the wind is whipping the trees around and you can here it slosh through the crevices in the doors. The wind chimes are clanging repeatedly with no rhythm and I am laying on the couch with a wee bit of bandwidth, typing this post. My husband just brought in some slippery elm wood to see how it will burn, he and his buddies have almost finished loading the woodshed for the winter ahead. My little cat Honey Bunny has been meowing like a fiend all afternoon, I thought she was hungry, but soon after I fed her, she was back at it, Meoww, she still misses Tazz. Tazz, our black cat, passed away in July and neither Honey Bunny, nor I, are over it. I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again. The denial part still sinks in, ‘Oh, he will be back…isn’t that him walking through the kitchen now.’
Other than that, today we have 4 signs out front promoting the democratic candidates in our area and the ban on fracking. I arrived home from the library and shopping at 2 to see the signs all nicely aligned out front. I caved in at the store and bought a decorative element for the front window this Halloween, a ceramic crow with his head cocked back looking over his shoulder. He is sitting up there waiting for the pumpkin I’m going to decorate tonight after I rustle up the lamb chops for supper.
My own Freudian analysis of the crow purchase is this: I have spent the last 2 months hearing the game Angry Birds as a back drop to my evening reading and I have been busy watching the new and improved pigeon hobby of my husband’s take flight: the purchase of the birds; construction of their flight pens; and purchase of their antibiotics and feed. It makes sense I’d want some little bird of my own. And then of course, there is Tazz, my first Halloween without his glowing green eyes since 1993 and the poem I quoted at the end of the summer about Edgar Allen Poe’s sweet Lenore: “Thus quoth The Raven: Nevermore, Nevermore.”
“Ah but it is the nature of things.” my husband will say after reading this.
tonight I am attending my writing group for the first time in a month and I feel I should show up with something. I keep putting off writing what I really want to write about. Kind of like what gets between you and everything else you want to do.
The best I can think of is the scene last Wednesday night. I skipped Writing Group to meet up with a friend from grad school as she had invited me to join her for what use to be called a hen party. Basically a bunch of women getting together to chat and eat. I knew only my friend but the other 4 women were easy to be around and I found we were sharing some laughs over life in general. Toward the end of the evening, I was noting the host’s lovely kitten and cats…they were so clean and well-groomed they looked like part of the home decor. It is at that point that I mentioned that my husband was building 2 new pigeon aviaries for his flyers.
“Flyers,” they looked quizzically. “Don’t all pigeons fly?”
I then started to explain the whole pigeon thing. The fancy names and breeds and show pigeons that my husband has been raising for years. With each story, they started giggling louder and louder. Seems they had not ventured into this pigeon world before. One gal completely lost it when I told her about the beautiful brown and white satinettes and how the woman at the fair asked me to take good care of them. Show pigeons I explained, this gal was laughing so hard: “Do you put crowns on them? It sounds they are a rock band.” Another lady asked about the flyers and I had to explain that there were the Budapesh flyers and the Bell Neck rollers and “don’t you know,” I added: “the Bell Necks might not be in the best shape so that is why the third aviary was built.” By this time all of us were laughing.
They were laughing because I think in their mind they saw the ubiquitous street pigeon. I was laughing because I realized that I had been indoctrinated into the pigeon cult. I was actually the expert in the room and I sounded just like a pigeon person. Those folks who hang out at the fair and on rural farms, raising their pigeons.
So that is it, a little vignette about life in the country on an October night. I’ve got to go, the group is starting soon.
It is the vision thing…is it me, or have other people noticed the coma we seem to be in? I read a Wall Street Journal article about Steve Jobs and after I finished it, thought, “yes, this guy had a vision.” Not only did he have a vision, but he got buy in. Then, my mind flashed to the little bits of news I saw tonight.
The Donald was on, I am not really sure what happened to him but he had this white powdery substance around his blood shot eyes and what looked like a brush of makeup on a tan face. He was complaining about Obama and as dour as ever.
Then I flashed to the picture of the Republican wanna bees for President. Apparently Rick Perry’s evangelical minister has now made things a bit more interesting by saying that the Mormon Church is a cult.
The US needs a vision, I know there are people out there with vision, I just can’t figure out where there publicists are? It seems that we know what we don’t want, but that we are void as a nation of what we do want.
I do find it interesting that people refer to Steve Jobs as a secular god and that he was a Zen Buddhist. Maybe its just me, but what can be more elegant and divine than creating user friendly machines that allow human creativity to bloom. Maybe the buddhists are on to something because I see lots of religious people making and using killing machines all the while claiming to serve god.
Go in peace to the ether
from which you came
Steve Jobs, as I write w/
we are all
connected in some way
to somethings we can not
perhaps we are simply 1s & 0s
Bouncing around the universe until
a form takes shape that brings
out the fruit that the universe
calls for at just the right time,
in just the right way.
No matter~as Cat Stevens sings:
“The goodbye makes the journey