monet refuses the operation

Feeling ashamed of my disinchantement with my so blessed life. Needed a boost. Needed some inspiration. Here I found it.

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monet refuses the operation

Doctor, you say there are no halos
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gasses. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end. < style="font-family: arial;">

LISEL MUELLER

October 27, 2005

Cold outside, 30 degrees this morning. I brought in Laura Ruth (the plant) and the other plants and picked the green tomatoes that were left and all the roses (put them all in one vase, beautiful each time I glance at them), even went to Dorothy McGaha to cut some of her gorgeous dahlias before they froze. House is blooming, we might say.

Don's hand is much better, looking at it at least. The skin is peeling from the swelling, the tears are black crooked lines almost scabs. If it were mine, I'd bind it up to keep it from being bumped. He admits that it hurts a bit and is very tender.

Blaze is here and acting so much more free and relaxed than before. Julie, the golden retriever rescuer has found a foster home for Lucy, who is not eating, but that home has a second dog, so it is no solution. Lucy is everything Don could want in a dog. We even considered having Blaze put down since he has to be on so many drugs to keep from seizures, but couldn't do it. An experiment. We meant to give Blaze a friend to play with and it went wrong. I'll be happy to hear that Lucy has found a good home. Soon, I hope.

Couldn't find my glasses. They were used just before I went to bed but gone somehow now. With these dark glasses, I see the dark side.

Sun shines. Frost is on the grass and pumpkin too. We're content and lazy.

Ms. Meirs has withdrawn her name from nomination to the supreme court so there won't be any more "cleaning lady" jokes.

I'm totally sore from digging a little hole in the hill to plant the plant I bought thinking it was myrtle. If it gets warm enough, I'll plant it today after I use my axe to cut away the big roots in my hole. I'm collecting rocks to cover the hill as we did in Asheville for $1,000. which we no longer have to spend on rocks.

Susan and Julie are looking at change. Mary reaches out for lifelines, any line at all. Sharon reminds us that Mary must solve her problems, carry through, that she needs to rescue herself. Susan agrees but notes Mary's illness and single parenthood. Chuck planned to visit but his car needs repair. He'll come in the spring.

Me, I'll shower. And maybe make a pile of dish cloths to take to gift shops in Asheville. Put on my brave and secure face and just go.

Don turns the heat up. I turn it down.

I'll eventually write notes about my father for my siblings. He was not a loving father (didn't act one) to Dart and me but seems to have changed for Michael, Kim, Kandi and Huck.

Nicholas sent a thank you note for the post card of Simi which I finally sent to him. He was lovely and thankful for gifts shared in our relationship. Sweet.

So much to do.

Lists and lists and I make a tiny effort and move a tiny amount of work.

I'm well from my cold, grateful for blessings, feeling better as a human. Love to the world.

Maybe it is the 19th or the 20th October

I've changed my mind about all of this now that I am feeling a bit more thoughtful. Just a passing fancy. But it stands for that day.

I HATE Don and hope he rots in hell. So I guess I’d better pray for him since that is my process. “God, thank you for blessing Don in all ways he needs. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Did I write about the dog bite? That Lucy and Blaze…Lucy attacked Blaze for the fourth time. And in trying to separate them, Don got bitten on his hand by Blaze. There was blood dripped all over the floor and in the kitchen. I saw Blaze limp and thought he’d been bitten.

When the fight went on, Don went for the center. I went for Lucy and kicked her and tried to get hold of her chain collar, finally did and pulled her away.

So Don was bleeding everywhere from his hand. From now on all injuries in this household should occur to me because I am the one who needs to be in charge, because I am the only one who has brains enough to elevate my swollen, bitten hand.

(So now M calls. She needs $10,000 to save her house or she will be out in the street in three months. Good luck, M. But I did call Sharon to call M. Her calling card is already cashed out. So Sharon will call. And she can tell M about consequences which M has never learned.)

And I am moving out of this house and maybe S would like to join me at some exotic place (in dreams we could go to a spa) because she also has a husband who won’t let her take care of him, in bed lying in blood all day in the hospital where they damaged his groin putting in the IV or whatever to save his heart again. He says, “No don’t help me let the nurse help me”.

I could have a cleaning day and get busy and clean this house and paint it and do a power wash and plant the hill and a garden. Or I could go to Asheville and have an art day at the art museum and the galleries and have a pizza and beer for lunch and see that really fine film, History of Violence.

Or I can just stay in bed all day with the door shut and steal Don’s chocolate covered peanuts and eat them all and make myself mochas, and read about Clinton to finish this 950 page book.

Did I write that I HATE everyone, not just Don, but I hate him the most

(Removed some rather angry words (oh let them never) about three of my progeny who hold me in disdane. Don't need them here after all.)

And whom else do I hate.

Everyone in the world.

And I’m not too fond of myself either so I may weep a bit but I will not cry out loud or howl. I’ll just pray for all these people I truly hate and may they all rot in hell.

Well, one thing I can do is empty all the Damp-Rid bags and boxes. That will be my project. And I’ll never, never attempt to take care of or even acknowledge any of these, those sons-of bitches again.

And I’ll drink and smoke and take tranquilizers too.

And I think it’s time for all those gods to send me my $19,000,000 TOO!!

I forgot to mention that I hate DJ Lafon (Arthur Peter-Fish) also and did I mention that I hate Don too.

And myself and I pray for us all.

I’ll sleep.

I’ll sleep away my life.

Good idea.

And I’ll take pills

Pain pills, tranquilizers, sleeping pills.

One for you and one for you

Depending on my need.

I’ll sleep through the Bush and Rove presidency.

I’ll sleep while dog bites swell and people throw milk that seeps into etchings

And through all the suffering that isn’t my own

Lady bugs crowding on the ceiling

Mildew eating away the contents and then the house.

And headaches

And heartaches

And limps and old age.

Good Night.

I’ll see you around.

Keeping on Keeping on

The pure brilliant green of the North Carolina mountains is showing a bit of brown, yellow, red. And we breathe the cool air of fall. Don and I poisoned the poison ivy that had sprouted all along our fence line this year. And now it looks like a burned and dead fence. Five minutes a day and I can remove all of that, I tell myself, and replant with myrtle or the plant I call myrtle to stay green all winter.

Daily, I write my pages, three of them. Lately, I am cleaning out all of those accumulated years of pages. Interestingly, I am finding experiences and feelings I no longer remember, all that about Russia and Greece and old love affairs. The best part is what I stir up about members of the family. Those are precious and well worth the pages I've used, now rotting and slightly mildewed. Some of them I will reprint in here to make us all smile.

The tomato plants were packed with so many tomatoes that we were able to share and Don even put up some of his good tomato sauce. The bean plants also thrived. We have bottles and wide mouthed bottles of them to eat all winter.

I concentrate on doing Fly Lady chores, maintaining the internet messages, blessing the house, reading, working on a current project, right now ordering all the photographs, considering my blessings, walking the dogs, doing my exercises, keeping clean clothes and a shiny sink. The "ladies who lunch" are well and gathering still at noon and with them I work the puzzles that will keep my neurons firing, I hope. In the evening I knit the dishcloths, watch a film or PBS or play Scrabble with Don. Sounds pretty ordinary. Maybe I need to scramble things up.

And the world does turn through war, hurricanes and flooding, outrage over the mishandling of state affairs, pleasure at the loveliness of nature, love for my fellow beings, depression, a bit of mania, "getting through the night".

I'll add a new report soon.