Peg Duthie's Blog, page 31
July 4, 2015
quiet fireworks
Two of the balloon flowers bloomed today!
Even so, even the weather is telling me to concentrate on screenwork instead of yardwork. The heavens opened as I was tugging and snipping at vines tangled with the rogue rosebush.
Today's cooking: wasabi-edamame dip for lunch; posole with country ham in the slow cooker, for dinner and beyond.
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Even so, even the weather is telling me to concentrate on screenwork instead of yardwork. The heavens opened as I was tugging and snipping at vines tangled with the rogue rosebush.
Today's cooking: wasabi-edamame dip for lunch; posole with country ham in the slow cooker, for dinner and beyond.
comments
July 3, 2015
"the ignorance of loving"
Today's subject line comes from Stephen Dunn's "Sweetness," which begins, "Just when it has seemed I couldn’t bear / one more friend / waking with a tumor, one more maniac // with a perfect reason ..."
The above photo is a pot I dropped a handful of hollyhock seeds into, about a week ago. The seedlings are all squnched to the side because Miss Abbytude has been treating it as a salad bowl.
I transplanted three to another pot earlier today, and now there are two.
There are two other pots crowded with seedlings, and I am mulling over where to relocate them.
Today's other transplants: one Christmas cactus, two rosebush seedlings, and another tomato plant.
Other plant-related chores: staking, weeding, trimming, and detangling. It turns out most of the Syrian cornflowers (aka "Dwarf Blue" bachelor buttons) belong to a single sprawling multivined stalk. I am a touch dismayed that it's just the one stalk, seeing how I sowed 75 seeds. But the seeds had been packed in 2013, I didn't get around to sowing them until last summer, conditions have not been ideal, and the packet cost me a mere two dollars. So the hmphery is far outweighed by the extended "hey! flowers after all!" I've been enjoying.
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July 2, 2015
straying, vanishing, returning
On the last day of June, I read some pages in Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times during lunch, and one with the phrase "Remember June's long days" caught my eye.
It's titled "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," and you can read/hear it at http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/247934.
May 2010 - trying to salvage a friend's photos after their drenching by Nashville's biggest flood:
November 2011 - Paris laundromat door:
June 2015 - mushrooms in my front yard:
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It's titled "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," and you can read/hear it at http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/247934.
May 2010 - trying to salvage a friend's photos after their drenching by Nashville's biggest flood:
November 2011 - Paris laundromat door:
June 2015 - mushrooms in my front yard:
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June 30, 2015
stronger and stranger
When I first saw this tweet, I was like "huh"?
...since it showed up in my in-box before I'd seen what it was responding to:
At any rate, I'm now saying "hmmmm..."
not longer
but stronger
and stranger
see how what
you want to inhale
sits just a letter
or two
or three
apart from what
your mouth
first stretched
toward drawing in
not every balloon
can glide toward escape
not every breath
will suffice for anchor
but these are not
reasons enough
to abandon the study
of possible ways
to stay afloat
(Balloon flower about to bloom. More on those later.)
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@upperrubberboot @Zirconium 1. Learn to hold your breath. No, longer than that...
— Adrian Tchaikovsky (@aptshadow) June 30, 2015
...since it showed up in my in-box before I'd seen what it was responding to:
HOW TO LIVE ON OTHER PLANETS http://t.co/OW529pBqEH featuring @Zirconium pic.twitter.com/byH6XygEta
— Upper Rubber Boot (@upperrubberboot) June 30, 2015
At any rate, I'm now saying "hmmmm..."
not longer
but stronger
and stranger
see how what
you want to inhale
sits just a letter
or two
or three
apart from what
your mouth
first stretched
toward drawing in
not every balloon
can glide toward escape
not every breath
will suffice for anchor
but these are not
reasons enough
to abandon the study
of possible ways
to stay afloat
(Balloon flower about to bloom. More on those later.)
comments
June 26, 2015
all the stages
Phew. Intense week. I was tempted to blow off the pear-cinnamon Bavarian cream I'm attempting for a party, but yep, the instructions said it would need to be in the fridge overnight, so I eventually rode a second wind to the whisk and the stove:
Beyond that, though, all I was good for was some tidying up of the indoor tomato plants. I find them endlessly entertaining, though, even when I'm not stone tired. That the vines hold yellow blossoms, green fruit, and red fruit all at the same time is part of the fun.
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Beyond that, though, all I was good for was some tidying up of the indoor tomato plants. I find them endlessly entertaining, though, even when I'm not stone tired. That the vines hold yellow blossoms, green fruit, and red fruit all at the same time is part of the fun.
comments
June 20, 2015
someone / who knew how to look
The subject line's from Rilke's "Turning Point," from the June 20 entry of A Year In Poetry (ed. Foster and Guthrie). The poem does nothing for me, actually, but years ago the anthology introduced me to C. H. Sisson's "Letter to John Donne," which I felt like reading aloud, to myself last night and into my microphone earlier today:
The rest of my day has been more mellow. The Abbygator was delighted that I prepared baby bok choy for brunch, as she enjoys hoovering up the stubs. I followed the instructions at i am a food blog for preparing and baking the tofu, but instead of the honey garlic sauce, I stir-fried the bok choy with garlic, mirin, soy sauce, and scallions, to end up with this:
The crepe myrtles burst into bloom a few days ago. Some of the tomato vines were nosing near my French books for a couple of nights. Many of the other plantings have not panned out, but there is at last a French marigold blossom in sight (grown from seeds harvested last fall):
And blooms are emerging from the second generation of Christmas peppers (also from seeds I saved) as well:
And I'm hoping the cornflowers in the front yard do the self-seeding thing:
comments
I am grateful particularly that you were not a saint
But extravagant whether in bed or in your shroud.
You would understand that in the presence of folly
I am not sanctified but angry.
The rest of my day has been more mellow. The Abbygator was delighted that I prepared baby bok choy for brunch, as she enjoys hoovering up the stubs. I followed the instructions at i am a food blog for preparing and baking the tofu, but instead of the honey garlic sauce, I stir-fried the bok choy with garlic, mirin, soy sauce, and scallions, to end up with this:
The crepe myrtles burst into bloom a few days ago. Some of the tomato vines were nosing near my French books for a couple of nights. Many of the other plantings have not panned out, but there is at last a French marigold blossom in sight (grown from seeds harvested last fall):
And blooms are emerging from the second generation of Christmas peppers (also from seeds I saved) as well:
And I'm hoping the cornflowers in the front yard do the self-seeding thing:
comments
June 16, 2015
sometimes life it takes you by the hair
The subject line's from Foster the People's "Helena Beat," which is currently at the top of my working mix at home.
Things I could have done without this week: dog digestive trouble, I-24 as a parking lot, various aspects of this year's physical (nothing to be alarmed about; it's just Not Fun).
Things that have gone well: other aspects of this year's physical (phlebotomist, vaccinator, and radiology tech all very good).
The comedy that is my life:
(Last Friday, a splotch of correction fluid fell on my knee. I guess it doesn't come off when one keeps falling asleep in the bath instead of scrubbing... *sheepish*)
Also:
* I sowed zinnias in the planter that failed to yield any radishes.
* The asparagus I overcooked tonight is still a decent carrier for leftover aioli.
* The Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup! Seeing snapshots of the celebrations reminded me of being in the city when the Bulls won their first championship. Nashville's where I belong, but I do sometimes miss that Windy City energy.
Over on Twitter, several friends needed a moment -- as did I -- when Toews handed the Cup to Timonen:
https://youtu.be/9txLgEO2sfQ
I'm writing a thank-you note to my friend Sue, who treated me to a Predators vs. Sharks game eleven years ago:
comments
Things I could have done without this week: dog digestive trouble, I-24 as a parking lot, various aspects of this year's physical (nothing to be alarmed about; it's just Not Fun).
Things that have gone well: other aspects of this year's physical (phlebotomist, vaccinator, and radiology tech all very good).
The comedy that is my life:
Me to the BYM: So my internist was laughing at me this afternoon, just like you were the other night.
The BYM: That's because you're funny.
Me: Uh-huh. She was tapping my knee to test my reflexes -- and then, just like you, she was like, "Is that ...whiteout?"
The BYM: [snickers]
(Last Friday, a splotch of correction fluid fell on my knee. I guess it doesn't come off when one keeps falling asleep in the bath instead of scrubbing... *sheepish*)
Also:
* I sowed zinnias in the planter that failed to yield any radishes.
* The asparagus I overcooked tonight is still a decent carrier for leftover aioli.
* The Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup! Seeing snapshots of the celebrations reminded me of being in the city when the Bulls won their first championship. Nashville's where I belong, but I do sometimes miss that Windy City energy.
Over on Twitter, several friends needed a moment -- as did I -- when Toews handed the Cup to Timonen:
https://youtu.be/9txLgEO2sfQ
I'm writing a thank-you note to my friend Sue, who treated me to a Predators vs. Sharks game eleven years ago:
comments
June 15, 2015
late have I loved thee, o angles ever ancient, ever new
My stop at Cheekwood Saturday afternoon had been a maybe on my list. I'd gone to an intense dress rehearsal in the morning, and was torn between wanting to sleep for twelve hours and wanting to enjoy a change of scene.
The sun shining and a dining discount won out: I stopped at 360 Bistro for lunch (white port, scallop-grapefruit salad, fig cheesecake, and tamayokucha tea), where Colombia vs. France was on the TV, and then said hi to the black pepper plants...
... and the tree-hugging statues (Purcell on a back, Schubert around a neck, Monteverdi at a waist, Mozart on a hip...)
... and enjoyed part of documentary not only on the screen but reflected in a nearby door:
comments
The sun shining and a dining discount won out: I stopped at 360 Bistro for lunch (white port, scallop-grapefruit salad, fig cheesecake, and tamayokucha tea), where Colombia vs. France was on the TV, and then said hi to the black pepper plants...
... and the tree-hugging statues (Purcell on a back, Schubert around a neck, Monteverdi at a waist, Mozart on a hip...)
... and enjoyed part of documentary not only on the screen but reflected in a nearby door:
comments
June 13, 2015
Long Tour: The Country Music Star Explains...
...Why He Put Off the Bus and Fired a Good Lead Guitar in West Texas
That's the title of a James Whitehead poem reprinted in the Spring 2000 issue of Shenandoah, where I encountered it, and in Leon Stokesbury's The Made Thing: An Anthology of Contemporary Southern Poetry, which is on the shelves of Nashville's public library (811.5408097 M1811) and elsewhere.
Someday I might request permission to do something with it -- and I won't be unhappy if someone with stronger lettering + illustration +/- typesetting chops gets to it first, to get it to more of its people. People who have endured gigs with someone who will not shut up. People stab-inching their way through this year's CMApocalypse. People who might want a persona poem for teaching or performing. "The day I put him off the sun outside..."
In the meantime, it's 1:15 a.m. and I'm finishing a late second supper of tuna + bok choy + mayo + mustard, followed with some handfuls of Spanish peanuts and a glass of Nortico Alvarinho. Music studied, poem drafted, dishes washed, tomato tasted ...
comments
That's the title of a James Whitehead poem reprinted in the Spring 2000 issue of Shenandoah, where I encountered it, and in Leon Stokesbury's The Made Thing: An Anthology of Contemporary Southern Poetry, which is on the shelves of Nashville's public library (811.5408097 M1811) and elsewhere.
Someday I might request permission to do something with it -- and I won't be unhappy if someone with stronger lettering + illustration +/- typesetting chops gets to it first, to get it to more of its people. People who have endured gigs with someone who will not shut up. People stab-inching their way through this year's CMApocalypse. People who might want a persona poem for teaching or performing. "The day I put him off the sun outside..."
In the meantime, it's 1:15 a.m. and I'm finishing a late second supper of tuna + bok choy + mayo + mustard, followed with some handfuls of Spanish peanuts and a glass of Nortico Alvarinho. Music studied, poem drafted, dishes washed, tomato tasted ...
comments
June 11, 2015
step by step, moving forward
A June tradition at my church is Music Sunday, and this coming Sunday, at 9 a.m. and at 11 a.m., the choir will be performing a new setting of Darrell Grant's Ruby Bridges Suite.
It is going to be outstanding. Darrell Grant is on piano and keyboard; man can play. Brian Foti on drums -- ditto. Same for the guy on string bass (whose name I didn't catch, apologies!). Connye Florance is one of the soloists (I haven't heard Lari White yet, who's another). Majic Jackson narrating, with words by MLK and Maya Angelou and others. The gifted and dedicated Seth Adler working sound. Yes, I'm name-dropping, because some of you locals need that to get you out of the house on a summer morning (and I include myself in that group).
Some of the songs have had me tearing up as I study them. The text alone won't convey why -- it's the rise and fall of melody and harmony that hits me in the gut -- but here are some of the lines anyway. In "Hold My Hand," Ruby's grandmother sings to her:
Hold my hand, child, hold my hand
Someday you will understand
Straight ahead, child, never fear
God is watching, love is near
For the world, child, is not fair
Danger follows everywhere
Lift your eyes, child
You will see
God is watching
You are free
And in "Come in," a teacher sings to her student:
Ruby, you're a special one.
Pray that I can see you through.
There's so much meanness in the world
but you should know they don't see what I see.
In here you're just a little girl
who has a right to learn who she can be.
With faith, and time,
you'll see that I believe in you.
We've much to learn, we two.
Darrell says he spent twenty years writing the finale, "We Rise," originally composing it for a sophomore album that fell through, and then revising it periodically (with a four-bar stretch that kept defying his attempts to perfect the piece), and then realizing that all the great creators resort to "shims" at times, and later recognizing that the suite was where the piece belonged...
Rise up, brand new day
You know that love will find a way
Together we cannot be broken
Up from the bitter past we rise
To build a world where peace is spoken
The time is now
At last we rise
This time the circle can't be broken
This time the ghosts of hate must die
We'll throw the gates of Freedom open
The time is now
At last we rise
Again, the music is essential -- left to my own devices, I don't know that love will find a way, I see circles broken every damn day, and on, and on, but when I'm singing those words, my unbelief doesn't matter. Rise up, brand new day.
Like many other commuters, I've been cranky about the congestion amplified by CMA Fest (a friend retweeted Gretchen Peters's quip about meanderthals, and I admit I laughed out loud) ... but I've also been entertained by the skin and plumage on display, and I managed to miss the fish parts on the interstate snarl-up, and I give thanks yet again for the pleasure of living in a city with session players on virtually every block. When I got home tonight, the rock cellist and/or guitarist (not always sure what the instrument is, but the playing is consistently good) who lives a couple of houses away was practicing licks.
Music in the air, fireflies in the yard, doggie at the door, piano waiting ... praise.
comments
It is going to be outstanding. Darrell Grant is on piano and keyboard; man can play. Brian Foti on drums -- ditto. Same for the guy on string bass (whose name I didn't catch, apologies!). Connye Florance is one of the soloists (I haven't heard Lari White yet, who's another). Majic Jackson narrating, with words by MLK and Maya Angelou and others. The gifted and dedicated Seth Adler working sound. Yes, I'm name-dropping, because some of you locals need that to get you out of the house on a summer morning (and I include myself in that group).
Some of the songs have had me tearing up as I study them. The text alone won't convey why -- it's the rise and fall of melody and harmony that hits me in the gut -- but here are some of the lines anyway. In "Hold My Hand," Ruby's grandmother sings to her:
Hold my hand, child, hold my hand
Someday you will understand
Straight ahead, child, never fear
God is watching, love is near
For the world, child, is not fair
Danger follows everywhere
Lift your eyes, child
You will see
God is watching
You are free
And in "Come in," a teacher sings to her student:
Ruby, you're a special one.
Pray that I can see you through.
There's so much meanness in the world
but you should know they don't see what I see.
In here you're just a little girl
who has a right to learn who she can be.
With faith, and time,
you'll see that I believe in you.
We've much to learn, we two.
Darrell says he spent twenty years writing the finale, "We Rise," originally composing it for a sophomore album that fell through, and then revising it periodically (with a four-bar stretch that kept defying his attempts to perfect the piece), and then realizing that all the great creators resort to "shims" at times, and later recognizing that the suite was where the piece belonged...
Rise up, brand new day
You know that love will find a way
Together we cannot be broken
Up from the bitter past we rise
To build a world where peace is spoken
The time is now
At last we rise
This time the circle can't be broken
This time the ghosts of hate must die
We'll throw the gates of Freedom open
The time is now
At last we rise
Again, the music is essential -- left to my own devices, I don't know that love will find a way, I see circles broken every damn day, and on, and on, but when I'm singing those words, my unbelief doesn't matter. Rise up, brand new day.
Like many other commuters, I've been cranky about the congestion amplified by CMA Fest (a friend retweeted Gretchen Peters's quip about meanderthals, and I admit I laughed out loud) ... but I've also been entertained by the skin and plumage on display, and I managed to miss the fish parts on the interstate snarl-up, and I give thanks yet again for the pleasure of living in a city with session players on virtually every block. When I got home tonight, the rock cellist and/or guitarist (not always sure what the instrument is, but the playing is consistently good) who lives a couple of houses away was practicing licks.
Music in the air, fireflies in the yard, doggie at the door, piano waiting ... praise.
comments
