Peggy started the morning by again propping the two paintings from the watercolor class up and encouraging us to write about them, then copy our writing on cards to be returned to the class. If you haven’t already, you’re invited to post your writing as comments. As a writing exercise in class, she asked us to combine a specific food with action and write about it. Homework: time your reading for Thursday, aiming for 3 minutes or less.
David read us a piece by Jack Bass: “On the daily writing of fiction,” from Why I write: thoughts on the craft of fiction. He then had us move the setting or our conversation to a beautiful place. We are to continue with this for homework.
Jeanne Went over two persona poems with us: “Hood” by C. K. Williams and “Gretel in Darkness” by Louise Glück. She then had us write a persona poem in the voice of the character we’d chosen from fairy tale or myth. Homework: work on reshaping the voice, using sounds and rhythms.
That part of the 2010 class that was here when Bill Kloefkorn taught.
Don took a photo yesterday of those class members who remember Bill Kloefkern, and we will send a copy to him with cards.
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'Homecoming' Blog 
Reflections
After the storm, the clouds lift
Slowly.
And the last light gleams yellow along the horizon
And from the water.
Hi, Sue Ann–the writer whose essay David read today is Rick Bass.
Thanks, Jeanne
Jeanne got there first! I think that the anthology David read it from is ‘Why I Write,’ edited by Will Blythe.
‘Postcard’ piece
I never understood what they’re bargaining for, the kelps and mussels
that emerge at that indefinable border,
and the spruces that march down the glaciated slopes to meet them.
What is their exchange?
When the bay is sucked out at the solstice low tide,
and the starfish hang marooned like laundry, drying,
do the kelps crawl up to entreat with the trees for their safe return?
Do the trees own their role in the rape of the starfish,
their partisanship of land? Do they know
or care about the lives of the ocean?
Yet the kelp feed the trees,
seated on their bleachers of bare rock to watch
the waves reclaim the stolen starfish.
By accepting this ransom, do they take credit for their release?
Sue Ann, I have a question: for some of David’s prose exercises, the responses are pretty lengthy. Is there an upper limit to the size of a comment that wordpress will accept?
Thanks,
Ela
I honestly don’t know if there’s an upper limit on comment length. The horse poem posted all right, and it’s about 5 pages. On the accuracy of the daily classes, I’m working from my handwritten notes. I’m a physicist who knows very little about literary writing or writers, and I can’t read my own handwriting. It would help if the faculty would give me the names and authors each day, instead of relying on my being able to read my own notes. (That’s where the Rick – Jack confusion came from.)
Darn! I should have put in my writing prompt before Peggy read that poem by Naomi Nye. It is “Write in response to questions a child asks.” Examples: “Where does God live?” “Do the teachers live in the school?” or the one I repeatedly asked as a child whenever we passed a statue or monument while driving, “Who was buried there, Mom?”
FIRE!
Hormones fly like embers
Ignite the middle age fat
Burn that ferocious fuel!
Simmer, sputter, splat
Drowned by sweat
Temporary relief from the menopausal wildfire.
The Tree and Me
The dying tree looked at me
And I looked back at her.
She’d given up, her life was ebbing
I could just say, “brrrrr.”
“Oh go ahead, do what you must,”
she said, with one last burst of ire.
And so I did–I broke her arms
And built myself a fire.
The Thunderstorm
I wait all summer for it to come.
I know there’s a chance I’ll hear.
The thunder that I crave since I heard
it rumble last year.
The dark clouds pile, the wind picks up
At last a flash of lightning.
As the storm unleashes hell on Earth
I feel my spirit brightning.
Assignment: Write of a Specific Food. PROOFREAD
In the Old Testament, the Prodigal Son returns and his father orders the slaughter of the fatted calf in thankful jubilation. The kitchen scene that followed is omitted but what could have been prepared if not Veal Piccata?
Thin slices, scallops of white morsels of meat, larger than a single bite, are lightly floured then pressed and stretched, pounded even thinner and set aside to rest and be floured again.
Heat butter and olive oil quickly to a froth and add scallops of veal a few at a time, cooking barely 30 seconds a side, then place on a platter in a slightly warm oven to wait for the rest to be cooked.
When all the scallopini are done, maintain the stovetop heat, add lemon juice, white wine and capers, with a dash of marsala or sherry and scrape the pan drippings as the liquid evaporates. Cook down to a dark syrupy sauce and pour over the scallopini, adding more capers and lemon juice to taste.
Serve immediately with capelli d’angeli (angel hair pasta) and a simple pomodoro sauce (tomato), and with sauteed zucchini or asparagus on the side. Finish the meal with fresh ripe peach slices in white wine.
Buon Appetito!
Herewith a persona poem:
Empty Nest
by Marie Lundstrom
Yeah, I finally got rid of them all—
damn kids filled up this shoe
so it wasn’t livable no more.
Now it’s quiet-like, and I can sleep nights.
Melanie, Jenny, Ginger, and Kate
went off with boyfriends.
Maybe they’ll get married. Maybe not.
But I got a nice sewing spot
out of their room in the toe
Hank, Walter, Kenny, and Pete
went job hunting and didn’t come back—
working somewhere, I reckon.
I put in grow-lights on their bunks
in the heel. Works great for
tomatoes and peppers.
They taste great.
Fred and Marian, now,
the youngest ones,
they was the smartest.
Set themselves up in business
buying wool from Bo-Peep’s outfit,
turn it into yarn and make sweaters.
Built a little store with rooms over.
Works good for them.
And I got the shoe to myself.
Can’t say I miss all them noisy kids
but I gotta lot of space here.
I thought about Father William,
but he’s too damn old.
They call me old, but I’m just
getting into my prime—don’t have
to worry about having no more kids.
I been thinkin about that Tom,
the piper’s son. He’s growed up
enough, he might be interesting
to get to know.
Horse Tale
by Marie Lundstrom
The battered Chevy pickup bumped to a stop on the gravel road, brakes squeaking lightly. Pete leaned out of his open window toward the car headed the other way, its driver’s side window just opening as the dust settled. The car slowed to a quiet stop. “Hey, Charlie, how you been?”
“Can’t complain, Pete. How’s yourself?” Charlie’s Oldsmobile was new, its engine purring.
“Okay so far. Just about finished haying on the upper field. Glad it’s stayed dry. Gonna start this lower field next.” He gestured with his head at the alfalfa field next to his pickup.
“Yeah, we’ve just started our last field. It’s gonna be tough getting all the haying done when Rob’s gone next year,” Charlie said, turning off his engine. “You know how kids grow up, and just when they’re big enough and maybe smart enough to do decent work, they’re off to the Army or college or just somewhere else.”
“Yeah, it’s tough when they grow up. But you gotta let them go, or they’ll go anyway,” Pete said. “Hey, did you hear anything about your lost horse?”
“Now Rob is getting interested in engineering if he can make it into the state ag school.They got a good engineering program, I hear. At least that’s what Rob tells me.”
“I heard something you might wanta know about. Don’t know if it’s true.
You know that year-old palomino pinto colt you been lookin for this spring?” Pete shut off the pickup engine.
Charlie gazed off into the distance. “Yeah, the wife’s been whining about Alice being gone this summer. She’s working at some camp as a counselor. I think she shoulda stayed home and helped. With Rob probably gone next year, we’ll need her more than ever.”
“Hey, Charlie, about that horse you lost. Patches, you called him.”
“Yeah. He was out of our pinto mare Spotty and Pop Carlson’s buckskin stallion. Good palomino pinto coloring. Rob and Alice both wanted to claim him as their own. You know kids. What one wants, the other one wants more.” Charlie pulled out a pack of Camels from a shirt pocket and offered one to Pete. “Want a smoke?”
“Thanks.” Pete pulled a match out of a shirt pocket, lit it with a thumbnail, and sucked in the flame through the cigarette. “I heard about your horse.”
“Yeah, have you seen him? Patches has got all that palomino pinto coloring, and when he’s old enough, I’d like to use him as stud. Maybe pay back my brother Ray for using his horse Rocket.”
“No, I didn’t see him, but I heard that Bud Keller was drinkin hard at the QT Bar a while back and blabbed about seein a horse at night and shootin at it.”
“The hell you say. That’s a valuable horse. Did he hit him?”
“What I heard was that Bud shot him, all right. And the next morning, when he got up with a godawful hangover, he saw the dead horse and knew it was Patches, and he was in trouble.”
‘Well, hell, I guess he was. I bet he was drunk as a lord when he shot the horse.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true. Bud’s three sheets to the wind half the time, I hear.” Pete puffed on his Camel. “What I heard was that he kept quiet about it for a long time.”
“Well, I guess so. That colt’s been missing since early spring. Of course, he was up in the open pasture, so we wouldn’t know right away if anything happened to him.” Charlie blew a smoke ring. “So Bud Keller shot him?”
“Yeah. The way I heard it was that Bud was drinking at the QT Bar and somebody mentioned Patches and you wondering where he is. So then Bud started to laugh and said, ‘I know where the damn horse is. By God, I know!’ and told the story, laughing like hell the whole time. He was half blasted, of course. So, anyway, hungover as hell, he’s staring at this dead horse, knows damn well whose it is and that trouble is going to dog his heels if he doesn’t get rid of it.” Pete chuckled and coughed.
“So what does he do? He starts diggin a hole, a big goddam hole. And it’s early spring and the ground isn’t completely thawed yet. Took him all day with his hangover to dig a horse-sized hole. Time he was finished I bet he was plenty sober.” Pete laughed harder. “And he buries the goddam horse! Can you beat it?” Pete coughed again, his laugh turning into a cackle. “He shoots a horse and then buries it, thinking nobody would know. And then the stupid son of a bitch gets drunk again and blabs it at the bar, laughing like a fool.” Pete guffawed, then coughed hard.
“That’s quite a story, Pete.” Charlie said, unsmiling. “You’re right. Bud’s a goddam fool.” He started the engine on the Olds. “Thanks for letting me know.” He pulled ahead as Pete started his pickup, still laughing.
THIS IS THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE RESIGNATION OF GOVERNOR SARAH PALIN,
SO I HAVE POSTED THIS ACCOUNT THAT I WROTE OF THE EVENT ON JULY 27,1009.
Hope you enjoy it in retrospect. There is also a link to the original. **Don Gray**
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[ HERE is my original posting on Mudflats: http://www.themudflats.net/2009/07/27/boots-on-the-ground-in-fairbanks-sarah-palins-quitspeech/#comments ]
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Boots on the Ground in Fairbanks –SARAH PALIN’S QUITSPEECH
I was very pleased to have some great “boots on the ground” in Fairbanks for Sarah Palin’s big Quitspeech at Quitfest on Quittyday. Thank you to Mudflatter Alaska Don who did a fabulous job reporting! There are also more pictures coming to entertain you later from other Mudflats “photobloggers.” Truly this was a day and a speech that will live in infamy.
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July 26th, 2009. Abdication Day.
The sun rose north by northeast of Fairbanks today at 4:30 AM, having set in the north by northwest last night shortly after 11:30 PM. It was mostly clear, with billowing dark clouds of smoke from forest fires burning a quarter-million acres 45 miles to the west. The wind could shift and bring it here. So far, so good. We spend a lot of time noticing the physical world up here. It’s often said we’re a Land of Extremes, and it’s true. Light and Dark: 22+ hours of sun at Summer Solstice; 3 hours and 42 minutes of official daylight on December 21. Hot and Cold: -60°F, sometimes for two or three weeks running; +93°F last week. The political geography tends to the extreme as well.
Today is Abdication Day and Sarah is stepping out at 3 PM this afternoon. 5000 of us will line up for the annual Governors Picnic because we are hardy individualists opposed to Socialism and Communism, like our Governor, but love free food and money. Last year Palin added an extra $1200 on top of the $1900 Permanent Fund Dividend. $3100 plus in cash, to every eligible man, woman and child. She knows us well, and is more than willing to spread it around, even when it becomes rather circular. She put out a half-billion dollar bonus incentive to build the gas line. which the largest gas field leasee, Exxon Mobil, recognized as free money and got in line to share as largess with TransCanada. We all talk a good game of capitalism around here until the free hot dogs are distributed.
Driving over to The Event I noticed a lot of traffic headed north on the Steese Highway, out of town toward the river and wilderness. Maybe locals were passing on the Transfer of Power? No such luck. Getting closer on the Peger Road approach where the park and the river meet, cars were lining the shoulders, LOTS of cars.
1:07 pm Walking under the bridge from the Riverview neighborhood, remnants of the Red Green duct-tape flotilla, held this morning, were hauling their ships ashore at a point 150 yards/meters from where they usually serve the public picnics–but not today. A harbinger?
Out near the front of Pioneer Park, a.k.a. Alaskaland, there were long lines for the free food, especially for the one where Governor Palin and Lt. Governor Parnell were all smiles, passing out hot dogs and tiny sacks of chips. Lots of tourists snapping photos.
Whoops! Suddenly the Guv left and the line shrank instantly. People in that line jumped to other, shorter ones. Bun on a plate, a cooked wiener, a bag of chips and a plastic cup for water, (but the water tanks were empty). Move on. I asked a fellow in line at Big Daddy’s Barbeque wagon for a $7 pulled pork sandwich why he wasn’t in the free hot dog queue adjacent and he said the food was better and the wait shorter. You get what you pay for.
2:20 PM Sections have filled in with Pro’s and Anti’s. Crowds are now thick in front of the prow of the Riverboat Nenana and splayed forward and to the left. At 2:30 PM Governor-in-Waiting Parnell and entourage walk a pathway sliced and guarded from disrupters to a ramp up into the decks of the riverboat. A twitter of anticipation ripples through the crowd. Behind me a woman grasps my shoulders and asks to look past. She says she used to live in Fairbanks but has moved to Palmer. “Fairbanks has too many of those, you know, who, who…” “Like those over there?”, I point to the group on the hill waving signs like, “Proud to be Palin-free” and “Sick of $arah”. “Yes”, she snaps. “You know she visited the flooded villages this spring and they LOVE her. She’s so nice.”
2:50 PM Ralph Seekins, local car dealer and Chairman of the Fairbanks Republican Club, takes close-up photos of his friends with a camera with a 14″ lens. It must pick up all the moles and warts? A former State Senator who was defeated by an ex-labor leader, he waits to leap into the throng of governor wannabees come next year, (or maybe sooner?). The Army band plays patriotic melodies from the top deck of the landlocked riverboat. Representative John Coghill, son of a former Lt. Governor and another possible candidate, walks up and back with his wife on the magic pathway, finally locating a pair of seats in the chosen ground away from unfriendly fire. Lots of tourists and out-of-towners in the crowd. An attractive woman in a stunning yellow and green silk dress rises from her seat in the roped off middle sector, walks around to visit and returns to her chair. “Another Democrat on welfare, NOT”, quips a bystander.
2:59 PM A file of principle players and honored guests emerges, striding down the ramp to the raised speakers area. The platform is flanked by banks of loudspeakers which also block the view of the recessed podium for many. North Pole Senator Gene Therriault, who lives in a safely gerrymandered election district and is NOT likely to run for governor next year, serves as emcee. The reverend Eleanor Rule (sp? they handed out programs only to the select few in the roped off seats in the sector where I stood so I don’t know how names were spelled), gave a bilingual invocation in Inupiaq (northern Eskimo) and English; it did not sound like local Athabaskan. Then Sarah came to the podium to give her valedictory. She warmed up with a remark about sunny Fairbanks and how some of the most patriotic people and some of the strongest supporters of our military live here. That sparked the crowd, ready for Pure Palin. She spoke about Denali, the mountain, and our famous cold and how it splits up the Cheechakos (newcomers) from the Sourdoughs (old timers), then launched into one of those roaring run-on sentence speeches about “merciless rivers rushing and carving and reminding us here Mother Nature wins and the rest of America sees in the Last Frontier hope and opportunity and country pride and it is our men and women in uniform securing it and we are facing tough challenges in America with some being just hellbent on tearing down our nation, perpetuating some pessimism, and suggesting American apologetics, suggesting that our best days were yesterdays, but as other people have asked, how can that pessimism be when proof of our greatness and our pride today is that we produce the great proud volunteers who sacrifice everything for country”. Applause from the crowd. Her entire speech is on YouTube.
I paraphrase her continuing remarks to include references to “what you get to see everyday and North to the Future and our brave military and by God’s Grace and I promised to be fiscally restrained and hold schools accountable and elevate vo-tech training and manage our fish and wildlife and defend the Constitution and those Outside special interest groups still just don’t get it and you see I know that it is your money and you know best how to spend it.” It is difficult to comprehend how her unique combination of hot button words and phrases that blend across issues and categories make any sense but her followers believe they know what she is saying even when speaking in tongues. What she says may transcend English but no matter, they are certain they know what she means.
In the battle of signs, her supporters outnumbered her opponents. “Quit Baby Quit”, “Happy to Be Palin-Free” and “Quitter–You Betcha’” are
overshadowed by “We Love You Sarah” and “Great Job Sarah” and “Thank You Sarah”. The adulation that she seeks continues. Her supporters feel a bond and heartfelt emotion toward her. “O Beautiful for amber waves of grain” wafts over all as the new Governor-appointed and the temporary substitute Lt. Governor sign their oaths of office as the now ex-Governor disappears from view. Exit stage right.
So how many showed up? The Governor’s office claims 5000. We’ll leave it to experts in crowd estimation. It was several thousand. 50%, perhaps 70%, were supporters–not all by any means. Many were undoubtedly curiosity seekers, wondering if this was really a noteworthy moment in history. Temporary substitute Lt. Governor Campbell gave a lively but mostly forgettable speech aimed toward Governor-appointed Parnell that seemed a shot across the bow for the next governor’s race, (“I worked with your father when he was on the Anchorage Assembly”, with “little boy” seemingly implied and silent inside his remark). Parnell’s speech was bland by comparison, very sincere and predictable and basically boring. How well will they work together? Next year’s Republican primary for governor will have a cast of a dozen or more.
And Sarah? Whither Sister Sarah and why?
She shouted out to a heckler who questioned why she resigned. She said “he didn’t get it”, that not serving as a lame duck and not doing politics as usual and saving us millions of dollars and we are proud of our patriotic troops explains it. Talking in tongues again. He didn’t get it but her followers seem to or at least won’t admit to doubt. Like, do YOU get it? It must be the $11 million book offer, the TV talking heads show possibilities, the cashing in of those once valuable chips before they become worthless. Did sparing her family from the bloodsport of politics and media really have anything to do with resigning with a year and a half remaining in her term of office as Governor of the State of Alaska?
What it comes down to is in the eyes of the beholder: Either Sister Sarah the Divine is saving all by leaving it behind, or Sarah Palin is a Quitter. You Betcha’.
Submitted by:
Boots-on-the-Ground-Fairbanks, Alaska Don.
26 July 2009
. http://www.themudflats.net/2009/07/27/boots-on-the-ground-in-fairbanks-sarah-palins-quitspeech/