Sunday, March 28, 2021

The Streets of Laredo (Frank H. Maynard)



Larry McMurtry, Novelist of the American West, Dies at 84:  In “Lonesome Dove,” “The Last Picture Show” and dozens more novels and screenplays, he offered unromantic depictions of a long mythologized region.

The Larry McMurtry I Knew:  I caught my first glimpse of the 'Lonesome Dove' author on the streets of Archer City when I was a teenager. It was an encounter that shaped the rest of my life.


Oh, it's the end of an era... 💔

Larry McMurtry first came on my radar in my college Creative Writing class, 1974-ish, when our assignment was to write a poem about an author who had influenced us, in hopes of encouraging someone else to read them.  Imagine our surprise when, the following day, we were split into teams of two (our partner being the person in the row directly next to/across from us).  Mine was GW, who I thought was cute (and smart) but had barely spoken to, until that day.

Agatha Christie was the subject of my poem, and I wish I still had it, because I thought it was brilliant; I remember the last line, and may one day attempt to recreate it in its entirety.  But I digress.  GW's was about Larry McMurtry, and I was instantly convinced I *had* to read everything I could get my hands on by this cowboy author he so colorfully described, beginning with Leaving Cheyenne (later turned into a film called Lovin' Molly), about two men (Gid and Johnny) in love with the same woman, told in three segments from each character's point of view.  To this day, I can still quote a favorite passage, spoken by a father to his son (one of the men in the love triangle):
"A woman's love is like the morning dew, it's just as apt to settle on a horse turd as it is a rose."
I *did* immerse myself in McMurtry's catalog, which I discovered to be dichotomous, one tangent being cowboy/Western novels (eventually leading to Lonesome Dove) and the other contemporary fiction, starting with All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers, the most famous of which was Terms of Endearment.  I loved, and am grateful for, them all... 💞

Two asides:

~ GW and I became "an item" because of the the class assignment, lasting at least a year.

~ I am pretty sure GW *never* read any Agatha Christie... 😃




SONG:  The Streets of Laredo by Frank H. Maynard, sung here by Johnny Cash and Marty Robbins [one of my father's favorite songs, which I still know every word to!]

BOOKLonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry [fan that I am, I had absolutely no clue this was the first in a tetralogy!  Did you?  I was already planning to re-read Lonesome Dove, but it appears I have three more after that waiting for me... 📚]

POEM:  The Never-Ending Serial by Red Hawk

When I was a boy, the Varsity Theater
was a mile from our house. Saturdays
we were allowed to walk there, and for a dime
we got a cowboy double-feature and

a long-running serial, which involved
an incredibly stupid, weak and helpless
but beautiful woman, upon whom
unimaginable indignities and cruelties were

enacted by darkly evil men with mustaches.
Week after week we waited for her to die
but at the last impossible moment, tied
to railroad tracks for what reason we could

not possibly imagine, and with a fast freight
bearing down upon her, a heroic white man,
he was always white and so was she, 
leaped onto the tracks and

ripped her from the jaws of impending death.
Imagine what the young girls in attendance
were led to believe about their femininity and
how, as long as they lived, they were trained

never to doubt, but to wait for that white man and when
they never showed up, imagine their disillusionment,
the bitter sorrow of their loneliness and despair.
And the young boys in attendance, we who

sat enthralled and believing, imagine
the burden of our lives when we were unable,
fumbling and shaking, to untie those ropes
and were struck down by the thundering train.

QUOTE:  If you want any one thing too badly, it’s likely to turn out to be a disappointment. The only healthy way to live life is to learn to like all the little everyday things – like a sip of good whiskey in the evening, a soft bed, a glass of buttermilk, or a feisty gentleman like myself.” ~ Gus McCrae

Friday, March 26, 2021

The Keep Going Song (The Bengsons)

[thanks to CT for the heads-up to the amazing artist Favianna Rodriguez!]


I am a big fan of the boycott; ask my children, as over the years we have avoided Pizza Hut, Domino's, Hooter's, Chick-fil-A, Fox News, Nestle', Curves gym, etc.  We also proudly take part in the buycott, supporting companies/products that align with our values and principles.  Our family believes in voting with our wallet, and using our dollars to create change.

After much thoughtful consideration, over a month ago I decided to follow through on a hard and fast boycott of Publix, the Florida supermarket chain.  The below article provides all the details but, when I heard in late-January that Publix heiress Julie Jenkins Fancelli helped fund the bulk of former President Donald Trump's January 6 rally in Washington, D.C. that took place just before the Capitol riot, I finally decided to pull the plug on my association with them.  Of course Publix posted a non-disclaimer in that she wasn't technically an employee and therefore this had nothing to do with them, but the supermarket chain has long been known for giving money to conservative causes, most recently Ron DiSantis' re-election (2022) PAC.

Call it the proverbial straw, but I am *done* with them.  Fortunately there are many other grocery store "games" in town, among them Trader Joe's, Sprouts, Aldi, Target, Whole Foods, and Costco, most of whom deliver via Instacart.  They may not miss me, but I will definitely not miss them, and I am of the Alice's Restaurant philosophy, that segues from one person to two ("in harmony") to three ("an organization") to 50 ("they may think it's a movement").

Join me?  #boycottPublix 

‘The last straw’: the US families ending love affair with grocery chain after Capitol riot:  Families are boycotting Publix after a member of founding family donated $300,000 to the Trump rally that preceded January’s deadly Capitol attack


As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

Curbside Pickup. Bicycle Deliveries. Virtual Book Discussions. Amid Virus, Bookstores Get Creative:  “We’re going to operate like a pizza takeout place,” one independent bookstore owner said. (thanks to CT, again, for the nod to this article!)


~ Chocolate:  Some people are perfectly fine without it. My friend Ross jokes that he can go for months at a time and not even notice. I too felt like that about chocolate—that is, until the pandemic started. (by Aimee Nezhukumatathil)


~ Kate Baer Is Speaking Truth. From Her MinivanWho says motherhood can’t be literary, even poetic?


~ The Bengsons:  Married duo The Bengsons blend soaring vocals, frenetic rhythms and rousing all join hands choruses to create new hybrid indie rock/art/theater performances. Their Americana-influenced brand of Indie Rock has received accolades from fans and critics alike.  [I am officially obsessed with these people, after discovering their Keep Going Song a few months ago.  They have a YouTube channel, and there is a musical, too.  Wow!


Why I Didn’t Answer Your Email:  Because my inbox will always be waiting for me, but my children will not. (by KJ Dell’Antonia)






POEM:  Experiment in Empathy by Ellen Bass

The scientist places each rat
in its own glass box
and for thirty seconds he plays
"What a Wonderful World."
In the last three seconds, he shocks the rat.
This is followed by ninety beats of silence.
And then the cycle begins again.

As she describes it to me
I can't help thinking
how familiar this is - one minute
Louis Armstrong singing
and the next--
some fever or wreck, some impossible mistake.
And I sit holding a spoon,
unable to lift it to my mouth, unable
to put it down.

This strain of rats descends 
from a circus in the 1800s. Their ancestors
swung in satin-ribboned trapezes
and leaped through tiny rings of fire.
Now, none of those skills can save them.

And here's the thing:
a rat who isn't shocked,
who only watches,
panics too. That is empathy.
Feeling what another creature feels.

But sometimes it's too much to ask
a person to inhabit
the strange region of a foreign heart.

Once, when I was in a glut of pain,
I said to a friend,
Just take an hour and imagine
this is happening to you.

She looked straight ahead
and said, I don't want to.

QUOTE:  “There is only one time that is important – NOW! It is the most important time because it is the only time that we have any power.” ~ Leo Tolstoy

Saturday, March 20, 2021

Six Feet Apart (Crys Matthews and Heather Mae)


[thanks to Laurie for this oh-so-relevant as well as brilliant Roz Chast cartoon!]


Whoops, I did it again!  Between retirement and the pandemic (and my almost-non-existent social calendar*), it is difficult for me to keep track of the week, and I once again completely blipped on Feel Good Friday but, like Mighty Mouse, "here I come to save the day!".

Yesterday was delightful, in that I met up with Nancy, Judi, and Suzanne at Wolf Lake Park (something we'd waited to do until all four of us were vaccinated), which turned into four hours of yakking, laughing, and walking (on the gravel path around the lake).  Just what the proverbial doctor ordered:  a beautiful South Florida day, in Nature, with dear women friends... 💖

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ As we sat and visited with each other, two horse trailers pulled up, and we learned they were from Double Flush Stables, giving guided trail rides along the path and, at the end, the horses (with riders) went swimming *in* the lake.  These horses were gigantic (Percherons and Belgians and Clydesdales, oh my!), and Judi captured one of the moments:
~ Then we started talking about horses, and Judi said something about a blind horse and then, music fanatic that I am, I immediately remembered there was a song or album title, but couldn't quite place it (but I *did* know it was Rod Stewart/Faces), and googling eventually led to this:  A Nod Is As Good As a Wink... to a Blind Horse... 🐴


~ Somehow the conversation led to juggling (which Judi does) and she mentioned keeping these in her car (as a stress reliever), and I immediately dubbed Emergency Juggling Penguins as a perfect band name!


~ Judi also brought a few bags of books for us to have first dibs on before she dropped them off at the library as donations; I chose a meatless pasta cookbook by Mindy Toomay, with a lovely poem about tomatoes as an epigraph, ending with...

"Dusk paints its blush on my apron.
There are friends in the house
to be fed."

...then googled to find Mindy's (albeit defunct) blog.  The Universe is always looking out for me... 😍


~ During our walk along the path, of course two dragonflies had to make themselves known to us (Hi, Mom!  Hi, Dave!), which Judi immortalized for posterity... 💗

*My daughter Sarah, creative that she is, rather than social events, has been writing joys and gratitudes of the day on her kitchen wall calendar, and I have followed suit.  Nice to see a full page at-a-glance again... 🌅



SONGSix Feet Apart by Crys Matthews and Heather Mae (lyrics at the link)

BOOKSocial Distance Sing:  pandemic poems by Steve Potter

POEM:  
Paper Visitors by C.P. Bergman

Waiting for the mailman
to bring the visitors.

He’s got many stops
on solo farms like this.

The sky is turning surly,
starts to spit’n’ growl;

hope the mailman makes it
before the first downpour.

The road outside is long,
next house, two miles away;

the property is green and rich,
just right for grazing beef.

Don’t hear from people much:
letters are like gold;

still keep hoping anyhow
for what the mailman brings.

He’s later than usual;
the rain is drenching all.

Perhaps he’s holed up back a-ways
near Pepperstone Pass.

Catalog’d be good right now;
an ad for laundry soap,

or some outlandish sweepstakes offer,
useless toy or such.

It may appear eccentric,
waiting on the post,

but even junk mail has its place
for those who are alone.

[C.P. Bergman: “I love all things artistic and creative. For me, poetry is composed capsules of life. In addition to a variety of day jobs to keep ‘starving artist syndrome’ away, I sing while I write, and mostly this takes place in the Chicago area where I live with an overactive imagination and an understanding dog.”]

QUOTE:  "
By your own efforts, waken yourself, watch yourself, and live joyfully." ~ The Dhammapada

Friday, March 12, 2021

March Again (Jimmy Fallon and John Legend)

We interrupt this regularly-scheduled Feel Good Friday to talk about an important milestone, which was highlighted on TV last night:  Jimmy Kimmel Live’s One Year Lockdown Coronaversary SpectacularWe’re marking the one year anniversary of our worldwide nightmare with a special Coronaversary show and looking back on how much things have changed. Los Angeles is reportedly close to issuing guidelines for certain businesses to reopen, Hallmark has put out a new line of greeting cards to commemorate the year that was, stimulus checks will be in the pockets of Americans as early as this weekend, a group of former Presidents teamed up to make a PSA about getting vaccinated, President Biden addressed the nation in his first primetime speech since taking office, a message from the heroic men and women that have been delivering us food through the pandemic, we give out the first-ever Zoomy Award, and a special edition of “This Corona Year in Unnecessary Censorship.”

President Joe Biden did indeed give his first Presidential Address, marking 50 days in office.  He looked very tired (the Highest Office in the Land certainly has a way of aging people, doesn't it?), but I was heartened by his lovely message.  It just felt so good to finally be hearing the truth, and given hope, and offered some light.  Crazy to think it's been a year.  If all goes according to plan, by May 1, everyone in the country will be *eligible* to receive a vaccination.  Here's where Florida stands (as of today, March 12, 2021):

~ Florida residents (including seasonal residents) ages 65 and older — Florida will lower the age to 60+ on March 15
~ Residents and staff at long-term care facilities
~ Frontline healthcare workers who have direct patient contact
~ Sworn law enforcement officers 50 and older
~ Firefighters ages 50 and older
~ Pre-kindergarten through 12th-grade school employees 50 years of age or older.
~ Florida residents (including seasonal) with notes from their doctor specifying their need to vaccinate and who have preregistered.

Looking back to a year ago (I am reminded of people telling stories of where they remember themselves to be when President Kennedy was assassinated, or when the Challenger exploded), I was headed to St. Augustine FL with my friend Reba to see Dar Williams in concert.  There were enough rumblings about coronavirus such that we called the venue (Cafe Eleven) that morning to make sure the show was still on (because we were driving 4+ hours to attend).  It was, and we did (a very special evening) and, when we got back to our motel room, Reba got on her phone and started reading to me all the life-changing updates:  Broadway CLOSED, Major League Sports CLOSED, Disney Parks CLOSED.  WTF?

On the way back to South Florida the next day (Friday, March 13, 2020), the litany of news stories, closures, recommendations continued.  I dropped Reba off, and went straight home to Shelter in Place for a few weeks, not having a clue as to how far-reaching this virus was.  Here is a link to revisit my nine blog posts in the month of March.

So many things have changed since then, in the last year, the last 12 months, the last 365 days, most tragically more than 532,000,000 (yes, over a half-million) people dead from COVID.  Most people in the US (dare I say the smart ones) wear masks on a regular basis, maintain a physical distance of six feet, and realize that gathering with others is best done outdoors (and we're very lucky to have that option here in South Florida).

The panic of the first few weeks/months subsided and now there is no problem getting toilet paper and hand sanitizer.  Many of us have had both vaccinations, although we still take the precautions listed in the previous paragraph.  I still have all of our groceries delivered via Instacart (joined a year ago):  Costco, Sprouts, Aldi (boycotting Publix, which I will blog about next week).  Also, Whole Foods via Amazon has been a great delivery resource as well, with many vegan options.

Still reading, walking, cooking like crazy (I could probably find a better word!), trying to stay safe, sane, and well.  Still having family gatherings a few times a month (now that our kids are back to work, it's like herding cats to find a day/time that clicks for everyone).  Still passing around our Family Journal (Rob's idea from way back when).  Still enjoying livestreamed concerts (although it's nowhere near the same as live music), as well as livestreamed author events (Anne Lamott, Ross Gay, Patricia Lockwood, among others).  Still enjoying nature, as well as my heated condo pool (ahhh!).  Zoom (whether book club or "visits" with friends) has become a regular part of the rotation, as well as a few two-hour phone conversations a week.

At this point, we are waiting for the next round of $1,400 per person stimulus checks to arrive (hopefully this weekend); we are grateful to be in a fairly-stable financial situation, and we also know this money will save lives, jobs, and housing for others.  Our personal mantras these days are:  First World Problems, All That Is Not Ladder Falls Away, and there but for the grace of god.  And, to quote Hamilton, "that would be enough"... 💞

How are YOU?




SONGMarch Again (Beauty and The Beast parody) by Jimmy Fallon and John Legend

BOOK:  When the World Went Quiet by Tia Martina, Kelly Ulrich (Illustrator)

POEM:  In the Time of Pandemic by Kitty O'Meara


And they read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.

And they listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. 

Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.

QUOTE:  “If we do our part, if we do this together, by July the 4th there’s a good chance you, your families, and friends will be able to get together in your backyard or in your neighborhood and have a cookout and a barbecue and celebrate Independence Day.” ~ President Joe Biden

Friday, March 5, 2021

Rise Up (Andra Day)


I am feeling a bit weepy today.  A musician-friend e-mailed me a recording a few weeks ago (which I only just found in my inbox!) of her duo's newest song for me to check out (theme being the fear as well as the forgiveness of 2020), and it is absolutely lovely (the harmonies, the lyrics, the jangly guitars).  

Then, not five minutes later, I discovered (again, belatedly) this clip that another friend sent me a while ago, which had me bawling all over again.  I do not watch those talent shows (nor will I), but the gentleness and beauty of the artist's rendition overwhelmed me... 💖

As we approach the one-year anniversary of The Day the Earth Stood Still, I am allowing myself a few moments of fragility and vulnerability.  The father of my son E's best friend/college roommate passed away a few weeks ago of prostate cancer (the service is this weekend).  He was diagnosed at the same time as my husband (who is fortunately now cancer-free), but the disease was already in the later stages, and eventually metastasized.  Our whole family has been in "there but for the grace of god" mode; it is a cautionary tale about the necessity for following up, as well as never taking for granted those you hold dear.  My heart hurts, but it reminds me that "Love is touching souls" indeed... 💞

It's Feel Good Friday.  As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ A Virtual Evening With Anne Lamott & Hoda Kotb (TONIGHT!!!):  In Dusk Night Dawn:  On Revival and Courage, Anne Lamott explores the tough questions that many of us grapple with. How can we recapture the confidence we once had as we stumble through the dark times that seem increasingly bleak? As bad news piles up—from climate crises to daily assaults on civility—how can we cope? Where, she asks, “do we start to our world and joy and hope and our faith in life itself back…with our sore feet, hearing loss, stiff fingers, poor digestion, stunned minds, broken hearts?”

City Guessera geography based browser game that strives to provide an exceptional travel and guessing experience. City Guesser launched on August 13th, 2020, and welcomes thousands of geography-enthusiasts each day.

Sheet-Pan Everything:  20 often surprising, always delicious recipes for the most versatile pan in your kitchen

Live @ the Freight by Cry Cry Cry (Lucy Kaplansky/Richard Shindell/Dar Williams):  All proceeds from this album will be donated to Live Music Society to help sustain and rebuild venues for live music. Please consider a generous donation so that Lucy, Richard, Dar and thousands of other artists can perform for you in the future.  “Live @ the Freight,” was recorded at the last show of Cry Cry Cry's sold out 20-year reunion tour in 2018.

~ Forking hell! Is The Good Place the ultimate TV show for our times?:  Michael Schur’s series about heaven and hell was not meant to be topical, but it’s become the ideal antidote to the news cycle [Warning: this article contains spoilers]




SONGRise Up by Andra Day


I don't want this year
to turn into a blur of
Zoom chats and Netflix


I Am Tired of the Movie About Sentimentalized Male Failure by Sophia Stid

You know the one—it stars Clint Eastwood, or Beau Bridges.
Whoever it is, he’s got a face lined as the map he crumples
and stuffs in his back pocket in the first minute of the movie
I don’t want to see. I don’t have to see it to know he’ll get lost.
He’ll spit a wad of tobacco out the window of his truck,
dig out the map and unfurl it against the steering wheel.
He looks at the map quizzically. At some point in the movie,
he’ll miss his daughter’s wedding. He’ll disappoint his wife.
His daughter will marry a man so not like him that he’s exactly
like him. In this movie, everything is about him. Look at him
looking at the map. In this movie, there will be long shots
of the horizon, strip club scenes, whiskey, fists, and pills.
They don’t make movies like this about women. The plot
is watching this man bleed out and calling it interesting—
calling it a reckoning. “You know the reckoning’s gonna come
for you,” my cowboy friend Jack told me once in a bar, smiling
in that lazy cowboy way I loved. I laughed. I had no idea
what he meant. I was twenty-two. I thought love took care
of everything, like the concierge in a fancy hotel we couldn’t afford—
I thought all I had to do was show up. So when a reckoning came,
I didn’t expect the desire to run, that lurch like wild horses
in my chest. How, when her call came—Come home—I thought,
I can’t. My reckoning came when I went home anyway.
My reckoning came with pills, prescribed, morning and night.
I counted them out into her Day-Glo Days-of-the-Week pill-minder.
Her pain was not about me, but secretly, I wanted it to be.
I wanted someone to say, Oh, you’re doing such a good job.
The shame of that. How sometimes I watched myself in a movie
as I watched her strain to breathe, watched my hands move
around her doing everything they could, which was not
enough. It was hard to watch but it was easier to watch it
than to be there. Oh, my endless lack, hard as the prairie
scarred beneath the churning herd of wild horses I called
my sense of self. That self, that sense, scattering, and scattering
again. When I paused the movie in my head, all I had
were those horses and the chalked taste of the dust they kicked up—
and even that is metaphor, a kind of watching. Past the horses,
past their fear and sweat and trembling, what was left?
A pain that was not like anything else but was only itself.
The gap between who I wanted to be and who I was.
Nothing I did could save her, and I had to do it anyway.
I hated that. Counting the pills, I kept losing track.
The relentlessness of starting again—one, two, three …
their pastel shells clicking against the plastic. I listened
to my lack. I wanted to leave every day. I didn’t leave. I stayed.
That was the only miracle, and it wasn’t a miracle at all,
but it was a kind of healing, the kind I didn’t even know
enough to ask for. I want to tell the man in the Clint Eastwood movie
what that healing feels like. I want him to look back on a life
he rose to meet, to know how it is that we’re changed in the rising.
I’ve known men like that man in the movie—men who hide
in their bourbon, men who hide in their fiction, men who hide
in being men who can’t love, and all of it is the same hiding.
Fear disguised as grappling disguised as American manhood.
Men who drawl, Baby, I don’t want to hurt you, a hoarse chorus,
hurting and handsome in their pearl snaps, studying the map
Clint Eastwood stuffed in his pocket like that’s a map that could ever
bring them anywhere new. Baby, I want to say, burn that sad map.
Spit out the fucking chew that will kill you. If you want interesting,
forget the drugs, the blood, the road. Forget your own lack,
every idea about how you can’t love or what you deserve.
If you want a reckoning, love someone for a long time.
There’s never been a map. At the end of the metaphor
is a gap that hurts to look at. Look anyway. Our reckoning
is here, and you know the only kind of reckoning I trust
ends in more love. The kind you can only see in the looking back—
but look. Look. There. How we changed. How we rose.

[Sophia Stid: “Lately, I’ve been leaning into a kind of poetics of friendship—writing poems for my friends, because of my friends, writing with their words taped over my desk. This poem started in a dark movie theater in Nashville with my friend Joanna. (We were about to watch a terrible movie, although we didn’t know that yet.) Joanna is able to sit with paradox better than anyone else I know, and later that night she’d give me a back rub as we sat tangled up on the stairs in a cabin out in backwoods Tennessee, watching our friend Bea play a house show. This poem is for Joanna, and for Bea, for my friend Jack, and for everyone who finds themselves giving or needing care, or in a reckoning, in the gap—which, right now, seems to be all of us.”]

QUOTE:  "When you get to the end of all the light you know and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly." ~ Edward Teller

Tuesday, March 2, 2021

Don't You (Forget About Me) (Simple Minds)


Hilarious story (poking fun at myself!) to share:

I was with my grandbaby Colin all day, and most of the evening, this past Friday and, when I got home, there was a package from Books & Books in Coral Gables on my doorstep.  I opened it up, found a book I've been wanting to read but haven't yet made time for (no gift message enclosed), and smiled at the idea of someone lovingly (and anonymously) sending me a present:  a memoir (one of my favorite genres!) and from, not Amazon, but an independent bookstore, no less!

I asked around with The Usual Suspects, and no one 'fessed up.  I continued to smile at the mischief and thoughtfulness of whoever was behind this, and I called the bookstore Sunday in an attempt to track down the mysterious benefactor.  M asked me to call back the next day to follow-up with someone in their Shipping Department... which I did on Monday morning, and spoke to K, who was very nice, took down my info, and promised to call me back, which *she* did, about an hour later.

K said she was unable to find anything, but... they did recently mail out multiple copies of Lab Girl by Hope Jahren, related to a Miami Book Fair offer for The Big Read, happening this Spring... and I had a moment of Epiphany/Embarrassment.  I truly believed someone had surprised me but, in actuality, I surprised myself, having completely forgotten that I had requested a copy.  Ha ha ha ha ha!

I already owned the book and figured that, if I qualified for the free copy (you can get one, too), I'd pass it on to a friend (which I will do tomorrow when I see her... 💝

P.S.  As the title of today's blog post, I was going to use I Scare Myself (Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks) or If I Only Had a Brain (The Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz) but... I had already invoked them in past entries (and yes, I quoted the Ani DiFranco "goldfish have no memory" song lyrics in one of them, too!).  Oh f*cking well... 😃




POEM:  Memory by Conchitina Cruz

I can't remember his name
but I recall the way he didn't
forget things easily -- what dress I wore
to class three days ago, phone numbers of rooms
for rent on bulletin boards, the crops
of local regions we're made to memorize
in grade four. I never asked him
if he meant to keep these memories he had
no use for, and by choice or not, if he thought it a burden,
his power to remember
and remember well. After all, it meant too
that he always knew the right formulas to use
in exams, and if he forgot (which he never did),
he had all these other alternatives
in mind. I never did bother to wonder
if it was this same sharp memory that made
him know his losses well, from his missing pen
down to the girlfriend who left him, whom he spoke of
in few words but mentioned often.

As for me, I just long for the day when I need
not bluff my way out of a conversation
with -- what's his name? -- an acquaintance
from college, perhaps, or a regular
in my favorite restaurant. If there's one thing
I'm bound never to forget, it's how it feels
to wonder, once I'm out of the house,
if I was able to turn all the lights off, or worry
that I didn't unplug the iron. I've said hello
to actors down the street without being sure
who they are, certain only that their faces
seem familiar. It doesn't even dawn on me
until much later that I'm acquainted
with their nonexistent selves, their characters
in movies I've seen, the titles of which,
well, I can't seem to remember.

I think of the one who sat next
to me in Physics class, the one I envied so,
and I realize I might not even recognize
him if we see each other
now. I wonder who, between us,
is luckier: is it he, with all his recollections
and no way out
of his memory, or is it me, with my guilt
as I gaze at the past,
growing anonymous behind me?

QUOTE:  "Time moves in one direction, memory in another." ~ William Gibson