Happy Happy Joy Joy!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Dec 30
This morning one of the characters cleaned the ashes out of three woodstoves; the cafe's, her boss' house, and her new ranch house. She retrieved a wheelbarrow at each place to haul the ashes deep into the woods.
She waded through snow higher than her calves and dumped the ashes on a huge rhododendron in the woods.
And when she was done, there was wood in the wood ring and the promise of a beautifully warm day. Times three.
She waded through snow higher than her calves and dumped the ashes on a huge rhododendron in the woods.
And when she was done, there was wood in the wood ring and the promise of a beautifully warm day. Times three.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Dec 29
This is the same parking lot where the flying rats were perched the day before, waiting for the storm. Jim informs me that flying rats are pigeons, not seagulls.
The word for yesterday was caterwauling, the noise that Jim raised when I informed him that he would have to tack up the tarp after it had partially blown off in the blizzard, shortly after he informed me that flying rats were pigeons.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Dec 27
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Dec 26
It was the neighbor's table decorated so beautifully on Christmas for ham, turkey, and pot roast. Our ham was hot dogs, our turkey was gobbling, our pot roast was lasagne.
Our neighbor had 13 for dinner plus those who came for dessert later. She raided her husband's sock drawer to protect the floor from all the heaviness pushing away from the table. She needn't have worried. Nobody pushed away. We all fell asleep at the table after dinner and dessert, overcome by tryptophan and whipped cream on tiramasu.
And hence I'm late this morning for blogging and weight watchers and after-Christmas sales.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve Day
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Reduced to Zero
then there were 2 Christmas cards
missing from the collection,
false accusations against card corporations,
a breakdown in teamwork,
and the final blow, a broken toe,
too hideous to photograph.
to be forgiven, this stubbing.
But it's Christmas and we go
from zero
to one hundred and twenty
in six seconds.
Game On!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Dec 20
Every year around the time of the solstice I become a crow attracted to shiny objects.
Instead of a closet full of sorry, my closet contains dressy gowns of glitter, form fitting slinky knit things, gauzy ribboned tutus, and festive floor length formals with beaded bodices.
As a crow, I peer with one eye and then the other, sizing up which gown is the best suited for this year's party.
Peach colors would be fabulous against a black feathered backdrop.
But the winner this year is the peacock blue floor length gown, totally rhinestoned, listing for $3,999.00. It was a size too small for my head to fit through the opening and did not accomodate wings.
So, back to the pumpkin pie for dessert and dreams of diamonds. The days get longer beginning tomorrow and the sun shines on my glittering eye for two minutes longer, a jewel in the light.
So, back to the pumpkin pie for dessert and dreams of diamonds. The days get longer beginning tomorrow and the sun shines on my glittering eye for two minutes longer, a jewel in the light.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Six more days to Christmas
It's not clear whether the dragon tree will suffice for a Christmas tree. It looks so...unfinished. Maybe that's because, boo hoo, there's only one nicely wrapped present. The rest are clad in brown paper, mailed from distant lands, shaken not stirred.
Which reminds me of the single remaining cut glass martini glass from medical practice days. A search reveals no glass, no vodka, no olives, and no gin. The shaker is waiting.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Dec 18
The University of Washington has a Common Book that is required reading for all freshmen. This year it is an anthology of poetry, You Are Never Where You Are. One of the featured poems follows:
What Work Is
-Philip Levine
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is - if you're
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it's someone else's brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, "No,
we're not hiring today," for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who's not beside you or behind or
ahead because he's home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You've never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you're too young or too dumb,
not because you're jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don't know what work is.
-Philip Levine
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is - if you're
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it's someone else's brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, "No,
we're not hiring today," for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who's not beside you or behind or
ahead because he's home trying to
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You've never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you're too young or too dumb,
not because you're jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,
just because you don't know what work is.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Dec 17
The cattle line at the airport lends to clandestined inspection of many things, including footwear. People were not easily fooled by the woman with the camera, and they kept an uneasy eye on me.
I just wanted a picture of their shoes, didn't think it was such a big deal. Spies have those little pencil cameras so they can take photos of unsuspecting marks.
The stems of the Colorado-Nebraska border windfarms are almost as decorative in the sunrise as the footwear of those ticketed passengers in the airport security line.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Dec 16
The winner of the evening lighting entertainment in a small town. Somewhere on Linden Street, west of the high school and just east of Dude's.
It's a travel day, back to the east, back to moisture, back home.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Dec 15
We made a big score at the banks today. In the novel, the banks were robbed. In real life, the banks were relieved of a few 2011 calendars. We're feeling mighty proud of ourselves. Tomorrow we're hitting the car dealerships.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Dec 14
In the novel a clownish character cheerfully and innocently invites the heroine to step through a doorway. The heroine has a bad feeling about what's behind the door. Even though there's no dark ascending stairway, what good could possibly come of this invitation?
This has unexpectedly uncovered a fear of clowns. Courlrophobia.
Would you go through?
Monday, December 13, 2010
Dec 13
"I'm Late! I'm Late! I'm Late For an Important Date!" - White Rabbit
Late to the Blog World this morning. Slug-a-bed. But the writing is completed before the midnight hour. There was excitement over the weekend; a nighttiime Christmas parade. One enthusiastic viewer exclaimed last year, "It gets better every year!" This year there were 8 lighted floats, candy thrown into the streets, children with no hats or mittens. I had to push two of them over to get to the Reese's peanut butter cups that were thrown. Serves them right for having no winter wear.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Dec 12
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Steve's Important BDay
Arrived safely yesterday late morning.
Bought a Tee shirt for my brother's birthday, a long and well-thought out gift purchased at the Boston Airport. It is now safe to decorate for Christmas with this December birthday passing by.
Bought a Tee shirt for my brother's birthday, a long and well-thought out gift purchased at the Boston Airport. It is now safe to decorate for Christmas with this December birthday passing by.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Dec 10
Last night the temperature dipped to single digits in a clear night. December is the time for the Geminids, shooting stars on which to wish for money, money, money.
Yesterday I took a walk on the iced frosting of the cookie woods. All that moisture in the ground erupts through the frozen soil, just begging to be inspected like a physics problem.
Yesterday I took a walk on the iced frosting of the cookie woods. All that moisture in the ground erupts through the frozen soil, just begging to be inspected like a physics problem.
Instead of walking in the woods during a day with temperatures in the low 20s, it is another travel day with a destination in the high 40s. This time the bus, the airplane, and the rental car will be the modes of transportation. Much better to watch the Geminids at 45 degrees than 8 degrees. Easier money.
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