by marc falardeau (FCC)
“I’m an observer. I read about life. I research life. I find a corner in a room and melt into it. I can become invisible. It’s an art, and I am a wonderful practitioner.” ~ Christine Feehan, from The Twilight Before Christmas
Wednesday afternoon. Sunny and warm, 80°.
I started reading Norman Mailer’s book The Executioner’s Songyesterday. Believe it or not, I’ve never read this opus, but I’ve always wanted to; it’s just one of those books that I never remembered to put on my wish list until something made me think of it a few months back. So I finally treated myself and ordered it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get it in hardback, which is always my preference, but now I have it.
Mailer won a Pulitzer Prize in 1980 for his massive non-fiction book on convicted killer Gary Gilmore.
You might wonder why I read so much about murderers and serial killers. I know that Corey wonders it. I really couldn’t tell you other than I find the workings of such minds fascinating, which is not to say admirable. I really wish that when I was thinking about careers such things as behavioral analysis units actually existed as I would have taken that route. But since I didn’t, I read about it, whether its fiction or non fiction.
“Nothing benefits the heart like some seclusion in which it enters the plains of contemplation.” ~ Ibn ‘Ata’illah
Today Alexis and I were supposed to go over to my mother’s to sort through her shower presents (through? threw? both look funny but I know that it’s through). She called me a little while ago to say that she wasn’t going anywhere today because she’s too tired. Apparently, she’s feeling very overwhelmed from taking care of the puppy, who is not yet trained (not going to say anything), and she feels very cramped in their tiny apartment.
by Bruce Berrien (FCC)
I told her that it was completely up to her. Besides, I have to go pick my prescriptions and take Brett to campus in a bit. I tell you what I would like to be doing, though: floating in the pool . . . Yep. That would definitely be relaxing. Unfortunately the frogs seem to be the only ones who are enjoying the pool at the moment. Eldest son is responsible for opening the pool, which, one would think, would not be problematic as he works in a pool store.
One would think being the key phrase. But since he’s spending the week house-sitting for his father, I don’t think it’s going to happen this week. It’s only mid June . . . Do I bitch too much? Probably. Do I care? Not at all.
I mean, it’s an above-ground pool, not an Olympic-sized in-ground. How hard could it be? Apparently very.
“We were awakened in the dark by
the somnambulist brook
nearing the sea,
still dreaming audibly.” ~ Elizabeth Bishop, from “A Summer’s Dream”
Thursday early afternoon. Partly cloudy and much cooler, 70°.
So I didn’t finish yesterday’s post. Lost momentum and got distracted. I ended up packing away my sweaters and getting out my summer clothes and sorting my closet. I filled another bag with donations, clothes that I would probably only wear to work. I had thought that I got rid of most of those last year in my annual purge. Worked like a fiend until it was time to pick up Brett from class, and by the time I got back home, I had only energy enough to watch Discovery ID.
I had a night filled with strange, strange dreams. Richard Gere made another appearance, but this time he was robbing gold from somewhere. The plan consisted of a crate that was sitting on some rafters. I climbed onto the rafters to take the real gold and replace it with something that was just painted gold. Then when I got to his apartment to put back the key, some people were there eating cake and drinking champagne. One was a known drug dealer. I knew that I would need to clean the mess they had made if I was going to get away with the switch. At some point I made pancakes for boy scouts with some flour that was sitting on the kitchen counter, only later I found out that it wasn’t flour but cocaine. I had fed cocaine to boy scouts! Then an old nemesis from high school appeared and began to thwart my attempts to make the apartment look normal. Turns out Gere was in his bedroom asleep the entire time we were cleaning. I faked crying when he came out.
I have no idea what any of that means except that my imagination in my sleep is much more alive than during waking hours.
“Find what causes a commotion in your heart. Find a way to write about that.” ~ Richard Ford
Corey and I have been exchanging e-mails in the past few days. He’s scheduled to be in Brooklyn around the end of the month. He sounds a bit weary, which is to be expected. Apparently he e-mailed me on Saturday to discuss his schedule, but, of course, I did not check my e-mail on Saturday as I was in manic mode.
by UggBoy Ugg Girl (FCC)
I will be so glad to see him, but I just hope that he doesn’t spend his time home worrying about money. It has been impossible to put any extra funds by with all of the unexpected bills that crop up each month. We had big plans to save, but it just hasn’t worked. Does it ever?
I would love to buy him a new gas grill for Father’s Day (speaking of money). Ours is completely rusted and inoperable. A gas grill is great for cooking in the summer, helps to keep the heat out of the house. Perhaps there will be good sales before he gets home. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see, as usual.
Anyway, he says that he’s still enjoying his job but that he’s ready to be home, but the company has scheduled a Coast Guard inspection when the ship docks in Brooklyn. Not sure what’s behind that. Seems kind of strange to me, especially since the ship needs work.
“Wherever I am,
I always wonder what I am doing back there,
Strange flesh in a stranger land.
As though the world were a window and I a faint reflection
Returning my gaze
Wherever I looked, and whatever I looked upon.” ~ Charles Wright, from “Hereclitean Backwash”
I stumbled upon a new site for poems: The James V. Brown Library in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. The site features a poetry forum with poems of the month.
by RC Designer (FCC)
Hey, I know that there are a million (well, not quite) sites on the Internet that feature poetry, but what I find particularly interesting about this site is that it’s a public library. Imagine, a library that has an interesting website and a summer reading program. Is that an anachronism? Listen, the public libraries around here (not the university-affiliated ones) are so lacking in books that it makes me want to cry. Most of the local branches around here have more computer terminals than books.
When our Internet was off a few years ago, we went to the branch that is just a mile from my mother’s house. The experience depressed me so much: the children’s section that I practically lived in was almost non-existent. The tables that I used to plant my bum in during high school when we had study sessions were reduced to four or five. Books had been replaced by movies. That is not a public library, at least not in my estimation, but hey, what do I know?
“The untranslatable thought must be the most precise.
Yet words are not the end of thought, they are where it begins.” ~ Jane Hirschfield, from “After Long Silence”
My gardenia bush in the backyard is full of blooms. I’ve cut blooms and placed them all over the house. I love the heady scent of fresh gardenias; it reminds me of my Aunt Ronnie, the one who had Sunday dinners at Great Bridge. She used to wear a cologne called “White Gardenia.”
by D. H. Parks (FCC)
I especially love floating in the pool and having that scent waft over me when a breeze stirs the air. It’s such a perfect moment in time.
The butterfly garden in the front yard is mostly green as opposed to floral, except for the Lantana, which just grows and grows. The lack of sun in the front is taking its toll on the blooms. I suppose it’s the price we must pay for having that shade that keeps the front of the house cooler. Perhaps we can transplant some of the plants to the side yard this fall. The Dogwood tree on that side needs to come down as it’s not healthy, and we could put more plants there, like a lilac and some Russian Sage, perhaps the lace wing hydrangeas, as I noticed that they did not come into full bloom this year either.
I’ll leave the planting up to Corey, though, as he definitely has the greener thumb between us.
Well, that’s about all for now. I’m going with Alexis over to my mother’s today. Fun, fun, fun.
More later. Peace.
Music by Gotye (who sounds so much like Sting), “Somebody That I Used to Know”
More Than Enough
The first lily of June opens its red mouth.
All over the sand road where we walk
multiflora rose climbs trees cascading
white or pink blossoms, simple, intense
the scene drifting like colored mist.
The arrowhead is spreading its creamy
clumps of flower and the blackberries
are blooming in the thickets. Season of
joy for the bee. The green will never
again be so green, so purely and lushly
new, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads
into the wind. Rich fresh wine
of June, we stagger into you smeared
with pollen, overcome as the turtle
laying her eggs in roadside sand.
~ Marge Piercy
Lola's Curmudgeonly Musings 
One thought on ““Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.” ~ Theodore Roethke, Straw for the Fire: From the Notebooks of Theodore Roethke”