I just got my brows waxed for the first time in about 2 years. I must say they -and by extension ME - look fabulous. Thank god for paying off the credit card debt that allows me to indulge in small pleasures every once in awhile again.
poem: Dispatch from the Home Front: Halloween 2001...
like every other year I sit outside with a guitar while kids roam in small packs from lit door to lit door the costumes tonight are not that frightening angels and fairies and superheroes abound a few bloodsuckers and ghouls a sprinkling of skeletons no terrorists the adults pretend to be scared jessie (the giraffe from across the street) solemnly hands me M & Ms from her...
poem: Sonnet 100
In night when colors all to black are cast, Distinction lost, or gone down with the light; The eye a watch to inward senses placed, Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight, Gives vain alarums to the inward sense, Where fear stirred up with witty tyranny, Confounds all powers, and thorough self-offense, Doth forge and raise impossibility: Such as in thick depriving darknesses, Proper...
The butcher knife goes in, first, at the top And carves out the round stemmed lid, The hole of which allows the hand to go In to pull the gooey mess inside, out - The walls scooped clean with a spoon. A grim design decided on, that afternoon, The eyes are the first to go, Isosceles or trapezoid, the square nose, The down-turned mouth with three Hideous teeth and, sometimes, Round ears....
My Favorite New Phrase
(I was too distracted by the hotness and hilarity combination) – he flooded my basement.
I’ve decided that the long Thanksgiving weekend would be the perfect time to paint the kitchen which is currently the color of a band-aid. Icky. So in honor of that, and the fact that it is a grey Seattle day, I’m going to post a few brightly painted rooms that I love from this years Apartment Therapy Color Contest. Yay! Color!
Here, there be dragons.... →
Fire eaters from Vancouver B.C. with some pretty freaking amazing slo-mo fire breathing action.
poem: Dog's Death
(Note* This poem makes me cry every time I read it - it may be difficult for pet owners to read - but it’s also a loving reminder of how special our pets are and the power of poetry to draw out our emotions regardless of how painful.) She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car. Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor...
Reporter: What do you say to parents who think the Wild Things film may be too scary?
Sendak: I would tell them to go to hell. That's a question I will not tolerate.
Reporter: Because kids can handle it?
Sendak: If they can't handle it, go home. Or wet your pants. Do whatever you like. But it's not a question that can be answered. This concentration on kids being scared, as though we as adults can't be scared. Of course we're scared. I'm scared of watching a TV show about vampires. I can't fall asleep. It never stops. We're grown-ups; we know better, but we're afraid.
Reporter: Why is that important in art?"
Sendak: Because it's truth. You don't want to do something that's all terrifying. I saw the most horrendous movies that were unfit for child's eyes. So what? I managed to survive.
In a study conducted at Stanford, psychologists... →
We thought Tom Cruise was the biggest bore on the... →
Mad Men Fashions: Coming to A Store Near You →
poem: Wan Chu's Wife In Bed
Wan Chu, my adoring husband, has returned from another trip selling trinkets in the provinces. He pulls off his lavender shirt as I lie naked in our bed, waiting for him. He tells me I am the only woman he’ll ever love. He may wander from one side of China to the other, but his heart will always stay with me. His face glows in the lamplight with the sincerity of a boy when I...
poem: Small Comfort
Coffee and cigarettes in a clean cafe, forsythia lit like a damp match against a thundery sky drunk on its own ozone, the laundry cool and crisp and folded away again in the lavender closet-too late to find comfort enough in such small daily moments of beauty, renewal, calm, too late to imagine people would rather be happy than suffering and inflicting suffering. We’re near the end, ...
poem: Love Poem With Toast
Some of what we do, we do to make things happen, the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc, the car to start. The rest of what we do, we do trying to keep something from doing something, the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting, the truth from getting out. With yes and no like the poles of a battery powering our passage through the days, we move, as we call it, forward, wanting to be...
Perfect for this grey and rainy morning. ...
One snap of my fingers and I can raise hemlines so high the whole world’s...– Patsy Stone
I am tagging this post as a test! Nothing to see here! Move along!