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| This is Scotch about 10:00 am. |
The day, I think, has finally succumbed to the grayness I
feel. (Not saying that I control the weather or anything.)
 |
| Same cat, same position, two hours later. |
Now the next day.
Yesterday, I might have been arrested for laziness. Or maybe it
was just a mental health day after the debacle of the new tax law and
our continued rape by old white guys. I slept a bit late, which meant that
Mom slept late and we have reviewed how that goes. It was overcast and cool, resulting in an evening rain. I hope nothing got ruined on the patio, as I have yet to batten down those hatches.
Why are winter naps the best? It seems as if I can't even properly nap at other times of the year (anymore). But winter naps are thick and crunchy, a substance or state that you can bite down on and chew (or saw logs) away.
I think it has been a week. And baby, what a week it has been. It is now December 29. Sometimes I head into the New Year with a lot of energy and ideas for a better year, a better me. That wave of optimism crashed on the beach and haven't seen the likes of energy yet again.
Mom is good and was even doing better, I was going to report. But today she has been very very trying. This is all frustrating because she loses her will to be involved and in motion, just going on the cruise control that has made me murderously angry with her for decades. I become invisible in the face of her dismissiveness and passivity.
Meanwhile, just to make the holidays that much stressful, my older half-sister, Carole, who was already into dementia, had a stroke. It has been almost a week in the hospital and she has not recovered her swallow reflex. I haven't seen her yet, but I believe she is paralyzed on one side. Mom and I are going down there tomorrow and I anticipate I will fall apart. Somehow it does not seem real. She is not expected to survive.
On NPR I heard a story about refugee children and "toxic stress." I don't even know where to go with that one.
Watched an excellent documentary about whaling and Melville on The American Experience on Amazon Prime, which rekindled some of my Moby Dick reading energy. I listened last night as I fell asleep and was once again astounded at how excellent, funny, poetic, and insightful Melville was. I know this must sound crazy to many of you. Indeed, I had been through it about 10 years ago, and while I appreciated it, I did not quite see the many layers of genius.
I came across a copy of The Poetry of Robert Frost at a thrift store today and thought it was worthy of $2.00. While waiting for Mom to complete her physical therapy, I perused it while drinking chemical soda water and a quesadilla at Del Taco. I can't say as I really know his work, save for the famous one or two.
I'm not a fan of rhyming poems, really, but I was struck how prescient some of these were.
PERIL OF HOPE
It is right in there
Betwixt and between
The orchard bare
And the orchard green,
When the boughs are right
In a flowery burst
Of pink and white,
That we fear the worst.
For there's not a clime
But at any cost
Will take that time
For a night of frost.
OUR DOOM TO BLOOM
Cumaean Sybil, charming Ogress,
What are the simple facts of progress
That I may trade on with reliance
In consultation with my clients?
The Sibyl said, "Go back to Rome
And tell your clientele at home
That if it's not a mere illusion
All there is to it is diffusion
Of coats, oats, votes, to all mankind.
In the Surviving Book we find
That liberal, or conservative,
The state's one function is to give.
The bud must bloom till blowsy blown
Its petals loosen and are strewn;
And that's a fate it can't evade
Unless 'twould rather wilt than fade.
both from In The Clearing, New York, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962
I think it has been a week. And baby, what a week it has been. It is now December 29. Sometimes I head into the New Year with a lot of energy and ideas for a better year, a better me. That wave of optimism crashed on the beach and haven't seen the likes of energy yet again.
Mom is good and was even doing better, I was going to report. But today she has been very very trying. This is all frustrating because she loses her will to be involved and in motion, just going on the cruise control that has made me murderously angry with her for decades. I become invisible in the face of her dismissiveness and passivity.
Meanwhile, just to make the holidays that much stressful, my older half-sister, Carole, who was already into dementia, had a stroke. It has been almost a week in the hospital and she has not recovered her swallow reflex. I haven't seen her yet, but I believe she is paralyzed on one side. Mom and I are going down there tomorrow and I anticipate I will fall apart. Somehow it does not seem real. She is not expected to survive.
On NPR I heard a story about refugee children and "toxic stress." I don't even know where to go with that one.
Watched an excellent documentary about whaling and Melville on The American Experience on Amazon Prime, which rekindled some of my Moby Dick reading energy. I listened last night as I fell asleep and was once again astounded at how excellent, funny, poetic, and insightful Melville was. I know this must sound crazy to many of you. Indeed, I had been through it about 10 years ago, and while I appreciated it, I did not quite see the many layers of genius.
I came across a copy of The Poetry of Robert Frost at a thrift store today and thought it was worthy of $2.00. While waiting for Mom to complete her physical therapy, I perused it while drinking chemical soda water and a quesadilla at Del Taco. I can't say as I really know his work, save for the famous one or two.
I'm not a fan of rhyming poems, really, but I was struck how prescient some of these were.
PERIL OF HOPE
It is right in there
Betwixt and between
The orchard bare
And the orchard green,
When the boughs are right
In a flowery burst
Of pink and white,
That we fear the worst.
For there's not a clime
But at any cost
Will take that time
For a night of frost.
OUR DOOM TO BLOOM
"Shine, perishing republic."
ROBINSON JEFFERS
Cumaean Sybil, charming Ogress,
What are the simple facts of progress
That I may trade on with reliance
In consultation with my clients?
The Sibyl said, "Go back to Rome
And tell your clientele at home
That if it's not a mere illusion
All there is to it is diffusion
Of coats, oats, votes, to all mankind.
In the Surviving Book we find
That liberal, or conservative,
The state's one function is to give.
The bud must bloom till blowsy blown
Its petals loosen and are strewn;
And that's a fate it can't evade
Unless 'twould rather wilt than fade.
both from In The Clearing, New York, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962
I'm in love with Scotch....she's a beautiful cat. I want to sit on my couch with a glass of wine and Scotch on my lap, purring. She looks like a nice cat, so I hope she is; she's got a great face!
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