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Friday, November 17, 2006


That summer she lost herself in the old garden of words: words mossy with disuse, words thickly woven to block out the sun, words like a crackling carpet of leaves beneath her feet, words to drown in. She carried the seed of a great sorrow that needed nourishing, that needed to be planted between the neat rows of words on a page. The words constricted her, narrowed her world, pulled her ribs tight like a corset and stiffened her spine. She read to find solace, to grow straight of limb and serene, to press her unruly and ragged anger flat, to tamp it down beneath the pungent earth and let it come to her from the roots, distilled and purified into something life-giving and glorious.
She lay in bed between hot sheets peeled back at the ends, toes seeking coolness in the dense air. The day passed outside the windows. The light rose in the morning, warm and diffuse and slanted, in the late afternoon, toward untidy stacks of books lining the perimeter of the bed.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Cure for a Restless Soul in the Throes of a November Drizzle

A cup of tea.
The dog.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

The Daily Cup of Jonathan: How Jonathan Eats His Brownies Edition

Friday, November 03, 2006

The Chapter in Which Our Intrepid Heroine Discovers Heretofore Unknown Talents in the Trackless Urban Jungle

Dear Timorous Reader, who may perhaps have feared for my safety out of the hill-less dells of my youth, let me tell you something: I am Washington's Hippolyta, brave Amazon Queen who can fell a speeding Jaguar at three hundred paces. Left to my own devices, I can track a Starbucks through the wilderness on the strength of my cunning and infallible inner compass. From the steps of the Corcoran Gallery, I stalked the spoor of steaming white cups and discarded cardboard jackets until the trail went cold, and I had nothing but my keen sixth sense to guide me. From there it was but a heartbeat to the warm carcass of my first kill. Oh the sweet, rich nectar of it, dipping my fingers in the sugary blood to paint my face... Sure, I could have asked someone, but where would the thrill in that be? What a philistine you are, Dear Reader. Really, sometimes I wonder about you...

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Getting to Know Me, Getting to Know Alllllllll About Meeeee...

Skye in her infinite wisdom introduced me to a desk calendar from Koco NY -- the "She" calendar, which personifies every month as some variety of girl. This approach speaks, of course, to the deepest root of my pleasure in things. I love personification (also onomotopeia, anaphora, and anything else that describes literary devices and has a long and complicated name); I love seasons and seasonal imagery.

Here's the one for November:

November can spell "cornucopia" backwards.
She teaches children to remember Pilgrims and Indians.

November likes to linger on the last chapter.
She is self-reflective.

November has a campaign scrapbook.
She creates real connections.

November's voice can be heard by all people.
She gives with all her heart.

November turns departures into arrivals.
She listens. And reaches out.

November inherited the first recipe for pumpkin pie.
She is a historical fact.

November can hear winter's voice.
She moves with simple grace.

November always remembers to give thanks.
Her wisdom is her intution.

November loves to celebrate human qualities.
She dances holding hands.

It's like I'm their poster child!

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