Extemporaneous

I had no idea that I knew how to spell that word! And I have no idea what I am going to say in this post. I got up much earlier than usual this morning. At seven instead of eight or nine. It has given me such a nice work day and I have done a lot of different things. I meditated, had a nice breakfast, read one of Adya's poems from My Secret is Silence, read some news, played Farmville and one of my Bookworm Adventure games. For those who enjoyed Bookworm this new version is a lot of fun. I did some dead heading and pruning in my garden. It is time to cut the roses way back - a prickly job at best.
Phil came at eight - my reason for getting up early. We have been organizing the garage and are almost finished. What a difference. I have lots of cupboards and we have been able to put things out of sight that were lying about on the floor in a clutter. And organizing always means I can now retrieve things -no point in having them if you can't find them. He has put up on the walls a series of boards with hooks so that all of our tools are hanging in plain sight - no more trying to pull the hoe out from behind seven other tools.
He is also working on elevating the garden area behind the waterfall so that we can plant things that will spill down over the boulders. And he has put soil in between boulders and we have plants peeking out and spilling down as in a rock garden. In the same area we have the new arbor and will be planting a wisteria come Spring and some other vine that does not require a lot of sun as the area is on the shady side.
I have managed forty minutes on my bike so far today - again a benefit of getting up earlier. And I watched a half hour of the Pebble Beach golf. My favorite golfer as most of you know is Phil Mickelson. So far in two tournaments he has not played his best golf - coming in nineteenth and forty fifth. And today he is not on the front page of the leader board which does not bode well. He plays his best golf on the golf courses of the west. So far not so good.
I will be going out late today with Christy. Our plan is to go over to Remington's and have appetizers and a drink for dinner while listening to music in the lounge. I am hoping I can prop my leg up somewhere as I cannot at present sit with my knee bent. No bar stool for me for sure.
Amy and Connor and I had a fun Sunday watching the SuperBowl. She made some pigs in a blanket - delicious crust, and some delicious hamburg sliders. We had cookies and Cracker Jacks for dessert.
Connor had become enchanted with the novella Flatland written in the 1800's. It is a social satire of Victorian mores, especially on the status of women and on the British class system. But more importantly it introduces the idea of other dimensions than those that we know. He had printed it up off the internet and had me take it home to read. I did this in the next two evenings and then as is my wont I looked it up on the internet. Turns out there are at least six sequels. I had suggested to him that since he was so excited about it he try writing a third chapter (the book has two chapters). He wasn't sure he wanted to tackle that. And there are films as well and a reading list of books dealing with the idea of other dimensions. Exciting for me was how this all dove-tailed with Adya's teachings which can be seen as being about the fourth dimension. i read an interesting paper on just that. -
Lis had touted a mystery writer who would be new to me for some time. She finally gave me two of his books for my birthday. The writer is James Lee Burke and he is the finest mystery writer i have read - right up there with P.D. James but for entirely different reasons. He is the Michael Ondaatje of mystery writers in that he is fundamentally a poet. His descriptions of place are exquisitely done. After reading the first two books I bought two more and am delighted that he is very prolificic and I have many reading treats ahead.
I will leave you today with a poem - one of mine-

THE WOUND

Is there a woman without the Wound?
That never mattering enough
to father,
to husband.
to lover.

Shrinking daily from the blows
of not good enough.
Yearning for tenderness,
for touch,
for cherishment.

Learning as the years go by
to hug the pain close
as an old, worn coat,
more familiar than joy.

Love you all,
Jeannie