Do you think you
could beat me up?
The Letter Parade
News & Notes from Readers - September 2001-May 2002:
Surprise! Eleven months after Jack the Ass was castrated, Jenny the jennet popped out a baby (all on her own, as usual), a healthy boy, called alternately Jesus (Hay-soos) or Junior but never Don Quixote (donkey-hotee). Unlike last time, Jenny is behaving as the model mother, protecting the boy, nursing him every two minutes, kicking and biting him only gently when he becomes annoying. Healthiest baby donkey we’ve ever seen, with thick strong legs. I was witness to his making the ee-yore sound at three days old - a record, no doubt
On the human front, Will Allison and Deborah Way have reproduced, and they provide the following statistics:
Matt Schwartz’s CD "Sing Me Back Home Again" is available for about fifteen bucks. Don’t miss your opportunity to have the debut album of the yodeling champion of the 2000 Indiana Swiss Festival as part of your collection. Email him at smyodeler@aol.com for info.
Endangered wild flower: During the purchased of an acre of land to add to Little Cottage property on the St. Joseph River (now co-owned by Susanna and Joanna), we heard rumors of there being an endangered wildflower. Turns out it is next to impossible to find out any information on what the flower is through official channels. Through some sleuthing, though, we have concluded with near certainty that the endangered species in question is the prairie trillium, (trillium recurvatum) that primitive-looking, early-blooming crimson flower with mottled leaves, growing there by the thousands in the sandy yet acid soil. Now to prevent the garlic mustard from moving in! On a recent visit to nearby Sarrett Nature Center, Christopher sighted an eastern king bird, plus a giant dark snake all wrapped around tree limbs, its body as thick as old fashioned bicycle tires.
Cousins Mimi and Sonia write from the West Coast: First Mimi: "I am on a leave of absence, 'writing my dissertation.' Actually, it's been pretty hectic around here. You will be pleased to know, though, that I got the (Leopold &) Loeb sofa completely restored in a brown canvas with light blue piping. A Mexican wrestler I know did it for me. He may not sound qualified, but he assured me that he reupholstered his first chair at the age of 8!" Then Sonia: "Happy Earth Day! I am very happily traveling along on the train between Oakland and LA, through the most beautiful valleys on a very relaxing 12+ hour ride. We are approaching St. Luis Obispo near Pismo Beach. I guess Bugs Bunny says ‘Hey, this ain’t Pismo Beach’ a lot when he pops out of his rabbit tunnel. So far I’ve read a whole raised cover novel by Alice Hoffman (way too folksy and neat), did some coloring with my new pencils, read a little of ‘Peace Is Every Step’ by Thich Nhat Hanh and stared out the windows at Mexican migrant workers and pretty green hills. It looks a little like Montenegro."
From Tom Bailey, last autumn: "Katherine (Joslin) and I are buying a new place, and our daughter Emily likes to say ‘they've bought the farm.’ It is a farm, I guess: 65 acres of woods and open spaces, and three acres in what the Land Conservancy calls a ‘building envelope,’ which contains the house, the two huge old empty barns, the pond and a large part of the stream. Buying property with easements on it does test one's American character: this land is MY land isn't quite what Woody Guthrie had in mind, except for his ear for irony. Even so, as a lifetime liberal and reader of Thoreau, I still grow uneasy when I think that everything we will do to the property [ours as of July 1] has to be cleared first with the Southwest Michigan Land Conservancy, which was granted the easements. So. We can't cut down any trees. We can't built an addition to the house. We can't ever put asphalt on the driveway: it must remain forever pea-gravel. This and that sort of restriction. And I find myself sometimes wanting to bellow in good Republican style, "Gosh darn it, this is MY land, and I'll do with it what I will." Except, of course, I won't ...because the Land Conservancy won't let me. Sheesh.
We have deer and turkeys and foxes and song birds and ducks on the pond, and good wildflowers, and trees.....lots and lots and LOTS of trees. We are happy with the place and feel fortunate to have found it. Now the question becomes, will we adjust to country living. We presently live right in town, and can drive to work in 3 minutes. How much will a 10 mile commute change our habits? How much will I miss Bacchus and Sawall's and D & W? Will we ever go to a poetry reading again??? So. In the midst of national trauma K and I are having a perfectly normal adventure: buying a new home, making changes in old patterns, staying dazzled by possibility...a fairer house than prose. Hoping of course that the world will be back to normal soon, and that ordinary life can resume its ordinary rounds. Just one last note: speaking of Emily Dickinson, I stumbled across this poem the other day, and it is a dazzler. It's number 465 in the new Franklin edition [Harvard]. The name of it is 'Autumn'"
The hue of it is Blood
(It has always seemed to me that reading ED is like boxing with Mike Tyson. Boom. Boom. Boom. KO. Too much power.)
Laleli L. Lopez sends post cards from New York City, Twickenham, Paris: "Had a terrific couple of runs in the Luxembourg Gardens."
Lisa Lenzo writes from Saugatuck: "I am SO enjoying my birdfeeder, as are all of the neighborhood birds. They are at it constantly, up to 10 at a time, with whole flocks waiting in my trees and bushes for their turn."
Peter Brakeman writes: Here are a couple of found poems. These are copied straight from the source, no re-writing allowed. Let's call this one "A Little Something" (from a photo caption in Business Direct Weekly; I've chosen the line breaks):
When people get their coffee
I think it’s the sign’s line breaks that really make this next one so damned enigmatic.
COME ON IN
A sign in the window of the Christian Science reading room (they just took it down before the 4th) said: "The Search for Wellness Continues Weekdays 10-4, Saturday 10-1." You can imagine my relief in knowing that the search doesn't interfere with Happy Hour! I saw a sign last week outside a bar: "Live Blues Dishwasher Wanted"
Jamie Blake writes: "Work is pretty stressful. Suddenly they've decided to 'reorganize' the validation department and several of us writers will lose our jobs. We've all been furiously updating our resumes and kissing butt. Everyone is marvelously well dressed these days!"
Susan Ramsey writes: "Just finished cleaning out my wool/yarn closet (yesterday) and drumcarding and blending wool and angora down in the KIA basement (today.) Has your ma ever kept sheep? Bet Jack (the ass) would find them amusing, and I could teach you to spin and knit sweaters for darling Christopher and warm, warm socks for your own cold toes. One's own sheep, even time-share in a fleece speaks to my core, but I know enough shepherds to know a) sheep are neurotic by themselves, really want a herd and b) taking care of anything that dim is really a pain in the neck. Gail has a new poem I'll have her send you about why counting sheep doesn't work for mothers, which proceeds to list the ways sheep find to die. (I provided the epigram, out of common sheep lore, "Sheep are born dying to die.") But I do like the little buggers, even how the barn smells, and lambs are apallingly cute -- Disney would have freaked (Romney ones, anyway -- Blue Faced Leicesters look like little Virginia Woolfs.)
TOO DAMN MANY DEATHS
John Smith (Jackie Dillon’s ex-boyfriend) died too young last year of causes both natural and unnatural. In January Mike Hough Kalamazoo beer drinker and old time banjo player died at age 32. Jamie Blake says: "My dad told me the story about how he had to evict Mike for not paying rent and then a year later Mike came and paid it all to clear his credit." At a more reasonable age of 83, Don Phillips, owner (for fifty years) of the Comstock Beer Store and daily feeder of hundreds of ducks, succumbed. He lived across the creek from Susanna, and when he’d bang on the tin garbage can, Susanna would look out her back window and watch the ducks all line up in rows beside the creek to walk the path to Don’s garage. His obituary said "served in the U.S. Navy during WWII as the manager of the Coke Machine in Key West, Florida." Hmmm. Anne Sjostrom’s brother John has died of his recurring cancer: "I ended up coming back to Colorado March 14. Walked into the night nurse duty for my brother. His body ended up failing faster than the docs predicted and he died last Saturday afternoon. My sisters, parents, and I were with him. Quite an honor, even if his body and the sounds it was making almost didn't seem human. Maybe it was because we could say good bye, but we're very relieved he no longer has to suffer, especially as he was such a keen athletic person. We all wish my brother was still alive and well. Yet, none of us would want him lingering on in the condition he was in at the end. Part of me feels fine and part feel like I'm in a dream that I can't quite wake up from. No doubt sorting through the huge piles of insurance and bills will make all this seem more real. I suppose I should be thankful for the 'advances of modern medicine' that allowed John to have last year. However, there were costs that were more than monetary as well as some good things.
Lorie Kelly has lost her calico kitty to the increasing traffic around Long Lake. She writes: "Unbeknownst to me, Tom (Campbell) made a special trip to the fabric store yesterday afternoon, picked out a beautiful & soft fabric covered with pictures of kitties and diligently sewed & stuffed a pillow to place my beloved Abbey in. ...We had a very nice little memorial last night, reading a poem titled "Crossing Rainbow Bridge" telling how our furry friends will be patiently waiting for us in Heaven and while listening to the song "Angel" by Sarah McLaughlin ...we buried her with all her favorite toys including a bread tie which she was most fond of (no matter where she was, she'd come running whenever a loaf of bread was being opened in the house), and as we stood in the rain & watching the sun go down, we remembered her for her wrapping herself around my neck like a scarf as I walked around the house tending to my chores, sucking on my ear lobe as if her momma's tit were attached to the side of my head, drinking out of the toilet as if to tell the dogs she's just one of the guys, playing & batting at running water from the sink, of Ben (the big dog) & her chasing each other around the house & then having the tender moments where they would lick & paw each other, and of watching her chase squirrels & scurry up trees with the best of them & never needing help getting back down. She was an independent soul and loved playing in the woods behind the house, chasing leaves & bugs and defending her territory although she was just a tiny little thing, she was a tough cookie. And I loved her for all these things but I know she is safe & happy, playing with Brandy right now and I will see them both again someday.
Susanna lost four roosting hens to a raccoon - some s.o.b. left the window slightly open into the chicken house, and the ones that were trying to sit on eggs were torn apart. Also a few roosters that used to run around the yard are missing. The mama raccoon that committed the act is shot dead, but adolescents on the perimeter seem destined to cause trouble. On a more positive note, she has planted 400 asparagus roots she got from a guy in Dowagiac and they’re growing beautifully.
Automotive News: Christopher is driving a new VW Golf Turbo-Diesel. Chris with a new car is kind of hard to believe, I know, but he’s got to try everything once. The transmission on Tom’s Chevy truck is going out, and it sounds as though it’s cheaper to buy new than to rebuild. My truck exhaust is legal now - good-bye headers, hello catalytic converter and all that entails (egg smell, slight loss of power, 500 bucks). Also, Loring got me some pretty good used tires for the back, and he balanced them and put them on and everything up at the high school where he works. After driving around with leaking radiator for a month (stopped up with Barr’s Leak and several cans of black pepper) I finally found a used radiator in Vicksburg and a radiator shroud at the big junkyard in Paw Paw. Terry Herlihy bought a new car and gave Susanna the old one, a red Mazda Protégé, and she’s thrilled because her truck broke down and left her stranded several times in the week previous. Loring has the camper on his truck, and he and Susanna are sometimes sleeping in it when you stop over to visit - if they don’t answer the phone weekend mornings, that’s why. David Magson drove his Cadillac all the way from K’zoo to Cape Cod to visit friends, despite the fact that he doesn’t have any power in his power brakes ("It’s okay once you get on the highway," he said. "You can’t have road rage though, when you know you don’t have brakes."). Get 'em fixed David! Geo and Darcy traded in the old minivan for a 2000 Dodge Grand Caravan. Christopher and I had to take the old VW off the road because it was costing $360/year to keep it insured. Just found out Kay Maxson insurance gives a ten percent discount to people who belong to an alumni association. Time to pay those dues, guys! (Note, I don’t think you actually have to actually graduate from a school to belong to its alumni association.)
Writing News: Q Road and the paperback Women and Other Animals will exist in September, and they are already listed on Amazon.com. The new W and OA cover is lovely, features a small girl and a big dog, but the cover of Q Road is wild. Paperback version of W and OA has a readers guide at the back with discussion questions, so add it to your book club reading list this fall! I'll be going on a little tour, so if you want me to try to visit your town, let me know (And if any of you have friends in Madison, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Grand Rapids, Ann Arbor, Lansing, please tell me - I'll be desperate not to read in empty bookstores!) The big party will be at the Kraftbrau in Kalamazoo on my birthday, September 14, immediately following the 1:00 reading at Athena Bookstore. Look for Q Brew the newest beer from Kraftbrau, to be released on the same day. Contact Steve Bertel, owner, today to reserve your six packs - I don’t know how much he’ll bottle. (Kraftbrau 616-384-0288). Stories of yours truly have appeared recently in Mid American Review and Witness magazine. Thank you, editors, for allowing me in! Look for upcoming essays about Re-bar in The Bark magazine. Heidi Bell’s doing another editing internship at SourceBooks this summer.
Back to The Letter Parade page.
For the family and friends of Bonnie Jo
June 1, 2002
Name: Hazel Pauline Frances Allison-Way
Born: April 25, 2002, 4:39 p.m., Indianapolis, Indiana
Weight: 7 lbs., 13 oz Length: 20.5 inches
Throws: Up
An Artery opon the Hill
A Vein along the Road
Great Globules in the Alleys
And Oh, the Shower of Stain
When Winds upset the Basin
And spill the Scarlet Rain
It sprinkles Bonnets far below
It gathers ruddy Pools
Then eddies like a Rose away
Opon Vermillion Wheels
by the cup,
depending on the time of day,
they would like a little something
to go with their coffee,
so what we've tried to do (someone suggested that this comes
is have a little something to being the world’s longest palindrome. to go with coffee
Nevertheless there’s a savvy business
no matter what time of day it is. mind at work here.)
SEXY LINGERIE WEST
COAST FASHIONS
STAGE WEAR
TONS
OF BOOTS
HIGH HEELS
AND
GO GO BOOTS
My childhood chum Karen Cole has died of heart trouble at age 39 of heart trouble. Might have been sniffing that gold spray paint at age fourteen, or it could have been genetics - she lived to be about the same age as her locally legendary father Elmer. Hard to know what to say about such a lively person as Karen, who raced motorcycles with her 11-year old son Damien - she was watching him play baseball when she expired. She was fun, and she was beautiful, dark haired and smooth skinned. Karen’s handsome and bereaved husband went way too Christian at the funeral - man, if she’d have been there, she’d have kicked his ass. Farewell, Karen!