THE GOLDEN EGG

A tad wiped, writing-wise, from the week.  I'm up to 23 chapters in a memoir about my mother's last six years, which is to say, our new life together when she moved in with me after being widowed.  Intense -- such that I ended up as well spinning out a 3,000-plus short story from the experience.  In fact, I just sent that short story out as a submission yesterday.  It's the first short story I've written in months, actually, years.

Synchronistically, my post this week at SitWithMoi is on MY VERY FIRST BOOK!  Yes, a historic occasion (hah) ... and it's a book in which my mother played such a key role since I wrote it when I was about two years old.  If you want to see my FIRST BOOK, check it out HERE.  Literary criticism welcome for my newbie writing efforts (heh).

Okay, back to the memoir.  As you might glean from the title, it takes a toll to write -- but the poet does what the poet must do.  It's working title is

SELF-LOATHING AND THE GOLDEN EGG: A Mourning Diary

The sub-title was inspired by the title of Roland Barthes' book that he scratched out after his mother died--its title is MOURNING DIARY.  This Slate review has an excerpt that indicates why I'm empathetic with this book (even though I'm only on Page 2 as I write this -- but, the fragments from page 1 and page 2 are so harrowing I have to pause.  It's so unusual for me -- reading so ... slowly):

It is eminently Barthesian that Mourning Diary isn't a book one reads in a traditional sense but rather a questioning space one enters, imagining what happens in the interstices. Barthes espoused the idea of what he called a "readerly" rather than a "writerly" literature, in which the reader must actively interpret the text, rather than passively follow an explicit explanation or narrative. His mode was one of interrogation more than explication; grief works in a similar way.

Onward....into this questioning space.

THE EXPANSE OF A POEM (AND BOOK)

A poem, book, or any work of art can be a doorway into something unexpected.  In the case of my latest post at SitWithMoi, Emily Dickinson's I'M NOBODY! WHO ARE YOU? allowed me to reflect on my relationship with Mom ... specifically how a book helped her feel so much better about her life.  Just in time, too, as she died within two months of the book-induced revelation. 

That story is HERE.  That story is yet another reason why I. LOVE. BOOKS.

YOUR SMILE IS IMMORTAL

I was in Southern California where we placed Mom's ashes into the grave site she shares with Dad. 

Afterwards, we proceeded to my childhood church where the wonderful congregation offered lunch and then held a memorial celebrating Mom's life. 

I love that smiling photo of Mom.  As my niece Treva said, Mom always had a smile for everyone.  Thanks to UMC for the loving day -- a wonderful cap to Mom's transition home.  It truly was lovely to hear everyone's memories of Mom.  Your testimonies affirmed how Mom was such a good gold egg.

Agyamanac unay.  Nagsayaat ti am amin nga imbaga yo.   Agyaman kami amin nga familia ni Mama.  Agyaman kami kadacayo. Dios ti agngina...

"...SWIMMING TOWARD YOU / THROUGH / THE PAST"

Was it deliberate, if unconscious, on my part to wait deliberately until this week to read Kathleen Jesme’s poetry collection meditating/witnessing her mother’s dying?

Tomorrow I leave for Southern California to join my family in burying my mother’s ashes into the same gravesite where my father was buried.

My mother is ashes...?

Perhaps, when they sit the urn on Dad’s corpse, Dad will quip, “Mama! You’ve lost weight!”

Anyway, I did wait until this week to read MERIDIAN by Kathleen Jesme. Which is also to say, perhaps I’ve placed the harshest (?) critical eye one can place on this poetry collection. Because surely, if the poems are effective, they cannot fail to speak to me … this week?

Well, speak they did. Actually, sing they did. And so, kudos to Jesme, for achieving what I cannot (yet) do – creating art from this type of life. This type, being the process of dying:

Fetal horses

gallop in the womb

I am swimming toward you

through

the past

which clings to me

and holds me

back and up

--“MERIDIAN,” Kathleen Jesme

 

Here’s one more update of my Recently Relished W(h)ine List below before my trip. As ever, please note that in the Publications section, if you see an asterisk before the title, that means a review copy is available for Galatea Resurrects! More info on that HERE.

PUBLICATIONS
MERIDIAN, poems by Kathleen Jesme (language up to its material: the dying of a mother. Searing, as it should be …)

LOST BOOKS, poems by Adrienne J. Odasso (this poet is new to me and I am blessed to discover her. These poems are fine and delicate – they’re a marvel to read)

* BRUSHSTROKES AND GLANCES, poems by Djelloul Marbrook (sagacious ekphrasis)

BASEBALL CANTO, poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti in the exhibition announcement of “OUT OF THE PARK: The Art of Baseball,” April 4-May 25 at George Krevsky Gallery in San Francisco (more exhibition announcements should utilize poems—this is particularly well-done, and a fine poem to boot!)

PRIOR, poems by James Berger (a meaty first collection that charmed me into writing a review for the next issue of Galatea Resurrects)

SHADES OF BROWN, poems/poetry/poetics by Angel eFe Sandoval (moving)

BETWEEN TWO HOUSES, poems by Ed Baker (a whole lotta charm!)

REALISM, poems by Tom Mandel

* USO: I'LL BE SEEING YOU, poems by Kim Rosenfield

* TINY GOLD DRESS, poems by John Godfrey

* RADIO AT NIGHT: RECENT & SELECTED WORK, poems by Laurie Price

OTHERWORLDLY, poem by Karyne de Contreras (fabulous! go to link!)

BLUE BLEU BLU, visual poetry by Alice Brody (fabulous! go to link!)

TO THE EDITOR WHOSE NAME WILL APPEAR ON MY NEXT REJECTION LETTER, by G. Murray Thomas (fabulous! go to link!)

THE TRUTH, by Ted Joans (fabulous! go to link!)

PICASSO, illustrated essay by David Hockney (the 1990 Hanuman Books presentation. SitWithMoi gave me a reason recently to read it again, and it is just magnificent! Go to link!)

SAFE IN HEAVEN DEAD, selected interview excerpts of Jack Kerouac curated by Michael White (Hanuman Books No. 42. I always find inspiration in Kerouac. Fabulous! Go to link!)

HOUSE ORGAN, No. 82 Spring 2013, literary zine edited by Kenneth Warren

CHAIRMANIA: FANTASTIC MINIATURES by George M. Beylerian

MAN AT WORK, art monograph on/by Cesar Galicia

MODERN COUNTRY: REINTERPRETING A CLASSIC STYLE, interior design by Nancy E Ingram and M.J. Van Deventer with photography by Jenifer Jordan (excellent doctor’s office waiting room reading)

THREAT VECTOR, novel by Tom Clancy with Mark Greaney

SPENCERVILLE, novel by Nelson DeMille

THE LION’S GAME, novel by Nelson DeMille

WILD FIRE, novel by Nelson DeMille

THE THIRD BULLET, novel by Stephen Hunter

THE LINE BETWEEN HERE AND GONE, novel by Andrea Kane

DOWN THE DARKEST ROAD, novel by Tami Hoag

SLEEP NO MORE, novel by Iris Johansen

THE RED BOOK, novel by Deborah Copaken Cogan


WINES
2010 Argiano Rosso Toscano (good thing this Super Tuscan was so yummy as I have to be off alcohol now for the next three months as part of a medical check-up. Groan…)

DEATH IS NO BARRIER

apparently to Mom who returned to write and release a new book!  Check out her THE LAST WORDS I COULD NOT SAY. 

... and these things of beauty lasting forever ...

THIS GIRL IS SINGING!

So, here's more for the "Thank you, Universe" file. 

Everyday, I spend time clearing through, cleaning up, re-organizing or otherwise going through Mom's stuff.  She left behind a lot of stuff and the process is weighty (as it forces me to remember various aspects of her life when I'm in mourning that she's gone).  But, this morning, I came across a book -- a book that she'd put on her shelves of Bibles and various Biblical studies, which is to say, a treasured space to Mom -- this book:

I hadn't looked at this particular book, this MARVELOUS BLESSING, in a while (it was released in 2009).  It's a book curated/edited by John Bloomberg-Rissman; that is, John focused on a poem I wrote "Girl Singing" and then put out a call for poets and artists to respond to it.  The result became a book.  And as I looked at the copy that Mom gave, I remembered that I had given it to her as a gift (was it for Christmas that year?).  I opened it, and saw this:

So, ONCE MORE and FOREVER MORE, thank you to editor John Bloomberg-Rissman and the forty-ish poets and visual artists around the world who generously responded to my poem to give a "thousand views."  You didn't just make me happy, but you gave so much pleasure to my Mom.

THANK YOU, UNIVERSE!

THE ANGUISH OF OBJECTIFICATION

Mom was a pack rat--she didn't throw away much of anything.  That this characteristic no doubt relates to her history as a WWII survivor, immigrant, frugal daughter of a frugal single-Mom, etc. is a story for another day.  What I'm focused on now is the power (and lack thereof) of objects.

After being widowed in 2006 and, thus, moving into my house, Mom's possessions furnished two other houses of relatives.  And she still moved into her own bedroom at Galatea surrounded by boxes.  At one point, I chided her, "Mom, you're living like a homeless person in your room.  Can you unpack some of those boxes and give things away?"

Over time, I managed to loosen bags and bags of clothes, shoes and bags for charity.  But she still left a lot behind.  She just couldn't let go.  The hubby's theory is that she built a nest around her as a widow, a nest formed from objects from her prior life--"prior" meaning before she left her own home behind to enter mine. 

I'm not unsympathetic.  But I can't tell you how many times I, or the hubby, has dismantled one of her boxes, thinking, "The contents must be special given how conscientiously this is wrapped or packed...." only to discover things like used hangers, old plastic planters, a bunch of old-fashioned shoulder pads (in case they returned to fashion...?), plastic bags, broken bits of ceramic tchotchkes, paper bags, old small bottles of lotions and shampoos from past hotel stays, and some unmentionables which I don't want to reveal but would astound you as they astounded me at their presence.

Since I've began clearing Mom's things, I've given away about 20 bags of books to the library, a dozen large suitcases worth of clothes, shoes and bags to those who might need them in the local community as well as the Philippines, as well as cleared out at least five huge trash bags of trash and at least the same amount for recycling!  Yet, when one enters her bedroom, it doesn't look like I've cleared out much--there's still a lot to sift through!  I'm fearful it'll take at least a year to finish going through her things.  I'm not sure how my psyche will weather this ... journey.

It's painful going through her things.  Not because the clearing reminds me of her death (which is what I thought the process would be like).  It's painful because I see reminders of neediness and of searches-for-compensation (e.g., "retail therapy")--all of which evoke a life of desire and short-lived succor to such desires.  The volume of the objects today, among other things, even evoke (even if not the case during their years of accumulation but as a total today evoke) a life of unfilled aspirations.  It's like there was such a big hole in her life that she had to cram as many acquisitions as she can manage into it, and yet never got filled.

It's one reason why I am so happy she managed to see her book, DAWAC, before (just about a month! before) she died.  I can point to so many of her accomplishments and yet I know that she always felt a bit insecure because she felt unfulfilled.  She was bedridden in the Philippines for about five months prior to passing away.  At one point, she was asked by one of my cousins what, if anything, she wishes she could have accomplished.  Mom replied, "I wish I had been a lawyer."

Imagine that.  Nearly 83 years old with accomplishments as a young literary critic and an English teacher (I once was stopped by one of her English students on the steps of Low Memorial Library at Columbia University when I was a sophomore or junior; her former elementary school student remembered my Mom because she was such an effective teacher! I was so proud of her!).  Plus she helped so many people--during her funeral services, so many people she'd sent to various theological seminaries, colleges and other schools, as well as two of the people she had housed for free while they were college students in Baguio, spoke on her behalf.  The latter two are now a principal of a school and a current candidate for Mayor in her hometown.  Not to mention her service at various churches.  And of course she was the mother of four children. 

But she ignored what she'd accomplished during the majority of her life to focus on a childhood dream that her own mother prevented.  My grandmother, you see, did not think the legal profession to be a "ladylike" profession, and thus did not support her studying law.  I also vaguely recall how, shortly after we immigrated to the U.S. (she must have been in her mid to late 30s), she attempted to study law while struggling to help support four children as a low-paid immigrant worker (much of her professional pedigree in the Philippines was not useful in the U.S.) and mothering us.  Needless to say, she couldn't continue her law studies, though I suspect it's just as well as I do wonder whether that "law school" that accepted her was a bona fide accredited organization.

Later on during her bedridden state, someone else asked her about how she felt about her life.  And Mom replied, "I've done everything I want to do."  I was so happy to hear that....but I'll never know whether she really believed what she was saying.  I do know that she was just ecstatic over her book and hearing how some people (thank you Joi for thinking it a text and thank you Barbara for suggesting a reading and thank you John for your critical praise which she so relished) have responded so far to it.  I'll never forget how she kept slowly thumbing through the pages of the book, and how she kept re-reading her bio as if that would prove that her life has been meaningful.

That's been one of the blessings of poetry for me--I know that when I reach my death bed I'll never have the thought, "What if I had done ..." because I managed to be what I feel I should be: a poet.  And I know the difference of a life lived doing and not doing what one wants--what one is meant--to do.  I began attempting poetry at age 35: I know my life "before" and "after" age 35.  "After" is definitely better, because I know it's what I should have been doing with my life.

Mom was nearly 83 when she died.  Did she spend most of that life wanting something which she eventually started to hide from herself by distracting herself with other things (that would manifest partly in so many object-acquisitions)?  It's impossible to know, but impossible not to wonder as one looks at all of her ... "stuff"!

Yes, I'm sure many of these objects really offered their own (emotional) values to her.  But now?  Many of these objects are trashed, recycled or given away--they have no value to me, which is to say, the objects are inherently value-less and are just receptacles for desires we (Mom) choose to throw upon them.  Some of these clothes still carry price tags.  Many of the items were not used.  I don't think she was a typical hoarder as we envision those we see on TV shows surrounded by stacks of objects.  But she did have a lot of stuff that I feel were meant to compensate for never having achieved her dream of practicing law.  (Parents--guide your kids but never decide for them how they should live!).

Every day, I do a little bit of clearing.  Every day, I feel like I'm just starting.  Every day, I am confronted by the uselessness or inconsequentiality of something she treasured.  It can be debilitating.  I only know the process won't defeat me because I have put on my "distancing" eye--to see this experience as raw material for ... Poetry.

*****

Fortunately, there are the exceptions.  In some dim corner of a drawer, in some box deep within the closet, there occasionally resides a real treasure.  Here's one, a music-box ornament for a Christmas tree with the Nutcracker theme:

You open the ornament and you see:

Turn the knob, and music plays and the people start to dance...

'TIS THE SEASON!

The elves came out and helped Michael set up Tree festivities -- they're resting here:

Looks like Achilles needs a new frisbee.  Anyway, there are some themes grouped within areas of the Xmas trees, like ... Pueblo artifacts from New Mexico:

And skiing (my skiing days were over, so I thought, but then I ... got a son!):

And ... the GRINCH!

...which, of course, reminds when we went to see the musical last year, with Mom:

Good times ...

R.I.P, BEATRIZ TILAN TABIOS (1930-2012)

Mom died peacefully and surrounded by much love in the Philippines.  I'm on my way there--will be offline through Nov. 24, 2012. 

I love you, Mom: You were not the goose who laid the golden egg.  You were the golden egg.

Mom was a first-time author at age 82.  Information about her book, DAWAC & Other Memoir-Narratives is HERE. 

FROM HER BIO IN DAWAC:

Beatriz Tilan Tabios, 82-years-old, received her B.A. with English as her major from the Silliman University in Dumaguete, Philippines. She developed her love for poetry as a sixth-grader reading Homer, William Shakespeare, John Keats, Alexander Pope, William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge while trying to survive World War II. She would further develop her appreciation for literature as a college student instructed by poet Edith Tiempo, the first woman to receive the title of National Artist for Literature in the Philippines. Critic and fictionist Dr. Edilberto Tiempo, then the head of Sillliman University’s English Department, encouraged Mrs. Tabios to continue her study of English and American literature. As a result, Mrs. Tabios wrote her Master of Arts thesis, one of the earliest investigations, regarding Filipino literature, of “(The Use of) Local Color in Short Stories in English.” Later, Mrs. Tabios taught English literature at Dagupan College (now University of Pangasinan) and University of Baguio, before becoming a teacher at Brent School, a boarding school initially built for children from U.S.-American military, missionary and gold-mining families stationed in the Far East.

UNIMAGINABLE SWEETNESS

is seeing your 82-year-old Mom see her very first book published!  Yep--first time author at age 82: that's inspiring!  Mom's book is DAWAC And Other Memoir Narratives, which was released in the U.S. but she only just saw her first copy last week when I went to the Philippines.  You see, Mom is bedridden from cancer now, which didn't stop her from knowing/feeling the  joy of her first book -- that first book is always special!  Here she is:

And here Mom is doing book-signings!  Grin!

I am so happy Mom experienced all this ...

Here's my cousin Dona at her sari-sari store, reading Mom's book (love these tiny stores that dot the Philippine landscape):

In fact, Dona will post a copy at her store for all the villagers to see that Mom wrote a book about them all!

This unimaginable sweetness of seeing your Mother experience her first book: Ay, nagsamit nga unay!

CELEBRATING DAWAC by BEATRIZ TILAN TABIOS!!

We at Galatea are all celebrating Mom's FIRST book!  Quite an accomplishment for someone just shy of her 83rd birthday!  You can see information about DAWAC And Other Memoir-Narratives by Beatriz Tilan Tabios over HERE, as well as order it from Amazon.com (give it a couple of days to get into their system) or Lulu.com at http://www.lulu.com/shop/beatriz-tilan-tabios/dawac-and-other-memoir-narratives/paperback/product-20386719.html.  Here is Michael relishing his Abuelita's book:

The dawgs are equally excited and are all over the box of books shipped over by the printer:

I'm going to repeat the Press Release below because I do want to belabor JOY whenever JOY exists:

***

MERITAGE PRESS ANNOUNCEMENT
(Please Forward)

DAWAC and Other Memoir-Narratives by Beatriz Tilan Tabios

ISBN No. 978-0-9826493-5-0
Release Date: Fall-Winter 2012
Available for $12.50 through Meritage Press (MeritagePress@aol.com) and Lulu.com (http://www.lulu.com/shop/beatriz-tilan-tabios/dawac-and-other-memoir-narratives/paperback/product-20386719.html).
Available for $14.50 through Amazon.com

Meritage Press is delighted to release a first book by a first-time author just shy of her 83rd birthday: DAWAC and Other Memoir-Narratives by Beatriz Tilan Tabios. DAWAC presents Mrs. Tabios' childhood memories of Babaylans (indigenous Filipino healers) as well as surviving the Japanese invasion of the Philippines during World War II.

DAWAC describes many incidents that would be lost today without the book's existence. They also make history come alive, as only the testimony of someone who lived through the experience (versus a historian's or academic's account) can accomplish. An example is a section that describes how she and her family ran to the forests to hide whenever the Japanese army approached their town. As it turned out, it was during those times of hiding when she ended up being introduced to Greek poets, because Homer's Iliad was a "little" book light enough to carry as she fled.

Beatriz Tilan Tabios received her B.A. with English as her major from the Silliman University in Dumaguete, Philippines. She developed her love for poetry as a sixth-grader reading Homer, William Shakespeare, John Keats, Alexander Pope, William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge while trying to survive World War II. She would further develop her appreciation for literature as a college student instructed by poet Edith Tiempo, the first woman to receive the title of National Artist for Literature in the Philippines. Critic and fictionist Dr. Edilberto Tiempo, then the head of Silliman University’s English Department, encouraged Mrs. Tabios to continue her study of English and American literature. As a result, Mrs. Tabios wrote her Master of Arts thesis, one of the earliest investigations, regarding Filipino literature, of “(The Use of) Local Color in Short Stories in English.” Later, Mrs. Tabios taught English literature at Dagupan College (now University of Pangasinan) and University of Baguio, before becoming a teacher at Brent School, a boarding school initially built for children from U.S.-American military, missionary and gold-mining families stationed in the Far East.

Advance Words on DAWAC include, from award-winning critic and writer Albert B. Casuga:

I found Beatriz Tilan Tabios’ memoir to be in the classical style of story-telling, worthy of her training under Edilberto and Edith Tiempo. I read “Dawac” and liked the characterization of Apo Kattim, particularly the use of an Igolot extract that was the colloquial dialect in the sanctuaries of Baguling, La Union, where my family evacuated and were sheltered by the bagos (Ilocano-Igolot-Pangasinense mix) during the Japanese mop-up operation before Americans and Filipino guerrillas liberated the Northern provinces and the Cordilleras. I still speak a smattering of the Igolot of Apo Kattim, which I picked up as toddler during our refuge in Baguling’s mountains. Mrs. Tabios’ use of the dialect makes for an authentic character as memorable as those mang-ngagas or herbolarios. I, too, was "cured" by an Apo Anong when I was a little boy—he brushed some leaves all over my fevered body (according to my mother) to trap the "evil spirit" inside an egg; after praying to rid the spell that "punished" me, he threw the egg into some banana grove in my grandmother's orchard (my mother swears to God the egg did not break!). The next day found me running around with my rambunctious cousins as I’d been "cured" of the malady. I learned these from mother's own memoir.
—Albert B. Casuga, author of A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems

For more information: MeritagePress@aol.com

MOI & MOM

BLISS, here, is defined as working concurrently on two book designs for one book by Mom and one book by Moi. 

This seems like such a logical state of affairs, ever since Mom noticed me as a toddler folding pieces of paper that I would align into a shoebox -- I was making books, according to Mom, and putting them onto a bookshelf.  Was I even two years old at the time?  Faith--one of the most precious things we can give our children, or anyone.

Here's Mom when she was a college student at Silliman University, working on a Master's Thesis that would become one of the earliest investigations of "local color" in Filipino English-language literature ...:

Here she is more recently reading, of course, a book!  (She was reading my THORN ROSARY at the time):

Thanks, Mom, for all your faith in my books (though I likely, ahem, will not send you my newest one).  I hope you like the design Michelle and I are putting into your own first book, DAWAC. 

A first book at age 82!  Mom, you are an inspiration!

SUNDAY DESK SNAPSHOT (7/1/2012)

Here's the fourth of snapshot series posting an image of my working desk every Sunday:

Among the contents of the desk today are

--recent issue of literary journal Aufgabe, edited by E. Tracy Grinnell, Julian T. Brolawski and erica kaufman, which includes a usefully educational section on Salvadoran poetry edited by guest editor Christian Nagler. It was a real treat to read the poems of Salvadoran poets (all new to me and probably to you readers so check them out): Krisma Mancia, Miguel Huezo-Mixco, Luis Alvarenga, Teresa Andrade, Otoniel Guevara, Rafael Menjivar Ochoa, Claudia Herodier and Roque Dalton.

--on the laptop screen with a print-out on the desk is the manuscript of my mother's forthcoming book! Yep, my Mom will come out with her FIRST book at age 82: DAWAC and Other Memoir-Narratives by Beatriz Tilan Tabios. I, no doubt, will be talking more about this in future blog posts but, for now, let me say that this book will include her recollections of her World War II experiences, including hiding from the Japanese army as it invaded the Philippines. Here's a section that talks about when she and her family ran to the forests to hide--it was during those times that, to while away the time, she ended up reading Greek poets for the first time! As this section shows, it's interesting to see the weaving of WWII lived experience with references to older wars:

     Someone came to the forest to let us know that the [Japanese] enemy had not yet come back from the east. The Soriano family would have gone into the forest, too. So we stayed where we were. I had my little book, the Iliad.  I added it to the things in my bag. It was light anyway so it didn’t make a difference even if I had to carry it while we were walking and sometimes running up the hillsides. I started reading it as soon as we sat down in a spot surrounded by low bushes. I was engrossed in the fight between Hector and Achilles. I wanted to know who would win. I was cheering for Hector. My mother told my brothers and me that we could eat some of the brown sugar we had in our bags. My brothers did, but I saved mine in case we would stay there longer.

     All of a sudden we heard gun shots, continuous gun shots. It sounded like many guns were fired at the same time. We all dove into a large hole near us. I was on top of those who reached the hole ahead of me. I heard the men whisper, “Machine guns!” We remained crouched for a long time. When the suspense overcame me, I stood up. I saw a Japanese soldier standing on a high ridge south of us. I dropped back to my crouching position. I didn’t tell the others what I saw, but I was expecting to be pierced by a bayonet any minute.

Good ol' Mom. She pulled it off and deserves to reap the reward: a book!  I am so proud of her.

MOI CANCER-FREE MOM COACH-ES GABRIELA!

So, Coach has provided me with go-to bags over the years. I think it’s because my acquisition of my first Coach bag symbolized my then new adult independence. Plus, my first Coach bag was a black leather bag that kept getting tattered and all I had to do was send it to a Coach factory in New Jersey and they were always happy to repair it for free—I still have it today. Anyway, got a new Coach bag today and here is Gabriela trying it on:



Said bag was part of a retail celebration Mom and I embarked on this afternoon to celebrate this morning’s news: she’s now FREE OF CANCER! Wooooot! Promptly therewith, Mom decided to attempt to heal the economy with several purchases including my newest daily Coach!

But Mom didn’t just buy bags…or shoes….a watch for Michael…and various other sundries—she also purchased some poetry books for me … Which is to say, this of course was just a way to provide another update to my Recently Bought Poetry List, to wit:

FRAGILE REPLACEMENTS by William Allegrezza

HAVE by Marc Gaba

OLD WAYS TO FOLD NEW PAPER by Leza Lowitz

THE REAL SUBJECT: QUERIES AND CONJECTURES OF JACOB DELAFON WITH SAMPLE POEMS by Keith Waldrop

COLLECTED SONNETS OF EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

TRANSFER by Naomi Shihab Nye

PERSPECTIVES ON A GRAFTED TREE: THOUGHTS FOR THOSE TOUCHED BY ADOPTION, poetry anthology edited by Patricia Irwin Johnston

For my blog file, I’ll also add my poetry purchases for Kindle (though these are free from Kindle):

LEAVES OF GRASS by Walt Whitman

POEMS OF WILLIAM BLAKE

THE ODYSSEY by Homer

ILIAD by Homer

Poetry purchases--it'll help keep the doctor away!

OSMOSIS POETICS

So Michael's school has started preparations for the upcoming graduation ceremonies. For Michael and his classmates, they are to prepare a "graduation speech" that each will deliver as part of the ceremony -- since it's a graduating class of 23, they all can have that space. Well, I've already been feeling emotional of late over mi hijo becoming a middle school graduate. Then Michael informed me recently -- and we worked on it tonight! -- that he wanted to present his "speech" as a poem. Wow: I nearly lost it. But I still bawled out with zero cool, "A poem! What a fantastic idea!"

I'll post the poem closer to his graduation day and after he's tinkered some more with it. What I do want to share is that the theme is "I Was, I Am, I Will Be." Michael discussed seven elements of his life, including

Past: I never read books
Present: I read books everyday
Future: I hope to write a story about my life for a book

Maybe I will lose it now...This is still one of the best parts of our adoption story -- to see a child so conscious of his poor education just fluorish to appreciate books so much he'll even aspire to write one!

*****

Here is Michael recently when we visited Mom in the hospital. He had given his Abuelita a foot massage.



Michael wasn't being angelic, though, when he decided to give Mom a foot massage. It's just that my brother had just taught him the concept of "brownie points"... Boys will still be boys ...

Meanwhile, Mom is now back home, recovering well. Thanks to Leny for visiting Mom at the hospital and the red rose she brought! Yes, the roses have now started to bloom ... as they should and it's all good.

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

Michael cracks Moi up so many times! So we visited Mom in the hospital this evening. As soon as he entered the hospital room, he said Hi to Mom and went to the computer in the corner of the room. That's the computer where the medical staff checks hospital records, updates them, etc. But, what do you know? He found he could upload computer games on 'em and began playing:



That's my brother -- really! -- next to Michael. Such a lucky guy to have a sister like Moi, even if I back up against his car. Eventually, one of the medical technicians stuck his head in and booted Michael off of the computer. I probably should have been the one to tell Michael to get off but I got such a kick of seeing these colorful games juxtaposed against the medical equipment.

As for Mom? She continues to recover. Good color tonight. Always good for color to be good...

MOM UPDATE

Mom's cancer surgery went well today. Went so well that the surgeon said he must share that he is quite proud of his own job. Well, as my brother said, we wanted a surgeon who takes pride in his work.

Speaking of the brother, he came up from southern California for the surgery. And whilst we were catching up with each other's lives, he said that some work-related acquaintance had Googled him and came up with my name. When said acquaintance mentioned it to the brother, he said, "She's my sister."

Acquaintance didn't believe my brother. Apparently, laugh, it's hard to believe my brother would have such a sister as me. Never mind that anybody can tweak the internet to generate a seemingly big presence. Anyway, that provided a welcome bit of comic relief to the day. (It was an unnerving day: I began it by backing my car right onto my brother's car and smashed a taillight into smithereens. I told him the mountain lion likes to eat cars' headlights and taillights and, for at least several minutes there (hah), he believed me...)

Maraming Salamat to the Babaylans for their prayers for a speedy recovery for Mom.

A BIG WEEKEND

First, Jean continues her engagement with SILK EGG! And I like how her second post about moi eggs concludes -- I think the making of art can "stave off anonymity or death." Not necessarily the resulting art (or poem) itself, mind you. But the process of its making. I think all artists know this -- in that space of making, there's not even such a thing as sanity vs insanity. Anyhoo, thanks for the yum yums, Jean.

Second, we celebrated Mom's 81st Birthday! With a book! Yay!

Third, the comments over MOI DESK evolved all Daniel Spoerri-like. Why, I even got an offer for which billionaires would release their billions! Whereas all Moi needed to sing forth, and I did, was the "humble hi-hello-hi-hi"! Here's THE DESK, btw, that has much potential, it seems, to get me into much mischief. But that would make sense -- here's where many poems are born!

MOM JUDGED A POETRY CONTEST

and the results are HERE. Why not? After all, Poetry has healing powers, right? 'Twas a lovely distraction from her cancer treatments, and thank you all who shared your concern -- she's doing well so far!

GETTIN' IN THE SPIRIT

Whilst Moi labors to put out the next issue of Galatea Resurrects, occasional GR reviewer Beatriz Tabios (whose critique of her daughter's poems is often summed up by the word "incomprehensible") relaxes between Gabriela and Achilles.

BEFORE:


AFTER: