Friday, May 4, 2018

May the 4th

Rattle your light sabres today...

Many people all over the world count themselves on their national census forms as followers of the Jedi religion. Yes, there are some 20,000 Jedi knights in Canada. Look around you. You never know which 20,000.

Today tickets for the latest Lucas installment Solo: A Star Wars Story go on sale, in preparation for its May 25th opening. Go here to see Ron Howard talk to Stephen Colbert about it and see a surprise trailer starting about point 6:30—in honour of today's date.


Grab some tacos y cerveza mañana... but stay well away from Montezuma and his infamous cosmic revenge.
...
If this isn't nice, what is?

Sunday, April 29, 2018

May 2018

And the sun returns...

We all know April.
She's Winter's minion.
Winter's handmaid.
Winter's gal Friday.
Winter's tail.
Or
Winter's tale?
This April
Ice continued to plague
Along with snow
And freezing rain.

We always want
April to tell Spring's tale.
But why should she?
She may hint
But she's been practising
Forever
And she know's her part.
No lions or lambs for her.
She's into that method acting thing.
Her hints are all a part of her part
Designed to tease us
With yearning
And fill us with denial
Of her ultimate Truth:
Spring will always follow Winter.

The Sun returns
With warmth and shadows.
The whole outdoors
Is about to rejoice...
Reinventing itself
For itself
And
For us.

It's about time
For a walk in the park...
And iced tea on the balcony.
...
If this isn't nice, what is?

              ~ Kurt Vonnegut, of course

Friday, March 30, 2018

Apr 2018

Love Amid the Ligatures...

April 1878:
Elizabeth Lovell Peak,
Twenty-six, self-assured,
Typesetter,
Born in Cambridge,
The old one, in England,
Arrives in New York City
With sister, Rebecca,
Another typesetter. Both
Full of girlish hope
For careers and families
In new world.

June 1878:
Rebecca decides to
Move on to Winnipeg,
Later home to Winnie the Pooh,
Is there some connection?
Maybe someone will
Connect dots.
Not I.

July 1882:
Still in New York City
     Mr. McNutt publishes a
     Weekly newspaper in
     Calvert, Texas.

Publisher friend introduces
Typesetter Elizabeth to
Potential employer.
     Oh, The Calvert Courier?
She asks—not because
She knows the paper,
But because alliterative mastheads
Are de rigueur in England.
     Why…. Yes, Miss Peak.
Answers Alexander Dewitt McNutt.
Smile in eyes as well as on lips.

That’s the beginning.
Mr. McNutt doesn’t hire
The young typesetter.
He courts her via letters
And telegrams.
They marry.
Elizabeth joins him in east Texas
Where they live
In white corner house in Calvert.
The Calvert Courier becomes
Renown regional rag,
Circulates beyond
Robertson County,
Even to Dallas:
Repository of Texas gentry,
Wealth and society.

Four daughters
Arrive in bi-annual installments:
Alice, my grandmother, the bright one.
Alexandria, the wild one.
Mary, the difficult one.
Florence, the beautiful one.
Little Dee, sole son,
Dies of consumption at four.

November 1895:
On Galveston shopping trip
With three-year-old Mary,
Elizabeth reads of ship
Sailing for England… today.
Sudden bitter homesickness
Overwhelms.
Counting money in purse
She finds enough for
One-way tickets.
     Have gone home with Mary.
     Will wire for money when
     Ready to return.

Terse telegram to Mr. McNutt.
Six months later they return
To blooming east Texas roses.
No explanation required.
Mr. McNutt is accustomed
To wife’s self-directed nature.
He welcomes her back home
With those smiling eyes.

The Calvert Courier flourishes.
The McNutt family prospers,
Lives happily.
Photos show little girls
In splendid dresses and
Feathered hats.
Elizabeth sets type on occasion and
Helps out in Courier office on occasion.

September 1898:
When Mr. McNutt dies
At fifty-six.
She carries on as publisher.

Sorting through his papers
Elizabeth finds old invoice
Squirrelled away in roll-top desk:
Cost for new masthead
Changing
     The Calvert Messenger
To
     The Calvert Courier.
It’s dated September 1878.

Elizabeth Lovell Peak McNutt sits,
Stunned to learn
Twenty years on,
Effect of her first remark
To Alexander Dewitt McNutt,
And significance of
His first smile
In eyes as well as on lips.
...
Pic is from my entrance all. Of course, that's Alexander on the left and Elizabeth on the right.

The marble torso is one of mine, carved from a hunk of pink marble Phoebe found on her grandmother's property outside of Dilly, Texas. Pink marble is not native to Texas so its presence there remains a mystery. Actually, it was originally a much larger hunk but the cowboy her grandma sent to fetch it, used a sledgehammer, breaking it into five smaller pieces to make it easier to carry. This hunk was a happy birthday present from Phoebe. I call this piece the Cilician woman, because I had been studying Anabasis in Greek and this woman, queen, general aided Cyrus in his Persian expedition.
The small silver dish with honeycomb edge peeking out (and a bee you can't see here!) is done by Lyn Belisle, a university classmate Phoebe and I met the first time at our reunion in 2015. The little green bird has no story. I like his colour and he fits on this perch watching over all my comings and goings.
...
If this isn't nice, what is?

              ~ Kurt Vonnegut, of course

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Mar 2018

Delicate promises...

I was going to show you the skaters enjoying our newly-completed hockey rink and recreational skating area in Riverdale Park. From the comfort of my balcony, I've watched them day-after-day as they affirm what a good idea these rinks are. I've not skated for yonks, of course, but I do remember learning how to skate in San Antonio, Texas. I also remember taking Peter to skate in Sydney, Australia... at a very melty outdoor rink! In Toronto, I remember skating at City Hall and quaffing a very welcome hot chocolate afterwards. Memories of joyful slipping and sliding—and yes, even falling—gently nudge me.

At the last minute, though, I've opted to focus on an optimism for the near future. Thank you, Agnes, for this filigreed image. The memories this one stirs are of the sun warming my soul as well as my skin. All of nature remembers, too. And whether we're greeted with lion or lamb this March morn, we're ready. It may be hot chocolate today, but soon it'll be cold lemonade again.

Remember?
...
If this isn't nice, what is?

              ~ Kurt Vonnegut, of course

Thursday, February 1, 2018

Feb 2018

Making the invisible visible...

Over the hols,
My balcony Buddha
Became enlightened
For all to see.

It might be blinding,
But NOW, like Neo,
He's finding
It's also binding...
He can't go back
To the not-knowing
Or the not-caring.

NOW, all he thought
He knew
Is new NOW...
And he's new NOW
With new purpose
And even new gravity...
NOW.

I say NOW,
But we all know
The original Buddha's
NOW was a very long time ago.
And still, it's NOW...

Because once we're
Blinded by the Light,
We're always all revved up
Like a deuce,
Another runner in the night...

Seeking.
Being.
Here.
NOW.
For all to see.
And mostly...

To see ourselves.
...
If this isn't nice, what is?

              ~ Kurt Vonnegut, of course