Malaise, Part II

Today my malaise is lessened, perhaps by the friends (real, actual friends, not those FB types!) who express concern about my general state.
It could be, also, that Wednesday malaise is always and forever a lesser malaise than Monday.
Or, could it be, the sunshine? The snow visible on the mountains?
Or still yet, could it be that from Wednesday one can see, shimmering mirage-like in the distance, Friday? And beyond that, the dry expanse of something known as the weekend which, surely, will contain an opportunity for recovery? Recovery, one hopes, from this general malaise.
Also, it should be said, the enormous amount of grading can not be insignificant in this general, overall malaise-type feeling.
One should also, perhaps, not sit, mooning over photographs of a younger, leaner self with a younger, more squishable Son while drinking coffee that is, admittedly, good and perhaps a cure for morning variety malaise. The photographs do no good! They cause regret! Put them away!! (but look first, again, at the general adorableness of the Son. Observe it, as well, in his actual self, silently eating cereal in the kitchen).
I feel, again and ever, like Alfie the child in "Annie Hall."
"What's the use?" he laments. "The universe is expanding."
Indeed, Alfie. Indeed.

Salt Lake City: A Photo Essay

Pic

I was going to post a pic of the snow, but I'm lazy. So here's a photo taken by Sleepy E at Hell's Backbone Grill. We're eating bread pudding and some kind of dense chocolate thing. Delicious!

Powell Endorses Obama

I was happy to hear that Colin Powell endorsed Obama this morning. I watched the video, which actually made me cry a little. It was quite moving, so I provide it for you here.
And you can see the photograph he refers to (from The New Yorker) here. It's worthwhile to look at all the photographs if you haven't seen them before.
Listening to Powell talk, kind of makes me pine for the days of old (when Republicans were articulate and sympathetic).

What I've Been Doing: A Photo Essay

Mix and match these captions: Went to a fundraiser in my new dress; went on Fall Break trip to place with beautiful leaves where it rained and snowed; played cards (Son took that photo); found odd things in Son's pockets, including surgical gloves, half a velcro closure, paper clip, chalk, clothespin.
Now I'm just trying to stay warm.

Of Watermelon, Peas & The Farmers' Market

This is a picture of the delicious Watermelon Margarita I made this week. I made them three times, and my advice is to freeze the watermelon for at least 24 hours and to add a dash of superfine sugar. You can put sugar on the rim, but it's unnecessary.

I bought some peas at the Farmers' Market this weekend, mostly because they were there and because Melissa told me about them. But then, when I got them home, I asked myself, what will you do with these? In the past, I have purchased vegetables which have languished in the crisper drawer because I'm not sure how to approach them.
The solution, my friends, is to google "peas" and "recipe" and then sift through those to find a winner. Which I did. Witness: Pea, Mint and Avocado Salad from Nigella Lawson's cookbook. At first I was dubious about the combination of mint with peas and avocado, (I kept thinking about how the British like corn on their pizza....) but it was excellent. It was even better the second day. I actually just tossed the peas with mint dressing, then added avocado and minimal greens. So tasty!

So now I'm really off. Well, Thursday. I guess I'm taking my computer. I might do some writing. Or something.

Sometimes You Talk About Idaho

Dog in Field. Serene.

Fleur.
Le Taco Truck. Yum.
Literary Paver in downtown Pocatello.
An old sign. And a sign of dying downtown.

(FYI: the title of this post is taken from my least favorite Pam Houston story. It's about New Yorkers who talk about Idaho as if they understand it. I think the line from the story is "It [Idaho] is something you can talk about with certainty." Or some such bullshit. It's always grated on me. So here's a bit of Idaho I don't think she means: the taco truck, the dying downtown. She means the rivers and the rest of the stuff she can romanticize because she never lived there. Maybe I should write a story entitled Sometimes You Talk about California. It might include a wildfire that burns down a cabin belonging to a writer who lives in the city, but likes to "get away". Or maybe not.)

today's poem is...

depressing.
For which, I apologize. But after watching two hours of Idol Gives Back, complete with dying kids in Africa, poverty in Kentucky, I just wasn't happy. I think I want to go to Africa.
But, in any case, I revived something I wrote as prose last year after seeing The Devil Came on Horseback, about the genocide in Darfur. You should see it. Or at least see some of Brian Steidle's photographs. Amazing and horrifying. I'm in awe of people who have such courage. This, then, is the poem.

Poem To Be Read With Eyes Closed After Looking at Brian Steidle's Photograph

There was a girl.
See her?
She curves in the shape of sleep
red dress clinging to her bones
her wrists might slip from the chains
that bind her to the tree where
she was burned
she is a heap of ash

don’t ask yourself how old she was
don’t ask where you were
or what you were doing when

the problem is evil
is injustice
is the men on horses with knives
and guns

but what do these words mean?
knife gun
I have heard them spoken
but I don't understand

don’t ask what you could have done
I’m sorry, but she’s not the only one
Think: it could have been a girl in a pink
skirt or the baby I saw, tiny in a yellow blanket

Don’t say I didn’t know
Don’t ask what could I have done
It’s both too late and too early

See this hand and the muscle
in it, the red still living
and don’t ask why
do it now

Knives

Two ideas converged today: the idea that, for the DFL, I could make a cool Power Point presentation with images that part of my story would cover (like layers). And the second thing is that in my collection of stories, I have more than one (two?) in which knives figure prominently. A friend pointed this out and I laughed. I said, "Yeah, that's funny." Which he found amusing, because knives aren't usually funny.
One story is called "Knives in the kitchen" and is basically a list of different knives, albeit with eerie overtones (think Lydia Davis's "French Lesson" meets Crate and Barrel). The second is one I posted a paragraph of in the summer. Inspired by Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside Me, it features a housewife wandering the house, butcher knife in hand. Madness ensues.
So I had to post this photo, which I love. Maybe I will use it. Note the "fotosearch" watermark.