Good question

The woman in front me at the grocery store checkout was buying twenty identical frozen dinners and nothing else.  The clerk asked her, "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

What if she had said no?

Poetry in Your Pocket day

This blog started life as a clumsy homage to Richard Brautigan, favorite poet.  Today is, I understand, some kind of celebration of short poems. Brautigan was a master of the form, so it's hard to choose just one to carry around in my virtual pocket today.  OK, maybe not that hard.

Tokyo / June 11, 1976

I have the five poems
that I wrote earlier today
     in a notebook
in the same pocket that
I carry my passport.  They
are the same thing. 
 

[from "June 30th, June 30th"  Dell Publishing, 1978)

Reading Journal

I read a lot.  This summer, the local library sponsored a program in which patrons could log their reading and write capsule reviews to share.  It was kind of fun.  It made me realize that I miss the discipline of writing every day, which I had to do when I worked and which I did for pleasure on this old blog.  So now I am planning to bore you once again with random reflections, musings, the occasional poem, and some dumb jokes.

You've been warned...

A Christmas poem 2011

This is from Brautigan's "Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt."  I always think of this poem at this time of year and fantasize about having Christmas dinner somewhere overlooking the Pacific.

Abalone Curry

I have Christmas dinner every year with Michael

and he always cooks abalone curry.  It takes

a long time because it tastes so good and the afternoon

travels pleasantly by in his kitchen that is halfway

    between India and Atlantis.

Happy holidays, everyone.

By any other name...

Pick corn. Remove from cob. Dry thoroughly.  Grind into a coarse powder, sometimes called corn meal.

My dad, growing up on a very small farm, ate a dish he called corn meal mush -- corn meal cooked in water and butter, I believe.  He disliked it, regarding it as barely above a Dickensian gruel served to prisoners or orphans.  Among our contemporary friends, it's called polenta and is considered something of a delicacy.

The world is so full of a number of things.

Indigo bunting

Like many other things in our life, the two bird feeders in our back yard are modest, and we sometimes forget to fill them.  We aren't 'birders.'  Mostly we get grackles and sparrows (and the steady stream of selfish squirrels).  The most colorful display was a day last week when, at the same time, there was a blue jay, a goldfinch, and a cardinal.

Today, we saw our first indigo bunting.  The sighting was more fun than I'd like to admit!

I'm still trying to think of a baseball pun.

Garden envy

Tulips and daisies and lilies in profusion. Crocuses. Even some early-season roses. All over town, flowers are exploding in bright colors. The yards are positively bristling with blooms.

Except ours. We have, it seems, no skill or luck at all when it comes to growing things. Inside or out. Vegetables, herbs, flowers , grass -- doesn't matter. We plant it, tend it, watch it. It dies, or at best looks like a cheap imitation. The few lilies and tulips we have in our comically small garden are nice, but almost pathetic in comparison to the neighbors. I don't know why.

That may explain my affinity for the lowly dandelion. We have lots of healthy dandelions. And I need do nothing at all to make them grow! One takes one's satisfaction where one can.