Sunday, November 23, 2008

Carriage house dreaming, nut farms & lust dust

On my reading list: The lovely short story above -- Lust, Caution by Eileen Chang

Warning: much rambling to follow.
Well, this ain't Oklahoma, but hot damn, it's a beautiful morning!

Walking the beastly drooler dog at the break of a beautiful misty pink dawn, not one but two enormous flocks of geese went honking and flapping south.

Adios gansos! Have a nice time in those glistening Texas mudflats and the warm climes of northern Mexico. I like to watch geese and ducks slap flat-footed across the mud. Makes me want to join them -- first the winged escape to some nice warm mud, then slip out of the confines of shoes and socks and sink to my knees.

The sound and sky shape of migrating geese always makes me think about a beautiful Inn we've stayed at now and again. It's a special occasion sort of place, but I could pack up right this instant and just go. It's called "The Hazelnut Farm" and its in the middle of Oregon wine country at the edge of a working hazelnut farm. The first time we went, it was this same time of year -- I still have a poem I wrote 15 years ago about the geese flying above the orchard. We like to stay in the Carriage House -- a cottage away from the main Inn near the barn with an enormous claw foot tub and big kitchen. The little house is stocked with breakfast that you can cook yourself. It's nice to have the B&B experience without being forced to become best friends with the other guests at a communal breakfast. You can just sink into one another for the whole weekend -- pretend there's no-one else on earth. On the other side of the orchard is a big winery. If you've never walked through a hazelnut orchard, you just have to. Go! Go now. Find yourself a nut farm! The trees are small and low with arching umbrella branches. It's like walking into the wardrobe and emerging into an "other place." Through the tunnels of little trees, up a hill, feet crunching atop fallen nuts and leaves, we walk to the winery and choose our wine for dinner.

I got all smooshy inside thinking about the nut farm and big fluffy down comforters and wine tasting and escaping. Thinking about wine made me think of Bacchus and Dionysus and then Horace. Good old Horace. No easy prey indeed. I'm still irritated with the mean weenies. Good for Alison and Shanna for not being easy prey and being lovely in every way.

Text not available
Horace The Odes and Epodes By Horace, Clifford Herschel Moore, Paul Shorey, Edward Parmelee Morris, Gordon Jennings Laing

Last night the Mister said, "you are such a sexual being." Such sweetness. Such a good man. I mean, he could have just said, "you're a horny little thing, aren't you?" I liked his phrasing and the way I felt when he said it. I like the idea of being "a being." It's rather effervescent. As such a being, could I have little wings and a magic wand? I'd flit about tossing sparkles of giddy lust dust on the frog-gogglers, nodogishlorntlers, the filibratsters and the snootygrooters. Take that, you pouty-faced prigs! That'll teach you! Crack that bitterness with a smile. Ha!

"Mix a little foolishness with your prudence;
it's good to be silly at the right moment."
--Good Old Horace

Then I had the craziest sex dream ever in the night. I woke up a little concerned that some weirdness had actually happened and what ever would I do about the woman who'd been up to naughtiness in my bed only to lecture me in the morning about doing my kegels and complain that I didn't scramble her eggs properly. What a thankless fantasy! Alas, she was a figment, but now the real eggs are ready -- cooked just right -- for me.

Card: Coco de Mer

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