bright spots

1.  sitting next to taylor j. in church today--suddenly realizing we were both shaking with semi-repressed & nearly uncontrollable laughter during the last verse of the last hymn--something about "reproving our every ill desire."

2. receiving my first valentine from moses--this bright yellow heart.

3.  sister tamara.  her stories.  her rocks.  her.

4.  mushroom crepes made by lula and anna.

5.  this bulgari snake watch.  thinking about liz taylor's jewelry. i know it's wrong, but i love rubies a lot.

Unsilence

Santacon tights

I just uploaded several images from my day into this post in no particular order.  But although I engaged in a myriad of holiday activities, one to which I forced a kid, another to which I was unable to force no one but myself, I almost burst into tears several times.  I'm so upset by what happened in CT--it has colored my day and why shouldn't it?--especially reading about the ages of most of the victims.  As a parent of children who were those ages not that long ago--my heart is wrenched.

As someone who grew up the daughter of a struggling school teacher and who loves teachers and school workers and believes that they are generally underpaid and under-appreciated, my heart is wrenched.

As someone who worries that Americans still won't take issues of mental health and gun control seriously even in the aftermath of this, my heart is wrenched.

Here you will find images from Unsilent Night--an annual event where individual boomboxes and MP3 players broadcast a different element of Phil Kline's composition.  Everyone presses play at once and we parade across town.  Lara, SLC's installment is happening on the 23rd.  Check the Fb page.  

Before that I went to the marathon reading of A Christmas Carol, and all around us, throughout the day, were hordes of bar-hopping Santacon revelers, dressed as yes, St. Nick, but also as Xmas trees, candy canes, elves, dreidels and most awesomely, a latke complete with applesauce and sour cream.  

Let us grateful for revelry, food and drink and happiness and Dickens and the opportunity to grow older to enjoy these things year after year.   

My only photo of the event doesn't begin to represent Santacon's critical mass.

Reading aloud aloft--Xmas Carol at Housing Works

Assembling for Unsilent Night

what i did wrong

i'll never tell who the ungrateful child is.  but she's in this picture.

the glow of the holiday has officially faded, and we're all a bit crabby.

in fact, one child cried for a good two-thirds of the day, and presented me with a laundry list of grievances that, after i got over my bout of guilt, i realized could only have been constructed by a well-fed, safe, and privileged child.

it might be time to get out of our ultra-secure little homogenous haven for a while.

the grievances:

1.  i didn't make buttermilk mashed potatoes for thanksgiving (i wasn't in charge of mashed potatoes this year.)

2. we didn't have mini-martinellis for the kids this year.  (couldn't find them at the grocery store, didn't have time to go to costco, and plus those things are jacked up.)

3. i forgot to bring the oreo turkey placecards to bam's house.

4.  i'm letting school start again on monday.  and i'm making her attend.  even though her eye itches.

5.  i arranged a play date for her with one of her favorite friends and then went shopping without her (so mean!)

6.  i ran out of band-aids for the scratch she got on her pinky today.

okay.

the fun's over.

i can't wait for school to start on monday.

really, the thing i'm more grateful for than almost anything else in the entire world, and i'm not being hyperbolic, is free public education.  i'm sorry it rests on the backs of underpaid teachers and educators.

so let me say a quick thank you to those amazing people!

see you monday, teachers!

legwear:  orange skinnies

inspiration:  teachers

looking forward: to the resumption of routine on monday, and to wednesday, when i will be done with my two presentations of the semester.

poetry gorge

word.

in between shopping for tomorrow's feast, a yoga session, and loosely monitoring children (read: ignoring children), i did poetry, poetry, poetry.

i finished a draft of a new poem, read some student poems, and studied for a paper i'm writing.

it was a great day, even in the midst of reading a lot of poetry i don't particularly love (read: shelley).

one of the things i had hoped to accomplish in a year of 365 girls in a tight place posts was to cultivate an appreciation of the now--not pining for the future, not regretting the past, but opening my eyes and ears and heart to more of the moments i'm blessed (and cursed) with.

today, during a low-key dinner, i suddenly thought about how much i've always loved words:  learning them, saying them, hearing them, singing them, teaching them, reading them, writing them.

suddenly overwhelmed by this love, overtaken by gratitude.  a strange moment, in the empty, dive-y, pine-sol scented betos, splitting their humbly delicious fajitas platter with christian.

then i started listing words i love in my head.

like:  polyglot.

it sounds weird, but i've never felt super lonely in my life on account of books, notebooks, and writing implements.  there's this ur-melody always with me.  it goes like this: you always have your writing, there's always another book to read.

sometimes i have a strange fantasy of being imprisoned in some sort of solitary confinement.

i imagine having nothing to write with or to read.

no worries.

i have a plan for that scenario:  i'll make up poems in my head and commit them to memory.  i don't write a lot of formal poetry typically, but in solitary, with nothing to write with, i'd probably go with the shakespearean sonnet, since it's my mother form, it's deeply imprinted in my skin, blood, and bones

& , it would help me remember.

so please indulge me while i share a couple more thanksgiving/ fall themed poems.  and feel the blessings of this particular human form of expression--an expression that can somehow encompass light and dark, creation and destruction, joy and despair in a word or a line or a couplet. nothing but music can do that same sort of thing, in my opinion.

and the coolest thing is

that if it's a great poem,

you won't even be able to say what it is that's happening to you, how it happened, or why you love it so much.

so here's a poem by one of my favorite writers, jean toomer, and one by the always fantastic joy harjo.  with gratitude to words, poets, and readers.



*

diva rock star poet joy harjo.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

*

harlem renaissance poet jean toomer.  author of one of my all-time favorite books, cane.

November Cotton Flower

by Jean Toomer

Boll-weevil’s coming, and the winter’s cold,

Made cotton-stalks look rusty, seasons old,

And cotton, scarce as any southern snow,

Was vanishing; the branch, so pinched and slow,

Failed in its function as the autumn rake;

Drouth fighting soil had caused the soil to take

All water from the streams; dead birds were found

In wells a hundred feet below the ground—

Such was the season when the flower bloomed.

Old folks were startled, and it soon assumed

Significance. Superstition saw

Something it had never seen before:

Brown eyes that loved without a trace of fear,

Beauty so sudden for that time of year.

*

legwear: pink tights

inspired by: poets who keep writing

looking foward to: the day of the bird.

cheery cherry tights

cherry tights for cheer.

i donned last season's cherry tights, brought from paris by one of our first awesome guest bloggers, in hopes of infusing some cheer into the day.  it helped for a while,  but the melancholy has taken a firm hold.

at least i'm pretty sure i'll feel better tomorrow.

trying to think of something fun to do tomorrow with moses and cecily.  it'll be just the three of us for sunday, which is weird.  there's usually such a crowd.

misty zion canyon.

our last day of zion's was raining.  the mists were beautiful.  i'm glad i got to see it both ways--bright blue one day & misty gray juxtaposed against the fern greens and clay reds the next.

one more thing, since i'm naming things that make me happy, in the hopes of getting a bit happier tonight, is that it's nice to be home to my kitchen, a home cooked meal, and my new ikea chef's knife, $21.95, that i swear is better than my $150.00 messermeister.  can anyone explain that?

school shoes from j.c. penney.  old school.

also, cecily's school shoes.  i love them.

also, moses' knight costume.

ready for halloween.

hey.  i feel a tiny bit better. thanks for listening.

hard week: a list

cecily's favorite sunday dinner, chicken n' dumplings.  now that bammy's back, we'll be having sunday dinner at her house again.  i'll be in charge of dessert.

it's been a rough week.

that tends to happen the week after you have a week away from work, right?

therefore, next week will be better, right?

so i'm gonna try to make myself feel better and write a list.

things i'm grateful for:


1.  i'm almost done reading james and the giant peach  to my youngest child.  i've read it to all of my children.  i have five children.  therefore, i will never, ever again have to read james and the giant peach out loud again.  i'm also grateful to have five beautiful children to read to, even if i hate some of the books i have to read.

2.  eva's new, for realz, legit job.

3.  craig dworkin's a handbook of protocols for literary listening and his pamphlet do or d.i.y.

4.  coleridge's a lime-tree bower my prison.

5.  extra-strength tylenol.

6.  my '98 green isuzu oasis.  after an unmentionably priced set of repairs this week, she drives like a dream, and i still have no car payment.

7.  bammy's return from canada after six months away.  sundays are about to get a lot radder.

8.  the daily show, the colbert report, and a new show based on sherlock holmes with lucy liu as dr. watson.  we're watching it in mere moments.  please god, let it be good!

9.  the carillon.  how many people have a carillon nearby?  it's pretty rad. also, how many people have a spouse who composes experimental music for carillon?  that's what i thought.

10. the fact that project runway's baby design challenge wasn't as lame as i thought it would be.  can you tell how i've spent my thursday night?  (in bed, with the remote.  i'm so ashamed, julie turley.  you're probably out watching avant-garde theatre on the street with philip glass).

where breath most breathes: a few good things

me & motherboy

today was serene.

but on the slim chain of serenity, a few gems shone out:

1.  the sky was notable--brilliant blue foregrounded with dark clouds that stretched and clustered, trying to rain, but the sky was so bright.  all day shadows came and went at surprising times.

2.  these lines, from shakespeare's sonnet 81:  "when all the breathers of this world are dead:/ you still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,/ where breath most breathes, e'en in the mouths of men."

genius!

3.  artisan shaved ice at yuki ice.  all the local food blogs have mentioned this place in the past few weeks, for good reason--fresh syrups made with locally grown produce (so, since we live in the mountains, no pineapple or coconut) such as nectarines, roasted poblanos, cucumbers, peaches, home-brewed rootbeer, etc.  i'm in love.  the flavors are clear and full, just lightly enhanced with cane sugar and a little citrus where needed.  so rare to find such naked yet powerful flavor in such a simple, unassuming format.

half nectarine, half mojito

i had nectarine (so nectariney!).

i'm trying currant and orange flesh melon next time

cecily had cucumber (so cucumberish!), and we sampled the jalapeno, poblano, and rootbeer.  cecily's favorite flavors were the jalapeno and the cucumber.

moses had fresh lime.

we sat on the grass and looked at the sky for a little after dinner outing. 

4. washed, dried folded & put away 5 loads of laundry.

5.  read two chapters from coleridge's biographia literaria.  i may have lost some of my grad student chops; working on getting them back.

6.  made it to day six of my "21 oms" mediation practice.  trying for 40 days.

7.  practiced yoga with monica.  she has the yogic spirit, and i always feel a significant sense of grounding when i come from her class.

heidi braids

8.  did cecily's hair this morning.  i've been a bad hair mom.  i vow to do better.

9.  lots and lots and lots of lipstick, to give me a little boost.

10.  dinner on the back porch.  finnish dish, but with a little dolling up:  i added fresh taragon from our neighbor's garden and some roasted baby heirloom tomatoes.  simple and good.

11. had a poem come out today in the innisfree poetry journal.

sabbath day candles

favorites

our friends with green thumbs and excellent taste brought us a basket of beautiful herbs and peppers from their garden.  i'm grateful for people who can grow food.  that skill has eluded me.

the 44 oz. maverick cup in the background tells you everything you need to know about our family's commitment to juxtaposition.

so make me a deal:  when we're living in a post-apocolyptic world, you grow it & i'll cook it, okay?  i'm pretty good at cooking in weird circumstances and with skimpy ingredients, almost as good as i am at killing plants.

thanks heather and kevin!

all summer i've wanted to do a candlelit italian dinner outside, and today was finally the day.  ingrid is leaving for college tuesday morning, so this was our farewell dinner: portabello mushroom lasagna, spinach salad, glace carrots, homemade vanilla ice cream, peach crisp, lemonade.

the kids love these carrots

i wanted to make this mushroom lasagne, but this recipe was too pricey (i'll get to it later, right after i cash my macarthur check), so i downgraded to ina garten's recipe, which was still pretty delish. especially with a few sprigs of fresh thyme from that gorgeous herb bouquet added to the mushrooms and the bechamel.

farewell ingrid, august

the whole family was together tonight, plus a few of our favorite friends.  it was a blazing hot day today, but right before dinner, a thunderstorm rolled in and we got a gorgeous summer storm that brought things to the perfect temperature, plus made it dark enough for candles even though we ate at 7 & it was still light out.

i love you, alice waters.

one more thing:  peach crisp and homemade ice cream.  first of all, i only ever use alice water's crisp recipe.  it's undoubtedly the best one out there, and i've been using it for years.  second of all, you definitely want an ice cream maker.  i love the simplest vanilla with a reduced amount of sugar so the flavor of the cream is the center piece.  which is what you want with really good peaches.  nothing to distract from the beauty of that brief-lived summer ecstasy.

never use any other crisp topping.  it's all about the roasted almonds.

sitting in my back yard eating peaches and looking at the mountains after a rain storm. come visit me in august, and that's what we'll do.

homemade ice cream is a whole different subject.

(rum & maldon sea salt, as this blogger suggests, is so not necessary.  fun, i suppose, but i think it would just get in the way.  also, i double the topping recipe because i'm a topping whore.)

Nectarine and Blueberry Crisp
Adapted from the Chez Panisse Café Cookbook and Chez Panisse Fruit

½ cup almonds
1 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
a pinch of salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter

5 ripe nectarines, pitted and cut into 1 inch pieces
1 cup blueberries
¼ cup sugar
3 tablespoons unbleached flour
zest of one lemon, chopped fine
1 tablespoon aged rum

For the Topping

Preheat oven to 375 F. Toast the almonds until they smell nutty and are slightly more brown, about 7 or 8 minutes. Chop the almonds to a medium to fine consistency. Combine the flour, the sugars, the salt and spice in a mixing bowl. Add the chilled butter in pieces and mix with your fingers until it becomes mealy. Add the nuts and mix until the flour mixture holds together when squeezed. Put aside. (The topping can be prepared up to a week in advance and refrigerated).

For the Crisp
Mix the fruit in a medium-sized bowl and then add the sugar. Taste and adjust for sweetness. (*Note, don’t over sugar the fruit—there’s something quite beautiful about a semi-sweet crisp. Don’t be afraid to let the fruit express itself in its truest form.) Dust the flour over the mixture and stir gently. Spoon the topping into a small cooking dish is just big enough to hold the fruit. Mound a small amount in the center of the dish. Then, gently add the crisp mixture on top. Lightly push the crumble on top of the fruit mixture.

Place a cookie sheet on the middle rack of the oven (to catch any overflow juices) and put the crisp dish on top. Bake in the oven for 40 to 50 minutes, or until the top is lightly browned and the fruit juices are thickened and bubbling. The delicious smell of baked fruit will help you know when it’s close to being ready.

Serve with rum flavored whipped cream or vanilla ice cream. Finish the ice cream with a sprinkle of Maldon sea salt.

everything to say

grateful for tacos

a twist on cage:

i have everything to say, and i am not saying it.

today was trying for a lot of petty, tiresome reasons.

i have too many big thoughts and grandiose schemes, and the minutia of the day can be so wearing.

i attempted to take this as a chance to practice patience and gratitude this day.

a chance to narrow my thoughts to the moments right in front of me rather than some far-flung imaginary time.

and to realize:  how bad can a day be with chipotle chicken tacos for dinner?

so look for a large and detailed post sometime soon.

and do make these tacos, asap:

1 whole roast chicken, meat removed and shredded
3 T olive oil
2 medium onions, thinly sliced
2 red peppers, thinly sliced
1 can chipotle chiles in adobo sauce, roughly chopped
1 head garlic, minced
1 T cumin
1 T chili powder
1 T dried oregano
S & P to taste

soften vegetables and chipotle chiles in olive oil over medium heat for about 10 minutes, until they begin to get a little brown and caramelized.

add spices, chicken, S&P, and a little water to moisten.  maybe 1/2 c.  cook another twenty minutes or so until the the ingredients are well integrated.  adjust seasoning.

serve with warm corn tortillas, crumbled queso fresco, cilantro, scallions, limes, and lime-cumin sour cream.

grazi

thanks for:

dinner al fresco.  lula knows how to make things more fun and more beautiful.

1. lula, who volunteered to make dinner tonight and served it to us on the patio in a cooling breeze. she cooked, set the table, and started the dinner conversation.

lula's goat cheese, avocado, and black bean tacos.

2. my neighborhood, as safe as mayberry circa 1950. the city of provo, also as wholesome as mayberry.  when i told the kids' summer camp director thank you for making it so fun, he responded, "it's my goal to give the kids the best summer of their lives."  my kids have had great, affordable, enriching summer programs run by the city of provo.  i can't stop raving about the city of provo's parks and recreation department.

neighbor boy's a gourmet ice-cream maker.

3. this mountain.

when i'm sad, i look up.

4. myrtle's willow tree.  i love the beautiful white trunk.

my rad 92 year-old neighbor's willow tree.

5. the apricots our neighbors always share with us, and the whole neighborhood.

i can't wait until these are ripe.

6. dinner conversation with moses, "if i were making dinner for cecily, i would make her a big piece of meat since she loves all meat except for rotting flesh."

blackberries ripening.

i look forward each day to ingrid's sartorial concoctions & thrift store finds.

7. ingrid's outfits and hairstyles. cecily's smile.

i adore this girl.  the end.

8. christian's willingness to help me feel better when i freak out (like taking the kids to d.i. to buy "back up bathing suits" so i can stop dramatically losing my shiz when i can't find their suits). & my kids, who know to just laugh at me when i freak like that. & how to make me laugh at myself through my tears.

this kid is quite the entrepeneur. & his dad's a famous chocolatier.

9. my neighbor boy's homemade ice cream stand.  tonight's flavor: malted milk.  past favorite flavors:  fresh mint, sour cream strawberry, cinnamon.

lula's very resourceful & started an herb garden in a cardboard box.

10. lula's suggestions for making life more beautiful: this kitchen door herb  garden in a cardboard box, tonight's after dinner luxury stroll, her adorable home made peanut butter cups, ripening blackberries.

moonlight also leaks

dinner with baby sister

i just returned, under a nearly full moon, from a great early birthday dinner with my baby sis and her husband, both uber-cool human beings.  we ate at my favorite provo restaurant, you know, communal.  

highlights of communal's dinner for me were the cheese platter with honeycomb and cherry preserves and the kale spinach salad.  the butterscotch pudding in the mason jar was so festive and celebratory. kyle and christian went nuts over the corn with queso and christian was trying to drink the remains of the whiskey brown sugar sauce that the carrots were cooked with from the ramekin.

my baby sister valorie had arrived in the middle of the night from arizona after passing by a huge fire in fillmore, utah, the original capital of utah.  the air is heavy with ash and smoke in provo, a couple hours north of fillmore, blowing in from the six wildfires all around us.  our eyes and lungs are burning, and there's an unsettling feeling in the valley.

valorie said at dinner, "kyle was driving and i was sleeping when i woke up in fillmore at  2 a.m. and saw the fire.  if it wasn't so terrible, it would have been really beautiful."

then i came home to read izumi shikibu's poem "although the wind." valorie's statement and izumi's poem were synchronous.  or maybe valorie's poem and izumi's statement?

both utterances point to what, on the eve of our blog's six month anniversary, has been so beneficial about writing down daily observances.  there is terrible and there is beautiful.  

sometimes they co-exist.  

i've gotten markedly better, even since january, at understanding this, and realizing that you have to let them happen together if they need to.  it's been really good for me to consciously look for the beautiful in every day.  

or whatever you want to call it.  

the significant.  

the observance.  

bloggers and poets both get accused of sometimes picking experiences to have because they will make good fodder for writing.  this can be a danger, the danger of not being able to live the poem and write it, both, as thoreau said.  

but so far the daily writing and observing has made me more grateful, more observant, and more deliberate about the experiences i have every day.  i know it's a little self-indulgent (a lot?), but maybe it's not so bad to live well so you can write about it?

at any rate, thank you for indulging me.  

and thank you for the moon tonight.

“Although the wind ...”

BY IZUMI SHIKIBU

TRANSLATED BY JANE HIRSHFIELD AND MARIKO ARATANI

Although the wind

blows terribly here,

the moonlight also leaks

between the roof planks

of this ruined house.

in gratitude

shrine at the hell's backbone grill no harm farm--photo by my student nate lebaron

everyone who knows me knows i'm obsessed with kitchens, grocery stores, restaurants, cookbooks, chopped, iron chef, restaurant impossible, etc., etc.

what a thrill to get to spend a little time with blake spalding and jen castle of hell's backbone grill (in boulder, utah) hearing a little more about their work, food, inspirations and more.  i read their book in 2005 when it first came out and there was quite a big stink about it.  i cooked the navajo peach crisp and the chamayo chile pots de creme and their famous biscuits and kept planning trips to boulder in my head that never happened.

i just re-read their book and got inspired all over again, and felt very grateful for the people who produce food and prepare food and recognize that it nourishes us and keeps us alive, but it can also be more than mere sustenance.  that it can lift our bodies and our souls and our minds and make us happier, better people.

i won't repeat too much of what's in their book, but it points out, through it's setting in the microcosm of the tiny community of boulder, what a communal effort the making of food is.  how, really, every community exists for the making of food, and when that process is hidden or bastardized, our communities become sick.

i'm extending the ideas in the book a little further than they actually go, but that's what being in boulder and re-reading this text made me realize.

i was lucky to see the process close-up for a few days and to notice what a huge difference love, care, and attention makes in the way food tastes on the tongue and sits in the belly, and changes the heart.  not only attention to the food as it's being prepared to eat, but attention to the soil it grows in, the animals & insects who give their lives so other animals can eat, the workers who plant, who chop, who wash, who serve and the eaters at table.

i'm grateful i was raised by parents who are deeply connected to food & recognize it's importatnce to  family and community life, and grateful for all the food evangalists in the world helping to instruct and inspire the rest of us to take more care in all things related to that most foundational thing, the thing that keeps us alive, makes us happy and keeps us in tune with body and earth.

also grateful for the food poems (they're much more than just food poems, but the food grounds them) of li-young lee.  he illustrates the kind of attention i'm talking about:

Eating Alone

I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.

Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can't recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.

It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.

White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.

Li-Young Lee

legwear:  all day yoga pants


inspiration: people who are attentive, thoughtful, and kind

looking forward: to colbert then sleep

some stuff i'm grateful for today

i swear i didn't want to post this pic of me in yoga shorts. 

lula made me.

1. pink & red together.

2. lula, who made the most delicious cream puffs i've ever eaten, and cleaned up afterwards, too.

3. the ability to say (almost) anything without fearing for my life.  read this from sunday's nyt magazine about an afghani women's secret poetry group.  here's an excerpt:
Poems are the only form of education to which she has access. She doesn’t meet outsiders face to face.

“I can’t say any poems in front of my brothers,” she said. Love poems would be seen by them as proof of an illicit relationship, for which Meena could be beaten or even killed. “I wish I had the opportunities that girls do in Kabul,” she went on. “I want to write about what’s wrong in my country.” Meena gulped. She was trying not to cry. On the other end of the line, Amail, who is prone to both compassion and drama, began to weep with her. Tears mixed with kohl dripped onto the page of the spiral notebook in which Amail was writing down Meena’s verses. Meena recited a Pashtun folk poem called a landai:

“My pains grow as my life dwindles,
I will die with a heart full of hope.”

“I am the new Rahila,” she said. “Record my voice, so that when I get killed at least you’ll have something of me.”

4.  labor rights.

5.  women's colleges.  my husband and i both have degrees from one (that offers co-ed grad programs), and both of my daughters chose them.

6. led zepplin.  especially on vinyl, but even on mp3.

7. c., for playing the piano so well, fixing my computers, planting new trees, putting moses to bed every night, being so smart & a million other things.

8. my yogis.

9. a job that i'm proud of and enjoy very much.

10. a watermelon picnic basket that makes it easier to pack lunch and leave for work in the morning and stephen colbert who gives me something to look forward to at the end of every day.

lula=sweet genius

christian getting all bassa nova with quebbeman-turley on drums

honey locust trees, especially the one planted yesterday pictured here

the prez likes lady colleges, too.  yes.  it's not a practical joke.  he really is the speaker.