Does anyone else remember the board game Come to My House? Not a particularly memorable game, and yet I do remember it. I even still own it! But, as you might realize by now, that’s just how I am.

The point of this quick post is not, of course, to chat you about a 1970s board game, but to tell you that if you want to “come to my house” — that is, take a workshop with me — now is the time to sign up!

Two workshops this fall in Glen Arbor, Michigan:

Saturday, September 26: “A Poet’s Palette: See the World with Fresh Eyes”, which is just a fancy-ish way of saying, “let’s pay attention to imagery and also just write about whatever is on our minds!”

Saturday, October 3: “Hand Weaving on a Round Loom” — looms, fibers (pictured above), warp string, instructions (but not prescriptions) provided by me. Come and experiment.

Deadline to sign up: a week before each class.

I know this Northern Michigan location is not the best for everyone (though it is the best!). I’m on the lookout for opportunities elsewhere, and I will keep you posted.

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Speaking of opportunities elsewhere and as announced last time, I will be joining the Duende Retreats’ trip to Florence as guest writer April 25-May 2, 2027! That’s the last week of this potentially four-week immersive trip. You can go for one, two, three, or four weeks, but if you only do one, choose the fourth and hang out with me in Italy. Time to sightsee, of course, and to write, read, relax... shop!... whatever you like. This is not a full-blown workshop, just some very light instruction, if you’re so inclined, in a beautiful and inspiring place. Deadline to sign up: September 1. This is not a women-only trip, but kind of. Check out the website, and of course let me know if you have questions. And if you want to read a classic novel set (partly) in Florence, that would be E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View. I’m re-reading (that is, listening) to it now, and the writing is so good. And so funny.

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And, now without further ado, here is Come to My House. The objective? “To collect all the snacks on your list and get back to the playground first.” Hahaha! This is so me.

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Thank you as always for reading. I’ll be back soon(-ish) with first reports from the semester. Yes, indeed: my classes have begun! SIGH. I hope your summer goes on... at least in your imagination.

Way-back-when when I first began teaching at West Virginia University, I was given a recently-vacated office with a sign on the door that said something like “A Reader lives here.” I promptly removed it.

I am a reader, of course, but I don’t consider myself a Reader. Yes, I own many, many books, and I often have one (or several) nearby, but reading page after page speedily (or at least efficiently) clear through to the end... ? Yeah, no, as we say in Michigan.

As I’ve written before, reading is part of my job, and in that case I do read carefully — and as speedily as possible. But for myself, I prefer slow reading and just recently decided that not finishing books is fine. I should stop fretting over this and just love the sentences that I love.

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I should have learned (to accept) this lesson long ago, because when I was in college, I had a professor who once came to class and announced that he had not finished the book he had assigned. Turns out, he had never fully read it before assigning it to us (I understand...) and didn’t like it when he did. The book? Mary McCarthy’s The Group. Most instructors, I think, would feel obliged to keep reading. Not this guy. Good student that I was, I had read the novel and liked it well enough, and I was surprised and a bit put-off that the professor had declined to persevere. Can’t remember what happened in class. Dismay? Probably. Relief? Yeah, that too. Mutiny? Probably not, unfortunately.

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Sometimes, students tell me that they’ve not finished reading a book or that they did an assignment at the last minute or that they are in some other way not prepared for class. Don’t tell me!, I always respond. I mean, seriously: keep it to yourself. We all make decisions based on time / energy / inclination / moods. That’s just Being a Student/Person 101. But don’t tell the teacher.

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I used think bookshelves said “I’ve read these books!” Now I know that bookshelves, or mine anyway, say, “I’ve read these books!” and “Some of these!” and “I’d like to read this and this and this!” and even “I’m never reading this, but here it is!”

It’s all ok.

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Some books are meant to keep us company for a time or in a certain location (bedside or kitchen table, at a cottage or on a plane, or etc.) and no more and that’s enough. You don’t always need to read every word! That’s me telling me, of course. And yes, writers, I know: you want people to read your words! Me too. Mostly. But also I’m ok with knowing readers get what they need when they need it. Even with story-driven books. Plot is not my main interest. Usually, when I read back cover copy, I’m like “What?! Come on! This is ridiculous!” Pretty covers lure me in. Jacket copy and blurbs frequently make me roll my eyes and set the book down. I feel exhausted before reading a single word of the actual novel. This is also why I find writing blurbs so challenging.

So what gets me to buy/check-out a book and actually read (at least part of) it? Sentences that sound good and tell me something I need to feel/think more about.

Here’s an example from Katherine Mansfield’s short story “Bliss,” which I just read (with interruptions!) this morning:

“What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome, suddenly, by a feeling of bliss — absolute bliss! — as though you’d suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle, into every finger and toe?...”

Ok! Yes! I, too, at 30 and at many other ages, have often wondered how to describe that rush of feeling Mansfield is doing quite a good job of capturing. The main character, Bertha, continues to feel and to try to express this bliss, and, of course, things are not what they seem (are they ever, truly?), and the story takes a swift turn towards the end as we know it must because that’s how stories go.

When I read a sentence like Mansfield’s, I stop, set down the book, stare into the middle distance (as one is wont to do/say), and just think/feel for a minute or more. You can see why I make slow progress, and that sentence is only paragraph two!

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It’s the flavor of the thing. It’s the experience of myself, reading. Of the sounds and textures of words. Of the workings of my own mind. Of the middle distance and what’s there.

Stopping and starting.

That’s what I like about reading.

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Same with weaving, which is why this post begins with a picture of an in-process weaving. I’ve been stopped at this point for a week or two. What’s next? I don’t know! I haven’t felt that far ahead yet. This is my slowdown, analog summer, remember?

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I sometimes mention books in my poems, and you can too. It’s a good way to add depth — a little window into your sensibility. Here’s an example, which appeared in Raleigh Review:

EVERYTHING FILTERED THROUGH SOMETHING ELSE


Not quite the end, the main characters swim in the ocean. 
It’s after dark. Fifty pages to go. A reprieve.
How did Camus know to do that?
Most days, edges overlap, so I guess this is still the middle.
Or a thing reverberates a long time and grows famous.
I’m used to, but not quite over, what hurt me.
At the cemetery, I water the flowers, clip the grass and weeds. 
The reason to make art is to be yourself before it’s too late.
What do you hope to remember from the experience? 
I don’t want contentment to be out of the question.

The “trick,” if that’s what it should be called, is not to feel like you’ve got to explain everything: the book, the plot, why you’re reading it, etc. That stuff will bog you down. I once heard Jean Valentine say that you should write as though “to someone who understands everything.” Now, just because someone “understands everything” doesn’t mean there is no mystery; rather, Jean was talking about writing from/to a place of intimacy. In other words, sound like yourself talking to someone you’re comfortable talking to. Don’t sound different just because you’re writing a poem. Poems are not academic writing. They are not journalism. They are not outlines or talking points. They can convince you of many things (including, often, what you already know but are reluctant to acknowledge!), but not by hitting you over the head repeatedly or sounding “important” in some weird way.

A light touch. That’s best, almost always. On and off the page.

Here’s a link to another poem, published by On the Seawall, that also mentions a book and sticks with it for some time.

Usually, if I include a book title or a quote in a poem, that means I was reading and saw something that connected with some other thought or feeling or bit of language I already had, and I put the book down and began to write. Yet another reason I don’t get through books very quickly!

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Ok, at last, the cake part of Cake & Poetry. I enjoy making my own birthday cake each year, and this time I did a Wellesley Fudge Cake but with chocolate buttercream, which I prefer. Books I might just nibble at, but cake I eat down to the last crumb, as one should.

Workshop reminders!

Two upcoming workshops at the Glen Arbor Art Center in Northern Michigan:

On Saturday, September 26, a poetry workshop.

On Saturday, October 3, a workshop on weaving in-the-round.

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On Tuesday, September 15, I’ll be giving a talk (“Don't Miss a Beat”) at the Peninsula Writers’ Elk Lake Retreat. If you’re part of that group, I will see you then.

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And now, for a very special announcement: next April, I will be guest writer during the last week (April 25-May 2, 2027) of Duende Retreats’ Immersion in Florence, Italy. Very exciting!! Want to know more? Check out their site or reach out to me.

This lemon, yet to be eaten, seems a perfect metaphor for all we’ve been discussing, doesn’t it?

I hope this July finds you reading good things, cover to cover, or enjoying dipping in and out of books just as one might take a quick swim to cool off. Thank you, as always, for reading Cake & Poetry — quickly or slowly, with interruptions or not, every word or just the ones that catch your eye. It’s all good. A Reader/reader lives here.

— Or should that be Slow Down, Summer—?

An adjective describes the kind of summer I’m trying to have (analog, as everyone is saying nowadays), while a verb asks for some cooperation from Summer itself. How can it already be the end of June?!?! NO. Just no to that.

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The view above was early June: Assisi, Italy. My room looked out over the valley. The air was hot by mid-day. The feeling was dream-like. There were church bells. Time felt slowed-down. It was as Summer should be.

Alas, things long anticipated, like trips to Italy and analog Summers— do happen and —poof!— they’ve over. Again: No. Just no.

So, not quite July as I write this, I’m doing my best to slow myself down even if I can’t slow down the season.

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And what am I doing to slow down?

Well, seemingly small things, like really listening to first-thing-in-the-morning sounds: the chirping of birds out my window even before I open my eyes; the soft sound of fur as my dogs shake and fluff themselves up for the day and a little later the sounds of their play-growls as they chase each other around the kitchen; the sound of the water going into the Nespresso canister and the lid snapped into place, followed by the sound of machine starting up and the coffee dripping into the cup. All these small, soothing moments: they are readily available, even as, yes, there are apps for just this!

I’ve also been trying to take one silent walk a day. No dogs. No audiobook. Sure, I’ve still got my thoughts, but I’m better attuned to birds, wind, church bells... and, yes, lawn mowers and delivery trucks and all the rest. Poems are made of just this mix of things: thoughts and sounds and breezes and memories and interruptions. A “quiet” walk becomes a poem as you go. So there’s an assignment, if you’re needing one.

Walking in my own garden is one of my favorite summertime things to do. Multiple times a day I check the progress of the tomatoes and green beans and blueberries and all the rest. It’s more than a little thrilling to attend to the rose buds as they open over the course of a few days or sometimes even just one day. Is there anything seemingly small that you’re enjoying keeping track of?

Though I bake year-round, unless it’s Christmastime, I usually don’t take on more time-consuming projects. Last week, though, I finally baked the homemade version of Hostess cupcakes, a staple of my childhood. So many steps! And, at first, I didn’t love the result. But sometimes cake tastes better the next day, and I liked these cupcakes more and more. So if you remember the Hostess version and want to harken back to those and make something a little fresher and fancier, I do recommend these.

The hardest part: making those loops on top. I definitely need to practice that.

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Speaking of loops... Here’s a new weaving, “Hither and Yon.” Not sure if I’m happy with these loops either, but I’ve decided to leave them be (for now).

A reminder that I’ll be teaching a workshop on weaving in-the-round this fall at the Glen Arbor Art Center, Saturday, October 3. A week before on Saturday, September 26, I’ll be offering a poetry workshop. Please note the updated description for that one.

I know that Glen Arbor is not convenient for most readers of Cake & Poetry. I’m always happy to offer a workshop (poetry or weaving or creativity or you-name-it!) elsewhere. Just let me know. Zoom is also possible.

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In the spirit of slowed-down-ness, I’m also noticing how things happened-upon have a certain magic. I’ve known this, but, also, keep learning it. In Italy, happened-upon-ness is almost the rule. I was forever rounding corners and coming upon a gorgeous church dedicated to a saint I had never even heard of (San Crisgono!??!) or “just” a “simple” Madonna and child decorating the side of a building. The planned-for sites and sights and sighs are lovely too, of course, but I think I prefer these unexpected moments.

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So that’s the spirit I’m trying to take into Summer: slow down, look up, listen.

And speaking of spirits, I’m channeling the energy of this little lady, a birthday fairy, who has been hanging around in anticipation of my birthday this month.

She’s got her wings, she’s got her lantern, she’s patiently ready for whatever’s to come.

Here’s hoping you can say the same during this magical season.

I had been calling this post “May and Mystery.” Sounded weird, though! We don’t typically associate May with mystery. Instead, May feels bright, open, inviting. Everything coming to light. But I find that when May arrives and my semester ends, what I am most looking forward to is “getting back to my own mind,” as I always say. What I really mean: getting in touch again with my own mysteries after a semester of to-do lists and grading rubrics and gesturing, best I can, to the mysteries each student writer is (gingerly) approaching.

It’s time to get my hands into the dirt of my own garden. Time to go at my own pace. Time to return to the mysteries at hand.

By way of example, here’s a Poet’s Daffodil doing its own thing.

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Indeed, I have been so caught up doing my own thing that Cake & Poetry is coming to you a little later than I intended. Sorry about that!

Among the mysteries I’ve been probing was a recent dream about a lion. It’s not every day (night) that one dreams about a lion. Or, at least I don’t. Earlier that day I had seen in a lion in a stained glass window, so, yes, that explains it. I mean, I guess!? The windows were full of interesting things; the lion wasn’t even the most interesting. But the psyche wants what it wants, right? I closed my eyes, and the lion showed up.

Dreams often feel like poems (and vice versa), but writing a dream can be difficult.

“Dreamy” can be a good thing, or it can just mean unclear, unavailable, finally uninteresting.

Jean Valentine’s work often feels dream-inspired and dream-like in good ways. “Door in the Mountain” is a nice example. It has that shimmer.

I’ve written about dreams a number of times. I think the strangeness of dreams usually requires a direct approach. Never make anything stranger, or dreamier, than it is. Don’t poem it up! Lay out the mystery as clearly as you can. Only then will the good dream energy shine through.

Same with writing about other experiences that feel, like dreams, beyond words, as in this poem from The Return from Calvary which describes an encounter, I guess that’s the word, I had with my father shortly after he died.

The experience was mysterious enough; I tried to write it as straightforwardly as possible. So that’s my advice if you want to write about dreams (and spiritual experiences and etc.): be direct. Don’t get the fog machine revved up! Let us see the mystery clearly. Don’t let your dream poem become as tiresome as listening to other people’s dreams often is! Yikes, but you know it’s true.

But wait — did the lion dream become a lion poem? Yes, it did! Stay tuned.

Moving from the mysterious to the annoying, let’s discuss sugar cookies for a moment. They’re such a pain to make I only ever do so at Christmas — and often not even then. But now, thanks to my friend Laura, I am a fan of Smitten Kitchen’s “unfussy” and somewhat fancy-looking sugar cookies. Ditching cookie cutters in favor of random shapes cut with a serrated knife made everything so much easier! Genius idea. These were a hit with my students (and I ate quite a few myself...).

I also recently tried the recent NYT scone recipe. They’re huge! And quite good. Next time, I’ll make smaller ones.

I wish I had taken the time to get a better pic of this Lemon Snacking Cake with Coconut Glaze, but anyway, it’s good! Another NYT recipe. I swapped the sour cream for Greek yogurt.

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I’m always reminding you about workshops I’ll be teaching. For instance: next up is the Pop-up Poetry Workshop on June 20 on Zoom with Kelly Ritter. Want more info? Message me!

Sometimes, though, I like to become a student again myself and delve into mysteries that way, and spring/summer is often the perfect time for that. In recent years I’ve taken workshops sponsored by Highlights (which now goes by the not-that-catchy name “Boyds Mills”). Remember Highlights Magazine? Going to the dentist will forever make me think of Goofus & Gallant! IYKYK!

I’ve also taken workshops sponsored by Jane Friedman. She writes about the publishing industry.

My most recent class, just ending, was offered through Boston College’s Clough School of Theology and Ministry. “Mapping Your Inner Landscape” focused on figures such as Thomas Merton, Elizabeth Ann Seton, Henri Nouwen, Jane de Chantal, and someone who was new to me: Fr. Greg Boyle, SJ, founder of Homeboy Industries. Boyle emphasized how helping others really only works if it’s a reciprocal relationship: “can you be reached?”

(Maybe dreams are one way we’re reached / reach out to ourselves——? Hmmm... I need to think about that. Poems are about reaching the self and others, though perhaps in different ways/to varying degrees. More on that in the future!)

In class, it was interesting to respond to and read others’ responses to questions about creativity, solitude, friendship, simplicity, balance, and gratitude, and to realize how much my thinking is informed by being a poet and, maybe more significantly, a teacher. Being receptive is a big part of writing and teaching. It’s not always (or even mostly) about what you “want to say” or what the lesson of the day is; those things can get you started, but they can’t take you all that far. As I’ve said before, at their best, writing and teaching are improvisational. Openness (to other people, to the moment itself) is key. Engagement with what it is. As Father Boyle said, there’s a difference between being watched and being seen. Interesting to think about this in the context of teachers and students.

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Surprisingly (or maybe not), the Boston College class on spirituality often made me think of my language classes over the years, both in school and online. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I’ve been doing Duolingo since 2020 (!) and now Babbel, too, for just over a year. They each have their pluses and minuses (which I should discuss in a different post), but one thing that have in common is they often use humor and/or rely on surprise and subverted expectations to prompt learning and memorizing. Duolingo includes stories that are frequently about more “serious” characters (Lucy, Oscar, Vikram, Bea, Zari) getting a gentle comeuppance from lazy or silly or moody ones (Lin, Eddy, Junior, Lily). Babbel frequently hilariously mismatches pictures and vocabulary. Here are two good examples.

I think the spiritual teachers I read about in my BC class would appreciate the humor here. A light touch is often a good idea.

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POST Detroit offers lots of good arts/crafts workshops, and I’ve taken a weaving class there. I also like their store. Lots of good gifts. If you are in the Detroit area, I recommend stopping by.

And speaking of weaving... one of my weavings, “I’ll Stop Here,” is currently on display at the Glen Arbor Art Center.

The GAAC is where I’ll be offering a weaving workshop on Saturday, October 3, and, a week before, on Saturday, September 26, a poetry workshop.

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What are you learning about these days? And are there any online classes, on any topic, that you recommend? I’d be happy to hear about them. Art history is of particular interest.

Or is there any poetry/writing/art-making/creative practice class you’d like me to offer online? I’m open to suggestions!

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The other “class” I had been “taking” — my beloved barred owl cam — is over for this year. The owlets have graduated to flying (even the littler one who waited an extra few days), and the camera has been turned off. Honestly, I did feel rather emotional about it! I guess in this case the owlets have solved some mysteries (leaving the box, flying) and are working on others, while their “disappearance” and my feelings about it are new mysteries for me.

Gardening is a science and takes skills and benefits from good weather and good luck, so it’s not exactly mysterious, but when you grow from seeds or bulbs or tubers, there’s an element of the unknown, the unseen, the must-be-waited for. And gardening is always a learning experience, that’s for sure.

My Christmas tradition (these last two years) has been to plant bulbs in pots on my three-season porch. These tulips were some of this year’s best.

And now I’ve planted this year’s dahlia tubers, and they are busy working on their own mysteries. Or, I guess just doing what they know to do. Right! Me too.

As Spring really comes into its own (and Summer soon), I hope you, too, are able to work in the garden, delve into mysteries, do what you know deep down to do, and move at a pace that suits you. Thank you as always for reading.

A rabbit nibbles the edge of every new thing. Or my under-the-front-steps chipmunk, Norman, eats the just-bought pansies down to the dirt. It’s sunny and warm one day... then extra windy... then snowing!... then mild again. Such is April.

I’m happy to be here, end of winter, but still longing for warmer weather, more time in the garden, the return to my own mind that, luckily for me, summer offers.

At a recent reading, I read “Too Much Too Soon Too Little Too Late,” the final poem from The Return from Calvary, which includes the line “My pedagogy is rose/bud/thorn, with emphasis on the bud.” After the reading, someone asked what my bud is these days. Summer in Michigan, I said, not missing a beat. I’m trying not to wish away the pretty days right now, but if you’ve ever spent time in Michigan in the Summer, you know — it’s so nice!

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But, meantime, I’m trying to stay focused on the bud that is April, enchanted as it can be — as the novel of that name so well invokes. Enchanted April is, in fact, one of my favorite books (and the movie is good too), and I’m reading (listening) to it again this month and willing myself to be whisked away, at least in mind if not all the way to Italy, as in the novel. At the same time, of course, I’m busy with the (too) many and various end-of-semester tasks. Harrumph!

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Speaking of the too-muchness that is often with us... my students in ENGL 313/314, a poetry and nonfiction workshop, have been writing pieces that allow personal experience and points of view to intersect with larger ideas and issues, with past, present, and future. In preparation we read work by Phil Levine (“They Feed They Lion”), Rita Dove (“Parsley”), and John D’Agata (“Round Trip”), among others.

Before writing, my students did free writing to these prompts:

• If you could live in another time period, when would it be and why?

• Have you ever gone somewhere “famous” and discovered it was different than you imagined?

• Who is your most interesting relative and why?

• How do you fit into your family’s history?

• The news is full, always, of upsetting things, but what, specifically, bothers you?

Any of one of these prompts could lead to good writing. Better yet, combining more than one (or even all of them) could have surprisingly interesting results.

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My students also wrote a poem following this line-by-line prompt:

Line 1: something you saw outside today

Line 2: what you thought first thing this morning

Line 3: something from the news

Line 4: an early childhood memory

Line 5: a particular shade of green — an image for that

Line 6: a sound you can hear right now

Line 7: a fear you have

Line 8: mention someone else and address them

Line 9: your wildest dream

Line 10: what is getting in your way?

Line 11: an animal you saw recently and what it was doing

As always with line-by-line prompts, results vary. You might have more lines. Or, if you write like I do, maybe fewer. But the goal is to move between “here and now” and “then and there,” inside the mind/self and beyond, simple observation and disclosure.

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In my fall poetry workshop in Glen Arbor, Michigan, I plan to encourage students to allow their poems to include everything that is on their minds. We can explore color (the workshop’s ostensible focus) during wellness month (the art center’s overarching fall theme) AND mention things in the news, let’s say. Poetry is big enough — even when poems look quite small — to accommodate all of these things.

As a reminder, that workshop will be Saturday, September 26, 1-3 pm in Glen Arbor, Michigan. Title: A Poet’s Palette — See the World with Fresh Eyes.

I’m also very happy to announce that I’ll be doing a Pop-Up Poetry Workshop on Zoom with Kelly Ritter, dear friend and wonderful poet, on Saturday, June 20, 12-3 pm. This will be a workshop plus craft talks that will be curated (yes! curated! fancy!) just for you. Send me a message if you want more info.

And a reminder about my upcoming weaving workshop in Glen Arbor on Saturday, October 3, 1-3 pm. Title: Hand Weaving on a Round Loom — I’ll be providing the materials (round looms, tapestry needles, warp thread, and all fibers needed), and you’ll get a chance to learn some basic weaving stitches and experiment with a piece of your own design.

To get you excited about weaving, here’s my latest, yet to be titled.

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Ok, now, let’s get caught up on some baking!

I recently tried a new and rather sophisticated and absolutely delicious banana bread recipe from The NY Times. This Cardamom Coffee Banana Bread is a keeper. I still love my tried and true recipe, which I’ve mentioned before, but it’s good to have a variation.

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For Easter, I made some chocolate peanut eggs. Easy! These would be a good Girl Scout project. I always think things like that, even though I was a Girl Scout for only a few months way long ago. At some point, I need to post about my collection of Girl Scout Handbooks.

I also made a bunny cake, using the simple recipe that came with the pan. Novelty cakes are never my best work, but cute nonetheless.

One of the real enchantments of April has been watching an owl cam. I love love love this barred owl and I consider her “mine” now, which I’m sure she’d be thrilled to learn.

So much of what’s online is just terrible, but the owl cam... now that’s a good thing!

I should probably mention my owl in a poem, shouldn’t I? Stay tuned.

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And, as always, thank you for reading. Happy Spring, happy baking, write it all into your poems, and keep on the lookout (online and off) for owls and chipmunks and rabbits and things in bloom and fairy houses and every other enchantment you can find. Much needed, all of it, don’t you think?

Each week, I ask my students to give themselves what I call a P&P grade: that is, preparation and participation. This grade tries to take into account everything I can see and everything happening behind the scenes. Students grade themselves, and I agree or disagree. It’s rare for me to lower their grade; much more often I’m telling them we needn’t be so harsh. Zero points out of 10?!? No! Don’t do that!

The importance of the P&P grade is not the grade itself, which seldom ends up strongly influencing the overall course grade, but the act of reflecting, in an ongoing way, on how one is showing up. The P&P grade is also an easy way for me to communicate with students individually. I can thank them for their participation or note that they’ve been quieter or encourage them to say “just one thing next week.” The P&P grade is both small and significant. That’s what I like about it.

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January ~ February ~ March ~ even April, sometimes... these months feel very 8 or 9 out of 10 in terms of my own preparation and participation. I’m sort of hunkered down in the semester, in the cold and snow or the cold and rain, doing what’s next and trying to look ahead without getting ahead of myself. Not the easiest months, are they? This post, too, feels a little late. Not that you’re waiting, I realize, but in any case, thank you for your patience and for reading now.

And what about you, what’s your P&P grade this week or month?

I’ve had less time to bake than I’d like but still did manage to make Valentine’s Day treats for each of my classes: one box cake mix + some additions and a pale pink buttercream; one from-scratch cake with a dramatic pink frosting; one box brownie mix + extra chocolate, in the shape of heart. As always, my sprinkle game was strong, and as is often the case, little things make a big difference.

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Feb-March are busy birthday months in my family, and I made Oreo cupcakes (any chocolate cake recipe + homemade vanilla buttercream + Oreos crumbled and whole, triumphant, on top) and a rather classic chocolate cake (Hershey recipe, though I used Ghirardelli chocolate) to celebrate two recent birthdays.

Turns out, my poetry/nonfiction undergrads really like my writing prompts. Good to know!, I told them, because I’m never sure. In any case, here’s some of what they’ve been writing about. Maybe there’ll be something here for you, too:

• Let’s say today is an animal. What animal is it?

• What’s your biggest obstacle right now?

• What’s a small image from the last few days that encapsulates how you’ve been feeling?

• What’s your favorite question to ask other people?

• Describe your spirituality in three words.

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We’ve also been reading a lot of good things lately, including Greg Orr’s poems and parts of his memoir, The Blessing, and Tom Andrews’ poems and parts of his memoir, Codeine Diary. It’s been really interesting to see how these two writers, both primarily poets, “deal with” the same material in different genres. Highly recommended.

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I’m also happy to tell you about this interview, which I did in December with the very kind Tiffany Troy, of Tupelo Quarterly. We talked about grief, music, book structure, baking, time travel, whimsy... all the usual things!

As for my weaving P&P grade... well, I’ve definitely been in more of a preparation phase, but I have completed two new weavings.

The first, “Butterfly Garden,” is quite small and was occasioned by a gift from one my grad students, Emily, who has been spinning her own yarn. The colorful bits in the middle are from her.

The second weaving, “My Favorite Prayer,” had to be unwoven quite a bit — in keeping, perhaps, with the, um, spirit of the times. I had taken it to the top edge and then realized that wasn’t right. I’m happy with this result, which leaves space within the “prayer,” as is best (no?).

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Just a reminder that I’ll be teaching poetry and weaving this spring and next fall at the Glen Arbor Art Center. Maybe you or someone you know would like to join me?!

Saturday, April 11, 1-3 pm: A Poet’s Palette — Spring Renewal

Saturday, September 26, 1-3 pm: A Poet’s Palette — See the World with Fresh Eyes

Both of these workshops will focus on the use of color in poetry as we seek to make memorable images and discover powerful metaphors. There’ll be time to write, share work, and receive feedback.

Saturday, October 3, 1-3 pm: Hand Weaving on a Round Loom

I’ll be providing the materials (round looms, tapestry needles, warp thread, and all fibers needed), and you’ll get a chance to learn some basic weaving stitches and experiment with a piece of your own design.

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I’ll end on something one of my undergrads said this week during a conference: “It’s not a crime to be corny.” I can’t remember the context, and he seemed to be telling himself more than me, but amidst the relentlessness of so much of life these days, hearing this comment about what we usually consider tired/overly sentimental/cliché felt surprisingly refreshing.

It’s for moments like that that I really like doing student conferences. I never know what small thing is going to help me understand a student (or myself!) just a little bit better.

Often, writing Cake & Poetry is the same way: in telling you something small or familiar, I rediscover it for myself.

A 10 out of 10 moment, for sure.

So thank you for helping me make my rediscoveries. I hope this post helped you make some (re)discoveries, too.

Very tough days. Upsetting times. It’s difficult to remain hopeful. Winter, too, is in full force, though that’s just what it is and I’m mostly ok with that. Also, lately there have been some very bright days — literally, I mean. Cold for sure — even Kip and Polly dash back inside — but the sun makes a huge difference. As always, Cake & Poetry is about these (so-called) little things, the small delights and often quiet practices that are a real help. I hope something in this post is a help to you.

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Seems to me, baking is hopeful. An investment of time and energy with, more often than not, a delicious payoff, especially in the case of this Seven-layer Cake, which I had long been wanting to make. It was, if I do say so myself, amazing! I used this recipe but did a simple chocolate icing, which I prefer. That’s coffee buttercream between the layers.

Another recent project: Pain aux raisins. Next time, I’ll use Michigan dried cherries and bake these a little longer. But for a first-time, two-day bake, I’m happy with the results and was pleased to bring these to work to share with other faculty and grad students.

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And, yes, school has indeed begun again.

Teaching by its nature is a hopeful profession, and writing too, it seems to me, has hope built into it.

At the beginning of the semester, we often do a lot of in-class writing and sharing aloud to get going and remind ourselves of our own creativity. So far, my students have been writing in response to these prompts:

• describe a doorway you’ve walked through recently

• have you ever received or written a love letter?

• what are you waiting for?

• what would you consider an acceptable loss?

• describe (imagine) the sky the day you were born

• describe a time someone said no to you

• describe a winter memory

• what’s perfect for you?

• you’ve seen something astonishing (in a good way) — what was it?

Once they generated some writing, my students developed one of these answers into a longer piece OR combined all their answers into one poem (which is what I would do). Do these topics go together? Yes, of course: the common thread is you.

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I’ve also asked one of my go-to questions: if you were a bird, what kind would you be?

Answers: raven (2), pigeon, bluejay, cardinal, hummingbird, sparrow, dove, wren, owl (3), eagle, starling, goose.

My answer: either a white duck with orange feet or a snowy owl.

What about you?

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Next: write as that bird. Not as in, “I look down on the trees...” but with the mindset of a bird. Know what I mean? No need to say “I am bird”... just allow your thinking/perceiving to be different.

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I’m happy to share some new poems recently published in On the Seawall, a consistently interesting journal that is also one of my favorites.

And this morning I was remembering this poem and, in particular, these lines: “Light snow that night. / The weather saves me daily. / So much else is bullshit.”

CRUSHED


—like a paper cup. 
Some dumb thing.
But so what? Lots more 
where that came from.
Sliver of blue morning. 
Much is interchangeable, but not this.
And this is nothing 
in comparison, I know,
to my father’s 1000 days of let me go.
And now it’s his blue evening
every evening forevermore.
They zipped him in a bag 
and wheeled him from the house.
Light snow that night.
The weather saves me daily.
So much else is bullshit.  
He planted these roses
once upon a time
with his bare hands. 

The poem appears in The Return from Calvary.

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I’m also very happy to say that some of my weavings recently appeared in The Glacier, another of my favorite journals. These three weavings (“Nancy’s Mysterious Letter,” “Privately,” and “Happily, No”) are among my favorites. I’m still learning how to say why these weavings are successful. Something about color (monochromatic, mostly); something about texture (variations, chunkiness); something about unexpected moments. It’s interesting to be learning the craft of this new-to-me art and to discover the language to describe what works and what doesn’t.

Three new weavings [“Can You Imagine,” “I Would If I Could (Cocoon),” and “Untitled (pink streamers)”] are also pleasing to me. They feel a little different; I like thinking about them.

Interestingly, all three of these weavings included times of having to unweave and re-imagine. I think it has something to do with the world.

Speaking of poetry and of weaving... I’ll be teaching this spring and next fall at the Glen Arbor Art Center.

Saturday, April 11, 1-3 pm: A Poet’s Palette — Spring Renewal

Saturday, September 26, 1-3 pm: A Poet’s Palette — See the World with Fresh Eyes

Both of these workshops will focus on the use of color in poetry as we seek to make memorable images and discover powerful metaphors. There’ll be time to write, share work, and receive feedback.

For the first time, I’ll also be teaching a weaving class!

Saturday, October 3, 1-3 pm: Hand Weaving on a Round Loom

I’ll be providing the materials (round looms, tapestry needles, warp thread, and all fibers needed), and you’ll get a chance to learn some basic weaving stitches and experiment with a piece of your own design.

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Questions about any of these workshops? Let me know! Know someone else who might be interested? Let them know!

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One reading coming up, too: Thursday, March 26, 7:30 pm, I’ll be reading at WVU in the Milano Reading Room.

These days feel like an endless loop of frigid (and short) walks, student poems/stories/essays, doom scrolling, and buying tubers and seeds and other things for the garden. So, movement and work and despair and hope. I’m sure many of you can relate.

Also, though, there are good surprises, as when I went to my childhood library for a book sale and happened upon this sweet statue, “The Two Bears” by Marshall Fredericks, which I had not seen in many years. Fredericks taught at Cranbrook Academy of Art and had a studio very near my home in Michigan. Alas, in recent years, the studio was torn down and has been replaced by a mildly ugly office building.

Another lovely surprise: this snowscape one early morning in my yard.

I find this picture so soothing. Hope you do, too. And, as always, thank you for reading. Take good care.

Is it magical? I said that, pretty sure, to my friend Rosemary who was visiting. Or did she say it to me? Our conversations are so interesting and zip along so well that it’s sometimes hard to remember the exact play-by-play, but I did write that down right away — is it magical? — knowing that’s what I wanted to look for this season.

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As often happens, I’ve begun this post multiple times. Christmas has come and gone. Or, not quite gone, right?; after all, the Twelve Days of Christmas are now, though it never quite feels like that.

Still, I’m trying to stay focused on comfort and coziness and groundedness and appreciation and wonder and on all things, big and especially small, that will ready me for this season and beyond. I mean that in ways both practical and profound. That’s always the magic combo for me.

So, in general: walks and bakes and books and advent calendars and gift-giving and wreath-making and decorating the tree and visits with friends and family.

The best mornings start with nice long walks for Kip and Polly and then hopping back in bed, with Myrna, to do Duolingo and read and write and drink tea. Delicious!

Of course, life is not all drinking tea in bed. As I emerge from Sabbatical Land, I’m beginning to think about my spring classes and about how to bring the magic there, too. Full-time magic probably isn’t possible (and that wouldn’t be magic anymore, anyway), but no magic is no good. Gotta be open to those moments. I’ll be teaching the grad poetry workshop, as usual, and my favorite undergrad class, the cw topics course (our topic: writing for kids), and then a combo of 313 and 314, WVU’s advanced undergrad poetry and nonfiction workshops. That combo is a little daunting because it’s not a typical offering, but I bet it’ll end up being pretty fun. I do like that across my classes I’ll be teaching poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. I write them all nowadays, and it’s interesting (and sometimes a relief) to move among them.

The biggest challenge for 313/314 will be finding readings that speak to both groups of students: those who want to write poetry and those who want to write nonfiction. I hope they’ll be inspired to try the “other” genre at some point, but the goal is to allow them to take the class they want (as opposed to cancelling one or both outright, which was a possibility). Pretty sure I’ll be turning to Tom Andrews and Greg Orr, poets who also wrote good memoirs, so that we can see how the same material can be explored in different ways. And I just read a book that I want to share with my combo class and with my grad poetry workshop: Patchwork: a sewist’s diary by Maddie Ballard. This book has a light touch, which I appreciate, and, to use a sewing image, reading it felt like pinning a pattern to fabric, or, better yet, watching my mom or sisters do that, all of us on hands and knees. Quiet and careful: that’s the way.

Any other suggestions for readings or activities that would appeal to both poets and nonfiction writers? Let me know.

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Longtime readers of Cake & Poetry will remember that when I started out, I mentioned Ideals Magazine as one of my influences. Begun in 1944, Ideals continues to this day (!), and, yes, sure, it can be goofy and overly sentimental and there’s some bad (but useful) poetry in it, but I like the pictures, which remind me of my 1970s upbringing, and the occasional recipe and the overall feel of the thing, which is very much in the “is it magical? yes, it is” spirit.

When Rosemary was visiting, she and I got a chance to go to Detroit’s iconic John King Books where, way back in a dusty corner of the fourth floor, we found a treasure trove of past issues of Ideals.

The poems in Ideals aren’t really poems — they’re interested in assertion, not discovery — but they could be useful for teaching metrical patterns and for challenging students to change one or two small things to make a big impact. Here are two examples of Ideals poems with strong metrical patterns. “Snowflakes,” with its mostly three beat lines, does have a magical snowflake-y rhythm. That doesn’t rescue it from being pretty boring, but students could try to revise it to say more surprising things within that musical pattern. The Ogden Nash poem goes on much longer than this first verse, but you’ll get the idea. Sometimes we’re told that the four beat line tends towards humor; with Nash that’s definitely the case. He also says more surprising things, which helps his poem be better overall.

The 2025 Ideals is the same as the old ones (of course!) and includes a poem by Emily Dickinson that is given the title “The Snow,” though we know that it has no such title. It should be more properly identified as “It sifts from Leaden Sieves (291).” Ideals also “fixes” Dickinson’s punctuation and spelling. Maddening. So I won’t share that version. Instead, here is the version from the Poetry Foundation website:

It sifts from Leaden Sieves -
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool 
The Wrinkles of the Road -

It makes an even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again -

It reaches to the Fence -
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces -
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack - and Stem -
A Summer's Empty Room -
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them -

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen -
Then stills it's Artisans - like Ghosts -
Denying they have been -

Ah, poetry, there you are! Magical. And yes, this poem would also be very useful for teaching the interplay between sentence sense and line sense and how poems are very often this — that is, about going forward and being held in place.

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Now, let’s get caught up on some recent baking, shall we?

It’s been a while, so let’s start with Thanksgiving. I was very happy with this year’s pumpkin pie. Also, these delicious gingerbread cupcakes with some funny little gingerbread people tumbling down the snowy frosting. They’ve got the magic, for sure.

Side note: at one time I might have thought that I should be making up my own recipes to share here, but now I realize that my talent (?!) is for finding good recipes, giving them a go, maybe adding my own touch here or there, and then passing them on to you. So, ta-da!

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Next was French Christmas! My sister Ellen and I hosted a family party with this theme. The focus was on celebrating our French ancestry, which goes back to 1720 in Detroit, 1637 in Quebec, and, 1500 in France and, surprisingly to us, Spain!

I was happy to bake for days and made pain d’epices, or French gingerbread; chocolate butter cookies; palmiers; a buche de Noel (though I used Greek yogurt in place of sour cream in the cake and chocolate buttercream instead of ganache as the finishing touch) with sugared cranberries and rosemary; and because I always think that there won’t be enough (!?!), some of my signature vanilla cupcakes, this time with a prosecco buttercream.

As you can see, I was pretty pleased with myself!

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Shall we have a little candle interlude?

This also might be a good time to say that I’ve been reprimanded, in the long ago past, for my appreciation of these small magical moments. An affront, it seemed, to someone else’s experience of the world. Oh well!, as my mom used to say. Magic is in the eye (heart) of the beholder; it’s not up for debate.

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And now — we continue on to Italian Christmas! Recent Ancestry discoveries have led to my way, way far back Italian relatives. This was quite a happy surprise.

As for baking: so far, I’ve made an Angelica torta (though with chocolate rather than vanilla icing because I was trying to replicate a pastry I grew up eating: a chocolate horn) and a pandoro. Both turned out really well, and the pandoro, especially, with its three rises (!) and fancy star-shaped pan, is always a particular triumph. The pandoro is also getting a lot of press these days (NY Times, CBS News), so of course I’m pretty proud to say that this is the fourth I’ve made. The pandoro has a such a beautiful, glossy dough (thank you, butter!) — I just have to include pictures of that as well as the finished product. But, first, the Angelica torta.

Talk about magical! Baking really is this way. Especially the pandoro with its third rise, which happens overnight.

Next up: panettone (probably minis) and cannolis. At least! Stay tuned.

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Does anyone else like old-fashioned blow mold Christmas decorations? I have a little collection of them.

The more it snows, the cuter (and more magical) they look, which is good, because December certainly began snowy. Too bad it’s finishing on an icy note.

This has been a long post, but I don’t want to forget to mention some other magical things, including the books I’m reading (or thinking about reading — that counts too and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise), and the Andy Warhol 12 Days of Christmas puzzles and the Bonne Mamam advent calendar (favorite flavor: cherry pink peppercorn) I enjoyed and highly recommend, and the pretty ambrosia I’ve been eating for second breakfast (Greek yogurt, pineapple, mandarins, strawberries, blackberries, raw honey, coconut — substitutions encouraged!). These are the things that bring the magic, are they not?! Oh, and Kip and Polly would definitely want me to tell you that Jingle Jangle (peanut butter covered treats) from Trader Joe’s is very, very magical.

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As always, thank you for reading. I hope your year ends on a magical note — be on the lookout — and the new one starts the same way. And here’s hoping for peace and happiness, for us all. Take good care!

I mean that literally — a piece of cake — and here it is.

A fitting start, I think, to this post, which will be a recap of readings/happenings, bits and pieces of this and that, and, maybe most interestingly, questions for you.

Also, Cake & Poetry’s two year anniversary recently passed, so yes, cake for that, too.

I felt lucky to grab the piece with my name on it and to get a picture of the whole cake before it disappeared at last week’s reading at IU-South Bend, home of my press, 42 Miles.

Readings at IU-South Bend are some of my favorites not only because of cake but also because there’s always a large and attentive audience and the reading is in a room with a huge wall of windows. Sunset right behind me and then, as I say in one poem, my Dad’s blue.

Later, several people told me that a flock of geese also flew by during the reading. Auspicious!

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My NYC readings were also special, and I’m so grateful to my former student and forever friend Mitchell Glazier for all his work behind the scenes and for our adventures together. Highlights of the latter included a visit to Blessed Sacrament on W 71st (pics) and to the Frick (no pics allowed) where we saw so much great art and an incredible exhibit of pieces from the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

And because I love finding out about hotels, heres’s my in-a-nutshell review of the Hotel Belleclaire, which might of use to you: great location and neighborhood (Broadway at 77th), good linens and bed, smaller-than-expected room (even for NYC), just one hanger (!?!), no place to put luggage, nice lobby (sophisticated and cozy seating area), not-great elevators (one was frequently stuck! I always walked down and frequently walked up seven floors). Oh, and the Belleclaire is near so many good grocery stores! Zabars! Citarella! Gristedes! I love grocery shopping and I walked around just imaging where I’d shop if I lived that neighborhood. My dad’s family owned a market in Detroit; I must have inherited my appreciation for a good store.

When I was last in NYC, in May 2024, my sister and I stayed at The Algonquin. I did not like that location as much (W 44th), but liked the hotel itself better. Much bigger and nicer room with a bed so good I looked at the tag to see what brand it was (sorry — I have since forgotten) and a good lobby restaurant and good historic feel and a resident cat!

As always with hotels, depends on what you want. I want all the usual stuff (good bed/bedding, nice bathroom, attractive lobby, cozy restaurant, attentive staff...) and to be able to imagine myself living there like a 1930s actress. I love my yard, need room for my dogs, like to do my own cooking... and yet living in a fancy hotel is a recurring dream. Of course I do not have this desire when I’m at the Hampton Inn or whatever.

Years ago, I often stayed at what was the New York Helmsley Hotel — the current Westin New York Grand Central. I remember thinking the spacious rooms were perfect for the 1930s actress I imagined being. I don't know why I haven’t gone back there. Next time!

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My first reading, which seems long ago now, was at Book Suey in Hamtramck where, while I read, there was both a siren and a Muslim call to prayer. Both felt quite appropriate to The Return from Calvary. A good start, in every sense.

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One more reading (for now), at the Kalamazoo Book Arts Center on Saturday, November 22, 7 pm.

If you have suggestions for other reading venues (wherever!), let me know!

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At the IU reading, I was asked to say more about the answer I gave to a question from the last time I read there (2018). The original question was about process, and I had said that I write line by line, which is still true. I don’t “just get it all down” and put it into lines later or anything like that. The main reason to write line by line is because, for me, a poem is not only (or even primarily) about something that happened in the past. Rather, a poem is a record of what happens in the writing of the poem. It’s not about quickly capturing a memory and then poem-ing it up but about revisiting a memory, if a memory is even part of it at all, AND about being in the moment of the music of the writing. Mostly the latter. Which is why my poems move around a lot in time and space. I begin with a line, not a plan. That is, I begin with music, which, yes, encourages other music. Words sound good (or interesting or whatever) near each other. Another line comes along. And I just keep following that. The past-ness that shows up does so because that’s one thing that’s on my mind as I experience now-ness. Same goes for the future. And if at any point, I lose the music, I walk away. The poem will come when it comes, or not. I have lots of good scraps, as everyone does, that are not complete poems and might never be, and that’s ok.

I do believe in freewriting, but at this point, for me, that happens off-the-page. As soon as I get the feeling (I want to say: hear the feeling) this is a poem, I jump up (sometimes literally); I know a good line when I hear one, as I hope my students can attest. I love pointing out students’ “good lines,” too, and seeing what they can do with their own music.

Of course, for me, nonfiction and fiction are different. Topics for another time!

I haven’t been home enough to do much baking, but finally did get around to making this French recipe for a marble loaf. It’s good, not too sweet, elegant-ish, and I’ll make it again. Next time, though, I might replace the milk with buttermilk, our trusted friend. And I found that the baking time was five minutes or so less than the recipe indicated. Next time, I’ll make my swirl swirlier, too, which will up the elegance.

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And —drumroll, please— I almost forgot about my cat cake! Not my best work, but too cute not to share. The recipe doesn’t matter; any will do. What’s useful to know is how to cut the cakes to get a cat. I learned by trial and error, naturally.

This lil’ cat is probably not bakery-worthy, but, you know what, I think she’s cute! As always, imperfection is more interesting, isn’t it?

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And now, as promised, a few questions for you:

First, I’d like some guidance: Is there anything you’d like me to write about? Poetry-wise or otherwise? Do you like the assignments/suggestions? Want more of that? Want to know more about publishing? Teaching?

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And I’m looking for some suggestions: do you have a preferred language learning app? I’ve been using Duolingo for French and now Italian, and it’s fine, cutesy, a little random-seeming, but better looking than others I’ve tried. But maybe there’s an app you think is the best?

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And what about a website for making photo albums and the like? I’ve used Mimeo to make holiday cards, books related to family history, and, most recently, a desk calendar featuring pictures of my weavings.

Mimeo is fine, easy-enough to use, but expensive. Any options you like better?

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Next post, I’ll share whatever suggestions I’m given.

I can’t do a post in November without writing about November itself, one of my favorite months with its warm days and its blustery ones and its early snow and all its mystery and portent.

In the past few days, I’ve gone from harvesting leeks and snow peas to pulling the dahlia tubers to putting salt on an icy porch and bundling up in my heavy coat and winter scarf.

In recent days, I’ve also loved walking past this tree, chosen by my dad and still growing in front of my childhood home, just a few blocks from where I am right now.

This tree suggests a good prompt: begin with something very particular from your childhood home and then, as one inevitably does, go from there. Let yourself reminisce and look ahead and be surprised. Try to write line by line and go as slowly as need be. A piece of cake, right? Hah! I had a feeling that would come back around.

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As always, thank you for reading. More to come. Take good care.

Do poems come from this little fairy house? Well, sure, of course, why not.

And likely from whatever else is at the edges, almost missed, perhaps deliberately pushed aside, seemingly unassuming.

Look there —

And, sure, poems also come from what you “want” to write about, though that matters less, I think, in the end.

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Sometimes my poems begin from experience, as when writing about my dad’s stroke. How do I find the words? I actually couldn’t, for months, years, even now. Everything scrambled. Even my face looked different to me. Kaleidoscope. For a while, I tried to get back to the me I remembered. Not possible. Never could. And I’m better for it.

Other times, words find me, often on walks or in the middle of the night, and I follow them. I prefer this way. The mystery of it. Words meeting up with experience, memory, wishes, what-have-you, but not directed by them.

In the first case — looking for words, listening for them — the risk is that the story (as already known) will take over. Anecdote. No need for a poem.

In the second case — following the words, the music — the risk is obscurity. More than once I’ve asked myself: wait — what am I saying?

I’m reminded of Greg Orr’s helpful essay “The Four Temperaments of Poetry.” Greg was one of my teachers, and he has a knack for this kind of nomenclature. He dentifies the four strengths of poems as story, structure, music, and imagination.

The first two, he says, are ordering; we need that, but not too much or we lose a poem’s special something. Story and structure connect more strongly to the first kind of poem I write.

The second two, music and imagination, relate more immediately to the second kind of poem I write. The strength of music and imagination is that they are disordering, by which Greg also means energizing; again, we need this, but not so much that the poem is a jumble.

Unless of course you like a jumble; some people do.

Ideally, all poems have all four strengths! In practice, probably not.

Another idea of Greg’s that I like is the notion of thresholds to explain why some poems hit us hard in a good way or are a pleasing jumble, while others zip by or leave us feeling ho-hum. When it comes to thresholds, to each his/her/their own.

The other true thing about thresholds: they shift over time. A poem or poet that used to bore you might become a touchstone. One that had the magic might lose it. It’s all ok.

I’m also reminded of something Charles Wright once told me: we like best the poems of our own that remain mysterious to us. I definitely agree with this. My favorite poems, by me or others, are not so easy to paraphrase and/or lose a lot in the attempt. Good! That means they’re the real thing.

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How do you do it? Where do they come from? These are questions one of my sisters asked after reading The Return from Calvary, out now (yay!) from 42 Miles Press.

That’s what got me started here, on this post.

This book was, by far, the hardest I’ve written. In light of (hmmm... interesting phrase) my dad’s suffering, all words seemed inadequate; I was overwhelmed, as certainly was he.

Yet, I had questions, and poetry is where I go with my questions.

So some poems in The Return from Calvary began with what happened and discovered language to convey it and to dig deeper. “Visionary,” for example, began with trying to describe the experience in lines 13 and 14. Took some time to get the words, to distill — that’s how it feels — the experience.

Pardon the wobbly pic. My mom taught me not to break a book’s spine.

Other poems began with a title or a phrase that I then explored. “I’d Like to Make an Announcement” is of this variety, launching itself from the title. With no particular announcement in mind, this poem moves from thing to thing, which I quite like. Nancy Drew / the grocery store / the Zoom meeting / Stevie Nicks and Stevens: it all happened within a short period of time. Many days are like this. Maybe all of them. And then my parents turned up because they do.

No matter how a poem begins, discovery is essential.

No discovery = no poem.

But what about you? Where do poems come from?

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I want to share again that I have some upcoming readings! These poems are still so emotional for me that it’s a little daunting to think about reading them; I’ll let you know how I do. Happy to be reading with so many wonderful poet friends.

Friday, October 24, 7 pm, Book Suey in Hamtramck (w/Dennis Hinrichsen and Will Langford)

Tuesday, October 28, 7 pm, Dodge Hall, Columbia University, NYC (w/Timothy Donnelly) Look at the cool flyer for this one!

Wednesday, October 29, 7 pm, Book Culture in NYC (w/Dorothea Lasky)

Thursday, November 6, Indiana University - South Bend, home of my press, 42 Miles (w/David Dodd Lee)

Saturday, November 22, 7 pm, Poets in Print reading series, Kalamazoo Book Arts Center (w/Shonda Buchanan)

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In the spirit of my spring MFA poetry workshop at WVU, which will focus on anything and everything life-giving in poetry, including humor, here are a few delightful poems from a recent find.

A good assignment, which my students may get, would be to write with this same delightful and wise energy: you as an everyday object (as opposed, I’d say, to being “objectified” — no need to get too smart). Allow yourself to be both playful and profound.

Last post, I wrote about leaving weavings “unfinished” — that is, recognizing that some not-woven space can be part of the weaving just as white space is a part of a poem. Here’s a new piece, “I’ll Stop Here,” that does just that and says so.

I’m quite happy with it, though I suspect it wouldn’t be for everyone, and that’s fine.

In addition to teaching poetry next summer at the Glen Arbor Art Center in Northern Michigan, I’ll also be teaching a workshop on how to hand weave on a round loom! I’m very excited about this and will share more info soon.

Sometimes Cake & Poetry doesn’t have enough cake, does it? These chocolate pumpkin cupcakes are here to save the day.

I really like that this is a small batch recipe. I also like the brown sugar in the frosting. One note: I added a dash of cloves, my favorite, to the cake and the frosting, and I used twice the butter and skipped the shortening in the frosting.

I’ll end with this very autumnal sunrise. The view is from Mackinac Island, one of my favorite places.

Thank you, as always, for reading Cake & Poetry. Maybe I’ll see you at a reading or workshop one of these days. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Beautiful September. Summer-like. But, I like autumn, too. Thus, here I am eating an apple on the beach.

The quiet rhythms of sabbatical (ah...), but daily the news roils (is that the word? I don’t think I’ve ever used it, but just now it came to mind, unbidden). Steadiness truly is a balancing act.

The sweet anticipation of the publication of The Return from Calvary, but also some tenderness still. Reading the page proofs, so many times through, was surprisingly hard. I’ve not felt as stirred up (roiled again——) by a book as I am by this one. Memories of my parents, their last years, the suffering that happens to so many, but, as I say, helplessly, in one poem about my dad, why him? But, also, gratitude, beauty, faithfulness.

Transitional season. In-between times. Mixed emotions.

Cue The Stones.

And recall, also, that Auden defined poetry as “the clear expression of mixed feelings.” As opposed to poems that the poet defends by saying some version of “it’s confusing because I felt confused!” Ah, well, then, perhaps the poem needs more of your attention! As Wordsworth said, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” Too often, it seems to me, the focus is on the first part of the statement, whereas I think the second part is really the thing.

On the flip side, we have poems that are dull, too tame, giving wide berth or narrowly escaping what they must engage. I know I’ve upset (roiled) a student or two over the years by suggesting that a poem might benefit from more mixed emotions. Even love is ever thus, isn’t it? We like things simple; they are often complex. And the truly simple feelings don’t need poems.

Writing itself often fills me with mixed emotions.

I love the process. Being in it. But starting can be hard. Can’t get a foot- or handhold. And interestingly, a little perplexingly perhaps, once things are going well, I sometimes choose to step aside. Like the Cancer crab that I am, sidestepping is my way in and out of poems.

“Oh! That’s good!” I’ll say to myself, hopping up and dashing quite literally away.

So here’s an assignment: write about something that fills you with mixed emotions. Or, revise a troublesome, can’t-get-it-right poem by adding in something different, contrary, unexpected. The feeling beside the approved/familiar feeling. Stir things up. Roil them! For the good. Even happiness has its shades. But, also, mixed feelings don’t necessarily mean bad feelings. Don’t go looking for trouble!

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Another thing that fills me with mixed emotions: my weavings.

Because I’m a novice, largely self-taught, I go on instinct more than might be wise. At first, I made a lot of work quickly, as one often does (I see this with my students, too). Now, though, it’s time to step back. Is this what I want or need to feel and say via weaving? I’m interested, of course, both the experience (always of great importance to me) and the result.

Consider these two: “I Certainly Thought about It” (#40) and “I’ll Know It When I See It” (#45).

The first, #40, has that interesting spiral and a brightness about it. The white really pops. But once the spiral spiraled out, well, boredom set in. I wanted to stop. I should have. That would have been more in keeping with my poetic practice. A lighter touch.

I’m reminded of what a neighbor said just a few days ago, both of us lamenting the new houses that are springing up and out in our sweet neighborhood. “They’re building right to the edges,” she said. The builder told her that. We shook our heads in dismay. What about room to breathe?

This weaving, too, went to the edges, but why? The result is not terrible. I do like the colors (though, truth be told, colors are hard for me... must they be so colorful??). But there’s something sort of dutiful about weaving all the way to the edge. A bit like justifying text on both sides. There’s a time and place for that, but always? Or, like when poets feel the need to make the lines look the same. Good luck with that. Change the font (as publication very likely will) and all your hard work just might be for naught.

Remember, I say to myself, you like white space.

I suppose another (kinder) reading of weaving #40 is that the gray border contains the spiral, softens the blow, calms the feelings. That’s more interesting... but still, for me, there’s something too predictable about that weaving. Like a poem that does its most compelling stuff, but then goes on for another 10 (or more) lines. Please, no. Or, worse (and my weaving is NOT this bad!), a poem whose title is straightforward and usually narrative (something like “Morning in the Country”), with the poem itself offering nothing new and basically just elaborating on what we know full well (that is, one eats breakfast, there are birds, the day is beautiful and fleeting, blah blah). I do not go to poetry for that! Conversely, Ashbery can take a nothing-special title and write something quite extraordinary. “At North Farm” is a good example.

The other weaving, #45, I like better, mostly because there’s more variation in the styles of weaving and the height/depth of some of the sections. There’s the sense of terrain, which I very much like. A weaving, like a poem, is a record of the movement of the mind/spirit (and hands, come to think of it). Sometimes this movement is repetitive, spiraling, swaddled... and sometimes it is lively, awake, discovering, on to the next thing. I appreciate both; I prefer the latter.

Of course sometimes it’s nice not to have mixed emotions. Certainly this is the case when baking. My feelings are all good when it comes to this pumpkin chocolate chip bread.

And I got to use one of my easy-fancy baking pans, so that was a bonus.

No mixed feelings about audio books, either. I like ‘em! For certain books, listening is just the thing. I feel this way about Agatha Christie novels, many of which I read years ago and now am happily listening to. As I think I’ve said before, I appreciate about Christie the same thing I appreciate about Hawthorne (yes, really!): both writers are excellent at summing up character and/or offering a pithy insight. Consider these gems from Elephants Can Remember, a later Christie book that I liked more than I thought I might given its more contemporary (1972!) vibe:

“What people seem to be they usually are.”

“You’ve got to have enough courage to live through something.”

“In life one cannot have explanations for every sad thing that happens.”

All true.

Alrighty, time to wrap things up with a reminder about some upcoming readings. I’ve got good, if complex, feelings about these. Excitement! Anticipation! But, also: Yikes! This book is intense!

Anywho, maybe I’ll see you there?

Friday, October 24, 7 pm, Book Suey in Hamtramck (w/Dennis Hinrichsen and Will Langford)

Tuesday, October 28, 7 pm, Dodge Hall, Columbia University, NYC (w/Timothy Donnelly)

Wednesday, October 29, 7 pm, Book Culture in NYC (w/Dorothea Lasky)

Thursday, November 6, Indiana University, South Bend, home of my press, 42 Miles (w/David Dodd Lee)

Saturday, November 22, 7 pm, Poets in Print reading series, Kalamazoo Book Arts Center (w/Shonda Buchanan)

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Lastly but most definitely not least, here is a pic of Myrna, my confidante/co-author/co-conspirator in all things. She does not suffer mixed feelings and thinks so many human things are silly (including, sometimes, Cake & Poetry), but, anyway, she thanks you for reading and she suggests you do like she does and take good care.

First, I wanted a cool breeze. Early August, the heat was stifling.

Soon, I got what I wanted, and then some. Coat weather so soon?! What!? Noooo. Oof! Lesson learned.

Of course, winds are out of our hands and beyond our wishes. It’s for the best, no?

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This gorgeous polyphemus moth arrived on a wind, one assumes. And just when I had been wanting a little something...

Feeling vaguely anxious.

Looking around.

Then this lovely lady (fine gentleman?) appeared, se(n)t down a bit like Mary Poppins, one of my role models. And like Mary, this moth is outfitted just beautifully. Can you picture yourself in that bespoke dressing gown? Divine, in every sense.

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And maybe a wind blew “The Muppet Show” theme song into my head one recent morning. Not terrible, exactly... But why? Sign of the times? Guess so. Listen at your own risk; it’s catchy.

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Didn’t realize wind had been so much on my mind, but, yes, actually, I have been very slowly reading a book about winds: The Mistral: A Windswept History of Modern France by Catherine Tatiana Dunlop.

For me, slow reading usually means I really like a book and want to attend to every word and/or I’m happily sidetracked by things to look up, and/or I feel moved to do some of my own writing. Whichever way the wind blows, right?

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Likewise, I had not meant to write a post about wind, but I’m open to it, you know? That’s a writing lesson: Inspiration isn’t always what starts a piece so much as what “just starting” meets up with as it goes along.

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Know what else is arriving as on a wind? My new book! The Return from Calvary will be out soon, and you can find out about it and order it here or here.

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I have some readings coming up this autumn. More about that in the next newsletter. And as always, if you want me to do a reading or give a workshop near you, please reach out!

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Before we move along from the wind, or perhaps I should say before we are moved along by the wind, it’s worth stating the obvious: there are many poems about wind. Shelley has a particularly good and famous one, and Stevens has quite a few (here and here and here and here). But how about this poem by Robert Louis Stevenson?

Sometimes “children’s poetry” is surprisingly insightful. My favorite lines here: “I could not see yourself at all——” and “Or just a stronger child than me?” And the sounds of those “ladies’ skirts”: that’s very good.

So here’s two-part assignment, if you like: first, dig out those old books of children’s poetry (or visit the library or a Little Free Library where there often is such a book) and see what gems might be hiding there. Second, write your own poem about the wind, using all the senses and maybe giving a nod to something (windy or not) you discovered (on the page or in yourself) in your re-reading of poems from childhood.

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Last bit of news from the wind: these two butterflies, a monarch and a rather ragged admiral (pretty sure), spotted yesterday in a nursery. Again, I love their outfits. Is there someone who can make a dress or two like this for me?

Hard to transition from butterflies to cake... but we must because this cake is too good not to share. Also, butterflies and cake have at least one thing in common: they don’t last long.

I wouldn’t say I have had a bumper crop of zucchini, but it has been a good harvest and I’ve twice made this cute and delicious zucchini snack cake, which tastes nothing like zucchini (in case you are or know a finicky eater) and everything like the the most pleasing and moist chocolate cake. Departing from the recipe, I made my regular buttercream. Also, the first time, I made one 8-inch and one 6-inch cake. The second time, three six-inch cakes, one of which I froze, unfrosted, for future cake emergencies.

So, first, here is some of this summer’s harvest. I owe all my success to chicken wire. I’m fond of my main chipmunk, Norman, and his large extended family, but I’ve learned my lesson with them. I doubt anyone is reading these posts for serious gardening advice, but this is what I’ve got to suggest: chicken wire.

And now the cake! It’s rather small and rather healthy as far as cakes go and a lil’ slice couldn’t hurt, right?

But what about the title of this post? Does it make sense? I always ask myself. If you’ve ever taken class with me, you know I love a digression-with-connection. Most of these posts are like that too. Many good poems, also.

So, yes, it’s September and back-to-school (though not for me happily on sabbatical) and the weather is all over the place and it’s literally windy as I write this, so, yes, winds of change.

And don’t forget all those interior changes that happen in September, a month with its own resolve. Virgo season, after all.

I do sense a little something happening... You too?

I wonder what it is?!

Does this September sunset know? Sure looks that way.

There’s some drama here. Beauty too. What the wind blew in.

Now, don’t despair! I tell myself, too.

There’s good to come. Really, there is.

Hold that thought. Better yet, write it down.

My great ambition in summer is to be bored. This post has been delayed by delicious boredom, and its companions: silence and beauty and wonder. These are the best parts of summer.

I’ve been taking time, if one can “take” time, and noticing little things, and going down rabbit holes figuratively if not, alas!, literally.

Here is some of what has held my attention and nurtured my spirits. I hope some of it resonates with you.

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Growing vegetables is certainly a way to spend a lot of money (and time) for a small harvest, but the joy is worth it. There’s nothing quite like checking on a vegetable one day and thinking, “ok, coming along” and then, wow, the next day, it has grown so much! Talk about beauty and wonder. Also, all this is done in silence (or what seems like silence to my ears).

My “secret weapon” after last year’s lackluster harvest? Chicken wire. It's not the cutest, but it works.

July was my birthday month, and yes, I did take the whole month. Don’t you?! You should!

Of course it can’t be a birthday without cake, but I was feeling sort of ho-hum thinking of what cake to make. Then I remembered the Wellesley Fudge Cake. Wow. Delicious. My new favorite chocolate cake.

I know, I know: I’m forever pronouncing this cake or that one “my favorite,” but you gotta try this cake.

The cake itself is similar to Recipe Tin Eats cakes I like and have recommended. But the frosting — the fudge in this fudge cake — is at a whole other level. Worth the time it takes. (Btw, for future reference: if making frosting is not worth the effort to you, at least whip store-bought frosting in a stand mixer to fluff it up a bit.)

The other pleasing thing about this cake? It’s a double-layer square. That’s fun.

Super-duper delicious. I wish I had a slice of this cake right now!

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After mentioning Nancy Drew in my last post, I’ve embarked on this summer’s re-read: The Invisible Intruder, book #46. Did I read this one just last year or the year before or was it really way back in 1979? Gosh, I don’t even know. The books all are so similar. But that’s a compliment, and this one is pretty good so far and includes these classic-for-Nancy and classic-for-life moments:

     The unexplainable incident sent a tingling sensation down the   
     spines of the four frustrated swimmers. There was no earthly 
     explanation for the strange event! 

Italics really do pack a punch, don’t they?

And what about this exchange between husband and wife:

     “So the story is true,” Rita spoke up. “You people don’t want 
     to believe in ghosts, but I’m not ashamed to.”

     Rod laughed. “Don’t mind my wife. She’s a student of the 
     occult,  but she has never convinced me about phantoms.”

“‘Don’t mind my wife.’” —!! What? Wow. Ok, Rod. Good luck.

Moving along...

Will Nancy solve the mystery of the canoe that propels itself across the lake? Well, sure, how can you even ask that?? It’s just a matter of time — and probably a question of first being hit over the head or nearly drowning despite her top-notch swimming skills. The one thing Nancy doesn’t have a lot of is luck, though I suppose being locked in a remote cabin is more likely to happen when you wander around in isolated locales trying to track down criminals. Oh, Nancy – please! – take care!

I need time enough and boredom enough to read Nancy Drew, but Nancy herself is never bored. Probably, that’s (yet another) virtue of hers, but it’s also where she and I part ways. I love being bored.

It probably goes without saying that I grew up before cell phones and laptops and email and all the rest. (I remember when email arrived. I was in grad school! My reaction, then and still: “what? why?? ughhhh.”) Our house phone was on the wall. The cord was long, but not long enough, if you know what I mean. Top secret calls stretched the cord to its limits. One real benefit back in the day: we’d leave the house and come back and have NO IDEA if someone had called while we’re out. Sure, once in a while we might have missed an important call, but, you know what, probably not.

Although I’m sure I did complain about being bored when I was young, good things came from boredom: plays my sisters and I put on in the basement, books read aloud in front of the room a/c or quietly on the porch in the evenings, stories I made-up while wandering around the yard. When I take quiet midday walks nowadays, I am often reminded of those sweetly boring summer afternoons of childhood.

I’m also reminded of one my all-time favorite books: Dandelion Cottage, which I’ve written about before and which is about four girls who turn a boring summer into a summer to remember when they spruce up an old cottage and “play house.” Playing house has always been very dear to my heart.

The real Dandelion Cottage is in Marquette, Michigan, and I’m happy to say I just saw it (again) on a recent trip to the Upper Peninsula.

Isn’t it cute? Oh how I’d love to get in there and make myself at home!

My recent Plein Air Poetry workshop at the Thoreson Farm outside Glen Arbor was full of silence and beauty and wonder or maybe even downright strangeness. Towards the end of the workshop as we were sharing the poems we’d written, there seemed to be a rain cloud in the distance. But as that cloud moved towards us, we smelled smoke. Not a rain cloud. A smoke cloud. All the way from the wildfires in Canada? Yes, seemed so. There were no nearby fires and the air quality was not great. That smoke cloud swept over and around us and the temperature dropped noticeably and our poems were good, but that smoke cloud was also a poem in its own right.

What I like about plein air writing is that it naturally gives poems more of what they (usually) need: the present. As someone in the workshop wisely said about the smoke cloud, “write it into the poem!” Exactly. From there, we can travel to the past or the future and remember or anticipate or worry or etc. to our heart’s content.

Here’s a terrific poem we discussed in the workshop. The punctuation is really something.

     Chicory and Daisies 
        by William Carlos Williams 
 

       I 
 
     Lift your flowers 
     on bitter stems 
     chicory! 
     Lift them up 
     out of the scorched ground! 
     Bear no foliage 
     but give yourself 
     wholly to that! 
     Strain under them 
     you bitter stems 
     that no beast eats— 
     and scorn greyness! 
     Into the heat with them: 
     cool! 
     luxuriant! sky-blue! 
     The earth cracks and 
     is shriveled up; 
     the wind moans piteously; 
     the sky goes out 
     if you should fail. 
 

       II 
 
     I saw a child with daisies 
     for weaving into the hair 
     tear the stems 
     with her teeth! 

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I have one more workshop this year in Glen Arbor. This will be a three-part “Creativity Bootcamp” (September 13, 20, and 27). Here’s the description:

      This fall, jumpstart your creativity in a workshop 
      designed for artists and writers in all disciplines. 
      From exploring our artistic family trees and mapping      
      current projects to taking in the natural beauty and      
      drawing inspiration from Leelanau County to discussions 
      of visionary texts from choreographer/dancer Twyla Tharp, 
      painter/sculptor Audrey Flack, sculptor Anne Truitt, 
      writer Annie Dillard, printmaker/teacher Sister Corita   
      Kent, music producer Rick Rubin, and many more, this 
      class will energize your curiosity and creativity. Share 
      what you know and learn something new — inspire and be 
      inspired — in this autumn reset.

I don’t know about you, but my mind needs silence and boredom in order to come alive.

For example, being bored allows nearly-forgotten ideas to bubble back up. Today, I happened to hear Michael McDonald’s version of “The Tracks of My Tears” (new-to-me), which of course reminded me of the original by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles and my favorite version by Linda Ronstadt. Same song, but also different... There’s something worth thinking about there... and I’m reminded of how I’ve suggested to students that they find multiple versions of the same song as a way to think about style. Or, how would another singer who has not recorded the song sing it? How would you?

This exercise can be easily extended to poetry.

Here’s another example: The Crystals’ version of “The Da Doo Ron Ron,” which is so great, and the version I remember from when I was young by Shaun Cassidy, which,interestingly, I keep hearing this summer. Side note: is it embarrassing to say I really love the Shaun Cassidy version? If so, oh well!, as mom used to say. I think it’s important to be ok with feeling fondness for things whether or not other people like them.

The past week or so I’ve been going over page proofs for The Return from Calvary, which will be out this fall and is available now for pre-order.

Often by the time a book is published, the poems feel “good” to me, but also “past.” This time, the emotions still feel very powerful, and I find myself quite tearful as I read.

As for songs with multiple versions, “Moon River” certainly fits into that category. My favorite is the one my dad liked, by Andy Williams. But of course Audrey Hepburn’s version is a classic. And I just heard the billie eilish version. Something to take away from each of these...

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Do you like a used bookstore? I do! I especially like rediscovering poets I haven’t thought of in a while. These are my finds from a recent trip to a terrific used bookstore, Artis Books, in Calumet, Michigan. I would love to know how these books ended up in this little town.

Happening upon (hmmm... that seems to be a theme here...) this bookstore reminded me that I need to visit the many excellent used bookstores in the Detroit area.

Also, the design of these older books! There’s just something about them... so pleasing.

Precious, little boredom! (But not, I hope, precious little boredom.) And boredom’s friends: silence and beauty and wonder. That’s what I’m wishing for myself, birthday month and beyond. What are you wishing for you?

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P.S. Don’t let anyone tell you summer is over!

Ah! This is what I have been waiting for! —— given, of course, that one shouldn’t be waiting and should live in the present and etc. etc. —— yes, yes —— but June!

The roses are blooming (the one pictured above is Teasing Georgia), the days are (mostly) warm and the nights are cool, the whole summer stretches out before me. June is my favorite.

And though it’s warm, it’s not so hot (early June, as I write this) as to need the a/c much (if at all). I grew up without a/c and have fond memories of lying on the living room floor in front of our big old metal box fan. Later, we did get a window unit, and my sisters and I would stretch out in front of that, too, but it never did work so well, which is also fine. I especially remember listening to my sister Ruth read one of our favorite books aloud: The Loon Feather by Iola Fuller. This novel is set on Mackinac Island, which if you’re a longtime reader of Cake & Poetry you know I love (see post #1 from back in October 2023!).

June is a month that feels deliciously long in its days... but upsettingly short overall. Alas! All the more reason to savor every moment.

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As someone who is nostalgic by nature, I find June, with its lazy, just-out-of-school vibes, especially potent for sending me back in time. Nancy Drew era, for sure.

Usually I re-read one Nancy each summer, and a few years ago, I thought to write poems about each book.

My Nancy Drew series hasn’t quite gotten off the ground (yet! another longterm project...), but I do have this ok-ish poem, which I’ve never submitted for publication. Might as well “publish” it here, right?

And have I already mentioned Brenda Hillmans’s wonderful “Girl Sleuth”?

A good assignment for you, should you want one, would be to write your own poem about a beloved book from childhood. Or, better yet, just mention the book in a poem about something else. Too often, poems stick to one topic, to what Richard Hugo famously called “the triggering subject,” and seem afraid to venture off, to make discoveries. But the best poems are discoveries. Your discoveries for you. And then, through the magic of poetry, I read your discoveries and am sent back into my life to make my discoveries. This is why specifics matter so much. Beginning poetry students often think specifics will make their poems unrelatable, but as we know if we’ve read or written for some time, the opposite is true.

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As for discovery... I’m working, slowly, on a new weaving. I need to step back, often, to think/feel way my way towards what’s next. Writing is this way, too. What looks like not-weaving or not-writing is anything but. If you want to make art, you’ve got to be ok with in-between times, quiet times, restlessness... and with other people often not understanding how art gets made.

Though I love the process, it’s also fun to see art-making come to fruition, and a few weeks ago I was happy to visit one of my weavings on display at the Glen Arbor Art Center. (Oops! I see a typo on their sign. Should say the weaving was done in 2024. I was but a child in 2002.)

Speaking of the Glen Arbor Art Center... here’s a reminder that I have some upcoming workshops at the GAAC.

July 24: Plein Air Poetry at nearby Thoreson Farm.

September 13, 20, and 27: Creativity Bootcamp. I’m hoping this class draws participants who have a variety of artistic practices, so that we can cross-pollinate, as it were.

Please click through the links to register or send along to someone who might be interested.

Well, as happens, time has passed, and it’s now late-ish June and too hot. But Summer is Summer and I’m happy about that. And the rose above, Evelyn, is one of my new favorites. So lovely.

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Lazy days, hot days, in the sun or in front of the fan or with the a/c going... summer reading/listening is especially enjoyable, isn’t it? What’s on your list? Anything you’d like to recommend?

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My current recommendations (which are not any of many books I said in my last post that I was going to be reading very soon!) include Raising Hare: A Memoir by Chloe Dalton, the podcast “Inside the Vatican” with host Colleen Dulle, and the audiobook of A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle, which I read as a book-book many years ago.

I’m also reading a novel called The Lost Estate (Le Grand Meaulnes) by Alain-Fournier. I like strange (preferably slim) novels. These are novels that might have a hard time getting published nowadays. Stuff happens, but not that much stuff. Plot summaries always sound a little nuts, so I’ll skip that. The point is, the writing is lyrical, emotion- and thought-provoking. Best appreciated slowly.

Other recently-read novels that fall into this category for me include Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather, Leonard and Hungry Paul by Ronan Hession, The Plague by Albert Camus, The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa, and The Sheltering Sky by Paul Bowles. Unforgettable books. Unforgettable feelings.

I thought Pedro Paramo by Juan Rolfo would fall into this category, too. It is slim and I liked it, but I didn’t love it. Because the novel is mostly driven by dialogue, it doesn’t have those passages of description and observation with their hidden gems of insight. Sure, it’s easy to skip over those parts, but truly that’s where some of the best stuff is. This is also why I love Hawthorne. His insights into human nature are spot-on. Agatha Christie is good for this too. After all, how else could she have written so much?

The main reason to read fiction, as far as I’m concerned, is not for plot but for character and setting. If I don’t feel like a fiction writer knows something different or more than I do about people and places, I won’t read on. This is also why, in my humble opinion, undergrad fiction often feels “thin”: students don’t yet know enough about themselves, let alone other people. It’s generally easier for beginning writers to write a handful of good poems — provided they have specific prompts. Guardrails are good! It’s not always true, of course, but it does seem that poetry is easier to write at first — but then gets harder and harder. So many first and only books. It’s tough to write poetry over the long haul. My beloved teacher Charles Wright always said as much, and I find in my own writing and teaching that he was right (no surprise).

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A while back, I mentioned theme songs. Picking up on that, lately these songs have caught my attention: Bob Dylan’s “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You,” “By Your Side” by Sade,”I Can’t Leave Your Love Alone” by Clarence Carter, “Stand Back” by Stevie Nicks, and longtime favorite (back to 8th grade!) “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.

It’s good to be on the alert for books, songs, art, ideas, plants, cakes — anything! — that might offer the next thing you need. As I said, writing and art-making are ongoing processes that often look like “driving and listening to music” or “walking in the garden” or “paging through cookbooks.” You just never know.

Sometimes, the next thing you need is cake! Am I right??

This time, Cake & Poetry actually does include cake, but first — drumroll, please — these brownie cookies, which were, as my neighbor and friend Maureen said, “soooo good!” Highly recommended. Recipe here.

Too many cookies?! Freeze ‘em! That’s what I did, and I am now enjoying one at a time in emergencies.

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My sister Ellen requested a vanilla cake with coconut frosting for her birthday, so — ta da! —

This is my favorite vanilla cake recipe; I’ve shared it a few times before. I added a 1/4 cup (half stick) butter to the buttercream recipe and wish I had added one more half stick. I would have liked one more sweep of frosting over the whole cake.

I do love a pretty plate. This very June one belongs to Ellen.

Since this post began with nostalgia and June, I’ll finish with a couple of pictures that I took this past weekend while at my nephew’s wedding in Detroit. My Detroit (and Windsor) roots are deep (as I wrote about in the last post), and I was happy to get this picture of the Detroit River (looking south, towards Canada) and of the sunset over Woodward Avenue. I live on the horizon, as one tends to do.

Thank you as always for reading and for spending some of your precious June with me. The little hill of July — can you see it? — is just now coming into view...

May tests my patience, that’s for sure. Early May’s unseasonably warm days gave way to mid May’s unseasonably cool and rainy ones. I’ve yet to plant my dahlia tubers. The ground is warm enough (I took its temp!), but I doubt any tuber wants to sit in soggy dirt.

Mi piace passeggiare (I like walking) is one of my favorite new Italian phrases, but, alas, it’s not quite so true given all this rain. Still, Kip and Polly and I have been walking a lot and trying to notice all the pretty things, including this four-leaf red clover!

—but, wait —— news flash! The weather has improved. By which I mean, gotten better for gardening because of course all weather is fine! interesting! has its merits! Or, at least this is what I try to feel and believe.

But now you know for sure that Cake & Poetry is written by an actual person over several days (weeks) and thus new info gets incorporated and past and present co-exist here, as of course they do elsewhere.

This is also a good moment to say hello to recent new subscribers. Whatever led you to Cake & Poetry, welcome! I’m glad you’re here, and more importantly, I hope you’re glad to be here and finding something you want or need. It’s a grab bag, that’s for sure, just like I like.

And, yes, the dahlias are now in the ground, late May, and the real waiting begins. The metaphors that gardening provides are, of course, well known and for good reason. Enough said.

Meanwhile, the wisteria is having its first bloom, as is a rose I planted just this year —— the aptly named Bathsheba, shown here in a few of her moods.

This Bathsheba takes her name from Far from the Madding Crowd, my favorite Thomas Hardy novel, which I really should re-read. One does need to be in the mood for Hardy, though...

Do you have a favorite Hardy novel? If so, let me know which one.

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When not out and about in the rain or, at last, in the garden, I’ve been spending time in the land of Ancestry.com. Have you too been drawn in by the allure of Ancestry? My mom, a trained librarian, was a genealogist of the legit variety: she found the documents herself at the Burton Historical Collection in the Detroit Public Library and at various places in Windsor, Ontario, and surrounding villages. This was long before easy online access. It’s enjoyable to see her discoveries confirmed (though I had no doubt) and added to by Ancestry. If they suggest something and dates seem reasonable, I agree! I mean, why not?! The family tree has grown quite unwieldy, and my sisters’ eyes glaze over when I try to tell them about some new ancient relative, but it’s all so fun. Some branches of the family now can be traced back to 1500! Mind-boggling. Nothing against the Irish, but the French and (what became) Belgian (or, I should say, Flemish) lineages are much easier to trace. Excellent records.

This would-be Dickens character is my 4th great-grandfather (via my paternal grandfather), Pierre Joseph Salembier, born in 1755. Just look at him!

I wish I could say that all this Ancestry-ing has lead to some writing, but, alas, no, or not quite yet. But I’m a big believer in the usefulness of rabbit holes, and I’m sure the family tree is providing its own shady inspiration.

Besides spending time on Ancestry.com, I’ve been “reading for pleasure,” which truly is a pleasure. I’ve just finished The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa and A Good Life by Pope Francis, both of which I liked a lot. And, in conjunction with my new Italian lessons on Duolingo, I’m perusing Comparative Grammar of Italian and French by Mikhail Petrunin. I also enjoyed reading the charming and relatable Wouldn’t You Like to Run Away? by Rosalind Welcher. Could that cover get any cuter? What a gem.

I’ve just begun reading Caryll Houselander: Essential Writing and Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo. Honestly, I wish I liked these better. In the former, the ideas are good; in the latter, I like the vibe. But in both cases, I can’t find many sentences to love for their music, and that’s what I read for, first and foremost. I’ll finish these books, but (so far anyway?) I’m not feelin’ it. Sigh.

What about audiobooks? Do you like them? I do, for a certain kind of book —— often one I already know, such as Agatha Christie novels (I’ll write more about her another time). Right now I’m listening not to a book but to a podcast that I highly recommend if you like history: All You Need to Know about European History by Nick Witney. With audiobooks, the narrator is key, of course. Nick Witney’s tempo and tone (both in the auditory and literary senses) are just perfect.

I’m sure you have a stack (stacks?) of books you plan to read or re-read “one of these days,” and so do I. Mine include these sure-to-be keepers that have been waiting for me for far too long: The Discovery of France by Graham Robb, which I have read and recently began again and then drifted away from for whatever reason; Gone Away Lake by Elizabeth Enright, a Newberry winner that my sister Ruth told me about; Going to Seed by Kate J. Neville, which I heard about on CBC radio (they have the best daytime shows —— not politics!); An Episode of Sparrows by Rumor Godden, which more than one person has told me they love; and last but certainly not least Paradise Close, the debut novel by the dazzling poet Lisa Russ Spaar, one of my long distance friends who is, always, somehow, also close at heart.

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You’ll notice, probably, that I don’t mention any books of poetry as part of my to-read list. Poetry is different. I keep it around.(Old favorites right now on my coffee table: Billy Collins, Brigit Kelly, James Longenbach, Donald Revell.) I dip in and out of books. I re-read. I take my time. One poem is a lot. Very much like visiting museums: I can only take in so much art before I need a little lunch and shopping. Maybe people who feel overwhelmed by poetry are simply reading too much at once. The plot-driven reading that (most) fiction inspires is not the way to go here. Slow down!

Another reminder about some upcoming workshops I’ll be teaching at the Glen Arbor Art Center in Northern Michigan. The beach pictured above is at the end of Lake Street in Glen Arbor.

June 13: Ekphrastic writing in response to the “Members Create” show.

July 24: Plein Air Poetry at nearby Thoreson Farm.

And looking ahead... I’ll be offering a “Creativity Bootcamp” on three Saturdays in September (13, 20, and 27). I’m hoping this class draws participants who have a variety of artistic practices, so that we can cross-pollinate, as it were.

Please click through the links to register or send along someone who might be interested.

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I’m also lining up some readings for the fall. So far, here’s what’s on the calendar:

Friday, October 24, Book Suey in Hamtramck (w/Dennis Hinrichsen and Will Langford)

Tuesday, October 28, Columbia University in NYC

Wednesday, October 29, Book Culture in NYC (w/Dorothea Lasky)

Saturday, November 22, Poets in Print reading series, Kalamazoo Book Arts Center (w/Shonda Buchanan)

A special shout-out to long-ago former student and starlit poet and dear friend Mitchell Glazier who has done so much to set up the NYC readings. Mitchell and I are also planning to have Adventures when we’re together, which I am so looking forward to.

I will also be reading at IU-South Bend to celebrate the release of my book, The Return from Calvary, from 42 Miles Press, which is housed there. And I hope to offer a workshop at Northern Kentucky University where another long, long ago former student, the darling and lovely and talented Kelly Moffett, teaches. Dates tba.

In the meantime, here’s a (not that well photographed) poem from The Return from Calvary, which was just published in Third Coast.

I think you can tell that this post of Cake & Poetry with its emphasis on gardening and family history and good books and too-far-away friends is all about getting grounded. During the school year, I consider it part of my job to give grounding to my students. That's what a good syllabus does. That's what a sense of humor does. That's what deadlines——and leniency——provide. But come May, I'm pretty tired. So this is a season about reestablishing routines and ease and humor and all the rest in myself for myself... so that I can do the other part of my job, which is to write. Rhythms, as good poems also certainly illustrate, are meaningful. Whatever point you're at in your year, I hope you're also finding the rhythms that nurture you. And, as always, thanks for spending some time with me here.

One thing about me: I’m a good shopper. Not saying it’s a skill without drawbacks... but it can be put to good use. And, importantly, shopping reminds me of my mom. When I was three, four, five, she and I had secret adventures while my siblings were at school. My mom and I would visit my grandma at her house in Detroit and then we’d stop off at Northland Mall to browse (our favorite departments at J.L. Hudson’s were furniture and toys, naturally) and to have a “lunch stick” (a long donut with vanilla icing) from the Hudson’s bakery. Those were the days! My glory years. Later, Saturdays meant shopping with my mom and sisters. Not buying, necessarily, but being at the mall, and having lunch, as ladies do. An outing, as my mom would have said.

These days, I’m extra focused on shopping small and supporting stores I love.

The special things pictured above are from my favorite store on Mackinac Island, Poppins. It’s the cutest, with the most helpful staff.

Other Up North Michigan favs include Poppy Things in Suttons Bay and Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor.

In Morgantown, WV, many of us are very happy to have an independent bookstore once again. Monkey Wrench Books was so needed!

Both Cottage and Monkey Wrench can be shopped through Bookshop.org.

For weaving supplies, I love Sun To Shine on Etsy and Strand Texture.

And for dahlias, I’m happy to support Michigan’s own Summer Dreams Farms.

I’m lucky to have several terrific local markets in the Detroit area and to live near a good old-fashioned Ace Hardware, too.

Last but not least, I recently discovered a Canadian (yay!) magazine “for the creative and curious” called Uppercase. My first issues just arrived. No ads!

This magazine gets me even more excited for summer, the time of making things in the garden, on the page, on the loom, and in the kitchen.

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I also came across some new-to-me treasures at my local library book’s sale.

You just have to read this poem from The First Book of Poetry:

“Like sorrow or a tune”?? Are you kidding me?? That’s amazing! What little kids would think of that ending, I can’t imagine, but I’m not going to forget it anytime soon. Also, calling dibs on that line as a title. I can write to that.

And maybe you know who Eleanor Farjeon is, but I didn’t. Turns out, she wrote “Morning Has Broken,” which was of course made (more?) famous by Yusuf / Cat Stevens. And as long as we’re talking about Cat Stevens, what about “How Can I Tell You”? Remember that one? Intense.

Ok, here’s another poem from the book:

That ending!! Sara Teasdale!!

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Ok, so here’s an assignment: write a big small poem. I mean: write just six or eight lines, but say the largest, most consequential thing you know.

If you want to read more big small poems, get a copy of Charles Wright’s Sestets. He’s a master at saying a lot in just a few words. “Tomorrow” with this arresting line — “If you don’t shine you are darkness” — is one of my favorites.

And here’s an eight-line poem of mine, “The Boom of a Small Cannon,” which I suppose is new-again-to-me. It’s from a little chapbook of the same name, which was published by Dancing Girl Press.

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With much-needed spring cleaning underway, I’ve also been stumbling upon interesting books I forgot I owned.

A Writer’s Book of Days: A Spirited Companion and Lively Muse for the Writing Life by Judy Reeves is a real gem and features monthly reflections and daily prompts. I gathered some of Reeves’ suggestions to make this assignment, which my grad poets are writing as part of their Final Something, as I always call the last work of the semester.

        Write a poem that mentions at least three of the following:

           * A town you’ve passed through
           * Someone’s cooking
           * Dubious intentions
           * A body part
           * Falling from grace
           * What people don’t know about love
           * Something you can’ t deny
           * A year ago
           * Taking the long way
           * A balcony
           * Stealing something
           * A time you said yes

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If you’d like additional writing inspiration and you live in (or near) Michigan, I hope you’ll think about joining me for one (or more) of my upcoming workshops at the Glen Arbor Art Center.

• Friday, May 16, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Walking Exhibition”

• Friday, June 13, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Members Create Exhibition”

• Thursday, July 24, 10 am- 12 pm: Plein Air Poetry: Nature as a Companion

• 3 September Saturdays: 13, 20, 27, 1-3 pm: Creativity Bootcamp: Re-energizing Your Creative Practice

For more info about these workshops, please visit the Glen Arbor Art Center website or reach out to me.

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Why, yes, I have done a bit of baking, thanks for asking!

I got it in my head to make a lemon cake (another new-to-me, happy-making thing), and even though I had already committed to making a bunny cake (!!!) for Easter and I ended up freezing most of the lemon cake, I’m glad I made it because it was delicious! And now several slices are ready and waiting in my freezer for future emergencies.

As for the bunny cake... well, thank goodness for coconut. This cake was not my best work, but also kind of cute? I think?

And it was surprisingly good, too, and not dry, as I had feared.

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This past week I also made some chocolate cupcakes with maple frosting.

For ease, I doctored up a box cake mix (adding espresso powder; using milk instead of water) and made my usual buttercream (butter + cream cheese). Maple extract and real maple syrup provided the flavoring, which was requested by one of my undergraduate capstone students. Maple is one of my favorite flavors, too, so I was more than happy to make this frosting. I was very happy with the swirls too: casually pretty, which is what I’m always going for.

Let’s end with a few more happy-making things...

• using my new stovetop espresso maker! Super cute and super inexpensive! I’m not a coffee connoisseur, which is nice and makes life easier.

• getting started in the garden. Too early? Maybe! But I’m willing to risk it for some cool weather crops: peas, potatoes, and shallots.

• walking to church. Feels nicely old-fashioned. And listening to Agatha Christie audiobooks on the way? Well, that’s perfectly me.

• enjoying the tulips I planted on Christmas that bloomed on Easter.

• finishing the French course on Duolingo but sticking with it... and just getting going with Italian, too, because why not?!

• discovering the Merlin app. Do you know about this app? It listens to and identifies the birds in your environment. With Merlin’s help, even I might be able to learn to identify birds by their songs.

• thinking of you reading this post and inspired to write a poem or do some baking or listen to old songs you’ve not listened to in forever or head to the library or get going on your garden or do any other happy-making, just-for-you thing! I hope you enjoy yourself, and thank you, as always, for reading!

Do you have a theme song? I usually have a few. Right now, I’m liking David Ruffin’s “My Whole World Ended” (which I heard while driving to the cemetery where my parents are buried — nothing compares to hearing Motown music when I’m in Detroit), Bob Dylan’s “Jokerman,” Lenny Kravitz’s “Honey,” and Nicolette Larson’s “Lotta Love.”

As with me and most things, it’s not the what but the how: that is, not the songs’ storylines but their sound, their feel —— and how I feel: most myself. When I lose my way (especially during this ridiculously hard semester and year), these touchstones help.

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Stumbling upon a truly good poem also helps. Though it’s March, Robert Hass’ “The Beginning of September” made me feel better when I read it for the first time in years. The link will take you to the poem, but it looks better in his book Praise with its simple cover and, in my copy at least, almost sepi-colorerd paper. There’s nothing quite like a good single volume of poetry, is there? Do you have a favorite book of poems not only for the work inside but also because of the cover, the feel of the paper, the overall aesthetic?

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Hass’ poem —- full of things (“In the summer / peaches the color of sunrise”) and mystery (“He didn’t think she ought to / and she thought she should”) —- is the real deal: a poem that shows us what we might otherwise miss and speaks clearly while leaving the unknown/unknowable in tact.

It felt good to come across this poem again, to read it slowly, to feel the white space as part of the poem (which it surely is in the best poems).

My job keeps me reading all day long. It’s usually a combo of deep but efficient reading of student work and skillful (I hope) skimming of most everything else. Often, I don’t enjoy reading the way I would like to. I prefer to read much more slowly, to look things up, to stop reading and just stare into space for a few minutes. I like to have feelings while reading, too, and that takes time.

Speaking of books... I recently had a book / WVU pottery / framed art giveaway at my house. A bunch of my grad students came over and took whatever they wanted. I still have too many books, too much of everything, really, but I was happy to send these things out into the world, to their new (slow) readers and appreciators, for their next lives.

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Now, about the weaving at the beginning of this post: that’s #41, “Let Me Tell You about My Mom.” I’ve taken some time away from weaving partly because, well, I’m busy with teaching but also because I need to think (by which I really mean feel) what’s next. Writing is like this for me too: seemingly dormant periods are essential.

Is this weaving a clue of what’s to come? Maybe. I’ve tried to finish this one, weaving to the edges of the loom, but every time, it just feels wrong.

The open loom, the beauty of the structure itself, the supposed unfinished-ness... all of that feels more true to who my mom was (and is, still and always, for me).

I think I’ll leave it be.

Ever have that feeling? Something in you backs up, or sets something down, or closes the lid, turns the page, nods and is done.

A kind of agreement.

“Good enough” is not what I mean.

Rather: Yes! Good! Just right. Enough.

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This kind of satisfaction just might be the mood of early spring, too. Small signs here and there. And even amidst the impatience for more green, more life, buds on the trees, clumps of daffodils popping up, warm sun... there’s also, at least for me, a strong desire to slow down and allow contentment to happen. Just as with reading: I want to take my time and savor everything.

Snowdrops and pansies have definitely caught my eye these last couple of weeks and I always say hi to them. Yes, really! You too?

And in keeping with the season, I’ve done some cooking that looks very Spring-y.

I adapted this recipe for my spring minestrone. I used cannellini beans, Swiss chard and kale, asparagus and carrots, and the cutest ditalini pasta.

Oven-roasted potatoes are a go-to, and adding dates, as shown here, is also something I often do. But this basil-dill-lemon-garlic-red wine vinegar-olive oil salsa verde-type of thing (what should I call it?) took these potatoes to the next level. How much of everything? I don’t know! Can you just eyeball it? That’s what I do! Stuff it all in a food processor and add salt and pepper until it tastes the way you like. I’ve seen recipes that add parsley or mint, but I don't love parsley or mint, so none for me, thanks! That’s part of the pleasure of cooking at home: you can suit yourself. Talk about contentment.

Of course I have been baking too, including this peanut butter cake, which my niece Laura requested for her birthday.

I had never made a cake like this, but I said, Ok! — and then quickly went looking for a good recipe. The peanut butter frosting was delicious! Tasted just like the inside of a peanut butter cup, and I ate more than a little straight from the bowl. Nothing wrong that.

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I also returned to a favorite small batch cupcake recipe to make these cuties for St. Patrick’s Day.

The cupcakes were so pretty even without frosting (and yummy too, which I know because of course I had one), but I do love sprinkles and my go-to cream cheese buttercream. Plus, it’s fun to use food coloring. I highly recommend this recipe if you need to make six (or seven) cupcakes quickly. So easy.

I mentioned this last time and want to share again that I have quite a few spring, summer, and fall workshops lined up. All of these will take place in Glen Arbor, Michigan.

• Friday, May 16, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Walking Exhibition”

• Friday, June 13, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Members Create Exhibition”

• Thursday, July 24, 10 am- 12 pm: Plein Air Poetry: Nature as a Companion

• 3 September Saturdays: 13, 20, 27, 1-3 pm: Creativity Bootcamp: Re-energizing Your Creative Practice

For more info about these workshops, please visit the Glen Arbor Art Center website or reach out to me.

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I’m also setting up readings for October and beyond in conjunction with the publication of my new book, The Return from Calvary. If you run a reading series or etc and want me to visit, please reach out!

As always, thank you for reading! More to come, as this pussy willow might say.

Whether this post was a slow read or a fast one, I hope you found something you needed... and I hope you have a theme song or two playing just for you.

For a short month, February sure felt long. Am I right?

For this post of Cake & Poetry, I chose this picture of the curtain at the Fisher Theater in Detroit because this is the energy I’d like to channel: good anticipation, not dread, which I’ve been feeling a lot these days. Know what I mean?

This curtain, powerfully lit, also reminds me of my recent go-to question: what got you thinking? Whenever my students do some reading, that’s what I’ve been asking them: what got you thinking?

One of the best parts of teaching is responding to their responses. The beauty and vibrancy of the curtain is how those exchanges often feel to me: something is about to be revealed.

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But other moments these days feel far from beautiful or vibrant or revealing in a good way. And some of my go-to strategies for steadying and nurturing myself have felt unavailable.

Much as I love walking, even in winter, and pretty as the snow has been, frigid temps and icy sidewalks just aren’t conducive to long walks. There’s nothing to do about it, and feeling out of sorts about feeling out of sorts doesn’t help. Lots of February was like that.

I’ve also decided to take an extended hiatus from reading Dr. Zhivago. It’s good, but I don’t love the sentences, and if I didn’t have the movie in mind (and Omar Sharif!), I don’t think I’d like the novel as much. In any case, there’s enough bleakness in the country right now; I can’t also read this bleak book (at least at around the halfway point).

It’s a little disappointing but also feels pretty good to step away from things and not add more onto what already feels like too much.

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So, that’s some of what I’m saying no to, but what about the yeses? What’s getting me thinking and feeling and being interested these days?

Well, baking, of course. Work has been overwhelming this semester, but Valentine’s Day was a good reason to say that baking comes first!

I made mini cannolis, chocolate cupcakes, vanilla cupcakes, and a big ol’ heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie. And I feel that I’ve somewhat perfected my buttercream. The secret: very soft butter whipped like crazy, a small amount of cream cheese (about half a block) also whipped like crazy, and then the powdered sugar, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. The cream cheese helps cut the sweetness.

As you can tell if you click through the links on this post and on many of my cake recipes, I really like Recipe Tin Eats. Her recipes are the best. And I just got her cookbook and will report back about that once I’ve had a chance to make a few things (and not only desserts!).

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Reading, too, though it mostly has been for teaching, has also buoyed my spirits.

My grad students and I have been reading selections Charles Wright’s Halflife and Quarter Notes. I first read Halflife when I was in my MA at Ohio University, and it changed how I wrote and how I thought about poetry. Later I had studied with Charles during my MFA at UVA, and he was the perfect kind of teacher for me: imparting knowledge almost by osmosis. I also just love Charles’ old-time elegance. He’s funny too. Workshop with him always felt special. If you’re a reader or writer of poetry (or would like to be), Charles Wright’s work (his many books of poems and these two books of prose) should be on your reading list.

Here are some moments of Halflife, both familiar and new-again, that got me thinking this time:

“Poetry is always transcribing from the invisible. It’s also a craft.”

“The best narrative is that which is least in evidence to the eye.”

“Poems are made up of details; good poems are made up of good details; great poems are made up of ‘luminous’ details.”

“What you see, wherever and however you see it——this is the proper subject matter.”

“The River of Light is not a tributary.”

I’ve always thought that the best teaching is time-release. Course evaluations really should happen a year later, or two years, or 10, or a lifetime. I’m still learning from Charles, and I haven’t had class with him since 1996!

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My YA lit students and I just read The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. If you’ve not read this extraordinary novel, I highly recommend it, no matter your age. It’s an important, very well written, beautifully structured novel, and narrator Starr Carter is someone I think you can’t help but root for.

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My Capstone students and I recently visited the WVU art museum, and I was blown away by the exhibit of work by Karin Broker and Patricia Bellan-Gillen. Beautiful and thought-provoking, but not more one than the other. That’s important to me. Even as a little girl, I resisted all lessons that were not also somehow pleasing to the eye.

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I’ve also really been enjoying my Detroit Pistons! My sister Ellen and I went to a game a few weeks ago, and I’ve been listening to other games when I can (that is, when the NBA allows me to...). But lest you think I am only a fan now that the Pistons are getting good again, oh no! That is not the case! I listened to loss after loss, year after year, so the current success is all the sweeter. The sounds of the game (not just basketball but also Red Wings hockey, Lions football, Tigers baseball, too) are what appeal to me. The best kind of background noise. My students like to tease me because I “consume no media” (their words, not mine). Or, very little media, compared to most people. And it’s true: I have a few tv shows and lots of old movies I like, but in general I am not a TV/movie person. I get bored. I’d rather take a walk. I start to weave and stopping watching and pretty soon I have no idea what’s going on and don’t care. But listening to games lets me take a walk too, or work in the garden, or weave, or clean, or just not be so tied down. My dad used to listen to baseball games while doing yard work; in her later years, my mom liked to watch (but mostly just listen, eyes closed) to baseball and basketball games. There’s something companionable about it: familiar names and voices. And there’s hometown pride. And, also, as my dad used to say: none of it really matters. The outcome isn’t that serious, though, sure, it can be fun to feel that way. I have so many thoughts about sports, but right now, I just appreciate the distraction from the too-many things that do matter.

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But I think that what I’m really needing right now is a little boredom. I’m very lucky that my life usually does have pockets of “not much” and that I get to spend a lot of time with myself. Some people likely don’t want that, but I wish it for them anyway! It’s a luxury. For real. And there seems precious little of boring downtime right now for any of us.

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But Spring is on the way, and that’ll be a help.

And I have quite a few spring, summer, and fall workshops to tell you about. All of these will take place in Glen Arbor, Michigan.

• Friday, May 16, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Walking Exhibition”

• Friday, June 13, 2-4 pm: Ekphrastic Poetry: Writing Under the Influence of Art! —— “Members Create Exhibition”

• Thursday, July 24, 10 am- 12 pm: Plein Air Poetry: Nature as a Companion

• 3 September Saturdays: 13, 20, 27, 1-3 pm: Creativity Bootcamp: Re-energizing Your Creative Practice

For more info about these workshops, please visit the Glen Arbor Art Center website or reach out to me.

As always, thank you for reading. I hope you have things (maybe even from this post) that get you thinking in a good way, and that you’re taking good care, finding beauty, and resting when you need to.

Here’s my cat, Myrna, doing just that. She’s an expert napper, of course, and my constant teacher.

And here are two recent sunrises that made me glad to see them. These daily revelations do help, don’t they? More beauty to come.

I remember towards the end of my MFA, I got so sick of my own poems. They were well-made. Certainly looked like poems. Obediently over at the left margin. But... ugh!

That's when I began to let the words move across the page. Or, rather, let them show up where they wanted.

It's like when my hair is styled too straight. It isn't really straight. It's naturally a little wavy and looks better that way.

My house too tends to be a wee bit messy. I've got a lot of projects.

And the back of weavings also: not so neat. I try to clean them up, but I don’t try that hard.

Anyway, you get the idea. The semester starts and I have a good plan. But not all the way and that feels just fine. After all, I need something to discover.

I’ve written before about how much I enjoy planning and improvisation, which (for me) are essential for writing and teaching and weaving and gardening and cooking and even baking.

I recently cut a weaving, nearly done, off the loom and just threw it away. It was boring, so why continue? And the loom could be better used for a weaving I might like. Snip snip! Felt good. Curiously, the weaving, once freed from the loom, was briefly more interesting to me — should I keep it, I wondered. Nah, toss it, I said to myself, so that’s what I did.

Is that the energy, as they say, of 2025? Oh, I don’t know. That seems a bit pronouncement-y. But look at those animal tracks! Gotta keep going, one way or another, seems to be the message. There are discoveries to be made. I don’t mean that in a dreamy way. If you’re an animal and it’s winter, wouldn’t you be out and about with the very purpose of discovering or rediscovering food? Or maybe something cozy to add to your home?

Meanwhile, January is by turns purposeful and dreary. One day feels like dusk all day; the next, there’s blinding sun off the snow. I like to hibernate and I like chilly walks.

Recent snow and a lot of it in West Virginia has necessitated both hibernation and quick walks in the serious cold. Kip and Polly love the snow, and Polly especially loves to help herself to a sno-cone, but they don’t like cold paws (or wearing boots!) and sometimes they have to be carried.

Is it really only week two of the semester? That’s what the calendar says, anyway. Good ol’ January: what can be discovered?

Here’s a poem, a moving across the page one that appeared in Purr, that’s about being on the lookout for what’s next. And of course it goes without saying that I don’t write like this much anymore. But if it feels like there’s something to discover by doing so, I’m sure I’ll circle back.

This time, the recipe round-up includes a fancy old favorite, the Pandoro, and two fancy-ish new favorites: almond tiramisu and chocolate chip ricotta cookies. Also, a fun little treat: cheese straws, which felt like a Girl Scout project. I mean that in a good way!

Have I written before about the Pandoro? I use Paul Hollywood’s recipe. It’s good, but I did make one change this year: one less egg yolk, partly because in the past it’s been a challenge to get the Pandoro baked all the way through and partly because I don’t like eggs. If I get it in my mind that something tastes (or looks) eggy... ugh, it’s all over. Eggs are important of course, but I like them where they belong: hidden in brownies, etc.

My quest to make almond tiramisu has been inspired by the delicious almond cream cake (is that what it’s called?) at Muriale’s in Fairmont, West Virginia. Have you had it? AMAZING.

Not sure my version is quite at that level, but I was pretty pleased and I plan to make it again. I used this recipe, and please note: no eggs.

As for the Chocolate Chip Ricotta Cookies, well, I saw Lidia Bastianich make them on CreateTV (do you know about this PBS station? It’s the best!), and she won't lead you astray. These cookies might look pale (my sister Ellen: “are they cooked?”), but wow are they good. My Michigan neighbors, who are often the recipients of my baking, gave rave reviews.

Even though I was a Girl Scout dropout (a story for another time), I have a collection of Girl Scout Handbooks (yes, really!) and I know a Girl Scout project when I see one. These cheese straws are just that. I can’t recall which recipe I used, so just choose one, and if it doesn’t include dry mustard, add some. Also, extra paprika on top. Again, thumbs up from the neighbors.

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This semester I’m teaching ENGL 405: Young Adult Literature. First time doing so, and so far, it’s fun! We began, of course, by remembering the earliest books we read and loved. When I brought in a collection of picture books and easy readers, Frances the badger was everyone’s favorite. Do you remember her? Frances is seriously relatable. The way she gets duped by Thelma: awful! And then the way she gets back at Thelma! You go, Frances. And all this over a tea set. But that’s real life for you.

Also a big hit: Mister Dog, “the dog who belonged to himself.” Talk about life lessons! He even smokes a corncob pipe.

Next up, we’ll be reading The Catcher in the Rye, which seems a pretty natural progression from Mister Dog. I’ve read the novel twice, once in high school and once since. It’s been a lot of years now. Stay tuned.

The students are also working on their Reading Autobiographies: all the highs (and lows) that have made them into the readers they are today. It’s been fun to share stories of reading triumphs and frustrations, favorite books and teachers and librarians, contraband middle grade novels (Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret, of course), and times we pretended to be characters we had read about.

There’s real joy in remembering these things. Several students have offered to lend me their favorite Middle Grade and YA books. Class flies by because everyone wants to talk, which really makes these sometimes long January days a bit better.

What about you? What are your reading memories? What was the best book ever when you were 11? What about 16? Maybe you should read it again now?!

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This is weaving #40, the one that replaced the one I threw away. I like it, but, as with poems, I start to think: eh, what’s next? Maybe that’s just January talking; Spring seems far off.

Or maybe thinking so much about those reading memories has gotten me impatient for that kind of excitement. As one of my students said, “I can remember discovering Nancy Drew... and then I read everything!” Me too!

And wasn’t that feeling just the best?

Two days before Christmas and I’m wondering what gifts I’m being given. Not wrapped packages, though those are welcome too, but Gifts, capital G. So far, this holiday season has had me feeling like I’m bump-bump-bumping along, moved this way and that, careening around corners, still mostly on track but also a little not, as in Disney’s “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.” That’s my kind of amusement park fun, but in everyday life... I’m not so sure.

For one thing, I’ve just gotten home from my niece’s sparkly wedding in snowy Banff. I’m not one who likes to travel around the holidays — I prefer non-stop baking at home — so just being out in the world in that way and at this time of year has felt a little discombobulating.

And now I’m writing this post while waiting for a slowly leaking tire to be fixed.

Metaphors abound!

And Lessons too (hmmmm...) and Gifts (oooh... but also eek!).

Meanwhile, a wintry mix is just beginning — I mean, a literal wintry mix, outside —, and I’m thinking about old-fashioned Christmases, like the one pictured above. That’s my mom in the 1950s. As my dad was fond of saying, tinsel used to be better: look how straight it hung! By the time I came along, tinsel had devolved into a static-y mess.

Also, Christmas used to be snowier, didn’t it?

Check out that snow cave! And that tree, more like a shrub. Oh, 1974! The best of times.

But, oh dear, I seem to have been having boot problems! I was (and still sometimes am) plagued by such things. You too? Maybe? That’s my sister Ruth helping out.

Even though one does like to improve and grow up and all that, there’s also something pleasing about still being the same little girl I once was. Fussiness about boots (and too-tight-too-loose shoelaces) is maybe not the most endearing thing, but I’m ok with it.

That said, I am on the lookout, especially around Christmas and New Year’s, for what’s to come, each bump and turn seeming to point me in a new direction.

An end-of-semester poem assignment I gave my undergrads seems apropos of “what’s to come.” After my students and I visited poet Tom Andrews’ archives at WVU (Tom was a WV native), I asked the students to imagine far into the future: what if someday they each had archival materials stored in a library? What might their archives consist of? Drafts of poems, sure, but what else?

T., who is in the ROTC, said her uniform would be in her archives. F. said his archives would include all the semi-embarrassing writing he did when he was younger and using a pseudonym. H. said boarding passes, game tickets, and art, gifted and made. B said her baby book would definitely be included. Other students mentioned playlists and favorite books (Blood Meridian; A Tree Grows in Brooklyn) and recipes and lucky charms and “embroidered homemade patches.” As usual, asking a simple question yielded such interesting answers, which is one thing I really enjoy about teaching.

A poem assignment naturally arose: write a poem addressed to someone exploring your archives or even just going through your stuff, someday, in a basement or attic. The results were surprising and poignant. Try it yourself and see.

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Me being me, whenever I look ahead, I also look to the past. In terms of gifts and lessons, especially, I’ve recently been thinking about little things I learned from older people other than my parents. For example, my Aunt Irene always insisted on warming dinner plates. She would chastise anyone who tried to serve her a hot dinner on a cold plate. And, yeah, good idea! Nowadays I also pop plates in the oven for a few minutes to warm them up.

What are some other examples of small things you learned from an older relative or a teacher or neighbor? These things could make a lovely little homemade book...

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No post of Cake & Poetry would be complete without some baking. Last year, I shared several Christmas favorites. This year, I’m a little behind, but here’s what I’ve got so far: Pull Apart Rolls, Double Chocolate Cookies (one of those back-of-the-bag recipes that really is so good), Apricot Danish (used this Kringle recipe and added apricot filling), Chocolate Chip Gingerbread Cake (made in cute little Bundt pans that, for the first time ever, got stuck — must have been the molasses — and thus not pictured in a pretty way), and the star of this year’s baking, Chocolate Christmas Wreath Bread (using this recipe for the dough and this one for the sugar and butter proportions to go with mini chocolate chips).

The wreath is especially delicious and reminds me of the Chocolate Horns from favorite Detroit area bakeries such as Zeman’s. Not a pastry horn like you might be thinking of, but a bread and chocolate situation — with, usually, a drizzle of chocolate icing. I decided (dumbly) to forgo that part (this time).

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When I think of Christmases past and of all-time memorable gifts, I think of my dear old Pup, a gift from my sister Ellen, c. 1976. Pup has had many a tear cried upon him, and in much more recent years, he has survived the washing machine. He’s also been on a lot of trips, including to Myrtle Beach, c. 1980.

I’ll never forget opening the box (a shoebox, if I’m remembering correctly) that contained Pup and loving him immediately and thinking he was, despite his name, also maybe a bear. I dunno.

Another conversation starter / classroom icebreaker / coffee table book idea: favorite gifts, like Pup, with photos from then and now. I think I might use that in class this coming semester...

I began by talking about gifts and Gifts, so it seems fitting to end with one of each. First, a Christmas poem I stumbled upon in truly nondescript book of “famous poems.”

Can’t say I’ve ever read this one before and Phillips Brooks looks a little too serious, but just think: the 1800s! What year was this exactly, I wonder. And what else was happening in the world? So much, no doubt. “Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight!” Talk about poignant. I do love those commas and that exclamation point. Grammatical, sure, but something else too. (Often, the punctuation is where the emotion is...) So that was one gift, happened upon.

As for Gifts this year, one big one for me has been the discovery of weaving. I’m still not sure what to think of the practice or the results. A good thing, still revealing itself. Here’s my most recent weaving, the biggest one yet, #39, the shape / size / color / texture, I hope, of things (on and off the loom) to come:

Whichever holidays you celebrate and in whatever ways, I hope these final days are punctuated by unexpected gifts and Gifts. The end of December is always a little strange, isn’t it? Enjoy!