Sunday, December 10, 2017

an angle in

The second day of living in snow world saw melting, even what was  my sled run. I'm relieved that the snow is passing; 50 cents urged his hens out; I drove up and down the road with Mr. Lee in the truck - the road good for Subaru, not yet for Prius. Perhaps the road will clear before the bitter cold due on Tuesday with possibility of more snow. A very cold forecast for mid-week, but 50's are back by the weekend! Ann has organized dinner at Palisades Wednesday night to celebrate birthday. 
I've almost completed a puzzle of cows (cow sculptures painted by artists, from sudo-Picasso to sudo-vanGogh). Mr. Lee and I walked up to the blue house, looking for deer to run - or Mr. Lee was. I can imagine a puzzle business which would for a reasonable price transform your own pictures into puzzles - it seems like it could be done cheaply. Though this picture would not be fun to puzzle. 
Behind my daily routine runs an inner dialogue, trying to figure a way to stop the Republican methodical dismantling of the federal government. It is excruciating to watch. And for the last week Los Angeles burns - to horrid to watch. And all the while I am in my snow globe with books and puzzle and my dear dog and cat, 10 chickens and art.

Friday, December 8, 2017

A Reading, flurries and chilblains

Chelsea Adams and Parks Lanier asked me to join them for a poetry reading with Kevin McDaniel at a coffee shop in Pulaski. Kevin is a young former student of Chelsea's and of Park's. He's quite good and I liked his poems. Chelsea read mostly from her fine Coffee poems, fitting for the setting and Parks read some very wonderfully funny poems. I was hesitant to follow with my choice of heavy pieces. But it seemed ok with the small audience. Diane and Elizabeth and Jack came which was a treat for me! Parks remembered that years ago (35+) when he and I and Chelsea read at University Mall, Blacksburg - I had read a poem with fuck in it and the mall had hooked us to a loud speaker which traveled everywhere including where Santa was holding court. The rest of the poets were banished to the bank to finish the reading! The memory was kindled as I read a poem "Below Sea Level" with the words, "fucking shit." Parks also remembered that when I first met him I had said that his Sydney Lanier ancestor had known my poet ancestor Paul Hamilton Hayne. 
Now I am trying to keep my fingers warm in the house with flurries and icy particles falling all about the house. Jennicksa sent pictures of snow in Houston! Sharon texts from Ocean Springs that it is sleeting a bit north of her. I suspect I'll not go to town to join Chris and Elizabeth at the movies - phooey. And I've eggs that need distribution. I have deduced that I suffer from chilblains, fingers and toes suffer from the cold by swelling and turning red and sometimes developing small blisters. I'm taking a homeopathic remedy (Agaracus) and trying to keep warm - gloves on inside - except now as I try to type. I think I need seriously to consider more time away in the winter. I am so rooted to this place, but not all of my physical self agrees with its associated weather. 
And here's a photo of big head reading! ha.