How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death’s laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death’s supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address is somehow wrong,
Even death can’t figure it out
Among all the locked doors ...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death’s side of the bed.
Nutella with strawberries
Lemon curd with blueberry sauce
Vanilla cream with strawberries
Chocolate brownie with chocolate sauce
Mixed berries with dark chocolate sauce
They were even better than they sound.
I meant to take pictures of both the chicken one and the dessert ones. But I didn't. Instead, I gobbled. I'm going to have to up my gym attendance.
I have found the best food in the universe. You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? Well, you're wrong. It is called Flip Happy. It is two women selling crepes out of an airstream trailer on South Lamar behind the Floribunda store (Don't Panic, It's Organic!). The woman running the place only takes cash. She says she'll take a personal check if it's your first visit. For $5.50, I got a huge, homeade crepe with roasted chicken, carmelized onions, and goat cheese. Words do not exist to describe the taste. Four of us got the same thing, and a collective moan was heard throughout the building as we took our first bites. I'm telling you, I've been to Paris and eaten crepes there. These are better.
People, get in on this before it gets big. This can't stay a secret for long (especially with me blabbing to anyone who will listen). Right now, they are only open from 11-2:30 on weekdays and 5-9:30 on Friday nights. So plan your trip carefully. If you leave now, you might still make it for lunch.
Five dessert crepes are downstairs in the catering kitchen right now waiting for my birthday celebration. Updates are coming.
Anyway, B gave me a Roomba (!) for my birthday! It is an excellent floor cleaner (very important with hardwood floors, two dogs, and a fluffy devil-cat), it is cute, and it plays a little victory song for itself when it finishes cleaning and returns home to recharge. But most importantly, it make an incredible dog toy. Monster thought it was alive and followed it around sniffing its butt. He was rather bewildered when it wouldn't greet him. Finally, it hit a wall, turned around, and came at him. He skittered wildly on the floor and took off running and ran into a wall. He spend the rest of the evening alternately chasing it barking, and running away in terror.
And I haven't even tried the remote control yet.
That's a baby katydid, btw. It would be a lot cuter if you could see his huge hind legs and his funny striped antennae.
My old iPod was starting to get flaky, and it was starting to feel bulky at the gym. I can't get over how tiny it is! And shiny! And un-dented (so far)!
This on NPR, on a story about dropping Pluto as a planet
"No planet is capable of indicating absolutely that a person won't get married. All a planet can do is indicate what a person has to do in order to get married."
Drinking Cold water after meal = Cancer!
For those who like to drink cold water, this article is applicable to you.
It is nice to have a cup of cold drink after a meal. However, the cold water will solidify the oily stuff that you have just consumed. It will slow down the digestion.
Once this "sludge" reacted with the acid, it will break down and be absorbed by the intestine faster than the solid food. It will line the intestine.
Very soon, this will turn into fats and lead to cancer. It is best to drink hot soup or warm water after a meal.
The virtuous girl wakes in the arms of her husband,
the same arms in which, all summer, she moved
restlessly, under the pear trees:
it is pleasant to wake like this,
with the sun rising, to see the wedding dress
draped over the back of a chair,
and on the heavy bureau, a man's shirt, neatly folded;
to be restored by these
to a thousand images, to the church itself, the autumn sunlight
streaming through the colored windows, through
the figure of the Blessed Virgin, and underneath,
Amelia holding the fiery bridal flowers -
As for her mother's tears: ridiculous, and yet
mothers weep at their daughters' weddings,
everyone knows that, though
for whose youth one cannot say.
At the great feast there is always the outsider, the stranger to joy
and the point is how different they are, she and her mother.
Never has she been further from sadness
than she is now. She feels no call to weep,
but neither does she know
the meaning of that word, youth.
Let me quote my favorite part:
"The problem with microwaved anything is not the radiation people used to worry about, It's how it corrupts the DNA in the food so the body can not recognize it. So the body wraps it in fat cells to protect itself from the dead food or it eliminates it fast."
As you can see, he appears to be missing two legs. After our photo session I let him go under our front steps, where he should be able to catch lots of bugs without moving too much, and where he isn't in danger from lawn mowers.
My mom always said that spiders in the house are good luck.
2. A colony of katydid nymphs has set up house on my marijuana-hibiscus. At first, I was completely charmed, because they're cute and I like most insects. But then I realized that my huge, impressive blooms were starting to look rather holey. Oh yeah, and in case you don't know about it already, this site is my absolute favorite. Especially check out the scorpion page for some truly nightmare-inducing photos. Or just google "Mexican tailless whip scorpion." Even the name makes me twitchy.
3. On my way to work this morning, I was sitting at a red light, singing along with my iPod, when I looked up and saw a CapMetro bus driver in the next lane leaning all the way out his window and waving frantically at me with a big grin. I waved back and he started making "roll down your window" motions at me. I did so, thinking there was something wrong, and he said "Hi!" I said "hi" back and he seemed satisfied and drove off.
Removed at the Moment of Perfection
The earth has moved forward, in a sense, or does it merely turn
against itself? The trees have moved forward, putting forth
leaves, shade. But I have not moved forward though I was surely
moved. At the
that need no changing, butlers who are paid to notice the most
infinitesimal, the almost unseen, the earth turning towards
its own demise, too far off to be seen, myself all along hoping
for a longer winter to burrow in for just a few more months
instead of turning forty here in this world that you have left me
but the weather asks us to emerge, face the present conditions
we'd never have imagined, not to the dream of love returned
but of love withheld and its unsettling tensions as the earth
turns, no matter where we turn, the tension in the simultaneous
seasons moving across the face of the earth, in all the leaves
that will lose their shimmer, given time, while I wait inside
the unseen decay of a hotel room filled with a scent that lingers.
So here is my joke:
Why is the tooth fairy so smart?
Because she has lots of wisdom teeth!
Ok, I know, not very funny. But it's really hard to find jokes about wisdom teeth.
I will probably see Chloe today for The Conversation, so maybe I'll post an Update, Part Two later.
And since I'm so crabby, I'll post a joke to go along with it. Just as soon as I think of one.
A man and a woman lie on a white bed.
It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase
of lilies; sunlight
pools in their throats.
I watch him turn to her
as though to speak her name
but silently, deep in her mouth--
At the window ledge,
a bird calls.
And then she stirs; her body
fills with his breath.
I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.
This doesn't really fit with my mood right now, but I liked it and was afraid I would forget to post it if I waited until Thursday. Anyway, it's not like I am going to run out of Lousie Gluck poems to post. The good news, however, is that I am almost finished with her fourth book of poetry, and I'm planning to take a break and read some other poets after that.
I'm feeling very prickly today, like all of my porcupine spines are out. That is especially bad today because I have a consultation with an oral surgeon this afternoon about getting my wisdom teeth taken out, and I already have a long history of altercations with those in the dental profession. I am not very patient with people who stick sharp objects in my mouth. Also, tomorrow I will see Chloe for the first time since school let out. She doesn't know what happened to the baby, and I am still getting drawings from her in which an arrow pointing at my stomach is prominently labeled BABY. I am dreading the conversation we will have, and all the questions I will have to answer. It's already a very difficult subject for me, and nine year olds aren't generally known for their tact and conversation skills.
Okay, now I'm rambling. Back to work.
We had an argiope living at our old apartment, but I haven't seen any at our new house which makes me sad. However, I think I might have seen two caterpillar hunter larva on one of our crape myrtles, so that is some consolation. I'm tired of only having nasty bugs like scorpions and ants around.
Toothbrush: a souvenir from the Harry and The Potters show I had to miss last night. In case you can't read the text (click on the picture for a closer look), it says "Harry & The Potters Fight Evil & Tooth Decay!" I also have two t-shirts from a show last year - one says "Voldemort Can't Stop the Rock" and the other says "Save Ginny Weasly" with an outline of the basilisk. God, someone help me before I drown in my own nerdiness.
In spring from the black branches of the flowering plum tree
the woodthrush issues its routine
message of survival. Where does such happiness come from
as the neighbors' daughter reads into that singing,
and matches? All afternoon she sits
in the partial shade of the plum tree, as the mild wind
floods her immaculate lap with blossoms, greenish white
and white, leaving no mark, unlike
the fruit that will inscribe
unraveling dark stains in heavier winds, in summer.
I still can't believe that I can get so happy and excited over a plant.
While doing my down dog, the instructor 'adjusted' my hips up about six inches. I tried to explain nicely to her that my body did not go that direction, but all that came out was a little squeak.
Later, while I was in a pathetic imitation of a reverse half-moon, she came over and observed my wildly shaking leg and commented that I was not breathing correctly. Honestly, I thought I was doing good to be breathing at all.
Finally, it was time to do shoulder stands. I was relieved, because I'm good at that one. But to make sure my elbows didn't splay out to the side, she tied them together. Yes, you heard that right. I was tied upside down during my yoga class. For like ten minutes. I swear.
When it was time to go, I namaste'd her like I was supposed to.
But the divine in me was not bowing to the divine in her. The divine in me was whimpering on the floor in fetal position.
All last night, I felt like a doll who had all of it's joints pulled out of their sockets and were dangling by strings. I felt like I had to be careful when I walked, lest my leg accidentally spin around 360 degrees. Today, to use the proper yoga words, I am very aware of my muscles.
I have not been able to verify this fact independently. I asked someone I know currently living in the UK, and someone else who has lived there in the past, but both are/were expats, not actual British people, so they were not familiar with this custom. Does anyone know anything about this? Google provided tantalizing hints, but no definitive information.
I don't know why I am so fascinated by this.
Our new house was not infested with scorpions, I thought. Yesterday, I was sitting in my office playing on my computer. I have a subwoofer under the desk that I had stacked some papers and books on. I reached down and pulled a book out of the stack and something fell down and skittered across my foot. It was a scorpion.
I yelled at B, who came quickly, but we were out of practice. It took us awhile to find the special scorpion spray (regular bug spray doesn't even faze them), and we never did find the special scorpion spaghetti tongs. Finally, B managed to cut him into a few pieces with some scissors. But I am back to wearing shoes at all times in the house, and never touching anything you can't see.
There are many creatures that I am willing to share my habitat with, including wasps, spiders, and beetles. But scorpions give me nightmares.
This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
What saint strained so much,
Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life?
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing,
In my veins, in my bones I feel it,—
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.
If I have convinced you that Louise Gluck is a wonderful poet, great. But don't buy her first book of poems, Firstborn, published in 1968. It's awful. The best poem in it so far is Nurse's Song (below), and I'm not all that impressed with it.
As though I'm fooled. That lacy body managed to forget
that I have eyes, ears; dares to spring her boyfriend on the child.
This afternoon she told me, Dress the baby in his crochet
dress, and smiled. Just that. Just smiled,
going. She is never here. O innocence, your bassinet
is clogged with gossip, she's a sinking ship,
your mother. Wouldn't spoil her breasts.
I hear your deaf-numb papa fussing for his tea. Sleep, sleep,
my angel, nestled with your orange bear.
Scream when her lover pats your hair.