It’s finally starting to warm up enough so I can get work done in my outside workshop and this weekend I got another cabinet in place in the laundry room. This is the last cabinet I’ll be able to fully build from my recycled plywood pile.
The latest cabinet
The ladder is not holding up the cabinet and you can see the cat food – note our priorities, more treat containers than food cans.
Next step is to get a face frame on this, then I’ll be building a floor to ceiling cabinet to replace the ladder.
On the writing front, I finished a poem, wrote a blog post, and mailed out a few copies of my book to family.
If you need me – I’ll be in the shed putting the ladder away.
A rare sound in my part of the world.The clouds that float over my home are often just fluffy bunnies or prancing puppies. Sometimes they contain rain or are blown by strong winds. But the empty tummy growl of thunder is rare and the stuff of a million Facebook posts.
Earlier there was sun streaming through the window, warming the office.Now, the thunderhead blocks out the sun and the temperature drops sharply – making my cold hands colder.
I sit here struggling over the right words for today’s blog post.Should I be funny or say something of importance? I was looking in my book, thinking I might put my headset on and record a reading of one of the poems.
A few days ago I was reading an article about, “poet’s voice.”That strange way of reading poems that we sometimes fall into – the voice flattens and becomes almost staccato.The sound devoid of drama and taking on an almost unearthly quality where we try to just let the words speak.
Then over head the thunder grumbles, rolls – sounding like a giant empty tummy complaining over the lack of food.Then the rain starts.How long before there is hail?
Perhaps I’m just a bit melancholy.While flipping through, There was a Time, I reread some of the poems I wrote about my mother and I was reminded about her and our difficult relationship.It was just last weekend I attended the memorial service for a friend’s mother and those memories of mother are surfacing again.
As I was considering which poem to record and how I might record without falling into a monotone or starting to cry, the heavens grumbled and the rain hit harder leaving me to wonder if my mic would pickup the falling rain.
A written poem is about the words.A spoken poem is the reader honoring those words with the performance – letting the words fill the heart and put life into the voice.If the words are exuberant so should the voice.If the words are sad, one should be able hear the reader cry.
The rain builds and then tapers off.
My recording is done – flawed and not exactly what I want, but I’ve uploaded it anyway for you to decide.The nature of the poem causes me to fall into that voice of a detached poet.
Perhaps strong emotion causes one’s voice to fail.
You know the internet has taken over your life when you go to the weather website to check the radar to see if it’s raining outside instead of just looking out a window …
First, the weather’s been getting warmer so I’ve been able to get in the workshop, and am working on a cabinet. I’d post pictures, but just how many pictures of cut plywood does the world need?
Second I’ve been giving copies of my book to family and the folks who helped me edit the book. Yesterday I was getting ready to mail out a few copies and realized that I didn’t have any envelopes of the right size, so if I’ve promised you a copy – well I got the padded envelopes last night and am going to the post office today.
I checked my book listing on Amazon yesterday and I’ve received a nice review. Thank you!!!
Next step in my book marketing plan is to start looking for places to do book readings and such. Still a work in progress.
And speaking of work – got to go to my day job now,
Andrew's View of the Week 