good eats

The connection between my Boggle word, "tony," and the pre-Boggle pic-a-nic was serendipitous and illuminating for those who didn't know the definition of the word. A Putney pic-a-nic includes grilled swordfish and pesto pasta, for those who were wondering. How am I ever going to manage to feed myself again?

at the putney school

Last night I saw these amazing mists dividing the verdant mountains. The frogs around the puddle make mating noises that sound like rubber bands. I wished I still knew all the names of the constellations. It's unfortunate that the Hubble has stopped working. The best words I acheived in Boggle were "dais" and "pieta," though someone had the latter. Among the longest was "latest" which I find amusing somehow. The stars here are outstandingly bright and make me want to travel out into Bloomington's open space more often. Everyone here is a Vermonter or is terribly transient or both. It seems to represent the two paths artists much choose between. I mean, not being a Vermonter, but being settled in a vibrant place that's cheap to live. Well, I guess the third path is NYC but everyone knows how I feel about that.

It's beautiful here, an oasis. Someone's utopia.

The kids show up tonight. I have a lot of work to do.

Up North

It's cold in Montpelier, finally, after the storm that blew the breezes from the river up. Miciah's furniture is all nicely arranged in her new living room that is so full of plants it inspires me to be better about getting and buying them. There are mermaids clothed in turn of the century frock-coats and holding parasols over the mantel. I really love river towns, especially ones in old, gentle landscapes akin to that of the Hudson Valley with rolling mountains in layers. But this town is so small that she runs into people literally everywhere we go, and B-town is seeming small enough to me these days. But it's been lovely to have nice coffee in round purple mugs on the porch, to talk all day - four hours accidentally, and now to be reading our journals together in the waning day with the nice music on. If only I didn't have to do the work I've been putting off. In a space like this, though, the work is much easier to do. I'm trying to make mental notes to cultivate this kind of environment on through the year. Please, can I collect you all together?

13 Lately things

1. Finally saw Rashomon. I know the nesting doll structure, the story told from the different points of view was what was supposed to be amazing, but I was most impressed by the baby at the end. Theme and variation - the unexpected that jolted the narrative and allowed the film to end.
2. I'm tired of random carpenters and plumbers in the room next to my bedroom. I don't want to wake up to tiling. That said, I think the new bathroom is going to be lovely.
   
3. I sounded really goofy when I was ten and trying to rock Belinda Carlisle acapella.
4. Devon is as wonderful as ever and he can still pick me up.
5. I'm too nice. Everyone in NYC wanted me to take their pictures. Corollary: digital cameras are a pain in the butt because people can be rude and ask you to take their picture over and over because they dont' like how they are smiling and then they can ask you to tell them Eddie Murphy jokes to make them crack up.
6. Never go to a "jeans" party with a bunch of beauty product publicists if you want to feel reasonably confident about your body.
7. I never realized Toxic would be so fun to dance to. Why is it that I can meet people in one night in NYC at some random loft, but I can't meet people in months in Bloomington? Espanol? No.
   
8. I'm not sure a terrorist zombie movie is such a good idea, in the end.
9. What's a strawberry moon?
10. Two days until Vermont. Farms, lovely Vanessa, good people.
11. I still love public libraries.
12. Mysteries written in the voice of the Prince of Wales circa 1900 are tremendous amusement.
13. An audio tape exists of my parent's wedding reception. My long-dead grandfather (mother's side) is speaking in Spanish to my then 14-year-old uncle (father's side). My father is so softspoken. Still the same rhythms of speech, thirty years later, but a slightly more Indiana accent. I've only listened to bits and pieces of it but the whole thing is a study in cognitive dissonance. There's lots of talk about Italian sausage and bringing in the beer in spite of the rain. It should make me sad, and it will, I know, but it's such a tremendous artifact that right now it simply makes me amazed. My father is 25 (!). But he seems just the same.