Instant Bluebird! Six Months of Bluebird Blvd. in Six Posts (With Anecdotes! With Love!)

1960s woman stands in front of postal delivery boxes, trying to figure out which one to use.

1960s woman stands in front of postal delivery boxes, trying to figure out which one to use.
 

Today I am celebrating the six month anniversary of Bluebird Blvd.

Thank you so much for being here today!

Would you like a cup of coffee? I just put on a fresh pot.

I thought to celebrate today’s mini-milestone, I’d offer you six quick links to six different touchpoint posts on Bluebird Blvd— with extra special personal anecdotes! Anecdotes that ran much longer than I originally intended! They’re more like megadotes!

Here’s your coffee! Feel free to skim my mega-anecdotes, my friend.

Ready? Steady! Go!
My first writing post was an essay about my early childhood— I was a dreamy child. Since many of my first readers were real life friends and colleagues, it cheered me greatly to have their support and their voice on my blog. Starting a blog was a terrifying prospect. I really had never written in this form before— my background is in print publications. Having so much support so quickly gave me hope that Bluebird Blvd. might be my new home.

Although I started playing around with my regular feature, The Marriage Interpreter, early on here at Bluebird Blvd., it wasn’t until The Marriage Interpreter (No. 3) that I felt as though I had hit my stride. In this dialogue, The Husband speaks to me in his sleep. I was so surprised that night. This never happens. I ran off to my notebook to take notes. He didn’t remember having said any of this at all.

In the first few months of Bluebird Blvd., I published a lot of drawings. I have been studying drawing off and on for most of my life, but studied art somewhat seriously in college. Vic improves his mind is …. Read on, Reader!

Beginnings

A young girl looks at the camera in this 1960s grocery store.



A young girl looks at the camera in this 1960s grocery store.



In the beginning, there is recognition—

there is the ignition of a spark, a light.
In the beginning,

your eyes open and the room

is more than a room, the walls

fall back and away—

smashed by hard water

on distant breakers.
And suddenly, you are awake.
In the beginning, there is one fine line,

crooked, serpentine, across the page

in ink.
(It is the word, and the word is divine—

because, suddenly, you’re awake.)
In the beginning,

there are beginnings

and we do not

know
where they lead, how they cross

over the rocks and complications
of ordinary life—

flecked with sparks, moving slowly,

the way water curves when it’s tame.
In the beginning, you crash hard

to the floor when you risk

your first leap—
But, in the beginning,

you hang on the air

like a spark, like flecked light,

like a river’s crooked line—

cool and clean and serpentine

before you fall.
And, suddenly, you are awake.

*Hey! Today is the 6-Month Anniversary of Bluebird Blvd. Hooray!

 

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