BREAKING THROUGH THE CLOUDS

 64 of #100daychallenge

Wow did I fight getting up this morning. I am not sure how I got this far, but it gives me pause about getting in the car and driving twelve miles on the freeway. That first sip of coffee helps with the grounding however. And why did Janet get up? I generally get to enjoy a bit of quiet privacy before the Liberty Mutual (and others) ads taunt me. I need to go finish making her coffee.

The next day.

I couldn't stay awake long enough to finish the post. This morning we are getting ready for a heat wave. All is quiet out in the yard. 

Six minutes until the day after that.

I am not doing too well on this 100 days in a row challenge right now. I generally write SOMETHING every day, even if I don't post, so I guess I can lighten up on myself on that technicality.

'Twas a quiet weekend, really. As per usual, less was accomplished than my imagination led me to expect, but small, almost infinitesimal progress was made. Needlework and series bingeing was accomplished, of course. The needlework is helping to keep the black puppies of depression or at least uneasily napping.

The fun parts, besides needlework, were yoga and hanging out with KH. When she is up from Palm Springs, I do tend to visit with her. As noted here before, the mom care is a bit isolating. KH is close enough in Seal Beach, only 20 minutes away, for me to cruise down there for a few hours. She just picked up her new Tesla today so I had to go sit in it.

Again, with the black puppies around, there isn't much thinking or contemplation to be reporting on. I am a bit distracted by one friend's upcoming heart surgery, another's relationship storms, and always by taking care of Janet and kitties. There are three nearby as I write. McCoy has been making overtures, which is great because I worry that he is not attached to me and therefore more easily ignores me when I call. Tonight, he wanted petting and is now sleeping in the chair I am sitting on the edge of.

The weather has been hot and muggy. It's lovely outside now, but I am not of a mind to go sit out anywhere. Having accomplished even some writing, I will to bed and hope for a more energetic and light-hearted tomorrow.

Doesn't McCoy look a lot like Luke Wilson? They have the same nose.

GIRANDOLE

In the dark at first, we see things in their sleep,

like seeds locked up in pods, cocoons, and burs,

each with its sphinx’s face persuading us,

“Our looks are black, but we’re really beauties. Wait

and see.” And we do till, one day, some dove of a dawn

comes in on a pink wing, singing “Wake up!”

Then there’s a stir—an unfolding, unfurling, undoing

of knots, shaking off of shells, as infants outgrow

their eggs, the roe spills over in silver, and out

of each buried bean a green head butts itself free,

and the rose goes, or the snail, on its way, unrolling

to its roundest corolla. Oh, the view opens up to our eye!

And see what baroque embellishments ensue

as throngs of things take shape and place in space:

the fantail vine hung with the golden horde

of its hundred gourds, and, bright in its broken shell,

a pomegranate’s swarm of garnets; moonshine,

pine-tree waves, and skies all mackerel scallops.

Once a fortunate friction ignites the fuse—presto!

Chrysalids burst into blue, the firework flowers

go up in sparks, the fountain towers, and the story’s told.

Breaking through the clouds, the sun leaps forth and we see

for ourselves: the blackbird’s gold, and the world—what a sight!—

is a girandole, a ring of things—all lights.

— Dorothy Donnelly, The New Yorker, May 17, 1958 issue