Chautauquas and Other Things

I'm all for bringing back Chautauquas. But most
of us would find some reason not to go. This from
Pirsig:

"What I would like to do is use the time that is coming now to talk about some things that have come to mind. We're in such a hurry most of the time we never get much chance to talk. The result is a kind of endless day-to-day shallowness, a monotony that leaves a person wondering years later where all the time went and sorry that it's all gone."


Yes, that day-to-day shallowness oftentimes swallows us whole.
For the first time in a very long time, I am actually asking for
some of the shallowness, if shallowness will allow my mind to rest.
I have begun to enter a bit of a manic cycle. It's been years since
I felt this way. I was so glad when the mania was gone. But then,
there was trade-off, as there often is. Mania for apathy, inability
to articulate, extreme exhaustion, no excitement over words, music,
art, endeavors, accomplishments, living. You go from heart pounding
crazy in your chest and racing thoughts, writing like crazy, going
to concerts, going to writing groups and workshops, living on the
edge and doing things you can't believe you're doing to almost flat-lining
and experiencing a brain which has gone to mush.


*****************************************************

Spent most of the day doing laundry, reading, trying to watch tv.
All I really wanted to do was get warm and rest, but I have been
unable to do either. It is bitter cold outside with gusty winds.
We had strong winds again Wednesday night which knocked out
our power for about 3 hours. I was terrified that we were going
to enter the black zone again, but we managed to get the power
back on before the basement flooded again. The rain was pouring
hard and the wind gusting 60 mph and higher.

On Tuesday of this week, which seems so much a blur to me now,
my husband called me from his shop and said he had just called
an ambulance and it was on the way to get him. He said I don't
know what's wrong with me, but something happened. He sounded
far away and as if he were struggling to find words. Four hours later,
after a cat scan, an EKG, numerous blood tests for cardiac enzymes,
metabolic readings, etc. , the conclusion is that what happened to him
possibly can't be explained. Possibly inner ear coupled with orthostatic
hypertension. He explained to me what happened to him. It sounded
like a stroke to me, but nothing on the scan. He is better today,
and has been since that day. No weakness now and no dizziness. He
is on Antivert, steroids, and Cozaar. He has promised to put down
the salt shaker, try not to be so high strung (definite Type A personality),
and to cut down his smoking. He hasn't agreed to completely stop, but
I think he wants to. He is an amazing man who does not complain, does
not miss work (is a workaholic), and who seems unafraid of most everything.
He was terrified that day. It was terrifying to see him that way.


************************************************

Dinner last night was tasty and healthy. I made chicken
tortellini soup. It had diced sweet potatoes, celery, onion, garlic,
and red & green peppers all sauteed in extra virgin olive oil.
I added to that kosher salt, cracked black pepper, fresh thyme,
chopped flat leaf parsley, and oregano. As soon as the veggies
started to soften, I added vegetable stock, chicken stock,
garbanzo beans, corn, and shredded rotisserie chicken.
I let that cook about 30 minutes and then added ribboned
kale. As soon as that wilted, I dropped in a package of whole
wheat three-cheese tortellini. I served it with grated parmigiano
reggiano and Italian crusty bread.

I went through the cabinets today and thought I'd try to just
build a meal around something I found, so I have come up with
Green Peppercorn steak with mango chutney sauce over
basmati rice. I'll have some steamed broccoli with it.

Then some chicken parmigiana over linguini with asparagus
bundles. Then some sea scallops with vermouth and artichoke
hearts. I haven't cooked with vermouth so am not sure what
would be a good kind. I need a good dry vermouth. Cinzano,
Noilly Pratt? Don't know. I need brandy for the peppercorn
steak, and I don't cook with it either, so, I don't know a good
one to try. Korbel VSOP, St. Remy VSOP Napoleon, Monarch VS?
Don't know. I don't about brandy and vermouth. Wines I know
a little about.


How's all this for shallow? Quite enough for me for this day.
Time for a glass of syrah to warm me up, I hope.

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!