BUT THERE YOU GO

12 of #100daychallenge

 

There's a new iPhone commercial for a purple iPhone that uses the horrible pop song, Candyman. There are blues and rock versions of this song that do not outrightly suck and cause morally reprehensible earworms. When you think maybe the advertising and marketing business have maybe hit the Trump (aka the hellish bottom of anything), they lower the floor. Is that the McConnell or the Guiliani? A new scale of perfidy and pernicious evil. 

I am deeply back to sleepiness, but I earned it today. Of course, I staid up too late last night and then had to get Janet out of the house and to a doctor's appointment. This was accomplished with no yelling or crying. My remaining three bookshelves were ready for pick-up a-aways away. I thought to take Patrick as we are companionable road buddies, but that didn't work out. As Janet has no Domineers today, I thought I should take her, both to get her out of the house and to make sure I could use the HOV lane. (Such are the strategies of Southern California drivers (elsewhere I am sure, too.)

We neatly picked up the shelves from Mason. He and his partner are the sweetest fellows. They showed me their workshop and we discussed some other possible projects for this place. Mason followed me out to the car to make sure Janet and I had adequate water. They suggested they could build shelving in the garage for a reasonable price, thus increasing my book and cd shelf space. (Sad but true, these shelves will not be enough. Cue: get rid of many.) But getting new and practical shelving in the kitchen is a higher priority. I think if I could get the kitchen to a general higher level of cleanliness and organization (and it has improved thanks to both Shelly and Debee), I might be able to do more cooking.

I know I am rambling. I am tired, so bear with me.

Stops at Trader Joe's, Sees, and Lowe's were all productive and accomplished forthwith. AND then came Costco. I needed petrol and as it was mid-afternoon, it seemed that lines might not be too heinous. Both Janet and I are complaining of our arthritic pain, her shoulders, my left knee. It was 2:30 and as I had her out and in the vicinity, I thought maybe it would be a good time to try on some new glasses. Her current spectacles are both HIDEOUS and extremely old, maybe 10 years. She was reluctant to spend the money as she expect to die relatively soon-ish, but she agreed. 

Of course, she was reluctant to choose anything, repeatedly saying that she did not care, then rejecting my choices. I got up for the desk to look at some other glasses while she admired and primped in the mirror, getting into the spirit of the thing about and admitting that she did care. I would have gone for some black cat's-eye frames, but they were too radical for her. 

The floors at Costco are hard and the distances are long, even getting into the store. My knee was killing me from shifting in the stop-and-go traffic and pounding through Trader Joe's and Lowe's. At this point, I was nearly hysterical with pain. Also, no place to sit down really. After a quick bite, and there is no such thing as a quick anything with Janet, save a sarcastic retort, she hasn't lost that, we returned to get her eyes examined, only to find it would be ANOTHER hour wait. 

We were committed soldiers now and Janet was more in the spirit of things, notwithstanding her shoulder in pain. We plopped her down on the patio furniture, although it was verboten. How is going to begrudge a 94-year-old from cooling her heels a bit. Maybe not so much for me. I was on a mission to find the fans, walking the aisles, until I finally found them. 

We finally got home around 6:00. All of this to say that my knee was so inflamed from the walking on hard surfaces in inappropriate shoes had me gasping in pain. Five hours, acetaminophen, ice, and wine later, it finally doesn't hurt whilst I sit.

Not sure that this is interesting nor that it has any redeeming social value, but there you go.

HOW WILL WE SHAPE THE SENSE OF OUR LOSSES?

10 of #100daychallenge

McCoy and Nina focussed on a flying critter.

These days, I am consuming quite a few sunflower seeds. No, it is not in some bird solidarity. They are high in calories, but they are not full of starch and sugar, my usual snacking choices. And they aid in digestion.

Idrisse's tail is in front of my screen as she thinks she can maybe get out the crack the window is open. The heat has returned, although it is only in the 90s. We don't have screens on most of the windows and, at any rate, we will have to replace them with ones that are more animal proof. Idrisse and Nina will do almost anything to get out. Coyotes are rampant here and I could not bear a repeat of last summer.

Shelly and I worked in the garden today. Shelly removed the Tuscan kale that was taking over the world. I wanted to have Sebastian, my yardperson, come next week and work on The Green Monster (the bougainvillea and passion fruit engaged in a gladiatorial fight for control of the North Wall. Somewhere under there is another hibiscus, although it may be dead. I think there is a statue of St. Francis that someone once gave my mother buried there too. It is probably getting charmingly patinaed. (There I go using a noun as verb as if I were Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush, those bastardizers of language and more.) Besides my fig tree, I have a new lilac that theoretically can stand the Southern California heat, as well as two more varieties of wisteria. So, lots of gardening, always lots of gardening.

Janet is taking another turn for the old. She got all dressed and ready to meet the Domineers, but then thought it was her birthday and that we were going to her birthday lunch. (Her birthday is in February.) Frequently, I am caught up short that my mother is really going and not coming back. I have a bad and vague coping mechanism that she is only ill and that she will be back to old self. I get very frightened and sad when I contemplate this. 

This is not to say that I think she will be shuffling off to Buffalo or this mortal coil RIGHT AWAY, but time is ever getting shorter. Two of my friends have recently lost their mothers. I know I have a membership in that club coming up soon.

AMONG ENGLISH VERBS

Among English verbs

to die is oddest in its

eagerness to be dead,

immodest in its

haste to be told—

a verbal alchemical

in the head:

one speck of its gold

and a whole life’s lead.

WHY WE MUST STRUGGLE

If we have not struggled

as hard as we can

at our strongest

how will we sense

the shape of our losses

or know what sustains

us longest or name

what change costs us,

saying how strange

it is that one sector

of the self can step in

for another in trouble,

how loss activates

a latent double, how

we can feed

as upon nectar

upon need?

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, 2010

TRUST ME ON THIS

10 of #100daychallenge

Wheeeee. And whew. I am so sleepy, I cannot even remember what I thought I would use as an opening line here. I think I was just sleeping here at the desk. I am rewatching The Handmaid's Tale in anticipation of the new season which begins tonight or tomorrow.

I find myself falling thorough asleep. 

Tonight is not a night I am going to win.  I cannot keep open my eyes long enough to write anything coherent.

Trust me on this.

WHAT IS SET IN MOTION?

8

9 of #100daychallenge

I am often fond of quoting Soylent Green although it was a stupid movie. I was at a Dead concert at the Universal Amphitheater in 1973, when after a thunderous jam, it was all quiet and dark. Someone took the moment of silence to yell out "Soylent Green is people." It was, and still is hilarious. I do think it is pertinent to the way we live. We may not be being actually eaten, but our information and our souls are certainly fodder for some. And we sure as hell are expendable.

The cortisone shot yesterday gave me a bit of relief. My knee stopped cracking for awhile. Today, it is back to the usual excruciating ... well, maybe not that bad but on that continuum ... pain. I probably shouldn't do things such as hauling around 60 pound bags of potting soil or kitty litter, but if I don't do it, it might not get done. I mean, I could wait for Shelly to come over or ask my neighbor when I saw him, but then it is just one more thing on my mental list. It was bad enough today that I teared up driving. McShane, my orthopedist, would rather not go to knee replacement yet, but if the cortisone doesn't work that would be next. I would be the first person to tell a friend not to overdo it, but I don't take my own advice, of course.

Although I said I wasn't going to do it, I not only hit up Savers on 30% Off for Seniors Day, but I bought another pile of books for my great-niece. I don't believe I have introduced you all to Juna Wolfkot or her kitty, Emily (my nephew would argue that it is his cat). I provided the catepillar. Right now, she looks very much like a Syberg. Having heard my friends complain about how bored they got reading the same children's books over and over, as well as wanting to instill a love of good illustration and books in Juna, I have been piling them on. I have been thinning my collection of children's books written by my friends as well, just as part of the general purge ... Purge sounds significant and possibly violent ... Purge indicates volume ... and that is overstating things quite a bit. What is a mini-purge? An ooze? A dribble? 

The cat has clear Syberg cuteness as well, although it is not technically a Syberg cat. My nephew and niece-in-law decided hyphenating their names was dumb, so they threw off both their surnames to become Wolfkot which is nice, easy to say and spell. 

I bought her a copy of Peter Rabbit. That is one I very well remember my mother reading to me and my older brothers. We had a big overstuffed rocking chair and, as we were so close in age, my mom could sit with all three of us to read. I remember Winnie-the-Pooh as well. Must get Juna the Ernest Shepherd illustrations and not the over-merchandized and crappily illustrated Disney versions. What I hate the most about the Disney versions is how they mutated the characters like Tigger in obnoxious ways, not to mention it was ugly. The sweetness and gentleness of Milne's characters are replaced with boorish, broad, Americanized standard characters. Who needs them? Anyway, Juna needs to know about chamomile tea, which in our family has hence been known as Peter Rabbit tea.

(One of my friends who hasn't and still doesn't go to movies or watch tv much swears he told his daughter (born sometime in the 1980s) to always beware of character driven merchandise. Evidently, she is passing this tradition on to her own children.)

I haven't read any research on the subject, but I think illustration before computers is much more interesting. Of course, I don't mean everyone, Bob Staake, David Cowles, Scott Nash and others who might use computers to create, but they aren't 3-D models flattened. I don't even see some of the beautiful hand-hewn techniques, like torn-paper, used previously in children's books. Pen and ink! Pastels! Layered tissue paper! Woodcuts! 

At any rate, as Juna is probably the only great-niece I am going to get, I am spoiling her. She and Emily and her parents live in Brooklyn which makes me sadder than I am no longer there. It's fun to have a reason to purchase cool vintage kids items when, on rare occasion, I run across them. 

I haven't yet met Kasia, ma belle-nièce. We have a nice text thing going and are both eager to meet one another. I did meet her via Zoom so that Juna could meet her great-grandmother. And Janet just goes goo-goo and melty when she sees pictures of her. She is afraid she will not ever get to meet her. I think Janet has some time left and as soon as it is safe to travel, I would imagine that Kasia, Seth, and Juna will come to visit.

Rather than Babylon ... babble on, I will end for now. More to communicate about life with Janet and all, but I have taken enough attention for the evening. Plus, I want to watch some The Handmaid's Tale before I call it a night. (It is night, whether I call it or not.)

TEST

Imagine a surface

so still and vast

that it could test

exactly what

is set in motion

when a single stone

is cast into its ocean.

Possessed of a calm

so far superior

to people’s, it alone

could be assessed

ideally irascible.

In such a case,

if ripples yawed

or circles wobbled

in their orbits

like spun plates

it would be the law

and not so personal

that what drops warps

and what warps dissipates.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010

SLEEP-DEPRIVATION SNIT

 8 of #100daychallenge

1:05 a.m. 

This should have been written and posted hours ago, of course. I didn't sleep well last night, although I did get up at 7:30. Consequently, the morning was spent with me in pyjamas, stomping around in my sleep-deprivation snit (a snit of singularity), swearing (and by that I mean f-bombs were raining upon the universe) that I would to bed again in no long time. I arranged for Janet to be picked up for dominoes. Yet, only an hour and change of sweet shut-eye was accomplished before I had to go see my orthopedist to get a cortisone shot in my knee. By the time I got back home and thought to get a quick nap, I realized I should just power through the evening.

No surprise given me, but here I am, still sleepy many hours later. However, some library/studio progress was made. I have been re-watching The Handmaid's Tale. Watch Episode Three of Season One if you need a January 6th flashback. Utterly chilling. It is a good show if depressing.

My yoga class for tomorrow was re-calendared for next week. That's good as the house is a bit messier than I like. I did have some time to wait in a room at the doctor's office. I used the time to do a bit of practice and to take a few notes for the class.

Need to sleep. Will try to do better tomorrow.

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7 of #100daychallenge

12:06 p.m.

I have the window over the desk open so Fox is walking in and out. The White Stripes are rocking Rag and Bone. I can't help it: I like it. Icky Thump indeed.

I thought perhaps I was going to get those many bulbs (ranunculus and freesia, two of my favorites) into the ground and long last and wish for the best. Given the gloominess, I decided to work on and in the library, to see if I could make room for cats on my desk (not). But now it is sunny again. See, commitment issues.

I have ripped a bunch of cds and downloaded (uploaded? loaded them?) onto my new iPhone so the. new shuffle is full of surprises. Bob Dylan and the Band circa 1966 are a great follow on to The White Stripes and some My Morning Jacket sounds great after that.

11:58 p.m.

I spent the day ripping music to my iPhone, and working on the library. Rather, the plan is this for to be a library/craft studio/yoga practice room. I have worked non-stop pretty much, save to get more cds to rip or refill my gin and lime. I had a very intense text conversation with my niece. She revealed aspects of her childhood as well as some perspective (not a good one) on my half-sister's mom, etc. Nothing terribly heinous except for the ways that fucked-up families often result in sadly damaged children. And the beat goes on.

And for some reason, the topic of "nice" versus "kind" came up. I know someone who is beyond beyond nice, but I am not sure they are generally kind. Here's a post about it. 

I worked very diligently and with great focus, to my amazement. But now I am exhausted and rather at a loss for words. 'Scuse me while I kiss some pillows. I deserve them.

CHESHIRE

It’s not the cat,

it’s the smile that

lasts, toothy

and ruthless.

It’s facts like this

we like to resist—

how our parts

may lack allegiance

to the whole;

how the bonds

may be more casual

than we know; how 

much of us

might vanish

and how well

some separate part

might manage.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010

I PLAN TO TRY

 6 of #100

Another June Gloom day in April. Fortunately, I am not particularly gloomy. I found a brown turkey fig tree to buy and it won't even break the budget so I will be moseying over the nursery in a bit. I don't normally like to go to the nursery on Saturday and Sunday but I don't want to miss this. And then I will have only two trees on my list, a bergamot (sour) orange tree, and a kaffir lime. But they can wait for next year.

11:46 p.m.

Listening to music, uploading music to my new iPhone, sipping gin and lime juice. Considering that the partying neighbors are, indeed, partying, it is remarkably quiet. The cats were fed a second dinner a little bit ago, so they are settling into their sleep. Dishes are done. A post to write and post and I can go to bed. 

I very much wanted to throw myself onto the bed or wherever and binge tv, but needing to write keeps me from zoning out. Kinda.

Weekends are tough on Janet. She really needs the comradeship and conversation of The Domineers. She can't get comfortable with anything on television, she doesn't like to move much (and in any case, she shouldn't go out without someone), and I think she has a pervasive sadness that she is going to die. I was out for several hours, what with tree (and other plant) purchases, yard sales, and visiting my pal Patty's new house. Janet was playing solitaire when I got home, which meant she had to find the cards and do some thinking for herself. I wish I could think of some way to get her entertained on the weekend that did not involve me.

Spacing out to gin, music, and music is lovely, but I should to bed so that I can get my plants into the ground and maybe work on this disaster (library). Amanda Anne Platt is having an on-line concert at 2:00 PDT, so I would like to tune into that.

Meanwhile, I heard this John Gorka song for the first time today (I have a lot of music on my iPhone) and found it so beautiful it will stand in for Kay Ryan today.

LOVE IS OUR CROSS TO BEAR

I didn't know where to look for you last night
I didn't know where to find you
I didn't know how I could touch that light
That's always gathering behind you

I didn't know that I would find a way
To find you in the morning
But love can pull you out of yesterday
As it takes you without warning

I want to be a long time friend to you
I want to be a long time known
Not one of your memory's used-to-bes
A summer's fading song

It's from me, it's to you
For your eyes
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise
I am here, you are there
Love is our cross to bear

I know I'll think of us upon that hill
With the golden moon arising
And the stars will fall around us still
While the love is realizing

And so it is until we meet again
And I throw my arms around you
You can count the gray hairs in my head
I'll still be thankful that I found you

It's from me, it's to you
For your eyes
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise
I am here, you are there
Love is our cross to bear

I find this particularly poignant as folks begin to see friends and loved ones they have missed during the quarantine. There is a bit of media floating around about this topic, which friends to keep, which to maybe let go. My life has been fairly contained since I left New York so in some ways, it didn't change ALL that much, at least until the yoga studio closed. I do miss that. I was just moving in to some real friendships, on beyond nodding acquaintances, with some very interesting folks. I am not sure I will be able to rekindle that interest, but I plan to try.

PRODUCTIVE-LIKE-A-NORMAL-PERSON DAY

 5 of 100

Art by Lucy BC, quote from Estelle Frankl.

11:07 p.m.

Late start today and all I really want to do is sit and binge watch something until the early hours of the morning. That generally results in regret, like so many things that are fun when they are happening.

I had rather a busy or is that just productive-like-a-normal-person day? Going from thing to thing without too much stress or worry, just getting down to the task. Of course, there is a ridunkculous amount of gardening to be done. I have some iris roots that I have waited so long to plant that they might not make it. There are weeds fighting with legitimate plants everywhere. And the grass. Always the grass. Had I not so many flowers, I would probably let the dandelions remain, but there is plenty for the bees and butterflies to feed on. Given the early June gloom, it is a good time to get out there and garden before it gets any hotter. There will be plenty of weeds to pull as the summer goes on. I had really wanted to plant one of these, a Brown Turkey fig, this year, but I think I missed my window. I will call the nursery tomorrow.

The possible downside to having a fig tree in the backyard is the critters. While pulling out some dry clothes the other night, I spied a critter out of the corner of my eye, only to find a small dog-sized raccoon sitting in the doorway, pretty as you please. I screamed to get it to leave, but it was a bit non-plussed and seemed confused as to why I was behaving so barbarically. I understand raccoons are fond of figs. That sounds like a children's book. Can't you see a fatcat raccoon lazing around asking for figs to be peeled for it. This guy grooved on as if he had bidness to see to, which just might be beating up a cat. We hear fights in the yard from time to time and all of our constituents are inside.

Anyway, it is always some kind of accomplishment when I get Janet to her monthly eye doctor appointment that is 19 miles away somewhat on time, and without any yelling on my part. I think the new med I am on is making me more chill. I hiked over the local Costco while Janet was having her treatment and bought two more pairs of frames to get made into glasses. I am very excited about that. As I may have said, I am getting reading glasses as well as distance glasses as I hate those progressive bifocals. It's terrible that seeing a privilege for the upper classes.

And here I am having worked on and in the library. I definitely have to make room for the cats on the desk. Fox is large and takes up room accordingly. When I got up to check the laundry, Nina was sleeping at my feet.They seem to have left so they are probably cooking up something. Here comes Fox sharing my chair. I must have some kind of cat pheromone I don't know about.

And on the lugubrious Grateful Dead autistically shuffling through a terrible version of St. Stephen and with a fantastic Kay Ryan poem, I bid you goodnight.

BLUNT

If we could love

the blunt

and not

the point

we would

almost constantly

have what we want.

What is the 

blunt of this

I would ask you

our conversation

weeding up

like the Sargasso.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010.

WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH

 (4 of #100)

9:08 p.m.

It was overcast again today, so Fox spent the greater part of the day like this. As always, a paragon and picture of grace.

I started the day late, sleeping in as I could today. Janet did not have to get to The Domineers (her crony group of domino players) and I had no appointments. I had an intention to make coffee and then spend a concentrated hour of reading but somehow that never materialized. I did spend some time reading Deborah Madison's Local Flavors. I love her approach and clear recipes. As usual, I marked some recipes that I will likely never get around to making.

Janet hit the hay about an hour ago. This concerns me as she didn't do anything all day, mostly resting. She has a hard time getting absorbed by anything on tv. It all dismays and disgusts her. I forced her to watch some of the first episode of The Handmaid's Tale as I am considering watching the whole thing from the beginning. I think there is a new season starting soon and I find I forget quite a bit between seasons.

There are five essential Domineers. E&D are a younger married couple who met the oldsters at the Senior Center. I don't have their whole story but for some reason E can't work. They are practicing Roman Catholics and often bring their lunch in a Ronald Reagan Library bag. Shocking, I know, that I have come to like these people although I would probably be infuriated should I know the depths of their conservatism. But they are very nice to my mom. They sort of act as sheep dogs for the older Domineers who can be like a bunch of cats in a bag. 

JR lost his wife around 2008 and met JC at another Senior Center lunch. JC had also lost his wife recently, so they became buddies. JR might be the most irascible human I currently know. JC loves to make puns, give out his business card, and pretend he is Superman. He tells the same bad jokes every time I see him. Is that an old coot thing, the need for repetitive,[did you ever notice that "repetitive" has a kind of repetitive spelling?] predictable answers to questions? I have another dear friend who invariably cites "It will be in the last place you look" at any time you cannot immediately put your hands on something. Old coots of my dear acquaintance, look deep into your hearts.

JR is smitten with Janet. A couple of years ago she drawled, "It's a good thing I am not a gold digger. I could get JR to marry me in a minute." And their flirtatious dance continues. He asked he to go to Vegas with him and E&D. I am all for octagenarian/nonagerian romance (I have hopes, not optimism, to take part in that myself). But JR is not in good health himself and Janet needs more care and support than her participation in dominoes might show. I am pretty sure JR is drawn to her still bodacious body (if you really really like tits) as well as her lifelong ingrained need to flirt. (More on that another time.) 

E&D, and JC have been after me to teach yoga to them so we had our first "meeting" yesterday. JR is vehemently against this. Now that Maison d'ete is presentable and there is actually room for some chairs, we set a date for next Tuesday. And, I finally get my cortisone shot for my bad knee so that exercise will be possible again. The heat is on for me to design my first class.

Blossom from my new Black Tulip Magnolia. Blooming season is pretty much over, but it is growing like crazy.

THE PIECES THAT FALL TO EARTH

One could

almost wish

they wouldn’t;

they are so

far apart, 

so random.

One cannot

wait, cannot

abandon waiting.

The three or

four occasions

of their landing

never fade.

Should there

be more, there

will never be

enough to make

a pattern

that can equal

the commanding

way they matter.

DON’T LOOK BACK

This is not

a problem

for the neckless.

Fish cannot

recklessly

swivel their heads

to check

on their fry;

no one expects

this. They are

torpedoes of

disinterest,

compact capsules

that rely

on the odds

for survival,

unfollowed by

the exact and modest

number of goslings

the S-necked

goose is—

who if she

looks back

acknowledges losses

and if she does not

also loses.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York 2010

If you don't hear from me for a few days, make someone come and check. I think the cats are planning an assassination attempt soon. They are swarming me, knocking things over, and Nina is currently hung around my neck. I am going to have to make more desk space for them to oversee me and get some supervisory input.

Lots of Allman Brothers and Etta James coming up on the shuffle tonight.