Poetry and biking

I've just finished up a wonderful week long poetry class at U Maine Orono. Great people, good poetry, 650 miles of driving but worth it to be concentrating on hearing and writing poems. We had such an interesting range of ages, regions, personalities and styles of writing which made for great discussions each day. Rich Kent was as usual a delightful leader; he set up three poet/teachers guest workshops as well demonstrating the variety of ways writers get writing done in the real world!

Here is my favorite that I wrote for the week.

Summer’s Essence

Wading up

the Carrabassett’s

strong current,

my old Lab follows

from the shoreline

to save her strength.

Sun sparkles water

shaping rocks

and river beds

perpetually.

A geography lesson

in the glacial movement

of stone

seen through a clear

liquid prism.

Ahead a slanting slab

of rock.

I slide down

into a deep channel

and swim upstream

tracing the age-old path

of fish and water.

After all that classroom time I spent the whole weekend outside in Carrabassett Valley. Yay! Both days we did different trails starting from the Outdoor Center. First day was mostly singletrack- some a little too hard as Ron had me try a lighter weight 26 inch wheel bike. Singletrack is a confidence game and the rocks, roots and turns were winning.  The next day we did a more open climb soaking up being in the mountains. Sugarloaf and the Bigelows' peaks looked forbidding- catching the clouds and steep. The trails were gorgeous. The bikegroup making and keeping up the trails is doing an amazing job. Check it out.

 

 This is an easy trail - too bad they aren't all like this! Though that would get boring. There are no shots of me crashing and catching myself between tree limbs. Ron was too busy laughing.

 Water break after a 30 minute uphill ride. Where was that junction?

a summer weekend in Maine

I have to end the suspense on what has been eating my garden. Here is a picture of the brazen creature who has consumed three varieties of lettuce, half of my Swiss chard and all of our broccoli. This groundhog's downfall was some Swiss chard which led him into this cage.  Ron considerately took him over to a nature preserve 4 miles from here. I was feeling less charitable.

We went paddling at Lake St. George and it was idyllic. The water is so clear you can see 10-15 feet down easily. The cool lake temps were an antidote to a week long muggy sticky sweaty heat wave.

We found a little island to swim off. Usually the blueberries are ripe, but it was a few weeks early. Eileen, Leah, Ron and I had a leisurely time catching up on news and hearing details about the upcoming wedding.  Maybe that's why I look so serious here!

Here is the champion canoe crew enjoying their upper body workout. The wind came up on the way back and we had to paddle pretty hard to get back to the landing.

Having the girls visit was a perfect reason to stay down in Vassalboro for the weekend and enjoy lake activities.  Of course one cannot go on a lake without fishing and Leah happily caught a nice size bass fishing with Ron around the corner from "our" island. There was also a popular rope swing on the tree behind her that people were boating over to try with a variety of outcomes! 

The weather with the heat and humidity has been tumultuous and many afternoons or evenings have ended with big storms.  This was the Saturday evening variety.

 There were different levels of clouds you could see slightly mixing but staying in layers.

 The blackness should have been a signal to get inside but of course we stood there watching the wind and rain come through the field until it was pouring on us as we ran in the house.

The drenching rains caused an invasion of big black ants into the porch where the girls were sleeping so as it was storming outside we were vacuming up ants, and I was spraying with a mint oil poison. It was a blur of excitement.

Poor Leah, our city girl from Boston, the night before we lost power during dinner until the following morning, then her bedroom is invaded by insects. In the middle of the ant invasion to make herself feel more comfortable she said out loud to no one, "Well that's okay we'll sleep upstairs tonight." 

All in all  a great weekend with family, water, gardening, stories, and plenty of good drink and food. What's a few bugs or storms when you're with friends : )

Maine International Film Festival

MIFF is a Waterville buzz in mid-July. The Maine International Film Festival, in town from July 12 - 21, has over 60 films showing on three screens at the Railroad Square Cinema and a fourth screen at the Waterville Opera House.

The event includes honors for actors, directors, editors, live music, and after-movie parties/receptions. There is also a student component called the Maine Student Film and Video Festival, a competition, and talks on screenplay writing and filming.

This amounts to lots of excitement for our little town of 17,000 or so. Many visitors wander around downtown using up the normal parking spaces, looking for food and coffee, or a drink. Movie buffs buy passes and compare notes for how many each has seen, tips for getting through 2-4 movies a day for ten days, and of course, talk about the good movies.

I saw Viola yesterday, an Argentine film directed by Matías Piñeiro about an all female Shakespearean troupe in Buenos Ares rehearsing their lines for an interpretation of Twelfth Night. Primarily staying with lines from the play that the actresses are memorizing, the film shifts back and forth between the play and real life with certain lines being repeated over and over for various effects.

One woman seduces another to win a bet- or prove the other woman’s ideas about love to be wrong. Another actress, a bicycle carrier, fires up her romance by playing a little hard to get at the advice of the other women.

The movie is wonderfully contemporary and foreign- city scenes, bisexuality, unfamiliar actors- just modern city life. Because it is Shakespeare’s lines doing the seducing the audience can revel in the timelessness of art and sexual attraction.

I cannot tell you who played what parts, but they were all very good. The emotion of the women was captured stunningly by steady close shots on just the actresses’ faces showing the effect of the lines.

It was a wonder to hear Spanish for 65 minutes. The length was just right for an afternoon viewing. English viewers will have all they can do to follow the subtitles- though this gets simpler once you relax into the storyline of the play and realize much repeats. The Spanish sounds so exotic and rapid that it takes a bit to reconcile the audio with the subtitles. 

The director Piñeiro comments, “I have not yet come up with a way of totally fixing the situation. There is always some loss by the time the viewer is reading the subtitles. Also, because Viola has so much repetition, and the viewer understands that, and they’ve already read the subtitles, I thought about just cutting out some sections of subtitles. Thus, the formal idea would take over and all people, Spanish-speakers and not, would be watching the same thing, the things, the faces that really interest me”(Film Comment).

Overall, this is a fun movie with a South American flavor. Check out the MIFF schedule and make your way to Waterville- early to get seats.

The Orphan Master’s Son by Adam Johnson

In Adam Johnson’s novel The Orphan Master’s Son, prepare to learn about the brutal and extraordinary effects on ordinary people of living under the dictatorship of Kim Jong Il in North Korea. Is the propaganda and brainwashing believable? Comforting? Beatable? The author conveys the utter poverty and deprivation of the ordinary N. Korean people. The subjugation of the country by the dictator- prison camps, kidnapping of women for the pleasure of powerful men, total submission by the people to the demands of the state- all are described matter-of-factly.

Johnson creates a surreal story where readers understand not only, the western, and perhaps more realistic, interpretation of N. Korea’s situation but also what the citizens  themselves hear- that they are in the land of plenty surrounded by aggressors who want to attack N. Korea. As one official Dr. Song says, “Where we are from, stories are factual. If a farmer is declared a music maestro by the state, everyone had better start calling him a maestro. And secretly, he’d be wise to start practicing the piano (121).  Reality is in the hands of the dictator to name.

Accordingly the stark hunger of the citizens and lack of self-determination is unremarkable to Koreans. One privileged character, a movie actress, witnesses a starving family in a park. “Their fingernails were white with malnutrition, and even the girl’s teeth had gone grey. The boy’s shirt hung on him as from a wire hanger. Both women had lost much hair, and the father was nothing but cords under taut skin (300). They have been surprised with a dead squirrel which is a grave offense considered stealing from the state.

With Jun Do, Johnson creates a protagonist that we don’t understand or always like. “My file perhaps suggests I’m an expert kidnapper, and it’s true. I led a lot of missions, and only a couple of targets died on my watch (120). It takes the whole novel to understand the creative genius of Jun Do. He subverts for his own purpose the reality of his existence thereby mirroring Dear Leader Kim Jong Il’s fictional benevolence in the story and real world.  “ ‘ I don’t understand who you are,’ the Dear Leader said to him, “You killed my nemesis. You escaped Prison 33. You could have gotten away for good. But you came here. What kind of person would do that? Who would make their way to me, who would throw away his own life, just to spoil mine?’”(438).

Within this bleak environment, Jun Do’s, or Commander Ga as he is known in the second half of the book, infatuation and love for the movie star Sun Moon seems all the more romantic and fantastical. That he achieves his impossible goal of being with her shows an irrepressible imagination in human nature. His is a story of survival against incredible forces guided by techniques one of his teachers taught him during training. "Never let pain push you into darkness, Kim San said. There you are nobody and you are alone. Once you turn from the flame, it is over"(86).

The writing in Orphan Master’s Son is challenging and in a first read, the tricks of narration and twists in the plot are probably not all understood. Varying levels of reality told through different points of view, brutal detail, and political espionage all require alertness on the reader’s part. The reward is a reaffirmation of the human desire to not only survive but to determine the story that will unfold for each of our lives. This 2013 Pulitzer prize winner for fiction gives us a convincing view inside a secretive country through an amazing narrative that surprises at every turn.

Peas, hydrangeas, hollyhocks, oh my!

Returning to my quiet summer routine after traveling, the gardening is back under control, which means most flower beds and the veggie garden are weeded. I've been picking broccoli, chard, beet greens, spinach and lettuces. Lots of sweet peas too. What a summertime treat eating so much out of the garden.

The humidity has been pretty heavy and no sun all week. You could say it's a little gloomy on day 4 of this! The moisture certainly encourages the snails to keep munching away at my greenery. I am tired of squishing them.

After torrential rains and dark skies the sun poked out a little bit. To celebrate, first I went swimming to soothe the itchy buggy feeling from gardening, then I got my camera out. I notice my eye often goes to the imperfection in the garden- weeds, dead branch, overgrown perennials- rather than enjoying the blooms. So here are some current blooms.

These lilies sum up this stretch of summery rain.

As I was making my rounds, I discovered quite a bit of damage by a mystery animal. Could snails eat several whole broccolis?

And the tops of my Swiss chard? No fair!

I'm guessing deer or groundhog but no animal poop left behind to help me identify.

The last time we had a groundhog we deeded over a quarter of the harvest to him, couldn't quite bring ourselves to shoot it.

This is a clear sign of the dog's negligence; she's not exactly earning her keep this summer.

On a more positive note, I love the colors and textures with fennel and beets next to each other.

Well, those peas I photographed need picking, so I'm back to the gardens- wine glass in hand as it's cocktail hour by my watch.

Dear Brian, Margaret, Mom and Dad, Tyler, Eileen, Meghan, Cormac and Liam, Colleen, Fiona, Piper, Roger, Cliff and Michael, Leah and Katie,

I miss you all already, so here are some last thoughts now that I am back home.

Dad, call Tyler and he will walk you through the Apple TV Pandora link. He thinks it might be all set and he has the best knowledge in the tech area. Sorry you and I didn’t get to it with the Tour keeping the TV occupied.

I missed starting the day with you today drinking coffee and reading the papers.

Mom, you’re awesome. I'm impressed how well you're recovering; enjoy the rest of summer lakeside.

Sentry is going to miss you now that you don’t need groceries every half-day. By the way I know you think you have a lot of bugs, but I had lots of ants and spiders move in while I was gone.

Brian, it was fun seeing you sitting on something other than a bike. Imagine that’s the first horse ride at the farm a ¼ mile down the road in all the years mom and dad have been there. Nice work Katie.

Margaret, per our conversation about fridge management- it might be a male thing. Ron left all this stuff in the fridge to rot and it took me 30 minutes to sort it out when we came home yesterday.

Thanks again for being the daughter on the scene for mom and dad. The rest of us appreciate that a lot. Hope your van gets a break now!

Cormac and Liam, I trust today’s bike race goes as well as Friday’s. You’re both really dedicated riders, thus the hammock got a lot of use on off days. It was fun hanging with you, though I didn’t get to ask you about how your school year went, and what you’re reading. Imagine that!

Colleen, Fiona and Piper, how are your gardens and Chance? I bet you’re picking like crazy.  Much of our dinner last night was from the garden- peas, broccoli, and spinach. My gardens look great but need more harvesting. Any volunteers? Was Chance glad to have you back home? Izzy did well at the kennel and was nice and clean when I picked her up, but now she’s under the deck lying in the dirt, so back to normal for her.

Eileen, Leah, Tyler and Meghan, 

I kept thinking of you 20-something flyers as we were traveling back east. If you’re flying and the flight starts getting delayed – know your rights and be suspicious. Is the aircraft there, why no seat #s, don’t rely only on the terminal monitors. Our flights back to Portland were eventually cancelled (as on our way to Milwaukee). Using the customer service reps we had backup seat the next AM reserved before our flight was cancelled because of the continual delays. Plus as you know, if it’s their fault, hotel and food vouchers are your due.

The Intercontinental Hotel in Chicago was as sleek and contemporary as the last time we were all stranded there. Not really such a treat under the circumstances though. Ron and I are done using United – way too common to have issues with them.

Roger and Cliff, there are no gentlemen with such manners as both of you have here in Maine (sorry Ron).

Michael, there are no such sleepy faced 12 year olds coming down to breakfast here and looking for peanut butter and toast either.

Don’t worry everyone, I’ll stay away from bike races for awhile. It’s bad for my nerves and affects my coffee intake.

I’ll miss swimming with you all in the lake and planning, preparing, eating and cleaning up those yummy meals for 19!

Ron and I will try to be as good of hosts as mom and dad when we see you all in NH in August. We know the company will be good, but don’t expect the digs to be as nice as Chez Dunns, Lake Nagawicka.

Love,
Katie

Tour of America's Dairyland

I’m standing downtown in Milwaukee watching my son, husband and nephews race in different categories in a criterium bike race. For the uniniated this is a course around city blocks that they will circle about 30 times going around 25 mph. It’s a stage in a series of 7 races throughout Wisconsin called the Tour of America's Dairyland.

My nephews’ team from Colorado is here for the whole 2 weeks including nationals next weekend. We’re just here for a week visiting my family.

Right now all I can hear is the whir of bike wheels coming around the corner and the announcer calling out the laps and what the prime is for the next lap (next prime Bontrage cycling shoes gentleman let’s see who wants these). There is a big screen at each corner so you can see the riders at the other points. All the corners are blocked off with barriers, police officers and crash pads are tied to telephone poles and trees that are close.

If nobody you know has skin in the game bike races might be entertaining and there are a lot of spectators. Later in the day when the pros race it will be packed.  I find it nerve wracking- my stomach churns, my hands wring or clench a fellow arm yet I try to cheer loudly.

I also make sure I can find my guy(s) each lap- you have to get the color of their suit. They pass by quickly and if you don’t see them they’ve crashed. Which happened to Ron last year.

Post race report- two big heart stoppers. The huge banner on metal crossbeams at the finish line fell over in the middle of the cat 4&5 race. The cyclists coming around the corner behind the pace car didn’t have much time to react. People were yelling “neutralize!” One man with orange flags was blocking the way of 75 cyclists.

Those in the front could see what was going on and slow down. Luckily Tyler was in front, but those in the middle piled into each other. We could hear the crashes and wheels blowing out. As bystanders it was slow motion horror; we knew it would happen and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Believe it or not, 20 minutes later the officials restarted the race for the last two laps, and Tyler got second place!

Then in the masters 40 race, someone hit Ron on the first lap at the worst corner exactly where he crashed last year and three of them went down. Luckily (he tells me after) he landed on top of the guy who hit him – so no blood- he went back to the pit, fixed his brakes and rejoined the race. We had started walking the course to find him since we hadn’t seen him for two laps, then ta da, he came by with the group and all was well.

The mood shifted wonderfully after their races. Beer tents, brats, grilled corn on the cob, restaurants serving outside, casual conversations and race analysis, so many different people and dogs all ages and sizes, congregating and walking. The races continued but I wasn’t worried. My guys were done for the day.

Unlike many Mainers, I live a plane ride’s distance from all my family except my daughter. Selfishly speaking this frees up weekends to pursue our own desires while other Maine families are doing Sunday meals with family. On the other hand there are plenty of times I’d like to live closer to my parents to help out more. When we do gather from long distances, it’s an event.

Tomorrow I’ll be leaving my quiet summer routine for a week in Wisconsin. It will be total immersion in the Midwest- custard stands, corn fields and farms bordered by subdivisions, lake country, the land of brats, beer and big families.  By the way I don’t eat the brats and I hate leaving my garden, which is full of delicious veggies right now.

It’s a raucous biannual gathering at my parents of my brothers, sisters and everyone’s children and partners, approximately 18 in any given year. It’s a great way to reconnect, swim, take walks, cycle, wine and dine together.

Feeding 18 people is a production. Usually we’re on the porch in the summer- the whole crew needs three tables to fit everyone. Of course the youngest grandkids get their own table.  Looking out over the lake, temps usually warm and muggy, stories flowing all around the tables, what a feeling relaxing with everyone.

Each family plans and cooks at least one dinner and must remember all the special needs- gluten free for her, who’s veggie now, not too much garlic or hot spices for mom and dad.  Hopefully everyone lends a hand at some point on the dishes. Come to think of it the various in-laws who never got up from the table to help are all gone from the family fold now. A telling detail!

Despite all the help, my mother still seems to be in the kitchen much of the day or running to the store for more food. My father’s contribution to the production is being host of the gathering, which means he is in charge of airport runs, drinks and check writing.

There’s such an energy with three generations mingling and lots of conversations as people catch up. Who has the latest tattoo or hair dye or new interest among the nine grandkids?    How well are each of us siblings juggling family, careers and life?  And how is my parents’ health? 

Some years it’s been my dad we're worried about with his multiple hip replacements; this Christmas my mother cracked her ribs in a fall and now some nasty arthritis in her knees has kicked up. None of us are getting any younger that’s for sure and aging is more charming in the grandchildren.

Though here’s a generation buster. Last year Leah, my daughter Eileen’s partner, taught my mom how to paddleboard. There she was all 5 feet 4 inches of her, sun hat on(until her first capsizing), life jacket cinched tight, the original Wisconsin lake girl trying a new water sport at 75.

Who knows what fun we’ll get up to this year?

Suit shopping at Macys

Thank goodness for old-fashioned department stores. Every 5 years or so we find ourselves in the men’s suit department at Macy’s looking for appropriate attire for a wedding or graduation.

Last night with really bad music (Donna Summer style) blaring in the dressing room, Ron stood on the raised platform in front of the angled mirrors dancing in various pants and vests. At least he took off his red Nikes and put on the black shoes he brought in his backpack.

Thankfully there was a helpful salesman for our innumerable questions around fitting, sizes and such. This is foreign territory for us, though I did find the only size 32 pants on the mannequin. He didn't look quite the same after!

Ron kept his good humor through the 32-inch pants, which will need to be taken in an inch and the lime green shirt, which was definitely not going to be the right color choice for his outfit.  But he got a little ornery when the small white shirt wouldn’t button around his medium neck!

I consulted with the salesman- yes indeed the top shirt button must close for the bowtie Eileen would be sending him to wear.  Feeling empowered since for once I wasn’t the frustrated shopper in the fitting room, I explained you have to buy the size for the biggest part of you- all women know that.

I ordered him to give me the grey pants, vest and size medium white shirt so that I could go pay for them. The salesman and I laughed over that, he added a 25% off coupon to the already discounted price and we were done. Ready for another wedding thanks to Macy’s department store.

Our military legacy- a mounting toll

This spring I went to two graduations, one high school commencement in Maine and one graduate school ceremony in Boston. What was striking in both speeches was the similar topic- the emphasis on veterans’ sacrifice, level of hurt and need in this country right now.

The guest speaker at Massachusetts School of Professional Psychiatry’s graduation was Tammy Duckworth, a veteran from the Iraq war, Black Hawk pilot, current congresswoman and double amputee.

She discussed the tremendous psychological toll the injuries have on returning vets. 100's no 1,000's of men and women learning how to walk, feed themselves and reinvent their lives after serious injuries.

She described one fellow patient at Walter Reed who spent 16 months playing video games in his room. “This isn’t who I am,” he told her one night when neither of them could sleep. “I’m a lieutenant in the army, a star athlete- not someone without any legs sitting in a hospital room.”

Duckworth herself after over two-dozen surgeries and 13 months of rehab has a new career in politics and is back flying private planes. The psychology graduates were urged to dedicate themselves to caring for veterans suffering from PTSD or myriad other illnesses. And to be creative about providing this care, so it is readily available for all veterans who need it.

The speaker at the high school graduation, a popular health teacher and basketball coach, spoke simply and with a few well-received sport's metaphors. He encouraged the new graduates to work hard and be determined in their goals using the story of a young wounded veteran who in the time these students were in high school fought in Afghanistan, was severely wounded and then rehabbed in the states, exhibiting grueling determination and courage to recover.

The parallel topic of these two speakers reinforces how profoundly this country is being impacted by our military’s continual intervention around the world. The antiwar era I grew up in has been replaced with a country dedicated to its military and national security.

War amputees and brain injured veterans are spurring new research advancements in prosthesis and trauma treatment. While we can be glad for that, we created the need for it.

Each year I have students who celebrate enlisting in the military. They see it as an opportunity for an education, a job, and a moral need to protect America. I remember one bright senior I taught who was determined to be a land mine detonator.  I respectfully spoke to him about how dangerous the military was as a career path and suggested college instead. 

He was killed in Afghanistan. Then I taught his younger brother and saw the pain and cost of that loss on a daily basis.

My students speak knowledgably about the effects of PTSD on their dads, uncles, and grandfathers who fought in the Korean War or Vietnam and how jumpy older friends are who return from the newest wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.They know what it is like living with a veteran still struggling with the effects of combat experiences.

I cannot imagine the physical and psychological trauma veterans are returning home with and the long struggles they have adjusting.  Will we as a country take care of them for the duration?

An equally important question is if there isn’t an alternative way to invest the skills and energy of our young people than sending them to war.

Lovely moments

Last Thursday night sunset around 8:30 PM.

My first yoga class after being laid up felt amazing. I was tenuous, afraid I  would trigger another back spasm.. Instead my body felt capable and happy to be used. Susan gave me some assists to help me strengthen a few poses; she was very sweet and supportive. How nice to live in a community where people know you. It was lovely to be back in the groove of a yoga class.

 
The next day Ron suggested a bike ride- again my first in a few weeks. When I haven’t ridden in awhile I get really fearful- dogs, traffic, you name it and it makes me nervous. Luckily, my back only hurt when I was standing on the hills of which there are plenty. Lots of other stuff hurts on hills too though- like my legs! But it was affirming to be pedaling away; I’ll get back into with a little help from my resident coach. It makes you feel so content- a good workout.

This last weekend the sensation of summer vacation started to settle in. Various times during the weekend it struck me – no school! No planning, no correcting, no teenagers.

Freedom to putter

Garden

Paddle

Swim

Bike

Hike

Watch bugs

Listen to birds

Savor my coffee

Read books

And write!

I can feel my brain cells relax along with my demeanor. I love summer in

Maine.