floribunda

Click here for my latest Animoto video of a small, private obsession: floribunda

pouring. just pouring.

I don't really have anything new to add today, just a surplus of flower photos and the time and motivation to post something. The weather continues to confound my best efforts to get something original done in the way of an actual photo shoot. These shots are from a couple of weeks ago, taken here in my Irvington/Alameda cusp neighborhood (I was actually on my way to Fred Meyer that day to get some groceries). It always pays to bring the camera, doesn't it?

single peony

tiny iris

desperado

I have to run to the bank today and was just about to finish this post and shut down the netbook, but it's started to rain again and I can't face another sodden trek through the dark wet at the moment. I am so damned tired of the rain this year. And did I mention that the heater's on? Because it's also cold in the house. It's a four-day weekend for me since the Memorial Day holiday is Monday. Will it never stop raining? Will I be indoors again for most of it? Sheesh. It's a monsoon!

I can't help myself, so why even try?

It's spring. It's all about the floral fecundity.

Latest Griffin update

He's moving with his mommy to a new apartment closer to Nana's house. Whoohoo! And here's the latest cuteness, making a point about some obsure literary reference to Doc:

Something about contemporary postmodern interpretations' insulting irrelevance to the work of Agee and Wolfe...

new calling?

Not sure, but I think I've got a new hobby. Check out my latest efforts:

Batter Bread

Under the cloth...

Voila! Cheesy Corn Muffins

Apple Pecan Tarte Tatin

birthday and not

Just realized that today would have been my father's 87th birthday, gone these fifteen years now.

I had an abortion on this day in 1978, about a year after Joe and I'd separated, the pregnancy a consequence of a brief, stupid, mutual indulgence. That child would have been about 32 years old today, I guess, but I have never regretted that choice. Not once. Even when I was in agonizing pain from the unanesthetized, state-funded procedure. Not even then. I owed my best effort to my already-here children; another unplanned would have been our undoing, since we all depended exclusively on my earned income.

Having the procedure on my dad's birthday was incidental, and a bit weird and inconvenient, and became a secret I never revealed to him, but it has also served as a reminder every May 23rd that sometimes making a hard choice, doing something eternally painful and sad is still worth it all this time afterward.

How many women write that story? Usually the story you hear from the media is the trumpeting of religious zealots and their pimped remorse; almost never do you hear from the women who chose to end a pregnancy and continue to feel it was the right decision. Well, here is one.

Random impressions of a jazzy night for poetry in Portland, Sunday evening, May 15th. Warehouse 640 is a confederation of studios and galleries, and the location of a monthly spoken word event hosted by Ben Fisher. This month's featured poet was Jeff Ettlin, dear friend, brilliant performer and truly gifted poet. Jeff inspires me everytime I hear him read, everytime I re-open one of his chapbooks: "Mama's Boy" and "Poem Pie." Genius. Seriously.

. Jeff Ettlin, poet.

Ben Fisher, host.