is this your heart arithmetic?

How much do you love me, a million bushels?
Oh, a lot more than that, Oh, a lot more.

And tomorrow maybe only half a bushel?
Tomorrow maybe not even a half a bushel.

And is this your heart arithmetic?
This is the way the wind measures the weather.

[Carl Sandburg, 'How Much?', from The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg]

how little our eyes permit us to see

What follows are a few of the sights from the past week.

Hour-long drive with half-hour detour. Old friend. Pizza & beer. The end.

After some time to recover--different friend. Different beer, this time with nachos. Delicious.

Same night, my second beer choice. Different but also delicious--this time, with chicken strips. The bar does a punch-card deal with their very wide selection of fancy beers; so far we've got about eight punches. 

Lying on the ground on a gentle rise in the park, looking up at the tree overhead. A bit sinister close up.

A different tree, up the rise, closer to the river.

Only one of the street lights at the levee has ivy on it, though it grows in proximity to each of them. Mysterious!

The ivy-covered light pole, from the opposite direction, with bridge and sunset.

Farmers' Market on Saturday. Hotter than blazes (yes, I was mostly in the shade) and a great atmosphere. I can't wait to go back.

Tube cat, sleeping next to me while we watched The Princess Bride. As you wish, Buttercup.

Other cat, always curious. She loves me--til she needs to bite me.

[the title quotation is by Dorothea Lange, and reads in its entirety: "While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see."]

it's easy to cry when you realize that everyone you love will reject you or die

Too many feelings and nowhere for them to go.
the truth is
that I miss you so
A warnin' sign
It came back to haunt me, and I realized
That you were an island,
and I passed you by
Roaming through this darkness
I'm alive but I'm alone
Part of me is fighting this
But part of me is gone

How could she say to me
Love will find a way?
Gather round all you clowns
Let me hear you say

Hey--you've got to hide your love away

["Hide Your Love Away" by Lennon & McCartney; the title quotation is by Chuck Palahniuk]

sing our praise to forgetfulness

The morning air is all awash with angels
[Richard Wilbur, “Love Calls Us to the Things of This World”]
The eyes open to a blue telephone
In the bathroom of this five-star hotel.

I wonder whom I should call? A plumber,
Proctologist, urologist, or priest?

Who is blessed among us and most deserves
The first call? I choose my father because

He’s astounded by bathroom telephones.
I dial home. My mother answers. “Hey, Ma,”

I say, “Can I talk to Poppa?” She gasps,
And then I remember that my father

Has been dead for nearly a year. “Shit, Mom,”
I say. “I forgot he’s dead. I’m sorry--

How did I forget?” “It’s okay,” she says.
“I made him a cup of instant coffee

This morning and left it on the table--
Like I have for, what, twenty-seven years--

And I didn’t realize my mistake
Until this afternoon.” My mother laughs

At the angels who wait for us to pause
During the most ordinary of days

And sing our praise to forgetfulness
Before they slap our souls with their cold wings.

Those angels burden and unbalance us.
Those fucking angels ride us piggyback.

Those angels, forever falling, snare us
And haul us, prey and praying, into dust.

[Sherman Alexie, 'Grief Calls Us to the Things of This World' from Face]

other things may change us, but we start and end with the family

    Weekends are funny. There's either nothing to do, and then they feel wasted, or too much to do, making them feel more like workdays. The last few days have been an odd combination of very busy and totally aimless, with the odd result that I feel both lazy and exhausted.
     Yesterday (and today) was the annual Family Camp-Out and Picnic, held on some property that my godparents own. It is my dad's side of the family, plus a couple of different sets of in-laws extending out from there. When everyone is present, the group is very big. This year's was apparently on the smaller side, but one person counted 68 people when we finally all sat down to eat lunch.
     It was my first time at the event. In previous years, I've been either back in the Flatland or here but with other plans. I was not terribly enthusiastic about attending, but finally decided that it was likely to be better than anticipated and also just easier to go than not.
     I spent most of the day getting reacquainted with my closest-in-age cousin, Jenni. Off and on over the years we have been good friends, although less so since marriages and her children led us in different directions. It was particularly nice to spend some time with her because she will be moving in a few weeks. We have tentative plans for me to visit her when I can; we'll see how feasible that turns out to be.
     There was also time to catch up some with some other cousins (including the ones that I see every month or two) and the aunts and uncles. I answered the same questions a few times (where I am now, where I was before, where I'm working, what sort of house I'd like to buy...) and had some blessed silence while sitting with my brother.
     The biggest news out of the party was that I got badly sunburnt (no need to scold; that has all been done and over-done), and that we left too early to experience the full-on argument between a pair of brothers over something that was published to FB without the express permission of the others it affected. I'm glad that it happened when I wasn't there, because that sort of thing really pushes my buttons; I'd have had a hard time not going OFF about it.
     Today I've been reading, dozing, and slathering the burns with lotion. And making lots of plans for the week; I have plans nearly every day. With luck, there will be photo proof of ...most of it.

[the title quotation is by Anthony Brandt]

more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals

The next in a continuing series from Listography: Your Life in Lists (written by Lisa Nola, illustrated by Nathaniel Russell)--

List Your Best Purchases

• My bed. It cost a bundle, but I never regretted it. Most comfortable bed EVER.
• Republic of Tea. Good tea is priceless, and this stuff is really good.
• One of those spring-top nail polish remover bottles like they have in a salon. It makes the whole process neat and easy.
• Black Coach wallet
• My first cell phone. It caused and/or led to no end of problems, but it was a key to happiness. Matching outside to inside.
• Diamond earrings. The big ones.
• 'The Brothers K' from Book-of-the-Month Club (for cover art alone).
• That creamy-white bra from Victoria's Secret in Orlando, near Church Street Station.
• My desktop computer. I needed a server, really, and this does most of that job perfectly.
• Original art. Any and all.

It was hard to think about this in context other than "expensive but worth it." Where does your mind go?

[the title quotation is by Oscar Wilde, from The Happy Prince, and reads in its entirety: “Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, for can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.”]

every man lives by exchanging

    I'm working on a big, complicated post that should be ready in a week or so. It's taken forever (one of those that I'll write notes about and research and plan) so the pressure is strong to make it just right.
     The camera purchase plan just got a couple of boosts. First, I managed to sell a bracelet that I've owned for several years but never actually liked. It was a gift, freely given, and the giver would not (I am certain) be offended that I was able to sell it. (Or, for that matter, that it will go toward a camera.) The jeweler offered more than I had expected, so it was a win all around. The proceeds have already been squirreled away in the pickle bucket.
     Second, a good friend who's a photographer set me up with a good deal of advice about what to buy and where to find it. That, combined with a "shopping list" that I'd already had (provided in part by another photographer friend), should help me find just the right thing for me--and at a decent price. Now I'm very excited and eager to get it into my hands!
     I went clothes shopping with a friend from work tonight. It was more like wandering the aisles making fun of things and silently wishing I were four sizes smaller, but...it was fun, too. It's been a very long time since I've splurged on clothes, and the desire was strong. Someday!
     A piece of rather odd news has made its way to me. I found out that my former spouse's current spouse has acknowledged something in which I play a part, on social media. It surprised me for two reasons: one, that our paths even cross at all; and two, that she would deign to "like" something of that sort. It is an endless and inherently unpleasant puzzle, being in this relative position. I'd certainly not anticipated it before I got here.
     I really should have been a welder. Or an HR Generalist. (And every time I see a job posting for "Plant Manager" I interpret it the wrong way.)

[the title quotation is by Adam Smith]

glove slap, I don't take crap! glove slap, shut your big yap!

• Can you do any accents other than your own? I try, but I'm not very skilled. Pretty much everything ends up sounding "Fronsch" or Irish after a while.
• Do you have a strong local accent? I don't think so? But I'm sure I'll be accused of same the next time I'm down in the flat. They tend to find it "charming."
• If evil-doers invaded your country would you rush to the battle-lines to defend the motherland, or hide in a box? that would certainly depend upon the sort of evil that the doers were doing. I would like to think I wouldn't just roll up and die cowering in a box, though.
• What's your favourite flower? tulips, as dark as possible. I once photographed a huge pot of peach-colored tulips near a museum in Washington, D.C., in which four purple-black specimens had cropped up. They stole my little gardening heart.
• Have you ever given blood? I have not. I've tried twice and been turned down both times, once because my weight was wrong, and the other for an obvious cold. My parents have given several dozen gallons each. This is definitely on my "get started already" list.
• Could you ever be a medical guinea pig? I could, but I haven't yet. One of my former coworkers was big into donating plasma and that sort of thing (which I realize is not "guinea pig-ish"), and she's done a couple of medical experiments for money. I guess I'm just very leery.
• What's your favourite radio station? I never listen to the radio. It just doesn't occur to me. I don't even have stations preset in my car.
• Have you ever slapped someone in public? yes, I was urged and agreed to slap my former boyfriend (for reasons that made sense at the time) in front of God, the neighbors, and his mother. I did so, reluctantly--and then wished I'd done it far earlier and much harder.
• Have you ever drawn on a sleeping or inebriated person? indeed, I once shaved off a friend's eyebrow and drew it back in with a Sharpie. It may sound very wrong, but it was utterly deserved.
• Can you roll your R's? yes! My one talent.
• Rebound relationships: good or bad? if you're an adult, every relationship is a rebound in some way. The only alternative is to date someone who's never been serious about anything. Scary.
• Would you ever sign a prenuptial agreement? I would--but never forget that I'm a lawyer, I have a lawyer, and I know several dozen more. Fair is fair.
• Is your bellybutton an innie or outie? it's sort of mid-level innie, and I'm thinking of having it pierced

[gleaned from here and sliced into dainty bits; the title quotation is from "Glove Slap"--featuring the B-52s, from The Simpsons, Season 11 Episode 5--"E-I-E-I-Doh!"]

Made for my arms Made for my kisses, Made for my soul

My eyes went away from me
Following a dark girl who went by.

She was made of black motherofpearl
Made of darkpurple grapes,
And she lashed my blood
With her tail of fire.

After them all I go.

A pale blonde went by
Like a golden plant
Swaying her gifts.
And my mouth went
Like a wave
Discharging on her breast
Lightningbolts of blood.

After them all I go.

But to you, without my moving,
Without seeing you, distant you,
Go my blood and my kisses,
My dark one and my fair one,
My broad one and my slender one,
My ugly one, my beauty,
Made of all the gold
And of all the silver,
Made of all the wheat
And of all the earth,
Made of all the water
Of sea waves,
Made for my arms
Made for my kisses,
Made for my soul.

[Pablo Neruda, 'The Fickle One', from The Poetry of Pablo Neruda, trans. from the Spanish by Ilan Stavans]

writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself

    I received an incredibly lovely compliment earlier this week. It is amazing how something so simple can be so very touching. The best thing about it was that it was accompanied by absolute certainty that it was genuine, and reciprocated. Prehaps I cannot have everything that I want, but what I have is sure precious, anyway.
     At work today, I got into an argument with a some colleagues about the essential elements of a contract. It went on for a few minutes and was fairly heated - until one of them started laughing. When the rest of us looked at him questioningly, he said, pointing to me: "I think we should take her word for it." It was the first time there that I've gotten that automatic respect.
     I'm having a hard time writing lately. Lots of ideas but nothing is coming out, at least not the way I want it to. It might have to do with the weird sleep I'm getting, or not getting. Or leftover stress about the house and job. If there's an obvious answer that I'm not seeing, fill me in.
     This week's building, with details to come, from West 3td St. What is that thing on the top?

[the title quotation is by Franz Kafka]

Were dreams liminal or prayers hymns to light for intercessory grace, I'd still want this crippling pain

Were I broken, prone to

a vocabulary of falling snow,
limited, perhaps,

in mobility or vision,
I’d still want this beautiful
world.  Were dreams
liminal or prayers hymns
to light for intercessory

grace, I’d still
want this crippling pain.
Because love bleeds.  Because
a = a means something
to linguists more concerned

with the copula’s death...
The world impresses those
speechless few—waiting,
always, by the window.

[Steve Mueske, 'For the Melancholy' {based Man Ray's,“Lautgedicht”}]

sometimes it's necessary to go a long distance out of the way in order to come back a short distance correctly

1. What's the best piece of advice anyone has ever given you?
   "Don't get attached to the plan." As with all advice, it's easier said than done, but it's a worthy goal. It's all well and good to try and sort out your life, but pretending that you're in complete control is folly.
2. If a loved one was to serenade you, what song would you most like them to sing?
   "Hallelujah" (the Jeff Buckley version)
   
3. Would you ever let your parents pick out a partner for you?
   that is a very funny thought. I wonder where I'd end up? I suppose I would give their suggestions fair play, particularly if they came from one more than the other of my 'rents.
4. Michelangelo's David...masterpiece or filth?
   my distaste for something doesn't make it "filth"--and, anyway, it is a masterpiece, in my mind at least
5. Do you like other people buying you clothes?
   another funny thought, since it happens so very rarely. I've received some gifts of homemade clothes--mittens, scarves, hats, socks--that I could not love more. And I suppose I'm hard to buy for. Making allowances for size and whatnot, I would love to get clothes.
6. What one device would you want to see added to a mobile phone?
   "unsend"
7. Where do you see yourself in 10 years' time?
   I could not hate this question any more than I do right now. I find it the most pompous, overbearing, obnoxious commentary on the way one ought to live. HATE it.
   
   Hate it.
   
   Ugh.

8. 

   Not in my dreams!

   Do your dreams ever tell you to do anything?
   You mean, like, to kill?
   No, my dreams are a lot more vague and impressionistic, rather than realistic and straight-forward. When I remember them, it's usually a sense of having felt something, rather than having done/seen/understood something.
9. Have you ever been to an Art gallery?
   I have, though I don't generally capitalize the "A" in art in that sense. Just last weekend, I was in a surprisingly snooty and expensive gallery in a very small town nearby. I saw a photograph there that I can't get out of my mind; I'm thinking of going back this weekend to buy it.
10. Do you shout out the answers at the TV whilst watching quiz shows?
    I'm not much of a shout-er anytime, and I do try to be well behaved, but...yeah. I do.
11. Are you a valuable asset on a Pub Quiz team?
    maybe? I don't tend to win Trivial Pursuit, but there are indeed some things that I know
12. If you could bankrupt one person or company who would it be?
    how about a Middle East terror organization? I'm motivated to wish for that one to go under, literally and figuratively.
13. If you could steal one thing without consequence what would it be?
    just one heart.

[borrowed from here and divided into many pieces; the title quotation is by Edward Albee]

let me be surrounded by luxury, I can do without the necessities!

Prompted by Listography: Your Life in Lists (written by Lisa Nola, illustrated by Nathaniel Russell)--

List Things You'd Do If You Won the Lottery

• Buy a house. (No, really.) In town, 2 BR/2 BA, attached 2-car garage. Small yard. Not on a corner lot.
• Buy another house, in the hills, on a dozen acres and flanked by old-growth trees, with a view of the river out back. 4 BR, 5 BA; game room; sun room (four-season) for plants. A "baker's kitchen." Detached four-car garage.
• Buy five more cars, of increasing ridiculousness and cost, and decreasing practicality.
• Quit my damn job.
• Pay off my best friends' bills, and buy them some frivolous things that they will like, and that I would love to give: jewelry, cat couches, books GALORE. Massages and pedicures. Another motorcycle. Running shoes.
  And beg/force/weasel a couple of those friends into leaving their jobs, too. Life is too short to be miserable, if we can avoid it.
• Get a big stack of $50 bills to stash in plain sight: in children's books at the library, under the salt shaker at a restaurant; in envelopes mailed to people I barely know. At the bus stop. In the laundromat.
• Endow some scholarships here and there, in the names of those who've influenced me greatly and would be honored by the gesture.
• Take a few vacations. Give a few vacations.
• Tip extravagantly, in places where it doesn't happen but would come in handy.
• Set up standard haircut appointments for my favorite boy--and in-home nail treatments for his sister.
• Buy all the preppiest clothes I can find (J.Peterman and J.Crew and J.Jill), and some giraffe boots, and about fifty dresses from Modcloth. And SO many shoes....
• Shop the heck out of my favorite stores, buying as much local as possible.
• Sleep!

This was more difficult and complicated than I had expected. It's easy to be selfish and to imagine swimming in a glorious, steamy vat of luxury, but the list of Me Want is not as long as the list of I'd Like To.... That's a good thought!

[the title quotation is by Oscar Wilde]

an apotheosis of loafing

    It's been a tiring, sad, funny weekend. A huge, delicious ice cream cone (flavor: "This %^&*'s Gettin' Real").  Driving around where my grandparents used to live. Visiting a very quaint town of which I've heard a lot but never visited. Nearly a bottle of cream soda, but that just didn't happen. My first taste of Beer-can Chicken. Lots of explosions and laughing; spectacular fireworks almost directly overhead, giggling teen-aged girls narrating. A slow drive home, during which I saw a baby skunk and a very large cat that was too big to be a standard domestic kitty.
     The last week was a reminder that I do not live to work. Think what you will about me, I'm simply not an ambitious person, and trying to pretend that I am is enormously exhausting.
     This weekend was a reminder that I am happiest and most peaceful when I'm doing what feels good at the time, with someone on an equal level of motivation/inspiration and creativity. It doesn't have to be expensive or complicated (though it certainly can be!), because what matters is the way that it feels.
     I need a vacation. I was reading an article from the Weather Channel about 50 Amazing Places to Go in Canada, and was transfixed at the thought of truly relaxing for more than a few hours at a time. What a luxury that would be!
     Maybe I just need some sleep.

[the title quotation is by E.F. Benson, from "Expiation" in The Collected Ghost Stories of E.F. Benson, and reads in its entirety below]

...vicinity to the sea is desirable, because it is easier to do nothing by the sea than anywhere else, and because bathing and basking on the shore cannot be considered an employment but only an apotheosis of loafing.

great art is horseshit, buy tacos

    It's the Third of July. That's obviously the time when everyone in this town buys stuff to blow up. I had forgotten how much the booms echo between the bluffs until tonight.
     This time of year is filled with mixed memories for me. My former spouse and I nearly broke up at a fireworks display, because of a disagreement about my engagement ring. He wanted it to select it solely on his own, and I wanted to at least offer some preferences about style and so forth. He was absolutely adamant that, as it was a gift, I ought to want to be surprised by it. It was my view that, as the person would would ostensibly wear the thing for the rest of my days, prehaps having some say in it would not be inappropriate. The discussion got pretty heated, and by the end of it we were just yelling for the sake of yelling and not even making any sense. We got back into the car to drive home after the fireworks were over, and he took a wrong turn onto the interstate (meaning he took the eastbound exit rather than the westbound). We had to go about 10 miles in exactly the wrong direction before the next exit, where he turned us around and reversed course. Neither of us said a word in that entire time.
     He "won" the argument--by not letting me know that he was buying the ring until he'd already done it.
     We sort of made up for all of that a couple of years later. We'd been staying with his parents in southeastern Cheeseland (in the home of Snap-On and Jockey) (and that city is now a part of the Flatland's main "Metropolitan Statistical Area", which makes me laugh a little), and were headed down into one of the Windy suburbs to visit his best friend from boyhood. We left fairly late on the 4th, and discovered as we drove that we'd timed it nearly perfectly: fireworks displays opened before us and spread south along the way, so that we had a light show nearly nonstop. The most spectacular was at the amusement park, which really does it up. Lots of the northern suburbs go all-out, too, providing a lot to see and hear. It was an awesome experience, made even better by how unexpected it was.
     After that relationship ended (and after I'd traded in that ring for a pair of earrings that I'm wearing right now), I was involved with a guy named Nick. He had some issues (don't we all?), one of which was a severe, pathological reaction to loud, sudden noises. Fireworks are a nightmare for him. He dreaded the later part of June and half of July, and spent every possible moment in the basement.
     There's no good way to deal with that--with loving someone who's in their own personal Hell and knowing that one is powerless to help--and I'm sure that I took some missteps along the way. One night, though, it worked out pretty well. We hadn't spent much time together in a while, in part because of his annual avoidance techniques and in part because of our own relationship arrangements. For some reason, he decided that it would be all right if we went out for a while, very late. We drove to the next town over, to a weird sort of diner that sits at the edge of campus. I have no idea what he ordered besides coffee (which he drank very light and sweet), with which he smoked his ubiquitous cigarettes. I had a Coke and a big plate of blueberry pancakes and bacon. I was wearing a black cashmere v-necked sweater and an amber and brown beaded choker. He wore his camel overcoat and a gray suit. (He was prone to that sort of stylish dressing, as a rule.) How do I know all this? Because, for no reason that I can remember, he grabbed my camera when we were leaving my apartment, and we took pictures of each other over the course of the two or three hours that we were there. In those photos, I look tired but exhilarated, a little wired from the sugar, and happy. He looks pensive, exhausted, and utterly gorgeous.
     What we had between us was big, odd, sometimes ugly, often quiet and sweet--and dead, long before we let it rest. I think, though, that fireworks will always remind me of being loved, and needed, and feeling strong.
     Fireworks. If you see my gaze get a little farther away than usual while we're talking about them, now you'll know why.

[the title quotation is by Charles Bukowski]

I would indeed that love were longer-lived

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.

[Edna St. Vincent Millay, 'I Shall Forget You Presently' from A Few Figs from Thistles]