May 13th, 2002

abstract butterfly

Quiet times

We had a wonderful anniversary dinner at the local Thai restaurant, Samui Thai. That place meets two of my expectations perfectly--a quiet, cool place to sit and excellent service.

I did get the back yard mowed. It only takes 15 minutes, and yet I get a real feeling of accomplishment from it, as though I had really
done a major service. I had to mow around the nifty new bird feeder pole my wife got me for our anniversary. I still have had no takers for the saffron seeds I placed out some weeks ago.
The "Stokes Bird Book" people on the cover of the seed package told me that I would get "high quality birds" like cardinals and chickadees, and not the low rent birds like house sparrows and grackles. I personally am an equal opportunity bird fancier, and I'm going to have to change seed to permit less posh birds to actually visit my feeder. I don't want to have a bird restaurant so gourmet that no bird actually visits it.

The marigold terrarium is now officially a failure. I got two weeks of nice shootlets,
but they failed thereafter. A burst of sun to try to inspire germination of the remaining seeds has not worked. I think it was light that was the problem, because maris like sun so much.
I've got 3 unused terraria bottles, so I must
pick myself up, dust off my self-image (which previously thought I could do no wrong in terraria) and start all over again.

We watched the ER "last Dr. Greene" episode last night, which we had taped. It was very nice,
and sad only in the right ways.

Yesterday, the small pond in neighboring Glendover Park had a little white heron standing by the shore. I watched him intently starting into the water, head bobbing slightly. Then he made a rapid movement--down!--and came up with something in his beak. The way he craned his neck back indicated to me that he had successfully hunted one of our local mosquito fish (gambusia affinis). He was very elegant, with his long heron-legs. When he saw me off a bit, he didn't fly away,but just lightly treaded to another part of the lake, like any pond-sharing but private young gentleman might.

I finished reading Tevis' Mockingbird, which
aspalteden turned me onto. What a fine book--a dystopian novel about a humanity hoisted on its own technology and independence.
It was a really straightforward read, comic in the right ways, satiric in the right ways, but a compelling plot always.

I also joined the yahoo discussion group set up by marstokyo. We're discussing her "teeny theaters" art works. I'm interested to hear what others have to say, as my own art interpretation skills largely run to "that guy is cool" and "wow, this is just like a movie".
  • Current Mood
    quiet
abstract butterfly

pan-fried memory

will you go with me, to
the sinks down by the dock,
where we nail our memories,
like catfish,
to the nearest tree,
and use metal grippers,
to smoothly pull off the skin?

watch here the flesh of yesterday's love,
there the whiskers of an unwise decision
we'll clean our ideas of all the
grit and dirt and life, and
we will wait for the grease to heat,
before I drop in a match;
then we'll watch the flame explode
and then subside into cooking grease

imagine, while we bait our hooks
and drop hook, sinker and cork
deep below
how we'll watch bits of fish,
battered in grist mill corn,
and soaked in thick buttermilk,
sinking our pasts
into the heated pan.

we'll be frying souls, those fish,
formerly living things,
lost in batter,
shimmering in grease bubbles,
let's drop them in,
they'll never breathe again,
just watch them brown and crispen.

we'll drop in "hush puppies" as well,
bits of balled corn meal,
confections of fiction and image,
fried as a treat for impatient
dogs and hungry children...
simple things, which never breathed,

but we'll save the fish for the adults,
to be savored and dwelt upon,
salted and seasoned,
slathered with sauces,
will you come with me to the docks,
for we've memories to slaughter
and fry, and savor, for
that's why we fish.
  • Current Music
    Barely Breathing, Duncan Sheik