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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| - - For years now, every time I've moved, I've begun writing in a new journal. There's something I like about having different volumes for different settings. I like knowing that the worn black volume with silver lettering is the one that contains my experiences at Gordon, the little leather one has pathetic bits of poetry from my previous stay on the Island, and the red hardcover filled with purple lettering is the one I agonized in when I was learning how to work with the girls in California.
Once again, I'm writing in a new journal - cloth covered this time, with a leather binding. And also in this one, my new online journal:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/greyfroggie/ | | |
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I've been thoroughly enjoying this rainy succession of days. Yesterday I had a fascinating conversation about Poe with a rather eccentric old vet I met at work some months ago. He used to be a professor at Brown, and calls me every couple of weeks to see if we've started stocking a certain telescope part . . . we don't stock this part. But the answer is always the same - "well, never mind my dear. How are YOU?" And if it's quiet in the shop, a good bit of my next hour will be spent talking books, politics, and history with this erudite man, and listening to his "back when we were young" stories.
I wonder what will happen when we start carrying that pesky telescope part. | | |
| - Black Muddy River Spent time with my people yesterday. I feel happy and refreshed. I decided that that nameless hapiness that comes from time spent with good old friends feels in some ways quite akin to the deep satisfaction of downing a cold glass of well water when you're really, really thirsty. | | |
| I love thunderstorms. They inevitably make me want to go adventuring. Something about that first clap of thunder always incites in me the desire to make a quick raid of the cupboards for survival rations (chocolate chips, raisins and graham crackers are all good finds), grab some quick necessities (flashlight, ancient book of detective stories, and almost-as-ancient blanket . . . yes, I do mean my baby blanket) and then venture off into the wooks, leaving the certainty of a well built house to seek the more pleasing and companionable shelter of some fallen tree.
I'm wishing I weren't in town tonight. I miss my old woods, and particularly the peepers that I'm sure are being very talkative down by the brook. Their nightly chatter has been a distinctly missing part of springtime for me this year. | | |
| It's been a long week. I think the best part of it was some time I spent a couple of evenings ago, somewhere past midnight, on the floor in Mom & Dad’s bathroom, sitting next to the cardboard box which is home for now to nine little chicks. I’m not quite sure how I ended up there, singing them to sleep as all nine squished and shoved themselves into a pile of fluff, huddled under my rather stubby little hand, but somehow those sleepy wee fluff-balls made the frustrations of this long crazy week seem so irrelevant. For the first time in much too long, I went to sleep feeling as Browning said, that “God’s in his heaven – All’s right with the world.” I wanted to smuggle one of the fluff-balls home with me - the one with little brown spots on its head, but the idea of keeping a baby chick in an apartment reminded me of Joey from Friends and that was enough to deter me. Ah well. | | |
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