I am of a generation that wrote letters – and waited, if sometimes impatiently, for a reply. I remember three cent postage stamps, and the sense of freedom that came with being old enough to walk or ride my bicycle solo around the block to go to the post office; I was probably six or seven. I was born in New England and raised in a historic village near the shores of Narragansett Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. While the village technically was home to a university, elementary school, a few small farms and groups of houses tucked among the surrounding woods, my history was initially defined by one block containing my house, the village well (where according to tradition George Washington had watered his horse), a library, and two small markets. It also included a few neighboring houses, tiny post office, art association building where my mother exhibited paintings, and the requisite spired white church whose charter dates to 1695.
Across the highway was the tavern where Washington had slept. Secondary roads led to other villages, towns and the ocean; the main road (bisecting the village north and south) continued east until it reached the bay, or west where it eventually intersected the interstate. My one-block world grew to two, gradually expanding to include the upper university campus and bike rides to Thirty Acre Pond (past the lower campus) where many of us learned to swim.
Summers were spent along rocky New England beaches or the sandier ones oceanside – and sailing; it would be impossible to imagine life near the water without the ability to be on the water. With proper homage to Ratty in The Wind in the Willows, “there is nothing – absolutely nothing – half so much worth doing as simply messing around in boats.”
After graduating from Rhode Island School of Design, the highways would lead me to the wider world, multiple endeavors, naval aviator / engineer husband, and the many houses I would call home – a life far different from the insular block into which I’d been born. My husband and I currently live in Maryland, where Maisie the dog oversees my gardening hours. Our five-spot cat, Thorp, is usually settled in a nearby window seduced by the warmth of any slice of sun he can find. Whatever peace might inhabit the week is often replaced by weekends exploding with the antics and laughter of grandchildren.
Technologically, I have expanded from pen and paper (which at times I still prefer) to typewriter, computers and hand held devices. Creating this site is another path on my life journey. I hope to give and receive, enrich and be enriched. I hope to explore and continually learn. I will most certainly encounter awkward moments, make missteps and hopefully be able to laugh at myself.
I registered the domain name on 7 May of 2012; started and abandoned the site multiple times – all before the first post; and asked myself what I have to share that is important enough to take up space in the world – and don’t really have an answer. Until now, I never quite climbed down from the fence: either let it go as an idea that would never mature, or truly engage the project. Then, Maisie the dog died unexpectedly from complications related to tumor.
Meant to be my husband’s companion, she became mine as his health declined. She was at my side for more than twelve years, from the moment we awoke until the day ended – even then, she slept on the rug next to our bed. Needing to do something, anything, I turned to pen and paper, but thoughts remained raw and unfocused. I’ve written poetry for decades, created and hand bound little collections and quietly set each aside on a shelf with a future thought to do something more. I could not write.
Life As A Poem has become a metaphor for time spent with Maisie’s spirit and also provided a respite from the grieving process. I focused on the technical aspects and made small decisions. One night I noticed the domain name had been registered exactly 3 years prior, on the day she died. A sign? While creating and administering is spent in Maisie time, this site is not about her – though she surely will live on in poems old and new. Her spirit has become its raison d’être and I am grateful – it seems she is still by my side.
I envisioned this space as an intimate and friendly place where visitors might pause over a cup or coffee or tea perhaps – not just to read my poems, but also connect to or meditate upon their own personal experiences. Life is big, busy, messy and sometimes overwhelming; fundamentally, it is made up of single moments that too often pass by, unnoticed. Each poem has been a moment in my life – happy, sad, playful, anguished, restive, peaceful. Each of us has today – the rest is a tenuous gift. I have begun to heal my heart, and beginning again.
Welcome to Life As A Poem and thank you for visiting!