|Front yard and street this morning.|
I haven't felt all that well today. I certainly want to avoid the flu that has been going around, so I have taken lots of zinc (which seems to work for me) and staid in my pjs all day.
I just don't feel like sitting up, although when in I lie down, I think of all the things I should be doing. I did manage to doze a few times, but never fell all the way asleep. That might be a good sign, as I did not have one of those fevered naps. And I hope to go so sleep fairly soon (it's 8:40 p.m.) now.
I spent most of the day reading Joe's War: My Father Decoded by Annette Kobak. It's a long book, but I made good progress. My understanding of the annexation of the Sudetenland was woefully thin. Truthfully, my knowledge of modern European history is not all that deep. And it is interesting. Perfidy all around, as far as I can see. I also learned that Hitler was not Hitler's actual surname, according to Kobak, it was Schicklgruber, which is far less resonant and easy to remember.
We had snow last night. Neither E nor I got dressed or went out today. I did rally to buy tickets to see Emmylou Harris with Rodney Crowell and the Richard Thompson Band at the Beacon Theater on my birthday. Woo-hoo! Martha is coming along.
Two hours later and what has been accomplished? I found another computer problem with my laptop and will get to spend more time with Apple tomorrow! The rest is a blur.
|The backyard in snow.|
|First morning I have come down to kitchen table without seeing The New York Times! The weather must be bad.|
But I did compose another installment of Poem of the Week and will enclose one here.
Off Lows, Weakness Remains:
by Susan Briante
In the PartyStore/PierOne/Target/Kohls parking lot
find a desert willow among the shopping carts,
walk around it sunwise repeating:
I am the avant-garde,
I am the avant-garde, I am
DIY, DIY, DIY
Imagine a chart of median family incomes as big as
the parking lot--
use it to determine where to abandon your car.
I default, I default, I default
Your mind is a blood blister rising on your thumb,
Among these shopping carts, you fortress. Among
plastic bags you affirm:
Lo! the light from desert trees does not speak in
numbers, costs us nothing.
Here, as in a butterfly garden, everyone crawls
Copyright © 2013 by Susan Briante. Used without permission of the author.