72 of #100daychallenge
It is sheer cat guff when they trick you into feeding them, and they go out and don't come in when called at eventide. Sheer. Cat. Guff. No other way to call it. And Fox is the prince of cat guff as when he does come in, he will want to be all up in my face.
Pleased that there are not as many fireworks tonight as I would have imagined. In other years, they have gone on for days. It is only 8:30 and not quite dark yet, so there is still time for another barrage, but perhaps they are spent ... please, goddess.
A quiet day around here. I am loading up music on a USB for the wedding of my cousin Susan's best friend. It is a challenge to know what music will move the feet and bodies of people you don't know at all. Will a bit of juju music keep them on the dance floor? How about a bit of reggae here? Is rock steady going too far? How about cumbia and salsa? I know I would dance to things I didn't know were I in a dance mode at a wedding. Are they nostalgia dancers, and, if so, nostalgic for what? Well, I won't be there to see anyway.
I slept a solid nine hours which was very nice. Christina and I continued our sewing circle, such as it is. We finished cutting out the pieces, watched a couple of sewing videos and some Better Call Saul, and I pinned my first pieces together for basting. Christina is an ace sewer taking on things I would never attempt, but she didn't grow up sewing her own clothes (I have some 25+ years on her), so she confessed she has never sewn anything for herself. Stay tuned for further developments.
I need to go finish cleaning the kitchen and get this pizza into the oven. I just trimmed a bunch of quite beautiful basil from my front yard. I think I find the garden sweet spot as that basil is perfect. (Pizza turned out okay, but lord! it gets hot in the kitchen with the Wolf cranked on.)
It was mostly quiet tonight.
JULY IN INDIANA
The wispy cuttings lie in row
where movers passed in the heat
A parching scent enters the nostrils.
Morning barely breathed before
noon mounted on tiers of maples,
fiery and still. The eye smarts.
Moisture starts on the back of the hand.
Gloss and chrome on burning cars fan out
cobwebby lightning over children
damp and flushed in the shade.
Over all the back yards, locusts
buzz like little sawmills in the trees,
or is the song ecstatic?—rising
rising until it gets tired and dies away.
Grass baking, prickling sweat, great blazing tree,
magical shadow and cicada song
recall
those heroes that in ancient days, reclining
on roots and hummocks, tossing pen-knives,
delved in earth’s cool underworld
and lightly squeezed the black clot from the blade.
Evening will come, will come with lucid stillness
printed by the distinct cricket
and, far off, by the freight cars’ coupling clank.
A warm full moon will rise
out of the mothering dust, out of the dry corn land.
— Robert Fitzgerald, The New Yorker, July 8, 1966 issue
Quiet is good. MOstly quiet here last night, as the fireworks have petered out. Although, about a week before the holiday, they were going at at night until 10 and 11 sometimes. There is no noise ordinance here for some reason, or it is not taken seriously and enforced to the teeth as it should be. I swear, the bass throbbing, metal shaking, rigs driving around here make me want buy gun sometimes and start taking names.
ReplyDeleteIf you have any sort of outdoor grill, highly recommend doing pizza outside. Cook dough on one side, take it off, put toppings on cooked side, back on the grill. Makes a crispier crust, too!
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