This morning out my window...

I see thick fog hovering over the valley like a pall. It seems to muffle everything, and not a branch stirs.


I read the words and consider whether 'pall' is the correct term.


Yes. and yes again! As a true believer in Google I dutifully type "define: pall" in the search engine and up pops the information I'm seeking.


Definitions of pall on the Web:


1. become less interesting or attractive
2. daunt: cause to lose courage; "dashed by the refusal"
3. cover with a pall
4. cloy: cause surfeit through excess though initially pleasing; "Too much spicy food cloyed his appetite"
5. cause to become flat; "pall the beer"
6. chill: a sudden numbing dread
7. die: lose sparkle or bouquet; "wine and beer can pall"
8. burial garment in which a corpse is wrapped
9. lose strength or effectiveness; become or appear boring, insipid, or tiresome (to); "the course palled on her"
10 curtain: hanging cloth used as a blind (especially for a window)
11 tire: get tired of something or somebody

http://wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn


After checking my mail I move on to take a nice shower, and dress half-heartedly. Days like this sap all traces of energy or interest, but by the time I return to the computer the sun is making a valiant attempt to stab through the heavy clouds on the near hill to the south; the temperature has risen to an encouraging 40 degrees. I open the drapes in both bedrooms with anticipation, even though the east is still dreadfully lacking dimension. Obviously we are in the midst of an air inversion. In the distance I can just make out some chimney smoke...suspended in the still air. The whole view reminds me of a boring photograph negative. Hopefully by noon, there will be some patches of blue to break the monotony.

I am SO ready for an end to winter, yet a little worried that rain might come too heavy and fast, in which case we'll be in serious trouble from flooding. The one big advantage to our old rental house was that it rested on a hillside, far from the river. The spring melt would seep through the foundation of the house...meander across the concrete floor, and whoosh out the garage door and on down the driveway in it's rush to join the river. Unfortunately now we are situated in the flood plain, probably even lower than the river which runs parallel to the freeway. And there's been so much snow this year...

How obvious is my dislike of winter? More exactly I should say snow...

This photo doesn't look like much unless you know that we place a table and chairs under the lowest branches in the summer time...it's a SHADE tree, and the berm you see in the foreground was nearly 6 feet high when this photo was taken; at the end of our last big snow that berm was at least 10 feet high. We ran out of places to push the vile stuff, and at one point our access/egress path very nearly disappeared altogether when there was 4 feet of snow level with the veranda. I know a lot of people had worse weather than we did...but no one in the world hates snow more than me. Period.

I had a little fluffy something to say...

but today, this is far more important than any of my silly ramblings...turn up your speakers for this one.

A few minutes to SAVE TARA

Found Link

Not a great video, but not all that bad either; I LOVE the song. Thanks to someone named IrishAngel.

Donegal Breeze

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Shame on the Tiger

Potomac aftermath...

I wonder how many Obama supporters are splayed out in stupor today across the land, victims of orgasmic exhaustion. Throats rasping from chanting for their new Messiah.



Years ago in a fit of pique over the state of our society in general, a thought occurred to me and I vocalized it to no one in particular.



"What the world needs to wake it up, is a modern day crucifixion...only this time it needs be a woman".



It never occurred to me that so many people felt the same, but I'm increasingly aware of how afraid of women some people really are.



It's no surprise how easily people can be swayed by a charismatic, eloquent speaker, especially after years of Bush, the inept, bumbling-mumbler; however, before I hired anyone to do the job of repairing my house...I'd sure as hell want to see a damn fine portfolio full of references that didn't include scraps of endorsement from Oprah, Kerry OR Kennedy.



If Obama wins the election...how long will it be before people start clamoring for the removal of the BO from the Oval Office?

Monday, Monday...can't stand that day...

It's about half-noon and I've finished my brunch. In the throes of a miserable sinus infection I've slept a lot in the past few days and had some extremely strange dreams while fever, chills and medications have waged war for control of my body. After sleeping for a couple hours propped up on the couch the other day I dreamed so strongly of making a salami sandwich with mayo, mustard, pickles and potato chips, that it woke me up. Of course it was dinner time and there was no lunchmeat in the house; I mentioned it to Himself while I prepared a small steak for us to split. Neither of us is feeling well enough to eat a balanced or full meal. I had fallen asleep after having a cup of chicken noodle soup, but the dream had rejuvenated my appetite.

The following day we'd bought a few groceries, and I'd made a vatful of Spaghetti Bolognese...quick, easy comfort food for this time of dragging asses, droopy eyes and drippy noses. Today I noticed the meat cooler contained a package of Cotto Salami so I built the dream sandwich. Something about the crunch of crisp salty chips just appeals to me, and dill pickles are strong enough to appease my craving for a tart jolt to my flagging taste buds.

Dammitall, I hate being ill. I don't mind sleeping a lot, but I hate that it's all I have the strength to do. At least the weather matched my energy level. Dismal grey sky, damp mist hovering wetly over the hills that surround us. The weather is not bitter cold, with the 41 F temperature steadily melting away the mounds of snow we've been inundated with for the past week. I poked my nose out the veranda door earlier, and damn me if it's not positively balmy out there. If I felt better I'd get dressed and drive to the post office to pick up the mail. Never mind; I'll take a hot shower instead, climb into fresh pajamas and have a nap. Then maybe I'll make a nice green salad to accompany the leftover pasta. That I'm thinking about food at all is sign enough that I am getting better, little by little. Tomorrow is pool league night, so it's just in time. We'll go out and pass on these stinking colds we picked up last Tuesday.

Meanwhile we're waiting for that little Limey lizard to call us with news about whose car insurance will fix our car. It's been nearly a week since Himself's fender bender and GEICO is seemingly dragging their tail in regards to liability for repairs; meanwhile he's using my poor old wreck to get to and from work.

Winter sucks, and then you catch cold.

Dreamer

Channeling anger, articulating

...Rage.

All I really want is to sit

...Rocking on my own front porch.

Long pulls on the beer by my side;

...Caressing the Weatherby.

Useful in picking off

...Trespassers who choose to

Ignore the signs at the head

...of the drive.

© 1992 by Angharod Brown-Bair published in The Trestle Creek Review

There are three stories behind this little piece. It was a class assignment; we were to write something in 30 minutes that related to not only our dreams but advice we'd gotten from others.

I was struggling with an English essay in another class. That morning I'd spoken to a classmate...Susan...who had asked me what I was trying to SAY in my essay. Hotly I explained my views on the use of therapeutic marijuana to ease the side effects of cancer treatments. Calmly she said...

"Okay, your foundation is built...all you need now is to channel your anger, and articulate that rage on paper."

In less than 30 seconds that woman taught me almost everything I know about communicating ideas. Rest in peace to her, she passed away a few years ago, after years of dedication to the preservation of wet-lands and birds.

Many years before I went to college, I had a very funny friend who had bought land sight unseen, before learning it was actually acres of uninhabitable peat bog. An eternal optimist, he had made light of his mistake, joking that he would become the Peat Baron of North America. He said that all he wanted was to retire to his own front porch somewhere, drink beer and shoot trespassers. It sounded good to me. I hope he managed it, although his land speculating never seemed to pan out very well.

Anyway when it came time to write for the class...those thoughts were running around in my head, and it must have turned out okay, because Dreamer was actually one of two of my first published pieces in The Trestle Creek Review, a respected Chap book in the northwest.

Being published is a huge boost for a writer's ego, like no other I can imagine. Being paid for writing is a good second, but the thumping heart one gets from seeing that fledgling effort on a page is validation that can never be equaled. TCR sent me a polite half sheet acceptance letter, which is framed and hanging on my 'memory wall', right next to the monitor.

Unfortunately, I don't look at it enough to develop an ambitious work ethic about writing.