Movies

I don't watch T.V. I just don't. But I do like movies. And I like reading movie reviews. Wendy and Lucy is on my want-to-see list.

Fun with Fire

I am working on another long poem, this one involving Olivier Messiaen, Paris, and birdsong. A fire seemed necessary. A colorful fire. So I added one of these pine cones, which came from my grandpa's.

Under the Tree

This morning, Tommy closed his bedroom door (rare) as I walked by. He's eight! He can have a little privacy! I walked by without commenting. Then he hustled out, asked for some pipe cleaners (I had pipe cleaners! I can't believe I had pipe cleaners!), some tin foil, paper clips, and a rubber band. Then he hustled back in, closed the door, and emerged before the walk to the bus stop with a fine grin. Today after school he wrapped something, and I found this under the tree. What joy! It is fun to watch him experience the pleasure of making something to share.

I Have Done So

Progress

Beethoven, Wordsworth and Fulton are getting along quite well now. We are all having tea at the kitchen table, though they have asked me to light a fire. We have had such a fine day together, I am inclined to indulge them.

What I'm Working On

It is approaching bus stop time and I have made little progress on a poem I started working on last Wednesday. There is a lot going on in it, and that accounts for much of my difficulty. I am trying to squeeze Beethoven, Wordsworth, and Robert Fulton into one poem and they are not fitting so well. I work on one part, which then requires some alteration to another part. It is like trying to carry too much laundry up from the basement. I can't see the steps, socks are falling out, and I'm bumping into walls. I stoop to pick up one sock and then a wash cloth falls off the top. I press my chin into a towel to hold everything in place but then I can't see where I am going. So it is with this poem. I add some historical detail and some other historical detail comes tumbling off like an errant sock.

Editorial note: It has been a week since I've posted, and a lint trap was featured prominently in the last posting. Maybe I should set aside Beethoven and Wordsworth and Robert Fulton and work on laundry.