tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27723180620033539312011-11-27T19:41:04.643-05:00CaminotebookWritings by Marcia CaminoMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.comBlogger411100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-40285402373084835112010-06-30T06:20:00.000-04:002010-06-30T06:21:12.674-04:00Art Major to the Military History MinorIn the age before the ageless streamsYou and I, agreeably,Walked to the wild river's edge.The whitecaps inspired in us a pledge:In concord, we share everything.In the time after that the clouds burst forthand we witnessed thoughts, then birthsOf storms of human madness and grief.We learned our disciplines but took heedUndone by colors and clashes.But oh from the mountains active and high,To theirMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-44250306688306902482010-06-16T06:16:00.021-04:002010-06-16T22:13:36.348-04:00Late SummerWe were drivingdown Route 6your stereo blastingfrom dash to passing scenery.Corn and soy fields.Muscle-thick humidity.The sky of sunset pinks and reds.You said we wouldbe friends forever, said "Damnit,that's just the way it is."That's the memoryin my headand if pressed to say soin my heart.For what matter the corn?what color the sky?what shade of hazel your eyes?It makes no matterto our Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-64250933476782809412010-04-30T09:21:00.002-04:002010-04-30T09:22:42.968-04:00National Poetry Month Day 30FreakSusan GrimmGrin. Pinch. At arm’s length. But then the tense linemelts, the willingness to leap, the creamy fallinto love, an engine that once begun purrsperpetual adoration, the hearthfire that nevergoes out—a boy in short pants or frontier girlhaving carried the coal from one home to another.It’s never over for a dog. The red glass breaks. Coldsharpened votive tongues. Standing before the Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-67023945682416752662010-04-29T08:36:00.002-04:002010-04-29T08:41:17.033-04:00National Poetry Month Day 29You Are RightCathryn EssingerIn your super-logical,analytical,bumbling way,with halting speechand much digression,you explain that malemathematicians are rarelyverbal..."Oh by the way,did I mention that this theoryis largely unproven, butnevertheless, quite probable?"because of a pre-natal super-dose of testosteroneto the left side of the brainwhich suppresses the rightside of the brainwhere you Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-60588719596076846672010-04-28T08:37:00.002-04:002010-04-28T08:42:16.235-04:00National Poetry Month Day 28The GuildSharon OldsEvery night, as my grandfather satin the darkened room in front of the fire,the bourbon like fire in his hand, his eyeglittering meaninglessly in the lightfrom the flames, his glass eye baleful and stony,a young man sat with himin silence and darkness, a college boy withwhite skin, unlined, a narrowbeautiful face, a broad domedforehead, and eyes amber as the resin fromtrees Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-26174451232216360152010-04-27T08:51:00.001-04:002010-04-27T08:52:23.137-04:00National Poetry Month Day 27Subterranean Homesick BluesBob DylanJohnny’s in the basementMixing up the medicineI’m on the pavementThinking about the governmentThe man in the trench coatBadge out, laid offSays he’s got a bad coughWants to get it paid offLook out kidIt’s somethin’ you didGod knows whenBut you’re doin’ it againYou better duck down the alley wayLookin’ for a new friendThe man in the coon-skin capBy the big Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-2544484039987597612010-04-26T10:57:00.000-04:002010-04-26T10:58:55.283-04:00National Poetry Month Day 26Diving Into the WreckAdrienne Rich First having read the book of myths,and loaded the camera,and checked the edge of the knife-blade,I put onthe body-armor of black rubberthe absurd flippersthe grave and awkward mask.I am having to do thisnot like Cousteau with hisassiduous teamabroad the sun-flooded schoonerbut here alone.There is a ladderThe ladder is always therehanging innocentlyclose to Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-5118354642909001242010-04-25T08:30:00.000-04:002010-04-25T08:31:19.199-04:00National Poetry Month Day 25Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird Wallace StevensAmong twenty snowy mountains,The only moving thingWas the eye of the blackbird.III was of three minds,Like a treeIn which there are three blackbirds.IIIThe blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.It was a small part of the pantomime.IVA man and a womanAre one.A man and a woman and a blackbirdAre one.VI do not know which to prefer,The Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-58781811180026127782010-04-23T06:04:00.001-04:002010-04-23T06:06:24.593-04:00National Poetry Month Day 23i carry your heart with mee.e. cummings i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart)i am never without it(anywherei go you go,my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing,my darling)i fearno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i wantno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-36373859284332877842010-04-22T09:00:00.002-04:002010-04-22T09:03:07.149-04:00National Poetry Month Day 22In Memory Of W.B. YeatsW.H.Auden IHe disappeared in the dead of winter:The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,The snow disfigured the public statues;The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.What instruments we have agreeThe day of his death was a dark cold day.Far from his illnessThe wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,The peasant river was untempted by the Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-17025905237440849172010-04-21T05:41:00.002-04:002010-04-21T05:45:45.439-04:00National Poetry Month Day 21The Hollow MenT. S. EliotMistah Kurtz—he dead. A penny for the Old Guy IWe are the hollow menWe are the stuffed menLeaning togetherHeadpiece filled with straw. Alas!Our dried voices, whenWe whisper togetherAre quiet and meaninglessAs wind in dry grassOr rats’ feet over broken glassIn our dry cellarShape without form, shade without colour,Paralysed force, gesture without motion;Those whoMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-11473043800781003062010-04-20T08:57:00.001-04:002010-04-20T08:59:14.653-04:00National Poetry Month Day 20Traveling Through the DarkWilliam Stafford Traveling through the dark I found a deerdead on the edge of the Wilson River road.It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the carand stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;she had stiffened already, almost cold.I dragged her off; she was largeMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-18757011914204400802010-04-19T09:11:00.005-04:002010-04-19T09:28:42.942-04:00National Poetry Month Day 19Two poems that explore the dislike of poetry: "Poetry" by Marianne Moore and "Against Poetry" by Sandra Gilbert *PoetryMarianne MooreI, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it after all, a place for the genuine. Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-81165660405038366292010-04-16T08:36:00.001-04:002010-04-16T08:39:00.554-04:00National Poetry Month Day 16Name of Horses Donald HallAll winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, paddingand steerhide over the ash hames, to haulsledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields,dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with oats.All summer youMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-76102150249150246912010-04-15T06:59:00.001-04:002010-04-15T07:03:29.752-04:00National Poetry Month Day 15A Supermarket in CaliforniaAllen Ginsberg What thoughts I have of you tonight Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-1423884310037911522010-04-13T20:52:00.004-04:002010-04-14T09:17:11.572-04:00National Poetry Month Day 14I Hear America SingingWalt WhitmanI hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;The shoemaker Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-23831001071127105142010-04-13T06:07:00.001-04:002010-04-13T06:07:49.295-04:00National Poetry Month Day 13There's a Certain Slant of Light Emily DickinsonThere's a certain Slant of light,Winter Afternoons – That oppresses, like the HeftOf Cathedral Tunes – Heavenly Hurt, it gives us – We can find no scar,But internal difference,Where the Meanings, are – None may teach it – Any – 'Tis the Seal Despair – An imperial afflictionSent us of the air – When it comes, the Landscape listens – Shadows – Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-29359332798199905522010-04-12T14:20:00.001-04:002010-04-12T14:22:20.740-04:00National Poetry Month Day 12Fern HillDylan ThomasNow as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the heydays of his eyes, And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves Trail with daisiesMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-50020000301719036972010-04-11T08:51:00.002-04:002010-04-11T08:52:45.712-04:00National Poetry Month Day 11April Rain SongLangston HughesLet the rain kiss youLet the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid dropsLet the rain sing you a lullabyThe rain makes still pools on the sidewalkThe rain makes running pools in the gutterThe rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at nightAnd I love the rain.Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-3927956715325816612010-04-10T06:45:00.000-04:002010-04-10T06:46:16.320-04:00National Poetry Month Day 10Untitled Yogini Tara An equal tempered scaleis unknown to the sea.Ping of metalour stern flag swivelson small metal springsflapping proudly in the wind.Sigh and moan the two-tonecall of a wind pinned hullrubber fenders squeezea wooden dock.In what key does the lightningcrack the thunder drum therain filled wind scream?Where is the fat ladywhen you needher when youforget howsafe thishull isin a Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-41854359912444478042010-04-09T06:48:00.002-04:002010-04-09T06:49:59.837-04:00National Poetry Month Day 9ChaplinesqueHart CraneWe will make our meek adjustments,Contented with such random consolationsAs the wind depositsIn slithered and too ample pockets.For we can still love the world, who findA famished kitten on the step, and knowRecesses for it from the fury of the street,Or warm torn elbow coverts.We will sidestep, and to the final smirkDally the doom of that inevitable thumbThat slowly chafes Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-12018520636180646412010-04-08T07:09:00.000-04:002010-04-08T07:10:29.623-04:00National Poetry Month Day 8The Red WheelbarrowWilliam Carlos Williams so much dependsupona red wheelbarrowglazed with rainwaterbeside the whitechickens.Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-90265513520671778942010-04-07T09:30:00.000-04:002010-04-07T09:31:56.868-04:00National Poetry Month Day 7LesbosSylvia PlathViciousness in the kitchen!The potatoes hiss.It is all Hollywood, windowless,The fluorescent light wincing on and off like a terrible migraine,Coy paper strips for doorsStage curtains, a widow's frizz.And I, love, am a pathological liar,And my child look at her, face down on the floor,Little unstrung puppet, kicking to disappearWhy she is schizophrenic,Her face is red and white,Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-91450327265910246392010-04-06T07:12:00.001-04:002010-04-06T07:13:55.210-04:00National Poetry Month Day 6Why I Am Not a PainterFrank O'Hara I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in. “Sit down and have a drink” he says. I drink; we drink. I look up. “You have SARDINES in it.” “Yes, it needed something there.” “Oh.” I go and the days go by and I drop in again. The painting Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-8849572267303354392010-04-05T12:21:00.000-04:002010-04-05T12:22:30.014-04:00National Poetry Month Day 5We Real Coolby Gwendolyn BrooksWe real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-33088831429900647792010-04-04T07:25:00.003-04:002010-04-04T07:30:48.905-04:00National Poetry Month Day 4"I Have a Dream"speech by Martin Luther King, Jr.I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who hadMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-38577927685531093582010-04-03T15:06:00.003-04:002010-04-03T15:11:22.116-04:00National Poetry Month Day 3Blowin' in the WindBob DylanHow many roads must a man walk downBefore you call him a man?Yes, ’n’ how many seas must a white dove sailBefore she sleeps in the sand?Yes, ’n’ how many times must the cannonballs flyBefore they’re forever banned?The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the windThe answer is blowin’ in the windHow many years can a mountain existBefore it’s washed to the sea?Yes, ’n’ how Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-40435431394007319482010-04-01T21:20:00.004-04:002010-04-02T06:23:18.772-04:00National Poetry Month Day 2Eating Poetry by Mark StrandInk runs from the corners of my mouth.There is no happiness like mine.I have been eating poetry.The librarian does not believe what she sees.Her eyes are sadand she walks with her hands in her dress.The poems are gone.The light is dim.The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.Their eyeballs roll,their blond legs burn like brush.The poor librarian begins toMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-69764877694571972722010-03-31T12:39:00.013-04:002010-04-01T06:50:06.404-04:00National Poetry Month Day 1The Greatest Poem Ever WrittenThere once was a lady of station."I love man" was her sole exclamation.When men cried, "You flatter!"She replied, "Oh! no matter.'Isle of Man' is the true explanation."(Happy April Fool's Day! This is NOT the greatest poem ever written. But limericks are fun, and so is April 1st. See you tomorrow.)Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-69433438929596200392010-03-11T12:57:00.002-05:002010-03-11T15:12:19.281-05:00Flying by the Seat of Her VisionShe enters the Japanese restaurant briskly. It is an extremely cold wintry evening in Cleveland’s Coventry neighborhood, and much snow is falling on an already deep blanket of white and city-street gray. She is dressed in a long, black, puffy-quilted coat. She wears leather and rubber winter boots and a duck-brimmed, plaid wool cap with ear flaps, which looks not unlike the hat that L.L. Bean Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-78530391824354345142010-02-16T07:18:00.003-05:002010-02-16T09:14:03.014-05:00One PersonI am sitting in the airport, and I don’t know who I am. I would like to say I am you, for you, stranger, wear a suit of the most beautiful black fabric, which is silky and soft, and you carry a strong, black bag. Your shoes are black and matte and your belt is, too, and despite of all the dark clothing you wear, you give off an idea of lightness and current the way a window in a quiet, dark Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-80343440096694161272010-01-25T13:17:00.002-05:002010-01-25T13:26:55.282-05:00True Blue: Glimpsing the Na’viI finally saw Avatar. While I did not love it, I will admit I cannot stop thinking about it. The notion of the avatar itself is my favorite part of this film. What is an avatar? In internet land, we know it to be a being we select or create to represent ourselves. But the word has much older roots than late 20th-Century computer-generated entity making. The word avatar is ancient, from Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-58528202092604243732010-01-15T06:02:00.004-05:002010-01-15T08:53:07.805-05:00Hater/Haiti: Thoughts on “Slactivism”I learned a new word today: slactivist. It seems to refer to people who become activists only when it’s trendy. Or, on a more mundane level, it seems to refer to people who when real tragedy strikes rise from their couches and give something or take a stand briefly in order to help. Or feel better. Or both.My problem with the word ‘slactivist’ is that it is extraordinarily judgmental. It Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-7304426061713167462009-11-03T05:01:00.004-05:002009-11-03T08:45:07.828-05:00NANOWRIMOI am taking a blogging break in the month of November to participate in NANOWRIMO, National Novel Writing Month. The challenge: To write 50,000 words in 30 days. I'll see you back here in December. Learn more about NANOWRIMO: http://www.nanowrimo.org/Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-83965936618602767022009-10-26T22:18:00.010-04:002009-10-27T09:34:24.585-04:00I Crossed the StreetJust east of the heart of campus where I went to college ran Ridge Street. On its north side stretched a cemetery and next to that, ironically, the university’s student health center.Being both an unhealthy young undergraduate prone toward respiratory conditions and a literature major prone toward melancholic iambic tetrameter, I would often walk down Ridge on the cemetery side of the street to Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-18676498229413164762009-10-20T13:22:00.002-04:002009-10-20T13:30:47.589-04:00Rubber Ducky, You’re So the OneIt is 6:30 a.m. She is sitting in the opulent guest bathroom of her sister- and brother-in-law’s Chicago home, snuggled up in a throw, on the floor, writing. Her husband and dog are still asleep in the adjacent guest room, and she doesn’t want to wake them. The three of them will be traveling later this morning to Wisconsin for a short autumn beach vacation. Her in-laws are boat owners who Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-84835665853765731132009-10-13T07:38:00.001-04:002009-10-13T07:41:34.633-04:00What Kind of FooI am traveling by car with my husband and dog on the first day of our short, autumn beach vacation along Lake Michigan in northern Wisconsin. We are going to walk the beach, read, mosey around town, eat, and sleep. That’s it. I anticipate that we will be renewed, that our dog will be ecstatic running the beach and swimming, and that when we return to our daily Cleveland lives, I might try a few Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-42109546468756935052009-10-10T15:14:00.004-04:002009-10-10T16:05:49.958-04:00Nobelization: ObamanationThe Nobel committee mobilized the world’s emotions yesterday by selecting Barack Obama as this year’s Nobel Peace Prize recipient. This morning, I woke ready to help people take the next step beyond this momentous occasion because, like it or not, spouting opinions about an award this prestigious once it has been announced is beyond the scope of reasonable thought and energy expense. He won the Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-71056692131839860412009-09-28T07:40:00.006-04:002009-09-29T09:05:53.822-04:00Ode to Jo(e)y: The Big Four Ohhhh!!!!Overture: Why Me?I am almost ten years older than my husband, so every milestone birthday he has had since we’ve been together (his 25th, 30th, and 35th) I have witnessed through my ‘been there done it, kid, you’re gonna love it’ eyes, the know-it-all elder’s wink wink nudge nudge of fun, if you will.Then this one hits: Joey’s birthday, 2009. Theme: ME ME ME MEJoe turns 40 in two days. My 40thMarcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-83346150248204591122009-09-23T04:35:00.005-04:002009-09-23T04:44:52.610-04:00Green Hair, Spin Art, and TimeMy college logic professor had green hair. This man--who said he swam in the mornings to clear his head (thus, the green: chlorine) and who stood under bright florescent lights in a large hall lecturing to a hundred undergrads for fifteen weeks about language, symbols, and reasoning--was, as far as I can trace back, one of the reasons I am here today, freewheeling in the blogosphere.From those Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2772318062003353931.post-38230249073808390682009-09-02T16:49:00.008-04:002009-09-23T12:18:54.314-04:00WelcomeThis blog will launch in Fall 2009. Stay tuned for homework.Marcia Camino, B.A., M.F.A., E-R.Y.T., R.C.Y.P.http://www.blogger.com/profile/06740231034804235825noreply@blogger.com0