(no subject)

[bronze_ribbons]

Oof. The original plan for tonight had been to attend an introduction to Sufi dancing and then to dive into research ...but I was feeling decidedly shallow by the time I finished my accounting chores, so I went straight home instead. It became a "let's use things up" evening:

* finally got around to making gyoza with the wrappers that had been in the freezer for a couple of eons.
* finally threw out the rancid Crisco and veggie oil. Sticking with butter and olive oil from now on.
* made turkey meatloaf with the leftover gyoza filling, the dregs of the egg I'd used as sealer, the last of a canister of matzo meal, the last of last week's tomatoes, and some mushrooms I'd forgotten we still had.
* made cucumber toner with the sample vodka that was so bad I couldn't think of anyone I hated enough to give it to (topped off with the last of the bottle of Absolut, which isn't at all horrible, but I seldom drink cocktails and the BYM favors Pimms).
* baked an orange-pecan loaf, which used up most of the orange juice. Poured the last of it into the fruit tea I'm currently sipping.

Also managed to knock a full glass of Coke across half of the kitchen -- not so much fun for me, but thrilling for the dog. It was on the flat side anyhow, so I'll likely dump the rest of the liter over the impatiens tomorrow morning.

Although I didn't get any writing done tonight, I did at least finish outlining the next service I'm leading. For the meditation, I'm going to use Alison Luterman's "Morning in the Mission: Grandpop Comes to Visit." There's another poem in her book (The Largest Possible Life, 2001) that some of you might dig:

Dear Michael,

I wish you could see our squash plant,

how she's snaked a long green runner across the yard, sprawling
onto the patio, flouting her yellow flowers,
trumpeting triumphant surrender
to the life force that's forcing her to take over the world.

Of course, we planted everything
too close together,
the dill went to seed, cherry tomatoes are crowded
so densely you can hardly get an arm in to weed or pick,

and the red-faced Israeli sunflowers got too tall and fell over.

And I'm the same, you know me
I want everything and the nothing it birthed out of,
knowing I can't have anything
unless I surrender attachments as we discussed --

which is tricky, somewhat akin
to hiding the chocolate chips from yourself
because you're on a diet, meanwhile
only you know where those chips are hidden -- I know you know

what I mean: why would desire be planted so fiercely in us if not for some good reason?

When everywhere you look the plants are screaming to grow
and give, and bear, even if they break themselves
in the process, they don't care
about that, the other leg of the squash reaches out to the compost heap

and the peach trees I wrote you about that I was afraid
were too spindly to produce have shot up two feet in my absence
and are dropping perfumed fruit
at our feet and into our open hands.

Comments

[kassrachel.livejournal.com]

Oh, that poem is purely fantastic.

Holy wow. Thank you so much.

[swooop.livejournal.com]

I dig, I dig.

You'll have to let me know if impatiens like Coke. Mine look like crap this year. Maybe they're just in need of a little caffeine *g*

[xanthophyllippa.livejournal.com]

Plants also respond well to coffee grounds.

[aunty_marion]

Not to mention that coffee grounds round them will keep the slugs and snails off, too.

[marginaliana]

*is dug* This is good.

Remind me to tell you my story about rancid Crisco some time. Okay, it's not that interesting, but I just get so excited to find out that someone else has had Crisco long enough to let it go rancid. :D

[ky-expatriate.livejournal.com]

Pimms! Pimms! The BYM has excellent taste (obviously :)

[nigita.livejournal.com]

OH MY GOD I love that poem.

*memorizes*

The metaphors, the literal, physical, zealous life of the plants she describes, down to the squash sending the part of itself that it hasn't chopped off, to where else but the compost pile--this is my life!
(And, oh God, that's my peach tree.)

Thank you.

So much goodness in your LJ this month. Cool water to thirsty lips.