Now playing: “Doll Parts” by Hole. (See below. And also, what day do I NOT want to be the “girl” with the most cake? I mean, I’ll share, but cake is basically its own food group. Not those ridiculous cupcakes, either. They’re fine, but they’re NOT CAKE. Thus sayeth the raccoon.)

Fall temps have finally swept in (though ahead of fall), and just in time: Barry’s band will be playing down by the river tomorrow evening, a new venue our town is experimenting with. It could be one of those nights where the first set feels pleasant, the second requires a quilt. But honestly? I’ll take that over the sticky 90-degree gigs of summer.

This week has been a mosaic of small, surprising moments, the kind that pile together into something that feels like a story. Bear with.

There was the cat strutting along the ridge pole of the neighbor’s house, tightrope-walking against the sky. I was worried for the feller, but he found his way down.

There was Word Raccoon this morning, sulking because I didn’t serve her a warm breakfast. Still August, sweetheart! before handing me two mismatched earrings and daring me to wear them. 

Of course I’m wearing them. If you’re going to challenge me, it takes more than that, WR! 

We were supposed to head to the gym early, but she hissed no, too cold, so the afternoon it is. That means coffeehouse time shifts, if we keep that up on the daily, which may actually fix my reputation: a local regular told me I’ve been showing up an hour earlier than usual all summer. He’s right. I may course correct. 

Besides, I’d rather work out early anyway. If I ever get back to endorphin speed (c’mon cortisone shot!), it keeps me jazzed for hours, no caffeine required. 

There were even sweeter bits of the week, too. I got to play with a puppy for a couple of hours this weekend. My hands still smell faintly of fur and joy. 

And I re-met a young cousin from Cleveland (he’s now four) who remembers me vividly from last year, he says, when I debuted my Elmo voice to coax his shoes on. His eyes grew so wide you’d think I’d conjured magic. He led me around the porch Sunday showing me things and, I think, being a bit jealous of the attention I was showing the puppy. Aw…

It’s so satisfying to have a child point to the poems hiding in corners and spiderwebs. Between him and the puppy, a little Yorkie named Rocky, I was in heaven. 

And today, a highlight: Penny Zang’s debut novel Doll Parts officially releases into the world! 🎉 I cannot wait to sit down with it. Avaunt, world! I want to read. 

Here’s the official description from Amazon:

The Virgin Suicides meets I Have Some Questions For You with a dash of the horrors of Nightbitch in this debut suspense following one woman as she begins to uncover the truth of the death of her estranged best friend and the Sylvia Plath adoring girls they attended college with decades ago.

For Nikki and Sadie, life at Loch Raven College was supposed to be filled with poetry and days spent trying on thrifted clothes. But there’s a dark story that plagues the school halls—that of the Sylvia Club, a campus legend surrounding the death of multiple Sylvia Plath-adoring girls, all written off as suicides. Aspiring writer Nikki finds herself drawn to the stories, so much so that dead girls begin to haunt her dark imagination. To satiate her obsession, Nikki begins to dig into the deaths, and she soon suspects there’s more to the story than just a tragic group of sad girls—a suspicion that will lead to a tragedy of its own, one that will tear her and Sadie apart.

It’s been twenty years since Sadie saw her estranged friend. Now, Nikki is dead. And when Sadie ends up pregnant with Nikki’s grieving husband, she finds herself stepping into her seemingly perfect life. But Nikki’s eerily preserved home seems to hold clues for Sadie from beyond the grave, and soon, she’s spiraling into a deep obsession that will make her question her own reality. Because it seems Nikki never stopped looking for answers about what happened to the girls of the Sylvia Club, and she may have been its latest victim.

Go to Penny’s website for all the usual buy links. This is a promising novel and I am so excited for it!

She sent me some stickers and a book mark. My laptop is grateful and so am I! (She also interviewed me once upon a time. 😀)

In other news, I donated blood yesterday for the first time in a while. Ever since my dad became ineligible to donate, I have tried to go in his stead, even now. Alas, sometimes my iron is too low, but yesterday was a go!

Have you ever given blood in a portable bloodmobile? I don’t recommend it. I felt as if I were on an airplane, the vehicle swaying a bit the whole time, and the guy signing me in and I were sitting in a space barely larger than a plane bathroom AND THEN HE SHUT THE DOOR. 

Word Raccoon looked at me like she wanted to take his blood pressure cuff from him and run, but I told her we were fine. At least they no longer have to prick your finger to see if you’re eligible to donate.

That whole scene was an essay waiting to happen, but I know they are good people trying to do good work and next time I will go back to my usual donation site. I was just trying to support the gym that sponsored it, since I used to go there and like the owner. 

Through all of this disjunction (does that work here?), I keep circling back to a question that’s become my creative compass: Where’s the poem in this?

I used to pause on walks and ask myself where the painting was, or the photograph. Now I look for poems. Sometimes it’s in the jaunty pair of striped shoes spotted on a dapper someone in a crowd, or the way the morning light barges in like a child on Christmas morning and forces your eyes open, but you’re not mad about it.

This week I was also reminded of my time on the Great Wall of China, and there are definitely some poems to mine there. Someone asked if I remembered the unevenness of the steps. Oh yes, I do. 

Truth be told, some mornings feel exactly like that climb: awkward, unsteady. Or just chilly. But you keep going, because ah, imagine the view. 

If you’re lucky, you find the poem tucked somewhere between the stone and the sky.

Or hey, if we’re being honest, you’re just hunting between Wednesday and Friday. 

And, if it’s still going to warm up you head out to the porch as soon as it warms up. I’ve promised WR that’s exactly what we will do today, and though she’s not happy, she’s agreed to this. 

Happy holiday weekend coming up, y’all. If you do mosey on down by the river for Barry’s gig tomorrow evening, don’t forget a jacket, love.