Worth Reading: "How to Operate the Shower Curtain," by Ian Frazier

Speaking of passing showers:
While I was trying to use my own 
this morning, this great set of
instructions by Ian Frazier came 
into my mind.

http://www.newyorker.com/shouts/content/articles/070108sh_shouts

It's also from the January 8, 2007,
The New Yorker magazine, to which
I pointed you in an earlier post.  What
a great issue that was!

If you know Ian Frazier, you may
have already seen it. If you haven't
seen it, you know that you're in for
a treat.

If you don't know Ian Frazier, I think
you also are in for a treat. However,
he may be an acquired taste.

Please post a comment, and tell me
whether you like him or not.

Of course, those who shower without
curtains will most likely not be
interested.

For them, I promise a later tale of
taking showers with cats.

When She Was a Kitten

When M&M was a very young 
kitten, she was most tractable 
and cuddly. But then in late 
summer, she became very 
aggressive. 

She would bite if you began 
to pet her on your lap.

She would chase after you 
and leap for your hand, 
and bite you, drawing blood, 
and then bound away in 
apparent delight.

This was play. It was clear 
that she did not intend to 
hurt you. She'd had no cat 
mother to teach her that 
biting is not acceptable.

I never did manage 
to teach her not to do it.

But, after some years, she 
has apparently outgrown 
these games.

I was so frustrated in August,
1998, that I put my emotions 
into a bit of verse.

Here it is (told you 
I'd post a little verse 
from time to time).

THE WILD KITTEN

I think about how beautiful she is:
Her soft black coat.
And the intent demand
I see within her staring hazel eyes.
Her muscles aiming light feet
At my hand.

I think about her swift, her fluid
Motion.
The sable, changing
Shape she can express.
The gleam of tide-pool eyes--
From what far ocean?
One leap,
And she has placed
Her fanged caress.

Back in the springtime,
Lost.
Her eight-ounce heft--
Only soy milk and me
To mother her.
Now hypodermic teeth
Return my gift
As I receive
Her weight of shining fur.

What is the ratio here of eye
To tooth,
Of fur to skull, I think,
On this cat face?
How can I balance
Between love and truth:
Unlink
Pain from this grace?

--Mary Bull,
August 17, 1998


 

Linking Around the World

On this winter morning, after 
hurricane-force winds have battered 
the UK and much of Europe, I am 
pondering the way I am linked 
emotionally now to so many people 
whom I have never met in person.

I am waiting for people that I know in
England, in the Netherlands, in
Germany, and in other northwestern
European places, to check in on the
mailing lists where I read them.

It's a sort of identification that's
closer than the empathy one feels
with complete strangers when
their troubles are reported in
the news media.

But there would be little I could
do to help, if any of these e-mail
acquaintances and friends were
coping with serious problems in
the aftermath of those flooding tides
and hurricane force winds.

I was equally helpless when
Hurricane Celia all but destroyed
my home town in 1970, when my
mother was still living there.

And yet, she managed just fine
without me. Her house stood, her
gas stove was working, and she
was industriously feeding all her
neighbors who were not so lucky.

So, one trusts in others'
capabilities to look after
themselves. And enjoys their on-line companionship,
when they do write in, from
time to time.

And now it's almost dawn here, and
my little black cat is taking an after-
breakfast nap behind me,
while I savor my incredible good
luck to have her as a housemate
and to be blessed with this
fine glass of orange juice in a
warm house when the outdoor
temperatures reflect the aftermath
of a passing cold front here, also.