New to me

I have learned a new word for “bewitch.” Ensorcell means to enchant, hex or charm. Thank you, AJ Willingham of CNN the Good Stuff for expanding my vocabulary with this bewitching word.

The noun for this verb is “ensorcellment” meaning enchantment or being under a spell. I notice that this whole witchy thing gets kind of awkward.

Always looking to listen and learn, although generally too lazy to do any of that the hard way. The inbox newsletter was a great eye-opener. In the same edition, AJ also shared a few of the five hundred new words in the Scrabble dictionary.

Boosting my language skills has never been more fun. Of the words represented here I found “zedonk” most intriguing and now I know what it means.

Gratitude

It’s Thanksgiving, a holiday designed for the expression of gratitude. I am happy to join in the festivities.

Thankful, I am thankful for nice days, rainbows, love, and laughter. I am grateful for both adversity and tranquility in the downs and ups of life.

No feast is necessary to celebrate. Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice turkey wing and some pecan-laden stuffing but I don’t need the poultry to underscore my appreciation.

A Pink Horizon

We know that a red sky [at night]
Portends a clear day [at morning]
What, prithee, does a sky of pink
Foretell? Should we expect our 
Day to show uncertainty rather
Than clarity? Erring [of course]
On the side of delighting sailors?
I tend to think [rather without
Evidence] that the pink is red 
Shivering from the cold, made 
Pale by temperatures too low
For comfort, too high for frost.
Pink sky at dusk, warm up the
Cabin, Captain [and if you must
Sail] wear long Johns and a parka.

Speaking of the New Yorker*

*https://wp.me/paH8Mg-xw

It is with dread and delight that I welcome the weekly, weekly mind you, into my living room.

There is no keeping up with this magazine. I understand this is a favorite complaint of aficionados of the New Yorker.

It is relentless in bringing a stream of fascinating articles, cartoons, and reviews into the house. You can see me trailing behind this onslaught of the memorable.

To not feel like a failure under this barrage I have set myself strict guidelines in my approach.

As it comes in, I immediately peruse the back pages. Here are cartoon caption contests and impossible puzzles I won’t attempt. Working from back to front, I come upon the critics from whom I learn a great deal. They are a must even if only scanned.

Unfortunately as is the New Yorker’s wont I am not satisfied skimming and have to go on to read every word.

My next task is to be selective about which article or interview I follow. Then on to the front of the book. Here The Talk of the Town captivates.

Here’s the tricky part. I now have only 5 days to peruse this week’s issue, get a glimpse at an article or 2 from the pile of back issues before turning over the publication. My husband takes it from there, delivering a couple of old New Yorkers to the recycle bin.

This lessens my load and eases my conscience.

Early?

I heard a broadcaster say we are getting an early winter these last few days in the northeast. It struck me as strange. Usually by November I am accustomed to wearing my winter coat.

Last Saturday, the 12th of the month, the temperature was balmy. The sky was sunny and I was in a tee-shirt. Of course, it was a precipitous drop the next day. And the cold snap has held.

We may see the snowfall that used to greet us over Thanksgiving this year again. The usual early snow to kick off the holiday season.

In a manner of speaking

When of a sudden I forgot how to
Form a sentence or express my
Thoughts in the language of my
Birth, I felt like the chameleon 
On my great aunt's wall. I had a
New life and a language that 
Consumed me; I had changed. 
I had the words I needed to not
Just fit in but those I use to blend.
Like that small lizard, I blushed
To match the scenery. I took on
The sounds of my adopted place. 
My colors were the broad A's of 
Queens. Translations sat on the 
Tip of my tongue waiting. They 
Would not or could not slide off 
In order to enter the conversation.

What shall we have?

News from the front lines [WW I] seems to be generously represented in Le Petit Parisien.

Le Petit Parisien looks to be a rather incendiary little publication. Our new Cafe shares its name. The decor is a simple reminder of that connection. Cappuccino, as I mentioned in an earlier post, is very satisfactory.

Missing from next door since the owners posted their “Gone Surfing” notice is the friendly Bar Coastal. Fear not; a pub awaits. Plug-Uglies looks all set for business.

Speaking of bars… these “convenience stores” like High-End Puff [above] appear to be ready to satisfy weed cravings.

This ice cream parlor has chosen to be a self-styled PAC. I would amend this or add to this: Teach Your Children What That 30% Tax Covers; Remind Them They Live Rent-free and Eat.

Miscellaneous photo scenes that are not food related follow below as part of the fro and to of getting to Le Petit Parisien or Plug Uglies or High-End Puff.

Observations

If I could sketch or, paint or,
Build impressive sculptures,
My poetry would be in those.
I mean to say, poetry would 
Be superfluous for me if I had
Those other media to express
My vision of my world. I only
Have words. And I am grateful.
I observe and put it all in my
Words. Little thoughts or Hey
What's the big idea? crop up.
Often they stay around and I 
Can use them to build and
Shape what I have seen or
Done so you can feel it too.
I am sharing the bits and
The scenes, the drama or
The ordinary but beneath
It and out of all that is the
Sensation, the emotion, the
Wanting and the having of 
It all. Of the whole world.

Poetry submissions

Out of the archives

It was hard. I had to resist posting new work to share with you and direct it to the folks on the poetry desk at the New Yorker.

My process, such as it is, has been to let inspiration lead me to a blog draft. There I tweak and rewrite, add flourishes and post an image. I hit publish and share my newly molded words with you, kind and gentle reader.

To meet the criteria for submission, I had to hold back. Rules are rules and the New Yorker accepts only original creations.

My trigger finger may have itched to advance to a self-published state but I mustn’t.

The quartet I created for this project was for the editors’ eyes only. We’ll hear back in maybe 6 months. In the meantime, there’s a large body of work on one or the other of my blog sites that was created like the sample above just for you.

P.S. I am setting aside 5 more poems for another submission to the magazine I love. And working on some poetry to post and share now.

Perspectives

I am reminded of 
Times I envy and
Events I enjoy in
Retrospect more 
Or less than at the
Time. I need to hold
My memories and
Check my experience 
Against a barometer 
Other than time
Passing or time past. 
I am reminded of
What I recall and 
That which slowly
Has changed, or
Stayed the same as
Ever no matter the
Passing of time. My
Time or ours. Point
Of view marks the
Difference in how
We see the past. It's 
A new perspective 
When it's yours than
When it is mine.