Things of which I do, and do not, approve.

I do not approve of

• hot wind
• running out of ice
• a hot laptop. Literally hot, as in it made my hands and wrists hot.
• hot hands/wrists
• nightly neighborhood fireworks. For the love.

I do approve of

• cherries
• Sunday
• reading the entire New York Times
• white beans. And green beans. In fact: beans.
• these daisies, at midnight:

 

 

 

and also these guys:

 

 

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The beginning of the week versus the end of the week: SMACKDOWN.

In this corner, the beginning of the week:

• Monday, wherein I spent most of the day at work observing presentations by candidates for a position in my department. I also bought nail polish on the way home.
• Tuesday, wherein I showed up downtown for a gubernatorial candidate's education summit, to represent for faculty and higher ed. I also had tea with my friend and drove up to Park City with two kids and two grandkids to hang with my sisters and my mom and dad. And also got in the pool with the kids and grandkids, &c. Good times.
• Wednesday, wherein I was at work at e**** a.m. (that's a swear word, right?) for a meeting, then another meeting, then another meeting, then another meeting. Then, I saw Step Up 3-D, which is pretty much everything a dance movie should be, including dancing in the streets to a Fred Astaire song, I am not joking. And then fell asleep on the bed for an unexpected and inconvenient evening nap. And also we took Bruiser for a walk at quarter to o** in the morning (sorry for the cursing--it's really not my style). (just kidding--I swear like it is my job. Or my hobby, anyway.)

In the opposite corner, the end of the week:

• Today, Thursday, wherein I got to stay home, drink tea, take Bruiser for a morning walk, and then read poetry submissions from the endless pile of poetry submissions, and also write comments on them. Also, the UPS guy came with a cute sweater. Also, I finished the jam. Also, I had a cute outfit that pretty much was only for myself. And in the evening, we rode our bikes to pick up ice.
• Tomorrow, wherein it is Friday, and ergo there will be a movie and dinner, but I am getting ahead of myself: there will be writing group and I have a poem for it, plus it's at my house so: vacuum, bathroom cleaning, cooking (apricot tart, lovely salad, assorted other stuff). And I will by Grabthar's hammer send those poems I am judging (POEMS: I am JUDGING YOU.) back to their rightful owner!
• Saturday, wherein there is farmer's marketing! and all that that implies.

I kind of thought the end of the week would be a slam dunk for the winner in the smackdown, but each day had its goodness, didn't it? And personally, may I say that one of the more enlightening portions of the week was the wee hours of the morning dog walk: the world is quite a bit darker, so it seemed to me, at one a.m. More stumbling, for one thing. So that was a useful experience.

And now I am off to resume poetry judgment. I always wanted to be a judge, but I kind of wanted it to be that kind of judging where I wore a robe and dispensed justice. This is kind of letdown, if you want to know the truth.

The tome: a consideration, and other items.

1.  I am reading a big fat novel, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. I bought it, I think, at Powell's, hardback, for a good price, and I am enjoying it quite a bit.  It is nearly eight hundred pages, and frankly, this presents some challenges.  These challenges have caused me to weigh (literally) the pluses and minuses of the very large book:  

• on the one hand, a long book that's a good book has more goodness to love; 
• on the other hand, my wrists sometimes hurt after I've read twenty-five pages.
• On the one hand, who does not relish her appointment to spend an hour or two in the company of a splendid work of literature?
• On the other hand, why is said work of literature so unwieldy?
• On the one hand, reading a wonderful book for a little moment before falling asleep is one of the great pleasures of the reading life, but 
• on the other hand, fitting this book in bed with myself, my pillow, and my husband (not to mention my dog for awhile before we usher him out and turn out the lights) is a feat that might require technical drawings and perhaps the services of a time-motion expert to perform properly.  

I don't wish this book were shorter--it is wonderful, and here Gregory Maguire says some of the reasons why--but I do wish I had more efficacious large-book-wrangling powers.  

2.  I recycled about a zillion magazines of all sorts today.  This has given me some new shelf space to work with, and that's a good thing.  If I can give away ten percent of my books, that would be even better.

I tried not to look at the magazines as I whisked them from my shelves.  I have done this before, and looking at the magazines typically extends the duration of the organizing project from a brisk "let's take an armload or ten out to the recycling bin" Clean Sweep, to a leisurely consideration of why people thought Obama was unelectable in 2007, and what color of lipstick the authorities were recommending for the spring of 2005. 

I was mostly successful in applying this broad, "if it's a magazine, it's trash" policy, but some quick judgment calls got made (save the Times Magazine with Joseph Gordon Leavitt on the cover; toss the Times Magazine with the article about the conservative powerhouse 4th Circuit Court of Appeals).  I filled the recycling bin halfway with periodical literature.  My triumph over the magazines may give me courage to tackle some closets.

3.  I roasted the giant spaghetti squash I had hanging around from the last day of the Pioneer Park farmer's market.  I was reluctant to buy it because it was literally bigger than my head, but it's good to have some hard squash around, and the historian likes spaghetti squash, and I don't know, it was the end of the market! I was contemplating months and months on end of straitened vegetable access!  

So we bought it and it has been sitting on my counter, a giant yellow squash of reproach, until today, when, giddy with my new organizational powers, I thought, let's just cook that sucker up and see what we can do with it.  Here's what:  

• mix some roasted tomatoes, which you have tucked away in your freezer, in with the squash.  
• Then give a couple of good glugs of olive oil.  
• Rip some fresh mozzarella up into the mix, about a pound; 
• crumble some ricotta salata in there too.  
• Stir till it's all well acquainted.  
• Crumble a little more ricotta salata on the top and 
• bake for awhile at 350 degrees.  
• Take  your dog for a walk.  
• Come home and eat a delicious and wholesome dinner which will make you feel like a homemaking genius.
  

Cost/benefit analysis.

On the one hand, writing a poem a day for a month means writing many slightly dubious items at almost midnight, and fearing each and every day that you have exhausted not only your subject matter but also your poetic means.

On the other hand, when it's writing group day, you have a poem ready to go.

Adjudicating.

On the one hand, I hear it's supposed to snow again. On the other hand, the wind smells more like earth than ice. On the other hand, it's pretty gusty tonight, like a storm's coming. So, winter.

I can hardly bear to wear a heavy coat anymore, but when I don't wear a heavy coat, it's cold. Pretty cold. I couldn't bring myself to wear tights today, and I have a personal policy that once I stop wearing tights--i.e., once I go bare-legged--I can't go back. So it might be getting closer to spring through the sheer force of my sartorial choices. You can thank me later. On the other hand, is it narcissistic to believe that my own desires might have an effect on the weather?

Yes. So let us turn back to the empirical evidence: more light in the morning, and that light is more golden and less blue, as my friend Ann points out. The world seems more crocus and less poinsettia, more lilac and less bare branch, more like prune the grapes back and less like hole up inside. Soon it will be all asparagus and spinach and peas at the market. When I drove past Okubo's greenhouses today, I thought about the flowers and herbs I long to plant. My longing≠ spring, however--does it?

Still, it's March and not February. In eleven days it will be the mid-semester break. Spring break. So, spring.

Breakfast, passport, lunch, movie, nap, dinner, movie.

That's how my day after Thanksgiving was. I think I started the day a little hungover from food, perhaps especially the pie. Anyway, the day's timeline was as follows:

• Pie (apple) and tea for breakfast.
• Went with running son to submit passport application, expedited.
• Went to lunch (Wendy's) with running son, then to a movie (Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium). Which was pretty much enjoyable for the kind of movie it is. I liked it.
• Came home.
• Took a receipt back to a store to get a "price adjustment," which on the one hand demonstrates my excellent shopping abilities (I knew the expensive sweaters would be on sale the day after Thanksgiving, and I was right, so I got the differential in cash), and on the other hand, my relative impatience--I could have gone anytime within 14 days of the original purchase. Felt the strong desire to do it today. On the other (other) hand, it wasn't too bad at the store, so I was vindicated, at least a little.
• Nap, one hour.
• Dinner (Chinese) and a movie, No Country for Old Men. Pretty great, I thought. No: just plain great. Excellent, in fact.
  

A lowkey day, but with two movies in it. Tomorrow promises to be the same--my niece, college daughter, and I are going to have breakfast, do a tiny bit of shopping, and see another movie. Then the historian and I are going to see that new Todd Haynes thing, I'm Not There. I thought I might do some work this weekend. Maybe I will, on the day that exists between Saturday and Sunday, which I will will into existence. In the meanwhile, I, like the Son of Middlebrow and Dr. Write, am very grateful for theaters, and also for long weekends.