thank you, jerry seinfeld

It's almost envelope licking season. I'm still an old fashioned kinda
girl when it comes to Christmas cards. I like to send the real classic
paper kind out to family and friends. I've pared my list down some,
but still mail out about 60 cards.

This time of year, when I lick the envelopes, I'm reminded of the
Seinfeld episode "The Invitations". You remember the one, when
George Costanza convinces his fiancee, Susan Ross, to go with the
cheapo wedding invitations, and she actually dies from licking too
many of the toxic envelopes.

The funny thing is, back in 1996, I spent an entire week with stuff
spread out on the dining room table, putting together a scrapbook of
WT's vintage family photos. Now, mind you, I'm not really a
butterflies and flowers kinds of scrapbooker. I stick with black paper
albums and classic black photo corners, like in my photo, above.
Anyway, every afternoon that week, I was busy licking and sticking
corners in the scrapbook. By four or five o'clock every afternoon, I
felt incredibly dizzy and sick.

On Thursday night that week, "The Invitations" episode of Seinfeld
aired. I was an addict and watched Seinfeld religiously, never
missing a show. Afterwards, I turned to WT and said, "Oh my gosh,
it's licking those stupid corners, that's making me sick!" Sure enough,
the next day, I used a swab instead of licking the corners. I felt fine.

Thank you, Jerry Seinfeld, I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving
my life. Like Susan, I might have ended up a casualty of stationery
products.


For all you Seinfeld fans out there, click [HERE] for the Seinfeld Dictionary.
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from the house of edward to willow manor

In honor of her recent 200th posting, the lovely Pamela Terry

hosted a drawing on her gorgeous blog, From the House of Edward.

Guess who was the lucky winner? Me! I won a copy of the famed

"Songwriter's", as she fondly calls him, Pat Terry's latest impressive

CD, Laugh for a Million Years. Wonderful music and I was especially

struck by his moving lyrics.

I held you like a rosary

prayed you like a prayer

((sigh))

from Outrun the Wind

Hop on over to Pamela's blog for details on how to order one for

yourself or someone you love. It would make a perfect holiday gift.

Her sweet big fluffy dog, Edward, included a delightful book of doggy

poetry, "Doggerel", which just happens to be one of the volumes of

Everyman's Pocket Poets I needed for my collection.

This poem by Mark Strand, jumped out and grabbed me. I can so

relate to this one, Edward. Arf! Thank you, and to your mistress,

too.

Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.

Her eyes are sad

and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.

The light is dim.

The dogs are on the basements stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,

their blond legs burn like brush.

The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.

When I get on my knees and lick her hand,

she screams.

I am a new man,

I snarl at her and bark,

I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

.

Late

Late


Night's metallic deep
tastes like coin
between my teeth.

Steel cold beneath
drags day's bones
down to Davy Jones.

I forgot the combination;
click back and forth
like numbers on a clock.

Ex marks the spot,
but won't unlock the dark.
Lights flicker from the dock;

dits and dahs in code
say take off a load,
hit the hay, go to sleep

or to Hell's gate.
Sink, burn or keep
me as a prize,

because it's late.
Or just too early to rise.


willow, 2009





For more Theme Thursday participants click [HERE].

image: google

when he's away...

When the Lord King of the Manor is away, things are,
ahem, let's say, just a tad more relaxed. I'm often
known to do the following...

Drink extra strong black coffee at random, keeping me up odd hours.

Don furry hats, take pictures of myself, then post them on my blog.

Eat random meals of Cheerios, hunkered over my keyboard.

Eat Mickey Dee's double fish fillets two days in a row, or three.

Let the laundry go until I run out of fresh panties.

Throw dirty everything in the kitchen watering hole sink until it's full.

Watch double feature Merchant Ivories in my woolly socks with
Donald Hall and Rita Dove.

Sing show tunes, loudly and with abandon, until the ghosts take cover.

Spend hours days in the second hand bookstore, until the owner
thinks I'm the new employee.

Start a chain reaction of rearranging items around the manor, so
that nothing is in the same spot on His Majesty's noble return.

artwork by Michael Sowa

twlight zone on main street

I'm sure it's because of my roots being ancestrally stuck in the rich,
dark soil of the Midwest, that I adore the artwork of Grant Wood,
1891-1942. Most of his works are of the simple, rural American
Midwest, often capturing the steadfast American pioneer spirit.
One of his best known paintings is American Gothic, an iconic
image of the 20th century.
.
Wood's "Portrait of a Woman", in his Main Street series, above, is
one piece I'm particularly fond of, and keep a copy in my PC photo
file. For the past several months, this lovely voyeuristic lady would
peer at me, through her window, every time I opened the file. I
couldn't help but notice how much she looked like my dear bloggy
friend, FireLight. Now, keep in mind, I've never met FireLight in
person, and have only seen a few of her small avatar size photos.
Finally, hoping she wouldn't think I was completely kooky, I sent
her a copy of the Main Street portrait, with a note telling her of the
striking resemblance.

I almost fell off my chair when FireLight sent me this photo taken
some 20 years ago. The same color braided hair, the hand to the chin,
and not to mention the fact that she looks exactly like Wood's lady in
the window; she easily could have been his model. Listen carefully.
Can you hear the Twilight Zone theme playing in the background?
I told you I was psychic.
.

.

short ribs with cheesy polenta

It's that time of year to start enjoying the earthy succulence of slow

cooked meat and vegetables. My wonderful artist friend, Mary Ann,

was asking about the short ribs on my sidebar last week. It happens

to be a favorite here at the manor. The sweetness of the corn polenta

pairs nicely with the wine and tomato sauce. If you're not a big fan of

polenta, like I am, it's also as delicious served with rice or mashed

potatoes. This one is super fabulous, take my word for it.

.

.

Short Ribs with Cheesy Polenta

.

.

4 medium carrots, cut into 1 inch pieces

2 cups frozen pearl onions or 1 large onion chopped

4 garlic cloves, minced

4 pounds bone-in beef short ribs

1 Tbsp vegetable oil

1 can, 14.5 oz., diced tomatoes

3/4 cup low sodium beef broth

1/4 cup dry red wine

1/4 cup coarsely chopped flat leaf parsley or 2 Tbsp dried

2 Tbsp cornstarch

2 Tbsp tomato paste

1 bay leaf

1 cup quick cooking polenta

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 cup finely shredded Parmigiano-Regiano

.

1. Combine carrot, onions and garlic in 6 qt. stock pot

2. Season ribs with salt and pepper. Brown ribs in oil on all sides and

transfer to pot.

3. Stir together tomatoes, broth, wine, parsley, cornstarch and

tomato paste in a bowl; pour over ribs, add bay leaf, cover and cook

275 degrees for 4 hours or until meat is tender. Skim off fat. Discard

bay leaf.

4. Combine 3 3/4 cups water, the polenta and salt in a large saucepan

over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Add cheese

and cook until thickened, about 5 minutes.

5. Serve ribs over polenta and garnish with parsley, if desired.This is

also great in the crock pot, 9-11 hours on low or 4 1/2 to 5 1/2 hours

on high. Serves 4.

one liners

I forgive the girl with the purple pen who hacked up Charles Simic.

Without the leaves to sound proof, if I listen carefully, I hear the

semis roaring in the distance; it makes me think of Frost's "and

miles to go before I sleep".

.

The sun on the back deck this morning made the sparkly frost look

just like the sugar on my batch of ginger cookies.

.
I forgot to put the trash out this week.

He doesn't know it, but Robert Osborne is one of my bestest;

I have the hugest crush on him and those baby blues...Bob, you look

fabulous in your new dark blue suit and that green tie is tres chic,

my friend. (Got any of those bobble heads left? I want one.)

.

Bach's Sleepers Awake made me cry this morning.

Morning in the Burned House, Margaret Atwood's poetry, has been

delightful..."don't confuse me with my hen-leg elbows".

Today's a really good hair day; of course, I've seen no one.

Speaking of hair, I pulled a rat of it out of the shower drain today;

akk, I think I'm going bald...you know, I once dreamed my biological

father was Yul Brynner.

.

I'm severely craving a double fish fillet from Mickey Dee's; I might

just have to hop in the old Land Rover and go get myself one...don't

worry, I'll be good and skip the glorious fries. (forgive me Robynn,

for I am about to sin...)

This weekend is going to be incredibly fun...hope you all have one,

too, my bloggy pals~!

Theme Thursday - Telephone

Token Call


Last time you phoned
was my fortieth birthday,
remember? You asked
if I felt any older.

Your voice was so fine,
but you broke off to say
it was time to go. Okay,

bye. Go ahead, get off the line.

A forty second call
from father to daughter.
Why bother?

One second

for each of my years.

.

.

willow, 2009

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For more Theme Thursday participants click [HERE].