Thursday, May 23, 2024

Flooded with gracious light

"Too busy" to write on this blorg. 

I keep intending to call my dancer friend, but unfortunately she is in Spain and it always seems to be midnight there. The fact that she slept through that fabulous comet chunk makes me feel a little better about the fact that I slept through the northern lights.

We are piecing our back yard back together, slowly slowly, after losing two huge, stately trees. It looks less like an empty rectangle, bleakly immense, than it did two weeks ago. There are birds, and a faded forsythia, and bleeding hearts, forget-me-nots, rascally strawberries everywhere, violets, lilies-of-the-valley snuck over from next door. A bed of herbs growing inches overnight, especially after rain. We bought a serviceberry we'll pick up next week, and we're contemplating a dogwood. We're planning a pea stone patio, another garden bed, planning and planning as we sit on the dirty back steps with our morning coffee.

My "notes": 

Sweaty season commences, as evidenced by how everyone in Hannaford smells today.

"To pay attention is to love everything. To see the future as brightness." - Sarah Manguso

"It was early summer; everything was fresh and fair. The grass was green green; the sky was blue, immensely blue; the world was flooded with gracious light." - William Steig

Agree with these synonyms.

Be careful out there. I love you.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Both ways is the only way I want it

O April, cruelest month, with nary a word a-written! My "notes" show much grousing this month about this and that, like so:

Say what you will about astrological nonsense, but Mercury is in retrograde and so far

  • Broken refrigerator (repair ETA 4/10)
  • Broken willow tree 
  • Second ice storm in two weeks

In related spam

Now that's all in the past, and while there are no doubt plenty of bad news that I am about to hear, May is imminent and road trips have been taken and family members visited and a whole new distracting and miraculous season is unfurling.

It's squirty ice cream season!!

Also in my "notes" this month:

Me (watching an NCAA sportsball game): "What's Iowa's mascot?"
Mark: "I don't know — a stick of butter?"

Oh to see the squirrels 
sliding down the wet bird feeder poles
In the April rain

"All roads lead toward the same blocked intersection." — Mountain Goats

"Stars without light hold the others up." — Fanny Howe

"I almost forgot my amuse bouche!" — my Mom, eating a mini Reeses peanut butter cup

Sunday, March 31, 2024

Now I can see the moon

Today's Haiku, after Masahide:

Refrigerator's dead*
I can see the wall behind it.

*the compressor, to be specific, and we're pretty sure it's still under warranty, since the fridge is only three years old. But we had to throw lots of food away/compost it, and now we have a refrigerator in the middle of the kitchen and a little cooler with our breakfast milks and a can of dog food it it. Janet's refrigerator is hosting some salvaged things (DUKE'S MAYO), and our next door neighbor is feeding us today. 

Thursday, March 28, 2024

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain

Related: I have been one acquainted with the ice. A surprise (TO ME) ice storm brought down a spectacular number of large branches into our yard, many of which fell upon and adjacent to the Honda of Nine Lives. It made for exciting photo opportunities but didn't cause any real damage. And our friend Geo came over immediately with his chainsaw and safety gear, so now our yard is full of logs that we'll eventually have to deal with. Pine and willow, pine and willow everywhere.

The ice was beautiful for days, sparkling in the trees and glittering down in shattered, shining pieces. Clover did. Not. Like it. There was crackling and popping like the whole world was full of strange brittle wind chimes. Now we've moved into the soggy phase. The birds are huge fans of the impromptu hiding spots around the yard, little bird fortresses of branch and pine needle, and even though the feeders are almost empty, they're thronged with the little brown ones.

I haven't collected much for you lately, but here are a few artifacts to tide you over:


(Said in hiccup voice)