"I'm sorry, Tiffany. I'll move the urn of my mother's ashes off the grand piano and into the other room...
There, how does that smell?"
"Much better! Next time, I recommend you spray a little Urn Odour Deodouriser before you have friends over for tea."
"I will, dear, I will. Mother would have preferred it that way."
"Yes, 'Mum always knows best!'"
At my age, friends are starting to drop like flies buzzing through the cloud of hairspray hanging over Dolly Parton's wig.
Reminds me of a poem I wrote (old age is already bringing out memories, the nostalgic "golden years" of the poetic youth in me):
Modern-day MartyrA bluebird is eating in the spindly bushes outside my window right now on this sunny, cool, breezy day in early February, Groundhog's Day, one calendar day short of Chinese New Year (but my clock says the New Year has begun on the other side of the planet), when spring has hinted that the short winter in these parts will soon end.
Anticipating your reluctant smile
And knowing that we sometimes fail to see
Our love (that drive to satisfy), and while
You wiped away the tears, recalling Lee,
I hugged you tighter. Had they told the truth?
I mean, your brother fell. You know the bridge
Was slippery. You know they cannot prove
He killed himself. Just take your privilege
To put these thoughts aside and sleep tonight.
In time, you'll have perspective and the strength
To put your brother's death back in the light,
To recall the times he went to any length
To pull you out of your self-pity. Now
Is not the time for asking "Why?" or "How?"
-- 29 October 1985
An SUV flies down the road and a group of goldfinches scatters.
Watching the wildlife outside the winter*, these woods a natural traffic lane, I almost think the birds know that mating season is upon us.
[*a double-play on words, including the subcultural pronunciation of window]
Another poem comes to mind, one I may have shared with you already:
My religion is based on a formDo you find yourself talking more frequently with your pets than with people?
My religion is based on a form,
neither simple nor complex,
Known nor unknown,
A form that can never be perfected.
The form is based on the shape of a wave,
A wave that completes a revolution,
That revolves around an unfixed position.
The wave does not exist
But its form is imitated by physical phenomena.
My religion is based on a few short words --
Everything goes in a circle.
-- 3 October 1985
At the post office yesterday, while I was mailing some of my wife's homemade cake truffles to our nephew at college, a woman told me that a single person with dogs can get a letter authorising her dogs as her official companions and the dogs will have to be allowed to stay with that person at any hotel/motel/B&B in the U.S.
The woman showed me her copy of the dog-as-companion letter she carries so she can take her two dogs with her as she travels from Utah to Colorado to Alabama and back.
Wonder if the bluebirds, goldfinches, nuthatches or woodpeckers would serve as my travel companions?
Have you ever scolded a woodpecker for punching holes in your furniture?
"Hey, Woody, there ain't no bugs in those varnished slabs!"
Oh, wait, here's a regulation by the Forest Service I wasn't aware of: "Wild birds may not be caged or carried as domestic companions during mating season - tests have shown there's rarely enough room in the cage, carrier or human on-the-road sleep chamber to accommodate the intricate mating dance required by most avian creatures."
[Hmm, seems like my marriage licence had the same restrictions. Drum roll and rim shot, please! No, no, hold the applause and laughter until the end.]
Let's see, look at my to-do list...
BORN. Check!
MARRY. Check!
HAVE KIDS. Skip!
DIE. Nope, not yet. Still got that nagging issue of making sure we're set up to communicate transuniversally in 2050.
This guy's cycle's not over yet! Miles to go before I give it the ol' heave-ho!
Until next time, Sialia sialis.
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