dakota, mid-yawn. . .

. . .

yes, it is. . .

. . . true: my summer class was cancelled. I've had two former students email me about it, lol. Okay then. Let's just say, that enrollment seems to be down all over the board. The economy isn't so great, lots of students who previously were considered credit-worthy are no longer making the grade with lenders, and it goes from there. All I can say is that I am glad I wasn't counting on this job for my bread and butter this summer, otherwise times would be very, very tight.

Other news: mourning George Carlin, of course. Smart, smart man. One of the most astute people of cultural phenomenons and the general tomfoolery of humankind.

I am gathering words, so if you have any good ones, send them my way. This is my new attempt at poetry making - taking words I like, and starting there. Starting anywhere. Current words in the works: gravitas, sequention, and looky-loo.

I am also writing some other stuff. This is good. Fun, actually. I'm not one of those writers who actually enjoys writing. It's rather like pulling teeth for me, so anytime I look forward to writing as a verb it is indeed a grand occasion. Writing is like exercise - when I am disciplined about it I tend to enjoy it more (or dread it more, whatever). I like the afterwards effect of feeling accomplished though, so perhaps that is impetus enough to get back in the groove.

two cheers for . . .

. . . the best book I've read so far all summer: Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris. It was superb, and I highly recommend it. It is the kind of book that makes me want to be a writer.

And here is a tribute picture of Yummy, who did pass away and was finally buried this past weekend. (It was an extended wake, held in the freezer; hold your horror there.)

changes and stagnations. . .

. . . which I just spent twenty minutes writing about and Blogger lost. So instead, I will simply tell you that there is a very naughty squirrel messing about my flowerbed in the front window. He likes to dig around my mulch and store things. But he doesn't but the mulch back. And now he is looking at me as though I should be happy to see him, tail all aflicker.

Humph.

the drought extended . . .

. . . to the blog. Well, really it is more of a time issue. And then an inspiration issue. And then the issues kept piling up. Neglect, etc. It's all very clear in my head.

I've been absent.

But two days ago, I woke up to the composition of a poem going on in my head. It is a beautiful thing.

Teaching summer session soon. I've picked up two amazing books for the next semester: Poet's Choice by Ed Hirsch and The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry edited by J.D. McClatchey. I can't open one without wanting to consume the other. The Vintage one in particular is as close an anthology I've encountered to what would be in my own if I ever endeavored to compile one beyond the xeroxes I currently live by.