Friends
I found these pets hanging out on a porch in Portland’s Sunnyside neighborhood.
Maybe cats and dogs can get along.
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Cross-queries. Or cross queries
How’s this for a prompt?
Will I ever . . .
Will I ever grow up?
Will I ever find my true love?
Will I ever get tired of watching “Law and Order”?
Will I ever stop screwing up my life?
Putting these questions on their heads:
What if ever were now?
What if I am grown up?
What if I have found my true love?
What if I stream something else?
What if, what if.
What if the best thing is to stop asking questions and get on with living?
I hate rhetorical questions. But, are these questions rhetorical?
Bus vignette
He’s the sort of passenger who wears a hoodie inside a puffy coat. Doubly shielded against the cold.
He taps his Hop FastPass card on the reader, then, as he comes down the aisle, he carefully replaces it in a pint jar, screwing the green lid tight. He places the jar in his well-scuffed yellow backpack.
I’ve never seen anyone use a jar as a wallet before.
Bird’s nests
I set out in the rain this week to photograph bird’s nests, now that the trees are bare and they are visible. I was surprised to find so few of them.
Then the Universe stepped in to keep me from making a blunder. I fell into conversation with two passers-by who informed me that those big masses aren’t bird’s nests after all, but squirrel’s nests.
That might explain why this squirrel was hanging out at one.
I guess bird’s nests are too insubstantial to be readily visible. Or the first winds of fall wipe them from the trees. Or I just don’t know what I’m doing.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Another lonely shoe
The Universe keeps sending me forlorn footwear.
Mall poems
I recently ran an errand at the Washington Square Mall in nearby Tigard. Don’t ask. But while I was there, I took the opportunity to write a few poems for people. All I had to do was ask.
Jacob, who sells cosmetics, asked me to write about humanity.
We’re all in it together
As stars pass us by They scream in greeting. Music in motion Our chords, our time. Searching for rhythm We know where to look, Beneath our hearts In the molecules we breathe. Breathing together, One with the other. Time is our ally Emotion, our friend. We fight with the Universe, Unsure of our footing. But Spirit soon shows us How to stand straight and true. Being together, Breaking apart, Lonely, forgiven— At once we are whole. Hayley, a barista, was interested in leaves.
Leaves
Twirling in sunlight, The last gift of fall— Still grasping the branch, Lifted high to the moon. November’s scatter, A richness of red, Orange and russet— The green gone for good. We walk in rhythm Through billows of leaves. Sorrows of the season, Buried till spring.
Jen, who works in the Apple Store, asked for Thanksgiving words.
Thanksgiving
More than a turkey, Bringing our friends And family together, Stories and food. Can we find forgiveness Along with our thanks? Another fall passes— Celebrate now. What will we offer When next we meet? A year’s worth of grief, Or shall it be triumph? We live for the future, The present at best. Stop now and reflect. . . Thank Spirit. Let’s eat!
Back home, a neighbor asked me to write a poem about the present and the forest.
Now, outdoors
This is our forest, Just at this moment. A crystal raindrop Ready to fall. Birds holding back Songs to comes later. In the quiet you hear The lichen crackle. Ferns spring forth, Unfurling their fiddles. But that’s for later, In moments to come. Just now, the forest, Standing on tiptoes, Balances in time. Sunlight impales Each falling leaf. This is our forest, Caught in the moment. The raindrop falls.
Toilet paper
Just in time for the holidays, I have a few things to say about TP.
A friend of mine has a story: When she was still living in New Jersey, she kept buying toilet paper on sale at Walgreens. By the time she needed to move to Las Vegas, she had dozens of rolls.
Her daughter said no way are you taking that toilet paper to Las Vegas. But as her car was being transported, not driven, to her new home, my friend just filled it up with toilet paper beforehand, arriving in Sin City fully prepared.
I published a poem about toilet paper back in May. It had mostly to do with the ongoing debate about whether the paper should come from over the roll or under it.
Ann Landers, the advice columnist, got more letters—like 15,000—about the way to hang TP than any other issue.
That’s because it’s easy to weigh in on the trivial. Larger issues, not so much.
Snow in the movies
My grandkids were home in Ithaca for Thanksgiving, romping in the snow, throwing snowballs, crafting snowmen and forts. Lucky children!
I grew up in Minnesota. It was cold, but also gloriously bright in the winter. If I were hale (that is, no MS), I’d consider moving back to the Midwest, probably Wisconsin. I think I could handle the weather.
I miss the sound snow makes, screaming back at you when the air is dry.
Screen time
As it is, I’m settling for snow on the screen. I’m going to mention some movies with snow in them, old and new, off the top of my head. Surely you know of others, and I hope you will post some titles in the comments, because I’m always craving more of the white stuff.
My new favorite snow movie, where snow is more of a character than just a prop, is New in Town (2009), streaming on Netflix.
It’s set in New Ulm, Minnesota, an actual town where I have actually been. It’s near Mankato. You may recall that the totemic tree outside my former apartment was named Ulm.
In the movie, Renée Zellweger, an exec at a dairy company, flies from Miami to Minnesota in the dead of winter, wearing fashionable but totally unsuitable heels, to help get a satellite plant back on track. Of course, she falls for the people, the town and Harry Connick Jr. It was shot in Winnipeg (I’ve been there, too), Manitoba, but everyone talks with that funny, engaging Minnesota accent.
Other movies with snow
Heart of Stone, a largely forgettable spy flick (could use less shoot-’em-up and more character development) from Netflix, has a thrilling opening sequence set on a ski slope and featuring Gal Gadot (always fun to watch) as some sort of agent.
An early scene in Charade, where Audrey Hepburn encounters Cary Grant for the first time at a ski resort. Not much focus on actual snow.
The alpine stretch in The Boys from Brazil, where a couple of bad guys stage a clandestine meeting and it ends badly for one of them
Snowsuit and frozen flagpole humor in A Christmas Story.
White Fang, a Disney animated flick, replete with satisfying shots of frozen trees from above.
White Christmas, remarkable for having no snow.
Any Hallmark Christmas movie, complete with lame plot, bad hair, squishy middle-American values and flaccid dialogue. But, sometimes, often, snow.
On to a recipe
I so love fruitcakes. This recipe is for folks who don’t kvell on the dense, dark version with its weird flecks of candied fruit.
The fruits in this cake are dried—dates, apricots, raisins. They are combined in a rich dough with almonds and walnuts. Always a big hit at office parties.
Western Dried Fruits Cake
1 8-ounce package pitted dates
2 cups quartered dried apricots
1 cup golden raisins
1-1/2 cups whole blanched almonds
1-1/2 cups walnut pieces
3/4 cup flour
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
Butter a 9x5-inch loaf pan; line with parchment or wax paper, then grease the paper. Preheat the oven to 300 F. In a large bowl, mix the fruits and nuts. In another bowl, combine the flour, sugar and baking powder, then add to the fruits. Beat eggs with vanilla and stir the mixture into the fruit. Spoon the batter into the loaf pan, pressing the dough into the corners and smoothing the top. Bake about 2 hours. Cool, then turn out and peel off the paper. Wrap in foil and store at least 2 days to mellow, or up to 2 months. You may sprinkle a spoonful of rum or brandy over the cake once a week.
From Sunset reader S.T. of Edmonds, Wash., December 1982
*A decade earlier, in 1970, Sunset ran a similar recipe with the same amount of nuts, flour and sugar but calling for 1 pound whole dates, 1 cup maraschino cherries and 1/2 cup each diced candied orange and lemon peel instead of the dried fruit. Looks like it makes a satisfying dark cake, but I haven’t tried the recipe.
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It’s just string
I’m sorry, but $6 for a small ball of cotton twine is outrageous. I looked it up: you can buy cotton string at most hardware stores for 3 or 4 dollars, depending on size.
The power of 20 minutes
Twenty minutes is magic. It is the perfect length of time for:
A nap
A meditation
A daily writing exercise
How you time your 20 minutes is up to you. One thing is sure, you will eventually need no timer, because you, your body, your psyche will know when 20 minutes has passed.
But at the outset, use the alarm function on your smart phone or find an app, such as Mindfulness Bell, to help ease you in and out of this special time.
When I sit down to write my daily exercise, I insert a time stamp at the beginning, then try not to think about time passing as I let my fingers wander over the keys.
Twenty minutes to write.
Twenty minutes to exercise.
Twenty minutes of time that is just for you.
Go ahead. You deserve it.
And we, your friends, deserve the fruit of it.
That is, we can delight in what you glean from this precious time: the well-being, the calm, the sense of purpose, even a poem or a story. Whatever you find in your 20-minute sojourn.
This is magic.
I hope you will try it.
Till next week.
—30—
This post is full of gorgeous photos. That's quite a "mid-move" capture of the cat and dogs! I love the "bright sadness of fall" photo, too. And that shoe.... I'm always so curious about single, lost shoes.
Love that picture of the lone tennis shoe. And the image of you writing poetry for people like a strolling troubadour is wonderful. What a gift!