It was well over a hundred today at the Ponderosa. Tomatoes ripened, seemingly within hours, on the one tomato plant I put in this year. The agave, being a desert plant, is happy, two stories high, and preparing to burst into bloom. The roses are lovely, as long as I keep them watered. Nothing like a wilted garden to also wilt one's spirits.
Mr. Strega, Faustus (our fur child), and I hightailed it to Santa Cruz, then up the coast to Davenport, where we bought a flat of strawberries. Now we're back at the Ponderosa, where the air is as hot outside as it is inside. We can hear neighbors talking and cooking outside; their voices echo off the canyon walls. We're making a cold mango-shrimp-rice noodle salad for dinner, which we will probably eat outside on the deck.
I realize other parts of the country are doing far more terribly with heat right now, and so I won't complain further. I am grateful for all the fans in the house (no air conditioning, which we actually would need only a couple of weeks out of the year), no blackouts right now (we often get them in this rural area), and a gorgeous night sky for stargazing.
There's a trick I used to do with my kids that they still remember: I would allow each of them to put a clean, folded sheet in the freezer (the sheet can be put in a plastic or paper bag, so it doesn't get last month's leftover ice cream on it). At bedtime, they could take the sheet out and put it over themselves for a little bit of coolness.
I hope you kids don't forget that! :)
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
holy sweat
Wow! I am still energized and very happy-feeling from a dance class I have long wanted to take, Debbie Nargi-Brown's African-inspired dance. This has been a long-standing class in Santa Cruz and is held in the same building as one of my bellydance classes.
Though I've been taking dance for a long time now (2 1/2 years, just about, if you take into account the ballroom dancing lessons Mr. Strega and I take from time to time), I've been nervous about taking Debbie's class (due to feelings of awkwardness, fatness, etc). This class has three live drummers who are amazing and Debbie is reputed to be a fantastic teacher. Well, I'm happy to report that she is not only an incredible teacher, she moves like nobody I've ever seen (and she's around my age, too).
The basic format of the class is threefold: first, standing in a circle and dancing to the live drummers while following Debbie in very fast, but do-able moves (I was sweating so much that I wondered if I could get through the rest of the class--and I take six hours of dance and yoga all week long!)...then there was a cool-down and stretching period, then the MOST FUN part--the class divided up into small groups of four (usually I hate small groups, which reminds me of being picked last for P.E. in grade school, but people welcomed me into their group right away). Debbie demonstrated a move, and then all the groups of four danced that same move, in turn, across the floor, stopping at the drums. And it was RADICAL dancing, very aerobic and so fun--I was so full of adrenaline and so caught-up in the drumming and learning the moves that I forgot completely my usual sense of dorkiness and awkwardness. There is a huge range of ability in this class, so I felt good about that. There was even an elderly couple who did great! At the end, the group sits down and sings for ten minutes or so; last night, we sang for one of the class members who is having heart surgery soon. This was another big deal for me, singing with others--I have had a lot of healing to do in that regard, too, even though I like to sing.
So, this probably sounds like the most hippie thing I could possibly do, but it was wonderful. Surprisingly, I am not in any major sort of pain today, just a feeling that I stretched a lot. It's nice to come out of dance classes laughing and wanting to do more--I have had my share of a couple of dance classes after which I cried in the car on the way home because, for whatever reason, the class just wasn't good for me on an emotional level. This class made me want to dance all night!
The reason this post is titled "holy sweat" is because one thing that kept me away from exercise, gyms, dance, etc., was the fact that I had to get over my embarrassment about sweating. Without getting into detail, let's just say that I don't "glow" when I am exercising. Still, as they say, I had to get over myself and just get out there, sweat and all.
I guess the most interesting part of yesterday is that Debbie's class was absolutely huge, and at the end, she said, "Well, I don't know where all of you came from, but thank you!" Apparently there were tons of new people, so I wasn't the only one.
Though I've been taking dance for a long time now (2 1/2 years, just about, if you take into account the ballroom dancing lessons Mr. Strega and I take from time to time), I've been nervous about taking Debbie's class (due to feelings of awkwardness, fatness, etc). This class has three live drummers who are amazing and Debbie is reputed to be a fantastic teacher. Well, I'm happy to report that she is not only an incredible teacher, she moves like nobody I've ever seen (and she's around my age, too).
The basic format of the class is threefold: first, standing in a circle and dancing to the live drummers while following Debbie in very fast, but do-able moves (I was sweating so much that I wondered if I could get through the rest of the class--and I take six hours of dance and yoga all week long!)...then there was a cool-down and stretching period, then the MOST FUN part--the class divided up into small groups of four (usually I hate small groups, which reminds me of being picked last for P.E. in grade school, but people welcomed me into their group right away). Debbie demonstrated a move, and then all the groups of four danced that same move, in turn, across the floor, stopping at the drums. And it was RADICAL dancing, very aerobic and so fun--I was so full of adrenaline and so caught-up in the drumming and learning the moves that I forgot completely my usual sense of dorkiness and awkwardness. There is a huge range of ability in this class, so I felt good about that. There was even an elderly couple who did great! At the end, the group sits down and sings for ten minutes or so; last night, we sang for one of the class members who is having heart surgery soon. This was another big deal for me, singing with others--I have had a lot of healing to do in that regard, too, even though I like to sing.
So, this probably sounds like the most hippie thing I could possibly do, but it was wonderful. Surprisingly, I am not in any major sort of pain today, just a feeling that I stretched a lot. It's nice to come out of dance classes laughing and wanting to do more--I have had my share of a couple of dance classes after which I cried in the car on the way home because, for whatever reason, the class just wasn't good for me on an emotional level. This class made me want to dance all night!
The reason this post is titled "holy sweat" is because one thing that kept me away from exercise, gyms, dance, etc., was the fact that I had to get over my embarrassment about sweating. Without getting into detail, let's just say that I don't "glow" when I am exercising. Still, as they say, I had to get over myself and just get out there, sweat and all.
I guess the most interesting part of yesterday is that Debbie's class was absolutely huge, and at the end, she said, "Well, I don't know where all of you came from, but thank you!" Apparently there were tons of new people, so I wasn't the only one.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
in the library
I was dismayed awhile back to find that my thesis (the baby version of The Strega's Story) was not yet in the library system of my alma mater. I realize such things take time, yet I noticed that the works of most of the folks I'd graduated with were there. I contacted the library, and after searching through various and sundry nooks and crannies, they finally located my thesis in what they described as a "cataloguing backwater." They were nice enough to get it catalogued fairly quickly, so I am now officially in a library! I realize it's just my thesis, but my inner nerd is quite happy.
My summer continues uneventfully, since I am treating the writing of my book like a full-time job. I have no vacations scheduled, no really spectacular plans in the works--just working along on the book. It reached 335 pages last night. This is really something for someone who always wrote poems.
I anticipate that it is going to be nearly 400 pages when it's done, and may top that. I am finding lately that I go into an absolute trance when I write, and hours pass, but the writing is coming much more easily. There are times I feel like a mechanic stuck endlessly under the same car, but I'm extremely grateful to be able to work more fluidly right now when so much of the time, things feel blocked to me.
Other than that, the garden is entering into bloom more and more every day.
And that is the sum of things right now.
My summer continues uneventfully, since I am treating the writing of my book like a full-time job. I have no vacations scheduled, no really spectacular plans in the works--just working along on the book. It reached 335 pages last night. This is really something for someone who always wrote poems.
I anticipate that it is going to be nearly 400 pages when it's done, and may top that. I am finding lately that I go into an absolute trance when I write, and hours pass, but the writing is coming much more easily. There are times I feel like a mechanic stuck endlessly under the same car, but I'm extremely grateful to be able to work more fluidly right now when so much of the time, things feel blocked to me.
Other than that, the garden is entering into bloom more and more every day.
And that is the sum of things right now.
Monday, July 10, 2006
finally in the library
I recently checked to see if my thesis (which was the baby version of the Strega's Story) was entered into my alma mater's library computer system yet. Seems it wasn't even at the library and they had never heard of it, or me. I sent an email to The Library Powers That Be; they had to search around the for it everypalece. Finally they found it in some cataloguing backwater and entered it into the system. Now something I wrote is in the library, with my name on it! It is a proud moment for this Nerd Extraordinaire.
I have some thoughts tonight on blowing my cover in this way--I realize it's entirely possible to find out my real name if someone is even slightly persistent. It's odd to promote a book and yet not be able to say who I am--one of the reasons I hide out is because I have a bonafide stalker (not the two crazy folks who read this blog and report back
I have some thoughts tonight on blowing my cover in this way--I realize it's entirely possible to find out my real name if someone is even slightly persistent. It's odd to promote a book and yet not be able to say who I am--one of the reasons I hide out is because I have a bonafide stalker (not the two crazy folks who read this blog and report back
the agave groweth
God almighty. I can't wait to post a pic of the agave. I am digital-camera bereft right now, but have snapped a couple of pix with the few shots left from my youngest son's performance in Union Square recently (Riff played on tour with select young folks from his music camp, Ethos, and they drew quite a crowd, despite the usual San Fran weather).
Anyway, the agave now looks seriously out of place in the redwood forest. It's as if it warped itself from the Southwest into my garden. The flower stems at the top of the main stem (which reaches to the top of our two-story house) have now begun to actually put out buds of some sort. One nice thing is that agave flowers apparently attract both hummingbirds and bats, both of which appeal to Ms. Strega.
We also had a visit recently from the wild piggies of Felton. These I have never seen (don't want to--the boars are pretty formidable), but have often heard (they squeal just like a farm pig). They often do large amounts of damage to areas such as the football field at the local high school, but only seem to pass through our property on the way to someplace else. Our dog seems to feel they are a match for his great ability to protect our home. He's also partial to raccoons, which seem to be around in fabulous numbers this summer.
Anyway, the agave now looks seriously out of place in the redwood forest. It's as if it warped itself from the Southwest into my garden. The flower stems at the top of the main stem (which reaches to the top of our two-story house) have now begun to actually put out buds of some sort. One nice thing is that agave flowers apparently attract both hummingbirds and bats, both of which appeal to Ms. Strega.
We also had a visit recently from the wild piggies of Felton. These I have never seen (don't want to--the boars are pretty formidable), but have often heard (they squeal just like a farm pig). They often do large amounts of damage to areas such as the football field at the local high school, but only seem to pass through our property on the way to someplace else. Our dog seems to feel they are a match for his great ability to protect our home. He's also partial to raccoons, which seem to be around in fabulous numbers this summer.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
the literary lottery
I just spent the last few days getting a bunch of work out to a few of the litmags that read over the summer. I sent poems to Cider Press Review (Pennsylvania), Salamander (Boston), Poetlore (Maryland), and River Styx (Missouri). I was too freaking laz-y to send out earlier (plus, just recently I changed to a laser printer for send-outs and, like the road less traveled by, "it has made all the difference"). My poetry book is still a formatting nightmare, having been cobbled together from various versions of Word, WordPerfect, an obscure word processing program I downloaded from AOL,
and several operating systems, from Mac to Pentium. It is practically a Rosetta Stone of formatting, but hopefully Mr. Strega can sprinkle computer programmer magic sparkle dust on it and bring it to life.
At the risk of sounding a bit like the venerable Andy Rooney, I have noticed a disturbing trend in the biz of sending stuff out to be considered by literary magazine editors. Most are great about sending work back, but I've noticed a disturbing increase in litmags just simply never sending any work back at all, and never informing, not even with a postcard or a note, that there has been a rejection. They just leave the writer to eventually figure it out. Plus, I've followed up with a nice email or postcard when this happens, and never get a response. I realize a lot of literary magazine staff are overworked and often donate their time because they believe in the worth of independent publishing--but still, a response whenever possible would be nice. I have one magazine right now that has been holding my work since October! I assume they've rejected it, but who knows?
Well, now that I've blown off a bit of steam, I want to report that the agave plant has put forth some flower stalks, so tiny they look positively underwhelming at the tip of the 20-foot stem of this thing. However, these
are supposed to develop into yellow or white flowers. There is another agave in the process of blooming at my son's friend's house. It must be the year for symbolic asparagus-like monoliths.
Happy Fourth of July to all my faithful readers, by the way! It was very hard to drive to Chico State this past weekend to retrieve my youngest son, who was at Ethos Music Camp for three weeks, only because there were fireworks stands everywhere, and Ms. Strega can't have any here at the Ponderosa, not even the teeniest, slimmest, most innocent little sparkler. Personal fireworks are illegal everywhere in Santa Cruz County except Watsonville (which is a mystery to me, as there are mountains with lots of dry brush all over Watsonville. In fact, there is dry brush all over Santa Cruz right now, which is why there's a point to the illegality of fireworks here.
My father, of course, used to drive to godforsaken places in Southern California to procure Fourth of July ordnance--we had sparklers, Piccolo Petes, "snakes," Roman candles, and a bunch more we weren't supposed to have. He didn't buy firecrackers, though. One summer, he had a whole fireworks display in the backyard, which left permanent black stains in our pool. Usually we would go to Sepulveda Park to see fireworks, which always ended with the lighting of some luminous tableau at ground level, usually a flag or the Iwo Jima guys. I haven't seen a display like that in decades, and wonder if they even do them anymore.
Nowadays, Mr. Strega and kids and I go to Skypark in Scotts Valley, where they have a whole show. It's kind of fun--we go to the actual Skypark and pay admission; the days of sitting with my kids in adjacent parking lots are over.
So, it looks like it will be business as usual on the Fourth. In fact, right now it IS the fourth of July, so goodnight!
and several operating systems, from Mac to Pentium. It is practically a Rosetta Stone of formatting, but hopefully Mr. Strega can sprinkle computer programmer magic sparkle dust on it and bring it to life.
At the risk of sounding a bit like the venerable Andy Rooney, I have noticed a disturbing trend in the biz of sending stuff out to be considered by literary magazine editors. Most are great about sending work back, but I've noticed a disturbing increase in litmags just simply never sending any work back at all, and never informing, not even with a postcard or a note, that there has been a rejection. They just leave the writer to eventually figure it out. Plus, I've followed up with a nice email or postcard when this happens, and never get a response. I realize a lot of literary magazine staff are overworked and often donate their time because they believe in the worth of independent publishing--but still, a response whenever possible would be nice. I have one magazine right now that has been holding my work since October! I assume they've rejected it, but who knows?
Well, now that I've blown off a bit of steam, I want to report that the agave plant has put forth some flower stalks, so tiny they look positively underwhelming at the tip of the 20-foot stem of this thing. However, these
are supposed to develop into yellow or white flowers. There is another agave in the process of blooming at my son's friend's house. It must be the year for symbolic asparagus-like monoliths.
Happy Fourth of July to all my faithful readers, by the way! It was very hard to drive to Chico State this past weekend to retrieve my youngest son, who was at Ethos Music Camp for three weeks, only because there were fireworks stands everywhere, and Ms. Strega can't have any here at the Ponderosa, not even the teeniest, slimmest, most innocent little sparkler. Personal fireworks are illegal everywhere in Santa Cruz County except Watsonville (which is a mystery to me, as there are mountains with lots of dry brush all over Watsonville. In fact, there is dry brush all over Santa Cruz right now, which is why there's a point to the illegality of fireworks here.
My father, of course, used to drive to godforsaken places in Southern California to procure Fourth of July ordnance--we had sparklers, Piccolo Petes, "snakes," Roman candles, and a bunch more we weren't supposed to have. He didn't buy firecrackers, though. One summer, he had a whole fireworks display in the backyard, which left permanent black stains in our pool. Usually we would go to Sepulveda Park to see fireworks, which always ended with the lighting of some luminous tableau at ground level, usually a flag or the Iwo Jima guys. I haven't seen a display like that in decades, and wonder if they even do them anymore.
Nowadays, Mr. Strega and kids and I go to Skypark in Scotts Valley, where they have a whole show. It's kind of fun--we go to the actual Skypark and pay admission; the days of sitting with my kids in adjacent parking lots are over.
So, it looks like it will be business as usual on the Fourth. In fact, right now it IS the fourth of July, so goodnight!
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