That's funny, Jeffo (and sweet.)
Here's the typo:
I'm pretty sure that word should be "chopped".
The Bookity Book & Tall Grass Salon
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That's funny, Jeffo (and sweet.)
Here's the typo:
I'm pretty sure that word should be "chopped".
Funny to remember the first argument. I have no idea about ours, but I do remember a couple of flame-outs without remembering the reason.
I love the new weather.com. I can get 5 day forecast without changing the page. Lazy me.
We have some sun. Thinking of Buffalo and all that snow. Way over the top! Jeff, are you snowed in - I see you're in central NY.
I love the new weather.com. I can get 5 day forecast without changing the page. Lazy me.
We have some sun. Thinking of Buffalo and all that snow. Way over the top! Jeff, are you snowed in - I see you're in central NY.
Our first argument was at home, over shampoo. I didn't want to go out until I'd had a chance to wash my hair. He wanted to go now.
Maryn, amused that we could fight over such trivia
Maryn, amused that we could fight over such trivia
Well, good morning. I think I remember fighting with my (long ex) husband over whether he was going to buy an expensive item in the grocery store, after he'd upbraided me for irresponsible spending in the previous breath.
To his credit he did see the absurdity of his double standard immediately.
The Writer's Almanac for November 21, 2014
The poem today, um, in its way, reminds me of a highly contentious AW thread and current news item, about an ill-chosen shirt. Only obliquely of course.
Today's got some weighty birthdays. Voltaire, Arthur Quiller-Couch, and Isaac Bashevis Singer.
Quiller-Couch assembled the Oxford Book of English Verse, which was a landscape feature in my childhood, and he authored the phrase "murder your darlings".
Good to know who to blame that on.
To his credit he did see the absurdity of his double standard immediately.
The Writer's Almanac for November 21, 2014
The poem today, um, in its way, reminds me of a highly contentious AW thread and current news item, about an ill-chosen shirt. Only obliquely of course.
Today's got some weighty birthdays. Voltaire, Arthur Quiller-Couch, and Isaac Bashevis Singer.
Quiller-Couch assembled the Oxford Book of English Verse, which was a landscape feature in my childhood, and he authored the phrase "murder your darlings".
Good to know who to blame that on.
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Oh, bah humbug. I was part way through a no-doubt-clever post when our power blinked for a moment. Gone! Worse is having to reset most of the digital clocks. Is there some reason newer ones can't store a few seconds of power like the ones bought twenty years ago?
Anyway, I liked the shoulders poem. I guess I've been either fortunate or wise not to know which thread you're talking about.
Maryn, not a fan of contentious posts here or elsewhere
Anyway, I liked the shoulders poem. I guess I've been either fortunate or wise not to know which thread you're talking about.
Maryn, not a fan of contentious posts here or elsewhere
I don't fight. Ever. Except on message boards about Gator football. This is why:
I've been saying that was Frost, but it was Longfellow. And the rest of the poem doesn't match the sentiment, but it was one of the things we were taught as kids, that once you said something, it was out of your control, so you had to be careful about it. So I am. I later found this one, by my favorite poet (this is part of the reason) I'm even transcribing it myself for your morning reading:
He/She by Stephen Dunn
Brought up never getting punched
in the mouth for saying more
than the situation can bear,
she argues beyond winning,
screaming indictments
after the final indictment
has skewered him into silence,
if not agreement.
The words she uses
mean she is feeling something large
which needs words, perhaps
the way Pollack needed paint.
Next day, the words are unimportant
to her, while all
he's thinking about
are the words she used --
if recovering from them
is possible.
Years ago, the schoolyard taught him
one word too many meant
broken fingers, missing teeth;
you chose careful or you chose war.
You were the last word
you let live.
She was in the elsewhere girls were,
learning other lessons,
the ones men learn
too lat or not at all; you took in,
cared for, without keeping score
you shaped a living space
into a kind of seriousness.
Retract those words, he says.
But she is only
sensing his reserve, his inability
to perceive that her wrong words
meant so much hurt and love.
Reading that 15 years ago changed my perspective on everything, whether it's right or not.
We found out yesterday that my wife does not have a brain tumor. We still need an explanation for the headaches, but anything that's not a brain tumor has to be good. Hope y'all have a good day.
I've been saying that was Frost, but it was Longfellow. And the rest of the poem doesn't match the sentiment, but it was one of the things we were taught as kids, that once you said something, it was out of your control, so you had to be careful about it. So I am. I later found this one, by my favorite poet (this is part of the reason) I'm even transcribing it myself for your morning reading:
He/She by Stephen Dunn
Brought up never getting punched
in the mouth for saying more
than the situation can bear,
she argues beyond winning,
screaming indictments
after the final indictment
has skewered him into silence,
if not agreement.
The words she uses
mean she is feeling something large
which needs words, perhaps
the way Pollack needed paint.
Next day, the words are unimportant
to her, while all
he's thinking about
are the words she used --
if recovering from them
is possible.
Years ago, the schoolyard taught him
one word too many meant
broken fingers, missing teeth;
you chose careful or you chose war.
You were the last word
you let live.
She was in the elsewhere girls were,
learning other lessons,
the ones men learn
too lat or not at all; you took in,
cared for, without keeping score
you shaped a living space
into a kind of seriousness.
Retract those words, he says.
But she is only
sensing his reserve, his inability
to perceive that her wrong words
meant so much hurt and love.
Reading that 15 years ago changed my perspective on everything, whether it's right or not.
We found out yesterday that my wife does not have a brain tumor. We still need an explanation for the headaches, but anything that's not a brain tumor has to be good. Hope y'all have a good day.
Oh, Matt, that is wonderful news. 
And that is a wonderful poem you shared, too. Thanks for that. The message seems even more important these days; folks are flying off the handle and pulling guns on each other all over the place.
Maryn, I agree, digital clocks orta have better memories.
And that is a wonderful poem you shared, too. Thanks for that. The message seems even more important these days; folks are flying off the handle and pulling guns on each other all over the place.
Maryn, I agree, digital clocks orta have better memories.
I sincerely hope whatever's behind the headaches can be identified and treated. But a big Whew! that it's not a brain tumor.
Maryn, concerned
Maryn, concerned
Wow, you have been worried about a brain tumor? What a load of relief! So glad for you.
Loved the poem you shared. I can see why it would change things. I like that it's very clear what it means (or can mean) but also poetic. Sometimes you get one without the other. The sentence with Pollack was so right. I'm going to look up some more of Dunn's work.
Kyla, what's this about a shirt?
Loved the poem you shared. I can see why it would change things. I like that it's very clear what it means (or can mean) but also poetic. Sometimes you get one without the other. The sentence with Pollack was so right. I'm going to look up some more of Dunn's work.
Kyla, what's this about a shirt?
My goodness - 14 pages of comments. That must be where everyone is. I noticed that things are slow on AW - even QLH - and thought people were writing for NANO, but instead they were arguing about a shirt. LOL
LOL! Actually, I think that thread has died down a bit, but for a few days it was hot and hoppin'.
Right now there seems to be a lot of action in Roundtable....
maybe everyone will go have their lunch and then take a nap.
Right now there seems to be a lot of action in Roundtable....
maybe everyone will go have their lunch and then take a nap.
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I'm a sucker for shoulders.
And thanks for pointing out the error. I remember reading the 'mopped' and pausing, trying to picture the narrator maybe scraping onion juice and bits and pieces off the cutting board with the knife. It didn't quite match up right.
Lot of fussin' and fightin' going on about the boards right now. I largely steer clear.
Whiporee, I hope there's resolution soon. Good luck!
And thanks for pointing out the error. I remember reading the 'mopped' and pausing, trying to picture the narrator maybe scraping onion juice and bits and pieces off the cutting board with the knife. It didn't quite match up right.
Lot of fussin' and fightin' going on about the boards right now. I largely steer clear.
Whiporee, I hope there's resolution soon. Good luck!
Good morning.
The Writer's Almanac for November 22, 2014
I think I can say the poem today is saved by its rhythm, from being a mere jingle. That, and perhaps its non-jingly subject matter.
Ah, today in 1963, President John Kennedy was shot.
George Eliot and Andre Gide were born, and it's the feast day of Saint Cecilia, patron saint of musicians, because, it is said, she sang to God as she was being done in. Interesting reason.
The Writer's Almanac for November 22, 2014
I think I can say the poem today is saved by its rhythm, from being a mere jingle. That, and perhaps its non-jingly subject matter.
Ah, today in 1963, President John Kennedy was shot.
George Eliot and Andre Gide were born, and it's the feast day of Saint Cecilia, patron saint of musicians, because, it is said, she sang to God as she was being done in. Interesting reason.
Ah, Middlemarch. I have never been able to read it. The story makes me crazy. The poem was not my cuppa...the only thing that remotely saved it for me was the wrapping of the "is gone..."
Hope I'm not going to be grumpy today. We have sunshine (but cold cold) and it's Saturday. What's not to love? Also my novel has taken a real step forward. Happy writing to all.
Hope I'm not going to be grumpy today. We have sunshine (but cold cold) and it's Saturday. What's not to love? Also my novel has taken a real step forward. Happy writing to all.
Good morning.
Lacy, glad your day contained happy things, even if you were also grumpy. Good on ya for the novel progress!
The Writer's Almanac for November 23, 2014
Today's poem pictures a moment, nicely, as it places itself second to the moment's validity (or so I read it.)
Today is the anniversary of astronomer Edwin Hubble's announcement of his discovery of the first galaxy outside the Milky Way.
It's also the birthday of Jennifer Michael Hecht, who has some cogent remarks about the relative value of science and art, at least to herself. She's highly qualified to comment.
Lacy, glad your day contained happy things, even if you were also grumpy.
Good on ya for the novel progress!The Writer's Almanac for November 23, 2014
Today's poem pictures a moment, nicely, as it places itself second to the moment's validity (or so I read it.)
Today is the anniversary of astronomer Edwin Hubble's announcement of his discovery of the first galaxy outside the Milky Way.
It's also the birthday of Jennifer Michael Hecht, who has some cogent remarks about the relative value of science and art, at least to herself. She's highly qualified to comment.
Oh, I liked that poem a lot! Thank you for pointing me right at it, and at so many others.
I used to live in Boston, where the rapid pace did not really agree with me, although I managed. (I was younger then!) I remember standing outside, waiting for the T (the subway-trolly system) when I heard honking overhead. I looked up and saw a huge V of geese making their way south most indirectly, circling the general area. A guy also waiting noticed my tilted head and also looked up, then nudged his friend's ribs. Within a minute, thirty or forty people were all watching those geese, and when the T arrived, only four or five boarded.
I like to think that for a few minutes, none of us was in a crowded city. We were all outdoors in nature.
Maryn, grateful
I used to live in Boston, where the rapid pace did not really agree with me, although I managed. (I was younger then!) I remember standing outside, waiting for the T (the subway-trolly system) when I heard honking overhead. I looked up and saw a huge V of geese making their way south most indirectly, circling the general area. A guy also waiting noticed my tilted head and also looked up, then nudged his friend's ribs. Within a minute, thirty or forty people were all watching those geese, and when the T arrived, only four or five boarded.
I like to think that for a few minutes, none of us was in a crowded city. We were all outdoors in nature.
Maryn, grateful
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Cheyenne Bottoms and Quivira are salt marshes/wildlife refuges a few miles from here. Since childhood I have been accustomed to geese in long, veering Mexican Trains, honking across the skies this time of year. There are also ducks, sandhill cranes and, if we are lucky, whooping cranes stopping to feed at the marshes. One of the few reasons I step outside in November. The poem tells it straight, nice autumny feel in the old folks taking a walk before the "kids" with the grandkids arrive.--s6
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Good morning. And, oops, I am very late! I was drawn outside this morning, because we're having an unusually warm day and I kind of got involved with plants and stuff out there.
The Writer's Almanac for November 24, 2014
As for today's poem, I love the concept and not sure I really enjoyed the treatment, but that's no doubt just my quirks.
Birthday today for Margaret Anderson, who serialized Ulysses, and was convicted on obscenity charges:
Ursula Le Guin would be proud. Was, no doubt.
Other birthdays today are for Benedict Spinoza, Laurence Sterne, and Nuruddin Farah. Good reading, in this almanac today.
The Writer's Almanac for November 24, 2014
As for today's poem, I love the concept and not sure I really enjoyed the treatment, but that's no doubt just my quirks.
Birthday today for Margaret Anderson, who serialized Ulysses, and was convicted on obscenity charges:
Ursula Le Guin would be proud. Was, no doubt.
Other birthdays today are for Benedict Spinoza, Laurence Sterne, and Nuruddin Farah. Good reading, in this almanac today.
Aaaaand, that was yesterday.
Good morning, again. May this little almanac and my links to it offer a sense of perspective, in some small way.
The Writer's Almanac for November 25, 2014
Having moved about a lot, I find the poem today speaks truth to part of that experience. Lately some of the stories of my personal history are rising up in memory much like that blinking yellow light at Main and Oak.
Today is the birthday of Andrew Carnegie, Joe DiMaggio, Helen Hoover Santmyer, and Lewis Thomas.
Going to find out if things are better this morning, as Thomas said they most often are.
Good morning, again. May this little almanac and my links to it offer a sense of perspective, in some small way.
The Writer's Almanac for November 25, 2014
Having moved about a lot, I find the poem today speaks truth to part of that experience. Lately some of the stories of my personal history are rising up in memory much like that blinking yellow light at Main and Oak.
Today is the birthday of Andrew Carnegie, Joe DiMaggio, Helen Hoover Santmyer, and Lewis Thomas.
Going to find out if things are better this morning, as Thomas said they most often are.
Good morning, Kyla. And yes, appreciative hugs to you for this daily respite!
Santmyer is an inspiration. Famous at 88 - that means there's still time I went on Amazon and bought Lewis' Life of a Cell. Been trying to read outside my comfort zone and found the premise interesting.
Ok, off to the writing life. It's grey here today - perfect for staying inside and doing a little plotting.
Santmyer is an inspiration. Famous at 88 - that means there's still time
I went on Amazon and bought Lewis' Life of a Cell. Been trying to read outside my comfort zone and found the premise interesting. Ok, off to the writing life. It's grey here today - perfect for staying inside and doing a little plotting.