(Chah-Mm-Bell-Eena) Once: My Virtual Italian Notebook. Now: Everything I Love.
Also: the best little donut you've ever tasted.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
"My other question is: do polar bears fly?"
publishing excerpts here on the blog of my"Bits"
journal, to appropriate the expression, again, from poet and FSU writing
professor David Kirby. Here's another excerpt below. It's just a collection of
notebooks and computer files where I record everyday thoughts, inspirations,
ideas for stories, etc. This one draws heavily from a 'sub-journal' -- the Leo
I have to
think Atlanta is some kind of bird sanctuary. I’ve never heard so much birdsong
or such loud tweets anywhere else. My God! Lots of red-feathered cardinals –
the only bird I know to recognize.
light so early these days. Which means SOMEONE wakes up early. Cutting severely
into Mommy’s writing time. I put these words down to give a sense of my life,
not really to complain. It’s the change of the seasons wrought into a specific
detail: Here’s what early spring means to me…abbreviated writing sessions, and
also one of the few times of the year when the morning darkness dissipates
Atlanta,city of darkness. Lately I’ve
been tweeting that it’s a city ofmurals.
And it really is. It’s one of the few distinguishing characteristics. I guess
thanks in part to Living Walls. And maybe also the specific geography of
Atlanta: lots of train tunnels. The Living Walls in Cabbagetown, after all, are
along the train wall that leads to Krog Street Tunnel.
I hear a
voice outside – which turns out to be cat – and I look over my shoulder to see
the pinkening sky through the transom window. This image = my life in Atlanta.
My early morning writing life in Atlanta. The pinkening sky, glimpsed briefly
through the transom window.
lyrics and the music to the song “Graceland” replay in my mind. ‘My traveling
companion is 9 years old. She’s the child of my first marriage…. I have reason
to believe we’ll both be received in Graceland….Graceland, Memphis,
Tennessee…we’re going to Graceland.”
“My head is so full of questions.”
He asks a
fairly mundane question, and then says, “My other question is: do polar
bright moon through the transom windows of the bedroom as I wake up this
I was hearing Elton John’s “Your Song” in my head after someone had posted a
version of it to Facebook. What with Prince dying – yes Prince is dead! At age
57! – I’m feeling perhaps extra nostalgic. Here’s what I posted to Facebook:
The consolation of aging? Perhaps. All I know is songs I
once dismissed as overly sentimental now fill my head in endless loops. Latest
example: this funny karaoke version of Elton John's "Your Song."
Consider this my long-distance dedication on a weekend already given over to
nostalgia with Prince's untimely passing. (You can watchhere.)
good reminder because lately I’ve felt stressed with Leo (waking up again, not
relinquishing diapers, wanting every minute of my attention) and the refrain
‘How wonderful life is when you’re in the world’ reminds me that the
alternative was not only awful and despicable but also untenable.
without him? There wouldn’t have been a life.
you don’t mind
you don’t mind
put it down into words
wonderful life is when you’re in the world…
“When are we going to hike Stone Mountain?”
could go Wednesday,” he says.
yesterday was Wednesday, I tell him. So he says, “Is today Saturday?”
to hear him talk with no idea of the days of the week. And why should he? He
doesn’t even recognize Monday, Tuesday, etc as special words in the language,
meaning very specific things, conjuring up distinctive images and reactions,
not to mention schedules.
news, the former prime minister of Italy (Enrico Letta) is
now following me on Twitter!
I read a
story by John McElwee in a recent issue of the Oxford Americanand I think “How?” What/where is the
path to duplicate this effort/approach/result? About a Southern writer named
Il sole quando sorge, Sorge piano E poi la luce si diffonde Tutto intorno a noi Le ombre ed i fantasmi della notte Sono alberi e cespugli Ancora in fiore Sono gli occhi di una donna Ancora piena d'amore. (il mitico Lucio Battisti)
Dante's Inferno (opening verses)
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita. * Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte che nel pensier rinova la paura! * Tant' è amara che poco è più morte; ma per trattar del ben ch'i' vi trovai, dirò de l'altre cose ch'i' v'ho scorte.
CANTO I, 1-9
Beach parking lot -- Peschici (FG), Puglia
Few things make me laugh as much as the sign on this building.