Miss Pym and a Friend

Miss Pym and a Friend

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Memoirs of Poe's Bicentenniel from Sappho, I should have Listened

How quickly time trickles away. The red Japanese maple in my yard has finally shed its leaves. It glowed like a ruby in the filtered, cloudy autumn light, and then the leaves danced their way to the ground, and formed a red carpet over the front step and the adjacent flower beds. I pressed a couple of them, as well as other leaves I would like to paint on.

This blog has some trivia and memories, mental mementoes, of holidays gone by. It has been a busy couple of months with MMLA and the drastic illnesses/situations of October, ironically my favorite month. My hand still does not work right, and I've learned more than I want to about arthritis and all the related maladies. My answer is "keep moving."

This Thanksgiving, my dad finally agreed to let me do something, so I brought family favorites, cliche, but comforting, and will make oyster dressing. Maybe next year, we might be allowed to take out a few decorations, though I sneak miniature ones onto the dresser of my old room.

I've always lvoed Thanksgiving; it was a time we were together, and made Turkey, with treats for our dogs, and called family. In California, we had our own family Thanksgiving on Friday, and then hit the stores. At home, we drove to one of the big malls, to grand stores now long-gone, and did Christmas shopping, though minor, and bought yule log cakes, and hung out at Laura Ashley.

This year, I've noticed Parents and other magazines promoting green toys, and there are more green household products and storage options even at the big box stores. Some, like the green kitchen sponges are pricey, others are not. Look at your local Radish or health food store, coop, etc., for green bargains. More than ever, now when Ceres gives up Persephone to Hades, I'm aware of the planet. I'm working on a research project involving water and the environment, and I find it fascinating.
Our new little cat continues to amaze us; she knows her name, where the fridge is, and how to flirt and "sweet talk" my husband. Animals are in our hearts more than ever this time of year, and I watched a PBS special on Crows, that was amazing. They have their own customs and language, and are very, very bright. I've always loved their lore, and the lore of ravens and corgies, but who knew? I have a mechanical raven with a recorder I programmed to say "Nevermore!" and several little statues and even crow dolls. One wax sculpture stays out all year on a pile of books. He is very realistic and reminds me of Poe.

Here is a poem I wrote in honor of my mother and Poe's 200th birthday. My mom was a graduate student when she and a friend went searching for his house one dark night, and it was, indeed, " dark and stormy night," and found it on skid row. To Mom and Edgar, from my collection, Sappho, I should have Listened:

On Poe’s Bicentennial; For my Mother, who walked through bad streets and dark alleys to find the home of Edgar Allan Poe one night when she was a graduate student.

A solitary raven flew

Over my lonely door.

It was looking for my mother,

But would see her nevermore.

For the girl who walked out late

At night to find the poet’s grave

With only an intrepid friend

To guide her lonely way,

Had grown, and moved, and gone to school.

Long after Edgar died.

She walked and walked that lonely


Young, vibrant, and alive.

No black cats crossed her happy


No pits and pendulums hung.

Ligia rested in her tomb,

And Ushers’ house was one.

These many years that passed

Were often happy, but now they’re gone.

And with them, now my mother’s dust

Has mingled with poets’ all.

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