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Yes, why not?
The kittens are growing - they're about ready to take a little trip to the vet. They love, love, love to come in the house - i even bought a sisal mouse and some little balls with bells inside!
Heh.
They all napped on me a couple of days ago and tried for the first ten minutes to burrow into my hair and neck. Silly kittens.
This morning - after a lovely bit of storm last night - i saw this in my yard and had to take a picture. Probably two feet across. Just lovely.
Web.
Let's see - anything else interesting? Keeper of the Book by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nwhepcat is - just too neat. Xander post-everything, post-Africa, post sanity. Wesley, a bit of Spike, and Anne. Lovely stuff, cunning and clever and skeery. Go and read! WIP that's updating fairly regularly.
And i saw this first ately_jan's LJ - the poetry meme. I love poetry, so...here's two, because i couldn't decide.
'Hello, Hello Henry'
My neighbor in the country, Henry Manley,
with a washpot warming on his woodstove,
with a heifer and two goats and yearly chickens,
has outlasted Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill
but something's stirring in him in his dotage.
Last fall he dug a hole and moved his privy
and a year ago in April reamed his well out.
When the country sent a truck and poles and cable,
his Daddy ran the linemen off with birdshot
and swore he'd die by oil lamp, and did.
Now you tell me that all yesterday in Boston
you set your city phone at mine, and had it ringing
inside a dead apartment for three hours
room after empty room, to keep yours busy.
I hear it in my head, that ranting summons.
That must have been about the time that Henry
walked up two miles, shy as a girl come calling
to tell me he has a phone now, 264, ring two.
It rang one time last week - wrong number.
He'd be pleased if one day I would think to call him.
Hello, hello Henry? Is that you?
'Cellar Hole in Joppa'
o my dear skeleton
Bearing in mind the way
the earth takes back into itself each year
half an inch or so of rot,
digesting amiably enough deer
droppings, splinters of dead birds, the splay
of struck trees and what-
ever man has left behind,
we dig down in the caved-in place
we think a house stood on, its chimney face-
ing east, still the prevailing wind.
Past pignuts and tree roots and a garden
of eyeless stones striped like turnips, the spade
clangs seven feet deep and decades
fall backward to 1805 or -10.
o my dear skeleton
what is to be preserved and why?
Bearing in mind the way
the patriarch, his wife, his livestock,
the branches of his tree - nine sons,
eight sturdy, one clubfooted, and a rock-
candy daughter - may
go down, like the chimney, all at once
in a year of drought or winterkill,
there comes from digging deep a hard
love in the boneyard.
The trash heap underneath the groundsill
gives up at last a piece of bowl.
A pot the rust has eaten down to crumbs
of blood flakes against our thumbs.
Then a blue bottle, ink crusted but whole.
o my dear skeleton
what is to be preserved and why?
is there a word to keep you by?
Bearing in mind the way
us hangers-on will also be
reclaimed, much as in the woods
where pastures were, a Model T
accepts a pine that thrusts each workday
the pole of itself more stoutly through the hood,
and seeing us rev up our automatic shift
V-8 for that one hour turnpike cruise
with quarters for tolls and Sunday supper blues,
with dog, ice chest, children, all that is left
to fall in at some undated dear
future hour, o my skeleton,
what is to be said of one
pocked blue bottle brought to light this year?
what is to be preserved and why?
Not the spoon fingers that dipped the pen.
Not the chimney maker, not the black sky
full of wind that spoke Amen.
No document of that outcry.
o my dear skeleton
no word to keep you by.
Both are from 'Up Country' by Maxine Kumin.
New icon! Needed a sexy!Spike icon. :)
ETA: I used to like Gilmore Girls, ages ago. Now? Good gods. So, so stupid. *clings to Paris*
The kittens are growing - they're about ready to take a little trip to the vet. They love, love, love to come in the house - i even bought a sisal mouse and some little balls with bells inside!
Heh.
They all napped on me a couple of days ago and tried for the first ten minutes to burrow into my hair and neck. Silly kittens.
This morning - after a lovely bit of storm last night - i saw this in my yard and had to take a picture. Probably two feet across. Just lovely.
Web.
Let's see - anything else interesting? Keeper of the Book by
nwhepcat is - just too neat. Xander post-everything, post-Africa, post sanity. Wesley, a bit of Spike, and Anne. Lovely stuff, cunning and clever and skeery. Go and read! WIP that's updating fairly regularly.And i saw this first at
ely_jan's LJ - the poetry meme. I love poetry, so...here's two, because i couldn't decide.'Hello, Hello Henry'
My neighbor in the country, Henry Manley,
with a washpot warming on his woodstove,
with a heifer and two goats and yearly chickens,
has outlasted Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill
but something's stirring in him in his dotage.
Last fall he dug a hole and moved his privy
and a year ago in April reamed his well out.
When the country sent a truck and poles and cable,
his Daddy ran the linemen off with birdshot
and swore he'd die by oil lamp, and did.
Now you tell me that all yesterday in Boston
you set your city phone at mine, and had it ringing
inside a dead apartment for three hours
room after empty room, to keep yours busy.
I hear it in my head, that ranting summons.
That must have been about the time that Henry
walked up two miles, shy as a girl come calling
to tell me he has a phone now, 264, ring two.
It rang one time last week - wrong number.
He'd be pleased if one day I would think to call him.
Hello, hello Henry? Is that you?
'Cellar Hole in Joppa'
o my dear skeleton
Bearing in mind the way
the earth takes back into itself each year
half an inch or so of rot,
digesting amiably enough deer
droppings, splinters of dead birds, the splay
of struck trees and what-
ever man has left behind,
we dig down in the caved-in place
we think a house stood on, its chimney face-
ing east, still the prevailing wind.
Past pignuts and tree roots and a garden
of eyeless stones striped like turnips, the spade
clangs seven feet deep and decades
fall backward to 1805 or -10.
o my dear skeleton
what is to be preserved and why?
Bearing in mind the way
the patriarch, his wife, his livestock,
the branches of his tree - nine sons,
eight sturdy, one clubfooted, and a rock-
candy daughter - may
go down, like the chimney, all at once
in a year of drought or winterkill,
there comes from digging deep a hard
love in the boneyard.
The trash heap underneath the groundsill
gives up at last a piece of bowl.
A pot the rust has eaten down to crumbs
of blood flakes against our thumbs.
Then a blue bottle, ink crusted but whole.
o my dear skeleton
what is to be preserved and why?
is there a word to keep you by?
Bearing in mind the way
us hangers-on will also be
reclaimed, much as in the woods
where pastures were, a Model T
accepts a pine that thrusts each workday
the pole of itself more stoutly through the hood,
and seeing us rev up our automatic shift
V-8 for that one hour turnpike cruise
with quarters for tolls and Sunday supper blues,
with dog, ice chest, children, all that is left
to fall in at some undated dear
future hour, o my skeleton,
what is to be said of one
pocked blue bottle brought to light this year?
what is to be preserved and why?
Not the spoon fingers that dipped the pen.
Not the chimney maker, not the black sky
full of wind that spoke Amen.
No document of that outcry.
o my dear skeleton
no word to keep you by.
Both are from 'Up Country' by Maxine Kumin.
New icon! Needed a sexy!Spike icon. :)
ETA: I used to like Gilmore Girls, ages ago. Now? Good gods. So, so stupid. *clings to Paris*
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And the latter poem reminds me of the graveyard across the street from my house. I took a walk there a few days ago, thinking that I should take some pictures and post them in my journal. The trees are starting to turn and in a few weeks will be spectacular. Thanks for the poems.
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:)
I actually like a walk in a cemetary, especially an old one. Very cool.
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Tonight was torture. I hate plots that are based on people behaving stupidly, and NOBOBY (except the maid) was behaving as if they had a brain cell between all of them.
Julia, which is also called "boring"
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/rant
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:)
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Yes!!
They are stupid-inducingly cute.
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And ewwww! Giant spider web! Gah!
The poems were strange, and I'm not sure I got them, but I liked the Henry-poem. The skeleton-poem I don't understand well enough to know for sure.
I loved "Gilmore Girls", too! Till S2. I saw the direction it was going in and jumped ship. It used to be smart, but it started getting--I dunno. Kinda like how "Desperate Housewives" is; cartoony, unbelievable and annoying. Suddenly, instead of having lives and issues, the GGs had hijinks.
Huh, I'm surprised they kept Paris. She wasn't all glib and bouncy. Argh, don't tell me they changed her, made her shallow?
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Ummm - the second one, to me, is about how going to dig up the trash - and finding an old ink bottle - makes the author reflect on how she and her things and family will someday be nothing but rubbish and bone-chips, too.
Yup, Paris is still there, all nervous and strident but not nearly enough of her. I watch bits and pieces and it just makes me wanna slap somebody.
*sigh*
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Don't forget to put some holes in the box and mark it fragile, or else . . . yeah, that won't be such a fun package to receive.
All I know about GG anymore is what I see in commercials. Luke and Lorelei are getting married. Like they shoulda done four seasons ago.
Ummm - the second one, to me, is about how going to dig up the trash - and finding an old ink bottle - makes the author reflect on how she and her things and family will someday be nothing but rubbish and bone-chips, too.
Gah!
Oh, for the light-hearted musings of TS Eliot. . . .
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Oh, yeah, air-holes! Ooops...
GG is just...lame, anymore. The plots are lame, the drama is assinine...blah. Could have been much more cool, but...blah.
Nothing wrong with facing mortality and accepting it!
:)