 |
| Daffodils on May 8th, Chardon/Hambden Townships |
 |
| Very pretty dandelions (wonder what the neighbors think!) |
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Daffodils This Late in May? Yes, in Chardon and Hambden!
My daffodils are still doing fine! Full spectacular bloom:
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Lakeland Poetry Awards Reception--Great Success
We had a fine time last evening at the Lakeland Poetry Awards (27th Annual!) Reception. Our judge and featured reader was John Repp, who drove in from Erie, Pennsylvania (and recited a fine poem set at Presque Isle in Erie). John is originally from Southern New Jersey, and also recited a terrific poem set in that area.
Tobin Terry entertained us all with his hilarious poem "Nursery Crimes," featuring his real or fictional mother (we'll never know). Later in the evening, Tobin read Nate Harris's winning poem in the Lakeland Student category of the contest.
A wonderful highlight of the evening for me was Ellen McHugh giving the first place award in the General Public category to her sister, Mary Roulette. Both Ellen and Mary are extraordinary poets--unfair that such talent should be focused in one family. Their sister Katie Callahan was also there to see the presentation.
So many other fine moments. Bill French, contest co-founder, reading his poems; Tom Hyland reading his.
There were readings by high school winners Ryan Campbell, Zak Martinjako, and Hannah Dickson. Readings by Lakeland College winners Kaylee Wells, Rhiannon Leslie, Lottie White, Shawntay Hardesty, and Taylor Metcalf. Readings by General Public winners Mary Roulette, Lee Chilcote, Katherine Willow-Peterson, and Bob Speer (who has wonderful narrative poems).
I served as Emcee for the awards and for once didn't read any poems (there were plenty of readers and this helped me relax some!). Thank you to all the fine local poets who submitted to our contest. Thanks to John Repp, our poet/judge, and my colleagues at Lakeland who helped with the reception.
 |
| John Repp |
 |
| Tobin Terry doing "Nursery Crimes" |
 |
| Ellen McHugh |
There were readings by high school winners Ryan Campbell, Zak Martinjako, and Hannah Dickson. Readings by Lakeland College winners Kaylee Wells, Rhiannon Leslie, Lottie White, Shawntay Hardesty, and Taylor Metcalf. Readings by General Public winners Mary Roulette, Lee Chilcote, Katherine Willow-Peterson, and Bob Speer (who has wonderful narrative poems).
I served as Emcee for the awards and for once didn't read any poems (there were plenty of readers and this helped me relax some!). Thank you to all the fine local poets who submitted to our contest. Thanks to John Repp, our poet/judge, and my colleagues at Lakeland who helped with the reception.
 |
| Bob Speer |
 |
| Lee Chilcote and Ellen McHugh |
 |
| Katherine Willow-Peterson |
Monday, May 5, 2014
The Beginnings of Our Life Together
Our Mythology
We decided to get married in late November of 1977 and announced it to Linda Sanders' parents shortly before Christmas. Linda's father, Art, had the oddest response to our announcement. He simply said, "What did you say?" I don't know if he didn't hear what Linda had just said to him or if he was gob-smacked stunned! She repeated the news, and he responded the same way. And then a third time--by then, I thought I was in deep trouble! And then, as when Peter denied knowing Jesus, a cock crowed. Well, almost. I think Linda's brother Steve understood what was being said, and got up and shook my hand and hugged his sister. I never knew what went through the minds of Linda's parents. Did they think we were just buddies, just friends? Did they think we hadn't known each other long enough? I'll never know the answers to these questions.
Linda and I had been in the same graduate education class at the University of Cincinnati (UC) beginning in the fall of 1976--"Psychology of Reading," taught by the great professor, Linda Amspaugh. Linda Sanders was working as the secretary for the Health and Physical Education Department at the University of Cincinnati; I was in a Masters of Education program there, specializing in reading theory and pedagogy. I was one of 2 guys in the class--with about 20 girls. Both guys were named Bob--Bob Moore, and me (Linda thought my name was Bob Moore for quite some time). During that first semester, I gradually began to recognize this pretty, very quiet girl, who typically slipped into class a bit late because of her work schedule, often red-cheeked from embarrassment at coming in late. She didn't talk in class (Bob Moore and I talked all the time!). Gradually, Linda and I started sitting next to each other. Sometimes we would chat briefly after class as we walked down the hallway.
At the time I lived a short walk from campus, on a tiny diagonal street called "Hollister," between Vine and McMicken My slum apartment cost me $40 a month--and was worth it! It was bare bones to be sure and it was absolutely freezing in the winter. But for a student with no money, it was perfect. Linda lived about 3/4 mile away, just off the west side of campus, on Clemmer Street--but I wouldn't find that out until March of 1977.
After a wonderful semester in Linda Amspaugh's Psychology of Reading class, students asked her to teach a follow-up class, and she was able to do it--a Sociology of Reading class. The same people signed up for it, including Linda Sanders and me--and that was good luck indeed. For if she and I hadn't signed up, we might have never gotten together. This new semester, the Winter/Spring of 1977, Linda and I began sitting next to each other and talking much more (I was barely aware of this; it was pretty much unconsciously done). And we began to coincidentally run into each other in the stacks of the library. The stacks of UC's old library weren't places you visited by accident. They were dark and maybe a bit scary, almost dungeon-like. But they were quiet, a good place to study. The odds of running into a classmate there were not good. So I look suspiciously on those chance meetings!
Anyway, Linda and I had never had a date or even a long chat. I do remember that every once in a while she'd be eating hard candy or chewing gum and she'd offer me a piece. One day while walking down the halls with her after class, I said, "Hey, where's my candy today?" Before she could answer, I did something ridiculous. I reached into the front pocket of her pant and felt around for "my" piece of candy. I did it all so innocently, we both just laughed (and it was intended innocently). But afterwards, I thought to myself,"What have you done! That was a pretty daring move!"
Right around that time I had had a few dates with a girl I had met at St. John's Unitarian Universalist Church in the Clifton neighborhood, where contra dances were held periodically. This was pretty unusual for me--it had been quite a while since I even had a date. Most of the local girls I knew were friends in the Peacemaker Movement, and we just hung around together, pretty much like brothers and sisters. So there were no "dates" as such. Anyway, one day after our Sociology of Reading class, Linda invited me to her apartment for supper--for soup and cornbread. I enthusiastically accepted--and then realized that the day she wanted me to come I had a date with this other woman to go to Hap's Irish Pub in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Cincinnati to hear Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen play their wonderful folk music. So I had to tell Linda that I could come, but I would have to leave before 8 pm because I had an "appointment" (not sure what word I used!). She said that would be OK. So that evening, I had soup beans and cornbread at Linda's apartment, and then went on a date with another woman to an Irish pub. That was the craziest thing that ever happened to me--an all-time first. I believe I met Linda's Mom and Dad at that soup bean supper--and maybe her brother Steve.
Well things happened quickly after that early March 1977 supper. I would try to visit her at her office in the PhysEd/Health Department, and if I didn't find her I'd leave her funny notes. And we consciously sat next to each other in class and ran into each other in the library. One night we made plans to meet at Arnold's Bar and Grill on 8th Street in Cincinnati, the great pub run by my old friend Jim Tarbell. That night I worked my minimum wage job at the UC library, then ran the 2 or 3 miles to Arnold's (luckily it was downhill much of the way). There I met Linda and her roommate Mary Ann Hageman. We listened to some great music, drank some beer, and then Linda and Mary Ann drove me home in their blue Volkswagen Beetle. I was so excited about being there with Linda and meeting Mary Ann.
It wasn't long before Linda and I sat on the lawn in front of UC's McMicken Hall, in a ring of blooming crocus. And it was there we first kissed. About 9 months later we told Ruth and Art Sanders we were going to get married. I didn't "ask for her hand." That didn't seem right to us. We had no engagement ring. We had no elaborate engagement scenario.
And that is how our story started.
We were married 36 years ago today, and some day I will tell that story.
We decided to get married in late November of 1977 and announced it to Linda Sanders' parents shortly before Christmas. Linda's father, Art, had the oddest response to our announcement. He simply said, "What did you say?" I don't know if he didn't hear what Linda had just said to him or if he was gob-smacked stunned! She repeated the news, and he responded the same way. And then a third time--by then, I thought I was in deep trouble! And then, as when Peter denied knowing Jesus, a cock crowed. Well, almost. I think Linda's brother Steve understood what was being said, and got up and shook my hand and hugged his sister. I never knew what went through the minds of Linda's parents. Did they think we were just buddies, just friends? Did they think we hadn't known each other long enough? I'll never know the answers to these questions.
Linda and I had been in the same graduate education class at the University of Cincinnati (UC) beginning in the fall of 1976--"Psychology of Reading," taught by the great professor, Linda Amspaugh. Linda Sanders was working as the secretary for the Health and Physical Education Department at the University of Cincinnati; I was in a Masters of Education program there, specializing in reading theory and pedagogy. I was one of 2 guys in the class--with about 20 girls. Both guys were named Bob--Bob Moore, and me (Linda thought my name was Bob Moore for quite some time). During that first semester, I gradually began to recognize this pretty, very quiet girl, who typically slipped into class a bit late because of her work schedule, often red-cheeked from embarrassment at coming in late. She didn't talk in class (Bob Moore and I talked all the time!). Gradually, Linda and I started sitting next to each other. Sometimes we would chat briefly after class as we walked down the hallway.
At the time I lived a short walk from campus, on a tiny diagonal street called "Hollister," between Vine and McMicken My slum apartment cost me $40 a month--and was worth it! It was bare bones to be sure and it was absolutely freezing in the winter. But for a student with no money, it was perfect. Linda lived about 3/4 mile away, just off the west side of campus, on Clemmer Street--but I wouldn't find that out until March of 1977.
After a wonderful semester in Linda Amspaugh's Psychology of Reading class, students asked her to teach a follow-up class, and she was able to do it--a Sociology of Reading class. The same people signed up for it, including Linda Sanders and me--and that was good luck indeed. For if she and I hadn't signed up, we might have never gotten together. This new semester, the Winter/Spring of 1977, Linda and I began sitting next to each other and talking much more (I was barely aware of this; it was pretty much unconsciously done). And we began to coincidentally run into each other in the stacks of the library. The stacks of UC's old library weren't places you visited by accident. They were dark and maybe a bit scary, almost dungeon-like. But they were quiet, a good place to study. The odds of running into a classmate there were not good. So I look suspiciously on those chance meetings!
Anyway, Linda and I had never had a date or even a long chat. I do remember that every once in a while she'd be eating hard candy or chewing gum and she'd offer me a piece. One day while walking down the halls with her after class, I said, "Hey, where's my candy today?" Before she could answer, I did something ridiculous. I reached into the front pocket of her pant and felt around for "my" piece of candy. I did it all so innocently, we both just laughed (and it was intended innocently). But afterwards, I thought to myself,"What have you done! That was a pretty daring move!"
Right around that time I had had a few dates with a girl I had met at St. John's Unitarian Universalist Church in the Clifton neighborhood, where contra dances were held periodically. This was pretty unusual for me--it had been quite a while since I even had a date. Most of the local girls I knew were friends in the Peacemaker Movement, and we just hung around together, pretty much like brothers and sisters. So there were no "dates" as such. Anyway, one day after our Sociology of Reading class, Linda invited me to her apartment for supper--for soup and cornbread. I enthusiastically accepted--and then realized that the day she wanted me to come I had a date with this other woman to go to Hap's Irish Pub in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Cincinnati to hear Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen play their wonderful folk music. So I had to tell Linda that I could come, but I would have to leave before 8 pm because I had an "appointment" (not sure what word I used!). She said that would be OK. So that evening, I had soup beans and cornbread at Linda's apartment, and then went on a date with another woman to an Irish pub. That was the craziest thing that ever happened to me--an all-time first. I believe I met Linda's Mom and Dad at that soup bean supper--and maybe her brother Steve.
Well things happened quickly after that early March 1977 supper. I would try to visit her at her office in the PhysEd/Health Department, and if I didn't find her I'd leave her funny notes. And we consciously sat next to each other in class and ran into each other in the library. One night we made plans to meet at Arnold's Bar and Grill on 8th Street in Cincinnati, the great pub run by my old friend Jim Tarbell. That night I worked my minimum wage job at the UC library, then ran the 2 or 3 miles to Arnold's (luckily it was downhill much of the way). There I met Linda and her roommate Mary Ann Hageman. We listened to some great music, drank some beer, and then Linda and Mary Ann drove me home in their blue Volkswagen Beetle. I was so excited about being there with Linda and meeting Mary Ann.
It wasn't long before Linda and I sat on the lawn in front of UC's McMicken Hall, in a ring of blooming crocus. And it was there we first kissed. About 9 months later we told Ruth and Art Sanders we were going to get married. I didn't "ask for her hand." That didn't seem right to us. We had no engagement ring. We had no elaborate engagement scenario.
And that is how our story started.
We were married 36 years ago today, and some day I will tell that story.
 |
| Bob, Linda; Chris Cotter behind, and Mary Ann Hageman, obscured. May 5, 1978. |
South Chagrin Reservation and Squaw Rock
Yesterday we took a hike recommended in Joe Baur's book Best Hikes Near Cleveland. We went to the South Chagrin Reservation of the Cleveland MetroParks. Wow, what astonishing beauty! I've lived in Northeast Ohio much of my life and never visited this place.
What amazed me was the beauty of the Chagrin River, the amazing cliffs and rock formations, the wildflowers blooming in the park, the huge mature trees (beech, sugar maple, cherry, red oak, white sycamore, etc.).
Some of the flowers we saw: marsh marigold; blue violets; bluets; large-flowered trillium; trout lily; cutleaf toothwort; serviceberry (sarvis); spicebush; mayapple, squirrel corn (a relative of Dutchman's Breeches) . . . and many more I couldn't identify.
 |
| Linda, South Chagrin Reservation |
 |
| A small falls on the Chagrin River (2-3 miles from the huge Chagrin Falls) |
 |
| The Squaw Rock Sculpture (Henry Church, 1885) |
What amazed me was the beauty of the Chagrin River, the amazing cliffs and rock formations, the wildflowers blooming in the park, the huge mature trees (beech, sugar maple, cherry, red oak, white sycamore, etc.).
 |
| Some of the rock formations reminded me of Old Man's Cave |
 |
| Sarvis (serviceberry) tree; and a horseback rider (near Sulphur Springs), Miles Road entrance |
 |
| Spicebush in bloom along the Chagrin |
 |
| Squirrel Corn |
 |
| Trillium |
Sunday, May 4, 2014
May 4th and Kent State: I Won't (Can't) Forget You
A poem put on my blog last year:
Forty-three years ago today,
where it remains today. The Doc said,
That day, while my cousin Maggie ran through a fog
Four dead, nine others wounded, untold traumatized,
Crying and yelling at them, total innocents,
Close to My Heart
[Kent State University
May 4, 1970. 12:24 PM]
Forty-three years ago today,
National Guardsman’s bullet,
shot 293 miles from my college dorm,
blew through my chest, landing at my heart
where it remains today. The Doc said,
“It’s too dangerous to remove. You’ll have to live
with the chronic ache.”
That day, while my cousin Maggie ran through a fog
of teargas to the Theatre Building, and high school friends
watched from the corners of trees and buildings,
Guardsmen, not much older than me, bayonets fixed--
and then, in the chaos, sixty-seven shots ring out
on Blanket Hill.
Four dead, nine others wounded, untold traumatized,
Guardsmen and students alike. I,
with pericardium,
peri-anima trauma,
called up Mom and Dad, back in Euclid,
Crying and yelling at them, total innocents,
for being . . . what? . . . adults, easy targets
for my pain.
Hope they forgave their hurting son,
hope the pain around the hearts of Ohioans,
Kent Staters, Americans,
hope the pain
heals.
Robert M. Coughlin / May 4, 2013
[A poem from 4 years ago, the 40th Anniversary]:
Old Math: The Calculus of May 4, 1970
Neil Young’s song still dances around my brain
Forty years after that fateful Monday, May 4th, 1970:
“Four dead in O-hi-o. Four dead in O-hi-o.”
The math is both hard and simple:
4th day of the fifth month of the 1970th year of the Lord.
77 Guardsmen with fixed bayonets advance toward the crowd.
13-second fusillade;
67 shots fired, many into the ground or into the air;
4 dead in Ohio: Jeffrey Miller. Allison Krause. Sandy Scheuer. Bill Schroeder.
Their ages: 20, 19, 20, and 19.
9 wounded in O-hi-o: John Lewis, Thomas Grace, John Cleary,
Alan Canfora, Douglas Wrentmore, James Russell, Robert Stamps.
Dean Kahler permanently paralyzed.
Donald MacKenzie wounded from a distance of 750 feet.
Branded into memory, the image of Mary Ann Vecchio,
Horror on her face, arms extended over the lifeless body of Jeffrey Miller,
Shot through the mouth:
John Filo’s Pulitzer winning photo
Developed inside every young American’s brain.
58,000 Americans dead in the Vietnam War;
10 times that many wounded; how many with deep psychic injury?
Uncountable millions of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians.
A couple hundred million Americans torn up in anguish,
Conflicted, confused—a confusion that can never be resolved.
The old chant continues:
“Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We’re finally on our own,
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.
Four dead in Ohio.”
(Robert M. Coughlin, Kirtland, Ohio. May 4, 2010)
Neil Young singing "Ohio."
[A poem from 4 years ago, the 40th Anniversary]:
Old Math: The Calculus of May 4, 1970
Neil Young’s song still dances around my brain
Forty years after that fateful Monday, May 4th, 1970:
“Four dead in O-hi-o. Four dead in O-hi-o.”
The math is both hard and simple:
4th day of the fifth month of the 1970th year of the Lord.
77 Guardsmen with fixed bayonets advance toward the crowd.
13-second fusillade;
67 shots fired, many into the ground or into the air;
4 dead in Ohio: Jeffrey Miller. Allison Krause. Sandy Scheuer. Bill Schroeder.
Their ages: 20, 19, 20, and 19.
9 wounded in O-hi-o: John Lewis, Thomas Grace, John Cleary,
Alan Canfora, Douglas Wrentmore, James Russell, Robert Stamps.
Dean Kahler permanently paralyzed.
Donald MacKenzie wounded from a distance of 750 feet.
Branded into memory, the image of Mary Ann Vecchio,
Horror on her face, arms extended over the lifeless body of Jeffrey Miller,
Shot through the mouth:
John Filo’s Pulitzer winning photo
Developed inside every young American’s brain.
58,000 Americans dead in the Vietnam War;
10 times that many wounded; how many with deep psychic injury?
Uncountable millions of Vietnamese soldiers and civilians.
A couple hundred million Americans torn up in anguish,
Conflicted, confused—a confusion that can never be resolved.
The old chant continues:
“Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We’re finally on our own,
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.
Four dead in Ohio.”
(Robert M. Coughlin, Kirtland, Ohio. May 4, 2010)
Neil Young singing "Ohio."
Saturday, May 3, 2014
2 Different Signs of the Holy Ghost: Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus; Mt. Zion Congregational Church UCC
A short video of the after-concert concert
 |
| Choir of Mt. Zion Congregational Church UCC, Cleveland |
 |
| I thought I was in Church (but not my Catholic Church, alas)! |
 |
| Cleveland Orchestra and Chorus, after Mozart's "Requiem" |
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Thinking about Weddings
My Mom and Dad--Willoughby, Ohio, August 1947:
Dad had been home from his Navy service in World War II for about two years. He was 25 years old. Mom was 23. The wedding was held at Immaculate Conception Church in Willoughby, Ohio. I think Mom's cousin Lois Cherry (later Lois Goldie) was maid of honor. Mom was radiantly beautiful. Dad was drop-dead handsome. They couldn't have imagined a baby born 10 months later (me); another baby 2 years after that (Denny); then Mary Ellen three years after that; then Kevin; then Jimmy. A life full of ups and downs, as all lives are. I think of them as I reflect on Linda and my wedding 36 years ago in Cincinnati.
 |
| Robert P. Coughlin and Margaret Ann Fitzpatrick Coughlin |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
