Zinta Aistars's Blog, page 40
October 3, 2011
Grit, Glory, Invitation
by Zinta Aistars
Something in my core goes wobbly when I don't commune with Nature for too long a period of time. I was feeling wobbly. Summer is my least favorite time to camp—too many people, too much noise, too much heat. But October? Perfect. My son had issued an invitation for us to go camping last spring; we'd waited until now. While I have pitched a tent many, many times, my son has come along with me only once—a couple summers ago in July. I wouldn't have gone in July if the...
Something in my core goes wobbly when I don't commune with Nature for too long a period of time. I was feeling wobbly. Summer is my least favorite time to camp—too many people, too much noise, too much heat. But October? Perfect. My son had issued an invitation for us to go camping last spring; we'd waited until now. While I have pitched a tent many, many times, my son has come along with me only once—a couple summers ago in July. I wouldn't have gone in July if the...
September 29, 2011
An Interview with Keweenaw Writer t. kilgore splake on WMUK 102.1 FM Radio
On WMUK radio, Kalamazoo, Michigan's NPR affiliate:
Poet t. kilgore splake
The online literary magazine "The Smoking Poet" marked its fifth year of publication earlier this year. Kalamazoo resident Zinta Aistars is founder and editor-in-chief . While she receives and publishes manuscripts from authors around the world, in the upcoming issue she'll feature art from the northernmost tip of Michigan: the Keweenaw Peninsula. For WMUK, via Skype, she talked with poet and writer t. kilgore...
Poet t. kilgore splake
The online literary magazine "The Smoking Poet" marked its fifth year of publication earlier this year. Kalamazoo resident Zinta Aistars is founder and editor-in-chief . While she receives and publishes manuscripts from authors around the world, in the upcoming issue she'll feature art from the northernmost tip of Michigan: the Keweenaw Peninsula. For WMUK, via Skype, she talked with poet and writer t. kilgore...
September 28, 2011
Save, Bury or Invest a Blessing
by Zinta Aistars
Yeah, so I was niggling and grumping and bitching a bit the other day. I do that sometimes. Putting in the hours at the office, churning out work like machinery parts, I was writing and editing my way through tall stacks of seemingly never-ending assignments. Hrmph.The dear friend whose shoulder and ear bore the brunt of this niggling and grumping (poor thing) sweetly sent me a biblical passage about King Solomon learning to take enjoyment from his toil, even when...
Yeah, so I was niggling and grumping and bitching a bit the other day. I do that sometimes. Putting in the hours at the office, churning out work like machinery parts, I was writing and editing my way through tall stacks of seemingly never-ending assignments. Hrmph.The dear friend whose shoulder and ear bore the brunt of this niggling and grumping (poor thing) sweetly sent me a biblical passage about King Solomon learning to take enjoyment from his toil, even when...
September 26, 2011
4.451
by Zinta Aistars
And counting. Day by day, closer to flying the flag of freedom. Some time ago, I wrote about shrinking numbers, living a life of simplicity while erasing debt, paving my path toward a working retirement. The more those numbers shrink, the more fierce my determination to reach Zero. I'm counting 4,451 days to retirement, and that would be the optimum age, without going to extremes (one could work forever, right?), when I could close my office door and walk away into...
And counting. Day by day, closer to flying the flag of freedom. Some time ago, I wrote about shrinking numbers, living a life of simplicity while erasing debt, paving my path toward a working retirement. The more those numbers shrink, the more fierce my determination to reach Zero. I'm counting 4,451 days to retirement, and that would be the optimum age, without going to extremes (one could work forever, right?), when I could close my office door and walk away into...
September 14, 2011
September 6, 2011
House of Mirrors
by Zinta Aistars
She laughs. I'm counting the days—4,474—and my daughter laughs, reminding me with an arched eyebrow to enjoy the moment. "Of course," I acknowledge. "There's a balance between not missing today and planning for the future. Although I can get a tad obsessed …"It's my favorite topic among several, talking retirement, planning my breakaway, even if it is still a wad of years away and thousands of days. I commend my daughter, newly crossed into her decade of the 30s, on...
She laughs. I'm counting the days—4,474—and my daughter laughs, reminding me with an arched eyebrow to enjoy the moment. "Of course," I acknowledge. "There's a balance between not missing today and planning for the future. Although I can get a tad obsessed …"It's my favorite topic among several, talking retirement, planning my breakaway, even if it is still a wad of years away and thousands of days. I commend my daughter, newly crossed into her decade of the 30s, on...
August 30, 2011
The Open Empty
by Zinta Aistars
I'm always feeling it, needing it, but never more than now, when space has become so packed, time spread so thin, so that my mind feels caged and claustrophobic, and my spirit bangs around inside me in silenced scream. I need open, empty space.That place, that space, that comes between chores, errands, obligations and duties. That place, that space, that appears between busyness and rat race.That vast emptiness that the uninitiated refer to as boredom, but the wise...
I'm always feeling it, needing it, but never more than now, when space has become so packed, time spread so thin, so that my mind feels caged and claustrophobic, and my spirit bangs around inside me in silenced scream. I need open, empty space.That place, that space, that comes between chores, errands, obligations and duties. That place, that space, that appears between busyness and rat race.That vast emptiness that the uninitiated refer to as boredom, but the wise...
August 28, 2011
Weekend on Deck
by Zinta Aistars
At last, at long last, the sweltering summer has cooled to something bearable. Much of this summer has been my time to hibernate, withdraw from the outdoors into my woman-cave, and I have longed to return to fresh air and the gentler breezes of a summer waning.
Summer has been my least favorite season for many years now, as the climate has turned increasingly to extremes. Too many days of 90s-plus, the air thick and milky with humidity. News announcements tick off deaths of tho...
At last, at long last, the sweltering summer has cooled to something bearable. Much of this summer has been my time to hibernate, withdraw from the outdoors into my woman-cave, and I have longed to return to fresh air and the gentler breezes of a summer waning.Summer has been my least favorite season for many years now, as the climate has turned increasingly to extremes. Too many days of 90s-plus, the air thick and milky with humidity. News announcements tick off deaths of tho...
August 23, 2011
Nesting Instinct
by Zinta Aistars
The last time I recall having this intense of a nesting instinct, I was nine months very pregnant. We had just moved south from Michigan to just outside of Cincinnati, across the Ohio River and on the Kentucky side. I'd never lived in such a big house, but there was no time to be dazzled. The clock was ticking, the calendar pages were flying away, the due date was approaching—there was no time to spare. With hubby at work in his new job, a newly minted chief of a...
The last time I recall having this intense of a nesting instinct, I was nine months very pregnant. We had just moved south from Michigan to just outside of Cincinnati, across the Ohio River and on the Kentucky side. I'd never lived in such a big house, but there was no time to be dazzled. The clock was ticking, the calendar pages were flying away, the due date was approaching—there was no time to spare. With hubby at work in his new job, a newly minted chief of a...
August 15, 2011
Fine Silken Stitches
by Zinta Aistars
Working it, working it, trying to thread this dang thread through that dang needle, squint, blink, squint ... wait a minute. Flashback. My vecmamīte, my Grandmamma, asking me, little Z, to come thread the needle for her, because my young eyes are better than her old eyes ... oh, I miss her. And my young eyes.
Does anyone sew anymore? I had once owned a sewing machine, long long ago, when I was a young wife and all things seemed to flow so easily from my hands. I would sew dres...
Working it, working it, trying to thread this dang thread through that dang needle, squint, blink, squint ... wait a minute. Flashback. My vecmamīte, my Grandmamma, asking me, little Z, to come thread the needle for her, because my young eyes are better than her old eyes ... oh, I miss her. And my young eyes.Does anyone sew anymore? I had once owned a sewing machine, long long ago, when I was a young wife and all things seemed to flow so easily from my hands. I would sew dres...
