Monday, February 08, 2010
Some Perspective on Hard Times
This morning's Writer's Almanac featured a poem by Michael Blumenthal that puts all our economic hand-wringing and teeth-gnashing in its proper perspective. Love on, amigos. Canoodling is really where it's at.
In a Time of Economic Downturn, I Gaze Up at The Sky
The sun came up this morning, just
as I knew it would. My morning coffee
tasted exactly like yesterday's: a tad bitter,
but nonetheless revivifying. The faces
of our dead Presidents on Mount Rushmore,
are still there, speaking of their trials
and tribulations from their scenic outlook
of granite. Tonight, when I get home from work,
my lover will make her way downstairs,
wearing my favorite underwear. We'll lie
in bed, pretending to watch a movie, both
knowing what we really want. The Dow,
no doubt, will continue its slide, just as the moon,
that lozenge of indifference, will continue
its path downward among the clouds. All of us—
sun, moon, coffee, clouds— might feel a twinge
of guilt: such indifference to profit and loss!
Yet, all over the world, tiny birds with broken wings
and injuries of all sorts are making their way
back to their nests, even the waterlogged anhinga
is drying its wings in the sun. It's good to know
so much keeps going on, despite everything.
Come closer, sweetheart, let's put the film on pause,
let's profit from whatever we've got— before
the closing bell, before the riffraff of recovery
finds us and brings us down again.
as I knew it would. My morning coffee
tasted exactly like yesterday's: a tad bitter,
but nonetheless revivifying. The faces
of our dead Presidents on Mount Rushmore,
are still there, speaking of their trials
and tribulations from their scenic outlook
of granite. Tonight, when I get home from work,
my lover will make her way downstairs,
wearing my favorite underwear. We'll lie
in bed, pretending to watch a movie, both
knowing what we really want. The Dow,
no doubt, will continue its slide, just as the moon,
that lozenge of indifference, will continue
its path downward among the clouds. All of us—
sun, moon, coffee, clouds— might feel a twinge
of guilt: such indifference to profit and loss!
Yet, all over the world, tiny birds with broken wings
and injuries of all sorts are making their way
back to their nests, even the waterlogged anhinga
is drying its wings in the sun. It's good to know
so much keeps going on, despite everything.
Come closer, sweetheart, let's put the film on pause,
let's profit from whatever we've got— before
the closing bell, before the riffraff of recovery
finds us and brings us down again.
San Miguel's Dry Season
When we first came here 4 years ago this week for an exploratory month in Mexico, it was hot, sunny and clear every single day. By the time we returned home to South Carolina, I was absolutely desperate to see a cloud again. Since we moved here, that's been our typical San Miguel February. The past several weeks, however, our weather has been nearly as weird and extreme as it's been in the States. First we experienced freezing temperatures and a dusting of snow on the nearby hillsides, something that hadn't happened here since the early 1970's. Then this past week, we were drenched with four solid days of steady rains, causing normally dry arroyos to become churning torrents as they raced through town, causing numerous road closings and evacuations. Another solid week of rain is forecast to begin later this week. Dry season, my ass!
