Late last fall, a few students from Knox College emailed Andy and I to ask if they could record us reading our poems. What? Sure, we said, and then arranged a small gathering of writer-friends, who stuffed themselves into our tiny front room, put themselves in front of a fancy mic, and read their work. It was actually the first time we’d done that, shared our work altogether aloud, and it felt great. More than great, really: it deepened our commitment to creating a reading and writing community for ourselves here. We were aglow.

These lovely-hearted young people recorded and chatted and told us about their adventures. The result of their efforts is The Knox Writers’ House, an incredibly ambitious project which I’m so happy to be a part of. You’ll hear plenty of amazing writers on the site, and interviews, too. Plus, there’s just something cool about a physical map. If you click on New Orleans, you can find us.

Happy listening!

On the way, she was upset when she heard there’d be no playground.

We were both grateful when we saw the rope swing.

Today is a day to myself, a great and lovely gift. I am in my neighborhood cafe. It is sort of like this at my table:

except not as sunny, and today I am reading Wendell Berry instead of Rusty Morrison. Here are some things Berry writes:

“The history of our time has been to a considerable extent the movement of the center of consciousness away from home.”

and

“By means of the machine metaphor we have eliminated any fear or awe or reverence or humility or delight or joy that might have restrained us in our use of the world.”

and

“We must cleanse ourselves of slovenliness, laziness, and waste. We must learn to discipline ourselves, to restrain ourselves, to need less, to care more for the needs of others. We must understand what the health of the earth requires, and we must put that before all other needs.”

(All in Unsettling of America.)

A couple of days ago, on another date with myself (our relationship had really been neglected), I took this photo out the window:

and a guy next to me remarked that I seemed like a character in a detective novel. “I hope you got him!” he said.

Always keep your love for your child in mind.”

From the book Natural Family Living by Peggy O’Mara, editor and publisher of Mothering Magazine

. . . how to love [eat] satsumas.

(Yes, Mama’s finger was right there to swipe the peel from the tongue, of course.)

Yesterday, in need of comfort food, I baked some more olive cheese nuggets and a tiny pumpkin pie (sorry, no picture) with the leftover dough. Does that count as my first homemade pie?

Everyone ready for more holidays?

(at the Bookfair)

What, you mean you’re supposed to let someone else paint your face?

It fills me with nothing short of awe to imagine a stranger holding my book in their hands & reading it & then thinking about it & then, even, writing about it. Amazing. Thank you.

She was our cat. He donned the duck costume of ’09, now a dress-up staple around our house. She had a blast. He was perplexed.

She liked the idea of trading in all her candy the next day for a new toy. Thank you, Pumpkin Fairy.