Graduated!

...but not done.

Mid-Residency

Woken this morning by the snow plow! Wish I could sleep more, but maybe this is the sleep gods' way of giving me more hours of Bennington before I have to give it all up on Saturday night at graduation. I gave my reading on Monday and looked up to see a sea of smiling warm faces: our little Bennington world, listening. A great privilege and pleasure. Lecture to come on Saturday morning, and a little frisson of controversy to go with it, since I'll be speaking in part about a writer who has caused quite a stir here. Amazing how everyone's lectures feed into a greater, connected conversation -- one of the things I will miss most about being here.

My daughter has a cold; my son some strange swelling on the back of his neck; my dear husband is holding down the fort, teaching my classes and embracing his role as 'Daddo' with amazing grace and fortitude. I hope it is a gift, my absence. I miss them all so much.

Awake with the Nighthawk

Always here, however tired I am (and I am tired), I wake early, the buzz of creative excitement and inquiry a tireless alarm. Finally, I decided last night (late, of course) on which piece of my book I will read on Monday, and feel better for it. One voice: 'It's just a reading.' Another: 'This is the proof of everything you've worked on these past two years;  of how far you have learned to crack open your soul to the universe; your arrival, finally, in your own skin.' In a way, though they are not here physically, I want to do a good job -- my best -- for my husband and children who have allowed me this time and journey from which, in some ways, they have been rudely excluded. I miss them so much -- need their physical presence, to ground me; their unconditional acceptance. It is them to whom I will return and in whose presence I must ultimately live, and I am sad that they can't share in this, my graduation.
Wanting to enjoy myself more: to embrace this time, but feeling oddly sad and flat. Last night, Patricia Hampl came to read, and for a moment I was lifted. I will miss those opportunities to be daily spurred on and inspired by those who have been my models. I suppose when I sit in the presence of those writers and hear them, live!, I am feeling something very like love.
My thesis advisor, Phillip Lopate can't be here and I feel a little lost. Dinah is here, but she's not 'mine' anymore. My mother has sent me a card though, and I keep that on my desk here. She has always been my champion.
May I find the grace and strength to carry on and speak the right words; to shine a light.

Final Residency

At Bennington for graduation. Tired, nervous, oddly wordless. Need to practice my reading and lecture but just can't seem to find the energy. Ran/walked today and saw the sky, its high cirrus, and that helped, but now I just want to hide and sleep. Maybe tomorrow that great energy I need will arrive.
The children are telling me in their own way, 'Enough, Mommy. Time to graduate and come home!' How I wish they could come for the ceremony, but how happy I am, too, how grateful to have this reflective alone time. Need to gather strength for the journey ahead.

Still out here

How long is it since I posted? And now I have an 8 year-old, a nearly-6 year-old, and in a couple of weeks' time an MFA and maybe, maybe the beginning of another journey with my book...
Hope to write every day when I'm up in Vermont. Or maybe I'll just be reeling.

Back Home

Arrived yesterday for the fourth of my five residencies here at Bennington. Vermont -- ah, the greenness, the gentle air, the books, the words, the people. My husband and children brought me and they ran with me in the field here down to 'the end of the world' and I was happy -- knew in my skin and my lungs and veins the gift I've been given.
Last night, Donald Hall reading aloud his piece about aging that I happened to have read in The New Yorker, and this coming week so many wonderful writers reading and sharing their wisdom. This term I will work with Phillip Lopate and will get to be in a workshop led by him and Sven Birkerts. Lucky me.
So many people here who feel like sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, old old friends. Home indeed! Ten days, then, again, the work!

Love

Progressing, slowly, hopefully surely -- actually, intermittently surely and then full of doubts, immobilized by fits of crying, which means, I think, I'm on the right track. I keep thinking, 'Wish I'd started a decade earlier,' but then I wouldn't have had the necessary distance. Manuscript growing; heart open wide. Hope I stay healthy/alive till 90 so I can get it all done -- die absolutely vital; 'in media res.' And so I can be here to watch my lovely angels grow; be here for them. Seven is already painful, I can tell; five is happy, but my girl, like my boy, will suffer I know and I want to be their cushion; their oxygen when they can't get enough. I posted a picture of my daughter on Face Book and so many people said, in effect, 'She's you.' I can only wish -- and wish she can get through it all stronger than I did. Can't stand to think there will be dark times, but these are what has informed my writing, so who am I to say? Let the light shine. As the song goes that we sing on our way to school, 'Shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine, shine.'