I totally enjoyed my jaunt over to MSU-Moorhead to read as part of the Tom McGrath Visiting Writers Series. The students were terrific, and the reading and craft talk very generously attended. I was treated very kindly, and got to stay in a wonderful old B&B. Life was good.

Some things I learned. The twin cities of Fargo and Moorhead are smashed all into one word that you say together really fast: Fargomoorhead if you live on the Fargo side of the river, and Moorheadfargo if you live on the Moorhead side of the river. I was explaining this phenomenon to my friend P. on the phone the other night and I kept flubbing it up and saying Margo-Forehead instead, and then laughing hysterically. And then we both ket yelling MARGO-FOREHEAD(!) on the phone at each other and laughing hysterically some more. And henceforth it will now be officially known as Margo-Forehead, which kind of does have a certain ring to it, don't you think?

Also, all night long in Margo-Forehead, the Burlington Northern rattles through town, hooking and unhooking its cars, and blowing its whistle. And if you're late, you just blame it on the train.

Since I've been back, I've mostly just been rushing around trying to get caught up. I love how familiar and comforting my own bed feels when I come home after being away. And I love how nice it is to see my cats again, up to their same old kooky cat shenanigans. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I am, and what huge luxuries these comforts really are.

Finally, I will leave you all with The Blog Archive Meme, poached from Farkleberries:

1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

I grew up in Wyoming with public-bathroom-phobic parents who would rather suffer a case of hemorrhoids than actually have to initiate any flesh-to-porcelain contact with a non-domestic commode.

(From a post dating back to October 22, 2002, (from my old blog stomping grounds, titled "Indoor/Outdoor Humans.")

montando su onda lisa

(From September a year ago)

Believe it or not, I also grew up (in New Jersey) with public-bathroom-phobic parents - at least my dad - who would rather stay home than initiate non-domestic-porcelain-to-flesh contact.

This was fun to try. See here for mine.

Rebecca, what does yours mean? It sounds so beautiful to say aloud. Like something that should be sung on the inside of a Picasso painting while playing blue-colored instruments.

That sentence was so provocative I had to read the original post.

Thank your for snapping me out the delusion that plaid flannel pajama bottoms can pass as leisure pants. It was a painful, but necessary revelation for me.

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Ms. Heart, it's the middle of Bone Lullaby, part of a 5 part song cycle about Key West that I wrote for my composer. Our orchestra is performing it with Brenna Wells, a soprano from Boston in April. The Spanish sections are actually the same as the English section in the middle. (Thank you.) I love that you recognized it, even one line, as a song.

Bone Lullaby


Cante la arena blanca,
sal rota sobre la playa,
corazón del delfín
montando su onda lisa
en la noche.
Sing the white sand,
salt broken on the beach,
heart of the dolphin
skimming her sleek wave
in the night.
Sleep child,
ride the island.
Dolphin holds you
in her fin. This water
is your home.
Sing the bones,
the broken husk.
Coconuts speak in tongues,
spilling milk to the sea.
Cante los huesos,
la cáscara quebrada.
Cocos hablan en le voz del Dios,
derramar la leche al mar.

Patty: I still maintain that possibly in a large urban center, where one could potentially negotiate a midnight grocery run with, say, some semblance of anonymity, the Passing Plaid Flannel Pajama Bottoms Off as Leisure Pants Maneuver might still be pulled off. I imagine that others would disagree and argue that I'm still somewhat deluded in this regard.

Rebecca: The song lyrics are so beautiful! Thank you for sharing them . . . I would love to hear them sung with the orchestra. It must be stunning.

Miss Heartachoke,
I DON'T KNOW!
Why?
Because he hasn't finished writing the music that's why. And why hasn't he finished writing the music? It's because I won't pick up my telephone, that's why. He calls me every ten minutes...what does this mean? And how about this? And this? This is not our first collaboration, and we are, good god, writing an opera together. The first piece we wrote together was a nightmare for me. He argued with me over every single word. Sure, English is his third language, but sheesh. The second collaboration I just handed over the piece and left town. This song cycle is 5 poems and I don't have the energy to explain them all to him every time he writes a new measure, so we're at a stand-off. Still, he scheduled the piece for the end of April. He'll have to finish. Hahahaaaa.

http://philharmonianw.org/20060430.htm

The composer:
http://philharmonianw.org/conductor.htm