Poem for Saturday and Volunteer Park Sights

Water Lilies 

By Sara Teasdale 

If you have forgotten water lilies floating

On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade,

If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance,

Then you can return and not be afraid.

But if you remember, then turn away forever

To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart,

There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies,

And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your heart. 

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We had rain back in the Seattle area on Saturday, so although we went to Volunteer Park after lunch, we mostly stuck to the indoor spaces. This was fine, because harpist Bill McJohn was performing in the conservatory in the room with the decorated trees and poinsettias -- we also walked through the cactus house, the ancient forest room, and the orchids -- and there were a couple of exhibits we wanted to see at the Seattle Asian Art Museum next door, including Anila Quayyum Agha's exhibit of geometric-patterned Islamic-based steel and paper art and Ai Weiwei's Water Lilies, a display based on Monet created from over half a million LEGO pieces.

 

We stopped at Safeway for food for next week and ingredients for things we're bringing to Cahaya's parents' house tomorrow for holiday celebrations. We saw the end of the Eagles-Commanders game before Cheryl and I watched the most recent episode of Taylor Swift: The End of an Era, followed by The Eras Tour: The Final Show, both on Disney+ -- it's very fun to watch the concert after hearing interviews with the choreographers, dancers, and various other people connected to the show, and I hadn't seen decent footage of the TTPD numbers before. Now we're catching up on the Ghosts holiday two-parter, which is goofy and fun.

Poem for Wednesday and Watching the Kids

Weeds 

By Edna St. Vincent Millay 

White with daisies and red with sorrel

And empty, empty under the sky! -

Life is a quest and love a quarrel -

Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies dpring from damnèd seeds,

And this red fire that here I see

Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,

Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,

The sorrel runs in ragged flame,

The daisy stands, a bastard flower,

Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings

The baying of a pack athirst,

May sleep the sleep of blessèd things,

The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

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I apologize if you're tired of hearing about goats or baseball, but I'm afraid those have been far and away the highlights of my week. We just watched the Mariners win the AL West -- in part Cal Raleigh's 59th and 60th home runs of the season -- and the only real break I took between the Orioles game and that was going out to see the goats that are eating our neighborhood's overgrown blackberry bushes and other weeds, which I did several other times today. One of the goats is a mom with two kids who occasionally stop eating the reeds to nurse, and it is adorable to watch them at work with her.

 

Besides watching baseball and doing some computer work, I finally finished The Paris Bookseller, which I ended up rating 4/5 stars because of the number of times it mentions Margaret Anderson and The Little Review though I still think Beach's autobiography tells her story better (it's easy to read between the lines about her anger toward certain men). Now we're watching Gen V -- Cipher may be the most evil of all -- and hopefully will get to the season premiere of Slow Horses before bedtime, though Paul has a colonoscopy tomorrow so he may not last that long tonight.

Poem for Tuesday and Goat Landscapers

Bait Goat 

By Kay Ryan 

There is a

distance where

magnets pull,

we feel, having

held them   

back. Likewise

there is a

distance where

words attract.

Set one out

like a bait goat   

and wait and   

seven others

will approach.

But watch out:

roving packs can

pull your word

away. You   

find your stake   

yanked and some   

rough bunch

to thank.

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Tuesday was Rosh Hashanah, and my Grandma Sylvia's birthday, and apparently the Rapture though for a previously mentioned reason I did not qualify so I'm still on the planet. But although I was expecting a quiet New Year celebration with itchy eyes because smoke from the Cascades and Canadian fires is sitting over our area, I ended up having an excellent afternoon, because our neighborhood has hired goats to manage the overgrown vegetation that they're not allowed to chop down to protect the wetlands, so we got to watch the goats arrive and depart their trailer and start eating the massive knot of invasive blackberries and other vines between our apartment and the lake. The cats we often see in the corner window were just as interested in watching the goats as we were. 

I did not finish The Paris Bookseller due to being distracted by the goats, but I did manage to walk to beach despite the smoky skies. Many Canada geese are congregating at the park, possibly to eat acorns like the ducks. Then I came home for my Trek group, which watched DS9's "Rules of Acquisition" -- Ferengi sexism has aged terribly, as has Jadzia's tolerance for it, but "Necessary Evil" is next and that was a life-changing episode for me so I can live with a bad one this week. We watched the Orioles winning around dinner, but the real baseball news here is that the Mariners have clinched a spot in the postseason! We just watched the season finale of Alien: Earth, which I really, really hope will be back next season, and now we're watching The Morning Show which I have missed.

Poem for Monday and Rosh Hashanah Tidepools

Burlington Arcade 

By Julian Stannard 

I’m being carried down

the Burlington Arcade

by Beadles in top hats,

jewelers on both sides

holding out their hands

and wrapped in cashmere.

When people speak of

near-death experiences

they’re always going through

tunnels, they’re happy,

they’re never going through

the Burlington Arcade.

Eric says, It’s good

to see you wearing clothes

and I have to admit he’s

wearing the most beautiful

trousers and I say, Eric

you’re not supposed to be

in this poem. Get back

into your shop! I can see

a light at the end of the tunnel.

The Head Beadle’s saying

“Burlington Gardens!”

Should I tip him?

Am I dead?

What happens next?

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Happy 5786! I got defriended yesterday by a friend since 2001, apparently for saying I support studios that aren't boycotting Israeli singers and filmmakers, so happy new year to me. I ran late doing chores Monday so I will keep this short. We ran out in the late morning to Blazing Bagels and to Whole Foods to get food for Rosh Hashanah, I did laundry and some computer-related chores, I'm nearing the end of The Paris Bookseller and am amused that James Joyce is the villain of the story. We walked to the beach in lovely first-day-of-autumn weather. 

Paul made us noodle kugel and jackfruit brisket for dinner, plus we had apples and honey (and chocolate ice cream). We saw the horrible end of the Ravens-Lions game, but our main entertainment late evening was Swiped, the Lily James movie about the Tinder co-founder who created Bumble after the tech bros at the former treated her like shit, which was infuriating in all the ways I expected and had a pretty good ending. From Alki Beach yesterday, sea stars and cucumbers, anemones, crabs, and chitons in the tidepools and hiding in the rocks:

Poem for Friday and Furvana Vacation

The Prime of Life 

By Isaac Asimov 

It was, in truth, an eager youth

Who halted me one day.

He gazed in bliss at me, and this

Is what he had to say:

"Why, mazel tov, it's Asimov,

A blessing on your head!

For many a year, I've lived in fear

That you were long since dead.

Or if alive, one fifty-five

Cold years had passed you by,

And left you weak, with poor physique,

Thin hair and rheumy eye.

For sure enough, I've read your stuff

Since I was but a lad

And couldn't spell or hardly tell

The good yarns from the bad.

My father, too, was reading you

Before he met my Ma.

For you he earned, once he had learned

About you from his Pa.

Since time began, you wondrous man,

My ancestors did love

That s.f. dean and writing machine

The aged Asimov."

I'd had my fill. I said: "Be still!

I've kept my old-time spark.

My step is light, my eye is bright,

My hair is thick and dark."

His smile, in brief, spelled disbelief,

So this is what I did;

I scowled, you know, and with one blow,

I killed that rotten kid. 

-------- 

Friday was pretty quiet around here -- chores with cat help, photos of dogs and turtles in Malaysia from Daniel, chat about work and Thanksgiving travel plans with Adam. I tried to keep up with the news but then couldn't stand it any more, so I read the so-so novel about Sylvia Beach that mentions Margaret Anderson and The Little Review at least once a chapter so it gets a pass on everything else. Girlyman made me ridiculously happy by reuniting to sing "On the Air"; I was so sad when they split up with so much hostility and made it so public, it had kind of ruined that song and a lot of others for me. In the afternoon, we walked to the beach, and later were visited by a raccoon in one of the trees. 

Dinner was veggie avgolemono, eaten while we watched some of the Orioles loss and the Mariners victory (TIED FOR FIRST). We also watched this week's Peacemaker with Cheryl (fly Eagly fly) and the Foundation season finale (no Dusk no Dusk NO, but at least it's been renewed for a fourth season), and now we're watching the live-action Lilo & Stitch, which is absolutely charming and extremely funny, so just what I was in the mood for -- also it goes well with Pokemon Concierge, which I've seen in bits and think of as Pokemon: White Lotus. I think I mentioned that Furvana was in Ocean Shores while we were there, and now I will picture the town happily with furries everywhere:

Poem for Monday and Juanita Bay Frogs

Young Bullfrogs 

By Carl Sandburg 

Jimmy Wimbleton listened a first week in June. 

Ditches along prairie roads of Northern Illinois 

Filled the arch of night with young bullfrog songs. 

Infinite mathematical metronomic croaks rose and spoke, 

Rose and sang, rose in a choir of puzzles. 

They made his head ache with riddles of music. 

They rested his head with beaten cadence. 

Jimmy Wimbledon listened. 

-------- 

Daniel is getting married on Saturday, so I have a lot of things to get done this week, which today included laundry, finding nude control top pantyhose, picking up prescriptions, and getting my nails done, which is something I hadn't done since 1994 until Adam's wedding in January so it still feels weird to me -- I remember having not to touch anything for half an hour before they started using those UV light things to bake the topcoat, and now they're so strong. 

We got pierogis in the mall in Bellevue and ate those with veggie burgers for dinner while watching Star Wars: Rebels with Cheryl -- the end of the final season, which we have now finished and it was so good that we want to rewatch Ahsoka now that we know so much more about the characters. Now we're watching Veep, waiting for the arrival of Hugh Laurie and for it to be dark enough to look for the aurora. Juanita Bay bullfrogs from yesterday: 

Poem for Tuesday and Zoo Lizards

Lizard 

By D.H. Lawrence 

A lizard ran out on a rock and looked up, listening

no doubt to the sounding of the spheres.

And what a dandy fellow! the right toss of a chin for you

And swirl of a tail!

If men were as much men as lizards are lizards

they’d be worth looking at.

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My Tuesday was uneventful -- dyed my hair, organized photos, tried to clear up a clusterfuck involving a package with the post office that is still clusterfucked. We were going to take a walk as soon as Paul finished work, but of course the sky opened up just at that moment and it poured for half an hour, so we took a much shorter walk than intended; at least the eagle was out. My Trek group watched DS9's "Babel" which isn't one of the greats but it lets Kira be badass and hits the Bajoran-Cardassian conflict so I like it. 

Then I watched Daredevil with Cheryl, which irritated me more than anything (so once he found out Fisk killed lots of other people but NOT his friend, he decided to take a bullet for him? Like so many vigilante stories, I feel like contrived excuses are invented for escalating violence -- and for making us dislike major female characters). Afterward I watched the Orioles lose, and our fire alarm went off, neither of which improved my mood. Now House is at least making me laugh. Reptiles at the Woodland Park Zoo: 

Poem for Thursday and Farm Horses

The White Horse 

By D.H. Lawrence 

The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on 

and the horse looks at him in silence. 

They are so silent, they are in another world. 

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Thursday morning was pretty quiet around here -- a bunch of computer work, a couple of phone calls fighting with the post office and a shipping company over a Kickstarter package I never got that everyone blames someone else for. We watched the Orioles lose to the Red Sox around lunch, then we took a walk; it was a little chilly but sunny and beautiful. One of the pairs of eagles seem to be making a nest west of the lake, but the other pair were right by the water, watching the cormorants and ducks. 

My Thursday night chat group talked for a couple of hours about politics and entertainment, after which we watched Ghosts (I like the new '40s Hollywood ghost but Thor needs to grow up), followed by Doctor Odyssey (the nepo baby spring break episode with Paris Jackson and Ava Phillippe; everyone needs to grow up but it gets very didactic when they try). Now we're watching The Wheel of Time with its kick-ass women and men I mostly don't care about. Horses at Farrel-McWhirter farm last weekend: