Relax. This won't last long. Or if it does, or if the lines make you sleepy or bored, give in to sleep, turn on the T.V., deal the cards. This poem is built to withstand such things. Its feelings cannot be hurt. They exist somewhere in the poet, and I am far away. Pick it up anytime. Start it in the middle if you wish. It is as approachable as melodrama, and can offer you violence if it is violence you like. Look, there's a man on a sidewalk; the way his leg is quivering he'll never be the same again. This is your poem and I know you're busy at the office or the kids are into your last nerve. Maybe it's sex you've always wanted. Well, they lie together like the party's unbuttoned coats, slumped on the bed waiting for drunken arms to move them. I don't think you want me to go on; everyone has his expectations, but this is a poem for the entire family. Right now, Budweiser is dripping from a waterfall, deodorants are hissing into armpits of people you resemble, and the two lovers are dressing now, saying farewell. I don't know what music this poem can come up with, but clearly it's needed. For it's apparent they will never see each other again and we need music for this because there was never music when he or she left you standing on the corner. You see, I want this poem to be nicer than life. I want you to look at it when anxiety zigzags your stomach and the last tranquilizer is gone and you need someone to tell you I'll be here when you want me like the sound inside a shell. The poem is saying that to you now. But don't give anything for this poem. It doesn't expect much. It will never say more than listening can explain. Just keep it in your attache case or in your house. And if you're not asleep by now, or bored beyond sense, the poem wants you to laugh. Laugh at yourself, laugh at this poem, at all poetry. Come on:
Good. Now here's what poetry can do.
Imagine yourself a caterpillar. There's an awful shrug and, suddenly, You're beautiful for as long as you live.
You really have to say that poem out loud a few times to understand it but once you untangle your tongue, it's amazing. (Found at So Many Books)
Knit the knot: a riddle
The directions said: to knit the knot known and not to knit the not known, knit the knot known to the unknown knot and not the knot known to unknot the unknown and knot the knit; to unknot the known and knit the unknown, unknit the knot known and know the knit; to know how to not know the unknown, knit the knot. Gnaw your fingers to the bone until you understand the plot.
The lucky cats in Stratton Street Had seven mice apiece to eat. The rest made do With only two: The total score Being twenty-four. How many cats ate mousie meat?
Don't ask me.
See what my darling brother brought me from his foray into Sheep &
Wool Festival land - wool from Crabapple Llamas and Fibers! They
don't seem to have a website or I'd link them. Very nice! Neutral color
too, just like I like. Now I just need to find the perfect project for them. Isn't he the sweetest? A yarn bowl came separately - once I figured out what it was, it was very cool! (I was expecting a wool bowl so the ceramic-ness of it threw me off.
Hezekiah was not amused by the appearance of the well fed raccoon at the back door last night. [She went to her food in the kitchen and hoovered all of it. Just in case]. I banged on the window and pulled out Dad's old police whistle because while it's hard to discourage raccoons, they really prefer a more peaceful environment. Cross your fingers he hangs out in Linda's garden across the street instead. Except, no. Her cat Dusty is an outside cat. Fine. The raccoon can go back into the hills).
Ten On Tuesday (well, it WAS Tuesday)
” Ten things you love about where you live.”
1. I can drive to the ocean, the San Francisco Bay, Tomales Bay or the Delta in a little more than an hour.
Bay Books always has what I want (except for the Mary Stewart books. I'm a little bitter I can't find them. Mickey Spillane, sure. Scratch that, I could find most of them except Nine Coaches Waiting and Gabriel Hounds. Good thing I have that nice intra-library loan thing.) (As it happens, I'm on a Harry Dresden bender now two more to go before I get to his latest adventure! The exciting thing about reading them in random order is finding out - wait. Spoiler stuff. Never mind.)
OH NOES! They're closing! In a month. This is getting scary.
5. Tourists. They're always amusing and sometimes a lot of fun.
6. The ferry at Jack London Square - maybe cruising around the Bay Bridge and Angel Island and Alcatraz help but the ferry itself is fun.
7. Free concerts in the park all summer.
8. Mt Diablo. There is nothing better than driving to the summit and surveying the Golden Gate Bridge, the Delta and the environs [provided it's not cloudy, on fire or raining].
9. The weather. Micro climates mean that it's perfect somewhere close.
10. The plays. I'm partial to the California Shakespeare Festival [CalShakes].
According to Carrol the term uffish
suggested to him "a state of mind when the voice is gruffish, the manner
roughish, and the temper huffish."
Huffish, eh? I like that.
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There,
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Somehow, I suspect my knitting WIP's are outgrabe.
Here's Elizabeth I to date. Hmm. Black and white is not kind to my two gauges - one knit and one purl. I did try using two different sized needles but that's where the difference shows the most. Oh well. it'll either block out or not. It's pretty.
I've got an insane intarsia project going - I figured no sense in knitting up a gauge swatch (which is possibly my usual supposition) since it's basically a big rectangle. I'd forgotten to take into account that patterns for cross stitch don't necessarily translate into patterns for knitting. I've reworked it a bit so that the sword point doesn't look like a giant blob (which you're not going to be able to judge for yourselves because my camera (read: iPhone) decided to die and I ripped & fixed it rather than wait and snap a pic for posterity.)
Other than that, all other projects are ongoing, the stash busting cardi, the tailored jacket, the scarves, the Veronica Lake shell, the keyhole shell, Lillian........huh. No wonder my WIP area looks like this:
There's actually more, but it's too embarrassing.
I don't think I've done a book update in ages. I managed to read 59 library books last year and.......32 so far this year. It helps being broke.
Best books so far: The Emperor of Ocean Park by Stephen L Carter. The novel is told from the point of view of the son of a judge who at one time, was a nominee to the Supreme Court, and at his father's death, become embroiled in what derailed his father and now threatens him. More or less. Great suspense book and if you like politics, you should love this.
The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine by Michael Lewis. So that's how the economy collapsed.
Mary Stewart novels, Nine Coaches Waiting, The Ivy Tree, Madam Will You Talk? Moon-Spinners, The Gabriel Hounds. I hadn't read these in decades. The Moon Spinners title is based on an island myth about the phases of the moon - as a wannabe spinner, it was fun to read that the full moon glow was twirled onto a drop spindle causing it to wane then the spindle was plunged into the ocean where it unraveled and filled the moon again.
One thing that struck me is how dumbed down our vocabulary has gotten since these were published.
And in the spirit of dumbing down everywhere, a few of my favorite summer shows: Too Hot In Cleveland (Wednesday night at 10pm on TV Land) with Betty White, Jane Leeves, Valerie Bertinelli and Wendy Malick. Fun.
Warehouse 13 starts tonight at......9? 10? on Syfy. (Ridiculous name for a channel. And oddly enough, most of the shows I watched used to be on SciFi. This (and Eurekastarting Friday) are the only two shows I watch on SyFy.).
Burn Notice on USA 9pm on Thursdays. I really like the addition of Coby Bell, I've missed him since Third Watch. Jason Wiles, aka Bosco of Third Watch is on Persons Unknown on Mondays NBC at 8pm now (and soon to be Saturdays) but that show is so convoluted and dull that if it wasn't for the cast, I wouldn't bother.
___I wish I could__ fall asleep. 4.
How about _a week without a crisis or a deadline. 5. _Reading a book is something I highly
recommend! 6. Imagine _if everyone did that_. ("that" being undefined. You know what "that" is). 7.
And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to __Miss Marple___,
tomorrow my plans include __knitting _ and Sunday, I want to _sit in the backyard and admire the garden.___!
What I Know For Sure by Bob Hickok
Some people, told of witness trees, pause in chopping a carrot or loosening a lug nut and ask, witness to what? So while salad is made, or getting from A to B is repaired, these people listen to the story of the Burnside Bridge sycamore, alive at Antietam, bloodiest day of the war, or the Appomattox Court House honey locust, just coming to leaf as Lee surrendered, and say, at the end, Cool. Then the chopping continues with its two sounds, the slight snap to the separation of carrot from carrot, the harder crack of knife against cutting board, or the sigh, also slight, of a lug nut as it's tightened against a wheel. In time, these people put their hands under water and say, not so much to you but to the window in front of the sink, Think of all the things trees have seen. Then it's time for dinner, or to leave, and a month passes, or a year, before two fawns cross in front of the car, or the man you've just given a dollar to lifts his shirt to the start of the 23rd psalm tattooed to his chest, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," when some people say, I feel like one of those trees, you know? And you do know. You make a good salad, change a wicked tire, you're one of those people, watching, listening, a witness to whatever this is, for as long as it is amazing, isn't it, that I could call you right now and say, They still can't talk to dolphins but are closer, as I still can't say everything I want to but am closer, for trying, to God, if you must, to spirit, if you will, to what's never easy for people like us: life, breath, the sheer volume of wonder.
I've joined a reading challenge! Eco-Challenge at Chris' Book-a-rama. I like that the rules say between 1-5 books and I can justify my choices with a spirited debate. Starts May 1 through Sept 30th.
I've gone from saying "Cool" to saying "Excellent." Not so much in a Ted & Bill Adventure way but more in a mad professor style. What I want to know is why? Am I going to start cooing "darling" soon?
In knitting news, stupid mitered corner. Evidently you're supposed to pick up the edge stitches of the body and miter the corner of of the buttonhole band while you're attaching it.
Somehow, I don't think this is right.
She has a "marked stitch" at the end that I read as it's knit together with a picked up stitch from the body but then I still have only the one marked stitch and I'm supposed to be adding five stitches to the band. Shouldn't there be slipping in there? And picking up of more stitches?
It's the mitering one side and picking up the edge of the already knit part that's confounding me. I can miter a corner while I'm knitting the whole thing but half done? Argh. Any suggestions? (Not including setting it on fire. I'm too close to being done).
READING: I've been reading The Periodic Table by Primo Levi - I ran across it in a used bookstore Thursday night and it’s just fabulous so far. It’s the semi autobiographical novel of his life as an Italian Jewish chemist up to and during WWII (so far) and he’s done the fascinating twist of sectioning off pieces of his life using various periodic elements as the anchor to those memories.
Is anything sadder than a train That leaves when it’s supposed to, That has only one voice, Only one route? There’s nothing sadder.
Except perhaps a cart horse, Shut between two shafts And unable even to look sideways. Its whole life is walking.
And a man? Isn’t a man sad? If he lives in solitude a long time, If he believes time has run its course, A man is a sad thing too.
–Primo Levi January 17, 1946 From Collected Poems Faber and Faber, London, 1988.
Chartroose tagged me for a meme and against all odds, past practice and fate, I'm actually going to do this within a 24 hour time frame. Shocking, ain't it?
Well, it would have been.
The Rules: The rules are simple: choose 10 favorite things beginning with a single letter of the alphabet and explain why you like them. The only catch is that the letter is assigned to you by the person who wrote the post you’ve just read.
Uh oh. Let's see how quick I am to assign the letters.
My letter is T (because I am Terrific. Chartroose said so.)
T: Ten things? Geez. Hey! 1. Ten. 10.That's one of ten. What's not to like about ten? Ten fingers to knit with, to turn pages, ten toes to count when ten fingers arent enough. Ten helps to scale unweighable options, as in on a scale of one to ten, a way to combat the homicide rate by counting to ten first, ranks everything from authors to hot guys to zoos in the Top Ten. Image taken from Lil Fingers Storybook Coloring site.
Such thirst to know how much! Such hunger to know how many stars in the sky!
We pass our infancies counting stones, plants, fingers, sand grains, teeth, pass our youths counting petals, hairs. We count the color and the years, the lives and kisses, bulls in the fields, waves in the sea. The ships made ciphers which multiplied. The numbers spawned. The cities were thousands, millions, and the wheat came in hundreds of units each holding other integers tinier than a single grain. Time became a number. Light became numbered and however much it raced with sound it had a velocity of 37. Numbers surround us, At night we would lock the door, exhausted, approaching 800; below having come to bed with us in that sleep the 4,000 and the 77 goaded our foreheads with their wrenches and hammers. The 5 would compound itself until it entered the sea or the delirium where the sun might greet it with steel and we co racing to the office, the mill, the factory, to start fresh with the infinite number 1 of each day.
Friend, we had the time so our thirst could be satisfied, the ancestral longing to enumerate things and total them, reducing them until rendering them dust, dunes of numbers. We are papering the world with figures and ciphers, but the things existed nonetheless, fleeing all tallies, becoming dehydrated by such quantities, leaving their fragrance and memories, and the empty numbers remained.
For that reason, for you I love the things. The numbers which go to jail, move in closed columns procreating until they give us the sum for the whole of infinity. For your sake I want some numbers of the way to defend you and you to defend them. May your weekly wages increase and grow chest-deep! And out of the number 2 that binds your body and your beloved wife's emerge the matches eyes of your sons to tally yet again the ancient stars and innumerable spikes of wheat which shall fulfill the transfigured earth.
(Trans. William Pitt Root) from NUMBERS AND FACES, Humanistic Mathematics Network Journal, Issue # 24, June 2001, pp. 23 - 25.
2. Taxes. I don't love paying taxes and I wish there was a dollar for dollar acounting for where exactly the tax dollars go but tax returns? Are fun. The deductions, the credits, there's a story behind how each one landed on your tax return and the little social tweaking that goes on.
3. Traffic: Techically I loathe and despise traffic.I've been known to go miles out of my way just to drive at a snail's pace so I don't SIT on the freeway. (Now if I was at a stop light, I'd probably pull out my knitting or a book. But on the freeway? I just fume.) But the last few months, there has been an eerie and somewhat terrifying dearth of traffic. Please tell me all those folks time shifted their work hours, moved out of state or are working from home, as opposed to, say, mass unemployment. Pretty please?
Side note: Last night when driving out to Berkeley to meet up with Birdsong - who is as fabulous as you'd think, if not more so - check out the Triina she's knitting, that yarn is so soft. Also nupps are pronounced noops evidently just because Nancy Bush says so - there was plenty of traffic, particularly when I was on the frontage road by the Berkeley Marina with oncoming traffic on both sides of me. Yowza.
4. Tuna: Technically Sheba was the one that loved tuna but I must include it. She loved Bumblebee water packed tuna the best. Actually she loved the juice the best, the rest of it I could toss. Hezekiah has not really hopped on the Tuna Love train (although she'll eat it, if it's fresh.) What she really likes are my spinach souffles but those are S's, not T's.
5. Trees. I LOVE trees. Look at my late lamented poor ghost pine trees. They were viciously attacked by pine beetles (who are currently working on the rest of the pine trees in the neighborhood -sob). To this day, the bluejay will occasionally hop around disconsolantly where his pine tree was and complain bitterly about its loss. We are in complete agreement.
There seems to be this dreadful conspiracy against trees lately. They're being lopped out of yards, shopping malls (the to better "see" the shops - any shop that felled trees, I don't frequent anymore).
And, at times, I can't see the forest for the trees.
6. Tomatos. There is no more glorious food than a tomato freshly plucked from your garden.
7. Tomorrow. My favorite time to do something. Which is one reason why this post is so darn long.
8. Time. No time left for me! On my way to better things........What's not to love about time? I just wish they'd perfect Time Travel.
9. The Tudors. No list of T's would be complete without the Tudors. Now that's what I call a fun family. Glenda Jackson's Elizabeth R PBS miniseries began a fascination with British royalty. Wow, Glenda Jackson is an MP now? And that series was shown in 1971? Huh.
10. Think. Think, think, think. What else starts with a "T"?
Miss T, of the Mystery House of Yarn & Horrors, who graciously awarded me with the Kreativ Blogger Award.
I'd be happy to give out a letter to anyone who's interested! But I warn you, this is harder than it looks. Just me? That figures. :)