Yes, so much depends upon that wheelbarrow, doesn’t it?

And I’m not talking about Christo, either.

I”m talking about this:

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

William Carlos Williams

So what does depend on it? Oh so much has been written about this gem. Here’s a fascinating bit by Julio Marzán with his understanding.

But from what element in “Brilliant Sad Sun” did Williams get the “red wheelbarrow”? From an imaginary translation from the Spanish. In Spanish, to know things by heart or to do something by rote can be described by the phrase de carretilla: hacer de carretilla or saber de carretilla. The image evokes carrying around the knowledge using a small cart. Colloquially, one can refer to someone’s habitually prattling on about some- thing as bringing back one’scarretilla. And carretilla also literally denotes “wheelbarrow.” On that afternoon, Rose was prattling nostalgically de carretilla, so the carretilla was Rose’s, la carretilla de Rosa, which homonymously translated also says “the red wheelbarrow.”

 He claims that it’s reasonable to get there because of WCW’s southwestern roots.

(There are many more writers who give their opinion about the poem there, but you can see for yourself what you think is valuable.)

So can we get there from here or do we have to?

The reason that this poem is dear is because it was a way out of an assignment that our dear son#2 had to do in some level of schooling (what year did they make you do this?) and ISHI came up with this ingenious way out.

I mean, so much depended on his ability to finish the assignment, you know.

But then, after the kids were grown, I started looking around and seeing things with new eyes.

I realized that my neighbors always had a wheelbarrow for displaying plants out during the spring and summer and then I realized I didn’t know what they did with it in the winter. And then I realized how little I knew about my neighbors. And then I heard that they died.

And I saw how much does depend upon that wheelbarrow.

And I saw the brilliance of the poem and of WCW.

And I saw how powerful writing can be.

And then I saw this article about Zionism that posed this question:

Both of you have written about the tragedy of young American Jews who have no connection to Judaism and the fate of the Jewish State. So let’s say you were stuck in an elevator with one of the people from that demographic and you had two minutes to sell them about why they should re-engage with Jewishness and Zionism and the Jewish people. What would you say?

Oh did you see that coming? You should look at the article to see what he says.

Can we redact everything so perfectly?

It’s a good exercise.

And so much depends upon it.

forget about who moved the cheese*

I want to know was it worth it?

I shop at a few different supermarkets, depending on time and direction and weather. So this one market has been out of my loop for about a month, I guess since they started their redecorating process.

The good news is that this obviously is a sign of good economic times for them, that they thought to expand. The bad news is that it makes things very difficult for us consumers.

I realize that my post yesterday means that it is good to mix things up. I know that it’s good for the brain. But I just didn’t want that exercise today, thank you. A very nice (older) woman offered me her list of aisles and items.

“Thank you, but that would mean that I would have to look at the list and where I’m going. And that would also mean I should know what I wanted. That’s really okay. You can keep it.”

You see, I know what I came to get, but I didn’t know what else I might find. Eyes open and all that.

I really didn’t need any cheese, so that wasn’t a problem.

They didn’t have soy flour. I didn’t find any organic potatoes. They only had blueberry kefir, not plain.

I’m not sure what else I didn’t get.

But I’ve already found I’ve got what I need.

* I just saw that they actually made a version of that silly book for kids.

Maybe that’s the target audience for the original. Sorry if I offended anyone who liked it.

Or at least maybe I should be. Convince me , if you want.

why do i write in lower case, i wonder

Memory at any point in one’s life is sketchy. Just ask any of our family about D#2′s “memories” of when we put the house up for sale. Or about her recipe for cream of broccoli soup, but that’s another matter completely.

But I can say at T minus 7 months to 60 that my memory is sketchier than ever for real now.

So I do remember at some point during my teenage years moving to lower case lettering exclusively. Even for some term papers, now that I’m thinking.

Okay, it was a journal that I was keeping that was part of the assignment, so that made sense. I was smart enough to follow the rules, even in the wild times that I was living when all rules were begging to be broken.

So was it reading Ferlinghetti? Was it reading e.e. cummings?

Or was it archy and mehitabel?

I recall this quandary because I came across mention of said A&H yesterday while looking up something else, which I’ll get to later, perhaps.

If you’re not familiar with archy and mehitabel, then you can look here for a bit. Now that I relook, I realize how unable I was to understand its brilliance at that age. And I have no recollection of how I came across the book, either. But I definitely loved it.

Here’s a blink of the poem, found here.

i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

Okay it was probably all of the above.

You perhaps have noticed that I am using more or less proper capitalization in this post, so what am I talking about? When I write things out by hand. Like to-do lists, menus.

and journal entries.

I also still sign my name in lower case, but it’s gotten to that point that it’s illegible enough that no one would know the difference.

Not like my mother whose penmanship was flawless. Until it wasn’t.

And why did I come across this train of thought?

In honor of Mothers Day, I saw this poem in a few places wishing us a happy one. I thought it wonderfully odd for such a day, but perhaps more meaningful than other garbage trifles that get offered up.

Here’s the poem from one of the earliest places (2002) I found– a website for cruise addicts. (!)

Dust If You Must

Dust if you must but wouldn’t it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed
Ponder the difference between want and need.

Dust if you must but there’s not much time
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb
Music to hear and books to read
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must but the world’s out here
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain
This day will come around again.

Dust if you must but bear in mind
Old age will come and it’s not kind
And when you go and go you must
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Supposedly a woman named Rose Milligan wrote this. I can’t find anything else about her except a few obituaries.

I guess that’s fitting.

for those few of you who didn’t google the answer

Here is the intro to what I wrote in the previous post:

Elsa Schiaparelli is not a woman to mince words, if her “12 Commandments for Women” are anything to go by. In her autobiography, Shocking Life, which she published in 1954 just as she was closing up her famed shop on the Place Vendôme in Paris, she concludes with a list of guidelines she gleaned from her career.

Apparently, today the Met opens up a fascinating exhibition (oh but I wish I were travelling in NY and could see it):

On View May 10–August 19, 2012

The Met’s Spring 2012 Costume Institute exhibition, Schiaparelli and Prada: Impossible Conversations, explores the striking affinities between Elsa Schiaparelli and Miuccia Prada, two Italian designers from different eras. Inspired by Miguel Covarrubias’s “Impossible Interviews” for Vanity Fair in the 1930s, the exhibition features orchestrated conversations between these iconic women to suggest new readings of their most innovative work. Iconic ensembles are presented with videos of simulated conversations between Schiaparelli and Prada directed by Baz Luhrmann, focusing on how both women explore similar themes in their work through very different approaches.

The works on view are arranged into seven themes: “Waist Up/Waist Down,” “Ugly Chic,” “Hard Chic,” “Naïf Chic,” “The Classical Body,” “The Exotic Body,” and “The Surreal Body.”

It’s an interesting time to have this conversation. What do we want fashion to be about? How are we allowing ourselves to be manipulated by others? Why does poor Hillary Clinton get called on the rug for not wearing make-up?

Here’s some of what Peggy Orenstein says about the incident (read the whole thing, if you have a chance):

For her part, Hillary Clinton did what she should have: she laughed off the tempest in a teapot (not even a teapot–maybe a demitasse?), telling CNN:

I feel so relieved to be at the stage I’m at in my life right now. Because you know if I want to wear my glasses I’m wearing my glasses. If I want to wear my hair back I’m pulling my hair back. You know at some point it’s just not something that deserves a lot of time and attention. And if others want to worry about it, I let them do the worrying for a change.

Because she’s got other things to think about. Like, I don’t know, terrorism, human rights abuses, nuclear war. But let’s focus on whether she’s hit the Bobbi Brown counter lately, shall we?

who do you think wrote this and

when?

1. Since most women do not know themselves, they should try to do so.
2. A woman who buys an expensive dress and changes it, often with disastrous result, is extravagant and foolish.
3. Most women (and men) are colour-blind. They should ask for suggestions.

4. Remember, 20 percent of women have inferiority complexes, 70 percent have illusions.

5. Ninety percent are afraid of being conspicuous, and of what people will say. So they buy a gray suit. They should dare to be different.
6. Women should listen and ask for competent criticism and advice.
7. They should choose their clothes alone or in the company of a man.
8. They should never shop with another woman, who sometimes consciously, and often unconsciously, is apt to be jealous.
9. She should buy little and only of the best or the cheapest.
10. Never fit a dress to the body, but train the body to fit the dress.
11. A woman should buy mostly in one place where she is known and respected, and not rush around trying every new fad.
12. And she should pay her bills.

I lovelovelove #4 the best.

The question is whether we can count ourselves among the 10%.

May those of you in the know know this without having to guess. I’m guessing that most of you won’t have a clue.

I think I’ll let you guess and I’ll tell you later …

a representation of a flower

I had a conversation this morning about feminism and Orthodox Judaism and me. Someone wanted to know how I stand, or maybe where I stand, and why things do or do not happen here that may or may not happen other places.

How’s that for a convoluted sentence? I think she wanted to know why we do not push the envelope more completely, since we seem like we should be a group that does so.

So I told her that my venue is learning. I have zero interest in performance. I think that ritual is fine in and of itself, but it’s not what interests me in any way to make me motivated to get more involved.  So I can’t really relate.  And singing does matter to me, but not singing to prove something.  What is the motive for performance, I wonder? Is it to be like the boys or is it really Avodat Hashem, service to G-d ?

Yes, G-d gets left out of the equation too often.

She responded in the kindest of ways whether the issue was a matter of giving the benefit of the doubt.

I said I doubt it, but no, I’m already past that.

And then for whatever reason, I thought of flowers.

And being open and vulnerable and almost past their prime, but actually being completely that.

At their prime.

And so I thought about how I much prefer flowers these days when they are completely open. Completely done.

Before they’re done.

You know, sort of right before you need a haircut is when your hair looks the best.

Oh I do remember why I thought of flowers.

I told her that we had a Shabbat afternoon service for women years ago and it was lovely. Beautiful singing, no egos. It dissipated because the main leader moved away and I think I got busy with babies.

And it was nice, but I didn’t feel I needed it so much to recreate it.

So flowers?

Yes.

I said that my favorite prayer time throughout the week is this Shabbat Minchah afternoon service.

The day is almost done. I’m filled with a sense of completion, but also a sense of the future, of the promise of more Shabbatot to come.

And it’s short and so sweet.

Like a flower at its prime.

i did not watch the game but i saw this commercial

afterwards on line, first via Fast Company. But I can’t copy directly from there, so here it is via youtube:

Good ad?

Great ad.

Great look.

Great spokesperson. Can’t do better than Clint for grit. He’s our generation’s John Wayne, I guess.

Great line.

Great message.

Is it political? Doesn’t matter.

Much better than the game, because whatever it is, it is not a game.

Will we be able to carry the message into action?

I will try to remember it, being in my second half myself.

And we’ll have to see what everyone else does, won’t we?

marketing wonder or blunder

I received the following email:

Dear but mostly hers,Thank you for ordering from the Parents.com Store. We have received your order, and it is currently being processed. Please print this e-mail for your records. It contains your order number and other important details.Stop back again for more great home and family ideas!Your order number is: blahblahblah

Order Total: $0.00 *Plus applicable taxes

Item Qty. Delivery American Baby Usually ships within 4 to 6 weeks American Baby is published 12 times per year 1 hardgoodShippingGroup

Can you figure out all the issues (sorry) here?

Here’s my list:

1. I didn’t order anything–I like to know what I’m ordering.
2. If I did order it, then it shouldn’t be for American Baby. I’m ‘way past that stage, baby. After all, I’m no spring chicken.
3. If I did order anything, then it should be for AARP Magazine. (Oooh! They have a great article called  Age-Proof your Brain! No, I take that back. I know all that stuff. Still, better than Celebs Dish about Motherhood and Pregnancy.)
4. Even if I didn’t order it and I did want it, don’t you think they should have sent a previous email saying “You have been chosen to receive this free gift”?
5. Doesn’t this smell a little desperate to you? I know magazine subscriptions are dropping, but is this the most effective way to drive up business?
6. Plus I’d be really annoyed if I had to pay taxes.

I wrote an email asking for them to please give the subscription to someone else. Someone for which it would be useful.

[They promise they'll get back to me within two days.]

After all, I might read the magazine and just feel guilty how I did it all wrong.

And what would be the benefit of that?

if he’s not a spring chicken, what does that make me?

A friend of mine just commented to me in an email about a fellow from our community who’s joining the navy. She was surprised because, as she said,

“He’s no spring chicken.”

I know what it means, but I wanted to know what it means.

So, since I’m not from the poultry enthusiasts, being a lacto-ovo-vegetarian myself,  but I do have a love of language, I checked out the expression.

Here’s what wisegeek has to say:

Agriculturally speaking, there really is a creature known as a spring chicken, although chefs may call it a Cornish game hen or Poussin. Bred primarily for eating, a spring chicken is a very young bird with a high ratio of white to dark meat. The meat of a spring chicken is said to be much juicier and more tender than older chickens raised for the dinner table. During the earliest days of poultry farming, it was impossible to raise chicks during the cold winter months, so a chicken brought to market in the spring was prized for its youth and fresher flavor.

Metaphorically speaking, a spring chicken could represent a person in the prime of his or her youth. A spring chicken may be a little naive or unseasoned at times, but it often makes up in physical agility and personality what it may lack in worldly experience. A young college student may be described as a spring chicken by others who envy his or her youthful appearance or unclouded worldview.

Then I found a very cute drawing on a very cute site called the DAD Project.

Since it’s so cute, I thought I’d find out more, so here it is:

The D.A.D. (Drawing A Day) Project - an ongoing, online, art-based fundraiser for the Canadian Cancer Society, the largest national charitable funder of cancer research in Canada.

We are two sisters, Emily and Serena. Our father was diagnosed in May 2009 with metastatic stage 4 colon cancer in his lungs and liver. After a courageous year-and-a-half battle, he passed away in early October 2010.

One of the toughest things we faced when  our Dad was sick was this overwhelming feeling of helplessness. As we are both illustrators, we launched The D.A.D. Project in June 2010 as a creative effort to give back to an organization that helped our father, and that helps so many others who are fighting cancer.

We are continuing this project as a tribute to our Dad whom we miss everyday.

But, as good ideas go, this ran out of steam, since they posted on Jan 1 that they would not be doing a drawing a day, but more sporadic. And perhaps, since their goal was to support this worthy cause for their father, once he passed away, the strength of the initiative faded.

Like no longer a spring chicken.

So, with this all in mind, why would the navy want spring chickens? Because going to war is naive?

The fellow in the navy, who is according to my friend, no spring chicken, is the same age as my youngest son.

He will always be a spring chicken to me.

oh please don’t let it be in there

Or alternatively, don’t drop your laundry on the floor!

Gathering up all the laundry to get it done before tonight…I try not to do laundry on Rosh Hodesh, since I try to give myself the “treat” of not doing work that day but I’m not presently doing any spinning. Since this month, Rosh Hodesh Tevet lasts for two days, and we’ll travelling on Tuesday anyway, and we had a bunch of Shabbat guests, and we’re excited about some very nice ones joining us next week, I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do.

Separating into piles…towels and sheets and tablecloths, whites, permanent press, darks…

Is darks a word or a concept?

We tend to have a lot more darks in the winter time and I feel like I’m always scooping up more and more from all over. ISHI, in fact, asked me if he could add a pair of pants after I had already started a load.

A half an hour after.

Um, no, not easily.

But before I got to that point, he really had a lot of time to add to the darks. While I was in that separating process, I found I had also scooped up one of my shoes.

Yes, just one.

Of course, I didn’t panic.

Yet.

I re-separated all the laundry. I shook out all the darks. One by one.

And then I shook out all the sheets. All five sets. Just in case. One by one. And that goes for everything else, too.

And then I figured (!) I’d look in my room for the other shoe.

Not on the floor where I would have scooped up the first shoe.

Not under the bed.

Not in the closet on my shoe rack.

Not on my very nice shoe rack bench, either.

Okay really starting to panic now.

These are a pair of Naot shoes and I really like them. I did not want to see how well they hold up in the wash.

This is when a chore really becomes one.

The effective definition of a chore today is something that you have to do that doesn’t really take too much energy but it’s something that has to get taken care of and doesn’t bring you that much joy. So walking the dog could be a chore or not, depending on your attitude, and, I guess, on the dog.

But having to go through every item of clothing again and again, searching the room again and again, this was definitely getting overwhelmingly chorish.

I think I’m going to do a photo essay on my shoes; line them up and make a story out of them. I think that would tell a lot about me.

Okay, did you figure out what happened to my shoe yet?

Does this have a happy ending or not?