If you hadn’t heard, Seattle’s had quite the heat wave. It’s 101 degrees right now, which is fine if you live in Texas or somewhere along the equator, but here in the temperate Pacific Northwest people freak out at anything above 85 degrees. It certainly gets this hot elsewhere and people stay indoors without much complaint. But here we have no air conditioning in houses. Just at malls, the movies and, of course, at Applebees. Which is exactly where Elle and I went last night for our first ever date alone since River was born. We had talked of going up in the mountains to swim in a creek and drink wine in the shade. But it was so damn hot the coolest thing we could do was head out to a chain restaurant. It was a grand time.

Today, though, we decided we wouldn’t just slog through the heat in a cranked out daze. No. We were going to do something fun. Which we did. A forty minute drive up into the Cascade mountains brought cooler temperatures and a delightfully cold river to play in.

Denny Creek runs crystal clear through tall stands of cedar and hemlock and boasts several sections of natural water slides. The best thing about this river is that you can step off the trail at any point and claim your own pool, rather than crowding at one swimming hole. So we swam and sat in the shade, and marveled at the scene while River slept.

My only thought now—while I sit melting into a couch back at the village—is why we didn’t stay until nightfall. Oh well. We head to the north woods of Wisconsin on Friday where it is rumored to be in the 70’s with daily thunderstorms. Sounds just perfect to us.

It was a hot busy weekend, working on the chicken coop, enjoying the boy and trying to stay cool. We’re leaving town at the end of this week and it feels like we still have a lot to get done before we go. I was told this would happen, but I’ve never felt time slip so quickly as in the past six weeks.

So last night was a wonderful treat—time to slow down with good friends in the shade of one of my favorite childhood climbing trees. Chicken kabobs and roasted veggies on a bed of fresh arugula paired with an ear of summer corn. We chatted and laughed, told stories and listened. And we did so under the candle chandelier I made yesterday afternoon.

It was fun to remake a familiar, but unused place in the yard—to see it new and really appreciate its character. I know the people made the evening what it was, but I can’t help thinking the chandelier added to the magic.

Elie: “Okay, so I think I’ll work on feeding and getting him to sleep if you want to take your choice time until 5pm.”

Wha….?  Choice time?  Yep.  Choice time.

Elie and I have been dancing around the fairness issue of how much time River takes.  So far she has been putting in the majority. Even though I put in a good deal of time in myself, I argue that she’s got the boobs and the boy wants the boobs.

Apparently there are some holes in my argument as we have decided that somewhere in the day we should each get four hours of choice time. (I know, I said it again, but I’m still kind of in disbelief that those words have re-entered my vocabulary….it’s like tonguing over a recently lost tooth).

The upside is that we’ll both be getting some more intentional time to refresh ourselves and that’s good for everyone. And even with the preschool-esque vibe of such slotted free time the wording really does apply a bit of pressure to my decisions. No longer can an afternoon just disappear thoughtlessly. When given free reign, I must think hard. Play guitar or try to write a poem? Read a book or mess around on facebook? Take a nap or go for a paddle?

Some activities obviously sound cooler and more worthwhile, but on a gray day like today, all I wanted to do was sit around. It’s strange how days have been slipping in and out of each other like little Russian dolls. Little replicas of each other, some holding more, some less. The days are still lovely and full of surprise, but the lines blur more and more.

I suppose we’re still in the early days of this rite of passage and everyone who has children seems to know it. They see us on the street, smile and ask, “how old?” “Five weeks,” we respond cheerfully. “Oh sure,” they say with a confidence I can’t help but trust. “Don’t worry,” they say, “it just gets better.”

So much can happen in a day. Two people can go from being two independent folks to being a family of three in a quick minute.

That’s what happened to my parents 26 years ago today. They drove across the stuck traffic of L.A. so I could be born in the hospital where all the movie stars go to die.

Today I woke from a good sleep and enjoyed a calm morning to myself. I read the great words of Jim Harrison and tried to write some of my own. I made homemade ice cream. I went for a couple hour solo paddle and came back to make a great meal with ingredients from our garden. I had time to pause and think. To move slow and reflect.

_________

A year ago I woke alone on a cliff above the Dubawnt River, a couple hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle in the Northwest Territories. I took my time with coffee and a fresh cinnamon roll and wrote a poem. Then me and my boys paddled some 20 miles. Life was good and simple.

Today life was good and simple too, just in a different place with different fare. When I paddled today, I had to snake under the freeway before hitting the quiet, but I used the same muscles and the same still place at my center.

I’ve spent the majority of my birthdays in the far north, on canoe trips, in the woods…away from busy-ness and people. Today was my first ever birthday in Seattle—even though I grew up here—and it was a good one. For me, birthdays have never been about presents, but presence. I got both today, with my boy River in my arms and a good chance to be centered in this place I’m from. Life. Is. Good.

I was surfin’ the web—after a nice evening of wine, cheese, apples, blueberries and bread on the front porch—when I came upon the cover pic of my newest chapbook up on Toadlily Press‘ website. The book, which combines four chapbook length collections by four different authors, will be available this fall, and I’m glad to say, it will look damn good in bookstores, on coffee tables, shelves, in bags, and especially good in your hands.

I understand the proverb, but I wholeheartedly disagree with that one should not judge a book by its cover. Book design is an art, one that should not be forgotten, especially in the representation of other art! It can be nerve wracking to hand over your precious work to let someone else decide how to present it. The results can be crushing.

But in this case, I am particularly pleased with the product.

My collection, The Smallest Working Pieces, is one part of the alchemy making up By Way Of, a rare type of book which I am proud to belong to. I hope you like the cover as much as I do. I promise, the writing follows suit.

Well Damn. Jayber Crow, a self-proclaimed indie folk duo from the Midwest, play mean. And by that I mean, they play amazingly well. Every song was tight and well crafted, precise in its energy—great moments of momentum butted up against the softest picking.  Tight harmonies, nice faces and bam—these boys are a hit.

River liked his second-ever show well enough to sleep right through it even though it was a bit louder than last night. The surprising thing is that at both shows he started to cry during the last song. I know the feeling. We didn’t want it to end either. I’m tempted to follow these boys on the road as they travel down the West Coast.  We’ll see how I feel in the morning and what responsibilities still seem shirkable. (That’s right, I just made up a word).

Live music—good live music—lifts the soul.

Tonight we had the good fortune of seeing The Ericksons here in Seattle.  It was River’s first show and the boy slept straight through it. Of course, the striking harmonies and subtle guitar lulled me something sweet as well, and if I hadn’t been so hooked by the lyrics, I could have been carried off to the best kind of sleep too.

It was nice to be out in the community with our boy knowing that our life continues and we get to bring him along for the ride. Too many parents, it seems, stop everything for their kids. I don’t think that is a good thing for parent or child. Let the kid be an important part of the crowd, give them what they need, love them tirelessly, but don’t (and I hate to sound preachy) let the world revolve around them.

Since our early days Elle and I have sought out a good story and have done our best to live it well. There are new surprises, unexpected passions and challenges, but those just sharpen the flavors. I think we’ll be doing River the best kind of favor by bringing him into that story without stopping the flow.

So tomorrow night we’ll be out for his second-ever show featuring our good friend Pete in his band Jayber Crow. If you haven’t already, check them out as well as The Ericksons. They’re both amazing groups and seeing them play makes ours, and River’s, story better.

W.S. Merwin recently won his second Pulitzer Prize in poetry for his book The Shadow of Sirius (Copper Canyon Press). I’ve been reading his work here and there for as long as I’ve been taking poetry seriously, but just last night I watched a truly charming program, a conversation between Bill Moyers and W.S. Merwin about poetry, Merwin’s life and his most recent book. Here are few lovely quotes from the transcript.

Merwin on the origins of poetry:

I believe that poems begin with hearing and with listening. One listens until one hears something.

Merwin on what led him to poetry:

Feeling about the mystery of words. What made a word a word. What made a word express something. And what made a blade of grass come up between the stones of the sidewalk. And when my mother explained that the Earth was under the sidewalk, I had a feeling of great reassurance.

I highly recommend that anyone interested in the world, in the world of words, in genuine thoughtfulness, in humility and wonder, check this program out here.  It’s fabulous.

Reading poems (and other literature) aloud is part of my daily life. I know that isn’t the case for most people. On occasion, I want to use this space to share that love and hopefully spread the good word, often of other poet’s work. I hope you enjoy this marvelous poem by an incredible poet that disappeared on a small island off the coast of Japan this year. This one has been ringing in my head since the day I first read it months ago.

The Invisible Birds of Central America

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Here’s a poem from The Writer’s Almanac. Make sure to listen to Garrison Keillor’s audio recordings if you haven’t before. He’s pretty much fabulous.

Lonely Lake

It was the name given it on our hiking map. Intrigued,
we followed a narrow, rising trail flecked with autumn,
aspen leaves beneath our feet, young trees leaning across
as if to guard the integrity of loneliness. At the end,
we found the lake, small jewel shining in space, not
obviously frequented, although there was a rickety
dock and on it, a battered rowboat and dented canoe.
No paddles. We sat, one in rowboat, one in canoe,
the loneliness of the lake pared down to bare essentials—
shore lined with thick, dark pine, intense and cloudless sky,
sun flaring on water’s changing surface. A hawk dipped
down to startle the peace while two ducks rode the ripples
unperturbed. Stunned by beauty, we reached across—
boat to canoe, canoe to boat—to touch hands,
our own lonely selves connecting as lightly and effortlessly
as the dragonfly wing that earlier brushed against my face.

—Joyce Kennedy