By Harry Clifton
In the crowded yard, in the oily blue smoke
Of an eel supper, the eel looks on.
He is home for the summer. She is home for the summer,
Metamorphosing, the one in the other,
Androgynous, ambivalent, slipping in and out
Of the local, the universal,
Reading about itself, in the Book of the Eel,
As a disappearing species,
Toying with its own myths, renewing its passports,
Wondering whether or not a child is possible,
Longing, unconsciously, for autumn
As the tractor roars all night, and the pilot lights flash
In the fields outside. For the night phosphorescence
Of cities, the lifelong shedding of skins.
My phone is synchronized. And appears to be able to synchronize again with my contacts and calendar. And that is all I accomplished today, other than figuring out only after sending Adam to school with a note asking that he be dismissed early to go to the orthodontist that his appointment is on Friday, not Thursday -- at least I didn't actually drive him to the orthodontist before I realized this. (Adam had a more successful day, as he now has a Petsubishi silver TV and a rustic cabin to put it in. I have an Irish castle, which I have always wanted, but no sheep to graze around it -- yet.) I'm almost done with the Bar Mitzvah invitation order, addresses and all, then I get to move on to finding place cards, a board for people to autograph, etc.
We watched Smallville, which reminded me of every other such reset-button episode on every series and particularly in comics, when I generally get distracted wondering why villains don't use their powers at certain pivotal moments and why one tabloid reporter can start one rumor in one city paper and overnight it's ruining lives, as though no one else can pick up a telephone and conduct an interview. Lois had some great moments, but she's already spent too long doing the Chloe routine mooning over Clark. I used to defend Tori Spelling when people used to call her ugly on 90210, which I never watched, but now she looks like she's had premature plastic surgery and looks fake and, well, ugly. But TCM had That Hamilton Woman on afterward, and that was fantastic fun -- Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier chewing scenery together as Emma and Nelson, plus lots of tall ships.
A duck at Huntley Meadows last weekend. Sorry, I've spent too much time staring at this computer screen today to post more.