OM-11/30/2014 Rejoicing In Things As They Are, Pema Chodron

Aleathia says:

I am a creature of habit.  Habit is comfortable to most and it is when we move away from that comfort that learning happens, change happens, and most often personal dysfunction because we have continually done things the same way.

Having said this, change is hard for me.  I always welcome new ideas and changes, but even knowing they are coming throws me for a loop.  It breeds a sense of chaos in me like no other.  I sometimes even get depressed about it.  In essence, I believe I go through a grief process when large changes happen.  This turmoil is normally followed by laughing at myself for being unreasonable and pouty before I move forward fully embracing whatever change is on the table.

I was reading from Pema Chodron's "Taking the Leap" today under the section "Rejoicing In Things As They Are" and this seemed right on for the day:

"When we begin to see clearly what we do, how we get hooked and swept away by old habits, our usual tendency is to use that as a reason to get discouraged, a reason to feel really bad about ourselves.  Instead, we could realize how remarkable it is that we actually have the capacity to see ourselves honestly, and that doing this takes courage.  It is moving in the direction of seeing our life as a teacher rather than as a burden.  This involves, fundamentally, learning to stay present, but learning to stay with a sense of humor, learning to stay with loving-kindness toward ourselves and with the outer situation, learning to take joy in the magic ingredient of honest self-reflection."

Foodies-11/27/2014 Be Thankful, Happy Thanksgiving!

Aleathia says:

Thanksgiving has long been one of my favorite holidays.  There is something horrifying and wonderful about a house full of people that don't normally congregate for an entire day.  There is laughter and loud conversations from across the room, remembrances, football, shouting, women in the kitchen talking and making food, and kids running around.  It was the only time that I ever felt like I belonged to a family is on those holidays where we piled into a home and broke bread.

I am not very good at making turkey.  I think I made it once in Seattle and I was 23 years old.  I made enough food to feed 12 families and I was only feeding me and my boyfriend.  Can you say massive leftovers?  It is ok when you are sending them home with family as they leave for the day.  Most of my years were spent as an orphaned kid in a strange land tagging along on other people's dinners.

One of my first years in Seattle my friend Mikela invited me to her apartment for dinner with all the other hippy kids.  It was my first and last ever vegetarian Thanksgiving.  Have you ever eaten Tofurkey?  Yuck.  I did make a mean stuffed eggplant with brown rice, sweet potatoes and onions. But most importantly it was about being included in their circle of friendship.  We ate dinner on a coffee table sitting on the floor listening to old records drinking wine and smoking weed.  When you are 22 you don't need much more than that really.

Another year my friend Faith invited me to her family gathering.  She had a large family and I felt a bit out of place before I got there like I was crashing their dinner because her mom didn't know I was coming, but when I got there I found that I was one of many holiday orphans.  Each of the kids brought someone to dinner that had no place to go.  This was a loving family, a religious family but in the best sense of the word.  They had faith, but they weren't uppity or righteous.  They were love personified.  Before dinner Faith's mom played the piano and all the children sang.  It was like listening to a choir of angels.  At dinner, before we ate a prayer was said and each person at the table had to tell something they were thankful for.  I was overcome with the perspective I had on life.  That dinner changed me, changed how I viewed everything in the world.

The remaining years were spent at one family member's or another.  Some years, after my divorce, Chloe would go to her father's for the family gathering and I would be left home alone, in the dark, crying and waiting to go to work.  It was one of the most horrific feelings in the world.  One year, my ex's father left their dinner and drove clear across town to bring me a plate of food.  I sat in front of my computer eating dinner, crying, and talking to my friend in Brazil on video chat.  Those were some of the darkest years I can remember.

And then, there is Michael.  He is the master of the bacon wrapped turkey and the keeper of my soul with the most amazing cranberry relish I've ever had.  Since he has been here our dinners have been intimate....just the two of us with Chloe getting home in time for pumpkin pie, but they have been wonderful holidays.  The food has been spectacular and for the first time I have a real family of my own.

This year is bittersweet.  It is the first Thanksgiving in our new home...one of many, but it is also the first Thanksgiving that I won't get that crazy call from my mother at the family dinner in which the phone gets passed around the house and I say the same things to 10 different people.  I'm going to miss that.  I miss her.  I know everyone must be tired of me boo hooing about my mom, but bear with me as I get through these holidays.  I have always loved family despite my rare appearances at any sort of functions they might have.  This is due to time and money and distance, not from lack of love.

I am thankful for my beautiful family, my crazy howling dog, our collective good health, our great neighbors, the girls at work that hold me up, my wonderful boss, and all the grace and wealth in our lives.  I am thankful for taking a leap of faith and believing that Michael and I would make it despite the huge odds.  I am thankful that this year I found a way to relate to my soon to be 13 year old before it's too late.  I am thankful for the lasting friendship and love of my father.  It is something I have always wanted.

So, enjoy your dinners and think of those who are less fortunate.  Maybe go out there and do something about it, or bring home a stray to share your dinner.  Take those crazy family phone calls.  Love every minute of the day.  Peace to you all.  I am blessed by the few that read these ramblings.  It keeps me out of trouble.

Lit Bits-11/26/2014 Rita Dove

Aleathia says:

Rita Dove is an American poet born in Akron, Ohio in 1952.  She graduated at the top of her class from Miami University and received her masters from the University of Iowa.  She was awarded a Fulbright Scholarship to study in Germany.  She taught creative writing at Arizona State University until 1989 when she began teaching at the University of Virginia.  In 1987, she won a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.  She has published 8 collections of poetry, a play, a novel, and a short story collection.

Lost Brilliance

I miss that corridor drenched in shadow,
sweat of centuries steeped into stone.
After the plunge, after my shrieks
had diminished and his oars sighed
up to the smoking shore,
the bulwark's gray pallor soothed me.
Even the columns seemed kind, their musky sheen
like the lustrous skin of a roving eye.

I used to stand at the top of the stair
where the carpet flung down
its extravagant heart. Flames
teased the lake into glimmering licks.
I could pretend to be above the earth
rather than underground: a Venetian
palazzo or misty chalet tucked into
an Alp, that mixture of comfort
and gloom...nothing was simpler

to imagine. But it was more difficult
each evening to descend: all that marble
flayed with the red plush of privilege
I traveled on, slow nautilus
unwinding in terrified splendor
to where he knew to meet me--
my consort, my match
though much older and sadder.

In time, I lost the capacity
for resolve.  It was as if
I had been traveling all these years
without a body,
until his hands found me--
and then there was just
the two of us forever:
one who wounded,
and one who served.

Music Monday-11/24/2014 Daptone Records

Aleathia says:

As a child my father imparted on me the importance of blues and jazz music.  I wasn't very receptive at the time.  I would rather listen to Madonna and Whitney Houston and Cyndi Lauper.  Those artists were just blips in time for me.  I appreciate what they meant to me at the time and they do hold some nostalgia for my youth, but as an adult I will take a fine piece of jazz or some dirty vocal blues over anything.

What I have come to find out is that this type of music touches me.  It makes me feel like I am floating or maybe suspended in time.  It is hard to explain.  It's like being high without drugs.

Five or six years ago I got turned on to an artist off of Daptone Records named Sharon Jones.  Once I heard her, it was all over.  I went to the website to see what else they had in store for me.  Their line up of artists are impeccable....every single one.

Daptone Records is a Brooklyn, NY based indie record company that specializes in producing soul, funk, gospel and afrobeat music.  It was started by Gabriel Roth and Neal Sugarman who are also in the band The Dap Kings.

I had an opportunity to see Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings at the Grassroots Festival in Ithaca, NY. They rocked my face off.  Every beat electric and Sharon's voice just reached down into the depths of me and made me want to dance and lament all at the same time.

Daptone Records is putting on a Super Soul Revue Show at the Apollo December 4, 5, and 6.  I'm not sure what the ticket availability is, but this is some of what you will hear if you can make it.


Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings:

Charles Bradley:

Antibalas:

The Budos Band:

The Sugarman 3:

The Menahan Street Band:

The Como Mamas:

Naomi Shelton and The Gospel Queens:

OM-11/23/2014 Being Truthful in Healthcare

Aleathia says:

Last week, while shaving my legs, I listened to a Ted Talk by Leana Wen who is a medical doctor here in America.  The video was about transparency between a doctor and their patient and how by doing this a true trustful relationship could begin to form.

She made valid points about patients having to hand over their most personal information, their lifestyle, their body to a person with a degree whom they know nothing about.  Patient's don't know where their doctor's stand in the community, with their beliefs, or their conflicts of interest.  It is like a one-sided conversation.

Leana Wen put forth this idea to a wave of hatred by physicians across the country.  She got death threats and bomb threats and was asked to "move back to her country" despite living in the US since she was 8 years old.

I am not a doctor and the nursing model of care is much different than the physician's.  Nurses are a bit more able to look at the bigger picture and take into consideration all of the peripheral reasons why a person might be sick or act the way they do.  We are also more honest and upfront, because maybe, we have less to lose.  We aren't going to get sued for our opinions like a provider might.

Yesterday I had a patient who had pretty severe cancer and was being seen at a prestigious cancer center that is nationally known.  They told him he had lung and kidney cancer and he was young and was undergoing chemotherapy.  When he came to us he had been coughing up blood which is never good.  When all was said and done, his exam revealed a worsened cancer in the last month and cancer in places that our facility had seen in August that were never mentioned to them by their cancer center.

The patient's wife was furious and in tears, because there at 3 am they were both realizing the severity of the situation.  She looked at me and asked my why won't any provider tell them the truth without sugar coating the outcome.  I told her that I could not answer that question as I am not a doctor, but I looked her in the eye and explained slowly and carefully the true possible outcomes of her husband's disease process as it stood right then.  She cried some more.  He cried some more.  I stood there and cried with them.

I understood first hand the power of cancer's grip to steal those that you love right from under you.  It is so silent at first, so evil in the end.  The wife thanked me for my honesty and my compassion.  We were going to transfer him to a higher level of care and after I finished the paperwork I thought about Leana Wen and I too was angry for this family.  Why don't doctors tell you how it is really going to be?  Sometimes it is because they want you to move forward with their plan of care.  Sometimes people don't want the truth.  Sometimes I think they forget what it is like to be on the other end of the spectrum.

I went into work last night and was told that as my patient was being put into the ambulance for transfer, he died.  His cancer swallowed him whole, so to speak, and he was gone.  I knew the ending to his story, but some part of me had a glimmer of hope that maybe I was being a fatalist or being too severe.  I know now that I was able to give them both a realistic picture as sad as it was.

A nurse's job is very hard.  We have to learn so much about a patient in a short amount of time.  We have to juggle 4-5 lives at a time while making everyone happy.  We get to save lives and watch them slip away. Each one chipping a layer away silently.  Each one embedding themselves in your collective personal graveyard.  Try to remember as patients that we are limited to what the doctor says we can do for you, that though we may seemed rushed, or busy, we really do care about making you better.  We wouldn't put ourselves through this daily torture if we weren't compassionate and loving at the core.

Today, I am looking for meaning in the face of untimely deaths, and I am not sure I find any good reasons.  Love your life while you have it.  Tell people how wonderful they are, don't forget to smile and laugh, and take all the hugs you can get.

Peace.

Quills and Frills-11/22/2014 Heroes Your Mom Threw Out Comic Book Shop

Aleathia says:

Recently we have gotten back into comic books in this house.  I'm not talking Superman or Spiderman, but this new revolution of really intense work coming out of Image comics and even some Dark Horse.  We are reading titles like Saga, Wytches, Sidekick, Dream Police, Hellblazer, The Walking Dead, Black Science, Ten Grand, and a host of others.  The art is spectacular and the writing gripping.  It is the best time in the world to be a comics fan.

In our small town we don't have a shop, but in the next few towns over there is a great comic book store called Heroes Your Mother Threw Out.  Jared is the owner and you couldn't find a more laid back, knowledgeable guy about comics.  If you feel like an awkward nerd going in the store, you sure as hell don't feel like one coming out.

The store itself just moved to the storefront next door for more space and it has been turned a bit upside down.  Finding comics is an adventure right now as you run from shelf to shelf and box to box.  His little daughter, the quietest kid ever in the history of kids, is there roaming around giving you cute smiles and sometimes his son is there stickering comics.  It's a family affair.

What I found most interesting is the clientele.  There were TONS of women buying comics.  There were professional people, jock looking dudes, hipster bearded folk, and your general run of the mill folks like Mike and I.  We all fit in that store.  We are all there for the love of art and great storytelling.

Over the last few days we have been talking about the importance of shopping local.  We could find all of the comics we read on Amazon.  We might even get them cheaper, but what we find is that we feel great about spending money at Heroes because we know it goes to Jared and his family.  We love that some of what we spend feeds his kids.  We love that even after one visit to his store he remembered us, what we liked to read, and had suggestions for new works.  Businesses like this are hard to come by anymore.

So my holiday message to you is, shop local if you can.  Small store owners need your support and it should give you a great feeling that even though you might pay a few bucks more, you know you aren't lining the pocket of a mega company who doesn't give a shit about you or the town you live in. Give back.  Shop Local!

Lit Bits-11/19/2014 Gibbons Ruark

Aleathia says:

I found this lovely poem by a writer named Gibbons Ruark.

Gibbons Ruark is a contemporary American poet born in 1941 in the great state of North Carolina. He grew up there and graduated from the University of North Carolina in 1963 and shortly thereafter moved to Massachusetts where he worked as a bus boy until earning another degree from University of Massachusetts.  His poems began publishing in the 1960's and was hired on at the University of Delaware in 1968 where he became friends with the writer James Wright.  Ruark has traveled many times to Ireland and maintains a love affair with that country which shows itself in his work.  In his lifetime he has had 8 collections of poetry published with the most recent one being in 2008.


A Vacant Lot

One night where there is nothing now but air
I paused with one hand on the banister
And listened to a film aficionado's
Careless laughter sentence poetry to death.

It's twenty gone years and a few poems later,
The house demolished, the film man vanished,
The friend who introduced us to him dead.

I side with one old master who loves to tell
His film buff friends that film is like an art form,
And yet my eyes keep panning the empty air
Above the rubble, as if, if I could run

The film back far enough, I might still start
For home down the darkened street from the newsstand
And turn a corner to the house still standing,

A faint light showing in an upstairs window.
Is someone reading late? Or is is the night
Our newborn lies burning up with fever,
And all the doctor can say is plunge her

In cold water, wrap her up and hold her,
Hold her, strip her down and plunge her in again
Until it breaks and she is weak but cooling?

Is it the night they call about my father
And I lay the mismatched funeral suit
In the back seat with the cigarettes and whiskey
And drive off knowing nothing but Death and South?

Somewhere a tree limb scrapes at a gutter
The wind blows.  Late trucks rattle the windows.
Never you mind, I say out loud to the girls

Away at school, there's nothing there to hurt you.
The sky is thickening over a vacant lot,
And when I leave there is a hard rain drumming
With the sound of someone up in the small hours,

Thirsty, his palm still warm from a sick child's
Forehead, running the spigot in the kitchen
Full force till the water's cold enough to drink.

OM-11/16/2014 Thich Nhat Hanh

Aleathia says:

I recently discovered that Thich Nhat Hanh fell ill around November 1st.  It is said that he has suffered a stroke and though he is weak there is possibility of survival for him even at the great age of 88.

He has been a source of peace for so many people, Buddhists and non-Buddhists.  Let us send a little light and good thoughts his way for recovery, so he can continue to do his work in this body, in this life.

For me personally, I was introduced to his gentle nature when I requested instruction from my lama on walking meditation.  In those days I walked everywhere and thought it would be helpful to walk and meditate on those days when I did not have time for sitting.  Since that point, I have been looking to his words in times of need.

From "Two Treasures" by Thich Nhat Hanh

"Many people are victims of their fear.  If we can alleviate someone's fear, that is the greatest gift that we can offer them.  Our life will be filled with happiness if we can help others around us.  But if we spend our whole life building up our name and our fortune, then we cannot find happiness.  We might have a lot of money, a big house, a luxurious car, but that's not real happiness.  We can only taste real happiness when we can help others around us.  And we have to start with those in our family and the dear friends around us.  We have to help family, relatives, and friends before we are capable of helping others outside our circle."

Foodies-11/13/2014 Beef and Cheese Manicotti

Aleathia says:

Believe it or not this recipe for Beef and Cheese Manicotti (stolen and loosely followed and revamped) from Everyday Italian has garnered the number two spot of best things ever in the world to eat at my house.

Originally tonight I was going to go for something a little more simple like Pasta Primavera, but when I mentioned Manicotti there was a twinkle in the collective family eye.  It is a long process to make, not hard, but it has many steps that can't be skipped.

Beef and Cheese Manicotti

You will need the following:

1/2 pound ground beef

15 ounces Ricotta

1 box Manicotti

Fresh Basil

Fresh Oregano
1 Sweet Onion

1-2 cups shredded Mozzarella

1/2 cup grated or shredded Parm

Salt and Pepper

1 can of diced tomatoes

1 small can of tomato sauce

olive oil

butter

Start by chopping the onion and sauting it in a few tablespoons of olive oil.  When they start to get soft, add the ground beef and cook until there is no red showing.  Turn the heat off and let this mixture cool.

While the meat is cooking, you can prepare the cheese portion of the filling.  In a large bowl put the ricotta, 1 cup of mozzarella and 1/4 cup of parm, mix.  Chop your fresh herbs and add them to the mixture.  Salt and pepper and stir again.  When the meat mixture is cooled, add it to the cheese and combine thoroughly.

While you are making the cheese mixture put a pot of salted water on to boil for the manicotti.  When the water comes to a rolling boil, add 4-5 manicotti to the water.  You will need to cook them only 6-7 minutes because you want them to hold their shape for filling.  Set them on a greased plate to cool.  Once all the pasta is finished you can make the marinara.

To make the marinara place the can of diced tomatoes and the tomato sauce in a blender.  Blend until smooth.  Set aside.

Put a few tablespoons of olive oil in the bottom of a baking dish.  Spread out a half cup of sauce across the bottom.  Fill your manicotti.  I suggest that you hold them horizontal at first, fill one end, and then turn them vertical to fill them the remainder.  This keeps the filling from falling out the other end.  It saves on frustration.

The filling usually makes 12 manicotti, but sometimes you can squeeze out an extra one.  I arrange them in the dish like this.

Place the remainder of the sauce over the manicotti.  This will help cook the pasta the rest of the way.

Spread the remaining mozzarella over the manicotti and sprinkle a 1/4 cup of parm on as well.  This recipe calls for breaking up pats of cold butter and placing it around the top of the finished dish.  I'm not sure what the hell this does but I love butter so who cares.

Your oven should be preheated at 350 degrees.  The manicotti need to cook for 30-40 minutes.  When it is done, let it rest a few minutes or you will burn the crap out of your mouth and ruin your dining experience.

Serve with salad or just gorge yourself on cheesy goodness.

Lit Bits-11/12/2014 Stanley Kunitz

Aleathia says:

Stanley Kunitz was born in Worcester, MA in 1905 and died in NYC in 2006.  Over his 101 years he graduated summa cum laude from Harvard in 1926.  He published 12 collections of poetry, several collected interviews and essays, and was the editor or translator for 5 books.

Kunitz is a winner of the National Book Award for Poetry, the National Medal of the Arts, the Bollingen Prize, the Robert Frost Medal, and Harvard's Centennial Medal.

Today I would like to share with you a poem by Stanley Kunitz called "The Snakes of September":

The Snakes of September

All summer I heard them

rustling in the shrubbery,

outracing me from tier

to tier in my garden, 

a whisper among the viburnums,

a signal flashed from the hedgerow,

a shadow pulsing

in the barberry thicket.

Now that the nights are chill

and the annuals spent,

I should have thought them gone,

in a torpor of blood

slipped to the nether world

before the sickle frost.

Not so.  In the deceptive balm

of noon, as if defiant of the curse 

that spoiled another garden,

these two appear on show

through a narrow slit

in the dense green brocade

of a north-country spruce,

dangling head-down, entwined

in a brazen love-knot.

I put out my hand and stroke 

the fine, dry grit of their skins.

After all,

we are partners in this land,

co-signers of a covenant.

At my touch the wild

braid of creation

trembles.

Let's Go Somewhere-11/11/2014 Washington, DC The Wall

Aleathia says:

As a child most of my life was estranged from my father.  I don't know the particular details as the stories my mother told me are different from my father's, but in the end the same feelings resulted.  I spent a lifetime looking out the window waiting for him.  I knew he would come for me.  When I was 10 years old we happened to live in the same town.  We saw each other nearly every day.  He taught me so many things that are still valid and useful to me today.  I cherish those 2 years we had by each other's side.  They were the best two years of my childhood.

When I was 11 he wanted to take me to Washington, DC for Memorial Day.  He is a proud Marine who served in Vietnam and came home to disrespect and hostility.  I always wanted to understand what it was like to be in the war;  I wanted to know because I thought it would make us closer, but he never talked about it.  As an adult, I understand on some small degree that what he must have seen, heard, done, and felt were beyond any comprehension to someone not active in duty.

We took a bus to Washington, DC and got there in the middle of the night...in a rain storm.  We had no hotel reservation, no phone number to find my Uncle Kit, and no place to go.  We walked for miles stopping at each hotel to see if a room was available and several hotel clerks felt sorry for me and let us rest on the couch (sitting up) in the lobby for a little while.  We finally reached the center of the city in the early hours of the morning.  We still had no place to go so we stopped at a park bench and I remember being able to see the White House from that spot.  I slept while my father stayed up to guard me and our stuff.

I woke in the morning to a different understanding of the world.  That day we found my Uncle Kit and stayed at his hotel room.  We went to the wall and I wept at the sight of all those names carved into stone.  All those loved ones lost.  I was thankful at that moment to have been born.  It could have never been.

If you get a chance to see the Wall you must go.  It will crush you and make you proud and give you a monumental understanding of the loss our men gave to serve our country.

Thank you to all the men in my family that have served in the military.  RIP Uncle Kit.  I miss you.

Quills and Frills-11/8/2014 November PAD Challenge

Aleathia says:

I have been distracted from this blog recently.  The dang holidays, work, conflicting schedules, and chores will really do that to a gal.  I am on the verge of completing a major project at work that has been slurping up most of my time and then my blogging world will get back to normal...well, as normal as we get around these parts.

I came home from a long night at work this morning and saw in my Facebook feed that it was day 8 of the November Poem A Day Challenge at Robert Lee Brewer's Writer's Digest page, Poetic Asides. I have to tell you that I have never met Robert Brewer but last November's challenge helped me overcome the death of my cousin, my aunt, and several other friends and co-workers.  His April challenge helped me mourn the death of my mother.  So how in heaven's name did I miss that it was November already?  I think I should refer to the first paragraph.

So if you see this man's face in your Facebook feed:

Click on the link and have a go at the prompt of the day and write a poem that you might not have written otherwise.  It takes some time to get used to writing from prompts, but after several challenges I find that it pulls from me a different perspective about the words I use and helps to open the mental field and encompass much more than my own private garden of thoughts.

The first 8 days prompts are as follows:

1. game over

2. together again

3. blanket

4. (two for tuesday) super hero and super heroine

5. "keep this_____"

6. happy now

7. compulsion

8. blind

When I don't officially participate in the challenge (ie post my poem to his comments at the website) I like to keep a list and cross off topics as the poems come to me.  Approach it however you like.  It is meant to foster creativity and to keep you writing.

I will leave you with my version of a "blanket" poem:

Eiderdown

He covers my eyes

with a blanket

of his secret memories

it is thick

and soft

and warm

I suffocate

trapped

in the carbon

die   ox   ide

of my jealousy

such a life

such a heraldry

I could never

measure up to

I am

but a

shadow

in

history.

Aleathia Drehmer 2014

Lit Bits - 11/5/14 Durable Goods

And the prodigal Joe makes a glorious appearance!

A recent discovery threw me back on The Forked Road. I’ve spent the summer and fall free of social media, and with that came my absence from my contributions here (alas, some distant Friday from now, part two of a never-finished series on biological art will rear its head). I had always intended to return here once I finished my current book, but here I am now:

While cleaning up around our room, my lovely and beautiful girlfriend rediscovered my collection of Durable Goods microzines. For those not in the know, Durable Goods was a bi-weekly bit of poetry and literature that was created by our very own Aleathia. Printed and hand-cut and hand-folded and mailed out, all by her. It was a bittersweet rediscovery. The work in the little booklets are great, and each came with a lovely card with an inspirational quote handwritten by Alea. I even appeared in issue 45 with a little prose poem titled “Piano Girl”; three or four years later, I still don’t hate it (a considerable achievement). Still, something wasn’t quite right…

Of the two dozenish zines graciously sent to me, only five had been opened.

Out of nowhere, I had a stack of unopened Durable Goods running from the 40's to the final issue, 68. I was simply shocked: how could I have simply tossed these aside without even opening them? I’m a mail fiend! I tear into whatever postage remotely has my name on it (I share a name with my father; companies don’t always get the memo). It was, and still is, highly disturbing to me that I so blatantly disregarded these wonderful bits, precious gifts.

In the past hour, I’ve gone and opened every single zine; read each handwritten note; made a nice, neat stack in numeric order; and placed them gently in a small plastic bin on my mantle to be read, then better stored, in the near future. I then immediately sat down to write this.

As a Lovecraftian aficionado, nothing quite stimulates me like finding lost, obscure texts. I decided to share this on Lit Bits day for the perspective of this being a wholly exciting discovery: new poetry to read, more work to internalize, cannibalize! What wonders await me! I only regret not having been privy to Durable Goods at its inception, to have the complete collection.

Now, alas, I don’t feel I deserve it anyways.

Pushing my self-woe aside, I'll now take the time to applaud Aleathia for everything she does, and has done. I'm glad to be back on the Road.

Let's Go Somewhere- 11/4/2014 Rochester, NY's East End

Aleathia says:

When traveling to new and bigger cities from our little slice of podunk heaven it is often hard to figure out where to stay without getting raped, mugged, or killed.  It is also hard to find said places without emptying out the bank account as well.

Rochester, NY is a city with some heavy crime areas, but there are also some beautiful and well kept areas as well.  We went up there this weekend to see a show at The Main Street Armory.  The area north of this venue seemed a bit hairy so I decided to check Zillow to see what the real estate market is like for the city.  This is a great tool when you aren't buying a house because it gives you median incomes, crime rates, and locations of interest in that neighborhood.  This was exactly what we needed.

We stayed at The Strathallan Doubletree in the East End.  This is an unassuming hotel on the outside that is nestled in streets lined with old brick and Victorian mansions.  The inside of this hotel is gorgeous and modern.  They give you free cookies when you check in and the staff were very helpful with ideas for restaurants and bars.  They even arranged for us to have a free shuttle ride to the venue and pick up if the show was out before 11 pm.

On our drive to Rochester, NY we stopped in a suburb called Brighton for a quick and delicious lunch at our favorite burger joint, Tom Wahl's.  This location of the restaurant was much cleaner and the staff were more friendly than the one in Canandaigua and it is right off the highway so it was easy off and easy on.

We were too early for check in still and decided to take a stroll around the Memorial Art Gallery which was only a block from our hotel.  This is a gorgeous old building that reminded me of the Toledo Art Gallery in its dimensions and viewing rooms.  This particular museum had it's quirks. The front desk staff were a bit snooty and some were a bit brash, but the guards wandering around the viewing rooms were very pleasant and informative.  I won't go in to detail about the exhibits we saw there as I will share them on Friday in the Art Bomb section, so look for it!

After checking in to the hotel and relaxing a few minutes, we walked two blocks on East Ave and came to Alexander Street.  There are a great number of places to eat and drink in this little 4 block section.  There are two Irish pubs, Murphy's Law and McGregor's, as well as a traditional British Pub called The Old Toad.  There are several hipster looking bars/restaurants called One, Mex, and Vinyl. If you are down for some quick eats they also have a local pizza place as well as a Subway.

We settled on Murphy's Law.  We had a few pints of Guinness and then some local brewed IPA to go with our Loaded Nachos.  They have a traditional bar food menu, but also have some full entrees if you desire.  They have daily drink specials as well.  After the show, we liked this bar so much that we returned and stayed until about closing which is 2 am.  They have a nice selection of beers, liquor, and Irish Whiskeys.  We had one we had never heard of before called Teeling.  It was quite amazing and went down smooth....too smooth.

We had wanted to go to The Old Toad for dinner, but they weren't open when we walked by so we missed out.  I'm sure we will go next time as I have a hankering for a traditional fish 'n chips.

On our way out of the city, the hotel clerk was nice enough to point us to a cute coffee shop called Starry Nights on University Ave.  They have good strong coffee and delicious fresh baked items. They do offer some gluten free options as well.  It is a cozy corner shop in a nice, quaint neighborhood.

If you make it up to Rochester, NY the East End is a great place to stay.  If nothing else you will enjoy the rich and beautiful architecture of this city's East End.  There are several other museums and places of interest that we hope to see next time we make it up there.  Have fun!

Music Monday-11/3/2014 Primus and the Chocolate Factory

Aleathia says:

Last night we ventured north to Rochester, NY to see Primus....again.  This is our third time in the last 2 years and this was our second show this year.  If you grew up in the late 80's and early 90's you would have loved songs like "Jerry was a Racecar Driver", "Tommy the Cat", and "Winona's Big Brown Beaver".  They have many more great songs, but that era is what sticks with those of us who grew up with it.

So why see them so many times?  Primus is an amazing group with a following not unlike Phish or Grateful Dead only with a more mixed age group of people and not as many stinky hippies.  There is a cult following that love to have their chests vibrated by Les Claypool's bass and listen to the way this three piece group makes such a large and thundering sound.

The special deal this tour is their interpretation on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory songs that appear in the movie.  Who doesn't LOVE this movie? Who didn't grow up wanting to be Charlie and find the Golden Ticket?  This tour is an insane mixture of Primus with the Fungi Ensemble which adds Cello and Vibraphone to the mix of bass, drums, and guitar.  I can't tell you how incredible this sounded live.

They played for over 3 hours with the first set being regular Primus fare and the second set was all Willy Wonka.  The set and light show added tremendously to this heartwarming fun trip down memory lane.  They even had Oompa Loompas with over-sized heads that ran onto the stage and danced from time to time.

The Main Street Armory isn't the best venue to see a show in as they can hold over 6,000 people with little to no place to sit if you need to and only two bathrooms.  They do have their own internal bar which makes it nice.  The down side is that after an hour or so the people start smoking inside and the ventilation is a little weak.  All that aside, I would probably still see another show there if it came to it.  It was located near the East End neighborhood which was very easy to get around and safe.


Here is a sample of what you would hear if you went to a show:

The best souvenir that we brought home was this smashing good poster from Drew Millward of the UK.  Each show gets its own poster by a new artist each show.  We happened to luck out with the best one of the tour so far.

There are still many dates left on the tour so if they come near your town and aren't sold out already I suggest you get your ass to see them.  You won't be disappointed.

Quills and Frills - 11/1/2014 - A poem

Ally says:

Dog Eared

Impatient in both life and death

I dog ear the books.

As a collector of bookmarks

this drives my husband nuts.

The library books are one thing, he says

making allowances

but not ours.

Yet I find I’m always grabbing

the poetry books off the shelf and forgetting

a bookmark and beside

these sleek slender volumes

can barely hold their own words

let alone a whole bookmark.

So I dog ear,

the little bent corners

of the pages.

Sometimes nothing for whole chunks.

Sometimes one every other poem

after a quick read between subway transfers,

the corners flapping

like flags marking depots

across the dry cold waste of undiscovered land.

I wonder if later

when I’m gone

he’ll find these creases

in the books we shared

the corners still creased

rising now

my long distance death defying reminder

like a star winking at him

all the way from the past,

a message over time

a little salute and a hello

from the darkest corner of space.