Monday, November 29, 2010

breakfast, lunch

It was snap-frozen cold this morning, but the lake looked so serene, contemplative.  A few brave grebes and coots skimmed the surface, for breakfast, I presume.  The hard-core bootcampers by the pergola did static lunges on blue tarp: crazy or dedicated?

I just walked faster to the relief of the warm carpool.  Sadly, it's not warm yet in the office.  I've pulled on my coat and have a blanket around my legs like an old storyteller.  I can only tell myself about the story of microwaved meatloaf and roasted vegetables for lunch.

Monday, November 22, 2010

A season of waiting

So few rainbow leaves here,
Ours are mostly brown, dry.
Pink stretched clouds overhead,
Washed air, washed sidewalks,
Sharp gritty steps behind me.

A season of waiting, lying low
Begins again: repeat, repeat, repeat.
Stay behind or leave behind,
Your choice.  Pick what’s left over.

On my nightstand, a blue-capped plastic bottle
The cross worn off, holy water and superstition.
Blessing for your journey, for my journey
To dream under warm covers in a cold room.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

things I will do to avoid writing

1.  thoroughly vacuum apartment
2.  put winter comforter on bed
3.  balance checkbook
4.  repot amarylis bulb
5.  turn on TV
6. wander around apartment looking for any chore that will avoid revising and typing up writing
7. blog about avoiding writing
8. next:  Facebook

Friday, November 19, 2010

fur and fury

Pictured are the cats sharing the top tier of their cat tree, gazing out the window at the rainy morning.  How they're maintaining peace is beyond my imagination.  Murph wedged his 15-lbs. self next to Cleo, but there was no hissing, no growling.  They are actually touching each other. 

A sign of the apocalypse, perhaps?  Are they waiting for the first few horsemen to come riding in and then they'll go out in a ball of fur and fury?

Thursday, November 18, 2010

wherever you are

Today you would have been 88, Grandma!  Happy Birthday, wherever you are. 

I miss you.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Feeling a little lop-sided today, so how about a literary quote? From Cervantes, no less!

"Just then they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that rise from that plain. And no sooner did Don Quixote see them that he said to his squire, "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them. With their spoils we shall begin to be rich for this is a righteous war and the removal of so foul a brood from off the face of the earth is a service God will bless."

"What giants?" asked Sancho Panza.

"Those you see over there," replied his master, "with their long arms. Some of them have arms well nigh two leagues in length."

"Take care, sir," cried Sancho. "Those over there are not giants but windmills. Those things that seem to be their arms are sails which, when they are whirled around by the wind, turn the millstone."

Settle down. I don't intend to do battle with any windmills. I've done it before.  They will kick your ass.

Monday, November 15, 2010

the last one

Really?  Again?  I had just gotten over the last one.

Please change your mind.  Just don't.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

full stop

The bridge quivers when you're standing still; the wind I suppose.  There was no sense of urgency.  Some people wandered around, a rare chance to be on the bridge.  Many went right to check out the new bridge, blooming into life from steel and concrete. 

We all made it across, grateful to be moving.  Now just another day begins, a little late.  And I'm not in handcuffs in the back of a police car like the man who caused all this.  Thanks, good mental health!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

smoke up, America

Let's get political for just a moment. I was thrilled to read this. And boo-hoo to the tobacco companies. 

I think wording that England uses ("Smoking can cause a slow and painful death") is more to the point than USA's relatively milk-toast warnings.

Photo: London, steps of the Tube, 2006

Monday, November 8, 2010


I don’t know about you, but I think I was born wired to not trust the good – waiting for big dog to run across the blanket and destroy a picnic lunch, looking for rain clouds to move in and ruin a long-awaited day at the amusement park, or any other generic pessimist's scenario you can dream up.

Then I grew up and realized what a colossal waste of time that was. I learned to enjoy happy moments as they unfolded, absorbing them like a warm light. Once in a while though, that little girl, who is me, peeks in, taking me back to the day at a playground when my mother asked “Didn’t you like the ride? You didn't smile once.” I answered: “I was just thinking about how sad I’m going to be when it’s over.”

Sheesh. What a morose kid!

Sunday, November 7, 2010

don't ask


I pierced the man's shadow with the tip of my umbrella,
pulling apart my rubbery, chapped lips
to say excuse me. He didn’t turn.
I hadn’t spoken – a crow flew down
and ripped the words from my beak-like lips.
She cleaned out a Styrofoam container next
and spat my words on the ground by a crushed beer can.
Before he could get away, I left my shiny sharp friend
to her preening and copied his walk step for step,
flexing my hands, dry and scaly.
The turn through the revolving door was like sex,
when you both thrust the same direction.
We were connected for that moment,
our electricity passing through steel and glass –
mine shocking pink that moves straight for his groin
and his a hazy cornflower blue that slides off my shoulders,
pooling at my ankles.

Inside, I tell the desk guard he’s my brother,
that I’m fresh from a Greyhound
for a Columbus Day surprise.
He one-eyeballs me while stamping the guest badge
with the earth date, the one we all have to follow.
I press the adhesive slab below my belt –
“sell by date” I say and stare at his placid empty face.
I spend some time preparing in the women’s toilet --
meditating, chewing gum, changing socks.
Two girls enter talking low about an office enemy
and they freeze when they see me doing deep knee bends.
“Ladies, do you get enough calcium?” I ask them.

Written 2009. I really don't know what this is, except weird.

Friday, November 5, 2010


Beetle, posing
Originally uploaded by jeesau
My expectations need to be dialed down a bit. But like my toaster, even though the setting is on "light" the toast almost burns every time if you don't stand over it and watch.

And the photo? Well, he seems to manage his expectations of life just fine. He's a beetle. He hasn't any.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

somewhere over Nova Scotia

The 5000-mile gap is closing.

Monday, November 1, 2010

funny about Sundays... Sunday you're sitting around a table in the desert eating dinner with new friends, and the next, you're playing pool with The Cookie Monster.

Funny about Sundays, funny about life.