. . .
I need something to read. There are no unread memoirs in the house.

I suppose I could read a novel, but I've lost faith in made-up stories.

I never thought I'd say such a thing. After all, I was an English major. And not one of those, 'ho, hum, I don't have a clue what to major in, I guess English is as good as anything else, and after all, it's easy' types of English major, either. Oh, no--I was obsessed, in love with literature, and I took every English course I could fit into my schedule. And I suppose it might have been easy to average a C+ or even a B-, but I really worked, and beat myself up every time I got less than an A.

There are good novels, of course, but I find that they're too infrequent to make me want to waste precious time searching for them. If there was someone who knew the kind of thing I was looking for, who would tell me what to read, I'd do it.

Besides, I have to buy the damn books. I compulsively procrastinate when it comes to returning library books, so libraries aren't an option for me.

John and I have been packing, mostly books, since they can go to the new house right away. Cathy and Pat are fine with us moving boxes into what I call the mud rooms, two glass-walled rooms in the back on the lower level (the house is built into a hillside, so the door is at grade level). In fact, if the two high school kids that Rhea, one of the oncology nurses at the Gray Cancer Center, referred us to actually show up, we'll be moving a 17-foot-truck's worth of stuff this Saturday. John and I are in such good shape right now, too. I went to my regular doctor's office today with a cough, fever and horrendous sore throat, and found out I have bronchitis. John had a very long atrial fibrillation attack today that really knocked him for a loop. But we are, as I always say, hanging in.

This past weekend John and I went to Caprilands, an old herb farm run for a long time by an old witch, the late, great Adelma Simmons. A nattily dressed fellow with a button that said 'Coventry Jaguar Club', probably her son, came out to ask if we needed any help, after we had browsed around in the 'gift shop' (nobody in there) and on the grounds for about an hour. When he came out, we were busy adoring the little lady below. He informed us her name was 'Agate', and the colors you see below, although the picture is obviously altered in Photoshop, are her actual colors--shades of bluish-purple and slightly reddish-tan--ergo, 'Agate'. I've never seen colors quite like these on a kitty.


Another bonus to the cleaning and clearing out when you're moving is all the stuff you find, some of which you didn't remember you had. I actually found more poems, mostly rather odd or...um...primitive. The one below was actually published in a 2002 date book called 'The Goddess in Each of Us'. It's called (surprise) Goddess' Song.

In and around the onyx cowrie
you will find Me.
Follow the silver spiral
of the chambered nautilus;

Rest, yielding,
in the soft belly
of the sunset clam.

Gain land
with the low-flown cormorant,
drying its wings
on tidal rock;

Fly high
with the terns and petrels.
On their wings
you are sure
to find Me.

It was a beautiful day here on Mother Earth. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

May
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