I was just about to say LOOK! The sun is shining!
But –it’s raining again.
I waded home through rushing streams, and am still a little damp.
PLUS, I am coming down with a cold.

Well done, May! So far you are beating out February for sheer cussedness.


FEED ME! FEED ME! So roars my brain of an evening, and I trudge to the screen room to do its bidding.
Or to TRY and do its bidding.
Thousands and thousands of my fellow beings are working like HEROES to provide me with entertainment, and I do appreciate their hard work. But really, it is a discouraging chore to scroll through all the hopeful contenders, seeking those few shining pearls.
Sometimes the temptation to just watch some tried and true item over again is very strong.
But HOW IGNOBLE to be so unadventurous.
So, I bravely tried the new PBS Little Women.
And it is a very admirable show, the ladies so lovely, the scenery so believable, and the dialogue well made. The writer wisely left out all that Pilgrim’s Progress stuff, and I am always a sucker for costume dramas.
But this show is no shining pearl.
It presents the story excellently well, the actors are grand. But I find that much as I loved Little Women as a girl, I don’t love it so much as a grown up.
However, there is a LOT of nice hair. With flowers. So, there’s that.


Sometimes a really really SHAMING movie tempts me–and so there I was last night, sitting with the cats watching….HELLBOY.
Hellboy is one of those comic book movies with guys in heavy makeup and gigantic muscles, saving the world from very wicked evil doers.
The story is well worn, the noise is extreme, and cars WILL be violently launched into the air.
This was Hellboy 2, in which we are given glimpses of the young Hellboy being tenderly raised by a fatherly John Hurt–and then on to the cigar chomping gun toting adult Hellboy. He may not be the lad you’d wish your daughter to bring home, but his heart is in the right place, and I cannot but find him rather entertaining.
Hellboy 1 was also rather entertaining.
Hellboy is a DEMON created by the Nazis, but rescued by the Americans, and taught by John H to be an all-American good guy. He is embarrassed by his horns, which he keeps filed down to his forehead–part of his daily grooming routine.
Moreover, the director of this romp is Guillermo del Toro, who has made other, more refined movies, such as The Shape of Water, and Pan’s Labyrinth.
There’s no excuse for it, I know. But sometimes, cars crashing through the skies while beefy actors jostle about–not to mention, an evil white elf who does acrobatic sword dancing–is just the thing to keep one awake of a spring evening.

As I entered the grocery store parking lot today, I spied a man stalking through the cars, carefully holding a bunch of flowers before him. Once in the store I saw more and more people choosing flowers, carrying flowers, helping little children to choose flowers–of course! Mother’s Day is tomorrow.
How charming to see all these people honoring their mothers, grandmothers, wives.
And so, Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers amongst us!
And to the mothers no longer with us.


Here is yet another winner in the grim folk song sweepstakes–this one a sprightly tune, gradually revealing the quite horrifying story of a betrayed girl, served like beast, like a poor beast. Here is a link to the song.
I will own that it is a favorite, despite the ghastly story.
There are older versions, other lyrics. But to even imagine such mistreatment of a fellow human is difficult. Not to mention her poor murdered babies, 6 of them in this version, 9 in others.
Such alluring rhythms, such a charming tune! But how devastating the story.

The path ahead

A couple days ago I emerged from the subway to find a scene of hellish confusion–fences blocking the way, trucks roaring, workers bustling about–what on earth was going on? I had to cross over to the other side of the road, and I own I felt somewhat aggrieved.
Once at work I commenced on my various duties and thought of it no more until I was accosted by a colleague who proudly told me that the activity on the street was the result of his complaint to the city: that sidewalk a disgrace, and what about Special Needs People for heaven’s sake, how were they to traverse the gullies and murky puddles of that stretch of shameful concrete?
I congratulated him on his triumph, and we agreed that this was a fine city to so promptly spring to the aid of its citizens.
Afterwards I thought how often I had trod that sidewalk, sighing perhaps at the size of the puddles I had to skirt, but hurrying on to work or home without EVER EVER thinking of complaining or seeking redress. It simply never occurred to me.
Am I perhaps too accepting of bad sidewalk conditions?
I like to think that it is not that I am an aimless acceptor of flaws but rather an upright pilgrim, who accepts that the path ahead is ever difficult and filled with pitfalls.
At least, that is what I told myself.
And today the sidewalk was a miracle of beauty–tidy rows of laid brick.

My, how prosperous is our city.

Sadness of birds

I was working at home today–such a bright and beautiful day! But when I looked out the window, I saw that the nest –a scene of much activity on Sunday!– held no mother bird. A little later a large crow stood dipping his head into the nest–egg white dripping from that grim beak. Alas alas, the little family destroyed, bleak sorrow for the bird and its mate. It cast a cloud over the bright day.

Though at least my dear cat Bertie is off the hook.

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