These are the white objects in the house the morning after a great party. Now I am sixty years old.
7 January 2015 — Catching up on daily poems.
The sun is shining,
I found the studio keys.
I’ll probably live.
Yesterday I stuck the keys in a book and couldn’t go to the studio. I almost cried. Now I feel better.
6 January 2015
I shop for yogurt
Avoiding pectin, corn starch.
It’s not so easy.
Yogurt is supposed to me just milk and the little germs that transform it.
5 January 2015
no numbers, no cigarettes.
He’ll save a bundle.
He thinks quitting smoking and small-stakes gambling will keep a hundred dollars a week warm in his pocket.
My first disappointment today: the siding I was to paint for the Berkeley Springs house – the non-construction kind of thing I can do — had not been delivered.
My second disappointment, leaking over from yesterday, when I found out that no DC bookstore has the Edna O’Brien book needed for my book group meeting next weekend. I cross fingers that it’s at the Berkeley Springs library, but find it closed on Thursdays…
My dinner is corn and tomatoes from the farmers’ market stop, the third event of the day here and the first successful one, after the two failures mentioned above. Some tomatoes I immediately sliced to oven-dry them, in this oven here, a fancy convection one with hot air circulation, as opposed to the one at home with heat only, and that from light bulbs, applied quickly, the opposite of what you want to desiccate food. The tomatoes have been in there on very low heat and circulating air for a few hours and I think they look good. This too was on my project list for the weekend. Perhaps successful.
The fourth event was finally connecting with the Warm Springs Watershed Society, eight people who met to battle – real combat, my first time ever using herbicide – in the attempt to eradicate the beautiful but unwelcome purple loosestrife, which actually thrives without strife in wet zones here. It was fun. We split up in teams, gloved and armed with sprayers, seeking and spritzing the offender when we spotted it. And we did come upon some of it, not a lot, but individual plants here and there. Very satisfying. I liked all the people doing this. We were all about the same age, probably mostly just-retired, people who get excited about nature; one who confessed to being a birder, for example. A couple I had met before, but the others were new. I hope they will be new friends up here.
The sun is setting now as I sit on the new porch, though sunset may not be the proper astrological term for when the sun just goes out of view behind a landform, here an Appalachian ridge, not the true horizon, as in Boulder, coincidentally. I’ll try to look that up.
The near neighbors Melvin and Marion are away. I remember that they go to the beach in South Carolina each summer. Good for them, though in the short time we have known them, and even then, only on infrequent and irregular weekends, I can see them aging and physically slowing down. I’ll miss seeing them, but feel comfortable sitting on the porch with the music a bit loud, as it cannot bother them.
So a nice evening after all. We don’t have wi-fi here at the house anymore, so I have come to the lovely dinner spot, Tari’s, for a dessert and to send some mail or post to a site. All that’s missing is a Scrabble partner. . .
I am married to a person who has decided (on his own, but after ten years of subtle, loving nagging) that he might lose a little of that extra girth around the equator by limiting himself to just one slice of cake per sitting. Although, because of an extremely generous nature probably picked up from his mother, he feels it is only right that he offer a serving to his invisible friend, who stops by frequently.
In the morning, my little niece, Frances, paid a surprise visit, bringing her “backup” birthday cake, the one not required for her own birthday yesterday. You know how I love salvage items, even a little roughed up in transit. While here, she helped water all the plants missed on our weekend away, and did her big-girl job in our bathroom facilities, the first time away from home, and proudly announced it, so it really is a special day.
Then I went to see the four-year-old I hang with on most Tuesdays, who, hearing it was my birthday, asked my age. A little fazed at first, he bounced back to tell me that “58 is not the last number.”
I hope not.
No need to bother the weary flight attendant to heat up William’s on-board snack. A warmish 98.6 degrees will be fine.
The model is wearing a t-shirt by John Beam of Chincoteague. The Japanese letters say, “Where the air begins.” You can buy one at Anopheles Blues on North Main St.
After you cut up and disembowel a pomegranate, what you’ve got looks a little like a murder scene.