Deja vu

The snow showers we were supposed to get yesterday turned into all-day snow and ice, impassable jams on the highways, and abandoned cars everywhere. Today, cars kept going up and down Rowan Road by my house, as if nothing unusual was happening. The sun was shining with all his might, and the driveway was pretty clear. So about 1:30 p.m., I drove to the convenience store. There were still some icy patches, and everyone was driving slow, including me. Took me back to the old days in Huntsville where the roads were messed up for most of the winter, and you had to get out there and drive anyway. They say it'll all start freezing over again, about ten minutes from now.

The Sounds of the Country 'Round

In my office, I can often hear a large dog somewhere in the neighborhood, barking a G above middle C--I think that's it, though I have no way to verify the note. It may be a G below middle C, because it's definitely a large dog and some distance away, and the note never changes. At night, or on dim frosty days like this, it imparts a Russian feeling, visions of wolves, of Zhivago struggling through the snow. Or Omar Sharif struggling through the snow.


We only had a small gathering at the Arts Center last night. I guess everyone was afraid of the BIG SNOW which is supposed to materialize somewhere within the 24 hour period. Around here, a few sleety grains is a big snow, especially if they take an hour or so to melt.


When my book is published, I wonder if I'll stop attending writers' group meetings except to sign books, or when they ask me to hold a workshop and tell 'em how to write.


Sometimes my writing seems dangerously close to cynicism, but I'm not like that. It really is snowing.
*
Been watching the grains turn into flakes. Now that's snow!

New duds

New jeans arrived from LLBean, enormously too long, and room enough in the seat and legs for Old Lucy and her nephew. I always forget that LLBean garments are very generously cut. At least the jeans are 100% cotton, made in Mexico, real denim instead of this sleazy chambray-looking stuff that most new jeans seem to be made of. I hate returning things, but I guess I will exchange them for a smaller, less "relaxed" pair. Maybe two pairs. My old two pairs are developing holes at the rear pocket corners. Last week I got new boots and house slippers, and some other things, I forget what. Well, a set of Rod MacIver watercolor prints, which I aim to frame and hang when I get some frames the right size. And I guess that completes my personal purchases for this year. I didn't really need the boots, but they're black leather instead of brown suede, and they've got two or three inches of heel to make me feel taller.


The poetry reading group meets tonight at the Arts Center. Need to talk to Doris or somebody about arranging a book-signing.

Nervous Bobs

I've been watching the bobtailed squirrel through the binoculars. He does have white on his undersides, sort of streaked with gray. And the tip of his short tail is white. He chased away another squirrel and had the side yard all to himself, but he still couldn't sit still. He jumped and scooted around the yard for a few minutes, then all of a sudden he sat up on his hindquarters, folded his hands on his chest, and looked (it seemed) straight at me for ten seconds or so. Then he practically flew to and up the oak tree, hitting the ground about twice before he got there. I think he's part rabbit.

Well said

". . . though my rhyme be ragged,
Tattered and jagged,
Rudely rain-beaten,
Rusty and moth-eaten,
If ye take well therewith,
It hath in it some pith."


John Skelton, in Collyn Clout (1522)

Sittin' On Ready (?????)

Last night I watched a TV feature titled "Catholicism Is Right!" This mush-mouthed Canadian-Englishman went through the facts as we all know them. The Roman church was first. The New Testament didn't exist in published form until the Catholic churchmen organized and published it. The Pope isn't perfect off of the throne, only his official pronouncements on the faith are infallible. There have been bad Popes, but none of them ever preached heresy. (And I thought, Is that about to change?) And so forth. Mush-Mouth had me right ready to run over to Saint Theresa's.


For a long time, I have been yearning for the Catholic church, been on the verge several times of calling Father Naughton to have a little talk. Part of me wants the fellowship of a church, not necessarily the fellowship of its more vocal members. I'm a member of the Episcopal church, which is right down the road from me. I've been there. There's a Catholic church almost exactly a mile from here.


Sometimes I wish they were farther away, and I didn't have to feel guilty every time I drive by one of them. Or in my head hear ____________ yapping or see ____________ grinning or __________ putting out the garbage. Or imagining that pretty soon one or the other of them will be conducting an unorthodox wedding.


I trust that I'm a member of God's Church. That'll probably have to be it, unless I break down and accept a few things that I don't believe, and become more tolerant of crowds of people.


It's sort of like the reason I never remarried. I could foresee a breakup in every case.

Amadeus

Mo

    zart heard

                   the music in his head

had but

          to li

                sten and to write it down

Mo
    zart

          he heard the music and

he wrote it down down down

and down down down and
down down down and

down

       down

              down

                     down . . .

By JRC 1/23/14
*
This blog posting is shot. In the creating page the print is normal, but translates to all kinds of stuff.

The Whole Poem

Leaving Shambhala

 

Sisters and brothers, I have known the glory

            in this world of time

            nor am I yet quite out of it

            though something draws me on.

 

I fear that I will miss the mountains

            the beautiful rocks

            the oceans deep and blue

            the singing trees

            the mockingbird

            the rain.

 

More light beckons, but can it ever shine

            like sun on snow

            a meadowlark’s gold breast

            or the flowers in my children’s eyes?

By JRC 1/22/14

Last night I abandoned common sense and watched an episode of "Sherlock Holmes" on PBS. The quotation marks are appropriate, because it seemed more like a parody of Sherlock Holmes. Watching these British films is something like watching a movie in French or Spanish without subtitles, where you recognize a word or phrase here and there, but depend on the picture for some vague idea of what's going on.


A proof copy of my book is supposed to arrive this afternoon. How should I dress?

My, oh my!

It's a beautiful day!


By now Debbie has another granddaughter. Wish she'd send me one.


Today the computer won't let me post pictures to the blog. It's all coming apart.

Bob-tailed Squirrel

I saw that squirrel again today, going up a tree. He's small and very dark, no white belly like the other squirrels, and his tail is only about one-third normal. He must had suffered an accident and recovered.

1994

Great review of a great movie:


'"Shadowlands" . . . is intelligent, moving and beautifully acted [by Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger]. It understands that not everyone falls in love through the avenue of physical desire; that for some the lust may be for another's mind, for inner beauty.' - Roger Ebert, January 7, 1994.


Ebert's review: http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/shadowlands-1994


Julian Fellowes was in that movie.


A Dab of Recognition:


1994 was also the year that, led by my supremely talented sister Ramey, I joined the Alabama State Poetry Society, won my first prizes and thought well, maybe verse is the way to go instead of writing novels and sticking them back in a drawer for shame, as I had done several times before.


Now we are engaged in a great book publishing enterprise, the enterprise greater than the book is likely to be. Rowan Wood Press (namely me), mostly through the dogged collaboration of Mr. James DeWitt Cage, will publish The Lightness of the Dark, Poems by Joanne Ramey Cage, this month if we're lucky, next month if we hit a snag. If anyone wants to rush in and contribute blurbs of high praise beforehand, come on down.


Crazy Computer:


When I hit the return key, it throws in an extra line space. Don't blame me.


Crazy Critters:


I went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, and out the window I saw a chipmunk (or a little bobtailed squirrel) run up behind a bird and nip at its tail.

Happy Elvis's Birthday!

Leaving Shambhala


More light beckons,
but can it ever shine like sun
on snow, a meadowlark's gold breast,
or the flowers in my children's eyes?


By JRC 01/08/14


*


The computer is acting up. I can't get the spacing right, but at least the words are there.

Not Quite

I did see snow last night, but just barely. When I turned on the deck light before I went to bed, out the glass door I saw a few measly grains of powder on the railing.

Season Four has to be Downton Abbey's last gasp. Episode 1 last night was so bad, it wasn't even funny. The only good things about it were (1) the rescue of Charlie Griggs from the workhouse, and (2) either the Limey voices had been made more coherent, or my head noises had partially cleared up--I could make out what they were saying all the time. But I wasn't all that happy about it.

Gibbs, adoptable, in Birmingham

If I saw this dog in person, I could not resist bringing him home, if they'd let me. If I had 40 acres with a 10-foot fence all around it, so that he could run and exercise but not get lost, I would go and get this dog. Of course I'd have to clear and spray the 40 acres, so maybe he wouldn't get ticks in all that fur. I would also need an income sufficient to buy all it would take to feed and groom him. So it's just as well. But I reckon there's no penalty for looking at the picture.

P.S. I do not want a dog.

As You Like It

"Sweet are the uses of adversity

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brook,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

I would not change it."

--W.S.