Animal talk

Poor Jinx.  A lost ferret must have a very tough life.  Yes, we have a lost ferret in our neighborhood.  His/her name is Jinx.  He/she is very cute.  Like a baby raccoon:

We've been keeping an eye out on our walks.  I'm sure Ella would LOVE to find a ferret, any ferret.  North Main Street is just around the corner from us.  We walk on some part of it almost every day.  I feel bad for the ferret.  It's been cold.  There are other wild creatures out there, and outdoor cats, that likely wouldn't want a ferret moving into their territory.  I wonder how the ferret went "missing".  How do you lose a ferret? Like a dog?  Got off leash?  Do you "walk" a ferret?

Not that I want to be mercenary about it, but the posters - which are everywhere - don't say what you need to do to get the reward.  Do you get it if you call in a tip - "Saw Jinx on Cedar street at 6:45 am"?  Or only if you manage to capture (how the heck do you catch a ferret?) and return Jinx to his obviously distressed owners (do they consider themselves "owners" of the ferret?  or its "mom" and/or "dad")?

Anyway, that's what's happening on the escaped domestic animal front.

In other animal news closer to home, we took Ella to the vet today.  She was to get a booster vaccine, but in the end, didn't.  I wanted the vet to look at a cyst-like thing on her leg.  I was worried about it, expecting bad news.  It turned out to be likely a benign cyst that had become infected.  They drained it, we paid them $200 and they sent us home with antibiotics, probiotics and anti-inflammatory meds.  In two or three weeks she is to go back to have the underlying cyst itself removed surgically.  Cost - about $800 - $1,000.  Ah, well... it's only money...  Like I told the vet, "there goes Christmas!"  Then I admitted I am Jewish.  Ha ha ha.  I am so grateful that it is a benign cyst that the surgery bill seems quite reasonable.  Who couldn't love this cute face (so I feel very sad for Jinx, who has a very cute face him/herself)?

In other hang dog news:

... the Mets lost Game 1 of the World Series in a 14 inning, 5 hour marathon.  I gave up after inning 12, when it was 4 to 4, I think.  The Kansas City Royals seem to be on a mission.  The Mets seem ... well, like the Mets.  Game 2 tonight - along with the next Republican so-called "debate."  

... meanwhile, a 2.8 billion dollar blimp escaped its "mooring" and is floating across the Pennsylvania countryside, knocking out power lines and causing power outages, while two air force (or some sort of military) fighter jets (try to) track it.  How much success you think they're having might be measured by the fact that they've asked "the public" to call in if the blimp is sighted.  

... several hundred people, including hundreds of women and children, captives of Boko Haram, apparently have been rescued by the Nigerian army.  Good, but not enough. #BringBackOurGirls - every single one of them.  Soon.  Today.

Peace, peace, far and near.

Raking leaves

and reading poetry (Wesley McNair, Stuart Kestenbaum, a collection by 4 local women poets), beginning Ta-Nehisi Coates' book Between the World and Me, making potato-leek soup, buying Ella more food, snacks and crispy duck (like duck jerky), trying to find a local store that sells mattress toppers and sleeping with my camping air mattress under the sheet on top of the futon in the meantime, thinking about letting my hair grow long(er), vacuuming and vacuuming and vacuuming up dog hair, dead leaves and wood shavings (tracked up from the cellar by David from the beautiful skin-on-frame kayak David has made for me; skin to go on in the spring), adding leaves to and turning the compost bins, and always, morning (and often afternoon and/or evening) walks with Ella.  This weekend:

Down at the pier on Saturday morning, all the boats except this one had been pulled from the water.  The next morning, all these floating docks had all been pulled out of the water, too, and stacked up on shore.  Now the pier is just ... the pier.  Until next spring.  Then maybe I'll rent a dingy space on the floating docks for my little wooden boat.  And I can walk down to the pier, jump in the boat, and row / sail off into the blue... In the meantime... considering 

The machinations of human beings.  We shout.  We rail.  We murder one another.  We watch children starve with food in our grocery stores, warehouses and refrigerators.  We let people die of disease with drugs to cure them on the shelf.  We lay on our air mattresses and don't know the names of those who sleep on the street, in our own town. Who are we?  Why are we?  

But the Mets are in the World Series, so all is not completely wrong with the world.  My grandson turns 9 on Halloween.  And locally we can help bats, talk death, learn consciousness or serve dogs:

Help Set a World Record and Do Good for Maine Bats, Sat., Oct. 31, 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Maine Coastal Islands NWR Visitor Center in Rockland is one of many host sites across U.S. & Canada trying to build 5,000 bat houses in a day. Call for a time slot to assemble a kit: 594-0600, ext. 5. 

Rockland South End Death Cafe, 4-6 p.m., Sail, Power & Steam Museum, Rockland. Eat cake, talk about death. Not a bereavement session, therapy or grief support. Donations welcome. RSVP: 701-7627. FMI: Death Cafe.com.

Class on Theta Consciousness, 1-4 p.m., Belfast Dance Studio. Led by Deborah Knight Eaton, author of “Going Deep: My Transcendent Journey into Theta Consciousness,” on sale at Coyote Moon, Belfast Co-op, Amazon. $45. FMI: 338-1424, ThetaPatterning@gmail.com.

Dogtoberfest at The Animal House, Fri., Oct. 30, 4-6 p.m., 15 Coastal Market Dr., Damariscotta. Dog beer and sausages will be served. FMI: 563-5595.

Me, I vote for Dogtoberferst.  Ella does, too.

Peace.

Challa-luyah ... and an egg is ...

Highlights of this past week:

With our synagogue Administrator/Hebrew School co-instructor away for two weeks ("forced" to take a trip to Paris with a girlfriend, poor thing), I volunteered to "help" with Hebrew School last week, to bake challah and decorate challah covers with the kids.  Here are some of the results:

The next day, Friday, the Belfast Poetry Festival began, and I was among the 10 finalists of the Maine Postmark Poetry Contest invited to read the 10 winning poems.  To my surprise, my poem was given First Place, and at the event on Friday, I read the poem and received a check for $100.  The poem (called "Before") will also be published in Off The Coast.  Here's a blurb from the publication's website about it:

"The Mission of Off the Coast is to become recognized around the world as Maine's international poetry journal, a publication that prizes quality, diversity and honesty in its publications and in its dealings with poets.

"Off the Coast, a quarterly journal by Resolute Bear Press, publishes poetry, artwork and reviews. Arranged much like an anthology, each issue bears a title drawn from a line or phrase from one of its poems. "Something New To Say To The Sea," the title of the Summer Water Issue in 2010 came from the poem, "The River" by Susan Johnson. ...

"... We believe small presses and literary magazines are the lifeblood and testing ground for all writers. A handful of writers break through to major houses, but a much larger voice would go unheard if not for small presses and literary magazines. ..."

I'm not sure when the poem will appear in Off The Coast.  I believe there's a chance it will make the Fall 2015 issue.   On Saturday David and I attended a panel discussion on "Poetry as a Force for Social Dialogue."  It was good.  One thing we learned is that the state of Maine has recently proposed "updated" rules and regulations for prisoners incarcerated in the state that would make it a punishable offense for a prisoner to write a poem or a story - let alone an essay or a letter - about his or her prison experience if the same were to be published.  Punishment could include up to 18 days in solitary confinement.  (An additional change would make it punishable if a prisoner failed to be "courteous" at all times!!!)  Poets in Maine are active in trying to get these, and some other changes, removed.  Go Poets, Go! (And keep an eye out for similar changes in prison regulations elsewhere around the country!)

Meanwhile, on Facebook someone posted about teaching poetry in schools.  They apparently asked a class of fourth graders to write a poem about what a poem is.  One wrote:  "A poem is an egg with a horse inside."  I love that.  I hope all my poems may some day hatch horses!

This morning there appeared to be a convention of sea gulls at the pier to which Ella and I usually go.  Not only did they cover the pier, but dozens upon dozens more floated in the water on both sides of the pier.  I wonder who the guest speaker was.  At any rate, our arrival caused those on the portion of the pier closest to us to take off, lifting in flight all at once, a beautiful sight.  Meanwhile, see the remaining gulls, lined up at the front of the floating dock, watching the sunrise:

Peace.

And on we go ... a lot about me, fair warning ...

I have been remiss about writing here, and in the space between now and the last post, we've turned the corner from late summer to autumn.  The trees here are not yet quite in full fall dress, but are turning.  We have had cooler days and chilled nights.  Two nights ago it got down to 36 degrees (Fahrenheit).  Good sleeping weather.  Soon it will be time to rake leaves.  Now that our composting bin is in action, I actually look forward to having big piles of leaves.  Browns for the compost pile!  I've pulled out the tomato vines, cucumber plants and added them to the bin.  The basil is leggy and sad, but still standing.  Our carrots, however, are deep, fat and very sweet.  

We finally attached the sail to the mast of my wooden boat.  Well, almost.  We still have to attach the tack to the mast with a downhaul and the clew to the boom with an outhaul and then the main sheet to the boom.  But there sail itself is attached to the mast and boom, the sprit rigging is working as is the halyard.  (Believe me, I know that the foregoing has lost most if not all of my few readers, and I'll leave the sailor's jargon now, but, I want to record here what was actually done).  I am thinking of not trying to put her in the water for a sail this fall.  I feel pushed up against the coming winter.  People are hauling boats out of the harbor.  I am thinking of her first sail in the lengthening sunshine of a spring day.  Not sure yet.

I tried to look back at earlier summer posts to see if I had mentioned anything in this blog about submitting poems to the 2015 Maine Postmark Poetry Contest.  It doesn't look like I did.  But I did - submit poems.  In fact, I submitted four poems.  The deadline was mid-August.  The blurb about the contest said they would announce winners by September 15.  September 15 came and went, and I wasn't contacted.  It wasn't that this was a big thing on my mind, but I was aware of the silence regarding contest results as the date came and went.  Then, lo and behold, a week or 10 days later, I received an email from the contest organizer announcing results.  I assumed it was a mass mailing to everyone who had submitted poems or was otherwise interested in the contest - but it turned out to be an email to the 10 contest finalists, myself among them.  I was amazed and very pleased.  (Poems are submitted anonymously - poem on a sheet without author's name, and separate cover note with author's name, contact information and the poem's title.  The Belfast Poetry Festival had a committee of 5 persons who selected 10 finalists' poems and a single judge who selects the 4 place winners - honorable mention, third, second and first place.  All 10 finalists were invited to come to the festival on October 16 and read their winning poems - including me!)

I tried not to think too much about the next step, but I know I hoped against hope to be among the 4 place winners.  And, lo and behold, only a few days later I received an email informing me that my poem (called, "Before") had won first place.  First place!  Imagine that if you will (I still have a difficult time, even with the email on the screen in front of me).  

This coming Friday evening, I will attend the Belfast Poetry Festival and read my poem.  I am told I will receive a cash prize of $100 and the poem will be published in the Maine journal, "Off The Coast."  I am very nervous.  In addition to the 10 finalists, a long list of other poets and artists will read and perform at the Festival.  Maine seems to sprout poets like the sea bed off of Maine's coast does lobsters.  Really, there are poets everywhere in this state.  (Was that true in other places I have lived, but I was just unaware of it?)  And every poet seems to be highly educated - B.A., M.F.A., professor of this, emeritus of that, current or past Poet Laureate of this or that town (or state).  That is intimidating to me.  I am no professor, I have no advanced or even undergraduate degree.  But I do write poems, have for a long time, more consistently and seriously the last five years or so  However, except for a brief period many years ago, until recently I had not tried to find an audience for my poems.  A few years ago I began sending a few poems to a few poetry contests.   This is the third time a poem of mine has received recognition, and this is the most significant contest to give such recognition.   I hope this will motivate me to work harder on my writing and to continue to seek audiences for my poems.  

Meanwhile, the world turns.  Trump leads the polls in the Republican presidential race, moving from laughing stock to harbinger of dangerous times.  (Read It Can't Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis.)  Bernie Sanders leads Hillary Clinton in Iowa and New Hampshire, but not in South Carolina.  I try to imagine a head-to-head election of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders.  The mind reels.  Mass shootings, Oregon, Arizona, Texas.  Ben Carson - erstwhile presidential candidate and surgeon that will never take a scalpel to my brain - says if Jews had been armed, perhaps the Holocaust would have been prevented.  The mind reels further.

My first social security payment is deposited in my checking account.  I am grateful and believe that I will get by.  At the same time, I wonder how so many others of my generation - including my brother - are able to face the years ahead with any equanimity, given only this pittance to keep a warm bed and a plate of food between them and the wolves at their doors.

The old, the aged, senior, senior citizen, the elderly, geezer, old woman, old lady, old bat - I stand at the door and look across its threshold.  Bring it on!  From "Events & Happenings" in The Free Press I find the following (but we geezers might want to take the later class first, don't you think?):

Rock Climbing for Beginners, 4-6 p.m. on your choice of Oct. 6 or 13, Maiden’s Cliff Parking Lot, Rte. 52, Camden. Led by Northern Vertical. Adults & teens welcome. Ages 13-17 must be accompanied by an adult. $35. 

“A Matter of Balance: Managing Concerns About Falls,” Tuesdays and Thursdays Oct. 6-29, 9-11 a.m., Quarry Hill, Camden. Designed to help seniors stay independent while building strength, stamina. FMI: 602-1657. Free; suggested donation of $10.

Peace.