If it’s Friday, it must mean leftovers . . .

This week’s headline:

“Five years down the road, Harry might have become a fornicating, drug-addicted Evolutionist!” ~ Grace Anne fanfiction of Harry Potter

Friday afternoon. Sunny and lovely, 77 degrees.

I had an absolutely dreadful night, and at some point I had a horrible dream about a friend from whom I have been estranged for many years, but I dreamt that his two-year-old daughter had died in a horrible accident, and no one had told me . . . and then I was awakened this morning by some very loud yard machine that sounded as if it needed a new muffler. Egads.

I tend to have an allergic reaction to one of my pain medications: I start to itch all over, even into my scalp, so I try to avoid this particular medication unless I absolutely have to have it. Benadryl helps, sometimes. I bought some of that ointment that I had seen advertised—Tricalm, but I don’t see that it helps any better than plain old hydrocortisone cream. That’s seven bucks wasted. Anyway, I awoke several times during the night and morning because of the uncontrollable itching, do once the noise started, I just gave up and got out of bed.

I consoled myself for the lack of sleep by working my way through a small book: Drowned, by Swedish author Therese Bohman. I’ve been wanting to read more Swedish authors ever since I finished Stieg Larsson’s Millenium Trilogy. The story was good, even though the writing was a bit uneven, but I really did not like the ending.

Oh well.

“The couple’s problems might be sexy and Aquarian, but the solution was the same as it ever was: Allie had to ‘hold her tongue’ and ‘mend her ways’ to avoid ‘bossing and manipulating’ Kip.” ~ From a December 1970 “Can This Marriage be Saved?” column

I seem to be on quite a tangent lately, which is, unfortunately, compelled by too many recent news stories concerning domestic abuse, college rapes, and other vile things.

The warped world of 1950s marriage counseling:

Ladies Home Journal Illustration by Coby Whitmore 1959

Ladies Home Journal Illustration by Coby Whitmore (1959)

Do you remember the “Can This Marriage be Saved?” column in Ladies Home Journal? Well a recent article shed light on a patently one-sided vein to the early columns in the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s. For example, in the case of Sue and her physically abusive husband Joe

But it was Sue who had the most work to do. She showed a lack of insight – she didn’t understand her husband. By refusing to have sex with him after he hit her, ‘she… touched off another almost inevitable explosion. Many husbands endeavour to make up for their misdeeds by such ardour, a fact of life that wise and loving wives accept.’

W-ORD Channel 7 News With John Oliver & Cookie Monster

Ah yes. The Scholastic Book Fair—nothing better. I used to send Alexis in with a blank check and a maximum budget. The librarians loved that. Good times.

Actress Nina Millin’s Beyoncelogues: “Best Thing I Never Had”

Classic Art Meets Magazine Covers:

Barbara Walters- Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 (Whistler's Mother)

Barbara Walters + “Whistler’s Mother”

Kate Upton- The Priestess

Kate Upton + “The Priestess”

From beauty to blegh: Is this not one of the creepiest things you have ever seen?

Say what?

Photo: We'll have more steak in just a momentaneousment.

Brett and I were just discussing the failures of public schools, and then I saw this:

georgetakei:</p><br /><br /> <p>I’m going to need a lot of patience just to not hit my forehead so hard with my palm.<br /><br /><br /> Source: That’s Messed Up - http://po.st/1df5Hk

You put what in my candy?

Photo: The other OTHER white meat.

Definite face palm Tiger face palmmoment . . .

wtfpopo

Your weekly public service informational announcement:

This is so cool: Pendulum wave demonstration

I would love to own a pair of these jeans:

 

“This is what I miss, Cordelia: not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen.” ~ Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye

Theodor Kittelsen, Øde, 1904

“Øde” (1904, illustration)
by Theodor Kittelsen


“And you wait, you wait for that one thing
that will infinitely enlarge your life;
the gigantic, the stupendous,
the awakening of stones,
depths turned round toward you.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Memory,” trans. by Edward Snow

Thursday night. Partly cloudy, 73 degrees.

Another lovely day. The temperatures continue to drop, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Theodor Kittelsen Dragen 1904

“Dragen” (1904, illustration)
by Theodor Kittelsen

So I finally called the repair place that had my phone because Corey hadn’t heard from them. When he took it in for repair, they had said two days for the part to come in and seven days before it would be ready, so I figured yesterday at the latest. I called, and they said that it had been ready for a week and that they had tried to call the number given (Corey’s), but it didn’t work.

Such complete ca ca (one word or two?) . . .

Before I left to get the phone, I looked for the SIM card, which I was pretty sure Corey had said that he put on my dresser. Trouble is that when I dusted the furniture last week, I didn’t think about the SIM card, so it’s probably been dusted into some strange place in my bedroom. I decided to pay the $10 to get a new one and save my back the pain of looking under things for something thinner than a dime.

Anyway, phone is back, but it wasn’t charged when they gave it to me (would that really have been that hard to do?), and I discovered that the USB port I keep in my car is broken. Always something. So glad to have my phone back, though, mostly because I hate being tied to a house phone in one room of the house, in this case, the dining room where I spend very little time. We have other phone connections throughout the house, but it would have meant moving furniture to get to them, and frankly, I just didn’t have that in me.

“On the beach the sadness of gramophones
deepens the ocean’s folding and falling.
It is yesterday. It is still yesterday.” ~ Mark Strand, from “Nostalgia”It is yesterday. It is still yesterday.” ~ Mark Strand, from “Nostalgia”

Last night I had some crazy dreams, or maybe all one dream:

I dreamed that there had been an earthquake in downtown, and the only way to get about was through a chute. I got to the opening of the chute, but I realized immediately that I would never be able to put myself in it without having a complete claustrophobia-induced panic attack, so I walked on the top of it. I got to the center of the city, and it was a mess. There were piles of things everywhere, and there were people looking for their belongings.

Theodor Kittelsen Nøkken_som_hvit_hest The Nix as a white horse 1909

“Nøkken som hvit hest aka The Nix as a White Horse” (1909, illustration)
by Theodor Kittelsen

At first, I kind of randomly looked for my things, first my books, which I was somehow able to summon from the wreckeage by simply saying something like “Shakespeare,” and all of my Shakespeare would stack up in front of me. Of course, it meant that I got everyone else’s Shakespeare as well, which didn’t make me very popular, so I stopped summoning.

Then I began to look for other things, mostly antiques. As order began to be restored, people began to set up impromptu shopping stalls. One of my long-deceased English professors told me that he was only communicating by Twitter these days, but he wanted to give me some old statues of famous writers, like Poe. I found a pair of garnet earrings that were 50 percent off, and Brett found a cool carved pipe.

I happened to run into an old beau of mine, and when I went to introduce him to Corey, Corey refused to shake his hand, claiming that he had just smoked a cigarette. It was very awkward.

I ran into my ex and his sister, and there was a fight about an old turntable and some china.

The dream finished with me trying to find a tire store to replace my tires because I had bought the wrong size, and we needed to drive to Ohio. The whole thing was utterly bizarre. I awoke with a headache . . . as usual.

“It is the finely wrought
detail that captivates us; not
the thing you’ve said, but how you’ve said it.” ~ Amy Glynn Greacen, from “Sword Lily”

Other than the phone fiasco and the mind-blowing dreams, not a lot else going on. I’ve been perusing the web looking for affordable kitchen cabinets and other things. Since we’re preparing the house to sell, I don’t want to install the knotted pine cabinets I had in mind. It would just be a waste.

Theodor Kittelsen Nøkken, 1887–92 aka The Water Spirit

“Nøkken aka The Water Spirit” (1887–92, illustration)
by Theodor Kittelsen

I’ve been reading books by Dominick Dunne in recent days. Not sure how I got on that tangent, but I finished The Two Mrs. Grenvilles last night, based on the 1955 Woodward shooting, and before that I read A Season in Purgatory, An Inconvenient Woman, and Another City, Not My Own.

The thing I like about Dunne’s books is that they are thinly-veiled retellings of famous true events, but he is able to get away with more because he disguises them as fiction. I find Dunne’s handling of these romans à clef (novels in which real characters/situations are disguised) quite skillful, but at times his name-dropping gets a bit tedious, especially with Another City, Not My Own, which has his narrator Gus Bailey covering the O. J. Simpson murder.

Still, it’s enjoyable and fast reading.

Not much else to say. Life goes on . . .

More later. Peace.

All images are by Norwegian artist and illustrator, Theodor Kittelsen (1857-1914).

Music by One Two, “Without You”

                   

Canary

for Michael S. Harper

Billie Holiday’s burned voice
had as many shadows as lights,
a mournful candelabra against a sleek piano,
the gardenia her signature under that ruined face.
(Now you’re cooking, drummer to bass,
magic spoon, magic needle.
Take all day if you have to
with your mirror and your bracelet of song.)
Fact is, the invention of women under siege
has been to sharpen love in the service of myth.
If you can’t be free, be a mystery.

~ Rita Dove

 

“We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.” ~ D.H. Lawrence, from Lady Chatterley’s Lover


“Lift up your dark heart and sing a song about
how time drifts past you like the gentlest, almost
imperceptible breeze.” ~ Jim Harrison from “Cold Poem”

Wednesday night, late. Cooler temps.

Woke up with my left wrist and hand completely numb. Waited most of the day for it to get better. The most I got was tingling. So no real post today.

Anyway, I think the Campbell quote is particularly apt for this point of my life, don’t you?

More later. Peace.

Music by Jon Black, “There Is A Love We Can Find”

                    

For the Children

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us,
the steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valleys, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

~ Gary Snyder

“Nothing human is finally calculable; even to ourselves we are strange.” ~ Gore Vidal, from Julian

Max Ernst Humbolt Current 1951-2

“Humbolt Current” (1951-2, oil on canvas with woodgrain)
by Max Ernst


Two for Tuesday: Deconstruction

Tuesday night. A bit warmer today, near 80.

Of course I had this post ready but forgot to schedule it. What’s new, right?

I spent the day with Olivia, and took her to Wal-Mart to get her a truck because she’s been taking a truck shaped magnet off the fridge and trying to roll it across the floor. Too funny. Anyway, when I asked her what color truck she wanted, she said yellow. Bear in mind she just turned two in July, and yes, I am bragging. So we left the store with a yellow Hot Wheels truck, a red fire truck from one of her favorite shows, Paw Patrol, and a small yellow car with a monkey in it.

Oh, and a new jacket, shoes, a jeans skirt, a sweatshirt, pajamas, and some kind of funky Rapunzel castle that makes a cool sound that I found on the clearance aisle for $2. Oh and then there was the kiddy makeup with lipstick and nail polish. Of course I blamed it all on her. Too much fun.

Anyway, hope you enjoy the selections.

More later. Peace.

                   

Arthur Boyd Blue Ram Balancing Nebuchadnezzar 1968 oil on canvas

“Blue Ram Balancing Nebuchadnezzar” (1968, oil on canvas)
by Arthur Boyd

Tear it Down

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

~ Jack Gilbert

                   

Paul Jenkins Eyes of the Dove colon Lucife Life 1959 oil on canvas

“Eyes of the Dove: Lucife Life” (1959, oil on canvas)
by Paul Jenkins

You with the Crack Running Through You

I can seep in, I can dry clear.

And yes it would still be there.
And no I couldn’t hold you forever.

But isn’t it drafty at night,

alone in that canyon
with the wind of the mind

dragging its debris—

I wanted to put
my mouth on you

and draw out whatever toxin . . .

—but I understand. There are limits
to love. Here is a flower

that needs no water.
It can grow anywhere,

nourished on nothing.
And yes.

 ~ Kim Addonizio

                   

Music by Agnes Obel, “Avenue”