More bits from one writer’s journey

I am one of the few poets and novelists who has spent the bulk of his career editing daily newspapers, rather than teaching literature or creative writing. Still, when it came to creating a contributor’s note for a literary journal, I had to think of myself in the third-person.

Here are some of those contributor’s notes I don’t think were published … until now.

  • In a typical year, Jnana drove enough miles to circle the globe, yet rarely ventured far from his relatively small state.
  • Jnana admits there’s something quite frightening in any occasion of encountering a dragon, much less being carried off by one. He’s been scorched more than once.
  • In his lifetime of writing, Jnana has found himself addressing issues of PLACE as much as character or social conflict or even religion and ethnicity. Place, of course, intertwines with history and the natural sciences. In examining where he lives – where we live – and have lived – he also examines movement, change, home, and community.
  • When Jnana graduated from college, the economy was in a tailspin. The hippie movement was flourishing. He was too skinny to be drafted for Vietnam.
  • Jnana once spent a week at an ecological workshop in Port Worden, Washington, where Barry Lopez, Gary Snyder, and Howard Norman were joined by biologists and anthropologists. It’s as close as he’s come to a writing seminar.
  • As copy desk chief, Jnana was a glorified secretary rather than the top grammarian.
  • Jnana began his professional journalism career as an Action Line research assistant.
  • As a homebrewer, Jnana handcrafted more than 2,500 bottles of fine ales and lagers.
  • Jnana’s elder daughter wanted to raise chickens, ducks, and bees at their small-city homestead. He wondered about the neighbors’ dogs and cats, as well as the possums, groundhogs, and skunks. He didn’t want the misery of another henhouse raid.
  • His wife thought Jnana would have fit the mid-1800s better than contemporary America. She wondered how someone engaging an Anabaptist religious line could be so unorthodox in his art.
  • As a daily newspaper editor, Jnana sensed he was among the last to uphold a vital blue-color trade. He wondered how democracy could survive without independent reporting or clear writing.
  • Considering the brevity of New England summers, Jnana had hoped to launch a line of Hawaiian sweaters.
  • Jnana hates onions but loves a good martini. (Gin, not vodka.) With or without olives.
  • As a journalist, Jnana lived in the trenches of community life – in the tensions of industry and finance, retail commerce, social inequalities and prejudices, and reactionary politics. He admires the progressive activists who have maintained their optimism in spite of it all.
  • In management and as an editor, Jnana had his head and heart handed to him on a silver platter more than once.
  • He hopes he never has to load or unload another U-Haul as long as he lives.
  • Jnana is quite grateful his younger daughter gave up rugby for crew as her first college sport.
  • Jnana senses rural values are rooted in his soul. His dad was born on a farm.
  • Jnana’s mother was born in St. Louis. She loved taking him to the zoo.

I prefer, should you wonder …

a shower to a bath, but indulge in hot tubs.

a hot tub to a sauna in the snow, not that I haven’t delighted in the latter.

religion that relies on questions more than answers.

discovery to fabrication. Accuracy more than cleverness.

Chocolate or candy?
White chocolate. Or dark, bittersweet.

Waffles or pancakes?
Either one, awash in melted real butter and local maple syrup. Better yet, a classic cheese omelet. Or baked pears or baked French toast.

When elk move through my mind these days

They are a memory, more as an emblem and ideal than creature. I never tasted elk flesh, though I heard praises. Nor have I stroked the fur. What I’ve known has appeared only on the forest floor as track and scat – no ticks on the neck or patchy summer skin like the moose where I now live. That, and winter encounters viewed from a distance.

The deer who frequent our yard these days are so small by comparison.

Will I ever revisit the Pacific Northwest where I lived? Would I even recognize most of it?

Or was it all gone in the divorce?

Rude awakening? Like at dawn?

All this time spent online is not at all what I anticipated in retirement.

Perhaps, you know, rather than the lingering over coffee and an open newspaper or even a Bible and or deep meditation in front of a candle first thing each day.

I’m still seeking an ideal daily routine, or perhaps even a weekly one.

What are my goals at this stage of my life? I’d still love to have a champion for my literary ambitions.

For that matter, how will the renovations to our dwelling impact me? It should be easier to stay up later or take afternoon naps, for one thing, or even listen to music. Things were getting pretty crowded.

Many of my activities weren’t on the horizon, back when I was thinking ahead to my years of freedom. Blogging, choir, photography, and, for a while, swimming laps all came along after I left the newsroom. As was moving to this remote fishing village on an island in Maine, where 8 p.m. is the local midnight and dawn can start appearing around 3.

One option just might be rediscovering the joys of “simmering” abed in the morning, likely with (decaf) coffee and some light reading or journaling.

Now, if I could only purge some of my deadline-driven dreams that trouble my sleep.

 

Ever play with a Proust questionnaire?

For years, Vanity Fair closed each edition with its own Proust questionnaire of a celebrity, which I always read even when it was my introduction to the celebrity in question.

Turns out Proust merely prompted what became a popular party game and perhaps more.

Still, I’ve found that these can be a fine prompt for self-reflections, especially when I was drafting contributor’s notes to accompany my literary appearances in small-press periodicals.

Here goes.

What is your idea of perfect happiness? Being centered in the Holy Now within a circle of those I love and trust.

What is your greatest extravagance? Dining out. Or entry-level boutique wines.

What is your current state of mind? Littered across too many fields.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself? Actions rooted in a sense of duty or obligation, rather than passion or desire.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue? Patriotism.

What is your favorite occupation? Deep writing and revision when the act becomes a form of prayer.

What is your most marked characteristic? Serious, with a twist of lime.

What do you most value in your friends? Spiritual warmth.

What do you most dislike / deplore about your appearance? Aging, and all that comes with it.

Which living person do you most despise? Besides Trump and his toadies on the Supreme Court?

On what occasion do you lie? Not lies, exactly, but less than full disclosure under uncomfortable conditions.

A few things I’ve celebrated over the years

(Prompted by artist Jane Kaufmann.)

  • Acceptances for publication large and mostly small.
  • When newcomers return to Quaker meeting.
  • When meeting for worship settles into warm silence.
  • Fires in wood-burning stoves.
  • Truly fine pizzas.
  • Wines and cheeses.
  • Appearances by bald eagles and osprey, some of them over my yard.
  • My wife’s Christmas traditions – especially the observation of Advent and the 12 days after.
  • Retirement and the opportunities it’s opened.
  • Viewing whales from shore here.
  • Whale watch cruises, no matter what we wind up observing.
  • A week’s windjammer cruise. Twice now.
  • Great classical music performances, including opera.
  • Part-singing in choirs, chamber choirs, and Mennonite circles.
  • The renovation of our 1787 homestead.
  • Small-town life in Eastport and Dover.
  • Sunrises and sunsets.
  • Riding big-city subways.
  • Full solar eclipses and Northern Lights.
  • The Greek Orthodox festival and community.
  • Mount Rainier.
  • The election of Barack Obama.

Consider this a footnote or two

I have several pairs of identical thick wool socks – all gifted, by the way – that I’ve worn the majority of the time since moving Way Downeast, summer or winter. You can say I’m quite fond of them and their cushiony effect. But then, the other day, one pair finally wore out – under the heel in one and a toe in the other.

Emotionally? Oh well, it’s about time. Or, I definitely got my mileage out of them. Or, in response, I could elaborate on my belief in having multiple pairs of identical socks so that if one gives out, you’ll ultimately have a new match when one in another set gives way.

Instead, I was left facing a situation where that didn’t exactly fit my model. Or, what is that people say about if the shoe fits?

Parts of my life I likely won’t be doing again

For me, this stage of winding down, or at least refocusing, includes recognizing realities of aging and finances while living in a remote area of the country. Here are some things I’d say are in my past, no matter how actively I pursued them:

  1. Hiking to the top of a mountain.
  2. Climbing a ladder more than a few steps.
  3. Hearing a full symphony orchestra in person.
  4. Ditto for attending an opera.
  5. Peyote, psilocybin, or acid. Not this far after taking up meditation.
  6. Some of the easier hatha yoga positions. Forget even attempting the harder ones.
  7. Writing and revising another novel.
  8. Sending out resumes.
  9. Camping in a tent or out in the open under the stars.
  10. Prolific orgasms.