Why Romulus must vomit on the only light colored rug--on Saturday--when I could do anything at all first thing on waking--he decides I must hear, see, and touch the contents of his stomach. First thing. I can't even tell you, big deflated balloon over here.
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Dear Human Museum,
You are so beautiful.
Sincerely,
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from the Annunciation notebook, May 18, 2003, Ithaca, NY, 7:00 am:
I received Jeff & Kathy's floorplan and photos of the new place in Galesburg. The place looks lovely. I've been doing nothing but looking at those pictures and thinking out the rooms. Trying to see it. Yesterday I began thinking of the wasted winter space of the balcony porch--that wonderful porch closed down seven or eight months of the year. So I thought: surely some wintery garden could live there, something beautiful or useful could be kept, even grown. But I could think of nothing that lives outdoors through a midwestern winter. That's the point of winter. We will need a furnace out there, then. An electric blanket with a long cord. --And the tiny back porch with the east facing window: a small table on stilts and a tall chair and I could write there in the mornings when the sun comes up in the spring. Maybe put a few shelves by the window for herbs. We could take up canning. Why not? We're midwestern folk now.***
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