(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

We just got home from hearing Wendell Berry and Wes Jackson speak.
The topic was the sustainable food movement.

(I'll admit I went for the poetry.
I mean, Wendell Berry, people!)

And he did read a poem, and he also said a whole lot of lovely and poetic things:

praising "… the yeastiness of thought…"
claiming to be a member of "… The Society for the Preservation of Tangibility…"
and advocating for "… rules of affection …" when dealing with the land.

How would you like to have phrases like "yeastiness of thought" just roll off your tongue?
Sheesh.

So tonight I am grateful for thinkers or, rather, articulate thinkers, who inspire me to follow through on my own thoughts and put words to them when I'm able…

(Posting on Monday since Live Journal was finicky all weekend…)

On this humid, muggy Saturday I am grateful for curly hair. 
I know. That sounds rather trite and shallow.
But you have no idea what a bold act of self-love it is. 

I hated my hair for 30-some years.
Fought it. Pulled it straight.
Bemoaned both curl and frizz.
Wished for Dorothy Hammill's bob and gloss.

Well, guess what? 
I'm over all that. 

Even on this wet day when things get truly follicly anarchist, I am grateful.
I am grateful that I don't own a hairbrush, that I don't need a cut very often.
I'm even grateful that I don't look all "pulled together."

Pulled together is overrated. 
Acceptance and surrender, though, aren't.
It may be a little birds' nesty today, but it's my birds' nest.
And I'm grateful.

Last week, in between Thanksgiving (the day)
and my beloved aunt's memorial service (another day), I watched this.
(It takes ten minutes to watch, friends, but it is such a lovely ten minutes…)
And I came away from it with a new mantra:

The only appropriate response is gratitude. 
The only appropriate response is gratitude.
The only appropriate response is gratitude. 

This is not easy to feel in every moment of everyday, but that's the point of a mantra, isn't it?
To make something habit.
To make it real.

And now, lo and behold and speaking of habits, here is darling Jote doing her 30 Days of Gratitude, just like she did last December and the December before. I'm joining her, and maybe you want to, too? Because it is when we are busiest, rushed, overwhelmed or grieving that we need gratitude the most. And who isn't busy? Or rushed? Or overwhelmed? Or grieving? Or something???

Today, today I am so grateful for the rain. 
It clapped on our dark roof and deck and I stayed in bed an extra 30 minutes.
It filled the wheelbarrow out back.
It turned to mud to track into school this morning and all the kids and teachers laughed, outright, at that mud.

And in honor of the rain, here's today's poem, which doesn't mention rain except for in the title but oh my mercy it is a poem of levity and gratitude and it makes me smile:

Gee, You’re So Beautiful
   That It’s Starting to Rain

Richard Brautigan

Oh, Marcia,
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin…

(Read the rest here…)

(And read other Poetry Friday poems at Carol's Corner.)

Like many of you, my deepest appreciation and most abiding gratitude is for my family. 
And then my friends, my pets, the beautiful wilderness.
Rain, humor, good books.
Music, sunshine, I could go on and on.
But first and always, family.

Which makes a week like this one especially perplexing.
I am heartsick at having lost a beloved auntie on Tuesday — suddenly and way too soon.
And yet, today's Thanksgiving and there really is so much to be grateful for — my husband who is healthy and my daughters, one still sleeping, one out with her dad feeding a neighbor's chickens. The crisp fall air. A good friend on his way over to run The Turkey Trot with me. And the amazing family I'll fly to tomorrow, to honor and grieve and celebrate my aunt. Life is both dark and light, bitter and sweet. It doesn't erase the thankfulness on a day like today — it makes it all the more keen.

A friend shared this stanza of a Wallace Stevens poem with me yesterday and it's just so perfect for this sentiment I'm going to share it with you. (Thank you, Elisa.) Happy, happy Thanksgiving to you all.

From Sunday Morning, by Wallace Stevens

These are the measure destined for her soul.

I have a few dear and beloved people in my heart this morning,
people whose bodies are have been surprised and ravaged by illnesses.
Sometimes these are surmountable and sometimes not.
And life is short, we realize, either way.

BY MARIA HUMMEL

(Read the rest here…)

Poetry Friday is at The Opposite of Indifference today…

Whew.
With just two more school visits before the year's end, I find myself looking back at this very busy season of events, presentations and festivals with a rosy glow. 

The only low points?

My spaciness increased as the weeks wore on (I told my daughter I was in Philadelphia when really I was in Indianapolis… I left critical computer cords in a hotel and an airport… and I threw away my rental car keys). 

And my voice sounded, more often than not, like I was a very hard-partying college student.
Or Lauren Bacall on a bad day.

But the high points far outweighed all that.

I got to hang out with a whole bunch of brilliant and inspiring authors and illustrators in four states and at multiple events. 
I got to eat salted caramels, fancy mashed potatoes out of a martini glass, and the most delicious grilled asparagus.
I got to sell and sign about a zillion books.
I got to talk about picture books day after day, to people who love them — writers, parents, teachers, librarians, kids.
I got to listen to other writers give talks that made me laugh and cry.
I got to see leaves change and snow fall.
I got to see family at times I wouldn't normally see them, teachers from when I was a teen, and dear old friends.

And, most importantly, I got to speak with a few thousand kids about reading, language, creativity, passion, revision, determination, and books. I can honestly say that every hour I spend reading and talking with kids — at schools and libraries, in tents and in gardens — is an eye-opening, heart-exploding pleasure. Their probing and thoughtful questions, their funny comments, and their willingness to bond so quickly and openly over a shared love? I just walk away gob-smacked every time. 

So, as we head into Thanksgiving season, I want to express my gratitude to all the teachers, librarians, PTAs and festival organizers who make these connections possible. Who knew, when I started noodling around with rhymes for kids, that it would lead to this great joy.

I'll leave you with one of the comments I got from a third grader a couple of weeks ago:

"You seem very happy with your job even though they make you work so hard and you're not exactly rich. So that's good."

Yep. That is good.

(A post note: This was the same day a little girl asked me what the meaning of my life was. Ha. And people think you've got to dumb-down to write for kids.)

"Because luck is always odd…"

This poem for you all on this day that feels, somehow, both round and prime:

Reasons For Numbers
by Lisel Mueller

1

Because I exist

2

Because there must be a reason
why I should cast a shadow

3

So that good can try to be better
and become best
and beginning grow into middle and end

4

So the round earth can have its corners
and the house will not fall down around me

So the seasons will go on holding hands
and the string quartet play forever

5

For the invention of Milton and Shakespeare
and the older invention
of the wild rose, mother
to the petals
of my hand

6

Because
five
senses
are
not
enough

7

Because luck
is always odd
and the division
of history
into lean and fat
                           years
mysterious

8

To make the spider
possible
and the black ball which tells me
the game is up

but also to let
the noise of the world
make itself heard
as music

9

For the orbit of Jupiter
                        Saturn
                        Venus
                        Mars
                        Mercury
                        Uranus
                        Mickey Mantle
                        Lou Gehrig
                        Babe Ruth

10

Created functionless, for the sheer play
of the mind in its tens of thousands of moves

There is nothing like it in nature

Poetry Friday is being hosted today at Teaching Authors. Go see!

Aliteracy.
Knowing how to read, but not wanting to.
Which is a bummer, right?
Actually, more than a bummer.
 
And that's why we hosted the smart and generous and entertaining Andy Sherrod at our middle school this past week.
 
Andy’s a writer (and pecan farmer!) who has his MFA from Vermont College. And, in the process of getting that degree, he became quite the expert on aliteracy – particularly aliterate boys.
 
What Andy says is, aliteracy is way more than a bummer.
It goes like this:
If you read less, you read less well.
If you read less well, you do less well (in school, work, life).

Yipes.
 
So he talked about getting boys interested in books by giving them the books that interest them.  Which sounds like a big no-duh, but when you consider the fact that the people helping boys choose books are, often, female teachers, female librarians, and moms, well…
 
So here are some components of books that appeal to boys, according to Andy. (And, mind you, this is in a nutshell. If you’ve got one of these kids in your house or in your class, email Andy and he’ll be more detailed and articulate than I can be.)
 

1. Boy-ish protagonists: Preferably an actual boy, but boy readers are also ok with girl protagonists doing boy-like things and adventures.
2. A problem or conflict that is physical in nature (rather than relationship-centered) and that the protagonist solves on his own (rather than with the help of community)
3. Authentic emotional content (ie, boys can cry, even in front of friends, but then they might crack a joke, or otherwise deflect a little). (Andy definitely wasn’t saying boys don’t or shouldn’t emote – just that they want to believe the emotions their characters express.)
4. Facts and information – boys love this stuff – and The Guinness Book of World Records isn’t the only way to get it. There are biographies and narrative nonfiction and historical novels and all you’ve got to do is match the boy reader to his passion.

 
Andy said a bunch of other things, too. And he recommended www.Guys Read.com. And he tossed out a bunch of book suggestions – everything from Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet to Michele Torrey’s Voyage Series to Catherine Thimmesh’s Team Moon.
 
He also said that our kids – boys and girls – should see us read. Which seems like another no-duh but honestly, lots of us wait ‘til bedtime to pick up a book, because earlier we’re making dinner. Or doing dishes. Or paying bills.
 
But look! A new to-do.
Permission to plop yourself down and read.
Carry on.

It was cold and windy here this morning — 
even the birds were surprised and talking about it.
It's been hot for so long, not a single one of us
knows quite what to do. 

Here's what they did. The birds, I mean.
They gathered.

They made me want to find some bird poems.
Here are two. They have nothing to do with each other.
Except for the birds, I mean. 
And the second one ends in a typically Bukowski-ish manner (ie, with a four-letter word).
So, you've been warned. But I couldn't resist it. It's just too good….

The Oven Bird
by Robert Frost

(Read the rest here…)

8 Count
by Charles Bukowski

Poetry Friday's at Random Noodling today!

Whew. 
Just taking a sec to catch my breath here. 

The Texas Book Festival, which happens every October in and around the Capital in Austin, has come and gone and I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling like this year's was the best yet.

Partly because my girls are Just the Right Age to fully appreciate it. They had all their own events picked out and had us running from one hot number to the next, with the high point being a funny, honest, thoughtful and tender conversation between Kate DiCamillo and Rebecca Stead.

And partly because I had such fun things to do myself! A couple of lovely parties… a storytime reading of Noodle & Lou… and a really dynamite rhyme-and-story-making session in the Kids Activity Tent. I worked with author Kate Hosford and a whole bunch of kids to craft "The Owl That Used to Howl."

(Really, if the truth be known, Kate and I just took dictation. The kids were kind of crazy-brilliant and creative. For example, an owl raised by wolves. Perfection.)

So, without further nattering, enjoy their yarn:

The Owl That Used to Howl

The owl with gray feathers
was moving through the sky
He howled his wolfy howl
but it turned into a sigh. Why?

The wolves were listening
for their favorite bird
They recognized his sad, sad voice — 
the sweetest sound they'd heard.

The End