thanks for remembering us

And so that was almost a month of radio silence. Nothing much is happening here since the last post. A family visit during the Memorial Day weekend, then the dear husband caught a cold, and then the girl cat decided to get sick as well. Two vet visit, a cat scan 😉 , a corticosteroid shot and $400 later, it is determined she (the cat) has asthma. The husband is fine, the cat seems to be doing ok, and then despite chugging on a gallon of orange juice, I have been having this runny nose for the past few days. I’ll be ok.
Thank you for the lovely notes, comments and emails sent. I didn’t think anyone from the blogosphere would miss me, yet some of you do. Thank you for the sweet thoughts, which remind me of a poem.


The flowers sent here by mistake,
signed with a name that no one knew,
are turning bad. What shall we do?
Our neighbor says they’re not for her,
and no one has a birthday near.
We should thank someone for the blunder.
Is one of us having an affair?
At first we laugh, and then we wonder.

The iris was the first to die,
enshrouded in its sickly-sweet
and lingering perfume. The roses
fell one petal at a time,
and now the ferns are turning dry.
The room smells like a funeral,
but there they sit, too much at home,
accusing us of some small crime,
like love forgotten, and we can’t
throw out a gift we’ve never owned.

~ ‘Thanks for remembering us’ by Dana Gioia, Daily Horoscope

me sleeping

When I awoke on the morning
of my two hundredth birthday,
I expected to be consulted
by supplicants
like the Sibyl at Cumae.
I could tell them something.

Instead, it was the usual thing:
dried grapefruit for breakfast,
Mozart all morning, interrupted
by bees’ wings,
and making love with a woman
one hundred and eighty-one years old.

At my birthday party
I blew out two hundred candles
one at a time, taking
naps after each twenty-five.
Then I went to bed, at five-thirty,
on the day of my two hundredth birthday,

and slept and dreamed
of a house no bigger than a flea’s house
with two hundred rooms in it,
and in each of the rooms a bed,
and in each of the two hundred beds
me sleeping.

‘On Reaching the Age of Two Hundred’ by Donald Hall, The Selected Poems of Donald Hall.


It’s National Pet Day today.

would i live my life over again?


Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgiveable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

~ ‘Rain’ by Raymond Carver, The Collected Poems

the meeting of our eyes makes the room grow brighter




Over your gray and white oval marble-top kitchen table,
the meeting of our eyes makes the room grow brighter.
Our faces, layer after layer, become so vibrant

the light appears to crest in waves.
We have become changed by it, nothing can be
the same after it. When I bend down to touch

the shape of deer tracks in the damp sand, it is in
the same way I place my fingers over your body.
When I stand beside a freshet in a meadow

the sun catches the rings of the water’s long ripples
in the wind, that is the same glimmer we hold
when our eyes meet in the kitchen over

your gray and white oval marble-top table.
Every day for the rest of my life, yours is the face
I want to see when I awake in the morning.

‘Radiance’ by Wally Swist, Huang Po and the Dimensons of Love.

Weekly photo challenge Vibrant

all the time in the world


The stillness, the radio’s news,
the scent of rain. My neighbor
bending to pick up his newspaper
in its orange plastic bag, tossed
on the step. The cars all
heading this way or that,
a fine spray beneath their wheels. Vapor
rising from sidewalks, and the light
of the eastern sun, slanting long, as if
there’s all the time in the world.

~ ‘Morning’ by Krista Lukas, Fans of My Unconscious.

Weekly photo challenge Grid


five things that have made her week

1. this pile of books
{all thrifted, …one from here, two from other thrift store, three from another thrift … and transformed into a collection}

2. this vintage percolator
{because it makes her kitchen smells like coffee cafe}

3. this led nite-lite
{she fell for the scallop shell shade, a Goodwill find for $0.59 cents}

4. this bed of coneflower
{that despite of the heat wave, still blooming and have been visited by the butterflies and even the orioles}

5. this angel
{for being the reserved one, yet at night she snuggles next to her}

Linking up with the Vintage Bliss Party.

saturday stills

five things that she’s grateful for this week

1. these crystal fruit bowls
{she has seen a number of these at thrift stores, but this is a Leonard Italy silver plated, $0.50 each at Salvation Army}.

2. these planters
{she has this fascination over aqua/turquoise color}

3. this thrifted dress
{reminiscent of a Kate Spade Carolyn striped dress, but it’s a Ralph Lauren. A Goodwill score}.

4. this blooming row
{for being so pretty}

5. this boy cat who own the house
{she swears she could hear him purring the Imagine Dragon’s song, ‘No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed, This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come‘}

cats and you and me


the Egyptians loved the cat
were often entombed with it
instead of with the child
and never with the dog.

and now
good people with
the souls of cats
are very few

yet here and now many
fine cats
with great style
lounge about
in the alleys of
the universe.

our argument tonight
whatever it was
no matter
how unhappy
it made us

remember that
there is a
adjusting to the
space of itself
with a calm
and delightful

in other words
magic persists with
or without us
no matter how
we may try to
destroy it

and I would
destroy the last chance for
that this might always

~ Charles Bukowski, The Night Torn Mad with Footsteps