Thursday, March 28, 2024

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain

Related: I have been one acquainted with the ice. A surprise (TO ME) ice storm brought down a spectacular number of large branches into our yard, many of which fell upon and adjacent to the Honda of Nine Lives. It made for exciting photo opportunities but didn't cause any real damage. And our friend Geo came over immediately with his chainsaw and safety gear, so now our yard is full of logs that we'll eventually have to deal with. Pine and willow, pine and willow everywhere.

The ice was beautiful for days, sparkling in the trees and glittering down in shattered, shining pieces. Clover did. Not. Like it. There was crackling and popping like the whole world was full of strange brittle wind chimes. Now we've moved into the soggy phase. The birds are huge fans of the impromptu hiding spots around the yard, little bird fortresses of branch and pine needle, and even though the feeders are almost empty, they're thronged with the little brown ones.

I haven't collected much for you lately, but here are a few artifacts to tide you over:


Huh.


(Said in hiccup voice)



NOT ON YOUR TINTYPE, BUDDY.

Friday, March 22, 2024

(Insert bebop style scat singing here)

On the equinox, a cold day with heavy clouds that blew aside periodically so the sun could remind us it was still there, we listened to music outdoors, bundled into hats and coats. Mark even got his photo in the newspaper* (he's a small face among a cluster of small faces, and I am half a white hat to his left). I turned away from the music to photograph our long shadows on the dead, gold lawn behind us.


What else has been going on, according to my "notes," follows below:

Mark, on daylight saving time: "So it's 6:15 but we're pretending it's 7:15?"

I've been forgetting my dreams lately, but last night dreamt a menstrual products company called "Bulletproof Femininity."

An elderly Hannaford employee to me, a shivering 56-year-old woman in the parking lot: "Since I met you I’ve turned my life around! You — your aura — you’ve got a million dollar smile!"

A radiology tech to me on the phone: "Our breasts aren't twins — they're sisters."**

Sunrise Biscuit Kitchen worker, after we placed our drive-through order: "I appreciate you."

An unclaimed belt, abandoned in a bin at Logan Airport security. Why did this seem so poignant? 


Lines I liked:

“I like a little sand in my oyster.” — Joan Acocella

"If there is anything I’d enjoy before I die, it’d be not having to see your fucking horrible bastard face wandering around my garden." — Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera, just before having her leg amputated

"Calm is a form of resistance." — John Berger

“It is a moral failure to miss the profound beauty of the world.” — Lauren Groff

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." — 14th-century mystic Julian of Norwich

"Quel est ton tourment?"*** — Simone Weil



*DM me for a link

**All is well in the mammary department

***"What are you going through?"

Friday, January 26, 2024

All things go

I've got to be honest, I have had recurring thoughts lately of shutting down this blorg. I'm not sure why, aside from a general feeling that the internets have become something I want to use only in a very methodical, efficient way and then turn my attention away from entirely. And if I come here and post a rabbit each month, methodically? Well, that's pretty boring, number one. I was going to say number two, I'm running out of locations for my monthly rabbit photo shoot, but that's ridiculous. THE WORLD IS MY RABBIT RABBIT OYSTER.

Maybe I'll start a newsletter? is a thought I've had on and off for three or four years. I have actually signed up for and then deleted several different newslettering platforms over the years. 

Maybe Google will eliminate Blogger is a thought I've had on and off for at least 15 years. Also, Why on earth hasn't Google eliminated Blogger, no one but me uses it anymore.

I realized today that I started this thing almost 19 years ago, and so I decided I should keep going at least until my big 20th anniversary, assuming Google doesn't pull the plug in the next 16 months. To wit:


This month in animals:

CROWS. Holly and I made a pledge to become old ladies who are friends with crows, and to that end I am continuing to foster my relationship with the crows in my yard and on my regular dog walking routes. Yesterday in the grocery store parking lot I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out peanuts, a penny (lucky: found on the ground), and a couple of rocks. I am a 12-year-old pretending to have a bank account and a driver's license and two grown children.

BEARS.

BEARS. Langlais Sculpture Preserve. 

CLOVER. Clover in boots, Clover in a jacket. Clover in Mark's arms, because we didn't put her boots on and her paws hurt from the salted sidewalks.

I'm Virginia, adoring and worrying over you (you're Pinka, her beloved spaniel).