Wednesday, April 23, 2008

the lovely month of May

ok, so it's not quite May, but the trees blossoming on revere st and the 83 degrees says itsa comin'!!! the weather is almost nice enough to make me forget neither of my "best friends" in CA have written or called... almost :)

things are going well. i have a spring in my step (quite literally) and air through my hair and my worries seemingly under control! hooray for miracles!

Saturday, April 19, 2008

i've got a fever, and the only prescription is...

... more cowbell.

so, i seem to have made it through my latest surgery with flying colors. i guess we'll test that theory when i see the doc on tuesday. my hand only hurts now off & on, but i can't tell how many stitches or how big the scar will be 'cause my whole arm is wrapped in gauze and ace bandage-y lookin things.

on another note, the weather in the Hub has taken a beautiful turn :) sunshine, breeze, music playing out apartment windows, capri-wearing joggers and assorted pedestrians...


Thursday, April 10, 2008

The Lady of Shalott

On either side of the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the world and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road run by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay,
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady Of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady Of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode back to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
he flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the riverSang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces taro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to towered Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Monday, April 7, 2008

lucky number 8.

as what i hope will be my last surgery looms nearer, i wonder how much more of my life will be spent with a cast on my arm. not even a pretty cast, but an ugly beige contraption with a cloth sleeve that has a thumbhole that always stretches waaaay out of proportion. grrr.

my back hurts. the muscles get really sore and i know it's from lack of use, titanium rods, scar tissue buildup, yada yada yada, but when will it stop? here i sit, all stooped and bent.

my foot has its days. today was a good one. yesterday was not. it makes me feel like a great-grandma hobbling down the street, or someone with a large shoe to compensate for a club foot. it's amazing how life blows by the disabled, whacking them in the shoulder with its oversized couture shoulder bag. busy bee commuters don't help either >:(

but, it does help me to remember to slow down. smell the roses. look up at the sky and see the harbor mist clouding the top of downtown- seagulls crying as they zoom and float overhead. i stop and notice how people treat one another. who politely waits their turn, who lets the heavy glass door shut in someone's face, who smiles and says "good morning" or "have a nice day"... not very many. they're so busy hustling and bustling. time IS money afterall.

i want to find a field or a meadow and lay out a big soft quilt for a picnic with yummy snacks. to fly kites, make grass bracelets and pick a wildflower bouquet... to play in the tall grass in a sundress and fly through the air on a tire swing.... to run down a wooden dock and jump into the refreshing lake, splashing and laughing.

Friday, April 4, 2008

it's what the French call a certain... I don't know what

life is strange. i feel like i'm daydreaming all the time. life's got the hazy, surreal, 3rd person point of view quality that trips me out. the sun is shining from behind me so that the faces and specifics of my surroundings are so bright i have to shade my eyes...

i read something today and everything clicked:
"we're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. but great moments often catch us unaware- beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one."
(poignant, don't you think?)

i want to say i'm in the throes of ennui, but that's only 78% of the time... the rest is just... ok, well, maybe it's more like 95%.