tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34279385237074301662024-02-22T11:40:09.012-05:00capitol JJChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.comBlogger1699125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-16689013452970387722020-04-03T09:18:00.001-04:002020-04-03T09:18:34.281-04:00Come Back to MeFour years later...<br />
<br />
The notion of coming back, or going back is thick with complications, mostly emotional, rarely logistical. There's always time to do the things you want to do.<br />
<br />
Anyway, pandemics. Am I right? I can deal with maneuvering six feet around people in grocery stores and not hanging out with people socially. But trying to stop my young boys from going near people is confusing for both them and me.<br />
<br />
We tell our children the truth always. We don't use cute pet names for penis and butt. We don't bribe. But we also try to avoid having the news on TV when the words death toll scroll along the bottom of the screen. Every day I tell my oldest son that the world not normal right now. And that we have never experienced anything like this in my lifetime. I'm not sure if that's comforting to him or me.<br />
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<br />JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-90835534376313457742016-06-22T15:24:00.000-04:002016-06-22T15:24:12.845-04:00Summer Kitchen<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">by Donald Hall</span><br />
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<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">
In June’s high light she stood at the sink<br /> With a glass of wine,<br />And listened for the bobolink,<br />And crushed garlic in late sunshine.</div>
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I watched her cooking, from my chair.<br /> She pressed her lips<br />Together, reached for kitchenware,<br />And tasted sauce from her fingertips.</div>
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“It’s ready now. Come on,” she said.<br /> “You light the candle.”<br />We ate, and talked, and went to bed,<br />And slept. It was a miracle.</div>
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JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-32883423432969328802016-02-08T15:42:00.001-05:002016-02-08T15:42:11.842-05:00The Blackest Crow<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NrilRFhh0p4" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-19660626917931812272016-02-02T13:58:00.002-05:002016-02-02T13:58:29.172-05:00Everybody leavesWhat am I waiting for? Nothing. Who am I waiting for? No one.<br />
<br />
I'm very close to a goal I set last year. So close. And yet I can't see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. I just see the tunnel. Darkened and endless. I'm in it trying to decide to go forward, sometimes wanting to go backward. (Usually wanting to go backward.) (God, I want to go back.)<br />
<br />
I'm talking to myself. The only person who will listen, I reckon. Everybody leaves.<br />
<br />
Everybody leaves.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-57350524842413957942016-02-01T15:10:00.001-05:002016-02-01T15:10:07.929-05:00Please forgive me<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2K1Gd9oYWeY" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
I'm teaching myself how to play the banjo. If I can be honest for a minute, considering I'm talking to myself here having run off all my friends, I'm searching for a place in the world. These last few years have been very confusing for me and I've recently found myself lost. Adrift. Floating. I need something. This is my message in a bottle. I wonder if the right people will see itJChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-44054970217754463182016-01-28T08:09:00.002-05:002016-01-28T08:09:27.000-05:00One More Night<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NBlrbFYfRkQ" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-31977636413729867092015-12-14T14:27:00.001-05:002015-12-14T14:27:18.784-05:00Music Appreciation: Mandolin OrangeMy new favorite...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/n1fY-23ffl0" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-13955248017832176072015-09-09T14:11:00.003-04:002015-09-09T14:11:55.595-04:00"All I wanted was for you to love me back."<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MrvwVZVevHY" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-35660434776964612042015-07-28T09:54:00.001-04:002015-07-28T09:54:11.816-04:00ProgressI made a commitment at the beginning of this year to compile enough new poems to be published in a book of poetry. It's August and I've only written ten poems. Ten <i>good </i>poems. So I'm considering submitting a few of them to some literary magazines. Because honestly that's how you do it. My chances of getting an entire book published is low if I haven't had a single publication. I'm also don't hold an MFA in Creative Writing, nor do I teach at a college in some pastoral university at the foot of a beautiful mountain. Strike and strike.<br />
<br />
I will get this book published. I will.<br />
<br />
I also need a title.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-80868401685067964562015-07-16T08:34:00.001-04:002015-07-16T08:34:13.767-04:00redThis time it's a sinus infection. My eyes have been bloodshot for a week. I finally slept most of the night last night. I'm beginning to feel like myself. Whatever.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-67520042630232152812015-07-08T10:15:00.003-04:002015-07-08T10:15:43.287-04:00Don't look at my book!I'm currently reading Nabokov's Lolita. Today I am taking the train into the city for an appointment, but I'm apprehensive about bringing that book. It's creepy, right? A middle aged man alone reading Lolita on a train. I can't do it. This is a normal line of thought, right? I'm taking a different book. One that won't make me look like Humbert Humbert.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-83973969241324127452015-07-06T10:52:00.002-04:002015-07-06T10:52:50.026-04:00What's the fucking point?What I got a surprising text from an old high school friend the other day. One of our close friends from high school died last week. His name was Joe and he died of an apparent drug overdose. I hadn't seen Joe since high school, but he lived across the street from me. We grew up together. He was a good person. And now he's dead. "Found in his apartment dead of an apparent drug overdose."<br />
<br />
No one told me that life starts taking shit away when we get older. Parents, friends, passion, muscle, hair. I'm fat and frustrated and now people I rode bikes with as a child are dying. I'm not ready for this. I'm not emotionally equipped to handle this reality.<br />
<br />
Are we just supposed accept things as they happen? Where the fuck do I lodge a goddammed complaint? Because I got complaints, man. A lot of fucking complaints.<br />
<br />
Joe was funny. He made me laugh. All my memories of him are funny. I wonder what people will think of me when I die. Will my son think I was good dad?JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-7025935977958282462015-06-26T11:02:00.001-04:002015-06-26T11:02:16.067-04:00HistoryToday is the sixteenth anniversary of my marriage to my beautiful, lovely wife. It's also the day when the United States of America decided to make marriage legal for all people regardless of gender. I am honored to share this new historic anniversary with such an important event in our nation's history. And the reason is simple: Love Wins. Always. JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-30464696503508744552015-06-25T10:28:00.002-04:002015-06-25T10:28:32.520-04:00Monet <br style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">by </span><a href="http://writersalmanac.org/poem_author/howard-nemerov/?elq=4d696118cd5846c1a9235eec3e02965d&elqCampaignId=13607&elqaid=16056&elqat=1&elqTrackId=914511e2f4bf4157bca8ab3681e89fdf" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" target="_blank">Howard Nemerov </a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"></span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><br style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;" /><br />
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">
Unable to get into the Monet show,<br />Too many people there, too many cars,<br />We spent the <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1307592876" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span> morning at Bowl Pond<br />A mile from the Museum, where no one was,<br />And walked an hour or so around the rim<br />Beside five acres of flowering waterlilies<br />Lifting three feet above their floating pads<br />Huge yellow flowers heavy on bending stems<br />In various phases of array and disarray<br />Of Petals packed, unfolded, opening to show<br />The meaty orange centers that become,<br />When the ruined flags fall away, green shower heads<br />Spilling their wealth of seed at summer’s end<br />Into the filthy water among small fish<br />Mud-colored and duck moving explorative<br />Through jungle pathways opened among the fronds<br />Upon whose surface water drops behave<br />Like mercury, collecting in heavy silver coins<br />Instead of bubbles; some few redwinged blackbirds<br />Whistling above all this once in a while,<br />The silence else unbroken all about.</div>
JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-21534237181912012832015-06-17T12:15:00.001-04:002015-06-17T12:15:53.334-04:00Steven Universe is incredible.Somewhere between trying to get all the meals prepared and making sure there's clean laundry for James to wear to school we eased up on our TV rules. There's a lot of opinions out there about TV and how bad it is for children. In general, pretty much everything is bad for children. Beware the opinions of the internet. I grew up on TV and I turned out awesome! Anyway, Cartoon Network is James' choice of viewing. One of the shows he likes is Steven Universe. So, if James is watching it then Daddy's watching it, too. And I have been continuously pleased with the subject matter and themes touched on in this show. It's so poignant sometimes. Not like the violent Tom and Jerry I grew up watching.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BLB-NyumHxg" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-32357236064659592612015-06-16T15:26:00.001-04:002015-06-16T15:26:51.063-04:00Music Appreciation: Chris Isaak<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2hxekSgfCOo" width="420"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-12541800330485098472015-06-12T11:20:00.002-04:002015-06-12T11:20:31.280-04:00NotebooksI like the idea of keeping notebooks. I keep a notebook in my bag all the time and jot down tibits of ideas. Good lines. Funny observations. Sometimes they grow into something bigger. Sometimes the seed never takes. But I like the idea of having a notebook to scrawl in. Just in case. Maybe someday my grandchildren will gather them up and look through them like I was some mystical man who journeyed to Virginia from Illinois. Lover of Chicago food. Author of poetry. Player of video games. Lover of skin and lips. I'm pretty sure that last part will be apparent in the notebooks they find.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-74050210189677093402015-06-11T13:21:00.002-04:002015-06-11T13:21:59.496-04:00CCGCCurrently hooked on <a href="http://comediansincarsgettingcoffee.com/">Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee</a>. Funny yes. But there's something about it that feels so normal. People (who just happen to be famous) talking about whatever. It makes me want to find someone to take to get coffee.JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-25438949265785865762015-06-08T14:06:00.000-04:002015-06-08T14:06:23.580-04:00Music Appreciation: Tanlines<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1Yb1oQxPhBY" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-55245214271647535092015-06-08T13:35:00.001-04:002015-06-08T13:35:52.282-04:00Camping III haven't camped much in the rain. Always been lucky that way. Not this time. For the five days we spent on the mountain it rained for 3 1/2 of them. When it rains all other planned activities get scrapped. The only activity we cared about was staying dry. And even though it rained a lot, we still managed to have fun. James remained as upbeat as ever even though we had to wear winter hats to bed and he developed a cough/cold. The last day was beautiful and I set up my new hammock. I wish I could have laid in that thing for five days, but one day is better than no days.<br />
<br />
<br />JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-25554394064096742182015-05-28T09:28:00.000-04:002015-05-28T09:28:21.731-04:00My son's first camping trip. Part IFive years ago we drove up into the mountains of Shenandoah National Park and haven't been back since. Reason: James. Before becoming parents we camped several times a year. But in a few days we are going back in and it will be our son's very first camping experience. We bought a fancy new tent, a fancy new bike rack, and fancy new sleeping bags. I'm very excited to experience the wilderness through the eyes of my son. I truly hope this is the start of his love for camping. Rain is in the forecast for part of the week. Typical weather at the top of a mountain. Memories of Yellowstone... The Sun beating down one minute and snow the next. It was magnificent. As if the normal rules of nature did not exist or were somewhat skewed. This weekend we shop for camping food. My favorite part of any camping trip. (re: Cheetos)<br />
<br />JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-42098089034910296412015-04-28T14:48:00.001-04:002015-04-28T14:48:24.563-04:00Fade Into You<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/S8QOaaoiT9U" width="560"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-90064087366588004442015-02-18T09:36:00.000-05:002015-02-18T09:36:13.380-05:00Looking for things<br />
<ul>
<li>I read a poem this morning written by Alberto Rios. It was good. ("God is in the details.")</li>
<li>I parked my car in a snowy parking lot unable to see the lines. The crunch underfoot was was satisfying. (Thought: does the sound of crunching things as we walk make us sadists? A Godzilla in a frozen city of icy snow.) (If the snow melts while I'm at work will my car appear to be parked haphazardly with no regard to the lines that give our car lives order?)</li>
<li>I made a joke about sounding like Mrs. Doubtfire and it was funny. </li>
</ul>
JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-86566254515312351412015-01-28T15:00:00.001-05:002015-01-28T15:00:59.798-05:00Music Appreciation: New Order<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SkdYRDvX3n4" width="420"></iframe>JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3427938523707430166.post-58738216456523304022014-12-24T10:19:00.000-05:002014-12-24T10:19:02.683-05:00PooShoeA coworker stepped in shit this morning. On this foggy, Christmas Eve morning he stepped in a big pile of shit. (Hopefully, dog.) He handled it well. Grace under pressure and stuff, we're kind of trained to be cool in this job. We're investigators at a psychiatric hospital. Anyway, the shoe. It's too bad we're at work, because this is a job for a water hose. He's outside now looking for a stick.<br />
<br />
Like I said, it's Christmas Eve. I'm at work. When I was a kid today was The Day. Our family always opened presents on Christmas Eve after a fancy dinner. Now that I have my own family presents get opened on Christmas morning. Rightfully so. Santa's coming. My son is going to wake up to a wonderland of toys and wrapping paper and joy. Looking back, I feel a bit gypped that my Christmas was over before it even began. I don't know why my parents chose to celebrate that way. They also forced me to go to church at midnight. And even though I didn't believe any of what the church was selling, the gravity of spending midnight on Christmas in a church singing Silent Night holding a candle in a darkened sanctuary was always humbling and sobering. Myths and legends aside, there's a power in those churches that's hard to deny. Perhaps it's the collective strength of numerous people praying their faithful prayers to an entity far more powerful than anything they can imagine. There's magic in a belief that strong.<br />
<br />
So, tomorrow morning my son will wake up and see what Santa Claus has left behind. It's going to be exciting and magical. JChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08940524018426830054noreply@blogger.com0