Flood
Eliza Griswold


I woke to a voice within the room. perhaps.
The room itself: "You're wasting this life
expecting disappointment."
I packed my bag in the night
and peered in its leather belly
to count the essentials.
Nothing is essential.
To the east, the flood has begun.
Men call to each other on the water
for the comfort of voices.
Love surprises us.
It ends.

Coke At Night
Mose Tolliver

Movies and Such

Went to see The Reader today. I have to agree
with this assessment by Ron Rosenbaum:

"so much is made of the deep, deep exculpatory shame of illiteracy—despite the fact that burning 300 people to death doesn't require reading skills—that some worshipful accounts of the novel (by those who buy into its ludicrous premise, perhaps because it's been declared "classic" and "profound") actually seem to affirm that illiteracy is something more to be ashamed of than participating in mass murder... Lack of reading skills is more disgraceful than listening in bovine silence to the screams of 300 people as they are burned to death behind the locked doors of a church you're guarding to prevent them from escaping the flames. Which is what Hanna did, although, of course, it's not shown in the film."[19]


Kate Winslet tries so hard to make it look like she's intense.
And that's just that. You know she's acting. I don't want
to be thinking how an actor is acting--I want to think they
are the character. It seems to me the primary purpose
in choosing Ms. Winslet for the role was to give her an opportunity
to go around naked in quite a bit of the film.

So, a thumbs down from me for the film, and though Mr Rosenbaum
didn't think much of the novel, I have heard others say they thought
it was quite good.

A friend brought Religulous over the other night. It
was very funny. I am not sure it was supposed
to be very funny all of the time, but I thought it was.
I've never watched Bill Maher, but he strikes me as
rather Michael Mooreish. Rotten Tomatoes rated
it at 71%. It did inspire some conversation, and I certainly
got a few good laughs out of it.


Things are still strange. It takes time to process all of
the emotions surrounding weeks of your life devoted
to staying warm, getting food, living with your mom,
etc. There were things she said during that time
that she has never told me about. I can't go there
with those things yet. I am too vulnerable. Too in need
of good sleep and recovery time. But I'll not forget
what she said, how she said what she said, her
tone of voice, her body language.

It snowed earlier, but now it has stopped and I can see
the beginnings of a sunset through my back windows.
It looks lovely out there. Just enough snow to cover
the grass.

Time to go cook. Tonight's dish:

Roasted Pork with Oranges and Prunes

Marinate a 1 lb. pork tenderloin in apple cider
vinegar, olive oil, and cumin for about 30 min.
Cook the tenderloin in a cast iron skillet until
browned on both sides (about 10 minutes).
Put in a 400 degree oven until pork is done
(about 20-30 minutes).

Put 3/4 cup chopped, pitted prunes in a
medium bowl with 1/4 cup hot water
and let stand for 5 minutes. Add two
peeled and chopped oranges to the bowl.

Remove pork from pan and place on plate
to rest for 10 minutes or so. Add prunes
and oranges to the skillet and scrape up
any browned bits. Slice pork and top with
fruits. Serve with rice or couscous with slivered almonds.

(From Everyday with Rachel Ray magazine)

Thinking About Frances

It wasn't right that they took part
of you out and left you with so little
of yourself. Your beautiful body and slow
smile remained, but that fight--oh that
fight--was stripped down from full
fledged incineration to smoldering
ashes. Why I would think I would take
them up on an opportunity to remove
a lobe here, snip an axon there, leave
the synaptic nerves shaking their
shaky little vessels so I could sleep
for a night eludes me. But I think about
that, tonight, nearing 24 hours with
no sleep, pouring a fourth glass of wine,
my chicken in mushroom sauce with fresh
asparagus an afterthought. Oh, Frances,
you did not ask for that, and I realize
as I think about you, the limitations
of science, of intuition, of living life
on the edge. All inhibitions
hushed, the life force flowing through
the veins as you grabbed and moaned
and cried--all of who you taken
in that room, sun streaming through the bars
of the windows, not one spark of light
remaining in the vacant storefront of memory.

Frances Farmer, 1913-1970

Racing Thoughts

So here is how it goes tonight:

I do not like the night, Sam.
I do not like it, Sam I am.

I do not like the cold wind that blows.
I do not like when my toes are cold.

I wonder how I got where I am.
I wonder so, Sam I am.

I do not like these thoughts unleashed.
I would much rather be at the beach.

I do not know why I took this path.
I do not know how to fix a latch.

I do not like the wind that blows.
It makes my ears hurt and my nose.

I love you, Sam I am, for those times
you make me think of rhymes.

I so much love new friends and food.
I so much love what I know is good.

I so much want to rest my head
down on the pillow in my bed.

I so much hope my nose won't bleed.
I hear so much advice I really should heed.

I think I like just where I am;
I think I do, Sam I am.

I so much think you know me best,
you old wise soul who does not test.

I am so gone, dear Sam I am.
I would like a grilled cheese with ham.

I am so gone, sweet Sam I am. Gone
with nothing left but this plaintive song.

But, before I leave you, Sam, my man, I must say
how cold am I. I think that soon I shall go lay

my body down deep in the covers,
and let go, Dear Sam, those lying lovers!

More Sleep Required

Had a large time at the wine tasting, and so
did my friends. I don't know when I've laughed
so hard. My sides still hurt. I am glad I know
these women, and I am grateful for just letting
life happen for a change. Not asking why. Just
going with it. We had such a great time, but we
have agreed that what happened in New Harmony
stays in New Harmony!

I've been to New Harmony several times. I can't think
of a time that I've been there when I didn't feel guilt
on the way there or guilt on the way home for a variety
of reasons. This was the first guilt-free trip. I also didn't
freak driving over the bridges. I am hopeful that I am
progressing.

Now, I just feel sleepy. We got home around 3. Then I
went to see my grandson. He had been in FL for 10 days
to get out of this freezing cold, powerless town. It was
so good to hug his sweet little body and to see that smile
that never fails to melt his GiGi's heart. We had a good
time visiting but then GiGi's late night was catching up
with her, so she had to get her arse home. From the time
I got home until the time I turned the lights out, I was
pretty much in the bed. I tried sleeping, but have a hard
time sleeping during the day, so I read. Still rereading
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Mainteance. I confess
to only half-hearted reading time. Though I am adjusting
to my new position, I still find myself rather exhausted
at the end of the work day and pretty much useless
and resistant to wanting to take in anything more for
the day than perhaps an episode of Home & Garden TV
or Biography. Though the work is draining, I like very
much what I am doing.

That being said, I am looking for some book suggestions.
Son is reading another Cormac McCarthy--All the Pretty Horses.
I think I'll read that when he finishes it. I think I may order
Ekateringburg: The Last Days of The Romanovs.
It looks interesting.

Some sunshine today. I am shooting for a Molly walk.
Must start walking. Must start taking care of me--
taking care of her. She's only getting her evening
walk with hubby.

But for now, the bed is calling me back. I have a bad
case of the sleepies, which is ok in my book. I just feel
relaxed, and it's such a rare thing my body is willing
to give into it and let it have its way with me.