Been happily ensconced with Catherine et ses Umbrellas of Cherbourg. A return to 80’s kohl coming on. A hungry feeling came o’er me stealing all along the curve of me top eyelid.

I think Cracker would make an ace musical. It’s the restless quality in it. Musicals needn’t only be jolly. A bit of sombre … gritty…

Marie beside me in the garden reported today that she had taken 100 slugs from her plot. She executes a slug patrol and repatriation policy.

My drench ’em and drown ’em approach only result in the saddening sight of a lovely curly earthworm death by imbibing.

They’ve had the second cucumber for dinner last night and there’s no sign of the blighters.

My garden still has this forlorn we need coaxing out of this soil minute plant theme to it.

Nor sure if it was an Ernie, or Herbie moment. Second encounter with a driverless car in my Vancouver lifespan. Today’s managed to escape from a car park, drive itself out and cross the road over two lanes of traffic mount the kerb and then reverse before refusing to dismount the kerb. It sat. People approached. It had managed such an extraordinary circuit I thought maybe there was someone in it we couldn’t see who’d had a heart attack.

The people tried the doors locked. Looked inside no one. And pointed to where it had emerged from in disbelief.

The last car that did this was an old yellow beetle which sailed past my knees as I was stood at the bus stop. Today’s was a fairly dull black volkswagon hatchback car.

The curious thing was it emerged from right beside the alley where you drop off your unfortunates in a brown bag if you’ve had food poisoning to the health board for testing. Not to be getting all George Bataille … but…emerging with force is a bit of theme in that locale.

Was in a garden last night which had sky high bamboo timber growing in it, the shoots (roots?) had raised the paving stones, couldn’t get over the density of the body of that plant, like growing furniture! Then at the top it thins right out and if you only ever looked up it would never disappoint. There’s was also another plant that had this massive leaves beginning with P. There was a few year old spicy arugala that I took a nibble off, hot as chili, due to its age, the friend said. I am renewed in my vigour to defeat the slugs after seeing this place. I only have a box, but a box is a whole box and with a more determined breed of plant, perhaps rubble and companions can be overcome.

The trouble with being a Dennis

Serenaded last night by extracts from Huxley’s Chrome Yellow. A part with Dennis and Annie. At one point Annie confronts Dennis over his blithering… Dennis responds:

“It’s the fault of one’s education. Things seem more real and vivid when one can apply somebody else’s phrases about them and then there are lots of lovely names and words – monophysit, iamblichus, and pomponazzi: you bring them out triumphantly and feel you’ve clinched the argument with the mere magical sound of them …”

I have come across the odd Dennis Stone in Vancouver (and Dublin) and had occasion to sit across the table from him. He tends to luxuriate in the sound of himself (usually — if you remain awake long enough to listen carefully — constructed on borrowed ready made phrases and tag words that plume out of him). One tires quickly of Dennis because with the ready-made phrases come ready-made ideas and he ceased listening to anything other than his own  pitter patter, which is not really his own, it’s derived pitter patter that works for the attentive spawning minions necessary for the legacy of Dennis.  Dennis, while bathing aloud in himself, often misquotes things he hasn’t bothered to read and wouldn’t bother to read because Dennis has already Decided. Dennis may have an interesting idea or two, but you cannot get near them for Dennis is constantly in the way. Dennis also places himself in the way of your own ideas, for in the shadow of Dennis no one has lived except Dennis who has lived all, everywhere, endless, in the name of the Dennis, Glory be to the Dennis, the bold, holed, souled Dennis.  Finally Dennis knows more about ovaries than well an ovary because Dennis has a direct telephone line to the ovary.

There’s something concrete bout Dennis, he’s an early relic, he no longer budges or moves.

In an inter-related matter, perhaps this explains why I rapidly fatigued watching the Charles Olson documentary and was struck by the doorways over all else. The male poet just takes up sooo much space. (thanks Lori for the distinction)

Behind the doorway is the possibility of an opening, an entry point into something, someplace, where Dennis FM, is not the sole (hole!) station.

In accidentally boiling the exquisite cashmere jumper I found on the side of the road I discovered it is also a cardigan and within that flexible arrangement the jumper/cardigan forgave me for the boiling and has not shrunk too much.

In another pairing the precise rhythm of Beckett’s prose in Comment C’est, when read aloud, matches the gentle bobbing that my hockey stick leg muscles will agree only to stretch to.  Mr Beckett’s implementation of this rhythm is a great service to short legged, who loathe prolonged anything.  He took walks often and the terrain he walked on can be an ankle twisting bumpetty carry on that demands rhythm. I know someone who buried a dog where he used to walk. Between the dog and all other co-incidences he singularly intended to provide for me with this text, which, of course, contains a slug.

I am thinking of renaming my community garden plot The Chipper. This is my 3rd or 4th year in this plot and I am still removing rubble constantly from it. It’s a heart breaker!

The slugs have mown the two budding leaves off my cucumber plant in it’s less than 12 hour lifespan. Meanwhile the Manhattan high potato plant right beside it that could afford a bit of a trim they turned their sniffer up at. I went around pressing the earth round my poor beleagured beans today, hoping some kind of pressure point tactic might have a chat to the old roots down there to charge skyward before the slugs are reborn.

I put two wee containers of beer in to drown the blighters, but my slugs are a very intellectual variety who may also be yeast proof. They are destroying my dreams of having one good year in this plot. Picture the scene all around me are thriving garden plots, year after year.

But in the only bit of uplifting news the alpine strawberry plant that is the very essence of a miracle, because it has thrived in this concrete  Chipper, had strawberries on it today. Edible ones. Yum. So the rain fell, I pressed the earth pointlessly, pleaded with the non appearing lettuces, grieved the gone cucumber and snaffled the berries, decided the rain was insufficient, lugged galloons of water across the road, left, not long after the rain absolutely lashed it down.

I am looking forward to greeting my ma’s vegetable tunnel in rural Ireland. I have these illusions I am going to be helpful in it. It’s a great thing delusion …

**

In a non gardening astonishing achievement today I managed to crash the car into a static dumpster. (Lest readers may think it was chasing me) and it is showing dent and abrasion. The combination of going backwards when there’s things beside me is not a sequence to be repeated. It’s over for me and car parks. It’s over for me and dumpsters too. But I’ve good potential for driving that buggy thing that bounces on Mars.

The only good thing was as soon as I crashed into the dumpster three cars in the area took off rapidly and i had a nice bit of space to carry on….

As the time has come for the Small Male to have his own key to our home I was thinking lightheartedly wa-hey it’s time to have another baby! Some hours later after my epic new gym/chin up/swim routine I was at the shop and spied a very small baby in a large set of male arms. The baby was about the size of one of the man’s biceps and had that little froggy huddle shape they barely unroll from at that 2 week age.

It was pouring rain, so I sat to eat some snacks and watch the pavement activity when lo agus behold male appears with baby, followed by woman I recognize, male pops baby in car, woman I recognize says bonjour, she does not pass car, she is going into car that baby just went into. That’s your baby I shrieked… you had a baby? How/when could you have had a baby?

The woman lives in the apartment practically underneath me. I see her several times a week minimum and never saw a hint that was pregnant. Though she has the most wonderful glossy head of hair. I was thrilled! I was thrilled! I was thrilled! This new baby will live in our building!

Eh voila there’s a new baby. Co-incidently she also has son almost finished high school. A fine fella he is, with lovely manners.

In this documentary about Charles Olson, about whom I know absolutely nowt, there are some interesting doorways, including a back door. It lost me around part 4, but the doorways stay with me.

The orthognathic/maxillo facial dilemma appears to be caused by impact exercise which is a darn, great, mighty pity. Not sure how this one will or could resolve. If it is the site of the original now fifteen year old pins, I think only surgery would remove them. But they’d be difficult to isolate at this point? I recall waking up after the third surgery, my surgeon, approaching the bed to explain to my eyes as swollen as two melons that, well, one of the facial plates they’d removed was stubborn as all hell and how he’d had to use major brute force to remove it.

But I ain’t defecting on the tumbling ambitions. The back handspring was even admired by the janitor at the gymnastics facility the other night. He was standing above and I was below on the trampoline working with the coach and he called down his admiration, which was generous of him and appreciated. There’s nothing like having someone bear witness appreciatively to a physical feat or any kind of effort.

There was another woman who has magnificent strength who was doing a handstand where she lifts each arm singularly while she remains in that handstand position to touch each shoulder. It’s horse like. In order to do this, she requires extraordinary shoulder strength and she does this again and again entirely composed. Last week, an older man, whose recently started training was so flabbergasted by her ability he exclaimed how hard it is for him to merely attain the handstand position and that he couldn’t imagine how she could manage it. The physical body can testify in its own language that I enjoy. No smarty pants quips, no amount of disrespectful indignation or snide dismissal or insisting you know things you do not know can overwhelm the matter of whether of not you can stand on your hands!