Monday, February 27, 2012


Do you think you have an extrasensory sense of the arrangement of furniture? I know when there is a coat on the sofa that belongs on a coat hook, in the closet. I know when a carpet is misaligned beneath an "entertainment center." I am aware also, of the last time the "entertainment center" was dusted.

Does no one put their backpacks and shoes away, in the spaces I have designated for backpacks and shoes? There's a banana peel on the kitchen table.

Oh look, it's my coat that's the one on the sofa. Fancy that. That trail of socks is my trail of socks. Like Gretel I am with my footwear, leading me back to the place where I came on to the scene of -- a pile of laundry that is scaleable, like an Alpen mountain. On the floor there is a squishy plastic toy, I think it is an octopus until I step on it and it squeaks in a way in which I know it is meant to be a duck.

Everyone else in the family seems to suffer from clutter blindess. Like moles my son digs through his room to find Batmen, and Spidermen. My husband is cheerful, always, singing while he shaves unknowing of the thunder his dry cleaning is making. I feel I am constantly tidying, scooping, fastening wheels to the mini-convertible car my daughter's doll drives in. It is as if I am a dam in the universal force of everything in my house wanting, like a scientific law, to be on the floor.

Friday, February 24, 2012

Spring Gardening: How-To Plant and Garden Books

The cure for the winter blues is seeds, gardening books, heirloom tomato catalogues and an expensive trowel that you don't really need, so forget the trowel, let it be just a fantasy trowel, as are my beehives, and chicken coop. Spring Gardening: How-To Plant and Garden Books

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


The season of Lent is, in the church year (a concept I don't believe in anymore, though I did, once) the season of quietude, betterment, giving-up, taking-on. Change. You could also call it Late Winter because it means the same: things are afoot. Bulbs, for instance, are under foot. Moss. Stem extensions of narcissus. Late winter possibilities.

My Lenten/ Late Winter practice I'm calling Three Nice Things, an extension of my metta or lovingkindness practice, it does not come easily to me to be kind, but I'm taking on Three Nice Things. Ten seemed overwhelming, a single nice thing stingy.

The thing is: what the hell is a nice thing? Some appreciate a bunch of daffodils from Trader Joe's, others muffins. Still others want to talk about how they feel over coffee. I'm okay with that, sometimes. Mostly I like to drop things off on people's porches, and run away, you know, practice random acts of beauty and all that bumper sticker, and then retreat. Essentially I am a Tibetan fox in this way, but I embrace the face: slight smile, maybe trouble, narrowed eyes, living above the treeline, migrating up and down the mountain.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

On The Trail

This morning I went sniffing. Literally. I came back from the perfume store smelling like a angry white blossom exploded in a crate of pears.

I feel for the bloodhounds, no one wonders why they are sad. The male moths, who can pick up a molecule of female moth, on their long hairy antennae. I wonder if they wonder if they're long enough; when I wonder that I am so glad I am not a male moth. Or going on a first date with someone wearing Oh Lola by Marc Jacobs. I'd have to duck under the tablecloth and be sick in my shoe.

Top notes of anise, no one wants you. Nor tropical wet, someone in New Jersey's idea of wet in Equador, as put through a syringe. Nor anything that might be fried and stuck with a stick and called "a pop."

When did smelling good become smelling inhumane, thin petrochemical hands reaching out from those rounded glass bottles that real tears roll off of. Plastic surgeons.

These Characters Should Be Valentines

These Characters Should Be Valentines

Monday, February 6, 2012

Spring Thaw

This Andrew Wyeth painting "Spring" reminds me of my paternal grandfather. He had a hawkish nose, he had to have some of the skin of his nose removed because of skin cancer. He received radiation for acne when he was young, that was what they did then. Radiated you. He was afraid we'd be afraid of him with his gauze on when he came back from the hospital, but we weren't, in fact I don't think we noticed it at all - his change. I was no more than 5, anyway, more interested in beetles, than grandfathers.

"Spring" the painting, is about the old giving way to the new. The old year. What gets left behind when everything melts. Old men. Old women. There are patches of snow on the ground, here, too, old snowmen with thin twig arms the kids made over the weekend. They'll be gone soon; today it's 50 degrees on the field. I saw a robin on the neighbor's lawn and thought I was seeing things, but there it was, like a trumpet, or a gong.

Bold. Spring is bold. To think that even if we live to be one hundred we will only see one hundred thaws. It seems far to few, when I consider the miracle of it, and the mundanity of how much other stuff I'll do. Load of laundry for instance. Bills paid. Orbiting the sun on a rock. The only one with any life on it, among millons.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Super Bowl Bingo

Token animated character
Someone famous' mom
Nostalgic classic rock song
Athlete spokesperson
Pickup Truck
A-list celebrity
Washed up celebrity
Office scenario
Beach scenario
Party/club scenario
"Dumb" men
"Sexy" women
"Go online to see more..."
Evil wife/girlfriend
Saavy old lady
Video game about using guns or stealing cars.
Snack food
Fast food
Something talking that normally can't
Supposed to be funny, but failed
Sports/ energy drink
Having no rhythm
Can't tell what the commercial was for
Cell phone service
Creepy talking baby
Guy with a killer 'stache
Someone falling down accidentally or being hit by something, like a poorly-felled oak tree.