Boo and Spike wish you a happy Friday
This week's Carnival of the Cats; Carnival of the Dogs; Friday Ark.
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Boo and Spike wish you a happy Friday
This week's Carnival of the Cats; Carnival of the Dogs; Friday Ark.
The body is enforcing a computer break. Back soon, I'm sure. Carry on.
in Personal | Permalink | Comments (3)
Not
one, but two packages! One, from a long-time reader, with the cat breed
playing cards. I giggle every time I look at these. The cards fit in the
hand very nicely, better than the usual rectangle. And you are likely
to see more of them; I think the cards would make great icons for
Friday Cat Blogging posts, don't you?
The other, another magical care package from non-blogging poet friend Cindy (she is truly gifted at gifting, as well as at poeming.) This time, Alaskan Fireweed Honey soap and Tasty Tangerine lip balm.
I haven't tried the soap yet (it smells . . . gosh, it smells edible)
but the lip balm is lovely. Then there are those plastic castanets maracas from some tiny musical country. Henry wants them. He always thinks toys are for him. Especially toys that make noise.
And that's not all:
She
included several postcards -- three of which are waiting for tomorrow's
post, stamped and addressed to my senators and congressperson (we only
get one out here) -- click the card to go to the site and learn about
this inventive idea to waste our money and destroy the wilderness at
the same time! Let's build a dangerous and destructive road where boats
do better, cheaper, safer! Oh yes! Let's!
You can send a card to your representatives right from the website. Spike and Boo ask you to do it in the name of reasonable government and for all the wild Alaska creatures this insane idea would displace.
It's Friday. Go peruse this week's Carnival of the Cats; Carnival of the Dogs; and Friday Ark.
this is all there is
this winter garden
these bare and dead-leaved branches
these dreams of
eviction and exilejuncos and pine
siskins pecking
the snow, icedraping the fountain
this despairing friend
wrestling with godand this caged canary
filling the sun-
room with song
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Here is our new family member [click for larger image]:
It's been nearly a year since Rainbow died, and I have missed that noisy little creature. How defended I am, though -- when I decided the other day that it was time to get another, what flashed in my mind was that image of Rainbow, stiff at the bottom of his cage, and a doubt that I was willing to suffer another loss, even such a small one.
Oh, my.
So I ventured out yesterday, and came home with the boldest, bravest in the cage. Nearly a year old, and untamed, already this morning he will hop on my finger. Last night I caught just a bit of discussion on the radio about Joseph Campbell, and a story with the moral: Take what talks to you, not what silently glitters.
[A young woman is given a choice of a plain egg, that speaks to her; or
a bejeweled one, that does not. Of course, when opened, the plain egg
spills out gems and the fancy one, spiders and snakes -- which are
treasures of a sort themselves, are they not?]
This made me smile, as there were several birds in the big cage that
were much prettier than this one -- some of those white- with- blue-
clouds parakeets that I think are gorgeous -- but this one seemed to
choose me.
I don't know his name yet. A friend named Rainbow (yes, you didn't
think that sounded like a name I would choose, did you?) Any
suggestions?
I got a spam email this morning with the subject line:
There has been an alarming increase in the number of things you know nothing about.
It was almost good enough to get me to open it.
Almost.
in Critters, Personal | Permalink | Comments (11)
I look and look for my notes on a lecture (years ago) by Pattiann Rogers; then realize that even if I find them, there is no certainty that my notes accurately reflect what she said. What I remember is:
Karen Armstrong's point, in The Battle for God, that:
Is mythos not the poet's role? So we are to, somehow, imbue logos/science with spirit? But science is spirit -- no? -- attention to the real, passion -- and sometimes, too often, cruelty without cause.
Can we study, learn, attend, without dissecting?
Who can look at the Hubble photographs, and not feel awe? not see spirit?
Oh, the same person who looks at a chickadee, or a grasshopper, or a stone, and does not see it.
So the poet must say: look! see! -- a greater poet than I am. An Emily.
I have wanted a non-gendered pronoun, so that I could speak of a creature (rampaging raccoon) whose gender I do not know, without denying its personhood, without making it an it -- but instead, I should be infusing the it pronoun with personhood, with spirit. For the teaching- stone is an it -- the mountain, the river, the garden --
-- & I will break the stone, weed the garden, dam the river, eat the raccoon (the cow, the chicken, the salmon) -- even though -- while -- acknowledging it is a person -- it is in-spirited --
because I am not consistent
because I am not logical
because I am not moral?
because I am an animal?
[is "it" a pronoun?]
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