Tag Archives: New England

It Bears Repeating


I wrote this a year ago tonight
– apparently – July 17th knows how hot it is supposed to be.

To the Swelter

Heat makes me all crazy.
Or, more crazy-
The haze, and the
breathing in of

Makes my temper rise
my patience

I hate the way everything
to everything else,
or how the car seeps-
heat and the ac doesn’t touch it.

and the only
is hot dogs,
and kids running around
in their underwear,
and ice cream.
And a beer, cold.
And the sound from the blades
of an old box fan,
that quiets the insanity.

Without the Cold


Without the cold – what would we have to talk about?
Where would our small talk go?
If it were always fifty, or sixty-two,
how would we start our conversations?

“Gosh, it’s another mild one out there today”.
“Yah? Heard it’s going to be even milder tomorrow”.

What would we Tweet pictures of in the morning?
How boring is the digital thermometer that reads

And how could we even begin to appreciate
the breath of spring,
if we hadn’t watched our own breath
freeze as we trudged out to work in the am?

Winter, this cold, is necessary-
Feel it  in my bones.
Bones, that ache a little in the morning,
remind me of my age. 

This kind of cold forces you to huddle inside.
You must build fires,
heat your house,
make your own light.

You must cook soup in this weather,
bake cookies.
you must huddle your hands around
your morning coffee, a little tighter.

For – what would we dream of,
if not for winter.
Would we crave  beaches
and bathing suit straps pushed askew?
Would we want for the luxury
of walking outside without a jacket?

We can not love the warmth,
can not bask in the sun,
if we do not suffer the bleak
of midwinter.

I interrupt your regularly scheduled good-will, with Moral Fucking Outrage


I’ve seen your posts this weekend people.  I’ve seen that picture. And I have held my tongue.  The “Your God isn’t Allowed in Schools” picture.  The one that seems to want to say that if God was still allowed in schools then shootings like this would not happen.

And all I’ve wanted to say was fuck you.  Fuck you and your self-righteousness.

Read the rest of this entry

These weeks


My new year starts now.
Tomorrow, early up, get a run in,
( I mean that is the plan),
pack up the boys,
and walk in with the two crates of work I meant to do this summer.
But let’s be honest,
(if that’s what we’re going to do),
I haven’t touched those suckers since I put them in my bedroom,
sometime near the end of June.
Not sure how long I will last tomorrow.
Be it an hour or six, to set up the rhythm,
maybe I’ll wait to make my coffee till I get there.
So that the room smells of the deeply roasted
french pressed coffee, I require to put my teacher face on.

But I end this year tentative –
After a summer worth talking about.
It is rare for me to not be excited about the fall,
about the crisp settling in-
about the colors changing,
about apples measured in pecks and bushels.
about the prospects of shoes.
I mean, I won’t wear shoes that require socks or stockings till –
perhaps October the first,
so long it has been that I have lived in New England,
and believe that one should expose their manicured toes,
till at least the oaks start to turn.

But no, I am not thrilled for this new year,
this is a bit of dread.
And I’m not sure if it’s because the energetic one
begins his new school-
but then, the small one does too.
Perhaps, it is because, like every summer,
I feel like I haven’t even begun to finish all I meant to do.
Or maybe there is a darker shade of grey,
no not the book I avoided all summer,
(because dammit,I get my smut from a third wave feminist magazine)-
Maybe there is something darker besides the night that grows longer.
Or perhaps, after eight years of grown-up September,
I’m just not ready to let my summer go.

Farmers’ knows best.



I probably started reading the Almanac as soon as I could read.  Gram’s copy was always lying around, and I always liked to read graphs and charts (nerd from a young age). I have bought a copy most years since I’ve been a grownup (date of that genesis debatable).  Funny that I missed this blurb.
“28th – 31st. Turning stormy over the Atlantic seaboard, with heavy rains. . .; some wet snow could mix in over . . . New England”
The newest edition is on news’ stands now. With the way weather treats us these days, maybe we should all have one laying around.

Dear. . .


Dear Winter,
Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.  You totally sucked, and I’m a life long New Englander who doesn’t believe in complaining about the weather.

Dear Spring,
Oh hi, so nice of you to show up, what with all the taking your time, and never being early anymore. Well now that you’re here, can we get to the new growth and the warmth and the green already? Read the rest of this entry

And still more . . .


I’ve been working on these lists with my classes for the last two days.  I shared some of my old gratitude lists, and have asked them to work on their own.  As they write, I try to add to my lists. I’ve been thinking a smidgen though, about how to extend the process of all this gratitude.  It is nice enough to make lists, but perhaps there is more to be done with the lists.  Perhaps, instead of lists sitting out in the interwebs I should be more grateful on the spot – let people, and places, and retailers know how much they are appreciated.  I try – try- to be a gracious consumer, and a kind coworker, saving most of my attitude for inside of my house.  And maybe that’s it, maybe – just maybe for the next five days, (and beyond, but you know, baby steps), I can check that attitude at my own door, and be appreciative of the blessings that abound in the confines of my home. Read the rest of this entry

slush fest 2010


You know what I love? Electricity. Damn it’s awesome. Runs your lights and your stove, and your fridge, and your hot water heater, and your pellet stove. Well, normally, unless something takes it out – and renders you without light, and heat, and hot water, and cooking prowess.   Read the rest of this entry