Shards and Fragments

On Plants:

The bobbing-in-the-breeze color of the poppies has activated the mental litany of a line from a Neruda poem. "Your mouth, a poppy."

When it rains, the round saucer leaves of nasturtiums collect polished pools of water, rolling around the leaf in the wind as madly as mercury.

On Frustrations:

No sooner do I get the lawn mower working, it begins to rain. Gone are the days when all I had to do was sweep the balcony, dead head the flowers and open a bottle of wine.

Out of bed. Boil a kettle of water. Dump coffee in the French press. Pour the boiling water into the French press. Wait for the coffee to steep. Pour a cup of coffee. Add cream. Take first sip of coffee. Without fail, the Little Miss wakes up. Top of the morning!

On Language:

Word of the Day in our household; bug, bird, ball, baby, mama, papa.

And the acquisition of "bug" and "bird" have put in check my masculinization of the natural world. For ease in description, it has been decided that we are now creating all bugs and birds female e.g. she is a nice bug, look at her. But not with the intent of objectification... I suppose I should reread the French feminists on this point.

On Realizations:

Montpelier has its full share of crazy nutters, like anywhere else, but at least they are not all lying in wait on the train, because there isn't a train.

A certain Little Miss "stole" a pair of $2 flip flops that she had been chewing on in the store and then dropped on the foot rest of her stroller where they were forgotten at the counter. I have decided that I actually enjoy wearing stolen flip flops. Like prostitutes in Ancient Greece who would inbed the soles of their sandals with a come hither calling card that left a trail behind them on the street, there is a small sense of the naughty in my new shoes.



(Image: Kiki Smith, Tattoo Print, 1995, Screenprinted tattoo on machine-made paper, 17" x 27")