The Nest

It's been three weeks of packing boxes, cleaning, unpacking boxes, rolling with the punch of water damage, cursing Comcast, hanging pictures. Home. The pine table, bought second-hand from Miss Pixie's for $85, almost did not fit through the door. I assembled two of those dining chairs one night with the help of an allen wrench and a lot of scotch. With my father's help, I assembled the bed as well. Bedspread: new. Sheets: new. Some things are constant. The rocking chair is the same one I had in my Lawn room at the University of Virginia. That's my grandmother's pier-glass; I always think of O'Henry's "Gift of the Magi" when I look at it. 

The poetry and art books collection eluded storage (well, most of them), but for now all is sorted by author rather than spine color. Debating whether to return these books to their former ROYGBIV glory. 

From my balcony, I can see the National Cathedral (and, beyond view here, the Capitol Building--and the Shrine adjacent to Catholic University). I can lose hours tracking how each variety of bird has its own method of flock and swoop. I can hear the carillon playing several times each day.

These photos were taken with a camera that I was sure I thought I lost in the move, but mysteriously re-materialized--under the passenger seat of my car--this week. Finally, a merciful twist of fate! Most everything else that could go wrong has in the past month.

Last night I hosted the launch of Story/Stereo's fall series at the Writer's Center. As a Board member for the Center, I am focusing on the promotion and coordination of this series in the coming year. We had amazing, haunting poetry from Allison Benis-White; discerning, funny fiction from Aryn Kyle; a great crowd, especially for Labor-Day-weekend Friday; and a historic moment in which John Davis--in addition to performing songs from his new project Title Tracks--reunited with former bandmates from Q and Not U. If you're of a certain generation of DC music (o, Dischord Records! o, Grog and Tankard!) you know: that's a big freaking deal. 

Come to the next one, October 8. This is a special thing.


I Was the Jukebox has been getting mentioned here and there: RATTLE, The Cafe Review, and (oh my goodness) POETRY. I am really grateful for the attention, and the kind words. NB: If you publish a review of my poetry in your journal, know your circulation will go up by 10% for that issue, based solely on copies purchased by my proud parents.