A Smile and A Gentleness
By Jalaluddin Rumi
Translated by Coleman Barks
There is a smile and a gentleness
inside. When I learned the name
and address of that, I went to where
you sell perfume. I begged you not
to trouble me so with longing. Come
out and play! Flirt more naturally.
Teach me how to kiss. On the ground
a spread blanket, flame that's caught
and burning well, cumin seeds browning,
I am inside all of this with my soul.
So, remember how I had a flood in my closet during a bad rainstorm a few weeks ago? The insurance company finally dispatched a repair company to fix the roof and attic and closet, but since it rained so hard last night and was still raining this morning, they actually couldn't do the roof repairs on Wednesday as scheduled and will have to return on Friday. They did repaint the closet -- the entire closet, not just the ceiling as we were originally led to believe, which means we had to move everything out of our four-feet-deep bedroom closet in which we keep, well, everything. They helped us get the stuff out. But they left while the paint was drying, and although they offered to return the next day to help put the stuff back in, that would have left three of us with nowhere to sleep, since there was stuff all over the beds and completely blocking the upstairs doors. So my entire afternoon an evening were taken up with sorting, discarding, and replacing the contents of my closet.
I hope this counts as exercise because it's the only activity I managed...and since it was Bastille Day, Paul decided we should have ratatouille for dinner with bread, cheese, and chocolate souffle for dessert. Not that I am complaining. Daniel spent most of the day at Kay's house working with her husband on his summer project; Adam went out to lunch with my father at Bagel City, then to the pool, and taught himself to do graphics things in Apophysis and Blender. I am trying to remember whether I ever learned as quickly as he does. He has already taught himself to do things with Photoshop that I haven't mastered in years of fiddling. And that's about all the news, other than I see Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston have learned in their high school equivalency courses that 15x15 equals nearly four hours of fame. Since we have no reality TV show, here are photos of me and Paul at the Museum of Frontier Culture helping to make cheese.
While visiting the English farmhouse at the museum in Staunton...
...a reenactor asked whether we'd like to help remove the cheese from the cheese press.
Being brave and intrepid souls, we naturally agreed.
He held; I pulled.
Younger son took photos; older son laughed at us. My hands smelled like cheese for the rest of the morning, but it was worth it.
I imagine that the reenactor's hands always smell like cheese. Except that she gets to chop onions, too.
Here is a view of the cheese press with the cheese back inside...
...and here is the fireplace, where peas and lamb were cooking while we were there.