I keep meaning to write about…

The late Momo Kapor

Lisboa? Check.

 

Keeping sane

Time to move and coincidentally, get older.  While all this is happening, packing, decluttering, thinking where, how, with whom and if to celebrate, I am coming across things I have forgotten, misplaced and not found time for before.   I still find spring difficult though.   March is particularly deadly and as I get older, the dread drenches first two weeks of April too.  But this season I found last year’s present brings some relief.  An old friend has given me the gift of Raymond Carver’s poetry.   Here is a note to myself  in case I forget or lose the hardback to buy or read it again sometime.  Figure there are worse things in life I could do.

The people who were better than us were comfortable.
They lived in painted houses with flush toilets.
Drove cars whose year and make were recognizable.
The ones worse off were sorry and didn’t work.
Their strange cars sat on blocks in dusty yards.
The years go by and everything and everyone gets replaced.
But this much is still true-I never liked work.
My goal was always to be shiftless.
I saw the merit in that.
I liked the idea of sitting in a chair in front of your house
for hours,
doing nothing but wearing a hat and drinking cola.
What’s wrong with that?
Drawing on a cigarette from time to time.
Spitting.
Making things out of wood with a knife.
Where’s the harm there?
Now and then calling the dogs to hunt rabbits.
Try it sometime. Once in a while hailing a fat, blond kid like me and saying,
‘Don’t I know you?’
Not, ‘What are you going to be when you grow up?’

Thank you A.