Friday, January 02, 2009

Poem for Friday

Terrible Things Are Happening...
By Maureen N. McLane


Terrible things are happening
                                        in Russian novels!
          Just yesterday I heard
                                        in the café
                              of two peasants, long friends,
                    one in sudden possession
                                                       of a watch
                                                                      hanging
                                                                                from a gold chain
          which so disturbed his compadre
                                                       he stole
                    upon the other unsuspecting, prayed
                                                       to god
                         and slit his throat, fleeing
                                                            with the watch—
                                                                      and that’s not the worst of it!
                    Just yesterday my love and I too
                                                                      had not exactly a "fight"
                         but a "reckoning"
                                                  perhaps, or no—a
                                                       "conversation" which opened the ocean
                                                                      of grief
                              and now she is in another city
                                                  perhaps crying
                                                                   and not because of Russian novels

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The plan was to go downtown to the Museum of American Art to see the Lino Tagliapietra and Georgia O'Keeffe-Ansel Adams exhibits. But I made the mistake of deciding that first, I wanted to move the new keyboard upstairs to Paul's and my room so it wasn't taking up so much of the living room. And that required moving the papasan into Daniel's room. And that required cleaning Daniel's room sufficiently to make room for the papasan. And that...well, let's just say that five or so hours later, it was too late to go downtown. But at least there is room to walk again in four rooms of the house to start the new year, for Adam cleaned his room too, and I cleaned mine!


Historic ships are engraved in the glass panels of the stairwell at the Naval Heritage Center in Washington, DC. (Here for instance, is the USS Constitution a.k.a. Old Ironsides, the 50-gun frigate now berthed in Boston -- the oldest commissioned naval vessel in the world.)


The Heritage Center pays tribute to active US Navy sailors and historic ships, housing a permanent naval memorial, plus a library, computerized registry of veterans and souvenir shop. It is adjacent to the US Navy Memorial on Pennsylvania Avenue across from the National Archives.


This is a segment of the Commemorative Plaque Wall dedicated to individuals, ships, and squadrons.


This was younger son's favorite plaque because of the penguin. I was partial to the plaques in honor of astronauts.


When we visited, there were holiday decorations like this little model of the US Navy Memorial surrounded by a model train.


The museum also has historic equipment...


...as well as uniforms, log books, and flags.


And there is a small chapel on the lower level of the building.


My Bowl watching was sporadic -- I know that USC creamed Penn State, and Virginia Tech played a good third quarter, but that's it. We had an early dinner and watched a bunch more Futurama episodes around the episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation that I need to review tomorrow ("Final Mission" -- not one of the best, but it has Space: 1999's Nick Tate). The cats are distressed at all the upheaval in the house -- they usually take turns sleeping on and under the papasan, which is no longer in the master bedroom, so they don't quite know what to do with themselves, except for Daisy who can sleep anywhere though on top of someone else is her favorite. I'm just hoping they don't decide to try to play the keyboard.

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