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Archive for the ‘Thankful Thursday’ Category

1. this song

2. I will, from now on, call writing poetry, poeming, without apologies and without explanation and even in submissions: Dear Editor of Journal I Will Likely Not See My Work Published In Ever: I have been poeming for x number of years. Kiss my ass.

3. not really. I will NEVER do that.

4. kiss my everloving tattooed ass hip

5. when I am alone driving, driving and crying go hand-in-hand

6. (to drive is to cry)

7. The Silos were a great band. Too bad about their lack of making it big. DAMN.

8. You know that month where people write a poem a day? It is called NaPoWriMo. I will probably never do that. I am one who falls into the camp of not finding prompts or deadlines or challenges particularly necessary or helpful for my writing though they can be fun and somewhat useful. But I have decided I will submit one batch of poems per day for 30 days. Started yesterday. Kiss my ass.

9. More Silos. No visuals, just the song. Listen to it before it gets copyright-infringed. Then buy the tune for your iPod. Don’t be a cheapskate. Our friend once categorized their music as “Domestic Rock.” Pretty accurate I’d say.

10. I had to have my necklace/bracelet (it is long enough to go twice around my neck and 5 times around my wrist) repaired because I never took it off. I wore it in the shower, to sleep, in the ocean, to yoga class, on bike rides, on hikes, in the bath tub. I was too hard on it.

11. I wrote hard on and I’m pointing it out to you as if you hadn’t noticed. How juvenile of us. But really, can we help it?

12. If I write kiss my ass in a post, I feel I owe a debt of gratitude and recognition to Erin O’Brien. Every time. As if she made up the phrase which I don’t think she did, but if someone told me that she did, I would totally believe it.

13. I get a lot of hits for “ass tattoo.” But mine is really on my hip, as you know. My acupuncturist knows.

14. I can’t find a good photo of my beautiful necklace (made by none other than Rebecca Rose), but you see it in many of my photos. I am going to post a photo of a gemstone from Amherst College that has roughly the same color blue as my necklace:

15. Okay. I have written a few “poems” lately. But what a mess.

16. It’s getting late. I gotta go so I can submit.

17. Ass Tattoo on Hip:

I know there’s a funny little bruise on my mid-section. So strange. And this is way before my cracked rib.

18. Consignment belt I love ♥! All those studs make me feel a. hip and b. skinny and c. tough

19. pink

20. Should I stop? Probably time to submit my poems. I hate this already.

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Every fall the apples are more beautiful than the last. The Ida Reds. The Macs. The ever-popular and only-available-for-a-little-while, not-very-good-keepers Macouns. All of the ones I never try. The glaze, the sheen, the burnished surface covered in beads of moisture. In all my life, I have never eaten apples as delicious and crisp and prettily dewy as the ones we get in the Valley. Pleasure is not an adequate word.

Yesterday morning, in the front yard, no mushroom. Yesterday afternoon, this:

School has begun. She never rode a bus to school before. Strange, hunh?


Did we experience our last beach day of 2012? I’m hoping not. I know it’s not a very beachy photo, but it’s my favorite-ever-in-the-world bracelet or at least one of them and I love the way it washes and shines after being in the ocean. How about those age spots? It doesn’t get much hotter than that. Can’t we think of a better name than age spots? Do you think the home remedy that I found on the web that involves lemon juice and vinegar would really work?

I remember the first age spot I ever got. Hawaii, 1995. Yup. I can still identify it. It’s the biggish weird-shaped one to the far left just above the bracelet.

I’m not sure any more of the names of the 8 wrist bones. They are small, cute, important, intricately formed, and a wonder of evolutionary advantage. I know I could look them up, but I’d never remember the names anyway. Here’s a mnemonic for them in case you want to try. But you kinda hafta know which bone you’re starting with. Good luck!

Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle

I’d like to hear this speech at one of the Conventions.

I am thinking of changing the photo at the top of my blog, as bored as I am right now. Possibilities include photos of other rocks.

Here are some of the mini-cairns I’ve been making in my garden. It’s not so easy to balance a stone with a rounded surface, but by gum, I’ve done it. Even in the heavy, heavy rain of 2 night’s ago, the 2 top stones didn’t tumble off and no stones have dislodged (I just wanted to use the word dislodge cause it makes me feel smart).

Here are some more of my garden rocks. I love the long, oddly-shaped one that looks like a tool, but it’s just a natural ocean rock as far as I know. Not like the arrowhead I have on my desk that was shaped by human hands.

See the little rock of Ohio? It doesn’t get much better than that. It’s greyish-clear. You cannot believe it. I wish you could hold it, it’s really quite lovely.

Okay, another [final?] beach photo, because I am so vain

FIN

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Heading up to Burlington, VT in just less than an hour. Excitement abounds in the twinkly household. Young ones are crabby, but I suspect moods will shift by evening. I think I re-injured my rib in my enthusiasm to clean out the passenger side of my car. It’s hot out there. My hair’s a mess. I don’t look like a proper groupie who can muster my way up front to catch a few drops of Eugene’s sweat. I don’t want any wine spit upon me. I might try to find the Wanderlust Queen if I make my way up front, but it’s so hard to remember what everyone will be wearing.

In lieu of a guest post, I send you over to kamper’s place for your gogol-of-the-day.

Remember that Susun Weed says a minimum of 7 orgasms a week for peri-menopausal/menopausal women. We’ll just see about those spontaneous ovulations. I hate ovulating. I like orgasm-ing though. We haven’t yet hit 7 Gogol songs in one week. Babble babble babble. I’m a little excited. Can you tell? I just realized that my best 2 vibrators are purple, but frankly, I’m a little short on my seven-a-week.

 

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Thankful Thursday, like Music Monday, is being cancelled until further notice.

Still time for a quickie…

I know we all get stupid spam (right?) but this seemed especially funny:

pierced wife looks for hot stud (are these churned out by an automatic spam-writing program or a sentient being? do they/does it know this is a pun?)

When you start looking into different kinds of piercings, you learn a lot of anatomical terms you might not previously have known.

philtrum, fraenum, tragus, labret

I don’t know, it just doesn’t look very comfortable

and we shan’t go any further….

♥ twinkly


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I know I’ve stated on numerous occasions that I refuse to use emoticons.

I got an email from a friend yesterday and it was prefaced with a little yellow smiley-guy blowing a kiss. I laughed. I keep looking at the thing. Is this how emoticons are supposed to work? I guess I finally get it. It is hard being an emoticonazi. I’m not saying I’ll start using them, but who knows? I can change.

Thankful for

the dental practice I frequent. I had a cleaning on Monday. I do love them all so much there. The new dentist, Dr. Wilson, who replaced the fabulous Dr. Brookes, gets a high thumbs-up from me. She’s got the same gentle touch that Klepacki has and that Brookes had. I am, however, trying to avoid x-rays to the head but I know one of these times they will insist and I will say yes. I have a friend who’s gone her whole life without even one cavity, who has never needed braces, whose children don’t need braces or glasses, and who, between her and her husband, still have 4 living parents. How does that work? And does this kind of information really belong in this post?

I love this bowl with its funny blue flowers

I love pink

I love spring today, even if it’s a bit cold out. It’s rainy and cool and the plants LOVE it.

I love the dream I had about a month ago in which Heath Ledger (alive) was standing just behind me, breathing and leaning in very close to my left ear. He lingered there, warm and dusky, saying something in his low Australian voice. He was slightly unshaven, scruffy; he had a hat on. I know he was gonna kiss me. But he didn’t.

I love when famous men visit my dreams. I am a lucky woman to have such a generous imagination.

Here it is people

:-* kiss

Kiss my ass

Not as easy as it looks: this is what happens when you are the family photographer. You have to keep taking photos of yourself. In the mirror. the same mirror. You look pretty much the same. Except for the pink lipstick and pink shirt. Am I right? wait, I know how to do this, I’ve seen it before, alongside some emoticons: amirite?

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I do feel like complaining a little and this is exactly the point of Thankful Thursday

So let’s have at it:

Last night, I went out. BY MYSELF. Yeah, me. What did I do? I went to a poetry reading held at the Eileen Fisher store in Noho (that’s Northampton to y’all who don’t reside in the Commonwealth).

Anyway, the space was lovely, all wood and white and brightly, yet soothingly, lit. Sumptuous colors and yummy textures of clothing. A spread of cheese and crackers and strawberries and little bottles of Perrier (I had 2 of those).

The reading was given by 2 local poets, Patricia Lee Lewis and Diana Gordon. I had seen the websites of each of them, but I don’t know them or their work. Now I know a little bit more. I even bought 2 books, had them signed (TO ME!).

While I don’t want to diminish the quality of the evening and of the poets’ work, because everything was truly wonderful, the thing for which I am most grateful, aside from the aforementioned just being able to go out on a date by myself, is that the second poet, Diana Gordon, finished her portion of the reading with Edward Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat.

This is one of the earliest and most familiar pieces of writing of my life. It is like a part of me, my heart, by heart. My father gave me a few books of poetry when I was young, one an over-sized book of Edward Lear’s nonsense poems. Maybe he read the poem to me then, maybe not; I do not remember. I later lent away the book to my good friend’s daughter who was like a little sister to me and who I grew up with when I was 21 and she was 3 and my father was dying. I never saw the book again, as is the case with so many books we love and which we know are out-of-print. Even then, when I lent it out, the cover was coming away from the binding, I remember the gap and the white stitching, the blue pages at the front and back where there are no words.

When Diana was about midway into the first stanza, my eyes welled up. I do believe that in all of my years of reading this poem out loud to others—myself, my father, my two beautiful and amazing daughters at many bedtimes, this is the first time I remember anyone reading it out loud to me.

And that is why we keep trying one more day

I found this charming illustration on google images and with a little research, discovered that it is by Mary Ellsworth, from The Colorful Story Book (New York, The Saalfield Publishing Company, 1941).

This style of painting feels quite right to me for the poem. A little European, more detailed and grown-up and proper than later styles of children’s book illustrations, somewhat distancing, but simultaneously engaging, inviting the viewer to be right there on that hill in the bright day with the three of them; we are party to their wedding and so it shall ever be.

FIN

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the pink petals from the cherry tree that float down every year all over my yard, across the rooftop from the back to the front and side of the house, onto the back porch and bins of recyclables. their pink color fades when it rains

soon, when the cherry tree bears its fruit, a flock of cedar waxwings will visit. They only stay a day or two. I will try to remember to let you know when they are here. Maybe when I get a new camera, which I am determined will be within the next couple of months (you may recall if you’ve been keeping up, that my camera has had a water stain smack-dab in the middle of the lens for over 2 years), I will be able to get a picture (the following is not my photo)

that I could look up on the web the weather in Shanghai, China and also find that the peach blossom celebration there ended on April 10, but that perhaps Paul and Violet will still see and smell the peach blossoms when they get there

the word frilly

things that are frilly

frittilaria even though they won’t grow around here

the search terms people use that land them at twinklysparkles. Today’s best and one of the best of all time: what is a semi brachiator

That’s all I can muster today, but if you can give a definition of semi-brachiator, without looking it up, I’ll give you bonus points. I do not know what the bonus points are for, but I will think of something in good, twinkly time, which is really the best kind of time

I thought of posting some photos that I found on google images when I searched for various word combos with frilly

if you can guess what this is, more bonus points for you

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