Spring has sprung. I know - I live in Michigan - there is a chance of snow up until May. But, the daffodils are blooming, the hyacinths aren't far behind. I pass red-wing blackbird sentinels on the entrance ramp to the highway.
My refrigerator is filled with lovely produce: new asparagus, fresh lettuces, bright green scallions. I love spring. Of course I love to eat... Mmmm. We got the grill out this evening - it started to rain as soon as I lit the charcoal.
It is spring break for the kidlets. We started it off with TMNT (teenage mutant ninja turtles) movie. Fun. Ok, well it was until 1/2 way through when A threw up, loudly. Poor kid. He looked so pale and white afterwards. He didn't miss much of the movie, though. Poor girls in the row in front of him - it was kind of stinky.
So, I am spring cleaning. It wasn't exactly planned, however. A new box of olive oil - purchased for the cool packaging - leaked all over my corner cabinet (one of those with the spinning shelves). As soon as I got that cleaned up (which involved taking the door off of the cabinet, and all the food out of the cabinet, and then replacing all of the above) I noticed that the floor was wet. The seal around the drain in the kitchen sink failed. After emptying out that cabinet, and drying it out, I started cleaning out the utility sink in the laundry room. M called me for something and I accidentally left the water running. The plug was in and the entire sink overflowed. Some time later, I realized that the water was running. and running, and running. It ended up raining in the basement. C was NOT HAPPY. Neither was I, truthfully. The copious amounts of dirty clothes on the laundry room floor were soaked. The storage room in the basement was wet. I ended up being late picking up the kids from school. But now I have a sparkling laundry room. and kitchen. (But really - could someone let the universe know that I can handle the rest of the house without any "encouragement"?)
Just finished reading two Carol O'Connell mysteries, the newest Deborah Crombie mystery, and I'm in the midst of The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff for the YARG (young adult reading group) on Readerville.com
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more sooner than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most mad and moonly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
-e.e. cummings
This poem was hung in my grandmother's kitchen. I read it every day my senior year of high school and never thought of what it meant. Each word is familiar, recognizable, comfortable. In the summer I'd run the paths around the "farm" and each bump, each tree, each stone was remembered by my body. Breathe, breathe, step, step, jump a bit, duck. This poem is the same way. I love the way it sounds, the way it feels on my tongue. I'm thinking of hanging it in my own kitchen - and then I think I should find my own anthem to display, or write one. As I re-read the poem I wonder what my grandmother liked about it. Did she like (as I do) the alliteration? The idea that love is mad and moonly? What was her idea of love - she who eloped and didn't tell her father for 3 months that she was married (in the 1930s); the mother of 4 children (1 adopted); the country doctor's wife? My favorite line is "less bigger than the least begin". Perhaps this poem was her way of warning me about expectations.
I was looking for some books tonight for a friend. I thought they were down with my school stuff, but I must have put them somewhere else. I did find this poem, and 3 other books I haven't read, 1 book that I was discussing with my father today, and a buckwheat-hull pillow. There are times, (many, many times!) that I wish I was a more organized person, but where would the fun be in that? I enjoy these mini-treasure hunts, and the fact that there are more books in this house that I need to read than books I've read.
Oooh, I just finished The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Wow. This was a poignant, enchanting, moving, poetic book. After I'd read the last chapter, I turned back to the beginning and started over. We're having a discussion of it at Readerville (in fact, I'm discussion leader, and I can't think of anything intelligent to say. I just want to gush!)
I've also read Beka Cooper: Terrier by Tamora Pierce, a Sharon Shinn book: Dark Moon Defender, and a Lois McMaster Bujold novel: The Sharing Knife: Beguilement. Now I'm in the middle of a Jane Yolen book about Dragons, and East by Edith Pattou.
more thinner than recall
more sooner than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most mad and moonly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
-e.e. cummings
This poem was hung in my grandmother's kitchen. I read it every day my senior year of high school and never thought of what it meant. Each word is familiar, recognizable, comfortable. In the summer I'd run the paths around the "farm" and each bump, each tree, each stone was remembered by my body. Breathe, breathe, step, step, jump a bit, duck. This poem is the same way. I love the way it sounds, the way it feels on my tongue. I'm thinking of hanging it in my own kitchen - and then I think I should find my own anthem to display, or write one. As I re-read the poem I wonder what my grandmother liked about it. Did she like (as I do) the alliteration? The idea that love is mad and moonly? What was her idea of love - she who eloped and didn't tell her father for 3 months that she was married (in the 1930s); the mother of 4 children (1 adopted); the country doctor's wife? My favorite line is "less bigger than the least begin". Perhaps this poem was her way of warning me about expectations.
I was looking for some books tonight for a friend. I thought they were down with my school stuff, but I must have put them somewhere else. I did find this poem, and 3 other books I haven't read, 1 book that I was discussing with my father today, and a buckwheat-hull pillow. There are times, (many, many times!) that I wish I was a more organized person, but where would the fun be in that? I enjoy these mini-treasure hunts, and the fact that there are more books in this house that I need to read than books I've read.
Oooh, I just finished The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. Wow. This was a poignant, enchanting, moving, poetic book. After I'd read the last chapter, I turned back to the beginning and started over. We're having a discussion of it at Readerville (in fact, I'm discussion leader, and I can't think of anything intelligent to say. I just want to gush!)
I've also read Beka Cooper: Terrier by Tamora Pierce, a Sharon Shinn book: Dark Moon Defender, and a Lois McMaster Bujold novel: The Sharing Knife: Beguilement. Now I'm in the middle of a Jane Yolen book about Dragons, and East by Edith Pattou.
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