Tibbar Tibbar

The perfect fruit, without blemish.

And the winner is...

Orange ya glad I didn't say banana?

Feb 27

Good morning!

Another two inches of snow overnight,

on top of what fell yesterday.

This is like counting the recent pounds showing up on the scale.

But like spring snow, this weight will melt quickly.

(Because God, Angels and the Miraculous are on my side,

enlightened, weightless, ethereal without gravity)

Today my job is to buy a beautiful place mat,

napkin, dinner setting, fine utensils, a glass and candles.

And one perfect fruit.

Aw Jeez, will that be a mango, a pomegranate,

a cluster of grapes, a banana?

Feb 26

Four inches of wet snow in the morning,

stuck to and covered the clothesline,

then dissolved under an afternoon of rain.

All that's missing is Color.

Silks.

Acrobats.

Music.

The shape of things to come.

Christmas in February

Don Juan and Don Genaro discussed cords projecting from the navel center. It was the cord method that Don Genaro used to take himself from one spot to another, like across a chasm or canyon in the desert, or to climb up a steep cliff like Spidey. That would be some Christmas present to be able to do that.

The navel is the center for fire, determination, accomplishment. That navel cord is sometimes like the power washer on the recent commercial that gets out of hand and sprays all the dishes off the table, or in this case, burns up the table. There is a specific Sanskrit name for fire burning out of control. But all I can see is Carrie, and man, is she pissed.

Meanwhile I am thinking of incinerating the scale that's blinking heavy with an upward trend, and the free weights on the floor gathering dust. Tap, tap, tap.

Feb 24

This morning I have been thinking about the physician's code, Primum non nocere. This is Latin for "First, do no harm." It is the same as one of the tenets of Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, Ahimsa, the Sanskrit for nonharming. But self-help gurus all caution to put statements in the positive, not the negative.

The physician's code restated in the positive would be as follows: First, help; Or, First, assist; Primum adiuvo.

Or, First, bless.

Primum benedicere.

I think I will write to the American Medical Association, or publish in the New England Journal of Medicine. They've been waiting to hear this.

Feb 23

It is said that "deer and supervisors don't look up", so it is easiest to hide in the realm overhead, if you want to hide.


Maybe that is why we have so many things hanging down from the ceiling, drawing our attention from eye level upward. Maybe that's it.

Some hang over the vents and clack when the furnace kicks on. "Notice me!"

The real estate at the top of the room is at a premium. All the hooks are taken. This entry is waiting for a caption, a conclusion. Jim is waiting for me in the car at the top of the hill so we can go to breakfast. Daisy is sleep-eyed and stumbly. The sun is shining in a light blue sky. I need to look down and put my socks on.

GW's BDay

What a coincidence!

The turkeys have come to visit and it's George Washington's Birthday!

The turkeys eat sunflower seeds, not cherries. They don't have wooden teeth. The hens don't sew flags. And they scatter like chickens when you go to greet them.

Feb 21

Elusive sleep. This early morning I am on the bat schedule. Daisy is snoring now after previously looking up sleepily, wondering if we were going outside at 2 AM. There's decaf in the cup, and popular culture from Yahoo on the screen. Having tried everything else, maybe I should hang upside down and echolocate.

Feb 20

Tracks

Skis

Pileated woodpecker

Skiplane

Snowshoes

Finalists in paper airplane show

Also rans.

Feb 19

Just to the left of the flags on the diagonal branch of a birch tree, Jim spotted an owl. Well, first he spotted a number of blue jays frantically calling, "Thief! Thief!" And as he watched, it became clear that the owl was a target for yelling blue jays.

A barred owl says, "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you?" Mostly it was annoyed that I was disturbing its daytime rest.

This one is Linda Blair in the Exorcist, swiveling her head full circle to keep me in view. We watched it preen and clean off its talons for the evening meal. "Who cooks for you?"

Feb 18

The view at the lake on a weekday is a lone unoccupied fish shack, and an occasional snowmobile.

Taking advantage of yesterday's sunny and warm day, the pilot and his flight instructor landed on the lake to grab a spare headset from home, then posed and admired.

This belies the terror at the moment of landing and shortly thereafter, bouncing over frozen snowmobile tracks, roaring through slushy snow, struggling to keep the front of the airplane from nosing over, and the noise, the noise! Oh, yeah, no headsets.

Looks deceptively peaceful and romantic.

Feb 17

No breakfast yesterday. It was two hours, instead, to get the car out of the snowbank after it coasted/slid backwards on the ice, unsuccessful at the first run of the driveway. That's why it's a Sissy car.

So after that extraction, the car was parked at the road by the mailbox. The 4 wheel drive truck brought us over the ice, to the lake, and the comfort of waking up to the Bandeirante (pronounced Bonner Ronnie) flying overhead at its usual time to deliver the UPS packages to Lewiston.

Several days of paper airplane folding awaits. I haven't been here since January 18. The sun is up. It's 15 degrees. Time to plan the next adventure.

Feb 16

The driveway is one long sheet of ice requiring special traction on the shoes for our walk to the mailbox.

Usually Daisy's 4-paw drive is helpful for extra traction. But even she struggles with this mess.

Today we are going to our Wednesday airport breakfast and someone will have to make an attempt to navigate the ice. The almanac says winter's back is broken today. Hope it doesn't drag us down with it.

Feb 15

In lieu of a steam room, a hot shower.

Tea instead of coffee.

Congested chest cold in place of pranayama breathing.

My thumb instead of an onion.

Cut

-Sylvia Plath

For Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill --

My thumb instead of an onion,

The top quite gone

Except for a sort of a hinge

Of skin,

A flap like a hat,

Dead white.

Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,

the Indian's axed your scalp.

Your turkey wattle

Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.

I step on it,

Clutching my bottle

Of pink fizz.

A celebration, this is.

Out of a gap

A million soldiers run,

Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they on?

O my

Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin

Papery feeling.

Saboteur,

Kamikaze man --

The stain on your

Gauze Ku Klux Klan

Babushka

Darkens and tarnishes and when

The balled

Pulp of your heart

Confronts its small

Mill of silence

How you jump --

Trepanned veteran,

Dirty girl,

Thumb stump.

Happy Valentine's Day

There are a lot of red and pink things in this house as well as heart-shaped items. Just opening one drawer reveals several objects that could be construed as perfect for a Valentine's Day gift.


The cardboard hearts from last year or two years ago are still taped on the ceiling lamp over the dining table. Jim asks, "What did you get me for Valentine's Day?"

I answer, "Same thing you got me."

Feb 13

Snow, snow everywhere and not a drop to drink.



For some reason, what comes to mind is a canvas with the beginnings of an oil painting, trying to capture the essence of water.

My brother finds water in the form of a brown and smelly creek crossing.

We used both skis and snowshoes to break trail. I did 108 steps in skis and 54 in shoes and that was the limit of my trailbreaking.

Mike was allowed in front a few times. Deep stuff.

Our Blue Lakes Hut was cozy, some would say hot, after the fire was lit in the woodstove.

The outhouse path was covered with a foot of new snow the night after our afternoon arrival.

But the view from there was quite splendid at dawn with Venus barely showing.

Jet lagged and wondering what to think of it all, if at all. The piper is calling. Moving on.