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I’m watching out my office window where my neighbor is doing some very early spring cleanup:  picking up branches, raking winter leaves… he’s dressed in his hunting gear, though.  I don’t know if it’s any particular season, though; maybe he just wanted to be camouflaged in his front yard.  I’ve been lazy at writing lately, but I’ve been energetic at remodeling.  The ugly wallpaper in the basement is gone and I’ve scraped half of the backing paper away.  A little more money saved and I’ll have new hardwood floors.

I’ve been working on a poem about Medusa but mostly struggling.  I read a book of Robert Bly’s prose poems, “Morning Glory,” which made me think of re-working the poem into a prose format.  I’ve never written in that style before, but maybe it’ll break the log-jam I’ve been in with it.  I just hate it when I can’t get to the feeling I want with a poem.  I just keep dancing near it…

I guess if it was easy everyone would do it.


Ok, it’s still under 20 overnight, but it’s starting to feel like spring to me.  No smell of spring yet (which, to me smells like mud), but my reading student agrees with me.  And, since he’s older, and an avid camper, I give him a lot of credibility.  This winter has been taken up with long days working — at work and remodeling.  I have to get most of the interior done before spring; once spring hits I’ll be in the garden re-landscaping. 

I found a folder of short stories from college that I’ve been retyping.  Is that accurate?  I’ve been entering them into files and doing a little editing at the same time.  Some of them were actually typed on a typewriter.  I know I had an electric typewriter in college.  Some of them were printed on a dot matix printer (I think even before what Jan used to call a “Buddy Epson” printer).  You can see the teeth from the page joins.  Remember that? 

Some of the stories are absolute tripe and emblematic of my youth (god, at least I hope they’re that bad because of my naivete.), so I tossed those.  I think some have potential and are a good exercise to expand beyond poetry.   

I’m proud I threw a lot of stuff away.  I finally broke down and trashed my grade cards from college.  Yes, we know you got A’s, Pat.  Let it go…