MAKE A RICH NOTE OF THIS

A reference point:
A friend of mine was very excited when he moved to New York. He knew he was really in New York and on his way to being a New Yorker when on the subway he observed a tired African-American woman with two young children. The woman just wanted to close her eyes and forget about the world. The children, on the other hand, were having fun being children on the subway. The woman finally sat up, unable to rest with their continued merriment and shenanigans so nearby. She snapped at them: "Children, I have two words for you: Bee-Have." (That's behave.)

So I now have two words for you: Lemon Meringue Martinis. Learn them. Fear them. Drink them.

Iris and I went to The Graduate Center to hear a talk about The Science of Sweets. I now can make blueberry foam and caviar if need me. At least, I can give it a good try. There was a reception afterwards with so many sweets the mind reels. And Lemon Meringue Martinis. Sorry. I am not one who can resist such a cocktail.

Truthfully, I am still recovering from my birthday fun. The cards and gifts continue to trickle in. I scarcely know how to react from such demonstrations of affection and esteem. And all so yummy. There were two boxes from Amazon on my doorstep: one with The Poets Laureate Anthology and another with Just Kids by Patti Smith and Blood, Bone, And Butter. Between those books, the Aretha Franklin on Columbia Box Set, and the cupcakes from Tim and Melissa with the special crack-additive, I could just hole up here in bed and go on a bender.

Here's a little morsel from The Poets Laureate Anthology


from Conrad Aiken's Time in the Rock

Not with the noting of a private hate,
as if one put a mark down in a bok;
not with the chronicling of a private love,
as if one cut a vein and let it bleed;
nor the observing of a peculiar light,
ringed round with what refractions peace can bring—
give it up phrase-maker! your note is nothing:
the sum is everything.

Who walks attended by delight will feel it,
whom sudden sorrow hushes, he will know.
But you, who mark the drooping of an eyelid
or in a wrinkled cheek set out a reason—
sainted! But only if you see—

                                 and only then—

why, that the sum of all your notes is nothing . . .
Make a rich note of this—and start again.