Elusive Essence

It is hard to get to the essence of things, so the poem below is me just trying to find out what the important part of the story is. I stumbled across familiar words recently, Prayer concerns "For the family of..." a man I knew, whose life lately had unraveled, but I didn't know he had died. He told me a story once. When he was four he and his mother watched his father take off in a private plane. It was a birthday present for his dad. The plane went up and then fell before their eyes in flames. I think his father's burning ashes seared all his days. I haven't got it right yet, but that's the story, at any rate.

Burying a Fine Spring Day

(Working on this. Not done.)

Steeped in stained glass
Charred remains dissolve

Black mortar, glue

Sinew searches for solid bone

What holds us together

While our fathers’ flaming
Ashes rain and rain

Sister Rosetta Tharpe - Up Above My Head

Chronic Liar's Pea Soup

In my recipe folder I have a stained, photocopied recipe for pea soup with a picture of Eric Clapton in his kitchen and allegedly Clapton's signature. It was passed on to the Finlander by a chronic liar. I've always called it Eric Clapton's Pea Soup, but until I have more proof I'm going to switch to Chronic Liar's Pea Soup. It seems like I have a higher responsibility for accuracy when I put something in print. I always pull out this recipe in the spring when the mint is up. It's not your average pea soup recipe. It's pretty good.

1 lb. frozen peas
1 small lettuce
A few sprigs of fresh mint
A few sprigs of fresh parsley
1 tsp. sugar
1 medium onion
1/2 cucumber
2 ounces butter
2 1/2 pints chicken stock
1/3 pint milk
2 tsp. curry powder
Salt & Pepper

Peel & chop cucumber and onion -- clean & chop lettuce mint & parsley. Heat butter in large saucepan (keeping in mind the post below). Add lettuce, cucumber, onion, mint & parsley and stir till butter is absorbed. Add stock, peas, sugar, salt & pepper. Simmer until peas are soft. Pour the liquid into a blender and puree, adding the curry powder. Then reheat adding the milk and correct the seasoning.

Has This Ever Happened To You?

So, I'm thinking about found text. Here's a little court dialogue that was amusing me while I was trying to finish up all my classes. Probably why I got a C+ on my research paper.

Q. Has this ever happened to you?
A. Yes.
Q. Have you ever consulted a doctor about this?
A. About my inability to get the egg into the frying pan fast enough? No.
Q. Have you taken any actions to correct your behavior to prevent further overheating of cooking oils or fats?
A. I don't turn the pan up as high.
Q. When did you decide you would like to start taking corrective action?
A. About burning the butter?
Q. Yes, in your cooking habits.
A. I didn't decide to take corrective action.
Q. Do you own a bird?

Barefoot

I’ve been tagged by Talia. I’m not wearing any socks, but these are the first few things that come into my head, in no particular order, bearing in mind that tomorrow I might wear socks and have a completely different list. But I guess anytime I hear these songs I’m likely to smile.

“You Can’t Always Get What You Want” Rolling Stones 1969
“Stoned Me” Van Morrison 1970
“No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature” The Guess Who 1970
“Steal My Kisses” Ben Harper 1999
“Up On Cripple Creek” The Band 1969
“Easy Rider” Janis Joplin 1968

Looks like I might be old. We’re renovating our musical minds over here, looking into music that we weren’t really aware of when it came out. Satellite radio and itunes have opened up vast musical horizons. I guess I better tag someone now. Jesus and Jennifer, you’re it and you’re it.

In other news:

Fiddler’s Hearth was great. There is something otherworldly about watching people doing what they love. Of course, it doesn’t hurt when they’re good at doing what they love, either. I know, I know, I'm the mom...

The cleaning and polishing and shining continues. Gene is now surfing the net, figuring out where his pants should break, what color shirt and tie to wear to an interview. We’ve been married 22 years and these have never been pressing concerns.

Job News

First, and most important, Tom & Crew are playing at Fiddler's Hearth tonight, 9 or 9:30-ish. Should be fun, only 15 minutes or so, enough time for a small chat, as though my chats were ever small. Come if you can. It's a nice atmosphere.

The Finlander's resume has been polished and sent. In 30 days two people will be asked to move, Grand Rapids or Cincinnatti. The lucky two people, if they decide not to move, will be let go at the end of the year. No one knows who is going to be asked. Gene has been with this company 24 years. Meanwhile, he's trying to transfer out of his department into a job with 70% travel, but no move. If that's no go, and he is asked to move, he'll go to Grand Rapids, pick up a cheap place, and Jojo and I will finish out the next 1-2 years here. There is no way I could leave one second sooner. On the good side, in the county north of Grand Rapids there is some beautiful acreage, something I've always wanted. We'll probably be in a state of uncertainty all of May.

My personal closet is now cleaned, although I did reconsider one action. I threw out a box of letters from my teenage years. They were mostly from one guy... No one thought it was a smart move, so I retrieved them from the trash before the rain came, put them back in the closet. History has not been lost, just shoved to the back of the closet.

Not Worth a Darn

At noon on Saturday I arrived at a place called caught up. I wasn't sure what to do. This place always makes me nervous. Suddenly it's my turn to choose the moves. I am endeavouring to persevere. I have opened up Animal Soul by Bob Hicok. It's quite good, funny, sharp. Perhaps it will help me get into the writing mood. The end of the semester has left me a little dry, as the blog will attest. In the meantime, I am emptying closets and bookshelves, abandoning things I've outgrown, figuring out what I absolutely can't do without. Job instability has shown its face to the Finlander. Leaving my street today felt like leaving the womb. Okay. That was stupid. No one actually remembers what leaving the womb feels like. Well, I certainly don't, but since I get claustrophic it probably felt good. But I just can't quite nail the feeling. One hundred and one metaphors for leaving and not one worth a darn.

Moves

My children, in different states, but on the same day, dream of tornadoes while they carry our animals out of harm’s way. They feel the tearing winds, the desire to save. Certainly someplace there is a center that never moves.

Alive

Whew! What day is it? Where am I? Where are you?

I turned in my last paper at 11:30 last night, at least I hope that's what happened. It's all a blur. I'm ready for that picnic at Potato Creek.

More later. I'm alive. I hope you're alive, too.