Welcome, welcome.

I'm so excited about this:

I might love Billy Collins.

I have loved the first poem for a long, long time. I'm torn between explaining my love and just letting each poem stand for itself. I've chosen the latter, but would love to hear what you think.

Today

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.


Litany

You are the bread and the knife,

The crystal goblet and the wine...

-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Also see: Marginalia
And this: I Chop Some Parsley While Listening To Art Blakey's Version Of "Three Blind Mice"
This, too: The Art of Drowning

It's hard to stop, but I will now; as I said, it might be love.

________ is golden

Today I was in a work meeting that lasted for about an hour and a half. I was silent the entire time. It's been a long time since that happened. A very long time. I usually have opinions and [ahem: "good"] ideas. Or someone asks me to speak. But today I learned the meaning of the age-old adage.

I stole this

from Sarah's blog, because I really like it.

I woke up late.

I know that’s how most bad days start. It’s so cliché. But I really did. (Somehow I still managed to get to work earlier than I often do, so that was a tiny, but confusing, miracle to make my day better.)

I’ve lost my checkbook. I don’t lose things: I have a cool, Japanese, mechanical pencil that my brother-in-law gave me when I was in 5th grade (and it is still my pencil of choice when I’m using one); I have a gold necklace that my brother gave me when I turned 8 (which I also wore for my high school yearbook picture because he told me that’s what he wanted me to do with it when he gave it to me). Obsessive? Maybe. But it may help you see why losing my checkbook might distress me (aside from the obvious reasons).

I got yelled at by my boss. I’m not saying that I am completely innocent, because you don’t USUALLY get that kind of reaction with complete innocence. But I FELT like I was completely innocent.

When I got home from work, I opened my washer/dryer/utility closet to get… something. (A forgotten detail.) But what I found was that some epoxy (which I purchased a year and a half ago to remove the glue residue off my walls after I [read: my super-awesome friend] ripped off some hideous wood paneling) decided today was a good day to burst free. I sympathized – we all want to do that from time to time. (Maybe especially on days like this.) Its “bursting,” however, seemed more like a persistent drip… drip… drip… from the lower left-hand seam of the can and my sympathy (empathy?) was not enough to make me happy about the consequences of its choice: paint removal from the shelf it was stored on and much of the paint on my clothes washer. After a huge (and long!) sigh and possibly an “Aw! Man! (or maybe an “Oh! Man!”), I put my head on the remaining painted portion of my clothes washer and started laughing. (I’d be lying if I said it was completely amused.) I reminded myself that it is just a thing – and the problem is cosmetic, at that. What really counts is what’s on the inside. (Something I should probably remember to say about myself. This message brought to you by the Dove “Real Beauty” campaign. That was so 3-years ago; I know.)

So, I closed the closet door, put my coat back on, and went out the door for my Wednesday night plans. Because I think that paint puddle will still be bubbled on top of my washer in the morning. And the rest of the day was waiting.

Happiness.

Dear internet,

Today, I am listening to:

on this:

with these:

They are all beautiful. And it makes me so happy. In fact? It's almost overwhelming. Misty eyes. Exploding heart. Sigh of contentment.

Thank you for helping to make this moment possible, internet.

Sincerely, 

E

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

There are some things you need to know about people: their name, their general age, their gender, and whether or not they are a song repeater.

I am. Sometimes.

This is the latest song that's on repeat on my iPod:

Go-cart Garage

The parking garage at work makes me want to have a go-cart. The turns are perfect (mostly because they are literally impossible for a regular car to make). And it would be so fun to just go up and up at 50 or 60 miles an hour.

*I recently went go-cart racing for the first time. I was by far the worst (a .5 -- ok. more like a full second gap each lap adds up), but somehow [read: a computer error] I received the third place medal. If the REAL third place winner read my blog, I would tell her to watch out. That medal is coming back to her.

Exhibit A: Trophy Stand Evidence

I'm not sure how I feel about quoting Shakespeare.

He was a bit too sardonic and sarcastic, I think, to really be confident in his meaning. (As an English major, I can't help but love Shakespeare; so please realize I say this with some amount of angst in my soul about questioning the amazing William.)

I read a quote on Forbes today, "There is no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand." And you have to ask yourself, "Was Shakespeare serious?" In this case, it seems he can't be. Really? And why would you use that as your inspiring welcome quote? "You are a good thinker if you can be a jerk (or -- at the very least -- tight-fisted)." Curious.

*Editor's Note: After some consideration, I see more merit in the quote, but I'm still not totally convinced.

Welcome 2009.

I'm excited about 2009. I can feel good things are coming. (I'm usually inclined to think that, but that doesn't mean the sentiment is less notable now. Moving on.) HOWEVER, if I were to be truly honest (which -- let's be honest -- I should be; too many "honests"?), there will be/are some things I miss.

London (basically everything about it) and my little London family:





These views of the West Coast:







My Primary class (I was moved to teach the REALLY young and GROSSLY over-sized class, but I'm sure that will be good, too):

Me: "Why do you think Jesus would tell us to be more like you? Why do you think He would want grown-ups to be more like children?"

Class member: "Well, when you grow up, you become so serious. And Jesus is like the Joker. He's asking grown-ups, "Why so SERIOUS?" He just wants them to relax and have fun, like kids. We're good at that. "

And, while I don't so much miss this last one, I was watching a [good] movie the other day and noticed something was awry/missing (That can count as me missing it, right?):



Where's Utah?

Let's just name two states "Nevada:" the one that actually is Nevada, and the one that would look like Utah if it was not Nevada. (Sorry the picture's cut off there, but that's all that was on the screen. So, in reality, Nevada may have been labeled "Utah." I fully intend to find the original and get to the heart of the matter, but for the purposes of this blog entry -- and the time constraints I've placed thereon -- I've decided not to look just now. It's more entertaining to me this way.)