11/17/17: Thanksgiving

When I went over to Casey’s house she had made soup for me and I almost cried because of it. She couldn’t have known that it was exactly the gesture that I needed at that moment, but somehow she did. She was just delighting in being able to share with me. Food people are like that, I’ve found. They are mostly prompted to do what they do out of care.

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The cabin in Colorado

Atlas in Rio Grande National Forest, CO

Earlier this week I drove up to Southern Colorado for a day. My old friend Atlas and I met up in the Rio Grande National Forest, which was startlingly pretty with its aspens in early autumn plumage. Atlas lives in Boulder and I live in Albuquerque—we decided t0 meet somewhere halfway between us. We hadn’t seen each other for three years.

Campsites were hard to come by, so I reserved the one spot that was available on such short notice: a small cabin in a mountain valley, just next to the clear and cold Burro Creek. It was a ‘historic cow camp’ according to the NFS sign out front. Built by Simon Off in 1917 and used seasonally on the cattle drive until 1979. ‘Historic’ meant that there was no electricity or running water. No cell reception either. Wood-burning stove. Rickety outhouse. We couldn’t have been happier with it. Continue reading

Winter for the writer: Anne Carson and ancient blindness

While I was in Las Vegas last weekend I picked up a copy of Anne Carson’s first collection of poetry, Short Talks. The Brick Books edition has an introduction by Margaret Christakos, who clearly understands the breadth of Carson’s work. Christakos points out to the reader the themes of winter landscapes in Short Talks, the use of reflection and light as tropes and what those might have to do with snow and ice and growing up in Ontario, as Carson did. Continue reading