Welcome from Amy D. Unsworth

Language, Literature, Learning & Life.

Celebrating Kansas

There's a poetry reading Friday at Radina's Coffeehouse to celebrate the opening of the conference of "Nation, Region, and Frontiers." I'll be reading, along with 10 other Kansas poets, some of which I know and others I'm looking forward to meeting.

Freecyle, Hometown Parades, and other wonders of the Modern World

I've just recently discovered Free-cycle. It's a system where you can find new homes for items you no longer need or want. Or find items you might need or want. It's a way to keep used, yet still useful, goods out of the landfill. There's over a thousand participants in my area alone. It's a good sign, I think.

We went to the parade tonight. We have lived in one place for awhile now it would seem. I actually knew people who were on the sidewalk with me. My neighbors drove by with a flat-bed of 4Hers all chanting and screaming and waving. I saw children I recognized from my sons' school and they've grown into teens while I've watched. These are tendrils, roots, fine as cornsilk.

I've been assigned an office which must make it official that I'm going to be teaching here in the fall. A small place, but mine, for now. I can move my books in on Monday.

Rain, Vines, and "The Wild Iris"

This is the summer for vines. The summer squash and the watermelon are racing to fill their spaces before the other invades. The rain has fallen enough that the garden is growing without help from the water hose: lupines, oregano, flat italian parsley, short stocky sunflowers, coral bells, redbell peppers, russian sage.

There is something satisfying about finishing all the little projects that I had left undone out of necessity: putting the closets to order, tidying the bookshelves, pulling weed, and harvesting my herbs.

We are playing chess. The pieces march across, are knocked down, and set up again. My son is learning strategy. It no longer matters who wins. This is success.

I am reading Louise Gl├╝ck's "The Wild Iris." It is cool water from a spring-fed well.
Do we choose the world we live in?