Regis and I were moved by the lovely words read by our friend Bob on Saturday night. He recalled the first poem I ever sent him and we had to dig through a box of books in the basement to find The Book of Luminous Things to find it. I recalled a poem by David Lee (the pig poet of Utah) about going to town to buy his wife a birthday gift and coming home with a 6-pack of beer and a pig called Jan's Birthday. I don't have a text copy but I do have the CD so if you want to hear it, you'll have to come around.
This is not necessarily the high-brow activity that it seems at first glance. We have a taste for poems ordinary guys can understand. Like I Love You Sweatheart reprinted below that Bob read Saturday night. Thanks, Bob, for reminding us of the tears and laughter poems can bring us.
I woke up this morning at 4:00, kind of sore and tired from my workout yesterday so I decided to sit in front of the fireplace this morning and drink coffee with Regis instead of going out into the dark of night to exercise. This could be our last warm autumn day so it's important to savor it. Thursday looks like we'll be in the 40s which is a whole other dimension of autumn, the not so pleasant one.
I had coffee with my friend Jill yesterday. She makes a great strong coffee with lots of cream and we visited in the late afternoon sunshine. In the span of about three weeks this fall, she lost her dad and then celebrated the births of two new grand babies. It was a poignant journey on her blog, the eulogy for her father, Charlie, the birth of Vivian, then the birth of Weston. We laughed and then we cried. We shared stories and hugs. I'm so glad we're friends.
Regis made a wonderful pot roast yesterday. It was nice to come home at the end of the day to that smell in the house, then to have a big bowl of beef, carrots, onions, and mushrooms. Today, we're roasting one of the chickens from Mike's farm. Not a grocery store chicken. I've seen them go through town in the back of a truck and they don't look happy, all crammed in those cages with their little heads poking out into the wind, feathers flying, clucking like crazy.
When I was in Canby, Mom and I went to the butcher shop for sausage for Scott, a friend of ours from here who used to live there. The butcher shop used to have a door on the street but now only has a door in the back alley, right next to the door where the cows go in for the last time. We parked and walked up to the human's door. There was a trailer with several brown-eyed cows waiting to unload at the other door. I told Mom, "Don't make eye contact!"
We walked in and took care of our business. As we were leaving, they opened the trap door and started unloading the cows. They were not happy. I started dancing around with my hands over my ears and said, "I have to get out of here!" I'm sure the farmer thought I was crazy. I don't have any issues with the eating of meat as I am a good little omnivore, I just don't like to be in the presence of distress. I don't really like to think about where my meat comes from, although I appreciate very much the sacredness of the animal's sacrifice.
You really should listen to Garrison Keillor's story about the hog butchering. It will make you think about animals in a whole new way.
It's Tuesday. My goal for the week is to get all the tubs where they belong. I have Halloween tubs stacked up in the living room and tubs full of spring clothes stacked in the porch. If we're entertaining for Thanksgiving, and we are, they have got to go. I don't want to ask people to put their dinner plates on orange plastic tubs. That would be gauche. Right?
I've dawdled over this long enough and need to get ready for work. Happy Tuesday. Do something fun today.