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Archive for May, 2017

Tuesday night was the School election and my last day as a school board member. For now. Good luck and best wishes to Jessica Schuster and David Meiss. There was an executive session to go over the superintendent’s review. I stayed to soak in the mad dash vote aftermath where everything was collected while the vote was being tabulated behind a flimsy screen. Candidates would walk over to the partition and try to listen in. Such fodder.

And why the vote is being done in the Atrium is beyond me. I took Husband to vote after he got back from Canada. We pulled into solid waste chaos with smoke bellowing out of chicken truck, students running to their parent’s vehicles from the atrium, and few places to park. Inside, you had to push through people in the tiny vestibule to get to the atrium. Doors were wide open and students were wandering around the polling place. Getting out of there was even harder. This amount of a cluster-poop never happened when the vote was in the Media Center – save for the vote against the new gym when everyone came out to vote HELL NO, and even then, it was adults crammed into the space, not students mixing with adults.

Husband left for Canada on Thursday morning and returned Tuesday afternoon. The house stayed clean while he was away – so much so that when Vikki called to say she was coming up on Wednesday, it worked out perfectly since Husband couldn’t mess up the house much in one evening. She brought a swarm trap, we took a walk, had quiche and fruit salad. It was a great visit even though the morning started dramatically when the cat had a long seizure on our bed. After, I brought her down to my chair. I was upstairs picking out a blouse when she howled again. I made it down in time to keep her from rolling off the chair. That one wasn’t as bad, nor as long. The rest of the day was filled with lessening tension and length of episodes. Fun, fun.

5.18.2017A

(Swarm trap)

I split the fuchsia today, moved the tomato cages out of the way and admired the lilac that Betty gave us years ago and this year bloomed prettily.

5.18.2017C

The wisteria survived the odd winter.

5.18.2017E

As did this purple flower I planted and forgot its name.

5.18.2017B.jpg

Ah well, every year is a new adventure in gardening and yard upkeep. Blooming lovely problems to have, aye? And I’m grateful for every single one. Thanks for stopping by!

5.18.2017D.jpg

*These are merely my creekside reflections. If you were here, you’d have other ones. But you’re not. Visit when you can. Cheers!

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Once again, I started this blog post only to discover I could write most of an essay without thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ll finish this one—I haven’t looked back at the last one yet. That’s out of laziness, not fear. This latest assemblage of words scares me a bit since I’d be unmasking a “truth.” Sigh. I don’t know. I suppose I should write it, try to find it a home, explain —like in most essays— that we, as humans, are less different than we suppose.

I had a bit of niceness writing wise. The editor at The Journal let me know that my story “Anum Cara” went far in the process but ultimately didn’t make the cut. The nicer part being that he genuinely seemed interested in me sending more work. What I have plans to do is pull up that story, look at it again and send it out. If it was close for a venue that sports a 1.09% acceptance rate on Duotrope, the odds are in its favor to be accepted somewhere. It worked for “Our Mother’s  Memoir was Published Posthumously. On Purpose.” Mark Budman at Vestal Review gave it a “good” rejection and the next time I pulled the story up, I changed a few words and sent it off and BOOM. It will be up in Blueshift Journal #7 soon.

The days of Board of Education duties are soon to be over and then it’s back to audience member for me. Whatever will I do with my free time – other than read books that I choose instead of Alison Duwe’s choices? Well, there is the revision of “Near Eden, New York,” which “Anum Cara” is a chapter of, to complete. Luckily, it’s in fairly good shape so knock on mahogany that won’t be a horrible slogging mess. I could be wrong though. Nina Fosati sent two pieces last night with the lament, “Are they ready? I can’t tell anymore,” and those were for short stories. Mary Akers is going through the same thing with changing the point of view in “The Belongers.” Sure, writing is rewriting but where does one get the gumption? If you hear of a sale, please let me know.

Otherwise, it’s been rainy outside. I need to pull out the tulip and crocus bulbs and plant the lilies I just got. The neighbors would probably appreciate it if the lawn got mowed—at least the roadside yards—but eh, it’s too wet and I don’t care about property values at the moment. It isn’t like anyone drives by to consider moving here. The road is in piss-poor shape and there are no new businesses to attract people to the area. Well, these two were attracted to our property. Probably because of the lack of traffic on the road.

4.27.2017

Thanks for stopping by!

 

*These are my Creekside Reflections. Your experience may vary.

 

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