OWAV:) 03/30/11, 6am, 38°, raining

I woke up to the sound of rain at about 3am this morning, burrowed down into the covers and went back to sleep.  Woke again to the smell of smoke, drifting in the bedroom window.  Our neighbor across the river had started a slash pile burning late yesterday afternoon and now it is smoldering, after being soaked by the rain, and the smoke comes straight to our window.  I get up, close the window and go back to bed.  This time I go back to sleep, but it is the in and out sleep of crazy dreams.  Dreams that make no sense and just keep going on and on.  Finally, sinus's plugged and head aching from breathing the smoke, I drag myself out of the mire of dreams and make my way, first to the kitchen, get my morning cup of coffee and next to my recliner and the laptop.  Before I start on scrabble games, I rub my forehead and nose with Mentholatum, to relieve the pressure on my sinus's.  (An old time remedy)  Now with tears streaming down my checks, I catch up on email and scrabble, then on to my blog.

Yesterday was spent at writing group, where we share our writing with each other, making "constructive comments" that is intended to help make us better writers.  I feel very inadequate at this job, because the other people in our group are seasoned writers and I a newbie.  In the long run I probably get the most out of the group because they can help me, if that is possible, and I mostly listen to them.

One writer in particular is our only poet.  She has been a high school english teacher and has also taught college level writing classes.  She has just finished a manuscript of poetry, to be published.  I think of Kathy as kind and fragile, but also strong in many ways.  She lives with her husband "out north" as it is called here in Wallowa County.  Out north near Flora, Oregon, where the winters are fierce and she is alone much of the time, while her husband teaches at the State School for the Blind in Lewiston, Idaho.  In this remote location and time to herself, with only cats, chickens, and wild animals, to keep her company, she writes incredible poetry.  I have had to learn to really listen, when she is reading, to understand the meaning of her work.  Her poems do not rhyme and have meaning that goes way beyond the norm.  I doubt that I will ever be a lover of poetry, but have learned to appreciate much of what she writes.

I arrive back home about 3pm, and work off and on, on the FOJB mailing, that is still sitting on the kitchen table.  Herb has warmed up the leftover noodles for his dinner and is either reading or playing on the computer.  I almost finish folding, stamping and labeling the mailing by 8pm and decide to leave the rest for morning. I Chat with Bobi and Cienna sometime in the afternoon and they are waiting for me to do the scrabble games.  Thus ends another day on Barton Heights.  OWAV:)