Dear kids;
this week has gone by faster than a honey buzzard after a titmouse. i'm happy to report that my chronic exhaustion has somewhat abated this week. i thought i would have to give up our daily early morning temple sessions, since it left me so drained for the rest of the day. but there's been a definite physical change taking place, so that i can now get up at 430 each morning, do the 6 a.m. session with your mother, and then have enough energy left to go out to the kolache place with one of my haiku poems on a sign board for a few hours.
THEN i come home and collapse for the rest of the day. until your mother and i go to the rec center at 5 p.m. to work on the machines.
this morning i thought i would be making jalapeno cornbread. i bought a fresh jalapeno pepper last night for that purpose. but this sabbath morning finds me unmotivated to mess around in the kitchen. i'd rather let the 25 cent jalapeno pepper rot in the fridge than turn on the oven or mix up a big bowl of batter. am i getting more focused on other things, or am i just getting lazier? maybe neither; maybe i just need to take my 'poet for hire' sign out onto the boulevard for a few hours before we got to church at 1 p.m. after all, i am a performance artist, so i need to be out performing. right?
this past week has been blessed with a complete lack of annoying nonsense. no nut cases have accosted me at the kolache place. your mother and i have pulled together in peace and harmony. i eat my prunes each morning and take my Metmucel with religious regularity. aches & pains come and go with varying intensity, but nothing that i'm not already used to and resigned to endure with saintly patience. we are getting new neighbors, as old neighbors die and/or move out. the new neighbors will be hispanic, no doubt. this place is turning into a barrio. it makes for interesting potlucks. your mother has been doing a lot of sewing with sarah's sewing machine; making tote bags and mending my shirts. we find the Lord blesses us so that each time a new medical bill comes in that is not covered by medicaid/medicare we find another way to earn enough to pay it off. without robbing any banks. yet.
every saturday i buy your mother a bouquet of flowers.
whenever i get sleepy while i'm out with my haiku, i write a new one along the lines of:
the old man dozes
in the warm caress of sun
while passersby smile
and then prop it up against my wheelchair so i can fold my hands over my belly mound and take a snooze for ten or fifteen minutes. sometimes when i wake up i find another dollar or two dropped in my can while i slept. only in provo. anyplace else i'd wake up and find the can gone.
this morning your mother and i learned all about quick clay. this phenomenon occurs in parts of norway and canada. we were looking at youtube videos about norway when we came across a post about the geology of norway and learned that as the ice age glaciers retreated they left behind a weird blend of clay and silt, called quick clay, that appears to be firm ground -- but when it is disturbed or a great weight is placed on it it turns to liquid, causing huge landslides that swallow up houses, barns, people, whole villages even. who knew? we always thought norway was such a safe place to live.
your mother is making grilled cheese sandwiches this morning to place out in the community kitchen at noon for anyone who would like one.
well, the outdoors beckons. i can think of little else i'd rather do on a mild sunday morning than to take my poet for hire sign out into the fresh air and wave at cars as they pass by. the world needs to know there are such things as poets for hire. i need the wind and the sun and the hiss of tree branches rubbing against each other. or else an anchovy pizza.
roses are red
violets are cheap
may you be so blessed
you never do weep.
Love, Heinie Manush.
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