Wednesday, February 25, 2009

40 days to Easter

Here's a poem for Lent though the author is Orthodox and they do not follow the same calendar as the western church. Some years Ash Wednesday and Lenten season seem more heavy with things to let go of. I highly recommend letting go.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Shattered.

This morning was the day after a Valentine's Day of singleness. For me, this means reminding myself that I am worth dating which means hairdryer, hair product, makeup, date-suitable outfit (a good date too, an outfit for someone I want to look good for). None of this lead-in is really that important, but it adds to the tension and frustration of what's to follow.

I walked out to my car in my long brown boots and when I arrived I realized that the back window of my car had been shattered. Nothing had been taken from my car (I know. Who doesn't want to steal Rosetta Stone French I audio cd?) I stared dumbly for a moment and realized I wasn't going to church, which was probably ok because when you get dressed up that nicely for church it makes you wonder why it is you go to church at all. I called the police and went inside. I changed clothes and waited (I read the summer issue of Poetry Magazine).

Young Officer Bo showed up at my door and took down all of the important information all while chewing tobacco. He asked about how long it had been since I had seen my window intact and since I hadn't driven my car on Saturday it had been quite awhile. The he asked if anyone had anything against me.

Here's where I realized I was a bit loopy. After the obvious answers (which if you know me are obvious), my next thought was about those cats. I imagined the cats devising a way to get back at me for interrupting their amorous encounter-- to take revenge for all of the hissing. Maybe, if the whole herd were together and the jumped simultaneously the force would be enough to shatter a window. Who knows what they are capable of? I decided not to tell Officer Bo. But I've got my eye on them, believe me.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Your Valentine

I can't quite get in the mood this year. So here is a poem with little to offer this special day:

I Know, I Remember, But How Can I Help You by Hayden Carruth

And here's a song and a gondola ride.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Is cat-loving spinsterhood born or is it thrust upon you?

I do not know if it's that I'm not native town or that I am unaccustomed to the culture where I'm living, but I am getting frustrated with the stray cats. I have my very own herd. There is cat hair on the porch and they have stopped scampering away from me at all. They just stare as if my yard was their home. They congregate under the cedar tree and crouch as though they might pounce on me if I make any sudden movements.

This evening when I walked out to my car Clockwork sat in my path basking in the sun and then slowly stood up and sauntered three feet from me as I was leaving. Hampshire and Icing were sitting underneath the cedar staring. As I drove away I saw a sight that infuriated me. I saw the last straw. I saw Clockwork mounting Hampshire.

I slammed on my brakes and stomped over to the cats and demanded that they cease. It occurred to me that this would mean more cats and that they would be native to my yard if I let this behavior continue. (Does anyone know the gestation period for cats?)

Do town people call the pound about stray cats? Do I start throwing rocks? How can I end the circle of life happening in my yard? Can I put up barbed wire to keep out the herds?