Monday, February 29, 2016

Look! It's February 29 - Food I made for a guest who was a "No-Show" - Poem: Endless Days

My Coolpix Nikon camera wouldn't download photos so first I took it to Authorized Camera Repair. Tricky getting into the front door. But there he was, the man of the hour, Matt Fuehrer.

He was able to download photos onto his huge Apple computer. Knew not what the matter was with my camera.


 Went home and Scott and I went to Larmon Photo. Jeff figured it out.

Here's an early pic of Larmon photo.

 Jeff figured it out. Food in every nook n granny. Spritzed it out.

Good use of nail polish, he said, cuz the keys plum wore out.


Below is a test.

Which cup holds the most liquid?

The phone rang on Sunday, which was yesterday.
Yin Liu came to visit. Took her pic for the Compass to accompany her poem, an elegy to her late husband.

In the balmy weather, we walked around the block while I ate a German stollen she brought from church. A friend had invited her.

She showed me a pic of a huge tree branch that fell from her tall tree blocking her garage. Neighbors dragged it outa the way.

The luck she's had since she moved into the house!
Born under a bad sign, been down since I began to crawl
If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all

 My breakfast is flanked by the forced forsythia and Scott's cyclamen.
What's my kitchen doing on my blog?

Was sparring via email with a woman named Tiffany, who wanted to sell me something I didn't want. Told her I liked her name and sent her this pic of my fake Tiffany lamp.

In fact, when I was riding my bike for 20 mins, which didn't help my downing of 5 Thin Mints, I was watching Antique Roadshow.

A Tiffany sculpture, made in Mexico, went for something like 80 grand.

Scott fixed the small leak in the bird bath with GOOP.

He tested it out in his basement.

The deal is, Scott feeds the birds in his yard, then they fly over here to bathe, shave and put on their deodorant.

But, the birds haven't come yet. It takes em a couple of days before they trust the bird bath. This happened when I first bought it on Amazon.

 Have you ever seen such glorious colors?

Found a recipe for this roasted Butternut Squash-Purple Onion dish in this morning's Times. Bought the ingredients at the Giant and made it for my sister Donna and myself.
I added pecans for protein.

Donna calls from Mom's house.

Would you mind if I didn't come? she asks.

Do what's best for you, I say. I was a bit miffed but meant what I said.

What? You don't wanna see me? she asked.

Of course I do, I said, I really do, but .....

Okay, she said. I'll come tomro morning and we'll have coffee together.

Fine, I said. Just knock real loud bc I'll be asleep.

Sometimes it's fun to get up much earlier than you usually do. There was a TED Talk about this.

This morning on WXPN there was a fantastic song by Cream. So, late in the day, I wrote a poem about it.

First, tho, am gonna tell you what I told Ed Quinn. He's the guy who painted my bedroom Coastal Paradise. Aqua.

He's writing a book and has hundreds of pages of notes and is overwhelmed.

Ed, I said. Just write. Do not use your notes.

I called my friend Helene today to say hello.

How's your book coming, I asked her.

Oh, it's so confusing, I have pages and pages of notes.

Helene, I said. Just write. No notes.


In the early morn, I stretched,
pulled my aching bod with its sag of
breasts and chin from bed,
switched on the rad
and heard the Siren call of Cream,
Clapton "going down to The Crossroads,
asking the Lord for mercy,
Save me if you please."  

Jack Bruce, the first to go, was
craggy-faced at 71, thought by
many the best bassist
ever born.

I like the full orchestral
treatment of the band. Didn't we
think those days would never end?

The future, a dreamland when you're
young. The Holocaust behind us, but
we massacred millions in Vietnam.

My buddy Dave Moyer made it - Oh, those
foxhole stories he told - but not
one Martin Wilson who died last Friday.
Flashbacks searing the flesh from his
body like his fallen friends.

Let's make a toast! Raise high your
glass. We'll toast to the living and
the dead. To ourselves, most of all,
tiny little specks of pulsing mortality
with the power to kill, to
destroy the climate, to put eye to
telescope and view
the wonders of the world.

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