Just browsed through this post and was hit with a wave of nostalgia…
“For over a thousand generations blogs were fun, personal hangouts on the Old Internet. Before niche markets. Before ROI. Before pageviews. Before the dark times.”
Oh this is what I’ve been looking for. I love my Siri!
Poems can bilocate. That is something that is fascinating to me this early in the morning. Yes, I know it’s just past nine, but these things are relative. The humidity and pollen in the air combine to sap my energy.
But what I also meant to say is this: my new poems, the ones that I am creating now, go over to a night kitchen and will likely not be found on this blog.
There’s a new one now. Go see.
My re-mapping of the white-pebble domain has worked. I have not even caused any device anywhere, at godaddy.com or wordpress.com, or even at my own home, to emit smoke and require an expensive service call. I am therefore quite pleased with myself, and am figuring out what would be a suitable way to celebrate. I can’t think of one yet.
The blogroll needs to be redone. Will go work on that.
Yes, it’s the 18th and this is my very first post of the year. Post of the decade, actually. I believe that it is customary to apologize, but I don’t feel very apologetic. No, not snarky either. More of a what now type and time of questioning.
This blog is an amazing time machine for myself. Also, there are the typical surprises: where I was, what I thought. Who I was. I don’t know if you can be properly amazed at your life at the age of 53 — is that too young? Too old? And do I want to do the daily navel-gazing? That last thing can be most unseemly (is there a better word for that?) when done in public, especially for a very long time.
Now I feel the desire to write again. I’d like to give myself at least an idea of where I’m going here and now, but I don’t seem to have one of those.
First of all, I must congratulate Other Patti for writing down my official 2000th comment yesterday! As a celebration, I don’t know what she will do, but I’m going out to get more sushi at lunchtime.
I slept late this morning, so Buck has gone out to find me some fruit (yes, I know I can change the time zone settings on my blog, but the thing is, as Ruben hinted at a bunch of posts ago, I forget to change the time zone back). Fruit is the one thing I crave that doesn’t (necessarily) have added sugar in it. What I find truly amazing is the sheer amount and variety of foodstuffs that have added sugar in them.
I am haphazardly still trying to follow the advice in my new favorite book, “Anticancer: A New Way of Life” (David Servan-Schreiber). Yes, I like it very much. However, it advises against sugar or honey (except as an occasional treat), and Buck and I are finding right now just how many things have hidden sugar in them. Organic evaporated cane juice seems harmless, but is still sugar. On the brighter side, I walked way over a mile yesterday — the book recommends a lot of exercise and activity. Hope I can keep that up today.
One thing that I have learned this past week, when I have been busy not posting to the blog, is that Boulder has to be the capital of sushi-making in the world. I think that we here have to have more sushi restaurants per capita than, say New York City.
Our current favorite sushi restaurant is Sushi Zanmai. We have been there for dinner the past two nights. They make a lovely Kobe beef sushi, and I must have eaten them out of their stock of Kobe beef. We sit at the sushi counter so we can keep an eye out on our food while it’s being made.
I also love this city because I’m believing this place is imbuing me with health. I look and feel healthier than I looked and felt before the cancer diagnosis. I figure that that’s a good thing no matter how you look at it.
Tea is coming, and then I decide on a yoga class. Yoga helps me to write; at least, that’s the story that I’m going with now.
(ps: that’s not my own picture at the top… I’m trying a new service called tagaroo.)
Breck shared his opinions of the Field Notes:
“You can see for yourself below how much pride of provenance DDC/CP take in their product. When manufacturers put this all out there, you know they believe in what they’re doing. Sometimes the product is still junk (I’m looking at you, Tom’s of Maine GingerMint toothpaste. Why wait all night to develop morning breath when you can just squeeze it straight from a tube?), but it’s still nice to see sources and methods listed.
Other printing on this book includes absolutely perfectly proportioned and placed blocks to put owner info, record the dates of use, and offer or decline to offer a reward if lost and found…”
It would seem that (and thanks to Electric Venom for reminding me) today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. We take language seriously over here on this blog, so we shall go around saying “Arrrrrh!” to all our friends today. I hope that they can deal with it.
Fair disclosure: I am not doing this solely to pretend I’m a pirate today, although that certainly has its charms. I simply want to distract Cincinnati people’s attention away from the fact that I do have electrical power at our house, and we have had power since Monday. Saying something like that around here now can cause a riot.
So go about your business. Nothing to see here!
I must start out this blog post by admitting a thing that might make me either very popular here in Cincinnati, or, possibly, unpopular: we have electrical power at our house.
Ever since Monday’s infamous “deluge” by the remnants of hurricane Ike, with huge windstorms and much power outage, the most common question around here is “Do you have power?”
We came home, slowly but surely, yesterday, to find out that we did have power at our house. We came home slowly because, on Sunday when the windstorm hit, we were in a plane in the region of Knoxville, flying home from Ft. Lauderdale. Thus, since the Cincinnati airport was closed, we were rerouted to Atlanta where, as you saw, we stayed the night.
Further slowness in our arrival was caused by a huge fallen tree totally blocking a street leading to our house. So we had to walk the last quarter mile, dragging suitcases behind us, suitcases whose wheels are now probably permanently embedded with twigs from said tree. Several people stopped their cars to say hi and to welcome us home. Our friend Steve and Peter’s friend Betsy arrived at our house as we did, to help check on things.
Amount of damage: many twigs in yard. Many still-green leaves. Two limbs from giant oak broke, one fallen on our roof, and one still hanging from the tree. Apparently no damage to the roof, not nasty damage anyway.
So here we sit, listening to the not-storm (i.e. quiet) out of our window, with the frequent addition of power saw sounds in the distance.
Some people eat to live. Some people live to eat...
Hacedor/editor de contenido lingüistico/audiovisual
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this life is a great and terrible and short and endless thing. and it's full of love.
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