (now Dana Jain)
1. Do you like blue cheese? Oh yes. Cheese of any kind is my favorite food.
2. Have you ever smoked cigarettes? Never!
3. Do you own a gun? No, because to quote Anton Chekhov: "One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off. It's wrong to make promises you don't mean to keep."
4. What flavor Koolaid? By age four, I was entrusted to buy Koolaid at the store next door--raspberry, orange, grape. Couldn't stomach it today.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? Fun at the ballpark.
6. What is your favorite movie? My ex-husband used to say that to understand America, you needed to watch two movies--The Wizard of Oz and The Godfather. I'd add The Godfather Part 2.
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Earl Grey tea. Loose.
8. Can you do a push-up? Yes. But don't ask me for two.
9. What's your favorite jewelry? Five rings--each with its own story--and a silver cuff bracelet (ditto).
10. What is your favorite hobby? Reading doesn't count for a writer. Could be baking--or watching TV mysteries/police procedurals.
11. Do you have ADD? Yes, but the meds aren't good for my wonky heart.
12. Do you wear glasses? No, but until the miracle of LASIK I did (ages seven to forty-five).
13. What was your childhood favorite (TV) cartoon? One Froggy Night by Chuck Jones and Scott McCloud, Space Angel.
14. Name three things you did today. It's still early! Tea, messages, Words With Friends.
15. Name three drinks you drink regularly. Coconut water, Earl Grey tea, ginger tea.
16. Current "worries"? Climate change, famine, nukes, wars, state brutality.
17. Current "hates"? I do meditation daily to work on those.
18. Favorite place to be? Next to the ocean, the "Great Mother," as Anne Sexton called it.
19. How did you bring in the New Year? By going to bed early.
20. Where would you like to go? Paris, Venice, Prague.
21. Name five people who will do this quiz. Five of the people who win my new book (Goodreads giveaway starts this Saturday!)
22. Do you wear slippers? Every day.
23. What is your favorite color? Turquoise. Red. Purple.
24. Do you like sleeping in satin sheets? Oh yes.
25. Can you whistle? Not at all!
26. Where are you now? In my ratty work chair.
27. Would you be a pirate? In the days of the Pirate Queens, perhaps. Today, no.
28. Favorite food? Cheese, melted or straight.
29. What's in your pockets? I'm currently out of pocket.
30. Last thing that made you laugh? An FB thread started by Martha Garvey on what she should name a drug--a cross between cannabis and Quaaludes--in the dystopian short story she's writing. My suggestions: Hypnobis (official) and Trumpster (street).
31. What's your favorite animal? Domestic cat.
32. What's your most recent injury? Gastrointestinal surgery.
33. How many TVs in your house? Zero. Constant streaming.
34. Worst pain? "More die of heartbreak."
35. Do you like to dance? Yes, if it's "dancing with myself..."
36. Are your parents still together? Yes, and still competing over the crossword puzzle.
37. Do you enjoy camping? If by "camping" you mean a cozy cabin at the end of a day hike, yes.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
2. Have you ever smoked cigarettes? Never!
3. Do you own a gun? No, because to quote Anton Chekhov: "One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off. It's wrong to make promises you don't mean to keep."
4. What flavor Koolaid? By age four, I was entrusted to buy Koolaid at the store next door--raspberry, orange, grape. Couldn't stomach it today.
5. What do you think of hot dogs? Fun at the ballpark.
6. What is your favorite movie? My ex-husband used to say that to understand America, you needed to watch two movies--The Wizard of Oz and The Godfather. I'd add The Godfather Part 2.
7. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Earl Grey tea. Loose.
8. Can you do a push-up? Yes. But don't ask me for two.
9. What's your favorite jewelry? Five rings--each with its own story--and a silver cuff bracelet (ditto).
10. What is your favorite hobby? Reading doesn't count for a writer. Could be baking--or watching TV mysteries/police procedurals.
11. Do you have ADD? Yes, but the meds aren't good for my wonky heart.
12. Do you wear glasses? No, but until the miracle of LASIK I did (ages seven to forty-five).
13. What was your childhood favorite (TV) cartoon? One Froggy Night by Chuck Jones and Scott McCloud, Space Angel.
14. Name three things you did today. It's still early! Tea, messages, Words With Friends.
15. Name three drinks you drink regularly. Coconut water, Earl Grey tea, ginger tea.
16. Current "worries"? Climate change, famine, nukes, wars, state brutality.
17. Current "hates"? I do meditation daily to work on those.
18. Favorite place to be? Next to the ocean, the "Great Mother," as Anne Sexton called it.
19. How did you bring in the New Year? By going to bed early.
20. Where would you like to go? Paris, Venice, Prague.
21. Name five people who will do this quiz. Five of the people who win my new book (Goodreads giveaway starts this Saturday!)
22. Do you wear slippers? Every day.
23. What is your favorite color? Turquoise. Red. Purple.
24. Do you like sleeping in satin sheets? Oh yes.
25. Can you whistle? Not at all!
26. Where are you now? In my ratty work chair.
27. Would you be a pirate? In the days of the Pirate Queens, perhaps. Today, no.
28. Favorite food? Cheese, melted or straight.
29. What's in your pockets? I'm currently out of pocket.
30. Last thing that made you laugh? An FB thread started by Martha Garvey on what she should name a drug--a cross between cannabis and Quaaludes--in the dystopian short story she's writing. My suggestions: Hypnobis (official) and Trumpster (street).
31. What's your favorite animal? Domestic cat.
32. What's your most recent injury? Gastrointestinal surgery.
33. How many TVs in your house? Zero. Constant streaming.
34. Worst pain? "More die of heartbreak."
35. Do you like to dance? Yes, if it's "dancing with myself..."
36. Are your parents still together? Yes, and still competing over the crossword puzzle.
37. Do you enjoy camping? If by "camping" you mean a cozy cabin at the end of a day hike, yes.
Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh
April 2, 2017
Hickory Smoked Turkey! & Other Delights
Stefanie Wielkopolan, who sojourned in Pittsburgh by way of Michigan and now teaches at a Montessori school in North Carolina, dedicates her blog to "poetry, gratitude, humor and all things beautiful."
Check out Stefanie's take on Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh:
http://hickorysmokedturkey.blogspot.com
Just a taste: "[This book] is as much a celebration of the rhythmic changes of life as it is a portrait, delicate and honest, of the city itself. Whether or not you have ever traveled to or lived in Pittsburgh, you will walk away feeling like you know the culture of the town and will end up wishing you were there."
No spoilers! (Although I almost gave away the ending of this season of Grace and Frankie to Stefanie. Whew!)
Check out Stefanie's take on Under the Kaufmann's Clock: Fiction, Poems, and Photographs of Pittsburgh:
http://hickorysmokedturkey.blogspot.com
Just a taste: "[This book] is as much a celebration of the rhythmic changes of life as it is a portrait, delicate and honest, of the city itself. Whether or not you have ever traveled to or lived in Pittsburgh, you will walk away feeling like you know the culture of the town and will end up wishing you were there."
No spoilers! (Although I almost gave away the ending of this season of Grace and Frankie to Stefanie. Whew!)
