I love the Amaryllis poem, and I want pictures of Take Your Houseplant for a Walk Day, but unfortunately I'm allergic to spinach. I recently installed an app to identify bird song on my phone, but I haven't used it yet. There always so much traffic noise, and I don't think I can get close enough to the birds. Having said that, last week when I went for a short walk three magpies crossed my path, and I know it was deliberate. It meant something, because this has never happened to me before.
Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday are the only days our local ice cream shop carries tart-flavored frozen yogurt, which tastes perfect alone, or with raspberries, or Nutella, or Teddy Grahams. It's quite versatile.
It's a common refrain in our house to ask "Is it tart night?" I'm excited to say that yes, yes it is.
Since you asked, the week before I flew up to Colorado with my youngest son, the smart, quiet one who loves cats and taking photos of flowers, and left him at the Air Force Academy Prep School, we found an owl in our kitchen, alive and apparently unhurt, perched among the jars of bitters. We had heard a noise; I thought is was something mechanical or an agitated cat purring, but my wife thought it was a bird. Why would a bird be hiding around our dining room table at night? But she was right.
My son gently escorted it outside with me, and once out of the light, it blinked, took a moment to orient itself, and was gone.
While driving around Colorado Springs, he and I, I learned that he was a bigger Transformers fan than I ever knew (even now, we learn about each other), and I remembered something I’d written that I’d forgotten - not a questionable song, but a poem that was part of a project my friend Adam put together: a Transformers poem for Devastator, the one that could break into five smaller Transformers. The poem was designed to be modular, with five people writing chunks that could either be read independently or else joined at certain lines with the adjacent ones. My sub-Transformer was the bulldozer that makes Devastator’s abdomen. I remember using the word “guts” a lot. The concept was much better than my contribution; I remember Patricia Lockwood wrote another chunk - I think one of the arms. I don’t think I ever printed it out and I should, if I can find it.
Maybe my son would read it, while going through the privations of Basic under the watchful eyes of whatever owls they have in Colorado (not Eastern screech owls, not Eastern), and not be too harsh a judge.
On the road to work today, my car rattled as I played Kendrick’s “DNA.” The end where he really goes for it. I felt like the car was also about to leave its corporeal form and become something new. I couldn’t hear what the birds sounded like =)
I love the Amaryllis poem, and I want pictures of Take Your Houseplant for a Walk Day, but unfortunately I'm allergic to spinach. I recently installed an app to identify bird song on my phone, but I haven't used it yet. There always so much traffic noise, and I don't think I can get close enough to the birds. Having said that, last week when I went for a short walk three magpies crossed my path, and I know it was deliberate. It meant something, because this has never happened to me before.
Ohhh those magpies! What an image! Possibly a good thing to try cartooning....
Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday are the only days our local ice cream shop carries tart-flavored frozen yogurt, which tastes perfect alone, or with raspberries, or Nutella, or Teddy Grahams. It's quite versatile.
It's a common refrain in our house to ask "Is it tart night?" I'm excited to say that yes, yes it is.
Now I'm daydreaming about this yogurt with raspberries and Teddy Grahams.
I love this. Happy tart night!
Since you asked, the week before I flew up to Colorado with my youngest son, the smart, quiet one who loves cats and taking photos of flowers, and left him at the Air Force Academy Prep School, we found an owl in our kitchen, alive and apparently unhurt, perched among the jars of bitters. We had heard a noise; I thought is was something mechanical or an agitated cat purring, but my wife thought it was a bird. Why would a bird be hiding around our dining room table at night? But she was right.
My son gently escorted it outside with me, and once out of the light, it blinked, took a moment to orient itself, and was gone.
While driving around Colorado Springs, he and I, I learned that he was a bigger Transformers fan than I ever knew (even now, we learn about each other), and I remembered something I’d written that I’d forgotten - not a questionable song, but a poem that was part of a project my friend Adam put together: a Transformers poem for Devastator, the one that could break into five smaller Transformers. The poem was designed to be modular, with five people writing chunks that could either be read independently or else joined at certain lines with the adjacent ones. My sub-Transformer was the bulldozer that makes Devastator’s abdomen. I remember using the word “guts” a lot. The concept was much better than my contribution; I remember Patricia Lockwood wrote another chunk - I think one of the arms. I don’t think I ever printed it out and I should, if I can find it.
Maybe my son would read it, while going through the privations of Basic under the watchful eyes of whatever owls they have in Colorado (not Eastern screech owls, not Eastern), and not be too harsh a judge.
Man. I am so glad I asked.
On the road to work today, my car rattled as I played Kendrick’s “DNA.” The end where he really goes for it. I felt like the car was also about to leave its corporeal form and become something new. I couldn’t hear what the birds sounded like =)
yesssssssssss