of my returning accent

I was born in the place of the
Chattanooga ChooChoo
near where you can stand on Lookout Mountain
& see seven states at once!

Later, I was raised up in the land of Jo Carson
& Dolly Parton
Eastman Kodak Chemical & the Meade Paper Companies
I grew up distrusting the heritage of Country music
but secretly loved Funfest
& wanted desperately for the KKK to have been spawned
in some other state

When I went to college
& I was trying to become a citizen of the world
I tried very hard to tell witty jokes with dry humor
to speak intelligently
& write poetry in French
French was sometimes hard because of the accent marks

Somewhere during that time, I lost my accent

When I was ready to fly on my own
at the age of 23
I landed in the place of
Nikki Giovanni & the Kind
The same mountains cut ever so slightly
different from my home
I fell in love with coffee shops & knick knacks
I discovered couscous & pine nuts
& tried very hard not to think about the fact that
I was falling in love with a place that once had itself
drawn out of Appalachia

For ten weeks this summer
I've been living in the place of
the UMW (which no longer means United Methodist Women to me)
of Mother Jones
of Wendell Berry & Bob Edwards & Ralph Stanley
of my returning accent & & &

& I realize now that I've learned how to draw myself back into Appalachia

Next spring, a new adventure's on the horizon
I'll pack up my tiny car again
and strike out for the land of
Bob Dylan & Garrison Keillor
Dr. Seuss & Mary Tyler Moore

I wonder what impact this new place will have on me...
Will it leave accent marks on my sentences?
Will I be as inclined to write poetry across my skin?
Will I find that I am yet again able to call this strange, new place
home?

all good things must come to an end

I know, I know, it's been a while. I've been remiss in my duties as a travelloguer (?). I've been busy. I made my way back to that other 'burg for one thing. Too surreal.

My last few weeks at Appalshop have contained a lot of ups and downs. I helped to write the Kentucky Arts Council final report, took a crack at the first draft of an annual campaign letter, and made great strides to replace myself. I have to admit that I felt kind of proud that the organization claimed that I'd accomplished so much work in a position that never existed before that I should find someone else to keep doing it.

I watched some amazing struggle happen over whether or not Appalshop should continue this festival they have every year called Seedtime. It was tough to be in this place of having virtually one foot out the door but watching a conversation about the future of a place that I really love and having a lot of opinions about that matter but feeling like I probably shouldn't say too much about it and silently hoping that what I wanted would be what the group decided. It was. The festival will continue. Hooray!

My last weekend in Whitesburg was spent with a gentle, restful, sad, tired, and celebratory spirit. My ears are feeling congested again, so I didn't go swimming for a week in the cement pond. But I did enjoy lots of hang time with friends. We went up to the lake on top of Pine Mountain and hung out like beach bunnies. One friend accidentally caught a 3 pound bass while she was messing around with a fishing pole. I had to laugh because of all the people who would fish all day trying to catch one and not accomplish their goal. It was also funny because even though we had 2 camera phones and a digital camera there, we forgot to take a picture.

I also spent some "alone time" and some cleaning/packing time. It was hard to believe I was boxing up food that it seemed only yesterday I had put in the cupboard. It's amazing how quickly this two months has flown by. Even as I write this, I realize that these are words are spoken by anyone, everywhere, all the time. They're ubiquitous words. We all have this odd relationship with time. Sometimes I feel as if I fall in and out of time...

Anyway, I don't know if I'll feel compelled to write on this again before it will be more like "from Blacksburg to Whitesburg and back to Blacksburg again." I do have some pictures to post when I have time. Thanks for keeping up with my summer adventures. Perhaps it's time for you to write to me and tell me about your journeys.

All good things.

Shannon

when the winds shift in the other direction...

It happened so suddenly.

All it took was one e-mail this morning from someone in Blacksburg about something quite simple, and then my whole thinking shifted.

I mean, all this time, I knew...somewhere in the back of my mind...I must have known...that soon I would be returning to that other 'burg quite soon...

I feel like I've been living in a kind of daze for weeks now. My routine is sosimple. Get up, get ready for work, work for 8-9 hours with a lot of fantastic people in a comfortable building, go swimming or go for a walk, go home & cook, read and/or watch Six Feet Under, go to sleep, start the whole thing over again.

Many weekends have either consisted of extended versions of the evening adventures--longer swimming, longer reading, a walk around the vegetable stand, an outdoor excursion--or a completely different adventure like going somewhere magical (Asheville!) or hosting someone fun (mom and goddessmother!).

And then, in one fell swoop...Thoughts in the Presence of Fear. (a title of an upcoming Appalshop film, but it fits here to match the idea that the school year cometh)

All of the sudden, my mind is racing! I need to buy books and get my oil changed and matriculate (something that always made me think of hairy palms) and organize my TrapperKeeper. I love/hate the last month before school begins. It reminds me of the feeling of playing Hide & Go Seek when you have to pee really badly. You're very excited and totally terrified at the same time.

Wait, I just realized that this could be my last semester of formal course work.

Ever.

Crap. Now why did I write that?

Now I'm really scared.

I gotta go take a dip.

bb's b'day

Last night was my roomie's 23rd birthday. We actually have a new roommate as well. A lovely, shiny redheaded, four-legged named Abe. Abe's not too sure he likes me yet, but I'm hoping he'll warm up to me because he's very, very cute. And the supersensor in me wants to touch his shiny coat all the time.

B. gave me one of the biggest honors possible. Despite the wealth of dining-out establishments in Whitesburg (insert sarcasm here) (and, yes, we could have driven to Norton or Hazard or Pikeville), she said that a dinner cooked by moi would be the perfect birthday feast. False humility aside, I really think this decision was fueled by her tiredness from weekend travel.

Still, it was superfun to be the captain of someone's birthday meal. While B. was taking Abe for an extendo walk around Fish Pond Lake (a location named by the Society for Redundancy Association), I was making dinner and setting the table. When she came back, we had dinner and she regailed me with stories of her travels. I regailed her with dim recollections of stories from my 23rd birthday. Then we made fried Angel Food Cake, because let's face it, Angel Food Cake really is too healthy for you, and the last fourth of it is difficult to finish off. The grand finale of the evening was an episode of Six Feet Under. We've been wathcing it steadily on DVD thanks to the Netflix Oracle.

The thing I love about my roommate is that she was entirely satisfied by this birthday. I made the comment that it wasn't dinner and dancing at the Ritz Carlton. She said, eh. At the age of 23, she's already reached that zen place in her life that many of us strive for where you feel peaceful and accomplished and celebratory just eating a blackberry (not punching dates and numbers into one) and laying on a couch, rubbing your foot across your dog's belly.

defining summer

the smell of freshly picked basil twirled carelessly between dirty, calloused fingers

eating angel food cake with quince sauce and listening to oldies on a kitchen radio

doing the twist in your underwear

washing dishes, smiling while thinking of someone faraway

watching a lonely cat waltz meaningfully down a lonesome, steamy road

writing poetry on stationery instead of napkins,
after dinner instead of at an intersection
(or crisis of confidence)

tossing merrigold buds into the corner of a garden

hearing the whisper of rain as it fulfills a promise

warming my face on a new friend's hearty bread

feeling the pinch of a mischievous mosquito

sweeping peach and tomato juice from my chin

falling headlong into the sadness of solitude (like a kid on a slip-n-slide)

mailing something outrageous & thinking...
...i deserve you...

my senior year was sponsored by Pal's iced tea

This morning I heard this story on NPR:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5510908


It was so bizarre; I could hardly believe it. In case you don't have time to listen, basically schools are starting to sell sponsorships for buildings, halls, rooms, etc. MLK High School will become McDonald's High. This activity is purportedly to relieve the tax payers' burden. I am appalled.

I remember that a few years back I heard a story on NPR that someone was developing a laser that could project ads onto the moon. As in, this evening's full moon is brought to you by the Nike Swoosh. I was outraged. I was ready to fly to Botswana or Bellorussia, or wherever I needed to protest. It turned out to be an NPR April Fool's Day hoax story.

Here we are just a few years later, and I think we might actually be moving in that direction. Can you believe that this is really happening? It's hard enough for children to appreciate the load of commercialism on their lives, but when we blur the lines of civic and commercial institutions this far, it makes me wonder what comes next...

And let's think for just a minute about the idea of relieving tax payer's burden. I submit that the reason why don't have tax money to pay for good schools is because the money that should go there is feeding these same corporations that now want to engrave their names on the back of desks (something that I got paddled for!)

The only situation where this insidious idea feels like it could be halfway okay would be a community like the one where I'm spending the summer. If a school received sponsorship where there simply are no tax dollars, or individual dollars, to be spared, then is it a viable solution? I'm still not sure.

Now on a totally different note, let us all grasp hands across the internet and dance in a circle while singing "Rain, rain, go away, come again another day...(or not!)"

the swimmin' hole

One of the first things that I did after arriving in Whitesburg was to purchase a season pass to the town pool. I figured out that, if I went nine times this summer, I would have earned my pass and every time after that would make it cheaper.

One reason I've enjoyed this activity so much is that it's fun to watch the kids interacting in their social groups. I've watched different kids who are always there (the pool makes a good babysitter, for sure), as they represent different phases of my life.

The two and three-year-olds, who are both excited and scared to death by the big, blue, cement pond.

The seven-year-olds, as they run fearlessly off the diving board over and over again, so slight that they hardly make the board bend when they pounce on it or make a splash when they enter the water.

The twelve-year-olds who are starting to notice boys but are still very into handstands and how long you can hold your breath.

The teenagers who have lost interest in swimming for the most part, except when being thrown into the pool by their boy-crushes.

I sat half in the shade, half trying to tan my helpless legs one Saturday, and watched a group of teenage boys, five or six of them who, no kidding, all had on the exact same swim trunks in a rainbow of different colors. I could almost imagine them going shopping together and arguing..."No way, man, you know I'm always orange!" I guess guys don't really act that way, huh?

Anyway, yesterday, when I came back to the pool after my long thunderboomer/god-fearing absence, I was putting my stuff down in a corner and preparing for my swim. I'm currently putting Silly Putty in my ears every time I swim, like I did when I was three. Just before I got to the Silly Putty, though I realized, with my back turned to the pool, that the two girls nearest me were talking about me...

"You see that woman in the navy polka dot swimsuit?"
"Yeah."
"She comes here every day to get her workout."
"Really?"
"Yeah, she swims back and forth around the kids and when she's ready to cool down she jogs in the pool like this..."

I didn't turn around to see the action.; I just plugged up my ears and went on with my business. Later, I realized they were actually trying to imitate my "work out" at the other end.

And the whole time, I was thinking to myself...When did I become this person? I can so vividly remember, as if it were yesterday, spending six hours on a Sunday in a friend's pool as we carefully constructed an extravagant synchronized swimming/water ballet performance to "She's Like the Wind" by Patrick Swayze.

And now, I'm the older woman that some little girl is trying to imitate?

Life is too bizarre.