ooh that smell

After a good rain it smells different outside. During a good rain, if you happen to be outside like I was yesterday getting soaked in the much needed late afternoon downpour with my birthday boy Willy, I enjoy the parched earth saying “Thank you, I needed this.” The fresh clean scent that the rain brought was exhilarating and mildly intoxicating. When Wilson and I returned home from our walk in the rain and we were in the basement toweling off, I was reminded that the wet dog smell is hardly something pleasant. No matter how good you think you’ve dried them off, they have another shake or two to let you know that there’s still another half bucket of water left on them. For what it’s worth, I never think that a wet dog smells good.

I still have a pretty good sense of smell even though the rest of my senses have slowly gone to hell. This morning when I got to the creek, I noticed that it had risen considerably since the rain. There’s quite a difference from what wafts upward from a full-bodied creek than from one that’s pretty much dried out with only a bunch of dragon flies buzzing around. This morning I picked up on what I thought was the smell of iron or rust or blood. I played with scent a bit like I was tasting a fine wine or a new craft beer. I thought, why blood? Maybe the pipes are rusted. The scent didn’t last long and after a few steps I couldn’t pick back up on it. But as I was walking along the creek I remember having this thought as a child, that no matter where I walked, I was probably walking over somebody’s grave, most likely an Indian. It was a weird thought, but as a kid of maybe 7 or 8, I knew my relatives were buried at St. Adalbert’s cemetery, and so I probably began wondering where all the Indians that were here before us were buried. I kept on thinking that there had to be so many of them because of all the cowboy and Indian movies I was watching on the tv at the time.

Before I sat down to write this morning, I opened up the little booklet that shows me the appropriate Catholic scripture readings for today. Paul in a letter to the Romans says, “We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now.” Wow, it seems like this groaning never ends. Many of us secretly pray and hope for some form of redemption. I grapple with that a lot. What is my responsibility in all of this I often wonder. The history of humanity has been written with the blood of many. For the most part it seems to be a no holds barred, survival of the fittest, catch as catch can sort of existence. There really is more to it than being a witness to our propensity towards a reckless mob-like existence. It falls into the hands of those who are moved into action when their hearts are being tugged towards healing the angst of being human. Someone who can smell pain, someone who can patch as patch can for long enough to stop the bleeding and allow for the healing to begin. I’m glad people like that are out there. They give me hope that we’re finally on the right path.

you know who you are

This is for so many people and it's also for none. Today I had many thoughts and after a mega fraction of the next moment I had another thought and it contained the notion that I should write about that . Or this, for that matter. It's almost getting warm enough to start thinking about the kentucky derby, but not animal cruelty. After all, I eat meat. I almost truly believe I should not be an authority on anything. Precisely though, that is why I am writing this to you. I took this snapshot earlier this morning around 6:30. I liked the feel of the grotto with the blue sky peeking out for the day. I thought, coming this close to mother mary looking upward to her dead son I should say a hail mary to someone. I did, this one is for you. Hail mary full of grace the lord is with you blessed art thou amongnst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb jesus (bow you head) holy mary mother of god pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death amen. & om tare tutare ture soha to the chinese mary too. Intercession is such a weird patriarchal thing. & so is submission. If you want good advice listen to your mother

the notion of pie

This morning I was at the farmer's market to buy some brown eggs. At this time of year there's only a few farmers out with their trucks because there's not a whole lot of growing going on in Buffalo . The farmers that do show up are selling last fall's leftovers, as well as homemade jelly & jams and jars of honey too. I consider it a small miracle to be able to buy fresh locally grown apples that are still quite juicy and crunchy when you bite into them. I really had no notion to bake a pie today because all I wanted to do was buy a couple dozen of brown eggs. For some reason I like brown eggs. I heard that only certain hens lay brown eggs so the way I look at it, by me going to the market every week, I'm doing my small part to keep a certain species of hen from going extinct. Besides, I'm keeping a local farmer alive too. Anyway, after I purchased the eggs I stopped to look at all the varieties of apples in the baskets. It was then, that the farm lady asked...do you need some apples. And my response was...nah, if I buy apples, I'll just feel obligated to bake a pie. And she said...baking a pie ain't such a bad thing to do. And then, me and this other customer chatted about pie baking. We talked about the type of apples we like to use for pie, the shortening we use and other little tricks
that were handed down to us by other pie masters of our existence. I would imagine though, no matter what we learn from other people or what recipe books we use, each one of us make a slightly different pie from the next. I remember a long time ago looking up a recipe for pie crust in my mother's old cooking book. And I remember reading something like this...in order to make a good crust, you have to be swift and deft. Those two words...swift and deft have stuck with me throughout my life. They have a zen-like quality to me. Once I got beyond the notion of pie all that was left was me, the apples, the flour, the salt, the sugar, the cinnamon, the lard, the oven,the clock on the wall, the aroma and the communion. I like my piece with a scoop of vanilla ice cream too.

what are you afraid of

Let's rule out death right away. We should all know that death will occur regardless how we feel or fear about it. But, what if it doesn't ever happen to you. You, clunky pile of flesh and bones and gushy gizzards and tendons & grizzle and eyeballs too. Not to mention your coveted testicles or clitoris too. You...and I hope you know who I'm talking to. Maybe me. & really me for sure. I mean really, what do I really know beyond myself. And I'm not even sure about me. Do re me me me me me me me fa so la ti do Or is me mi? Hey, I can't even figure this shit out and I went to school. What are we being taught. Columbus sailed the ocean blue. And that dumb mother fucker landed some place other than india. Genealogists know what I'm talking about. Bleak is a word that comes to mind. Transatlantic translation too. Welcome, you are now free of a bunch of letters that once held you together. From Smyczynski to Smith. Was your father a blacksmith? Don't look back. Who are you now. Not ever to be next. & yet, next to next is always next within the flux of the next next. It's your heart beating. or being next in line..or something else. thump, thump, thump

ouch the couch

If you come to our house for a visit be assured that you'll be leaving with more hairs on you than you came in with. We have dogs and cats and no matter how diligent we are with our house cleaning we seem to be in a perPETual shed around here. But so what, pets are good for you. They grow on you and they shed on you too. And, when they end up leaving you, you shed too. Albeit tears that is. The only reason I'm blogging tonight is simply because I wanted to use the word albeit. I think I may have used the word albeit one other time in a blog. I'm not really fond of it but I think by using it, I may stop it from becoming extinct. The other day I read in the newspaper that a particular cougar has now become extinct. And I thought, holy fuck, we have become a careless people. But words are not beings. As many times as I say cougar, cougar, cougar I can't bring that particular cougar back from extinction. Of course, contrary to the scientific article the cougar may reappear some day....albeit unlikely. There was another word I heard today in a song from a currently popular folk group and when I heard the word (giddy) I thought, now there's a word I don't hear that much anymore. And then I thought....it may be more popular in Britain. Giddy is probably a word I've never used until today. It's a word that seems more feminine than masculine, but that's probably a dumb thing for me to say because I think we all know a lot of giddy guys out there. But, I'm quite sure that a lot of medicines out nowadays have pretty much gotten rid of giddy. All this makes me wonder...to make your horse go...do you say...giddy up..or gitty up. And if I were to bring a horse into my house, I wonder if it would shed.

I could sit this one out

It's tough to sit when you're a player. I was going to sit this blog out tonight...but something...possibly the rusty muse...told me to get off my ass and write. Why, I'm seldom sure. I saw a robin today and now I'm wondering if the ground has warmed up enough so that the worms will be able to poke out so that they can become the robin's sustenance. There's so much I don't know. For one, do robin's only eat worms. For two, do worms freeze during winter and then do they thaw out just to become some fat bird's food. For three, what do worms eat. For four, do they really eat shit. For five, why am I thinking about hamlet. For six, is there a god. For seven, do robins and worms go to heaven. For eight, do cannibals after consuming a human being ever proclaim that they just ate a cock. For nine, did the cock ever crow nine times. For ten, I wonder what possesses me to write.
For eleven, is there any pain in being a flower. For twelve, I don't understand how this makes a dozen. For thirteen, do people ever read wallace stevens anymore. For fourteen, why stop. I'm glad you asked, because I was just about ready to tell you to shut the fuck up. I was about ready to say so, but so is so...so predictable. As is anyway. So and anyway are cop out words. So what you may be thinking, or anyway, it must be time for bed. Bed is a cop out too. Unless of course you're a worm frozen beneath a flower bed, or a robin, or a cannibal or an insomniac.

sniffing a dying hyacinth

I was on twitter a few moments ago lamenting on how I'd like to blog but was also wondering how I could cultivate a following. I was the whore, and I was pimping myself. Two women came back at me and said...write it and we will read. So here I am. Here I am seems so lofty doesn't it. I come to do your will..etc. Like lordy comes to mind too. Earlier today though I was thinking that the spring season is approaching and even though I did what I had to do with the clocks around here I still haven't seen my first plump robin of the year. I've heard their songs during my morning walks with the dogs but I haven't seen them attempting to pluck out big out big fat worms from mother earth. But then again, this is Buffalo and even the hardiest worms have enough sense to stay underground until the mud melts. Only us humans seems to rush the seasons. About a week ago I picked up this hyacinth from the local supermarket because the scent that it emanates reminds me of my mother and easter too. (probably because my mother once said she likes hyacinths and for forty years after she said that she got a hyacinth for easter) And the scent worked, because people in our house picked up on it. They began to feel resurrected ...like something new was going on in their life. And of course, we all know that something new is continually going on in our life, but at times, we think we need a prop or a prod. So, I am actually glad that I did mention that I felt like doing something like this tonight and I'm glad that I got a little poke. Wait a minute...twitter doesn't have a poke button. Anyway, since easter is so late this year and the damn hyacinth is already shriveling up and inching its way towards another season I may have to bring another plant into the house and write about that. When was the last time you picked dandelions.