October 23, 2000: holding the line
I'd been whining about not being able to take a bath. First the bathtub was dirty, and when that was clean, I realized I didn't have a stopper for the tub.
So, the day before yesterday I bought a stopper for the tub. all is well, right?
I'm taking a bath with my new stopper, splashing around in the tub, and I happen to look down by my feet.
There is a stopper.
On a chain.
Attached to the bath faucet.
IN THE BATHTUB.
ALL THE TIME.
I glanced down at my feet and *comprehended* for the first time in a WEEK
what that black rubber thing that always gets in my way in the shower is FOR.
If I had a brain, I'd be dangerous.
turning earth
strip the still-green tomatoes,
the curse of a summer too short
and rains come too soon;
pull stakes and cages and lay plants
on their side, stretched out
on the earth. It's time to turn.
Pull up marigolds, weeds, the volunteers
from last year. Kneel, gloved hands
scrabbling, in that ancient rhythm;
the year-end harvest. Remind yourself
what grew: Black Prince tomatoes.
Celebrity. Roma. Cucumbers. Flowers.
Snap peas. Tell yourself what
will grow next year: Heirloom tomatoes.
More cucumbers. Butter lettuce. Thyme.
Then, the shovel slips into the cleared
innocent earth, and turns, and turns again.
The soil coming up, sweet with compost,
mingling with the scent of sweat as I turn
again what longs to be rucked up at the year's end.
--10/22/00
Tonight, I made porridge.
(porridge sounds so much better than oatmeal, I think.)
Genuine Irish steel-cut oats, simmered for a half an hour over low heat.
Heavy cream.
Brown sugar.
Pure bliss. It is truly one of the foods of the gods. The oats are nutty and a little bit crunchy, and the whole thing just works as a food experience. It's an instant comfort food.
(and there's enough for tomorrow morning, too!)
