What Will Keep Us Alive

I finished Eligible, by Curtis Sittenfeld, and can now pass it along to my daughter. It's great summer reading, and, yes, we watched a season or two of The Bachelor together. I guess this is the lip print bookcover. I am, of course, re-watching Pride and Prejudice, the mini-series, the Colin Firth version, and will be tempted to re-watch the more recent film version, also good. But I did picture Colin Firth as Darcy as I read Eligible. Because I can't help it.

Soon, I can borrow Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, the movie, from the library. Yes, I read that book, too. It was funny and surprisingly close to the original. Plus zombies. It certainly contains skills on what will keep us alive in the zombie apocalypse.

But my summer reading also includes a lot of poetry, and I am catching up on my poetry reviewing over at Escape Into Life.

Today there's a review of Kristin LaTour's wonderful book, What Will Keep Us Alive (Sundress Publications, 2015). I have a rabbit like that in my own back yard. (Minus the carrot candle.) That fabulous art is called Night Watch by Maggie Taylor.

More gushing: Letters to Colin Firth, by Katie Riegel, also a Sundress book!

Eligible Cheese

I am reading Eligible, by Curtis Sittenfeld, and it is indeed hilarious, as everyone has said. On page 88, I found Lydia saying, "The casomorphins in cheese are as addictive as opium," which explains why I ate so much smoked gouda yesterday afternoon, right? And also set me on one of my crazy Internet searches for the Internet's version of the truth.

I found this, from Yum Universe, which confirmed Lydia Bennet, who is totally CrossFit but also silly and uncensored in Eligible, and made me scared that I had addicted my babies to morphine by breastfeeding them.

Science News undid my worries a bit, but made me want pizza.

And the Huffington Post proclaimed that "Eating Cheese Isn't Even a Little Bit Like Smoking Crack Cocaine"---pause...well, I wouldn't know...---alongside the image of a woman bonding with the devil's disarticulated white tongue. Oh, wait, that's cheese.

All of which makes it a Fat Tuesday in the blog, even though it's Wednesday. And probably you already knew all about the cheese thing as I am often late to the party. And probably brought cheese.

Is Russia Hacking Me?

I ask because I have not posted here for over a week--I was Internet-free off in Michigan with family wamily--but today my blog was viewed by more than 1000 people in Russia. So, clearly, this must be connected to the Russian hacking of the Democratic National Committee. Right? Probably I clicked on some Hillary thing, and her campaign is definitely sending me emails. Sigh...

Actually, this Russian blog attention has happened over the past week, so I should have heeded earlier warnings, as reported by CNN. Only, I didn't get any. Should I have been sending money to Hillary's campaign? Sorry, I don't have any!

Aside: Russia, you are hacking up the wrong tree here. Yes, I intend to vote for Hillary Clinton, but I have no actual power, except the power of a single vote, which, actually, is a lot. And I intend to use it. But please don't hack me. I don't want to be hacked. Feel free, though to read my blog, and to admire the Mashtroshka image posted by Fanghong at Wikipedia/Wikimedia. And my actual family wamily of living dolls!

More info here, in the New York Times. Geez Louise, it's just like the Cold War. Only now it's the Clod War, featuring Putin and Trump. Darn it, and I was all mellowed out from Michigan...other than having the Trump Follies on in the background last week. And, of course, there was worse news, so the weeping woman is still weeping.

Swimming in the Rain

This morning I went swimming in the rain! Well, it wasn't raining when I left home, and it sprinkled a few drops during my first lap or two but then stopped. But as my lap swim continued, the sky went darker and darker. We don't have to get out unless there is lightning...and, rumble, rumble, flash, there was some! Day cleared up till early evening, when there was another downpour. My sympathies to those with branches down, or worse, around town. Happy for those of you with the rainbows.

Meanwhile, I've posted a review--a sort of reading interaction--about global warming, climate change, extreme weather, and poetry over at Escape Into Life. It's about Scar, by Carrie Etter, a long poem in chapbook form. It takes place in Illinois. In Normal, Illinois!

Also check out Neatorama and Ddjvigo T-Shirts for this cool "Just Singing in the Rain" image by ddjvigo! And/or check out Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds in Singing in the Rain! And, wherever you Go, watch out for Pokemon!

Accidental Tomato

Evidently, I (or a squirrel) planted a tomato in the pot with the cilantro. It is quite tall now, smells like a tomato plant, and has new yellow blossoms. My hope is for fruit. I thought I had planted a few flowers in there to share the pot, but I am happy to see (and smell) this tomato.

Woe continues in our country (and all over the world). The weeping woman has become my continuing Facebook profile picture. I found this in the book I read over the past two days, My Name is Lucy Barton, by Elizabeth Strout, and I think it is good to keep in mind to keep us in check:

I have said it before: It interests me how we find ways to feel superior to another person, another group of people. It happens everywhere, and all the time. Whatever we call it, I think it's the lowest part of who we are, this need to find someone else to put down.

I think Elizabeth Strout is right here; her narrator, Lucy Barton, is right. It is "the lowest part of who we are," and I am ashamed of any time I was this low or acted this way and ashamed on behalf of those who don't yet realize they are acting this way, and may never realize it. I have to keep my shame and throw off theirs, replacing it with compassion, if I can.

Last night, we watched Zootopia, borrowed from the library. Little did we know how pertinent it would be. Hang on, little tomato.

Happy Birthday, America

Happy Birthday, America. I'm grateful and glad to be celebrating with family in my own small town, but I am saddened by the polarization of our country, by our domestic terrorism and dismay, by a kind of pervasive, low-level post traumatic stress disorder, not to dismiss more acute and actually diagnosed cases of PTSD, or some that should be diagnosed but aren't. Sigh...

I am sad about Baghdad and all the violence and suffering all over our world. Yesterday, I listened to a lovely talk about Ramadan by a woman who was shattered by the Pulse shootings, the event itself and its timing during a period of peace, compassion, atonement. Baghdad brings the same terrible irony to mind and was calculated to disrupt Ramadan.

This holiday week and weekend I have posted two poetry reviews at Escape Into Life. One might be the remedy for the other. I hope that Mark Neely, of Dirty Bomb, might read Suicide Hotline Hold Music, by Jessy Randall, so he can cringe and laugh in equal measure.