To be old enough to feel like this...
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[Subject line: more from Nellie McKay]
It's been a good day so far. I woke up early enough to read the paper and type a letter to a friend before leaving for church. Rev. Gail preached on Thomas Jefferson and John Adams (which touched upon public service, philosophies of government (Jefferson fearing "the one" while Adams feared "the few," to borrow from one of Adams's letters), and other related themes). At the start of the homily, Rev. Gail asked for a show of hands of who all had early voted -- which resulted in a wave of laughter, because the entire sanctuary suddenly became a sea of hands.
After the service, I perched on a porch rail for a bit and (among other conversations) listened to a friend rail at length about yesterday's Vanderbilt game, which apparently inflicted great distress among those who could bear to watch it, judging from some of the other comments I heard at dinner (the BYM and I went to a gathering of his high school classmates, and at least one of them was swearing off Vandy football games for good). Then there was a committee meeting, which lasted until about 2, and then there was a run for groceries, and then finally lunch. And I was able to put in about an hour at the easel this afternoon, and that's lifted my mood as well.
The aforementioned dinner was VERY tasty -- it included risotto, haricots verts, and sweet potato casserole, and it was catered by someone (name escapes me) associated with the Red Pony in Franklin. The plan for what remains of the evening includes laundry, a bit more correspondence, and some word-wrangling -- the last since there's a submission deadline I'm trying to meet.
Speaking of which, Reb recently posted on "the New Poetry Order". Earlier last week, Joanne and I were chatting about the audiences for our poems (and our blogs), and to what extent we are influenced by who's willing to pay for our work (be it in dollars or feedback) and/vs. how easy it is to access for people who have 50 gajillion other things to read or attend to. It's a tricksy thing -- Joanne noted that she has both compulsive readers and non-poets among her regular readers, and I'm constantly doing battle with the Guilt Gorilla (to borrow Elizabeth Bear's term) over time spent on spec and "for the love/lulz" pieces vs. billable/saleable work.
Which, yeah, speaking of... *heads off to bang head against dictionary for a while*
It's been a good day so far. I woke up early enough to read the paper and type a letter to a friend before leaving for church. Rev. Gail preached on Thomas Jefferson and John Adams (which touched upon public service, philosophies of government (Jefferson fearing "the one" while Adams feared "the few," to borrow from one of Adams's letters), and other related themes). At the start of the homily, Rev. Gail asked for a show of hands of who all had early voted -- which resulted in a wave of laughter, because the entire sanctuary suddenly became a sea of hands.
After the service, I perched on a porch rail for a bit and (among other conversations) listened to a friend rail at length about yesterday's Vanderbilt game, which apparently inflicted great distress among those who could bear to watch it, judging from some of the other comments I heard at dinner (the BYM and I went to a gathering of his high school classmates, and at least one of them was swearing off Vandy football games for good). Then there was a committee meeting, which lasted until about 2, and then there was a run for groceries, and then finally lunch. And I was able to put in about an hour at the easel this afternoon, and that's lifted my mood as well.
The aforementioned dinner was VERY tasty -- it included risotto, haricots verts, and sweet potato casserole, and it was catered by someone (name escapes me) associated with the Red Pony in Franklin. The plan for what remains of the evening includes laundry, a bit more correspondence, and some word-wrangling -- the last since there's a submission deadline I'm trying to meet.
Speaking of which, Reb recently posted on "the New Poetry Order". Earlier last week, Joanne and I were chatting about the audiences for our poems (and our blogs), and to what extent we are influenced by who's willing to pay for our work (be it in dollars or feedback) and/vs. how easy it is to access for people who have 50 gajillion other things to read or attend to. It's a tricksy thing -- Joanne noted that she has both compulsive readers and non-poets among her regular readers, and I'm constantly doing battle with the Guilt Gorilla (to borrow Elizabeth Bear's term) over time spent on spec and "for the love/lulz" pieces vs. billable/saleable work.
Which, yeah, speaking of... *heads off to bang head against dictionary for a while*
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