The Sun Magazine arrived yesterday and this poem stayed on the kitchen counter all day. As I went back and forth throughout the house I stopped and read it, again and again. I've looked for more work by Cordaro and found her debut here in The Apple Valley Review.
Today was a sunny cool day here in Southern Illinois, at least our swath. We walked, we watched some football, wrestled some cats, watched birds and I read poetry. This afternoon I called my Mother and we sang Happy Birthday. Then we did something we haven’t done in quite awhile we ordered take out (in Europe, take away) from a Mexican restaurant about five minutes from us. And it was good! We haven’t had much luck finding places, so a pleasant surprise. Tonight, we are just lazing, both cats are with Jerry on the couch and I am slightly jealous. We watched a “mockumentary” about a Frybread competition called More Than Frybread which was silly and fun. And before I sleep tonight, I see Claudia Rankine is the New York Times By The Book interviewee, so I’m looking forward to that.
Here’s a picture of a Little Free Library we pass a few times a week, the people that host it change the sign often and this is their latest:
The sky was scarlet this morning. The trees, that last night held the moon like a crystal ball, reached for the clouds scuttling away but only caught woodpeckers and flickers and some small brown wrens playing in the breeze. The birds did not avoid their neighbors or hold their songs. Later a young hawk crossed the road in front of me and landed on a wooden fence, looking carefully at the leaves scattered on both sides while the sparrows talked about him; no feelings were hurt; no one was eaten. The birds know when to call and when to fly and when it’s best to stay put. I learn from the birds though earthbound, though I crave more than seed and worm. I’ve lost more songs than I’ve ever learned though none that were explicitly about territory -- though just now, thinking back, yes, explicitly about territory and conquest and conquering. And the birds don’t get an out for conquest, having witnessed a Magpie hunting nests in a thick hedge. But they haven’t set up the bird government or the bird military or the bird courts to go after what they want. They aren’t working on a complicated plan to move us out of the way; they’re happy to let us do that ourselves.
I placed an extra portion of peanuts out today for the Blue Jays and the squirrels and Otto and Olive. The cardinals pick at them but don’t really eat many. A Carolina Wren hopped about and tackled one but just seemed to wrestle it before flitting off. When the Jays find the bounty, they call in their friends and the peanuts are gone quickly. Once we came back from our walk, I put more peanuts around calling this the feast for our family and friends. We had a small feast as well: lasagna, caprese insalata (using the last of my tomatoes), dressing, deviled eggs and for Jerry, a very small portion of Tater Tots. Later we will have dessert, cheesecake, and that will be it. Much more than so many have right now, much less than in years past when we had family and friends join us and much different from a lot of years when we could get to Barcelona or Madrid, Berlin or Dublin in a few hours over a long weekend.
Last night I was reading movie descriptions for Jerry. He
likes Zombie movies or giant Lizards and much running and screaming. So many start with:
“During a pandemic”, “because of a Virus”, “a virus and political upheaval” and
my favorite “during a pandemic, zombies roam the streets”. I finally made a connection:
And tonight I go back to reading Albert Camus's The Plague. I've taken a break from it but it is time to pick it back up. I read it so many years ago that the entire novel feels like a dream I can just remember having. It's actually a good thing to read during a pandemic, I didn't think it would be but it feels right.
Be safe, be kind, you are appreciated and loved. 😷💗
During a pandemic it is a strange thing to say I think this year’s Christmas will be better than last year’s by a lot. Last year’s, was wearisome and sad. Top ten worst in a lifetime? Top five. Not willing to dig deeper than that right now. Leave those worst of times for other meanders. Suffice to say a lot of miles were logged through twelve states, while trying to see our errant boy. An errant man? All I want for Christmas is a whole heart. My son will be thirty this year, Christmas Eve. Holding out for a secular humanist Christmas miracle, that Grinch heart growing till the box breaks.
After the long trek West, we came back to our little house and then drove some
more to meet our future in-laws in Ohio. O-HI-O!! A nice calm, a lovely time,
and we were able to touch and talk and spend time with the Bambina and her
love. How endlessly comforting it is to see your child loved (and loving)
someone who appreciates and makes them happy. Someone who offers balance and
light. A woman, a man, two cats and endless creativity and care.
The other day we drove through Belleville, their downtown has a big traffic
circle which is already filled with holiday decorations, including the
standard Christmas creche. I tried to get Jerry to pull over so I could take
the Christ child, I’ve got your Jesus! I want to write in cut
up magazine pages. A little magical thinking for the season. I wrote a poem a
long time ago that made it into a Christmas anthology:
I also have a mad desire to hang a sign around Mary's Neck: #metoo .
There
are those dreams where you’re writing and you think, I need to remember this
gem! And when you wake up and really think about the lines, “the poem”,
which will make your name – the Diving Into the Wreck, The Naturalist, The
Tyger, Casey at the Bat type fame – and then you realize that the image and ending
to this great poem included watching a hawk reflected on the bald head of some
man. I laughed then. But what was the beginning of the poem?
It sounds impressive, but really it's just another test as I try to reactivate my blog. Let me know if it works. Did you get an email re...
