EARN A PITTANCE

Congratulate me! I have turned Mom into a Netflix binger! Although I had a bit of trouble settling her into The Crown she has been watching it, happily, for about six or seven hours. Now, The Crown has to be more edifying and challenging than Shark Tank or endless repeats of The Property Brothers and Fixer-Upper, right?

It seems as if I don't have a lot to show for the day. I did make it to the pool, make some actual progress in the re-reading of Moby Dick, cleaned the litter boxes, gave meds to Emmylou and Butterscotch, made pizza, emptied the trash, did some computer maintenance, and watched a few more episodes of Snowfall.


I really wanted to stay in bed, read, and drink coffee, but what is new about that? I must get my last swims in before the Palm Park Pool closes for at least three months. I haven't quite figured out what I am going to do for exercise. 

Yes, it was quite a week. In a fit of usefulness, I called to get another estimate on getting the jacaranda tree trimmed. The company showed up with a full crew, gave me a reasonable price and credit, so chaos ensued. They cut down rather more than we wanted. It was hella-noisy. I threw Emmylou into Mom's room for safekeeping, and then did not see her for a 14 or so hours.


In the spirit of fun (not), I went to the dentist the next morning only to find I need a molar pulled immediately and an estimated $7000.00 more work as soon as I can get that cash together. I was prepared for a bit of that work, but that was a shock and a bummer. I arranged for the extraction for next week so that I could get a couple of things done in case of being a mess.

My ex-pat cousin needed a body to get to the California Secretary of State for an apostille. I had never heard of such a thing, but it's a basically a notarization for international use. She needed it as quickly as possibly so that she could register her new baby, Leonardo, for citizenship. Hence, one reason no tooth extraction as I had already promised to do this. As payment for my service, I get an extra special bottle of grappa picked out by my bon vivant Italian cousin-in-law. Can't wait.

So, after the numbing news on the teeth, I returned home in something of a snit, to still no Emmylou. I walked the streets calling her to no avail. Standing in the doorway of my mother's room, I saw a dark blob inside the curtain. Sure enough, Emmylou was cowering there, head facing the wall. She was probably there all night. Now a vet visit ensued.

Do you think I might have been stressed?


At any rate, both Emmylou and Butterscotch have that upper respiratory virus that kitties get, particularly when there are a lot of them. So far, no one else is showing any signs. Oona is asleep at the foot of the bed and Idris is curled up on the floor. Oona won't like it when I get under the covers and disturb her.

I am continually abused by any news or even sight of anything relating to the Repugnant Congress or the Shitgibbon of Doom. The Doug Jones victory helped but they just doubled down on the tax bill, internet neutrality, and the Mueller investigation. I am still dumbfounded and agog that none of these elected asshats ... nay, they are criminalfuckturdwads cares about justice or fairness as I understand those concepts.

Watching the John Singleton show, Snowfall, on FX while reading The Hate U Give and thinking back to all the black history and literature I have read this past year. Not to mention that it was black voters in Alabama who stood up to the Shitgibbon and child molester. We have fucked up, a lot of us privileged white Americans. I am fine with stepping back and stepping down. 


Feeling pretty ghetto here today with some party in the 'hood where the bass is about to break my eardrums. Might not be any sleep in my future tonight. Then again, I was ready to go to sleep at 7:30.

Well, as I understand it, change is challenging and I am working at that change, constantly questioning myself about my choices (like snagging two need-fixing up Huffy Panama Jack bicycles today). Sigh.

In the midst of my travels,I picked up a Barnes and Noble edition of Emily Dickinson's Collected Poems. How strange and wonderful they are. 

SUPERIORITY TO FATE

Superiority to fate

Is difficult to learn.

'T is not conferred by any

But possible to earn

A pittance at a time,

Until to her surprise,

The soul with strict economy

Subsists till Paradise

REMORSE IS MEMORY AWAKE

Remorse is memory awake,

Her companies astir, 

A presence of departed acts

At window and a door.

Its past set down before the soul,

And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.

Remorse is cureless, — the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution, —
The complement of hell.

And for those of you who have yet to delve into the mysteries and delights of Moby DIck, I offer:

Damn me, it's worth a fellow's while to be born into the world, if only to fall right asleep.


And so, we bid you good night.

Butterscotch has a new napping spot when she is feeling better.

DELAYING TACTICS

Here is Saturday! I am indulging in one of my favorite things, sitting in bed, drinking coffee and watching Netflix. I still have an hour to decide if I am going to the pool today. I did have two fine swims this week, so I have met my commitment. I tried to get Janet to make some cocoanut pancakes but she is too enthralled with the ongoing circus of misery surrounding the disaster of our national situation. 

Now, on to Sunday.

I did make it to the pool and swam enough laps so that my weekly total was 2 miles instead of my usual one-and-change. I also got, surprisingly, sun-singed. As you know, it is very dry here and my hair is currently more straw than hair. I need to do a deep conditioning later.

I indulged myself in the remaining episodes of The Crown. Along with that indulgence, I did make a quiche and began working through the enormous pile of ironing for a couple of hours. Headway was made. For some reason, (maybe a bit too much sake?) I didn't sleep all that well; most restless. I woke up many times hearing the last chapters of Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone Magazine. I will likely finish it today while attempting to dig out.

I think taking a bit of a break yesterday was good as I seem to have a bit more enthusiasm (or something along those lines) and focus for the giant re-organization project. Some days I don't make any progress to speak of. I get overwhelmed. You know that chain of avoidance: I can't do this until I do that and I also need to do this and go here and I had better call so-and-so or write something. I am allowed to write this. This counts as progress.

I suppose the difficulty in throwing things away has to do with the constant re-evaluation of how you got it, do you need it, and what the hell happened to my life? I see how the patterns of hoarding come into play. Seemingly suddenly, before you know it, there are things that you have been walking around for a month and not dealing with. Just multiply and voila! you have a serious mess. In my case, having a "housemate" who is completely over doing anything and there I am doing laundry again.

Later that same day ...

You know, I didn't get everything done, but I did make progress AND I spoke with some people who were on my list to speak to. Not to mention a few spirited text exchanges with some folks.

And in even better news, I recalled that I had made enough spaghetti sauce earlier this week, so I do not need to eat more quiche or cook something else for dinner. That seems like a reasonable win. 

I don't know to what to attribute this better day. I [[[[[[[[[[--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------890-,



















.......... .pose it could be that the spewing hose of garbage coming through the news wires was quieter. Or maybe it was the extra swimming I did yesterday. hp['b

It looks as if Butterscotch wanted to add something up there.

On to Wednesday and not much news from me.

I guess one knows one is in trouble if one cannot even easily choose a postcard to send from a pretty large pile. My decision making skills are deteriorating. I wonder if that is concomitant with aging. (I first spelled "againing" ... not as in a-gaining ... see there I go wandering off).

It is so hot and dry here that farting seems to put the air in danger of spontaneous combustion.

A week already and I haven't managed to finish this. It is only a delaying tactic that encourages me to write right now. I am comfortably ensconced with coffee, covers, and cats doing nothing but reading the NYTimes, New Yorker, and other such publications on-line. One of two sick kitties, Butterscotch, is face into pillows next to me. But I really need to go to the pool as I have only been once this week. 

It was a bit of a rough week. At least there was a glimmer of better news with Doug Jones'  win in Alabama. Yet, it is clear to see that the Robber Barons will not go without their ill-gotten gains. 

I will leave with this picture that I lifted from the internet. No idea who took it, but I very much like it. Hiding in plain sight? On to a swim and a fresh start later.

BY THE WAY, HOW IS MY HEART?

The song going through my mind today is actually from the show Nashville, which is surprisingly good. The music is the real deal, if a bit too polished. But such a venture is expensive and I can see the need to smooth (you might want to take a look at that link there to learn the difference between smooth and smoothe, because I didn't know it) it out for maximum popularity. Reading the liner notes, the credentials of participants are rock solid. Any way, this one, Mouth for a Gun, has got me, maybe because of all the bullshit flying around these days. You really have to listen, although I included the lyrics at the end.

Well, we made it through the night of crazy kitties. I don't see too much damage. Emmylou had to have a lot of petting yesterday. She could not really be comforted. They are out walking the perimeter, and, so far, I didn't see anyone/anycat in the street. 

Here's a little palate cleanser. I am slightly hungover and there are a couple of small fires burning on my FB feed. This song came on my iTunes shuffle. So beautiful. It will calm you.

I SAW A STRANGER WITH YOUR HAIR

I saw a stranger with your hair
Tried to make her give it back
So I could send it off to you
Maybe Federal Express
'Cause I know you'd miss it

I saw another with your eyes
The flash just turned my head
I went to try them on for size
But they looked the other way
And they wouldn't listen

Chorus: But you're never hard to find in a crowd
The people around you smiling out loud
Their feet don't touch the ground
No, their feet don't touch the ground
No, their feet don't touch the ground

I heard a stranger with your voice
It took me by surprise
Again I found it wasn't you
Just an angel in disguise
In for a visit

By the way how is my heart
I haven't seen it since you left
I'm almost sure it followed you
Could you sometime send it back
I'll buy the ticket

(Chorus)

I saw a stranger with your hair
I saw another with your eyes
I heard an angel with your voice
By the way how is my heart
By the way how is my heart


Okay, better now. As any regular readers have discerned, I am hella stressed out these days. And that can lead to over-indulgence with vino and/or food. We know well that spiral of misery and self-loathing. I stopped just short of disaster last night, so I am still functional, but still rueing my behavior. 

On the other hand, I made some great spaghetti sauce which I am going to eat for lunch. Hopefully, the will calm me down. Book group on Moby Dick this afternoon and I am behind. 





































Okay later. The Kermit Place Readers did not disappoint. They revel in Moby Dick and it is a delight to be along for the ride, even if I am not in the same enthusiastic space at the moment. We soldier on.

These are tough times.

GUN FOR A MOUTH

Found a girl and I gave her a ring
She was everything I’m looking for
It’s over now and this is how
I lost the war

Well my head got heavy as a Christmas cake
And I made a break for the door
It sucks so young
You shot your tongue
I lost the war

But you’re not the only one
with a gun for a mouth
No you’re not the only one
With a gun

And the red headed angel in the wings
Singing lay down your sword
It’s over now
And this is how I lost the war

But you’re not the only one
with a gun for a mouth
Yeah 

REGRETS TO BLIND YOU

Yes, Mom is lucky to be gone today. As the streets are being oiled, the cats cannot go out. And boy are they unhappy about it. Oona looks at me as if I am the meanest person ever, meaner than a shitgibbon. She feels that mewing constantly will cause me to rethink her horrible incarceration. She knows well the power of annoyance. Theoretically, we can drive on the streets in a few hours, but given Oona's penchant for 1) filth and 2) rolling around on her back in the dirt or on cement, there will be little recourse save to bathe her (and her compatriots) which would result in a multitude of scratches and likely some tears along the way.

I suppose I could sequester myself somewhere.

Vera is taking it well, though. Comfortably relaxing in a stuft rocking chair without much of a care. She knows better how to go with the flow. And should she need an outlet for oncoming frustration, she can find Butterscotch and menace her.

Butterscotch, on the other hand, enjoyed another night of free access to me. I think if she did not have to live on the edge of terror, i.e. other cats, she would relax and be even more cuddly than she is becoming. I had to remind myself that it was her curled up next to me last night.

Meanwhile, out in the greater world, the shit show continues. Not even application (consumption) of too many madeleines can assuage or allay the horror of our political situation.

As a child and as a an adult, I was afraid of The Great Depression. That was something I most decidedly did not want to live through, along with volcanoes, the mere idea of which would send me crying to my mother's bed. Once I learned about the rise of Nazism in Germany, I didn't want to live through that either. I wondered, afearedly, what the quotidienne (once I learned that word) would be of the rise of daily horrors. 

And GODDAMNIT if I am not living through it, for fuck's and all other sakes. 

(Oona, Emmylou, and Ariel are all lined up at the front door like airplanes waiting their turn to land. Fortunately, Oona has been distracted by Zora Idris Caledonia into playing. Nothing like kicking someone in the face repeatedly to relieve tension. Emmylou is trying pace the table, probably to be follow by tail in front of the screen. Maybe a round of catnip for all will help. Zora Idris Caledonia rushes up to Ariel in an "I'll have what she's having moment.")

Perusing the LA Times, which generally frustrates me, I found an article that SHITGIBBONFUCKTARDLARCENYLARRYDUMFUCK's lawyer said obstruction of justice is not possible for SHITGIBBONFUCKTARDLARCENYLARRYDUMFUCK as he is, essentially, justice defined as president. SMS says Nixon tried this argument, too. I think it is worth noting.

I need to go. Just heard about allegations and expulsions from WNYC. I just want all the good menfolk out there to keep their shit together on this. All of this is just as bad as is now being exposed. After you reach enough decades of mistreat, not being heard, rude categorizations and judgments, and the all rest of it, you learn to cope some. If any of you, female or male, are surprised by ANY OF THIS, you were living in a big ass bubble of denial. Some of that denial is understandable if not excusable. How the hell do you take on this problem? 

As we all know, wholesale hanging of the accused does not work out. In a case like Senator Franken, well, I think he could be redeemed and reprogrammed. I think he has learned his lesson. And we need him.

And as we head into another long and lonely evening, I offer more Richard Thompson. Now, don't blow this off. Listen to this here, carefully, a few times. Then read the lyrics.

TAKE CARE THE ROAD YOU CHOOSE

If I ever get out of these shoes
And I shrug off a skin or two
I'll come looking in the wasted places
Beat-up, last ditch rendezvous

If it had been some other place
Some other time to find me
If I had been in my right mind
Not looking for ghosts behind me

Then I'd hold you with my fingers burning
Kiss your little tears of yearning
But sometimes there's no turning
Take Care The Road You Choose

If I ever get out of my mind
Guillotine myself to stop me dreaming
And let my heart go where it will
Without those other voices screaming

Some take the high, some take the low
Some take the straight and narrow
Some still standing at the crossroads
Some fly like an arrow

With my radar I'll find you, darling
No regrets to blind you, darling
And never look behind
Take Care The Road You Choose

A GREAT SET OF NOTHING

Tra la la la la la la
Tra la la la la la la

For those not in the know, that is the beginning of The Banana Splits theme song.

Carl was entranced with this show. Then again, the tv often ate Carl as a child. Once he was hooked in, you could stand right in front of him and he would pay you nary a never mind. To get his attention, physical contact was required.

And but soft! What do I hear but a puking cat so very near. I best go investigate. That was Emmylou. For those of you not in the know, cats and wall-to-wall carpeting are not a good mix. I dislike wall-to-wall carpeting, particularly when you have potentially nice hard wood floor below. Wall-to-wall carpeting is much harder to keep clean than wood floors. Just sayin'.

Now comes another potentially puking cat through the window, Butterscotch. She was in some kind of heaven last night as I had my door closed so that Emmylou could not attempt another of her destructive jailbreaks through the broken window. This gave Butterscotch free reign over me without fear of reprisal from her enemy cats, particularly Vera Paris and Oona Minnie Pearl Moonlight, both of whom like to whack her around. 'Scotch was free to wake me frequently for petting and even use my body as her personal beach. 

After puking, Emmylou is now sitting on the gardening bench below my desk window. I guess all is well.

Later that evening.

Yes, well, it is almost 8:00. Failing being run over by a steamroller, a physical one as the current life situation is steamroller-a-plenty, I just feel like being flat in bed. I think about Celine's book Death on the Installment Plan. It sure feels like a slow, drawn out march to that at the moment.  If only death could be reasonably previewed so you had a better idea if you wanted to commit, kind of like living with someone before you decide to get married.  

Then again, we hear that heavy drug addiction relieves some of the immediate pain.

Yeah. All different kinds of pain, including some physical. And a lot psychic.  

Later again.

The street will be oiled tomorrow, so cars had to be moved by 8:00 a.m. I moved the Honda tonight so as to not be worried about it tomorrow.

Janet is in bed, here at 10:10. I just spent the last fifteen or twenty minutes petting Emmylou, which is a somewhat rare occurrence. 

I could sit here and mouth breathe.

I tried my hand at hot and sour soup tonight from an easy Martha Stewart book. The results were okay, but not outstanding. Janet liked it though. I will consult some other recipes. I love those shiitakes and I over bought so I must find something else to do with them.

I cannot get this Fugs song out of my head, although I think it stolen from a Yiddish source.

Monday, nothing
Tuesday, nothing
Wednesday and Thursday nothing
Friday, for a change
A little more nothing
Saturday once more nothing

Sunday nothing
Monday nothing
Tuesday and Wednesday nothing
Thursday, for a change
A little more nothing
Friday once more nothing

Montik, gornisht
Dinstik, gornisht
Midvokh un Donershtik gornisht
Fraytik, far a noveneh
Gornisht pikveleh
Shabes nach a mool gornisht

Lunes, nada
Martes, nada
Miercoles y Jueves, nada
Viernes, por cambip
Un poco mas nada
Sabado otra vez nada

January, nothing
February, nothing
March and April, nothing
May and June
A lot more nothing
July, nothing

'29, nothing
'32, nothing
'39, '45, nothing
1965, a whole lot of nothing
1966, nothing

Reading, nothing
Writing, nothing
Even arithmetic, nothing
Geography, philosophy, history, nothing
Social anthropology, a lot of nothing

Oh, Village Voice, nothing
New Yorker, nothing
Sing Out and Folkways, nothing
Harry Smith and Allen Ginsberg,
Nothing, nothing, nothing

Poetry, nothing
Music, nothing
Painting and dancing, nothing
The world's great books
A great set of nothing
Audy and Foudy, nothing

Fucking, nothing
Sucking, nothing
Flesh and sex, nothing
Church and Times Square
All a lot of nothing
Nothing, nothing, nothing

Stevenson, nothing
Humphrey, nothing
Averell Harriman, nothing
John Stuart Mill, nil, nil
Franklin Delano, nothing

Carlos Marx, nothing
Engels, nothing
Bakunin and Kropotkin, nothing
Leon Trotsky, lots of nothing
Stalin, less than nothing

Nothing nothing nothing nothing
Lots and lots and lots of nothing
Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
Lots of it
Nothing!
Not a God damn thing

THEY LOVE THEMSELVES SINCERELY

Later that same night in a not so deep and dark December ...

Black cherry tea smells good, which reminds me that some aroma therapy can help with the mood issues. And sometimes just remembering that you can breathe through the hard stuff (not always). But right now, that seems to help.

After getting Emmylou in for the evening, she was able to yank open the broken window and make a damn escape. When I took Kim and Ginny to the airport at 4:30 the other morning, Emmy came running down the street at me. I doubt whether I will be able to get her in again tonight unless I stay up very late. Earlier and soberer to bed suits me better. 
(I am plenty sober tonight.)

12:08 am on Monday. I managed to woo Emmy back into the house. Now, I have to hope the window is secured.

The next morning.

Usually, I get up around 7:00 or 8:00, put on Janet's coffee, and make my first cup of espresso. I take that back to bed, read The New York Times online, check out Daily Beast, Lit Hub, snorkel around Facebook, and do the easy NYT crossword puzzle. I just can't. I just can't look at any more Grinningshitgibbon endorsements of child molesters, or fatuous doughboy old fucks rife with self-congratulatory smiles that they are ruining lives just because they can. What device sucks all compassion and the merest drop of human kindness from a human body? They must have them all over Congress.

We are running late this morning, as I didn't wake up until 9:00. I should be wrangling Janet to get ready for the senior center, but I feel so low and affectless, I just want that numbness that all those old white haired dementors in Congress seem to have. I guess I should have been more focussed on power and money. If only the rest were silence.

The temptation to nothingness is very strong right now. Plus, December! The constant thrum and whine of awful Christmas music bombarding us at every turn. How the hell are we supposed to be joyous about anything? Oh yeah! The inestimable gift of our life. 

Perhaps I am too much here digging through my own shit. Sartre had hell wrong. Hell is moving your belongings from one place to another. Hell is the inability to make decisions about whether to throw away that earring when you are pretty sure you lost the other on the subway but the remaining one is beautiful and dear and maybe you can find a replacement.

Elementary school education (or what will pass for it in this stinking pile of broken dreams we live in) should emphasize instruction in the myth of Sisyphus, Atlas, and maybe some Prometheus. When older, if they are still in school if not indentured servants, field workers, or organ donors, they could move on to No Exit. Welcome to the world, little one.

This puts me in mind of Richard Thompson's shockingly misanthropic tune he wrote at the birth of his son Teddy. Check out these lyrics for a good time. 

The End of the Rainbow (here's another version)
I feel for you, you little horror Safe at your mother's breast No lucky break for you around the corner 'Cos your father is a bully And he thinks that you're a pest And your sister, she's no better than a whore Life seems so rosy in the cradle But I'll be a friend, I'll tell you what's in store There's nothing at the end of the rainbow There's nothing to grow up for any more Tycoons and barrow boys will rob you And throw you on the side And all because they love themselves sincerely And the man holds a bread-knife Up to your throat, is four feet wide And he's anxious just to show you what it's for Your mother works so hard to make you happy But take a look outside the nursery door There's nothing at the end of the rainbow There's nothing to grow up for any more All the sad and empty faces That pass you on the street All running in their sleep, all in a dream Every loving handshake Is just another man to beat How your heart aches just to cut him to the core Life seems so rosy in the cradle But I'll be a friend, I'll tell you what's in store There's nothing at the end of the rainbow There's nothing to grow up for any more

This man's middle name is Nothing-But-Fun. This should be taught to children in to sing each day. A new anthem for the USA.

Enough for this morning. Oona and Idris are playing in the nearby window (actually sitting at the desk in anticipation of working on the new volume of Monsterwood soon ... moving out of the bed in the morning where it is too easy to watch endless episodes of Nashville or something).

Yours in pain.

Mitch McConnell's can relax now.

KNOW NOW I AM NEVER

Swimming day! I actually had a good swim today, and that is a bit rare for me, to actually say it was good. The weather was a bit warmer, and quite clear. There are days when it is cooler and overcast that swimming is not as much fun. However, the strokes came easily, I had no trouble doing my usual routine, and still no extra pain or exhaustion. Besides the soft water, there was a clear cloudless sky with two or three dragonflies skittering across the surface of the water.

Janet has been sleeping most of the day. I can appreciate the ... motivation? I do like her to get up and move about each day. Earlier today I put on Renata Scotti's Madame Butterfly. She lay in bed with the cats enjoying it. 

I know there is a bag of potato chips in the cupboard and I am having a hello of a time staying away from it. I will compensate with peanut butter pretzels. 

Many many many days later.

It's a Sunday evening. Janet is watching Alias Grace. I am sitting on my bed with Butterscotch wondering if I will ever find any.

Do you ever feel remonstrated by all of your belongings and objects? So many obligations to the inanimate. I am feeling socked in by everything. I spent a lot of the day doing laundry, folding it and putting it away, then continuing the process of moving the objects/clothing in my drawers all around, making myself discard clothing that has pin holes or even small stains. I did make progress but not near enough.

The tax bill has me almost stopped. I am reeling, as are so many, from the reality that the United States of America has gone completely insane, the colors of our avarice and greed showing every where. 

I think I will take a bath and see if that helps my mood. Be right back.

That helped a little bit. Now for some tea and honey and then sleep. Hopefully, if there is any left in me, I will feel better in the morning. 

I am surrounded by things I collected for a life I now know I am never going to have. This is the life I have.