the tiny keys of my adorable red cheap netbook suppress the Muse, I fear. It's been a rough go around here since the end of April but I still feel that Mystery dwelling & welling... Please forgive my communications shortcomings because if you do, then I can begin to get back to work on this testimony--this time around paying more attention to the Yang part. My Big Mama desktop pc needs a new motherboard they tell me... Someone's coming to install it within the next few days. My Little Mama's gone to live in the Nursing Home. I'm usually swooping here & there trying to accomplish errands & Life Support for 4. But now, for a moment or two, here I am on the little red racer, playing around with the recent past. Hope you are well. Here's to better times!
Well, I'm back. After arranging NOT to publish in Hindi--what?? & cropping the photo... & briefly musing over my feckless month off Had a real scare last night at 7:45 I had been performing a self-pedicure & all the stuff all laid out over the hearth & papers & sewing projects & color pencils & watercolor painting messes islands of untidied "creativity" one of the H's clients called to announce his ETA at about five minutes !!!!!!!!!!!!
Scrambling is something I only do for eggs these days Reminded me of our one br apartment of long ago where I would quickly stash all extraneous into the bathtub & close the shower curtain & be ready w/drinks, chips & dip within 5 minutes
How Time goes by.....
But the H called back to rearrange the meeting to his office thank the Dear Lord for that.
Yesterday the word "trudge" turned out to be prophetic. New avenues open up now, like the green stripe in the commercial Now I'm going commercial going for the green something just has to be done & now's the only time to do it So, like the Gulf Coast gondolier who amazed me from afar I'm ambulating over the water over the highway over the grass & the sidewalk & I have to say �it feels pretty good �to set the wheels in motion again
Not that I was watching it at all, in 30 years....
My Grannie was a fan of As The World Turns, &, since I was with her most of my preschool days, so was I... I remember when Lisa was a dewy-eyed adolescent. I was always struck by the gravity & aplomb despite unrelenting tragedies of the pale heroine Ellen.... (silent waters run deep)
But I watched ATWT only once or twice in 20 years just to see who was still around & how many gray hairs & wrinkles around the eyes they had sustained.
The last soap opera I tuned in was an accidental glimpse of a show I can't even remember the name of... but it had twin dwarves, one evil & one well-meaning (unless it was only the Evil One working a ruse), & a whole lot of wallowing around in bed.
I was shocked, truly, & to the core.
No, I've been way too busy for a very long time to get hooked on a daytime soap & yet I am sorry to hear that the empathy quotient on the part of the stay-at-home demographic has waned so low due to personified love-lorn mops & brooms, tooth-whitening, ab-melting products, & relentless medicine ads (ask your doctor about it), & any number of other key factors I'm blissfully unaware of (perhaps the former audience members are all on the Internet blogging), has resulted in the demise of a melodrama born in 1937, an ironic birthdate, such a watershed despite being a globally wretched year, indeed.
Other 1937 classics will abide, & so might The Guiding Light, in another venue. I hope they don't fill the spot with more Punditry. Or another haughty, snippy Judge from who-knows-where stating the obvious to the stupid & never missing a cheap shot.
I hope I'm too busy with other things to even find out what replaces it. Something in the human heart thrives on vicarious suffering. So, I expect it will have something to do with Suffering. What, I ask you, does not?
We make our meek adjustments, Contented with such random consolations As the wind deposits In slithered and too ample pockets.
For we can still love the world, who find A famished kitten on the step, and know Recesses for it from the fury of the street, Or warm torn elbow coverts.
We will sidestep, and to the final smirk Dally the doom of that inevitable thumb That slowly chafes its puckered index toward us, Facing the dull squint with what innocence And what surprise!
And yet these fine collapses are not lies More than the pirouettes of any pliant cane; Our obsequies are, in a way, no enterprise. We can evade you, and all else but the heart: What blame to us if the heart live on.
The game enforces smirks; but we have seen The moon in lonely alleys make A grail of laughter of an empty ash can, And through all sound of gaiety and quest Have heard a kitten in the wilderness.
Hart Crane was an American poet with a very great gift for seeing, and for the way language changes what is real. Sadly, the despair that is often reflected in his work eventually overcame his appreciation for life. However, his poetic legacy deserves great respect. You can read more about Hart Crane & savor some of his work on Poets.org, here:
To take the Multi-Bloglingual Poetry Tour hosted by my friend Jacqui Binford-Bell, go here: