Spring entitlement

Sometime around last Thanksgiving, human Northern snowbirds headed south to avoid the upcoming winter onslaught of gray days, frigid temperatures, cold rain, and snow.  I count my older sister and brother in that number.  Winters in Ohio and Michigan prompted both to buy second places of residence in Florida years ago to escape the inevitable seasonal ‘slop’ up here. 

For me, though, winter is different.  I must say, I rather like it.  

Maybe that’s because I became a teacher and a good snow storm got me a day off work.  More than that, though, I think it’s the being holed up inside the house for the season that appeals to me as an introvert.  There’s nothing much better in our quiet winter home than to pull up a chair to a wide window as the snow flies, watching birds beyond, while the wood-burning stove warms our space.  

That doesn’t mean winter leaves Cindy Lou and me unscathed.  Months of long gray days get to us after a while.  Two years ago we invested in a timeshare for the expressed purpose of escaping overcast February/March for a week’s respite on warm sand.  As mentioned here before, watching Cindy Lou brown under a late winter sun -- and observing her sense of self ‘flower’ -- is valuable family stuff.  

Overall though, in my humble opinion, it is our personal investment in winter that makes Ohio springs so sweet.  

Come around the middle of March we’ll get a sunny, less-chilled day that informs some ancient sense deep inside our brain that winter’s grip is being loosened.  We remember the warm cycle of the Earth Mother and know the cold will change soon.  On a warm, late winter day one can even visualize tomato plants expanding inside their cages, flowers everywhere, promising sweet, juicy fruit in just a few more months.  Winter does encourage dreaming.  

It is around my birthday, just at the cusp of spring, that I get antsy to reinstall the canopy over the back porch and reset my open air ‘summer room.’  I got that done right on time this year.  And while sitting out one afternoon after a warm rain, I noticed the perennial bleeding hearts pushing out from under wet, matted down leaf duff beginning their spring statement of life.  

And that’s when it hit me -- again -- how important weathering a bleak winter is for a full, spiritual appreciation of the promise of spring and the abundance of life on this lucky planet. 

As green shoots erupt in every flower bed and the grass comes back to life, I feel my spirit lift.  While winter is good for what it offers, harbinger crocus, daffodil, and hyacinth are cause for a celebration that emanates from a well, deep within.   

For those of us who have weathered this past snowy Northern winter, such an appreciation of the colors of Life is an entitlement worthy of our emergence from the gray.  

Today’s elder idea: 

A light exists in spring

Not present on the Year 

At any other period --

When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad

On Solitary Fields

That Science cannot overtake

But Human Nature feels. 

Emily Dickinson 

excerpt from Johnson #812

image:  Cleveland pear flower detail.  Newly planted at Wild Grace last weekend.  

Crossing to safety

Recently I went to my fiction shelf and resurrected my copy of Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety, a book I remember liking much when I first ran across it c. 1989 when my life was changing.  Today, in the process of writing my own non-fiction book, I was hoping Stegner might provide some kind of energy I could use in my own original work.  I am here to tell you, the reread was quite lovely.  

I assume most gentle readers here are aware that I was married once before.  That 18 year marathon, which brought me both of my beautiful daughters, began to unwind in 1989.  It was a difficult time when much of my life seemed to turn on its head.  About that time, too, I lost life-long friend John Lauer to a mortal brain injury.  Needless to say, it was a time of great turbulence in my own personal ‘force.’  

Perhaps it was Stegner’s title that I hoped I could make my own.  I mean, crossing to safety is really all I hoped for at the time for myself, my girls, my ex-wife, and my new girlfriend, Cindy Lou.  It was a hard time for all of us and I needed some spiritual bolstering to find my way through it all.  

Part of my affection for Crossing to Safety, too, grew out of my university experience at Wright State.  When I enrolled there in fall 1968, the place was brand new, composed of only four classroom buildings, a student union, and a soccer field.  The English department staff was almost all young PhDs who had caught on at this newly independent facility of higher learning.  The protagonist of Stegner’s book, Larry Morgan, was himself fresh out of grad school beginning his own gig as writer and teacher.   It was easy for me to imagine him as one of my own instructors twenty-some years prior.  

I was drawn to read Wallace Stegner in the first place because his name always came up as an important contemporary American Western writer with an affinity for Nature.  As a self proclaimed liberal arts environmentalist, I felt him a kindred spirit.  I so much liked the idea of Wallace Stegner that I put meeting him on my bucket list.  At the time, that list included just two writers, Wendell Berry and Stegner.  Unfortunately, I missed Stegner, who died in 1993, though I did get to shake Berry’s hand once in 1999.

I am drawn to Crossing to Safety mostly because of Stegner’s skillful writing, but also for his believable, grounded characterization of the four major players.  There is no murder, no assault, no robbery; though there was a near drowning of them all.  I am drawn to Larry, Sid, Sally, and Charity because of their simple goodness and the dynamic friendship they developed over years of service to academia and their efforts for family contributions to the written canon of literature and criticism.   

But perhaps even deeper than that, it was Hog Island.  Again.  For them, it was Battell Pond, a modest summer community in Vermont where Charity’s mother, Aunt Emily, shepherded the family through seasons of swimming, reading, picnics, and star gazing.  When Larry and Sally became fast friends, it was inevitable that they would be invited and would come to be part of Aunt Emily’s extended family. 

As Sid and Larry hiked the New England forest, I wondered how David Todd and Walter Bingham saw the island wilderness of Camp Mavooshen a century ago.  Both places had buildings affectionately called The Big House.  I fantasized how Mabel Loomis Todd organized everyone’s day, like Aunt Emily, into play and learning periods while demanding everyone be on time for meals.  Classical music would waft out over the water after dinner.

Everyone at Battell Pond and Camp Mavooshen learned the common names of plants and recognized birds by their songs.  All had tasks to accomplish, some including the writing of books energized by the solitude of northern forests and the stirring of restless waters.  

Next for me is Stegner’s Angle of Repose, a book most critics think is his best.  My hope is he will continue to inform my prose as I try to contribute my own piece to the canon of the Todd Binghams and Emily Dickinson. 

*** 

In 1990 I assembled my own Crossing to Safety, an unpublished volume of original verse commemorating that time of deep personal conflict and change.  Here’s the title poem written for my lovely Cindy Lou: 

Crossing To Safety 

Frightening, we have been -- 

even to ourselves -- 

seeking passage across this

uncharted water. 

I thought wisdom was to be 

found differently: 

more comfortable -- more deliberate. 

More glacial-like, perhaps. 

But I suspect it is here -- 

buried within the tumult -- 

among the lessons -- of this attempted

crossing to safety. 

Today’s elder idea:  "My God," Sid said.  "Can there be such a place?"  

from Wallace Stegner's Crossing to Safety 

The Mavooshen 'puzzle'

Some months ago when I committed myself to another serious round with The Dressy Adventuress, I realized I needed to have an outside consultant who could offer some insights about any number of issues I’d be confronting.  In addition, I figured if I had someone else to report to, perhaps he/she could help hold my feet to the fire to a higher degree and I would see more progress.  

As mentioned in my last blog entry, that academic friend is David Dominic, Earth & Environmental Sciences department chair at Wright State University.  I might mention that David presented at the AWP conference in Boston a couple weeks ago on a panel discussing ‘Knowledge and Manifestation: Science in Contemporary Poetry.’  We are scheduled to meet next week and I’m eager to hear how things went.

I focus on Dr. David today because of an observation he made in an email over the winter that got me to thinking about my writing process.   Here’s what he wrote in response to a comment I made on my difficulty making progress:  

I do know that writing is hard work and is best approached as such. To students, I stress the ability to write non-linearly, by which I mean the opposite of the directive given to the White Rabbit: 'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'  If you can see the whole, you should be able to write parts of any piece. I think this is critical for getting around ‘blocks.’

That got me to thinking.  Indeed, I have organized The Dressy Adventuress in outline form a number of times now.  Each new iteration seems a bit tighter and I find that a good thing.  And as new/remembered ideas come up in my thinking, I can add them by hand onto the hard copy outline that is my master blueprint.  

Up to now, though, I figured I’d be starting with chapter one and progressing until finished, as the White Rabbit was advised.  With David’s suggestion that writing does not have to work like that, I reset my thinking and came to the conclusion that writing a book can be very much like assembling a jigsaw puzzle.  Assemble the border first [outline], then sort pieces by color and content, working the myriad variables until they find their long lost partners.  

Since David’s suggestion, I have continued my research by reading and note taking, then writing ‘concept pieces’  about that research in three to five page documents.  I liken the process to sorting and organizing the jigsaw pieces.  I figure sometime down the road these segments will come together in some logical order awaiting segues and transitions that will render the book organized, and thus readable.  

Life still consorts to keep me from my book writing tasks.  For the last week I have been in Hilton Head with the lovely Cindy Lou, giving her an opportunity to shed some winter blues and get her feet in some warm sand.  I figured I’d be note taking while she sunbathes, but such hasn’t been the case.  Being this close to the beach is too tempting!  

So upon our return home this weekend I’ll reinstall myself in my basement writing post next week and get back into the process of assembling my Camp Mavooshen puzzle.  Such seems workable.  Stay tuned.    

Today’s elder idea:  Science fiction is more than just our collective dreams for a human race that reaches to the stars.  In many ways, the dreams of yesterday are becoming the realities of today and the path for tomorrow.  

George Takei, from his internet book, Oh Myyy!

Reading Mr. Sulu was more fun that working on my writing this week.

image:  Millicent Todd Bingham cutting birthday cake with long time camp director Carl Buchheister standing by.  (1960)

From the Hog Island Audubon Camp picture archive.

Nurturing the fire

Last week I was lucky enough to get away for some quiet time to Lake Hope State Park where I stayed in a lovely, though rustic, little cabin where I tried to get some work done on my book.  It was cold, indeed, and I even had a morning of snow cover, though it was gone by mid-day.  Felt like a real winter retreat, I’ll say that. 

Lots of state parks in Ohio have rentable cabins.  What makes the Lake Hope dwellings so enticing this time of year is that they have wood burning fire places.  Well, I don’t know if they all do, but it’s clear on the reservation pane.  Mine sure did.  That’s why I picked Lake Hope as my destination in the first place. 

Firewood, of course, is a bit of a sticky wicket in Ohio these days.  With the emerald ash borer doing major damage to native trees, it’s illegal to move firewood from one county to another.  And besides, though I have a stack of wood on the back porch, I really hesitated to take any since I was carrying a full load of books and computer stuff in the first place.  I sure hated to take anything more than I had to.  My firewood solution?  A carton of fire place logs bought at Kroger. 

Still, trying to keep that small, drafty cabin warm, despite setting the thermostat in the upper 60s, was a challenge.  I found myself working under a light blanket most of the week.  Truth was, I needed more wood.  My case of 6 logs worked well evenings in the darkened room, but that didn’t help heat the place during the day.  So off I trundled down the road to the local bait shop to pick up twenty bucks worth of firewood.

I’d just like to go on record as saying I think I tend fireplace blazes pretty well.  Most of the houses I’ve lived in have had a fireplace.  In fact, ‘fireplace’ is one of the first things I consider when picking a house.  No fireplace?  Fat chance I’m even looking at that house.  

So I figured I’d have a pretty easy time with keeping the fire going.  Oh, contrare, amigo.  Truth is, I was pretty humbled by the whole process.  Every time I thought I had the fire going, out it would go.  And a few times during the week when I figured I had lost the flame, I’d go back to work and look back thirty minutes later to find the hearth looking downright cozy with fire.  

My thought for the week was, borrowing that memorable line from Jack London that I learned in high school, ‘One can never be too sure of things.’  Starting point:  I’m a good fireplace tender.  Ending point:  Some hardwoods really need TLC to keep burning.  At this point in my life, I am reminded often that even though I think I know what I’m doing, I shouldn’t be so sure.  There is always more to learn.  So it was with my little fireplace at Lake Hope. 

At the time, I thought ‘nursing the fire’ would be a decent topic to blog about.  Good winter theme, and all, richly experienced in my little cabin.  

But before I could get around to writing about it, just a couple days after returning home, our young neighbors at the end of the street had a house fire that sent Mom and the three kids to the hospital for a smoke-inhalation check, while Dad stood in the front yard, shoeless under a blanket, watching smoke pour out of the first house he ever bought.  Our hearts went out to them right away.  As you faithful readers might remember, it was about ten years ago this spring our house burned.  

Last Thursday Cindy Lou, Noah, and I had been celebrating my Mother’s 92nd birthday with dinner out that evening.  As we returned home, rounding the curve down the street, we were stopped by a whole lot of fire apparatus and a crew laying hose.  We parked down there and walked up to the burning house.  I was able to talk with Gerald a bit, but he was pretty preoccupied, watching smoke pour out from under the eaves.  He had just gotten out of the shower when the family smelled smoke.  Within seconds, it seemed, the family room had erupted into flames as the house filled with smoke.  Some other neighbors led him away soon thereafter, trying to find him some clothes and shoes. 

I am a fan of fire.  I love tending one in the stove down here in my basement.  I truly love sitting out on the back porch on cool evenings watching yellow, orange, and blue flames lick away at the treefall our yard offers.  Sitting watching a fire can be meditative and the stuff of poems and books, I suspect.  I was reminded of that in my cabin last week when all was burning well. 

But burning houses?  Oh, my.  That is the stuff of pain and loss and violation and helplessness.  If you’ve never lived through one of those, great.  Keep it that way.  But if you’ve experienced a loss of a dwelling -- with all your family’s stuff still inside -- it’s a pretty empty feeling.  

Indeed, I love to nurture fire in firepits and stoves and even in my writing.  Fire is so wonderfully elemental.  Nature doesn’t get much more honest than fire.  

But burning family treasures?  It’s one of the things that reminds us how tentative and precious life is. 

PS:  Cindy Lou was able to talk to Gerald the day after the fire.  He said he had already gotten an insurance check to replace toys and clothes.  That’s good.  Oh, but they have a long way to go.... 

Today’s elder idea:   If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.

Emily Dickinson

images:  top:  A lovely fall fire on the back porch.

below:  That same back porch full of fire junk in 2004.  Indeed, that’s Mr. Noah at age 4, contemplating.  An adventure we would have been fine not having. 

Camp Mavooshen

One of my New Year’s commitments to self and community was to gear up my work on The Dressy Adventuress, my book on the Nature side of Mabel Loomis Todd, the first editor of the Emily Dickinson poetry.  And I must report, so far, so good. 

And as a way to handle two things at once (I hesitate writing ‘killing two birds with one stone’ in this scenario), I thought I would publish monthly book progress in the same blog entry posted on both my blogs, The Back Porch and The Dressy Adventuress.  If you are reading this, then you’ve found at least one of them.  

Let me briefly recap my story with Mrs. Todd for those who might be unaware of how the woman has impacted my life.  Back in 1980, I was encouraged by an administrator in the junior high school where I taught to get working on a masters degree.  I had been teaching for nine years at the time and was, indeed, ready to continue my education.  

Within short order I was enrolled as a graduate student in a new academic offering at Wright State University, a master of humanities program.  By the third quarter of study I signed up for a workshop on Emily Dickinson facilitated by a favorite prof of mine, Jim Hughes.  The following summer I was awarded a grant by the Dayton Audubon Society to attend the Audubon Ecology Camp in Maine on Hog Island, a lovely 330 acre site in Muscongus Bay.  Three years later I finished my MHum with a monograph entitled ‘The Epic of Hog’: The Todd Bingham Family and the Establishment of the Audubon Ecology Camp in Maine.  As it turned out, the island was ‘saved’ from clearcutting in 1908 by the one and only Mabel Loomis Todd.  

My masters project was good in what it tried to accomplish:  placing Mabel Loomis Todd in the framework of American conservation history.  But it wasn’t really enough.  There was so much more of her story to tell. 

By the time I retired from teaching in 2002, I was active with Friends of Hog Island, a newly formed organization dedicated to help the Audubon camp flourish as an environmental education center into the future.  At the time, the summer program was hemorrhaging cash for Audubon and the camp’s future was uncertain.  

About that time I committed myself to enlarging my focus on island history and write a publishable piece that Hog Island lovers, Mainers, Emily Dickinson aficianados, and Auduboners everywhere might like to read.  And so, in due course, The Dressy Adventuress was born. 

For a few years I tried to figure out a writing schedule as I dusted off old files and collected new ones.  Books that I had read about during the masters project that were not available for purchase at the time, had in the interim become available with the dawn of ‘print on demand’ technology.  At this time I have a shelf full of old books newly printed and acquired.  

I also determined that the January through May timeframe would be the best for me to focus hard on the book.  Other months of the year draw me into perennial volunteer projects, travel, and summer grandchild care.  The winter months seemed perfect for getting lost in writing.  And that’s where I am now.  

In order to hold my feet to the writing fire, I figured I should report to you all in my blogs monthly (January-May).  I also solicited the help of an academic friend, David Dominic, Earth & Environmental Sciences department chair Wright State, to meet with me regularly for a writing update.  I am pleased to report progress in both of those areas.  

My hope for these monthly updates is to let you know a bit about what I’m learning and how the book is developing.  Here’s where I am today: 

When I first organized the book in prewriting, the working title was Nature’s people which intended to compare the Nature loving behavior of both Ms. Dickinson and Mrs. Todd, different as they were, yet similar.  As of January, the nine chapters initially conceived were condensed into six.  

I had been advised to consider each chapter as an extended essay, and I figure the fewer chapters, the fewer essays.  If I need to expand into other chapters I will, but for the meantime, I feel good about the compression of topics.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been focused on researching the year 1908, which was the summer Mabel Todd observed forest cutting on Hog, an island she had no connection to prior.  That same year President Theodore Roosevelt held the very first national governor’s conference in Washington with focus on the ‘new’ concept of conservation.  1908 also marked Henry Ford mass producing his company’s first Model T for the masses, as well as the Wright brothers mastering controlled flight for extended periods.  It was a very important year in American history.   

Currently I am looking into ship building in the Hog Island region to fill in details about the first structure on the island, a ships chandlery.  I am also intent on unraveling the mystery of Howard Hilder, an artist friend of Mrs. Todd, who graced the main camp building with two fine murals painted c. 1922.

As mentioned in previous blogs, this is my first book and I have been working hard trying to figure out how that process works.  I think I have things moving in the right direction and am energized to continue.  Tune in here again the first week of March and I’ll let you know how it’s going. 

Comments and encouragement always welcome!  ;-) 

Today’s elder idea:  We must handle the water, the wood, the grasses, so that we will hand them to our children and our children’s children in better and not worse shape than we got them. 

Theodore Roosevelt

current epigraph for chapter 1

images:  (above) Mabel Loomis Todd’s Camp Mavooshen main building following restoration by Friends of Hog Island.  (summer 2012)

(below)  Detail of Howard Hilder’s mural of nesting osprey.  (summer 2011)

Circle

Well, here we are at the end of another year.  

More than anything else, I suppose, the fact that 2012 leaves me one year older hits me in a way that I don’t recall feeling before.  Lately I’ve written on more than one card or e-mail, ‘Let’s stay healthy in 2013.’  It would seem mortality is a concept I will be dealing with more often in this upcoming year that witnesses my turning 63 in March.  

I am reminded that when my father was about this age, he mentioned something to me about his dying.  Nothing imminent, just the idea that ‘none of us are getting out of here alive.’  My thought at the time was something like, ‘Why is he thinking about death?  He’s only in his 60s!‘  At the time I was in my invincible early 30s.  Having Dad considering his own passing seemed unwisely premature.  I don’t feel that way today. 

Don’t get me wrong:  I’m not near the end of my life.  At least I hope not.  I feel good and as far as my family doctor and dermatologist report, all is well.  

It’s just that for me New Year’s opens up a period of reflection on life and what it means specifically for the body I inhabit, as far as I can figure.  Seems like an appropriate thing to do as the year meter ticks over another digit.  Cindy commented last night to friends that I have brought up more than once how many more years we might have in this house before we downsize.  She likes to say she can only fathom the next 20 minutes, let alone the next 20 years.  Still, as a football aficionado, I recognize that we’re nearing the 4th quarter and being aware of clock management wouldn’t be a bad idea.  

So with that in mind, a Beginning of a New Circle reflection:   

1.  Like most folks, I’m not very good at keeping New Year’s resolutions.  Therefore, I am not going to make any, though I’ll be constantly considering ways to improve my life and the world every chance I get, whenever an idea passes through.  I just hope to be paying attention when the Spirit moves. 

2. 2013 will be a year of travel for us both, but more so for me.  One thing I know is this planet has lots of great stuff to see and appreciate.  If I don’t make plans to get to the cool places I’ve said I’d like to see, then I suspect when the curtain closes, I will have missed once-in-a-lifetime experiences.  Here’s what’s on the docket for this year: 

February:  A week-long solo writing retreat at Lake Hope State Park.  In the past, I’ve driven to Colorado for such an event.  I’ve always wanted to do something like this in Ohio.  Reservation has been made.  

March:  Timeshare with Cindy Lou at Hilton Head.  I’m taking the slow cooker!  ;-) 

June:  Disney World with Kelly and her family.  She got the trip free through her business (Premier Designs jewelry) so we’re going to tag along.  I can’t imagine going back to Disney without having a kid along!  I look forward to spending some time at Kennedy Space Center, too.  

July:  Quick trip to Los Angeles to see Reds vs. Dodgers with my good pal Bruce who lives out there.  I love to provide support for my guys in hostile ballparks!  We had a great time in San Diego a couple years ago. 

August:  Hog Island, Maine for a volunteer week, then a bit more time to hang out and work on my book.  More on The Book below.  

October:  UK for three weeks with Cindy Lou.  We’ll fly into London and spend some time; then off to Sligo, Ireland for a retreat week at Holy Hill hermitage; then a bit more Ireland before going back to the big island for more site seeing.  It is Cindy Lou’s big retirement trip almost ten years late!

I like to write while I travel and I know the places on the itinerary will provide plenty of muse.  I’m already plotting other notable places for upcoming years.  Stay tuned.  

3.  The Book.  Heavens.  I must make good progress on The Dressy Adventuress: Mabel Loomis Todd’s Camp Mavooshen on Audubon’s Hog Island this year.  I’ve danced around this project for years now.  Yes, it still scares the bejeebers out of me, but it’s time.  January through May will be the peak production period.  As the note taped onto my computer monitor reads:  Focus.  I could use whatever prayers and positive energy you could send my way.  

I’ve got a few other things on my 2013 list, like ‘focus on family’ and ‘be mindful,’ but those things are perpetually on my list.  I also wouldn’t mind finding a spiritual director to work with.  I always seem to feel so scattered in the spiritual realm.  Still, something in my gut tells me that’s the way it’s supposed to be.  I’ll do my best to stay focused via zen mindfulness.

Here’s hoping we all find good health in 2013.  All the best to you and yours.  Let’s also hope our elected leaders make some wise decisions that are good for all Americans. 

Thanks, too, for sticking with me on The Back Porch.  I’ll try to make your visits worthwhile in this upcoming year. I should have plenty to write about!  ;-)

Today’s elder idea:   All my life’s a circle / But I can’t tell you why / The seasons spinning ‘round again / The years keep rollin’ by.   

Harry Chapin

image:  From back walk of our place, Wild Grace, looking east, early December 2012.  

Stuff I'd like to read

If the truth be told, I’m not a very good reader.  

What makes this detail all the more amazing is that I was an English major in college.  Well, a BS Ed in English and history education, anyway.  Still, I took a whole lot of upper level literature classes and wrote all of the papers just like the folks who got a BA did. 

But, man, that reading load really killed me.  There were lots of classes I went to where I was not current on the reading schedule and just did my best to pay attention.  I mean, when Moby Dick is assigned to read over a weekend, what’s a guy supposed to do?  Yes, I know I should have started it earlier, but on other nights I had other books to read and other assignments to complete.  As one who ended up later in life teaching some college comp as both a teaching assistant and an adjunct, I know I wasn’t alone in not completing assigned reading.  I saw plenty of blank stares on the faces of my own students.  

I have a bit of a personality complex about reading.  If I can find a book that really rocks me, like Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer or an Arthur C. Clarke science fiction novel, I’m good to go.  Love ‘em.  But most times I’m on line reading stuff, listening to music.  And in the evenings, I’m a whole lot better parked in front of the tv watching Red’s baseball or Rachel Maddow.  

Still, hope spring eternal.  Cindy Lou and I subscribe to lots of magazines and we always buy each other books at Christmas.  What that means is that most of the time I’m looking at a pile of stuff set aside that I’d really like to get to.  Occasionally I’ll pull something out of said pile, but more often than not I look at things when it’s time to recycle.  So it is.  

Today I thought I’d write about my current pile of stuff to read.  Even though I don’t devour everything, it is good for me to have these publications around, and in some odd way, they warm me just knowing they’re available.  If I didn’t care about their contents, they wouldn’t be there. 

Choosing Gratitude:  Learning to Love the Life You Have, a book by James A. Autry:  I heard Autry talking to Bill Moyers on his PBS show a month or so ago, was impressed, and so bought two copies from Amazon.  One for an old friend who works hard at loving life, and one for some meditational time of my own.  It will accompany me on our next vacation.

Orion magazine:  I will take time with this one.  Orion is one of my all time favorite environmental publications.  It has no advertising and makes its non-profit living through subscription and generosity.  Great writers, too, that promote a world view I aspire to.  With contributing editors like Wendell Berry, Scott Russell Sanders, Barry Lopez, and Terry Tempest Williams, what’s not to like?  

Friends Journal: The Magazine of the Air Force Museum Foundation:  Local stuff from the birthplace of aviation, my home town.  The issue that awaits is one with a piece co-authored by a friend who flew missions over Turkey during the Cold War looking deep into Soviet air space, keeping track of missile launches.  I love listening to Jack tell his flying stories.  

Audubon:  I’ve been an Audubon fan for years now.  And with all the volunteer stuff I’ve done with the local chapter, state office (while it existed), and the camps in Connecticut and on Hog Island in Maine, it’s good to see that Audubon is not just about birds, but solid environmental reporting.  

Psychology Today:  My subscription actually started as one to New Age magazine, but when that folded, it switched to this one.  As a student of human behavior, PT pretty often sheds light on mysteries of human behavior that intrigues this retired educator.  

Macworld:  As a dyed-in-the-wool Mac/Apple guy, I like to see what the writers who watch the folks from Cupertino are finding out.  Unfortunately, most of the time I don’t know what the editors are talking about.  Too many apps I don’t want to mess with and new features in the OS that I doubt I’ll ever use.  But it makes me feel like I’m trying to keep up, and that will have to do.  

The Sun:  A gift from an old friend, The Sun provides inspiration to writers.  But with so much other stuff I find myself writing (like blogs, poetry, the occasional essay, and my book on Hog Island), I never take up the challenge to contribute.  Even our defunct writers’ group never took a crack at one of their prompts.  Still, The Sun is about writers for writers.  It’s good having it around.  

Desert Call:  I’ve been lucky enough to have contributed to this little Christian contemplative magazine out of Colorado a few times.  The upcoming issue, I’m told, has a pic of mine in the centerfold.  Good folks put this one together at the Nada Hermitage in Crestone.  I count them as friends, and am downright tickled they like my work. 

There’s more stuff stacked around, like a new copy of Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety, Shakti Gawain’s Living in the Light, and Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s Space Chronicles.  Plus my current ‘meditative’ piece parked out by the wood stove, Matthew Fox’s new book on Hildegard of Bingen. I’ll try to spend some time with her during Lent.  

The written word can be overwhelming, no doubt, but having lots of books and good magazines around makes me feel good.  It’s kind of like my affection for Emily Dickinson:  I might not read or understand everything, but having the ideas and concepts in my space is somehow a good thing.  I know I’m not alone in the world, that’s for sure.  The written word, of which I am a part, keeps me grounded.  

Today’s elder idea:  The more that you read, the more things you will know.  The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.  

Dr. Suess

image:  My office floor this morning