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I went to see The Rock Bottom Remainders this week, figuring that my standing as a writing geek would be revoked unless I saw these people play live. The band of writing luminaries started jamming together in 1992 and for me the draw was — no, not Stephen King, who wasn’t on this tour — Dave Barry, a founding member, an author, columnist and humorist.
When I was in college, I had sort of a writing crush on Dave Barry and I thought I might marry him except that I already had a boyfriend and he was married to “my wife, Beth,” who often appeared in his columns. Then they got divorced, which should have meant there was room for me but actually? I was kind of crushed. But he found love again. I’m hoping Beth did, too.
Anyway, my senior year in college I wrote him a letter asking for job advice and he graciously responded with a long handwritten note that I kept on my bulletin board for years after I finally did land a job in journalism. In 1991 I was even quoted in an actual Dave Barry column because I had reported on a tomato that speed-dialed 911. True story. (The column is here, online, courtesy of the Orlando Sentinel. You will find his reference to me on page 2. My fifteen minutes. Tick. Tock.) Read on
Dear Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Morty,
I’m sorry you couldn’t come to my bat mitzvah.
 I don’t remember why you couldn’t make it, especially since 30 years have passed since then. My mother says you didn’t like to travel outside of New York much so that was probably it. The ceremony was held at the new synagogue in Blacksburg, Va., which we had just finished working on. It used to be an Oddfellows Lodge, and when we were cleaning it up Mr. Krutchkoff looked in the small room behind the pulpit and found a coffin. Fortunately, it was empty.
My father always called the synagogue The Building. “We have to go work on The Building,” he would say, and we were always working on it — it was the first time such a place existed in our corner of Southwest Virginia, where the Jewish population wasn’t exactly thriving; we did most of the handiwork ourselves. Now it reminds me of that song “I’m working on a building for my lord, for my lord,” but I didn’t know the song then and anyway, I wouldn’t have sung it because at the time I thought if you were Jewish and you sang gospel songs you might get into trouble.
Read on
Sometimes it’s easier to get rid of things if you take a picture first.
poetry month, yes, I’ve got that. And I HAVE been playing around with some poetry. But I’ve also been trying to make April Spring Cleaning Month. Which is harder. At least for me.
Here’s the thing: I stink at cleaning. It’s not just that I can’t sweep right; it’s that I have no idea how to organize things and put them away. So I pile. Sometimes the piles are neatish. Sometimes they’re Pisa-esque. But they’re always there. Stone Henge on my dresser and the counter and the hutch. The piles add clutter to my house and to my brain.
This month, a number of my friends have embarked on admirable art projects. My friend Mary (who hasn’t updated her blog in ages), is writing a poem a day. My friend Cece has been a maniac, completing an illustration a day based on the adjectives, colors and animal names she picks from a jar. (The snapping turtle is still my favorite, followed closely by her sad, musical possum.) And me? For my April project, I’m trying to cut down on the piles by throwing away 10 things a day.
I got the idea from this Post article by Michelle Singletary. In it, she suggests throwing out (or recycling) 50 things this spring. But somehow, 50 didn’t seem like enough. (Which is Michelle’s point: It’s enough to get STARTED.) I’ll let you know how it goes. Cleaning is an art. I haven’t learned it yet. But if I clear away enough stuff, maybe I’ll have room to create. Which will mean that my April was a little artsy after all.
In high school, when my friend Jane and I passed notes back and forth, we used code names in case our information fell into enemy hands. I went by “Magnolia.” It came from that Grateful Dead song, which I loved, but I don’t think I really thought about magnolias much until we moved to Arlington, Va., into a house that had this magnolia tree growing in the front yard. I’m posting a picture of it in honor of National Poetry Month.
That Joyce Kilmer “I think that I shall never see” poem? I’m pretty sure he was talking about my tree. (Just in case he wasn’t, I try to sneak magnolia references into my own writing when I can.)
You can also follow this link to see my Magnolia in Winter.
 There have been a number of celebrity-type people who have died recently that I’ve wanted to write about. John Hughes, the man who directed the movies that became both the text and the soundtrack for my coming of age. Michael Jackson, who brings with him a cavalcade of bizarre, mixed emotions that are somehow chased away when I turn on the happy beats of ABC. I let them pass without any written words. But tonight when I learned that Alex Chilton had died I wanted to try to put something down on paper/keyboard. I thought I was speechless, but it turned out I was only almost speechless. I tried typing his name. I had plenty to say.
Read on
1. Why, when I cook corned beef, does it always turn out gray? Poor meat.
2. We used to live across the street from a little bar named Paddy’s in Cambridge, Mass. It was a neighborhood joint, one of those places where you rarely saw a woman enter. I always think about it on days like today, and wish I’d gone in to stay instead of just to peek.
3. Green beer = unappealing. Green bagels = even worse. Green cookies = another story.
4. I am a fan of any holiday that promotes fun and silliness. Pickle Week? I’m there. My only problem with St. Pat’s Day is that the other kids always pinched me, even when I was wearing green.
5. Apparently there is a shamrock shortage in Ireland this year due to severe weather. We’ve had a winter here, too, but today it’s sunny and 60 and I’m going to plant some Japanese turnips and some rainbow Swiss Chard.
It is time once again to put my trusty numbers into my trusty hat and pick a winner of a copy of Moira Rose Donohue’s PENNY AND THE PUNCTUATION BEE. This particular hat is one of my favorites; it looks like someone got hold of the Bedazzler and went a little nuts. The sparkles make me think it would be suitable attire for an exclamation point, no? And the winner of the Penny book is (drumroll): Heidi Quist, who loves the dash.! You can find Heidi’s blog at fictophile.blogspot.com. Congratulations to Heidi and thanks to everyone for entering.
I left my cell phone in my pants pocket last night and — to use the passive in an attempt not to cast blame, particularly upon myself — it got washed. Friends have pointed out that it is now a very clean cell phone. It is also, unfortunately, dead. (My friend Tracy, who has worked for years in the cell phone industry, suggested, as a last ditch effort: brushing it with alcohol, then putting it in the oven at no more than 125 degrees for a few minutes, then placing it in dry rice. I’m trying that, but even he doesn’t hold much hope. We’re talking spin cycle, people.)
I posted a very brief status update on my Facebook page that sounded a bit like a haiku. So now I am posting a real haiku as part of Poetry Friday. If you, too, have destroyed your cell phone and feel like writing a haiku about it, leave one in the comments. Here’s mine:
soggy little cell
washing machine waterloo
my life on a SIM
And, heck, here’s another.
cell awash once more
at least it’s not an iPhone
Uncle Ben can’t help
Poetry Friday this week is hosted by Becky and Becky’s Book Reviews.
 
Today on the couch (and I need to stop saying that because it’s making me sound like a shrink) we have Moira Rose Donohue, author of two books about punctuation. And that, I’m afraid, makes her sound kind of boring. Which she most definitely is NOT. What’s more, Moira makes punctuation Not Boring. She makes it fun, because she’s telling a story. And by the end of it, it turns out, you just happen to know exactly what an apostrophe — or dash, or question mark, or period — does. Moira is another member of my critque group. Maybe it’s because she’s a lawyer, but I never have to ask her what she’s thinking; she always speaks her mind (and I absolutely love her for it). But today, we’re digging a little so I’m peppering her with questions. When I’m done, you can find out how to become eligible to win a copy of Penny and the Punctuation Bee. But first you have to Read on!
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