Showing posts from April, 2011

Saturday in CinCity. The Whoopee!! Called Off Work Due to Low Census Edition.

Went to the ballet last night with Hubby to see Over the Rhine, a local band a step shy from fame, performing with the dance company.

Or, rather the dance company performed an homage to the band. The affection between the two groups of talent was electric and palpable. Not every dance/song combination hit it, but the many that did were transcendent. The moments that give you goosebumps. Really. It was that good.

It's my weekend to work, but received an early morning phone call asking did I want to stay home? Well, of course I do. The sun is shining. I have schmoodles of homework. Hubby and HoneyHaired will be at work so perhaps I could cleanse some of the flotsum jetsum out of the corners and crevices of this house. I could even make a little dinner if I damn well wanted to. Which, maybe I will and maybe I won't.

First,I want to read a critical analysis of a dietary business plan involving a bariatric surgical center and post a thoughtful response on our student group discussi…

4am Seems a Little Early for an Old Movie, but Some Folks are Just Big, Ole Romantics

here's to love...long may it last

Afraid So

by Jeanne Marie Beaumont

Is it starting to rain?
Did the check bounce?
Are we out of coffee?
Is this going to hurt?
Could you lose your job?
Did the glass break?
Was the baggage misrouted?
Will this go on my record?
Are you missing much money?
Was anyone injured?
Is the traffic heavy?
Do I have to remove my clothes?
Will it leave a scar?
Must you go?
Will this be in the papers?
Is my time up already?
Are we seeing the understudy?
Will it affect my eyesight?
Did all the books burn?
Are you still smoking?
Is the bone broken?
Will I have to put him to sleep?
Was the car totaled?
Am I responsible for these charges?
Are you contagious?
Will we have to wait long?
Is the runway icy?
Was the gun loaded?
Could this cause side effects?
Do you know who betrayed you?
Is the wound infected?
Are we lost?
Will it get any worse?

One of Those Weeks...

Things have been been discombobulated here. Awry as it were. HoneyHaired was in a car accident--she's fine, car's not, and she has a ticket to pay. Squirrels have been falling down a venting pipe and landing above the hot water heater where they succomb to carbon monoxide, excessive heat, or both, my computer up and died, and Finance in Healthcare is kicking my ass. 4 credit hours...? More like 4 hours every morning and 4 hours every afternoon that I'm off. I'd share the finer details, but it's Greek to me. But, 5 more weeks.

So, just a quick drop in and then I'm planning on watching Glee and going to bed. Perhaps not in that order. It's been several of one of those weeks and still one of those days...:>)

To Be Continued: A Parable

by Samuel Hazo

It's like a play.
Or rather
the revival of a play in which
you're still the main character.
The set, the lighting and the stage
are what they were, but not
the cast.
Different actors

Boulevard du Montparnasse

by Mary Jo Salter

Once, in a doorway in Paris, I saw
the most beautiful couple in the world.
They were each the single most beautiful thing in the world.
She could have been sixteen, perhaps; he twenty.
Their skin was the same shade of black: like a shiny Steinway.
And they stood there like a four-legged instrument
of a passion so grand one could barely imagine them
ever working, or eating, or reading magazine.
Even they could hardly believe it.
Her hands gripped his belt loops, as they found each other's eyes,
because beauty like this must be held onto,
could easily run away on the power
of his long, lean thighs; or the tiny feet of her laughter.
I thought: now I will write a poem,
set in a doorway on the Boulevard du Mont Parnasse,
in which the brutishness of time
rates only a mention; I will say simply —
that if either one should ever love another,
a greater beauty shall not be the cause.

please note: photo by YackNonch on flickr

A Weekend at Work and Five Deaths.

After Reading There Might Be an Infinite Number of Dimensions

by Martha Silano

I'm thinking today of how we hold it together,
arrive on time with the bottle of Zinfandel, a six-pack

of Scuttlebutt beer, how we cover our wrinkles
with Visible Lift, shove the mashed winter squash

into the baby's mouth, how we hold it all together
despite clogged rain gutters, cracked

transmissions, a new explanation for gravity's
half-hearted hold. I'm wondering how we do it,

comb the tangles from our hair, trim the unwieldy
camellia, speak to packed crowds about weight loss

or fractals. I'm wondering how we don't
fall to our knees, knowing a hardened pea,

lodged in the throat, can kill, knowing
liquids are banned on all commercial flights.

Leaves fall. The baby sucks her middle fingers.
Meanwhile, the refrigerator acquires

an unexplainable leak. Meanwhile, we call
the plumber, open wide for the dental hygienist,

check each month, with tentative circlings,
our aging breasts. Somehow, each morning,



by Terence Winch

Father Cahir kept us holy.
He smoked cigars in the confessional.
He had a distracted air about him,
as though he wasn't sure what
he was supposed to do next.

I don't remember what he taught.
History, probably. It was his
liberal attitude as a confessor
that made him a legend.

No matter what you confessed to,
he always barked out the same penance:
"Three Hail Marys and a Good Act
of Contrition. Next!" So we tested
this leniency, confessing
to rape, murder, burglary.

Cahir paid no attention.
He knew we were a bunch
of high school punks.
Puffing his cigar,
he'd issue his standard
penance and absolve all sins,
real or imagined,
with godlike aloofness,
his vast indifference to
or total acceptance of the darkness
within the human soul
exactly how I hope the deity
regards us. Take forgiveness
any way you can get it.

please note: photo by two stout monks on flickr

"Monday, Monday, Can't Trust that Day..."


by Wyatt Townley

It's only the body
It's only a hip joint
It's just a bulging disc
It's only weather
It's only your heart
It's a shoulder who needs it
This happens all the time
It's very common
It's unusual
For people your age
For people your age
You're in great shape
Remarkable shape
It's nothing you did
The main thing is
It's temporary
It's only a doll
In a house that's burning

please note: photo art by Paul Politis. Title by The Mamas and the Papas.

Sunday in CinCity. The Heartbreak in Kentucky Edition.

alright then, dagnammit, GO BUTLER!

Saturday in CinCity. The Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax, of Cabbages and Kings Edition.

The end of a week off work, but the beginning week of spring quarter and the same projects I worked on through spring break, while I was working are ever present and still no closer to being approved by IRB. I'm beginning to think that department is managed by the Red Queen. The gist is, I don't feel refreshed and raring to go. I feel tired and thoroughly frustrated.

Hubby was kind enough to go on multiple mini-adventures with me during this cold and rainy week. We saw "Winston Churchill. Walking With Destiny."

And we saw the Cleopatra exhibit

and went to farmers' markets and shot some pool at a local neighborhood bar, but really what I did and where my mind kept drifting back to was my damned Finance class. As if finance as a subject is not hard enough, this one switched to being completely on-line and printing off the readings alone is enough to bankrupt a grrrl. And that's where I'm off to today. The library. For more reading. About finance in healthc…