a poem for spring break

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This is how I feel today.


The Thought of Something Else
by Wendell Berry


1.
A spring wind blowing
the smell of the ground
through the intersections of traffic,
the mind turns, seeks a new
nativity—another place,
simpler, less weighted
by what has already been.

Another place!
it’s enough to grieve me—
that old dream of going,
of becoming a better man
just by getting up and going
to a better place.

2.
The mystery. The old
unaccountable unfolding.
The iron trees in the park
suddenly remember forests.
It becomes possible to think of going

3.
—a place where thought
can take its shape
as quietly in the mind
as water in a pitcher,
or a man can be
safely without thought
—see the day begin
and lean back,
a simple wakefulness filling
perfectly
the spaces among the leaves.


from Collected Poems of Wendell Berry
which I am enjoying immensely, slowly, one poem at a time.

(Available, incidentally, along with all of Berry's books, from the good folks at Cumberland Books who provide a wealth of good and noble and praiseworthy things for us to think upon, and who have inspiring integrity... for example, they enclosed a handwritten check for a couple of bucks in my last order because one of the books I ordered was on discount for folks who were participating in the group reading going on at the Dominion Family blog, and I guess they just figured that was why I was buying it... which it was, but I hadn't mentioned that because I don't mind paying a couple of dollars more when I buy from a Christian family business. Because of that, I didn't cash the check, but the gesture says a lot about how they treat their customers.) .

It was the Scotsman, in the yard, with a spray gun.

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That's the clue you'll need if I should mysteriously turn up missing sometime this weekend.

It went down like this, gumshoes. Earlier today Great Scot was trying to slip out the door to go buy his annual fix of pre-emergent supercarcinogenic death juice with which he likes to douse the dirt-with-grass-comb-overs outside that we call our lawn.

But then our cats started brawling and woke me up.

Hoping I was still too groggy and caffeine-deprived to commence auditory processing for the day, he muttered something or other about where he was headed. To me, mind you. The me who ever hales from crunchy organic crusaders who kept their Rodale encyclopedias next to their Bibles, but now also the me who's a cleaned-up, greened-up cancer survivor. Yeah, buddy. Look out.

Hence (from a dead sleep, mind you) I launched a minimally coherent campaign for him to repent from his death juice junkie ways! Head instead, I implored him, to the very green & groovy Redenta's Garden Center! Begin the redemptive process of learning how to manage our yard organically!

Great Scot is not happy with Queen Shenaynay.

Great Scot just wants to fetch his trusty, familiar carcinogen cocktail death juice and be done with it. Great Scot thinks Queen Shenaynay is a pain. But Great Scot knows that Her Royal Pain-ness now holds the cancer card, and she ain't afraid to use it.

Great Scot just left for Redenta's.

Or so he said. But he was shaking slightly from Roundup withdrawals and silently grumbling in his spirit about the more hateful aspects of marriage. So you never know. It may be that he is just pretending to go along and is actually on his way to the pawn shop.

So if I should turn up missing, please come look for a new hump in our yard that reeks of Roundup.

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pickles & dumplings

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While fossicking about the kitchen for a snack late one night, I sorta accidentally stumbled upon an altogether salubrious combo. I never would have planned to have these two things together, but now that I have, I think my hippocampus is irreversibly altered.

Now, it's better than it sounds, so promise me you'll try it before you dismiss it out of hand. Alrighty then.


Earl Grey + Popcorn.


It's addictive, trust me. But you have to do it just so to make this pair sing:

1. The popcorn needs a little butter and sea salt, but nothing else.

2. The Earl Grey needs milk and sugar. (Actually, I use agave nectar.) I usually drink it black, but up against popcorn it needs to be tricked up a little.

(Oh, and if you can froth the milk, so much the better. I love frothing milk. It gives me an excuse to say froth. Froth froth frothity froth. Frothy frithery froth. Froth frother frothest. You need to say froth sometimes, too, don't you? And I bet you didn't even know before now.)

It's just a serendipitous blend of crunchy, salty, sweet and creamy. And it's especially yummy with a good book and a big comfy chair.


So I told you mine; now tell me yours. Have any food combo quirks at your house?

Cheddar + Oreos?

Pretzels + Nutella?

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spud shares a poem

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...which he would like you to read aloud, seeing as how it is meant to be heard, and seeing as how this one is particularly hummish when heard aloud. We recommend a sort of sleepy, drowsy interpretation, taking your sweet time, because Milne was a sonic genius and we think you'll agree when you read this aloud in a slow, sleepy, drowsy voice. But you do what you like.


Water Lilies
by A. A. Milne


Where the water-lilies go
To and fro,
Rocking in the ripples of the water,
Lazy on a leaf lies the Lake King's daughter,
And the faint winds shake her.
Who will come and take her?
I will! I will!
Keep still! Keep still!
Sleeping on a leaf lies the Lake King's daughter. . .
Then the wind comes skipping
To the lilies on the water;
And the kind winds wake her.
Now who will take her?
With a laugh she is slipping
Through the lilies on the water.
Wait! Wait!
Too late, too late!
Only the water-lilies go
To and fro,
Dipping, dipping,
To the ripples of the water.

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blinkety blink blink

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Ever see a character in your Sunday comic section do this?

(Give it a few seconds and you'll see what I mean.)

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