Walking again, though without much oomph or uumph or whatever it is. Without much enthusiasm!

Molly and I go every day to the track. She only makes
it about 3/4 of a mile, then she lies down in the shade
and waits for me to finish. She can still be a major
pain in the ass, but she's also a good puppy (well,
she's a busy puppy and she sometimes lets you
pet her without trying to play bite, so that's good).

She got stung by a bee yesterday and one side
of her face swelled up. I was upset and not sure what to do
so I called the vet. He said to give her 50 mg of benadryl
That seemed to do the trick. The mommy side of me
sure did come out when I saw her swollen face.

She's a 50 pound 5 month old, and she likes to chew
things (like my furniture) and jump on people
and all sorts of other obnoxious things (one of her
favorite things to do is to go get a big drink
of water and come drool all over my legs and arms--
yuck!).

*

Reading Wise Blood. Also reading a Hirshfield book--
Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry, I think is the name.

It contains essays about poetry. Interesting thus far.

*

Mowed the yard today. Now need to do some more
weeding. Worked in the yard all day yesterday.
Planted my annuals. My perennials are doing great.

*

Went to see Pirates of the Caribbean Thursday--disappointed.
Saw Mr. Brooks yesterday with a friend. Not my kind of film
but it was ok. She likes crimes stories and gruesome stuff--
like Silence of the Lambs. Not for me. But, it was an ok
film that didn't creep me out too much. It seemed like a major
stretch to think there would be a serial killer with the status
and character this guy had, but then I have to think about the
charmers like Ted Bundy. I'd just rather not think about
that stuff.

*

My mind is so full of thoughts I want to come here and write
or go to my journal and write, but I just can't bring myself
to do it. I need to do it. I need some catharsis. I need
to unload some of this baggage I am carrying around.
Maybe I'll get to it soon.

If I Had Some Blue, I'd Patch the Sky


He said this at three, his mother
a widow two years. It was raining
and she was trying to clean walls

for company. He had gotten underfoot
too many times that day and mother
had given him a few lickins, but the tears

he cried were the tears of an old soul,
a three year old who knew his mother
hurt. Years later, he took the motor

apart in the first car she bought him,
splayed the parts on the driveway
and sidewalks of the rock house

that had rocked him to sleep all of his young
life. When the motor didn't fire, his mother,
who knew nothing about motors but much

about frustration and the way it clouds
your being, said, These things appear
to be upside down. He shook his head

in disbelief, in gratitude. He acknowledged
her insight, shook his own head in disbelief.
She tells me this story tonight, she who is nearing

ninety, a story I've not heard in the thirty-
one years of marriage to this boy who became
the man who became the husband who became

the father to my three children. And I understand
more about the intricacies of love, about how we stray
and still come back, about the way our one small part

of living becomes this bigger part of giving. And yet,
still I stray, never faithful to one thought long enough
to own it, never free to belong comfortably to any one

person's history. Belonging means losing. Losing
means loving. Loving, at times, means relinquishing
all one holds sacred, like all the lies you tell yourself

and all the truths that are hard to accept because some
are good, too good to believe. The bad ones really don't
touch you as much. You took them in long ago, an errant

friend. They become so much a part of you that the pores
of your skin recognize them, the tips of your fingers crave
their belonging, the breaths you take deep in the night,

when the house is quiet and you cannot sleep, are the breaths
of one who has known loss and not forgotten. And this simple
story becomes the grace of goodness that gets you through

another long night, when blue is nothing more than dream.

R.E.M. - Everybody Hurts

and this one I have watched several times tonight and I am getting tired and the greens are wearing off and I don;t feel like Popeye any longer nor do I feel like Olive Oyl nor do I feel like Wonder Woman or the Green Lantern or Cat Power or Joan Baez or Bob Dylan...I just feel like lost me, lost me...

Oh lost and by the wind grieved, come back again...

I think that's what Thomas Wolfe said...

Oh lost, and by the wind grieved...ghost, come back again.

Bob Dylan - Forever Young / Baby, Let Me Follow You Down

One of my favorite Dylan songs...God, I have to go see Dylan again soon... I don't care what he sounds like now...he is Dylan...it's been 2 years since I saw him last...Wes wants to see him too...gonna look up his tour schedule...have seen him at least 15 times and hope to see him at least 15 more...

Cat Stevens - How Can I Tell You

and now here, and also thinking of Cat Steven's song The Wind

and also thinking of Dylan's Forever Young

JONI MITCHELL - Blue. 1970.

And now I am here...and have listened to this several times...and want more Joni

Bob Dylan and Joan Baez- Typing and Singing

This song won't leave me alone (Percy's Song). Bob is typing the words to The Hour That The Ship Comes In (I think) as Joan sings.

I just ate some greens. Was telling a friend not an hour ago that I was going to be sick if I didn't eat something. So I ate. Greens. Greens my mom cooked. Collards and mustards.

I wonder if folks in Boston eat collards. I know I get all uppity and do my wilted kale or spinach and that's all the rave these days, but I still love greens. Earthy, musty, iron-rich greens.

I feel like Popeye.