Two more hours and this horrific year will be over. Thank you Jesus!

We've celebrated in our traditional way here at Milkland. A big pot of corned beef with cabbage. Except for the two years I was intimately involved with persons of the hispanic persuasion (those years I made kick-ass tamales), I have made corned beef for New Years Eve. There's rich, Irish blood coursing through these veins...

Before I put the pot on, the kidlet and I went out to stimulate the economy. I got some Reebok walking shoes (see Resolution #1). We also hit the bookstore, where I dabbled in Klass and Kulture. I picked up "The Shipping News", a novel I read half of a few years ago - and then lost. I had mixed feelings about the book. On the one hand, I loved the writing. I could smell the fish, and feel the cold, salty air. On the other hand, it was kind of boring. It's better the second time around - especially with Kevin Spacey in mind as our hero.

I also purchased my very first book of poetry. This event, I will have to attribute to my devoted reading of Mecaieh's poetry-filled diary. She's always got some high-falutin' poem in there. I used to just skip over them. I could never figure out what the poet was trying to say. After a while though, I started to "appreciate" the poetry.

This afternoon, I cruised the poetry section of our local Borders bookstore, and I picked up a book by a poet I had never heard of. However, there were books on the same shelf that discussed his poetry - so I figured that meant he was pretty good... His name is Galway Kinnell, and I think I'm in love! He's from Vermont, and has won a Pulitzer Prize and a National Book award, and this is my very favorite poem of his (so far):

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead,
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and blowing
beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.

Beautiful, huh? Poetry. What a concept.

Happy New Year to All. May 2002 bring all good things and many positive changes!


December 31, 2001

Buh Bye!
October 05, 2008

Be Afraid, People.... Really Afraid
September 01, 2008

One Last Bitchfest for the Road
August 24, 2008

Get the Popcorn Ready
July 17, 2008

I'm a Rich Ho-Bag
June 20, 2008

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Marriage is love.

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