Decisions, Decisions

I bought shoes today, and some clothes to wear to work. For some reason, my pants size had gone down, as well as my shoe size. Most people gain weight while they're on a cruise. I seem to have lost some. It must have been all the walking. The shoes I got were flat, black, ballet slipper type, with a little mary-jane strap near the toe. I probably took a smaller size because they have rounded toes, and no heels to force my foot into an unnatural shape and size. I should have bought them in red and blue, too, since they will undoubtedly quit making them once they discover I've bought a pair. The clothes are not exciting. They are as close to jeans and tee shirts as I can get and still wear them to work. I got a couple of nice sweater-like objects to wear with them so that I can look semi-professional.


I have been called for jury duty for the first time in my life. I have to show up tomorrow, so my vacation will be extended by at least one more day. God forbid I should actually get chosen to be on a jury. I figure my occupation will cause the defense to strike me, and my bleeding heart liberal politics will cause the prosecution to strike me. Maybe if I show up clutching my "Star" and "Enquirer" magazines in my hand I'll be selected.


I talked to my office today. Things were pretty quiet while I was gone, except for the day they had to call 911 to get one of our "clients" to leave.


So, because you are trying to decide on a sofa, here are two poems about choices:




He said—

Buyer’s Remorse

I’d hate to take a job teaching, then spend the rest of my life trying to get out of it. –Mary Oliver

No sooner do the ruck of us declare
“I do”, than we don’t anymore. Go out
for football, and we who never dared
stand up on a pair of ice skates, pout
that we can’t pay pro hockey, too. The ink’s
still wet on our tickets to France, and we
wish we’d picked Japan or, come to think
of it, Kauai, New Zealand or Tahiti.
Open any one door and we’re deafened
by the roar—loud as the sea swallowing Atlantis—
as other doors slam shut, and their wind
knocks us down. The serpent didn’t hiss
to Adam and Eve, “Hide your nakedness!”
He wore his best suit and whispered, “Look at this.”

Charles Harper Webb




She said—

Choosing Shoes




New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me what would YOU choose
If they'd let us buy?


Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.


Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes;
Like some? So would I.

BUT Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that-shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes
O that's the sort they'll buy.


Frida Wolfe

Home Again

Next time I will not bring so many clothes. I say that after every trip, but this time I mean it. It wasn't that I didn't wear them all - there was only one outfit I didn't wear. It's just that the people around me did not give a damn what I was wearing. Even on formal nights, when people dressed up a bit, I could have gotten away with one nice dress, and worn it more than once. One pair of jeans, one pair of shorts, one bathing suit would have been plenty, along with 3 or 4 tee shirts and a sweater. Aside from the exhaustion of dragging around 6 suitcases and trying to keep track of them all, now that I'm home, I've got 18 loads of clothes to wash, dry, fold and put away. Thank God my husband does laundry.

Next time I will not take my own fins, mask and snorkel. Well, OK, maybe the mask and snorkel. I mask needs to fit really well to be any good. But we only used the snorkel gear once and it was a bitch to carry around, too.

Next time I will not buy a bus pass. I will find the correct change, and ask where the bus stops are. Or I will ride in a civilized taxi cab.

The cruise ship was great in that the service was wonderful and the staff was friendly and helpful. The food was excellent, although there was too much of it. We did not see the shows, or the midnight buffets, or swim in the pool. The pool was full of small children, except for the two days it was drained, cleaned and re-filled after an "incident" in the pool. I suspect it involved an infant without a diaper, but I'm not sure.

I might just rather fly to Bermuda and stay at a hotel. We'll have to compare prices. It's only a two hour flight. I could manage that with medication. Anyhow, I am less afraid to fly over water, because I can swim. Makes no sense at all, but there you are.

The cruise director was telling us some of the best questions he'd ever gotten from passengers.
I can't remember them all, but this is a sample:
Does the ship generate it's own electricity? No, they use really, really long extension cords.
Does the crew sleep on the ship at night? No, they row back to New Jersey every night.
What time is the midnight buffet?

If you can answer these questions, you too could be a cruise director.

Singing Waiters

Our wait staff in the dining room danced around the room tonight and sang "Hands Across the Water". Only most of them were lip-synching it. Somehow it was very touching. Did I tell you we had the cutest waiter on the ship? He was from Bombay, India, and was young and had the most beautiful dark eyes. Your Dad didn't notice, I'm sure, but I loved him - and his little accent, too.

We didn't do much today. I sat on a deck chair reading "The Left Hand of Darkness", a favorite of mine.

Your Dad won a little bit on the slot machines, but not more than he played overall. It was entertaining for a while.

We did not stay up for any of the midnight buffets, not even the chocolate buffet. There is only so much you can eat in one day.

We should be home tomorrow night. We'll try to call. I hope David didn't burn the house down in our absence, or kill the fish. Sally will tell us what went on, I'm sure of that.

Where Are You?

We are out to sea again, expecting to have heard from Elizabeth by now. Alas, she is as disappointing as the slot machines. Just because we are out spending her inheritance, there is no need for her to pout.

We had dinner at Fourways Inn last night with friends we had not seen for 20 years. We conversed as if we had just seen them the day before. The food was great, as expected, and so was the service. They put the prices on the women's menus now, though. Bermuda is changing.

We saw Rose Robbins. Elizabeth used to hang off the side of her swimmng pool until her lips turned blue and her toes were like raisons. Rose remembers her. She still has the pool, but seldom uses it.

We brought Michael a copy of "Galaxina" on DVD. This used to be his favorite movie of all time. He was thrilled. Michael and Hope are grown ups now, with a 16 year old daughter. It's kind of scary. We had a great organ recital at dinner. When did we all get old?

Bad news - David Raine passed away two days before we arrived. We didn't see Jill. We used to live in their house next to the Black Horse Tavern. Elizabeth used to love their fish sandwiches. We didn't get a chance to eat at the Black Horse. There was so little time to see the sights. I suppose we could have tried to get there from Hamilton by bus, but we hadn't had much luck on the bus this trip. We tried to take the bus in Hamilton, but basically we were told not to bother. The Bermudians will sell you a 3 day bus pass, but the location of the bus stops is a carefully guarded secret. You can only hope you are standing in the right spot and that the bus driver will feel like stopping. I was told the cabs were almost as reliable as the buses. We didn't even try the cabs.

Michael drove us to Fourways, and we bought them dinner. More than a cab ride, but we'd still be waiting for the cab.

The paternal unit bought a tie at Trimminghams. It took approximately 5 hours. You'll have to ask him about it. We really had a great time. Bermuda is another world.

Adventures in Bermudaland

Don't ever open bottle of water on a Bermuda bus and try to drink it. The bus driver will single you out for a sharp lecture, and then fail to stop at your destination, forcing you to walk half a mile down a narrow road with no sidewalks. Did you know that Bermuda now allows lots of big trucks on those narrow roads? Fortunately we made it alive to the aquarium, which is nicer than ever. We then took the bus to John Smith's Bay to swim. Aside from a brief shower, it was wonderful!

Anthony and his wife took us out for dinner at the Hog Penny Restaurant. You probably don't remember it, but the food was great.

Tomorrow we go on a snorkling trip. Thursday we are taking Michael and Hope to Fourways Inn. I don't care how much it costs, it's worth it.

The crew here is great. They really cater to us, and the head waiter personally toasts my gluten free bread. They are sick with disappointment when we eat in town.

In case you forgot, besides no sidewalks, the roads have no shoulders, grassy strips or anything -just two lanes, one in each direction. Narrow lanes ... Usually they have rock walls, between which manuever buses, cars, motorbikes, and, as cited above BIG trucks. Walking on them is an adrenaline trip for sure!

Out to Sea

I almost turned around and went home when I saw the 5 flights of stairs, outside the ship, just to get on board, but I made it!
Dinner was pretty good, but slow. The other couples next to us spoke mostly Italian. They seemed to be speaking English to us some of the time, but I was not quite sure what they were saying. I've had shit in my ears all day. They seemed really nice, however, and laughed a lot, particularly after they finished a bottle of wine. Your Dad won about $50 playing slots. I'll let him add to this blog:

I feel so honored! The ship rocks a little, but we're maintaining so far. Lifeboat drill was as you'd imagine it - on Gilligan's Island ...

More tomorrow.

Water, Water Everywhere

Two more lovely little poems about the sea.

He said—

A Calm At Sea

Lies a calm along the deep,
Like a mirror sleeps the ocean,
And the anxious steersman sees
Round him neither stir nor motion.

Not a breath of wind is stirring,
Dread the hush as of the grave –
In the weary waste of waters
Not the lifting of a wave.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Translated by Theodore Martin



She said—

The Even Sea

Meekly the sea
now plods to shore:
white-faced cattle use to their yard,
the waves, with weary knees,
come back from the bouldered hills
of high water,

where all the gray, rough day they seethed like bulls,
till the wind laid down its goads
at shift of tide, and sundown
gentled them, with lowered necks
they amble up the beach
as to their stalls.

May Swenson

Sea Fever

I love the ocean, and I can't wait to get back to it. I frequently dream I am on an island - although that could just mean I need to get up to the bathroom - hard to say at my age. I'm not sure about the last two lines of the Millay poem. Loving the ocean is one thing - screaming to drown is a whole other thing. But I do think the Millay poem has more impact than the Masefield.

He said—

Sea Fever

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

She said—

Inland

People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound

Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore,─
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?

People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbor’s head,─
What do they long for, as I long for
Starting up in my inland bed,

Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window, nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning,─
One salt taste of the sea once more?

Edna St Vincent Millay

My Cruise Leaves Saturday

I know Elizabeth understands this because she has slept on an island, too.

He said—

I have always said I would go sometime in the autumn
Away from the bare boughs and the fallen leaves,
Away from the lonely sounds and the faded colors,
And all the ancient sorrow, and change that grieves.

I have always said I would go – and now it’s autumn –
To an island where the wild hibiscus grows
And parakeets flock to the groves at twilight
And fragrance drifts from bays where moonlight glows.

But there would be the vasty sound of breakers
Come in to toss their pearls upon the sand.
All through the night – a longing of great waters
Trying to make the vastness understand.

I have always said I would go sometime in the autumn
Away from the lonely sounds and change that grieves –
But here in my heart is the sound of a distant ocean
And here in my heart is the sound of these falling leaves.

Glen Ward Dresbach

She said—

If once you have slept on an island
You’ll never be quite the same;
You may look as you looked the day before
And go by the same old name,

You may bustle about in street and shop;
You may sit at home and sew,
But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls
Wherever your feet may go.

You may chat with the neighbors of this and that
And close to your fire keep,
But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell
And tides beat through your sleep.

Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how
Such change upon you came,
But—once you have slept on an island
You’ll never be quite the same!


Rachel Field

The Agony of Defeat

A poem for the U.S. Basketball Team.



She said--


Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated—dying—
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!


Emily Dickinson

I don't have a "He said--" for this poem. I just haven't found one yet. Maybe men don't write about losing.

Life Goes On

He said—

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

She said—

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Not when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell,
But life goes on,
So sing as well.

Joyce Grenfell


I'm really not feeling gloomy. Maybe I'm still mourning Julia Child.

To Julia

Julia Child died today. She was quite a woman. Her husband wrote this wonderful poem for her:

He said—

To Julia Child

From her husband Paul

O Julia, Julia, Cook and nifty wench,
Whose unsurpassed quenelles and hot soufflés,
Whose English, Norse and German, and whose French,
Are all beyond my piteous powers to praise—
Whose sweetly-rounded bottom and whose legs,
Whose gracious face, whose nature temperate,
Are only equaled by her scrambled eggs:
Accept from me, your ever-loving mate,
This acclamation shaped in fourteen lines
Whose inner truth belies its outer sight;
For never were there foods, nor were there wines,
Whose flavor equals yours for sheer delight.
O luscious dish! O gustatory pleasure!
You satisfy my taste-buds beyond measure.




I have a similar poem, written by Anne Bradstreet:

She said—

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee:
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
Thy heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
Then when we live no more, we may live ever.


Anne Bradstreet

And So the Night Became

He said—

The Dark Hills

Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors under ground.
For now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade—as if the last of days
Were fading, and all wars were done.

Edward Arlington Robinson

She said—

The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.

The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
To stay as if, or go.

A vastness, as a neighbor, came,—
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home,—
And so the night became.

Emily Dickinson

Big Butted Women

Have you seen the commercials for Kirstie Alley's new show "Fat Actress"? It is kind of sad that a woman of size cannot have a show of her own unless she is willing to make fun of her weight, but what strikes me is that in the commercial she doesn't look that big. She has a nice, neat, pointy little chin, and most of her is hidden behind a table and a big plate of spaghetti.

Now, I've seen pictures of her in the National Enquirer and Star without makeup and camera angles, and that woman is BIG. She has at least two chins, maybe more, and she is definitely a Big Butted Woman (BBW as I call them). She would look right at home in the food court at the Springfield Mall. Did they have to hide her real size to make her acceptable, even in a show called "Fat Actress"?

That said, this poem by Lucille Clifton is dedicated to BBW's everywhere.

She said:

Homage to My Hips

these hips are big hips
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.

they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.

i have known them
to put a spell on a man and spin him like a top!

Lucille Clifton

He said:

Harlem

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

I know these two poems are quite different, but the last line of the Hughes poem reminded me of an article my sister sent me about exploding butt implants.