Sunday, December 18, 2016

tangerines and other random notes from mid-december

Josie and I eat tangerines.

and now … a poem from the scrap heap
i fade to obscurity
long before
i’ve ever been

losing substance
trail of smoke

i’m watching
not sure
do i like it?
do i not?
do i care?
am i there?

not the question:

Elliott stares. Or, he is experiencing “shoe.” Report due soon.

Howling winds pick up snow, twirl snow like basketball on Meadowlark Lemon finger. Moving snow in long curling sweeps that drop, a new drift, develops. Josie hops, bounding like a kangaroo to chase one lone deer pawing at snow, heaving it aside, vain search, blade of grass.

Snowbound. It’s psychological. A click in the brain. Today is different. No movement but for wind and snow. And always when it seems this cold, this stark, more eagles. I see them soaring by the river. I see them sitting high in trees hunkered down looking all the world like vultures. Snowbound. You cannot leave and no one will come.

Just to prove that life is worth living, a short clip of Patti Smith in concert reminds me of my mom. They are nothing alike. Except in their opinions of George W. Bush.

CJ Arthur’s (now Nick’s)
Convito Italiano
Michigan Shores
House of Chan
Tien Tsin (or something like that – sounds like “Teen Scene”)

and now … Twelve seconds from 2001.

So fine to watch again the Cubs’ postseason, one game at a time, each inning first to last, beginning several days ago, now Game 3, NLCS, the game which caused me to give myself a drastic haircut, a haircut I should do something about as it did nothing for me, did everything for the Cubs, that, and, now Game 4, Zobrist’s bunt and Sczcur’s bat. Recently I heard part of a radio program, a guy telling how every time he hears a certain noise he flinches because it reminds him of another time when he heard that noise and a window blew in on him so now part of his brain remembers when I hear this noise, hey, look out, a window is going to blow in and he flinches. We are all Pavlov’s dogs, and I wonder how any of us Cub fans survived October, the first two days of November, because watching again I see clearly all the heys! look out! The triggers. So many triggers. Trigger after trigger. And I flinch, and I flinch, then I dance around and celebrate.

Snowbound time has its own pace, a pace wrested from the grips of so-called humanity, like the screeching halt of a holiday, an unexpected holiday of an unknown number of days, I am not prepared, but prepared enough, maybe, anyway, until unbound from snow but then stuck atop snow at least not under snow and then everything it does move again. Slowly. With a crunch.

And Josie and I we eat more tangerines.