Alina's Adventures

Pumpkins and costumes and creative loafing.

She told us they were called "troll homes".

It's been a fantastic past week with everything from pumpkins to leaf hunts to this afternoon's backyard wild leaf chase. All Hallow's Eve is upon us, and I can't decide whether to be one of Serge Gainsbourg's mistresses or the daughter-in-law-you-dread-having. Both costumes are easy ones to pluck from my closet.

Fall colors at the pumpkin selection in Northport.

Gnome balances a troll home on her head.

Funky, gnarled squash.

Gnome samples cool squash.

Everyone picked out their own mini pumpkin for our annual dysfunctional pumpkin family. Now for the rest of the rigamarole. 

When writing feels like terrorism.

The beautiful mysterious wildflower we found on a nature walk.

There are times when writing another word feels like terrorism. What begins with the beauty of an fragrant curly pea vine ends with my fingers deep in the dirt, digging further into the soil, exhuming the dead below.

What begins with a garden winds its way into a grave.

This is not what I intended- not this horror on a sunny autumn day- but there is dirt under my nails and I keep on digging. The choice is not mine anymore because now I must know what happened- must tell this desecration clean. 

Perhaps the writer can only expunge the rubber-necker's shame by dignifying it in a story. I ask forgiveness in advance for the ghosts and goblins I set loose in the world. If there was any other way...

An excerpt from the poem, "Stag Hunt".

The frog we saw near a beautiful flower.

I tell you it’s too late for anything
but you seem very nonchalant about our dilemma’s solution,
both players must shoot off one of their legs so they can’t chase
the hare, you say, as if legs are just words to throw around in a game.

Think only how clean and cauterizing, this solution,
the only fair solution to the dating dilemma being
voluntary, mutual self-mutilation.
You look happy for once.
We go from Rousseau's story to playing a game
where winning involves accepting a known loss.

Read the rest online for free in Issue 5 of Brickplight.

Fact and fiction according to James Salter.

Seed pods are stranger than fiction.

I've revised characters countless times to ensure no one will take offense at possible imputed personal resemblance, but the characters lose their luster and those who might be offended will surely find something else to offend them in my writing. It helps to fall back on the words of the writer I'm currently devouring, and his thoughts on the writing life:

“The notion that anything can be invented wholly and that these invented things are classified as fiction and that other writing, presumably not made up, is called nonfiction strikes me as a very arbitrary separation of things. We know that most great novels and stories come not from things that are entirely invented, but from perfect knowledge and close observation. To say they are made up is an injustice in describing them. I sometimes say that I don’t make up anything—obviously, that’s not true. But I am usually uninterested in writers who say that everything comes out of the imagination. I would rather be in a room with someone who is telling me the story of his life, which may be exaggerated and even have lies in it, but I want to hear the true story, essentially.” 

[James Salter in an interview with Paris Review]

Rough drafting my way through a poem about lavish noses.

The house comes loose at the hinges when the blue stockings come out...

Author James Salter understood the imperative of a strong nose. His protagonists expressed their inclination towards permanence by virtue of their noses- “a mark of commitment to life” is how Salter described a big nose. The manifest brilliance of a unknown face as apprehended through the nose- the face’s “keel”.

An unfold-able character requires only one physical feature to keep from bending- a strong nose, one which cannot be forced into falseness. The strong nose which remains signals resistance against the cultural prefernences for small noses. The nose’s job being to keep things real, to anchor us to a complicated genetic past.

Not a diminutive nose- not a precious “button” inferior enough for endearment- but an ardent nose, nostrils curved like torches. At least, that's the story I'm trying to tell about why I'm comfortable when told my nose is "massive" or "big" or "interesting" or "Romanesque" or "large" or "buxom", all those words being more affirming than the hidden barb of "your nose isn't THAT big", implying that big is bad. 

The writing life: Characters, editors, poems, and perversity of spirit.

In my spare (and stolen) time, I've been absorbed by the characters in my novel- how they developed unpredictably, as if they ran away from me and took on a life of their own. Sometimes, I am the ungrateful parent who wishes they'd behave more like obedient children- fit the expectations I have of them. Other times, I am grateful for the way they float outside my grasp, defying my notions of goodness, my expectations of what a character should be.

Julia Alvarez says you should write about something you haven’t figured out--write your way through to an answer. Embrace and pursue discomfort. Take surprise as a boon. That is the mind-bendingly awesome part.

Then you prepare to present your baby to the the editors. Much like opinionated parents, most editors have a specific philosophy- a bias towards sleep training or attachment parenting or metered verse. The rejection letters come with the profusion of fall foliage, and I take comfort knowing that every editor feels passionately about their choices, every "no" makes every "yes" all the sweeter. 

There's nothing like the way the heart swells an octave when an editor says "yes". Nothing.

Still, the writer wonders- am I fooling myself? Do these poems, stories, or books deserve to be read? Do they add anything to the world? 

In comes Ruthi Thorpe to rescue me from misgivings and self-pity. In an essay for Poets and Writers, she says the only two things a writer needs is “a love of books” and “perversity of spirit,” or the ability to remain unfazed by valid criticism and keep on chooglin'.

“You have to fall in love with the dark formless place where the words come from. You have to be addicted to that deep-sea inner world that is the reading and writing of books. And you have to be willing to ignore just about everything else.”

Ruthi, thank you for reminding me not to take the darkness personally- not to be sad when editors or fellow mothers see things differently. Life is richer for these differences. 

On the surprising side of things, I have three poems in Brickplight this month. 

"Letter to An Unknowing Pissant" was inspired by a conversation I overheard at the playground- a conversation between a father-in-law and a wide-eyed, worried young mother. He was so cruel to her- and his cruelty made him look small.

"Soddy Daisy, TN" was written on the car ride back from a trip to the Smoky Mountains with my one and only beautiful sister- and our families to boot. I imagine all sorts of things on long drives. All sorts, all flavors.

"Stag Hunt" was inspired by my fascination with game theory and a game theoretic experiment that Ed Lopez finished for his economics dissertion in Virginia way back when. I learned so much from participating. Like economics in general, the economics of love is reductive. We make decisions based on assumptions about what the other person is thinking or feeling- then we pretend our assumptions are actually truths. Such is the social construction of reality. 

Take a gander over to Brickplight and see the exquisite compilation of poems selected by Jason Barber for Issue 5, including poetry by Arthur Plotnik, Fassbinder-aficionado Drew Pisarra, flophouse dandy Harley Lethalm,  Tim Kahl whose "oh" stops traffic,  and the tender voice of John Grey.

Tennis anyone?

Given my fear of competition- the fear of winning, possibly displacing someone, giving others reason to resent me- it's awesome that Prophet can't hide her contempt at my non-competitive inclinations.

"I love playing," she assures me.

"Why?"

"Because I love winning." The words slide like raspberry jello from her tongue. "Don't you love winning, too?"

"Well, Prophet, it's complicated."

"Nope it's not. Winning is awesome." She looks convinced. 

What else can I say except- "That's one way to look at it."

A morning conversation with The Eldest about "looking weak".

Meghan fixes Prophet's hair.

HE: "I messed it up again, Mom! See?! I'll never figure it out!"

ME: "If you had any idea how many mistakes I've made in my life- and how certain I am that I'll make more. We can't give up when we mess up. And we can't follow the crowd just because we fear the uncertainty of making our own mistakes."

HE: "I know. But I just don't want to be wrong."

ME: "Why?"

HE: "Because it makes you look weak. Like not having a good come-back."

ME: "Bullies always have great come-backs, but they miss out on sunsets and love. They have lots of friends based on the power they exert and the possessions they leverage, but fear is a sad way to connect with others."

HE: "But what about looking weak?"

ME: "What's wrong with looking weak?"

HE: "People don't like you if you look weak."

ME: "People will invent their own reasons for not liking you. You can't control other people or decide how they should think about you."

HE: "Then what am I supposed to do?"

ME: "Live, learn, and never think you know better."

HE: "But what about power?"

ME: "Forget power. It's a tapeworm."

Conversations with beardtongues.

There are more types of penstemons than there are pages in my nature journal. Penstemon clings to soil without much humus, water or shade. Entire colonies thrive where little else has taken root, often on disturbed soil.

YELLOW PENSTEMON
(Keckiella antirrhinoides)

Native to the western U.S., the penstemon is considered a wildflower. Eastern Colorado boasts ten diverse native penstemons that are found ranging from the plains, foothills and montane areas and bloom from May through August depending on the variety. 

BLUEMIST PENSTEMON
(Penstemon virens)

Red penstemon, which we haven't come across yet, is an intriguing species that exists to be pollinated by one specific creature—the hummingbird. Other pollinators may be driven to frustration; bees, moths and even flies squeeze as best they can into their tubular flowers. But this is the essence of specialty evolution. The bird and blossom fit perfectly. Over time the fit has pollinated the blossom more completely than any other creature and so the reds thrive, the bright color scanned from above by tiny birds with acute eyesight.

All our friendly beardtongues were found on Summit County hikes- and every single one had a distinct bearded face.

Hiking the Lily Pad Lake Trail near Silverthorne, Colorado.

My blogging break began to feel like a traffic congestion with all the unsaid unsayables lining up behind the red light, clogging lanes, leaving me no way to move forward except by blogging through. It's funny how beautiful things keep us moving, and too few remarked wonders strand us between this breath and the next.

Back in Colorado, we came across a marvelous trial, the Lily Pad Lake Trail. The Dillon Forest Ranger first suggested it to us- a stunning trail through aspen and lodgepole pine forests, culminating in a lily pad-laden lake.

Each equipped with a backpack and water bottle, we set parked near the base of a hill and ascended for a half-mile before arriving at the official trailhead- just beyond a mountain-top meadow of wildflowers.

Up a small hill and into a meadow of wildflowers.... 

And into Eagle's Nest Wilderness Area, a mecca for plants, fragrant breezes, and moose scat.

After passing through a meadow that gave us an unbelievable view of Lake Dillon and the entire Blue Valley, we stepped into the forest and crossed our first hand-hewn bridge.

Monkshood (Aconitum columbianum)

We stopped to sip some water and snack on fresh peaches at this boulder field almost halfway.

Gnome noticed the lack of underbrush at this altitude- and how much it easier the hiking without the tangle of southern vines wrapped round our feet.

The last stretch before reaching Lily Pad Lake involves a little incline. Prophet takes a breath, counts a step, blows out the number, and starts again. Everyone finds their own way to get up the hills.

And those who rush through run the risk of overlooking tiny divinities, like the shy mountain hareball.

Or the bewildering beauty of the miniscule death camas, a wildflower overflowing with mystery.

Just when you think your legs can't walk another mile, the air so thin it feels shrill in your nostrils, Lily Pad Lake unfolds before you.

And each yellow water lily peers up from the pond's dark black ink.

A reflection upon a reflection.

Pebbles to skip- never enough time to skip every possible pebble.

The hike down is lighter than the ascent, but we didn't pack ample snacks or fruits or chewables. If I had the hike to do over- and I'd do it over and over- I'd pack more food, leave loose more time, and linger longer at Lily Pad Lake.

Let's Tango For Romania.

Rodica Mai, Angela Szasz, Alina Voicu, and Delia Mai

If you live in the Birmingham area and haven't been involved with Music4Romania, you are missing a handful of stardust.

Back in 2011, a few students at Indian Springs School in Indian Springs, Alabama decided to collect music materials for Romanian orphanages. Their initiative evolved into a project and finally an internationally-active nonprofit based in Birmingham. Today, Music4Romania includes "a community of volunteer musicians and music-lovers who believe in the power of music to inspire and affect the lives of all people". 

On November 9th at 3:00 pm, you can attend the Music4Romania fundraiser at ​The Episcopal Church of Saint Francis in Indian Springs, Alabama and discover the provocations of a mysterious instrument, the bandoneon. For a preview of what to expect, here's the Bandoneon in the skilled hands of Raul Jarena, who stirs the lost tango in me. 

More... The Arrhythmia Quartet was founded in 2010. The mission of the ensemble is to perform and promote both standard classical and more unusual repertoire. The ensemble's first tour, during the summer of 2011, included concerts in Chisinau (Moldova), Cluj (Romania), and Sibiu (Romania). Guest artist bandoneonist and Latin Grammy-winner Raul Jaurena joined the quartet in performing tangos from South America. 

Please purchase tickets online prior to the event. Children and families of all ages and stages are welcome. By purchasing a ticket prior to the event, you help even if (for some unexpected reason) you decide on the night of the concert that getting dressed and being social is the last thing you'd like to do. 

November 9th Flyer (PDF)

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