Bali Magic

Greetings! I am a poet turned memoirist. I used to teach writing to kids of all ages, but now I get to write anytime I want.

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Explore: Bali Magic

Ever since my first plane trip to Spain at seventeen years old, I’ve been a dedicated traveler. That excursion with my high school Spanish class changed my life, and since then I’ve had other trips that were as transformative.

This summer, my tour of Bali led by Laura Davis, and Judy Slattum and Madé Surya of Danu Enterprises was just such an experience.

I had traveled to Bali before with Laura, Judy and Madé Surya in 2016. That trip was wonderful and made me want to return to Bali.

This summer I got that opportunity, sharing the experience with a great group of people and staying in some of the same beautiful locations as before.

The beach at Lotus Bungalows, Candidasa

My view from my cottage at Puri Lumbung Cottages, Munduk

While I had enjoyed that beauty before, somehow this trip felt deeper. I was touched by the peoples’ welcoming attitude towards this stranger visiting their country. I soaked up the color and energy in their art and dance, and in their everyday rituals. My connection with this place became more magical.

Like all human societies, there are problems and inconsistencies between the Balinese ideals and their everyday reality. There is poverty and discrimination. There is conflict. I don’t want to romanticize their society by ignoring these issues.

But the Balinese also create great beauty in their lives. They have a devotion to art and culture that is profound. A devotion I wish we all would emulate to enrich our spirits.

I especially love the offerings they make each day, some to honor their gods, some to help maintain balance and harmony in their lives.

Offerings to Ganesh. I learned to make the one on the left.

Dance and music and rituals seemed to be expected almost every day.

Madé Surya performing the Old Man’s Dance.

A procession heading to the temple.

Even now, a few weeks after my trip, I have yet to explain my feelings about Bali. The Balinese believe that everything in nature has a spirit residing within it. While I am uneasy with the word spirit, Madé Surya explained his belief in a way I can accept. He said there is a mystery within all of us. I can believe that. And so I can trust that my passion for Bali is a mystery I don’t need to explain. I can just enjoy it.

One day when I returned to my bungalow in Candidasa I found this heart leaf and frangipani flowers arranged on a table outside the door. How could I not love a place where someone created an offering like this for me?

I'd love to hear from you. What trips or adventures have transformed you?

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Write: Memoir News

I’m working away on what I hope are the final revisions to my memoir, Half-Orphans: A Poet, Her Father, and the Silence Between Them. By the end of the summer I will start sending the manuscript out to publishers. Wish me luck! I’ll keep you posted on my journey towards publication.

Going back to Bali made me remember a poem I wrote while I was there in 2016, a year before my father died. This poem is part of my poetry collection, Always a Blue House (Saddle Road Press).

Buy it here at Bookshop.org

Even While Snorkeling in Bali

I float through blue waters, breath steady

in the tube. And here you are beside me.

I remember how you loved swimming.

How each summer you would strike far out

into Lake Michigan – Mother standing on the shore,

hand shading her eyes, afraid.  

But you were never afraid. You swam true,

far out into blue water. Then, flipping over,

you floated long minutes before heading

back to shore. And I, once again, have slipped

from a boat into the sea. Coral waves and fish

dart past my mask, their bright stripes flashing

in the sunlight refracted through clear water.

Oh Father, how you would have loved this.

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Read: Book Recommendations

The novel Beware the Tall Grass by Ellen Birkett Morris weaves two plots together: the story of a young soldier fighting in Viet Nam alternates with that of a contemporary couple and their young son who seems to have memories of a war that took place long before his birth.

Buy it here at Bookshop.org

The Deepest Lake by Andromeda Romano-Lax is a mystery/thriller that takes place at a writing retreat in Guatemala. I read this while I was in Bali. Luckily my retreat went better than the one Romano-Lax describes!

Buy it here at Bookshop.org

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Season of Darkness and Light

Portland, Oregon sits just above the 45th parallel. Most people think of the 45th parallel north (if they think about it at all) as the halfway point between the equator and the North Pole, but the true halfway point is a bit further north. That doesn’t matter - Portland is pretty darn close.

San Francisco, where I moved in 1980, sits only 12 degrees south of Portland, but the light is profoundly different. I know this is caused by more than just the fact of north and south, but that’s the part I understand. I’ve driven the long stretch of Interstate 5 and flown from SFO to PDX enough times to actually feel that north-south pull.

I don’t know why I’ve become rather obsessed with the 45th parallel, except that I’m still getting used to the differences between the Bay Area and Portland. Especially the light - and dark.

In the winter, days feel very short here in Portland. Today it’s December 21, 2023, the Winter Solstice. Today I will see the sun set at 4:29 p.m. When I looked up the sunset time for San Francisco, I was surprised to see that it will occur at 4:53 p.m. Only a 24 minute difference, but a somehow a difference I notice.

I know many cultures celebrate holidays and rituals around lighting the darkness of winter. I celebrate Christmas with my family each year. But somehow this year is different. Somehow, this year I need light even more.

That’s why for my birthday last week, I decided to go see the Zoo Light displays at the Oregon Zoo. This is a very popular yearly event which I’d never seen.

Strolling through the zoo on a chilly December night with a bag of hot kettle corn (instead of birthday cake) looking at the light displays, and children and families oohing and aahing was just the light I needed.

I hope in this season of darkness and cold (at for those in the Northern Hemisphere), you will find a way to solace yourself and loved ones. How will you bring light into your life this Winter Solstice?

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Some Poetry

Here is my prose poem, which was posted on the Silver Birch Press blog. I hope you read it, and if you feel inspired, please leave a comment or a like on the site.

Read it HERE.

Read My Brevity Nonfiction Blog Post!

I am honored to be a guest blogger on Brevity Magazine’s Nonfiction Blog. I woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. and was reading on my iPad when the Tweet came in. You might imagine that I found it difficult to go back to sleep.

You can read the whole post HERE.

What You Can Read Next

Most of you know I retired from a twenty-nine year teaching career last June. Stepping away from my job (especially during the strange time we’re living through) made me ponder. Now that I’m no longer part of the world of education, what I can offer as the teacher part of my blog title? And then I thought about something that’s been important to me my whole life: books and reading.

Books got me through many difficult times as a child and young adult. And they are offering the same solace now. So let’s talk about books.

When we began sheltering at home because of the pandemic, perhaps you found that your reading rate went up. I know I’ve been reading these days. I decided to stay away Amazon as much as possible and support local independent bookstores and small presses. The books have piled up, but so has my pleasure. 

Three such books gracing my nightstand come from my favorite small press, Saddle Road Press and the press’s new imprint, Two Fine Crows Books. 

Both Saddle Road Press and Two Fine Crows Books are run by Ruth Thompson and  Don Mitchell, talented writers themselves.

Of course, I’m grateful because they published my poetry collection, Always a Blue House. 

But today I want to recommend these new books from Saddle Road Press and Two Fine Books to add to your own collection. Order one or all of them from Bookshop.org to support an independent bookstore in your area.

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Face: A Memoir by Marcia Meier.

This book asks readers to consider what is a face? It is the question the author had to confront from the age of five after a traumatic accident left her face partially disfigured. As she chronicles her journey to recovery, Meier invites us to consider how important our physical self is to our sense of identity.

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Join Marcia and Don for a conversation with other Saddle Road Press writers on February 20, 2021. You can find the Zoom link HERE.

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Shibai: Remembering Jane Britton’s Murder by Don Mitchell. 

In Japanese culture, shibai means "drama," or "play," but in Hawaiian slang it means "smokescreen," or "bullshit." In this book, part memoir, part true crime story, Mitchell weaves together the brutal 1969 murder of his college friend, and the long-term ripples it has created in his life. Along the way he struggles to understand what is truth and what is shibai.

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Heart’s Compass Tarot by Tania Pryputniewicz.

This is the first publication of Two Fine Crows Books. Whether a Tarot expert or beginner, this workbook offers the reader the opportunity to dive into the world of Tarot in a playful, creative way through journaling, writing and art projects. (I have taken many of Tania’s Tarot workshops, and you will find some of my artwork in this book.)

Join Tania for her book launch Sunday, February 14. This will be a panel discussion with some of the artists (including me) featured in her book. You can find the Zoom link HERE.

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This beautiful post from Brainpickings helps explain how important reading can be: Mass, Energy, and How Literature Transforms the Dead Weight of Being.

And finally, I was excited to hear that Levar Burton of Star Trek: the Next Generation fame has been named the Inaugural PEN/Faulkner Literary Champion for his contribution to the world of literature. I used to show his Reading Rainbow videos (yes, back in the days of VHS) in my ELL classes. Check out his podcasts: Levar Burton Reads.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. What has reading been like for you during the pandemic?

Day 82 Sheltering in Place; My Last Week

I love to keep records of ongoing events: 2,484 days of daily morning writing; 82 days of sheltering in place; 204 days of studying Italian on Duolingo. I’m not sure what it says about me other than I’m a bit obsessive.

Yesterday, day 204 of studying Italian, this sentence popped up for me to translate: La prossima settimana e la mia ultima settimana. The next week is my last week. 

And it’s true.

I’ve been counting down to retirement all school year, even after Covid-19 forced teachers and students to leave schools and begin our new adventure in distance learning.

A few weeks ago, I donned my mask and gloves to clean out my workspace, to give away books and recycle papers I had thought I couldn’t live without. Until the end came. I finally got rid of lesson plans saved from year to year. I shoved all the mementos I received from students into a box, now sitting in my garage. 

What will I do with the set of three white elephant statues given to me so many years ago that I have no memory of the boy’s name (I do remember they came from a boy) who gave them to me?

Along with the World’s Best Teacher plaque (again the giver’s name is lost) and a letter holder brought back by some child from Jordan, they represent all the students I taught in the 23 years I spent as a middle school teacher. 

And what about the envelope full of portraits of me drawn by kindergarteners accompanied by letters thanking me for helping them? As an instructional coach, I spent the year with them and their teacher, working together to nurture those young children into writers.  

So, tomorrow will be Monday, June 8, 2020. The day that begins the last week of my job. In five days (another number) I will be retired after having spent 29 years working as a teacher and coach for Jefferson Elementary School District. Almost half my life. 

In this troubling time with so many people suffering, it seems selfish to feel this is a sad time in my life. But retirement is a rite of passage that deserves contemplation and celebration. I just never thought I’d be marking the end of my career via Zoom or sitting six feet apart from friends. 

When I began this blog in September 2011, in my first post I asked the question: Teacher/Poet or Poet/Teacher? After I retire, I can still claim poet but what about teacher? What will I say instead? In five days, I’ll have to ask myself that question. At least I’ll have plenty of time to think about it.

April Fool's Day # 15 Sheltering in Place for NaPoWriMo; 46 Days to Work

Oh boy, April Fools Day. This may the perfect day to read that California schools will maintain “at-home” instruction for the rest of the school year as reported on SFGate.

For me this means that I’ll end my career as a public school teacher sheltering in place at home, working at a desk in my bedroom instead of one of the classrooms where I’ve taught and coached for the past 29 years. Who knows when I’ll be able to go back to foggy Daly City?

Thank you, Covid-19.

But I’m determined not to let this nasty virus to take complete control of my life. To that end, I say Happy National Poetry Month!

For poets and poetry lovers around the world April 1st marks the first day of National Poetry Month as well as National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). It’s been a few years since I’ve participated in NaPoWriMo, but maybe this year I can manage to squeeze out a few poem just to spite the nasty virus.

For this day, I offer a post I wrote five years ago. It heartens me to remember how this poem was born. A revised version found its way into my book Always a Blue House.

National Poetry Month: April 1, 2015

It's that time again: National Poetry Month which means I'll be participating in NaPoWriMo once again. Last year I posted a haiku on my blog every day in April. This year I'm determined to post different types of poems each day. 

And if any of you want to write a poem to me, I'll post your work as well. 

So taking courage in hand (who in her right mind would post poems when they are newborn?), here goes.

Day 1:

Washing Dishes

White shards shattered,

scattered over the tile floor.

The plate flew past his head, 

like in a movie 

she had once watched,

like she had often imagined.

How it started doesn’t matter.

A bird trapped in her cage,

approval the worm she craved.

Not his half hidden glance

as he turned away,

derision written in the curve of his lips.

As she wiped that plate dry,

warm from its bath,

porcelain smooth, 

this time her hand 

knew the reply

she had never dared.

Day 4 of Shelter in Place; 53 Days to Work

9:36 a.m. Trying to work from home.

Day 2 of Shelter In Place; 55 Days Until Retirement

Today this Instructional Coach:

1. Participated in 2 video Google chats with members of the Teaching & Learning Department

2. Participated in 1 video Google chat with 1 teacher

3. Collaborated with 1 coach by phone

4. Talked to 2 teachers on 2 different Zoom calls

5. Received and received innumerable emails

6. Spent 4 hours searching for online sites and other resources teachers can use for their at-home instruction

7. Read that Governor Newsom suspended state testing for this school year

8. Read that Governor Newsom said California public schools may be closed until the end of the term

I took this photo the last day I spent as a teacher at Ben Franklin, June 2014. It probably looks a lot like this today with teacher and students sequestered in their homes.

The Road to Retirement: Sheltering in place while Always a Blue House travels without me

As of today, I have only 56 days to work until I retire on June 12, 2020. As of today, I am working from home because here in the Bay Area we’re sheltering in place due to the covid-19 pandemic. As a teacher I spent many years practicing emergency drills with students, including sheltering in place. I never would have imagined that we’d actually be participating in such a wide-spread event. What a strange way to end my career in public education!

Another change: this is the first time in decades that I didn’t make plans to travel abroad during summer vacation time. I thought after 29 years following a school calendar I’d be able to travel in any month I choose. Well, covid-19 may have grounded me for some time. How long? None of us know right now.

One place I’ve never visited is Costa Rica. That’s because summer is their rainy season. I figured it would be a good place to visit after I retire. One of my writer friends just went to Costa Rica and honored me by taking Always a Blue House with her. I can take solace in thinking my book traveled even it I can’t.

Last Day at La Muse, Labastide Esparbairenque, July 2019

Le Montagne Noire, Languedoc July 2019

 

Stone walls march 

up the mountain side

beside cliffs of the same 

granite. Stone chipped 

and stacked by hands long gone.

Walking the gravel road 

I can almost see them, those farmers

hands calloused and bleeding, 

carrying tons of rock 

to surround their fields.

Here in the mountains,

under the deep dome of sky, 

time drips slow honey.

Chartreuse lichen and succulents 

with flowers blue and yellow

cling to surfaces, not caring 

if nature or human-made.

Bees rise up buzzing, 

hours hang sweet in the air,

apricots waiting to be picked. 

 

 

At La Muse Writing Retreat, Labastide Esparbairenque, France

swallows dip and sway

wings spread under tattered lace

sky blooms wide open

Sea Ranch Poem

My friend and sister AROHO alumna, Esther Cohen writes and shares a poem every day. As she says on her blog, she tries to write about “what happens every day (some days notwithstanding) most often, in a poem. sometimes, with sentences. maybe every once in a while, with a picture of SOMETHING”

I read every one of her offerings and marvel at her bravery sending her newborn words out into the world. But Sea Ranch is a special place alive and vibrant. The sun has finally come out after days of fog, giving me a bit of courage.

white light

summer night

moon spills

across my pillow

let me rise

with Jupiter

in the horizon

let me walk

the meadows beside

sea cliffs, waves

crashing far below

Sea Ranch June 2019

What more could I possibly want in a location for a writing retreat than some friendly sheep and beautiful wooded paths?

Poetry Guilt - National Poetry Month

For the past few years I’ve participated in NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month), writing and posting a poem every day (or almost every day) for the entire month of April.

This year I just couldn’t do it. Hence poetry guilt.

But today is a beautiful spring day here in the Bay Area, and I need to remember that poetry will come again. Besides, when has guilt ever done any good? Instead why not offer up this poem for spring.

Bee Song

 we sisters 

visit one sticky 

yellow center 

then the next

nestle our striped

fuzzy bodies inside 

search for sweet 

syrupy beads

rolling in pollen 

till we clothe our legs

in gold

we sigh and hum 

come sing with us

raise your face to light

soak in nectar ecstasy 

mingle your hands 

in blossoms

crabapple spring

—from Always a Blue House

Clearlake, CA.

scalloped clouds floating

washed in opal twilight

we surely become pearls

—from Always a Blue House

Santa Cruz, Tuesday, November 21

A Memoir Publication

If you had told me when I started this blog in 2011 that it would lead me to writing nonfiction, I would have scoffed. But that’s exactly what happened.

A few months ago I discovered Longridge Review, a journal that is an evolution of the Essays on Childhood project started by editor Elizabeth Gaucher. Longridge’s mission is “to present the finest essays on the mysteries of childhood experience, the wonder of adult reflection, and how the two connect over a lifespan.”

I’m honored to have my essay published in their latest issue. You can read it it online here: Snowsuit Prisoners.

What a Nice Surprise...

...when you completely forget that you've had a poem accepted for an anthology, which, when it comes in the mail, is quite beautiful, thick and juicy with poetry. And you find your poem amongst works by such luminaries as W.S. Merwin and Jo Harjo and Denise Levertov and Lucille Clifton and Evie Shockley (who I met at AROHO), just to name a few. And the overturned truck on the freeway that lengthened your morning commute by almost an hour and the school room that is your "office" with no heat and the hard conversation you had to have with a colleague fall away as you bask in the glow. 

Thank you to Melissa Tuckey, co-founder of Split This Rock Poetry Festival (which anyone on the East Coast should attend) and The University of Georgia Press for this lovely book. Here is my poem which appears on page 197 in case you want to buy a copy here:

Serengeti Afternoon

To stand upright,

a wildebeest struggles,

wobbly, his legs broken.

In the thin arms

of a baobab tree

vultures,

ink splotches

across the deep blue sky.

They are waiting

for the wildebeest’s

last fall

before they drop

down around him.

I watch stunned

as the first one, brazen,

tears a strip of flesh

from the still-shuddering flank.

Red means only one thing

in the Serengeti.

My silent vigil

is all I offer

the dying.

For the first time

in my life

I wish for a gun.

Always a Blue House Went to Lisbon

 

 

Lisbon is a beautiful city filled with many blue-tiled buildings. It was the perfect place for a new Always a Blue House video. Check it out here.