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Pigeon in a hole

Pigeon holing sounds dirty, like cornholing, which is in fact only beanbag toss. Who would put a pigeon in a hole? & why? What is a pigeon hole? When did the pigeon go into the hole? Did it want to? Is it still there?


Is "hole" a dirty word, is that it? Ace in the hole, to buttonhole someone, burn a hole in one's pocket, watering hole, hole in the wall, hole in one.... Nope, they're all OK. 




Little red rooster, they treat him nice

He ain't laid an egg in all his life

I'm going away somewhere before long

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Greetings from historic Waconah Park

Fantastic to take the great Ed Foster to his first-ever baseball game, & to sit in the first row. He understood it more quickly than any other newbie I’ve gone with. (I often think about Endi, from Sarajevo, who stared fiercely for a few minutes & then announced, “I understand! Nine against one.” He sat back smugly & didn’t pay attention until he suddenly noticed that the bases were loaded. Which confused him to the point where he lost interest altogether.) Ed, though, never took his eyes off the game, asked a few questions (he started at “which one’s the shortstop?” but pretty quickly was asking sophisticated questions that showed he really grasped what was going on) & immediately put on his souvenir t-shirt. 


One of the pleasures of baseball is thinking about why I like it. Today’s reason: with baseball you don’t have to have a stance, you don’t have to proceed. You’re just there, in a pleasant fog, untimed. You don’t have to be productive or thoughtful. You just have to watch. You just have to be present.

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Greetings from Massachusetts


Why don't I get out of town more often? It's unbelievably quiet here. I breathe. I read a few pages. I look up & breathe.

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Monday Quote

Many human beings say that they enjoy the winter, but what they really enjoy is feeling proof against it. 

~ Richard Adams


For sure, among the many things I love about winter is being indoors, preferably with hot chocolate, watching the flakes come down. But there's so much more. 


I'd guess that it's these hot days of July when people most (think they) enjoy winter? 

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From my roof, July 4, 2019.

I love fireworks & the years when we can see it from our roof usually satisfy me in a primordial-fire ooh-aah way. I have memories from decades. The assortment (snakes, roman candles, sparklers: Safe for Kids) we'd buy from Rich Brothers—just driving an unfamiliar road outside the city limits was exciting. Hitchhiking home to Maine & crossing Pennsylvania during the Bicentennial, with fireworks a few miles off the highway in every little town, me sitting up high in a semi, wondering. My birthday fireworks one February on Chinese New Year. Stopping with Eileen at a giant place in South Carolina, where we separately spent the same amount of money & bought almost the exact same things. I could write the story of my life in firecrackers & bottle rockets.


They were as beautiful as ever last night but alone on my roof, I couldn't enjoy them aesthetically for thinking about tanks & camps & despair. 

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A poem

Khruschev's Hat


Harry Truman is sizing up Khruschev's hat

he remembers it

from their days

in the rodeo


he advised him to get rid of it


now he is thinking

about kicking Khruschev

in the head


lie down, Nikita, he taunts, & I'll do it




I love this guy (by which I mean this poem) & it seems like the right thing to post on Independence Day, dunno why.

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Goodbye to that

That's one hole too many & the top's stretched out. 


Maybe I'll throw away something else some day. 

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Monday Quote

It is not necessary that you leave the house. Remain at your table and listen. Do not even listen, only wait. Do not even wait, be wholly still and alone. The world will present itself to you for its unmasking, it can do no other, in ecstasy it will writhe at your feet.

~ Franz Kafka, The Zurau Aphorisms


What more is there to add.

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In the neighborhood

Paving First Avenue. Now they're putting down a zillion lines for traffic. I don't know what all those boxes & stripes are supposed to mean. Does anyone? (I'll try to remember to take pictures.)


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Another treasure, the provenance of which is lost. 


I once bought a lutefisk TV dinner for the plastic cover with its scan of the lutefisk & potatoes. I threw the food away many blocks from me. 


Y'all know about lutefisk, right? Cod cured in lye, a Scandinavian "delicacy." My dad had his office in a small building called the Nordic Hall, where the Sons of Norway had their lutefisk dinners. I am here to tell you that lutefisk smells awful. I got Myron Floren's autograph at a Sons of Norway event. Only one person, my accordion-playing friend Rachelle, was every excited about this revelation.


I also had a book of lutefisk cartoons that to my chagrin has long since disappeared. The only one I remember was a golden-arches fast food McOlson's LutefiskBurgers, with the display "1 sold." (Oh my, there's one copy available at Amazon for $1,999.99. Free shipping!)

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