You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
I’m talking about the poetry, fiction, even letters and blogging. My “personal” stuff, much more than anything I usually did at the office.
Some of my Kinisi postings feel to me like mathematical equations, with words instead of symbols.
Not that I could say what they “mean.”
Fits a lot of lit or math, for that matter. A poem or an equation simply works – or doesn’t – while dwelling within its own beauty. Both are flights of imagination plus a little doodling. Some of these could even be prompts for a longer work or serve as a title.
What ways does your mind wander … playfully?
Yes, I lean toward American contemporary.
Let me admit that looking at the Red Barn posts as they popped up during the past year often left me feeling a bit schizoid.
As this blog has evolved over its nine years so far, its revolving categories run like a merry-go-round, and that’s led me to plan far ahead and schedule accordingly. If I tried to post right as things unfolded, I’d never have time to write anything else. Besides, this way allows me to get in a groove with each of the categories and explore them in more depth as a series rather than one-offs.
Two things I wasn’t expecting at this time last year have intervened with what I had scheduled and uploaded.
The Delta variant of Covid was one, leading to renewed closures and limitations. For me, the jolt came in bits that included seeing pictures of me standing in Canada from a few years earlier. Well, it was a reminder of what we’re fondly looking forward to doing again. In case any of you were wondering.
The bigger jolt came in the posts of Dover and our usual rounds there, especially in the garden. The problem was that I was no longer there, not after we closed on the house sale back in April – the event that sent me off to Eastport and a lot of our possessions into storage. I really didn’t expect the seller to accept our offer, but we bid in good faith and some hard budgeting and a shared dream.
That’s meant I’ve been exploring an exciting new place and learning about it, which I’ll be showing you through the coming year. What I saw on the Red Barn, on the other hand, was what I would have been experiencing through my old routine. And I must admit I’ve really, really missed those heirloom tomatoes. They just don’t grow up here, much less ripen. (Sigh!)
For the most part, my attention has been consumed by the revisions on my upcoming book – one based on a contrarian history of Dover. So I’ve been connected to the old community anyway, along with Zoom meetings with its neighbors and Friends. Be warned: I’m very much looking forward to sharing a lot of the outtakes and thinking with you through the next year. I think it will change your understanding of New England.
During much of the year, I’ve felt slightly AWOL when it comes to social media. I’m really happy to be getting back.
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Your turn to pipe up!
Let me say the big Metropolitan in Manhattan is not on this list for a reason. It’s too big and too crowded, OK? I’ve never felt so claustrophobic as I did the last time I visited.
Also, I see I did a rundown on New England museums and college galleries back in 2015, so you can go to the Red Barn archive for those.
With that, let’s turn the spotlight.
This year, the Barn’s largely been cleaning up with posts reflecting my two decades in Dover, a span that brought about a culmination in my life. Marriage, children, an active Quaker Meeting, publication of my novels and much poetry, ocean beaches. It was a rich mix and put me on a huge learning curve, thanks in no small part to my brilliant spouse and said kids.
With my latest Big Project wrapping up and heading (I hope) toward release, I’m in a reflective mood. Why not?
Actually, I’m also feeling at loose ends, before a new routine emerges. I’ll look at that another time.
What I’m not feeling is retired, even if I’m not getting dressed for the office every day. Again, we can delve into that in a future post.
It’s also been a year of big transition for me, holding down the fort aka beach house, camp, summer home before the renovations are in progress and then done.
I’ve been having to master cooking again, which has been a lot of fun, considering the expert advice I can get with a simple phone call, and the reality that I’m quite willing to eat the experiments that fail. (So this is what she means when she says …)
A lot of memories have been stirred up in the process.
Sometimes Eastport reminds me of Port Townsend, Washington, back in the late ‘70s, where Puget Sound collides into the Strait of San Juan de Fuco. It was both a working fishing town and an arts center. And memories, too, of my second Summer of Love, not that coupling was part of the equation here but rather all the chance new introductions.
Downsides?
There’s no nightlife to speak of here, apart from the occasional play or concert. Post-Covid fully, we’ll likely be back to dancing and singing and classic films. And an absence of a number of other things, as I’ll explain sometime in the future.
OK, I do wish our IGA grocery were a Trader Joe’s, and less pricy, but it’s still more varied than an Aldi, at least in summer, when there are far more people in town. We’re way too small for a Market Basket, even if that frugal New England chain ever gets up this far along the New England coast. Practicalities do intrude.
With most of our possessions in storage for now, I’m feeling rather liberated in my spare surroundings. There are days when I wish a certain book or recording were at hand, but I’ve been busy enough to let that pass. We’ll see how much longer that continues.
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What gifts do you treasure?
School teachers in the classroom aren’t the only instructors I’ve had in life. Some have definitely been mentors, others more guides, even in passing, and then there were crucial colleagues.
Here’s a sampling:
Jnana's Red Barn 