In Search of (Art/Advocacy Cuisine and Travels)

 I write and then I have someone else publish the bit I've done. Sometimes it is a series of nonsequiters which I have easily done. This time I will put windswept out there, ending with a series of haikus..... So early to begin to write, but it has been a process. Most recently I looked at Windswept from 2017, and cannot believe that was 7 years ago!. Three of which have been here in Grand Rapids Michigan!!!! I see my place slowly evolving, with stuff spreading out into different angles in the house. Kind of interesting, the process is an ebb and flow with out criticism. 

 THREE prompts I remember the first time I saw the candy jar at my grandfather’s house. You might just as well you. put a siren on it. It screamed to be noticed.] I don’t remember the last time I saw my Dad before he started to live with me. I knew where he was, but I can’t really remember anything about where it was or even if we talked. It wasn’t at my sister’s house, or even at his house. It wasn’t with my brother. Perhaps it was at my cousin’s daughter’s wedding. I don’t remember.  It has taken me all this time to realize. That every day can actually be a month in my life. That a year can pass by as quickly as a day, especially if every day is exactly the same, and becomes a blur. Kind of like a camera taking periodic still pictures on a day by day basis, where there is no visible change in the days that go by, perhaps minute ones that make a difference. And perhaps those minute differences could be a whole month in and of themselves. However, a day with a new voice, a new...

 So, what happened Saturday, Brendan hung out with me, little rascal, loves to run away from me. And he did that into the woods, no thank you, as much as I don’t like ticks, there he was marching off. It wasn’t until he kind of tripped a few times that he was able to slow down. Missed my Saturday poetry class but tried to listen a little. Next Saturday will be fine.

 So, bits and pieces, is the subject perhaps. We’ll see how this ends out. Tomorrow I start another writing class, kind of writing for the future. It made me think of a new title AND THEN ITS GONE. A KIND OF STORY ABOUT LIFE. A bigger story perhaps too much to write about, perhaps, bits and pieces continues to be the best title so far. I will continue to read stories that perhaps will end out being similar. Check the one year deadline. Perhaps I will get a chapter off and on in this blog and put it all together. I think the first chapters will be, or the first one will be kind of an origins story. Like where those people came from. The Masaba range, was the center for war activity for WWi and then the crash and then the recover for WWII. I didn’t realize this until I started to research photos for equipment used on the Iron Range. Apparently there was dynamite and then digging for the ore, which was then turned into pellets. I remember reading the manuals for taconite production at...

 HAIKU Winter Moon last night Leafless branches cover the view A sliver gone New at the game Title gone for this Haiku Words frame idea Caws machete air Silent walk at morning’s break Footsteps disappear Eyes closed to morning Breath takes the day by storm Eyes closed to morning Finished La Sombra del Viento. The 100 pages tied it all together, yet still I hear the characters talking, telling their stories, the double entendre filled the pages, even made me laugh at times. In the face of the tragedy of Barcelona in the 30s, I had to reread some to see if maybe I missed the point. It was so thick with stories and pain. It explained a lot. The Potrero who took my passport, the chimes that floated. The way I seemed to have to option in that country. It emphasized how oblivious I was in the 60s to the political climate. I don’t know that anyone now could have that luxury, because of mass media, everyone knows everything. The dangers, the killings, the disappearances. The suspicions....

 Source of truth no writing yesterday. But if I were it would be for Poetry and Trauma instead I played with Brendan and we threw sticks for the dog. Full moon “Winter Moon” haiku Dog howls at the moon Snow cover melted below  crocus stems wait buds Midnight sky and Winter Moon Snow melt February nine Brown broken tree limbs  Winter moon midnight sky Barren tree branches broken No new growth today

 IT’S LATE AT NIGHT And it hasn’t escaped me that I have been reading for several hours today. Kind of great. The course “Obssessive Essayist” is over and it was great. And I will see if I can download the outline for my book here. Today was Gigi’s day at the spa. I did get some more paper at Costco and still have more errands to run but tomorrow I have a poetry class. It gets so late so quickly when your mind is filled with ideas and entertained by great writing.  Your name: Barbara Bentz Book title: The Secrets He Kept or Bits and Pieces Introduction: A series of essays on the effort it took to hide the experimentation with chemicals for WWI and WWII and through the 50s, and the impact on one person and his family. The book is an exploration of the attempt to recreate a timeline through research on the Manhattan Project, the use of cloroflourochemicals, mustard gas, and radioactive materials. It is a search for an understanding of secrets and how they are kept, and an attemp...

 INTRODUCTION to my BOOK Not as long as the introduction to the personal essay book.  This book is written not out of the belief that I have something unique to say. Having said that I wonder of course if that is at all true, because I am writing the book after all and I encourage you to do the same. Andy asked use write about what you believe, what you know. And I wrote several hundred words which then slowly were reduced to 20, then 10, then 4 and finally one. Only one word describes what I truly know and that is Love. This is an exploration of a year of noticing perhaps that Love is not what I know but if it is I will have 365 essays about it, and if there is a reader interested in that book, so be it. 

 Discuss Haiku moments or delights Water falling Filtered Light Autumn Dusk Another Birthday Drifting Leaves  Distant Voices Write a phrase to go with this fragments. Frames and Phrases Winters icicles Water falling spreads on ground Sun’s fire spreads its warmth. Filtered Light Blurred edges Spring Rain Autumn Dusk Orange leaves float back and forth Crunch underfoot Another Birthday Candles lit Song sung Presents Children laught and play Drifting Leaves Once caked in gutters Dried by sun Distant Voices Hide City blocks echo  All secrets out While attempting to understand writing in general. I explore the words that images create. Each word an image and an aha! Liminal it’s called, and not so easy to create. A phrase that catches your attention so you want to read more. Grey Morning Walk Bird sounds caw drones through Black feather weaves its way Black trunks and branches Snow covered ground Grass waits Frozen Winter Stream Percussive Sounds Pebbles underneath Old Stove K...

 You would think voluntarily putting myself in a myriad of courses would be a good thing, and it is, kind of, but there is a steep learning curve through all of this technology. Just finished recording a WeVideo of Bits and Pieces.  It is very difficult to listen to my own voice get recorded. But apparently that is true for everyone. Kind of interesting that psychologically we are all instructed to “find your own voice”, and we all easily qualify other’s voices as part of who they are and not separate from their identity. So it is like a birthmark for a wrinkle, or hair color or hair colored sometimes. Part of the weave and warp or whatever of each of us. You hear a voice and you know whose it is. It is kind of true. Except. Except when my daughter was born, every time I heard I child cry, I thought it was her and ran around looking in a panic, thinking why did that baby sitter bring her here, only to find it was someone else’s child. My daughter was still at the sitters. If y...

 This morning is grey, kind of reminds me of that poem I wrote in High School. “Not black, not white it was grey” and then I thought about whether I should write “gray” instead. May one was an American spelling and the other British. Sometimes those kinds of thosghts stop me entirely. No willing to move on to the next line, or the next minute, or next breath. Kind of stops me cold. And I start to breathe again and wonder if I can even remember a poem I wrote so long ago and how much it meant to me to have it published with writings from our class by our English Teacher Miss Tedder. I often wondered what happened to her, during these kind of grey/gray days when the words come in a way that they cannot be stopped. In a time when I think I had an English teacher who wanted me to be true to myself, my authentic self whoever that was and how difficult it was for me to figure out if the words I was writing were from me or actually from someone else.  Now when I write poetry anyway I...

 I had a very disturbing dream last night. It was a leading the lambs to slaughter dream. Perhaps triggered off by what is considered normal behavior, but a bit much for me. All the alcohol. And all the family closeness, like it was too close, and the appearance of stoned, which is pretty obvious to me. Not everyone is perfect and all of those people can tolerate that look, but it is an issue for me. So glad I found at least a few people who are comfortable for me, they do speak only in Spanish and French though. Perhaps I will find others, but it may be difficult in rural Michigan. As long as I keep in contact with friends. Even by phone or zoom it will be ok. Disturbing dream almost too much to write about, I was exhausted yesterday of my own doing. In the dream I rescued a young child,me? Who knows, if I was in therapy I am sure the therapist would help me figure it out. It always so bad I don’t even want to write about it. Maybe that’s what makes Ross Gay so intriguing , he’s d...

 LOVE Saturday in the House, you’d think it was the 4th of July. Odd to have a recurrent song lli]ke this. The word ear worm seems to be the thing lately, but I really don’t like that image of an “ear worm” thinks about it, maybe I’ve been binge watching too many crime shows but there you have it, an ear worm. Kind of sickiening. Instead I have Wildwood flower and it may be nauseating for my poor dog but she still sits down and llistenis. Sweet thing. So I love muy dog and I guess that’s where all of this was headed. 

 If I were to write 365 essays in a year. Kind of an exciting prospect in some ways. Although the obsessive essayist in me says there is a lot of Love out there I am sure to find it everywhere. A regular title perhaps pales in the light of everyone else’s but I am going to write it anyway. As I pursue my interest in this tiny little bit of history. First I still haven’t sent that letter of Release of Information but I have noticed in the process that my best friend from grade school has a lot of experience in pursuing the research in the area. I would say it is out of Love, for the past, for the present and the future. That friends across time and space matter and in unexpected ways can keep you alive and interested in stuff. Is there a more elegant way to explain that? I don’t know.  I do know that I continue to attempt to write a story in 400 words or less that will last 2 minutes or less and will be somewhat  interesting. PICTURES in CAPS  Narrative in regular let...

 Write a cover for a Ross Gay essay five crucial elements. What are the things that are in the essay. A specific cultural referent. Essay reference. Long sentences.  Specific cultural reference Long sentence Doing something and gets distracted by something else.  Ends where it starts.  TRY to write an essayette in the Ross Gay style using 5 markers of that style. Idea is to try on someone else’s style.  37. “To Spread the Sweetness of Love” Clever Thieves It’s not a bd ear worm to have, Stevie Wonder’s “Com Back as a Flower,” from his somewhat overlooked lbutm. THE SECRET LIFE OF plants 91979), an experimental eco-treatise, tinkling. Casio sound effects, birdsong, brooks babbling, all manner of delightful sonic theatrics. This album comes after the string of records in the early seventies that I will go on record as saying is among the finest stretches of artistic production in history, even though anytime someone says something stupidly categorical like that I ...

 It’s a day to remember for Love at least. A day to forget if I stay awake any more. I have thoughts of black feathers floating down, matted into the ground. Crows cawing, aware that one of their own has lost its flight. Mourning the loss. A loss, that at one time was spared by a thin 10 year old human, one whose eyes looked right through you to other side. Accepted by the flock as one of them. A boy who cared for his family, brought wood to the house from the front lawn, who turned it into pieces and flecks and sticks that could finally heat the house. The crows filled their nest with small sticks, sat and waited for the eggs to hatch. Do both the male and female care for their nest? One of the ladies in my group reminded me of the fact in her world, crows are the messengers. 

 Worlds emerge

 Late but ready for you, flapping wings, barking, thoughts flutter.

 Feathers I heard the crows today and wished I had taken out my. Phone to record them. It was what I needed to hear, and the feathers flapping, I wish. But it didn’t happen. So another day for the obsessive essayist to continue writing. I’m glad I have the resources. Today was an odd day. I finally closed the curtains because it was so cold in my house and that was the only chance I had at having someplace warm to sleep and it is working. I have the whole main floor set up as a studio, kind of portable so when I have people over I can take all the quilts and throws off the furniture and it all looks brand new. And my TV and portable information for my music and reading can be rolled into my bedroom. Not good for sleeping but great otherwise. I think I’ll move my chairs upstairs so guests, basically Ma Luisa and Luisita can have a comfortable place to sleep. Better put some hangers up there and have shampoo, bath wash and hand soap for them too. Actually a great idea for the whole h...

 ABAB CDCD EFEF GG Iambic Pentameter I felt the feathers fall to the ground Their passage slowed as wind swept by They spiraled round and round I didn’t know the reason why But I felt their eyes stare my way The crows that knew me once as one of them In a way that meant they wouldn’t stay I was more than once a friend In a way we were as one Their nest held five I rescued one so hopes were high In my house the same number thrived So when Jimmy surrounded by feathers lost his life I heard his family caw so loud I felt their strife SO THE THEME OF FEATHERS. Light weight, lost occasionally, seen on the ground, once lifted an amazing life to heights, through distances, no one could imagine. Lately Crows are seen as life itself, intelligent, family oriented. All of which I didn’t know until I tried to write this small bit for my class on Digital Story Telling. I should send the piece to Anne, and still I haven’t started what I need to do for my class on Monday. I guess I am as light as ...

 “Here Is What I Believe” Write a letter to your younger self, detailing, explaining, sharing, what you now, at this stage of life, truly and wholeheartedly believe. Can start each sentence “I believe”. What age are your drawn to, where are they sitting, what are they wearing, how are they feeling, pragmatic and practical or lyrical and whimsical. Keep short, 250 words, expand later if feeling called. Book of Delights. Page 188 7 more essays, keep writing 1. 7 essays inspired by the anti num of your first word 2. 7 essays the tonal opposite of what you have been writing (praise or complain 3. change one parameter, more time, few words, write every other day 4.write a different form: emails are essays, speech as essay, grocery list as essay RESOURCES: Meander, Spiral, Explode by Jane Allison The Art of the Personal Essay edited by Phillip Lopate Hermit crabs essays: 222.chillsubs.com/writeordie/features/unpacking-the-hermit:crab-essay Brevity. Wordpress.com/2022/05/09/writing-hermit...