Mar 30, 2008

and if the flowers, the little ones, knew

IN the meantime there has been a whole week of March and absolutely no time to write about it. Sometimes you just have to work for your living and luxury and spend the rest of the time playing your piano and reading JM Barrie and baking cake and listening to classical radio and berating your dog and warding off librarians and being happy and being confused and being sad. I will tell you all about it if you want, later. I promise also I will read your posts and reply to your emails and all that. Right now I am a little sad. Earlier I was a lot sad. But not now, now is an almost calm like I am a separate person in a mirror seeing my face and curious at the red traces in my eyes, the silver taste in my mouth. There are no long words or deep heart gushing. I think about simple things now. I think the most often that I would have loved to hang on my dad. That there was a time I would have done anything to be held. That now we are so far away living in this same house, a mystery that would take more than I am to explain. It is our faults both. Every daughter should tell her father she loves him every time she thinks of it and trust him enough to do what he asks. Every father should know his children wish more than anything to make him proud, and when they are always and only told they did wrong they will eventually truly believe they can do nothing right.

Mar 21, 2008

All twitterpated

I think spring makes me crazy. It's different and much much better than winter crazies, it's crazy in a really nice way but still. I think weird things. Thoughts of sweet baby animals parade around my head and I want a few of everything. I want a rabbit and puppies and ducklings in the pond. I want a garden. I think it's not a waste of time to talk to the tomato seedlings and tell them it won't be long. I think I'm in love. I feel weird things. I feel flirty and flustered. I'm giddy. I'm all jumpy. I'm confused. I feel selfish because all of these sentences start with I. I'm serious about the rabbit and puppies and ducklings thing though. I wouldn't even mind chickens, there I said it. Hollands and Dominiques and Rhode Island Reds and Plymouth Rocks and Pan Fry Special (This is not an actual breed of chicken but was on a sign attached to a cage of some little happily peeping chicks I saw in the farm store yesterday, a sign which I read out loud with all the horror of a child born in the city.) As soon as I am not poor student saving for college I think I will get a rabbit. A soft and brown eyed one and he will probably love me. I had a rabbit once but I don't think she loved me. Oh she pretended to alright but she couldn't fool me. But in retrospect, this neglect might have went both ways seeing as one summer day I went away from home all day and left her in her barn cage which was about 347° and when I came home... To spare you the graphic details let's just say I promise this time if I get a rabbit I will try my hardest not to roast him. I will probably be much older and more responsible by that time anyway. Though you never ever know.


I am listening to Bach's St. John's Passion. They are playing it on the Classical station tonight at 8pm in honor of his birthday, but I thought I'd get a head start to avoid surprises and in case I fall asleep. I don't hate it. I actually don't hate Bach anymore, didn't I mention that? He is hardly on the Beethoven Chopin Brahms level, but he wouldn't be on their level even if I liked him as much anyway, because he is Bach and Bach demands his very own level where this isn't very much love but a good deal of other more lukewarm things like respect and veneration, and sometimes awe, and very occasionally there comes inside a hallelujah all hail!
Fall to your knees! And amen.
That sort of thing.

a good friday

The birthday of J.S. Bach.

Mar 20, 2008

Okey dokey

But if you find your postcard in Nova Scotia you'll owe the city of San Francisco twenty bucks and if you don't pay they'll extract it out of your watermelon!

- Sentence I heard echoing in my mind when I woke up, issued probably from some super weird dream factory in my head

Happy spring, by the way, everybody.

Mar 19, 2008

Not so yay

The night before last I had a dream that the pond flooded, muddy swirling water and I was wading down in it deeper and deeper with not a single thought of danger.
It has been raining all over the insides of your country, dear Americans, for about three days and in my state the rivers and creeks and streams are swelling. I watched it on The News for a while last night. I don't like watching The News because I know I will end up either feeling mad or sad or bad. This time it made me feel bad because I walked in the rain and nine people died in it.
But then, they say the Drought is decidedly eliminated.


And now there is just this: that I will walk through storms and love the rain. I will trespass just for Violets. I will go I will go and I will not ever stop. Sometimes t is the only way to keep my head well, to keep the bad things away. Sometimes it takes being in danger to remember that you are safe.

Mar 18, 2008


It may be spring, and it is I tell you, but we're a fair bit from green and all the hills are black treed and shadowy still.
It's not stopped raining since yesterday morning.
In other news for once there is no other news.

And I'm going to go play in the creek.

Mar 17, 2008

And it thundered and lightninged too

which shut the shiny humming new pooter all the way down and prevented my further documentation of the morning. Which was fine by me and if it was warmer I would still be out on a walkabout splashing through the tree and climbing the creeks or whichever it's all reversible on Mondays. I am happy in storms. This was a gentle one that makes it feel like a holiday, like the other 6 days of the week are all on Pause for this day of deep thunder and drowsy rain.

I wrote for a while near a window some words that are there inside but are very infuriatingly slow in coming and when they do come just won't sit quietly together on paper, like unruly children that refuse to get along. It's not their fault. They don't know any better. Not much comes easy anymore except Mozart, and that only on shiny days.
Then I ate a sandwich with tuna in it and while I was eating it I thought, why am I eating this sandwich with tuna in it because I really don't like tuna but somehow I get these foreign cravings to eat it sometimes and every time I wonder, I wonder.
Then I sat on the floor and played Sorry! with the 12 year old, Kayla, and Kayla. Yes there are two now. Kayla #2 is a second cousin on spring break from St. Louis and she calls me Chris Stain Uh. She's the meanest Sorry! player you ever did see and she's got the most natural yall. But don't let it fool you. She's city through and through.
And then I contemplated going outside and then I thought not until it's 70 degrees again you won't. And then I wondered who wants to read this, anyway. And then I virtually hugged everyone who said me.

Now we're going to make cupcakes.

Laughter rings in this house. laughter is us. Only when there is silence would you know something is unwell.


The 12 year old is 13 now since his birthday on the 4th. Or 5th. I just remembered. There have always been too many of us to keep track.

it is raining

Mar 14, 2008

Life is the finest secret

So long as that remains, we must all whisper.

Emily Dickinson

Mar 12, 2008

Believe me, I heard it

straight from the trees and the field on the hill. They are back, the birds. I walked three times around the water smiling at the ones with the liquid voices. Redwings, ko ka leee, "they come to melt the ice with their song", said Thoreau and there are robins too and geese flying home.

It's spring it's spring it's spring.

It's a shame no one will bother to notice it for at least nine days.

Life is topsy turvy, it's rather up and down

If you force a smile
you'll soon be called a Clown

Between the wishing and waiting, the demanding of whispers, a command to Speak Up, little birds escapeless in my head, and varied other unpleasantness, rocks and hard places have often sounded comfortable.
It has been a long month. I'm back. Don't worry. There was also a lot of working and a not completely unsubstantial amount of playing. Can we catch up slow? I'm not sure if I know how to do this anymore. I feel like I'm missing something but would like to find it on my own, just to avoid that abashed feeling you get when you think you've lost your pencil and someone says silly, it's in your hair.

Mar 11, 2008

I remember this place

Did I used to live here?