Thursday, February 08, 2018

Complaints, lodged

Just out here accidentally oxidizing my silver rings with stinky chemical depilatory product. And you?

I have the hand skin of a 1000 year old woman, and I'm at that point in the winter when

  • I'm allergic to every possible hand lotion, meaning contact dermatitis that looks like a poison ivy rash and yet
  • My skin is so dry my fingertips are cracking painfully

I have Googled the hell out of "itchy scalp," and this is my favorite answer.

Monday, February 05, 2018

Your own shivering life

I ended up spending a lot of the weekend fending off some illness (cold, rather than flu, I'm now pretty sure) with spoonfuls of this and hot tea. I started a new stitching project and was greatly comforted by multiple episodes of Great British Bakeoff, the most soothing TV show ever. Last night we ate Mark's roasted salmon with spinach, and I used up great quantities of leftover stale baguette by making chocolate bread pudding. It had to be chocolate to get Mark to eat it (I suspect there's something he finds unsavory about the name BREAD PUDDING, but it's one of my favorite desserts). It was a bit too chocolatey, but otherwise delicious.

A year ago, we hadn't met this cutie yet!

But we already loved her.

Sunday, February 04, 2018

Tight and mean

A dream about a beloved pet shark, a baby with its teeth somehow on the outside and soft soft skin (you could pet it as it swam by, and it wasn't scary or disgusting), but then it grew bigger and bigger. We had to come to terms with the fact that it was a shark and sharks are capable of eating people. I think somehow it was wrestled out of the water and put in a room to die (I didn't do it, but someone did).

Another dream where I was hiding out in the back of an empty semi truck...and wandering through a huge fabric store that was also empty, possibly being prepared to be painted. No fabric to be seen.

Fighting off a sickness that I was afraid might be the Flu but I am feeling so much better today that perhaps not!


The Simile Museum.  “The girl’s face was as tight and mean as broccoli.” -Toni Morrison

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Absurdly between angels

Copyright Andrei Lacatusu

I repeatedly set aside a little time to write in this here blog and then proceed to have the weirdest sort of writer's block. Weird, because there is no writing required here, no need to write anything in particular or in any sort of way. It's purely for my own entertainment and memory. So silly to come up short, empty of words to say.

I blame the Social Media in part. Click on that photo above to see more of Social Decay, decrepit sign versions of social media names. There's something so satisfying about these! I am taking January off The Book of Faces, as I resolved to do (although in so doing, I missed a friend's fantastic dream that involved me, my favorite genre of dream! Thanks to my brother, I was able to read about it nearly in real time, phew).

Also, the amount of non-creative writing I do in a typical day has increased over the last year or two, and that may have something to do with it. That's actually one of the reasons I am attempting to keep this whole blog thing chugging along, so I don't lose my soul to marketing-speak. 


Recommended reading:

Regarding the Em-Dash
Punctuation matters.

Toward a Pathology of the Possessed
On schizophrenia.

Between Angels, by Stephen Dunn
"Between angels, on this earth
absurdly between angels, I
try to navigate..."


Through the window I'm watching the sky turn strangely yellow-gray, as ice coats the trees and wires. The snow will melt before it gets bitterly cold again, which is a strange state of affairs for January in Maine.

Friday, January 12, 2018

Jane


I'd never switch lives —
but if I had to, I'd choose
to be Jane Goodall.

Sunday, January 07, 2018

Resolve


I am that penguin.

It is cold, the kind of cold that bores through your exposed eyeballs and freezes the inside of your nose (that sensation always brings me back to being about ten years old in Chicago during an endless winter of towering snow). Tomorrow, they say, will be better. We've even slacked off on our regular dog walks, worried it will be too cold for Clover. Her feet get cold, and she holds them up one by one. We have walked only as far as Deering Oaks and a few times a day let them out back to bound around the yard.

photo by Xavi Bou

If birds left tracks in the sky, they'd look like this. Also like zippers, like strands of DNA, like fish bones painted in watercolor.


The inconsequential floor is beginning to shine.