ONE CONNECTION

Espresso in a cat mug. That will start your day. Although mine was started several hours ago when I rushed Janet to a doctor's appointment that is not until Thursday. As we were near my fave thrift store and we had some time to kill before dropping her at the senior center, we indulged. I scored:

•  beautiful probably 1930's Paden Pottery oven proof covered baking dish;
•  vintage Sears knitting wool that is probably from the 1960s;
•  Rhino Records cajun and zydeco CD;
•  Dave Alvin's King of California;
•  two t-shirts, one for each of us;
•  a small decorative plate that matches another I have in my collection.

Not the worst way to start the day. Also, it is cool and overcast, at a nice 70 degrees.

I had some epiphanic metaphor or insight to the Syberg female curse of not having a natural inclination for tidiness. But I lost it. We could really use some OCD on that score. It is our indecisiveness or a missing gene that makes us care more about ourselves and our environs.

Idris' name is possibly in flux. I have also been considering Ry (Ryland) and Wynonie and Elvis. Any thoughts? Influx? He managed to get out a cat window. I had to rush out to the potting bench before he found the courage to jump all that way down. Last night, Oona deigned to play with him, the two running up and down the hallway like so many kitties before them.

Later that same day.

Whatever ruminations I might have planned to impart here seem to be gone with the wind or wine or something. So this will have to be it for now.

A HUNDRED BOLTS OF SATIN

All you
have to lose
is one connection
and the mind
uncouples
all the way back.
It seems
to have been
a train.
There seems
to have been
a track.
The things
that you
unpack
from the
abandoned cars
cannot sustain
life: a crate of
tractor axles,
for example,
a dozen dozen
clasp knives,
a hundred
bolts of satin —
perhaps you
specialized
more than
you imagined.

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