Climb Every Mountain

Life has been a whir of cleaning, packing and paring down our lives. Bag upon bag of stuff outside waiting for George the Handyman to take it away to the dump. Freeing and strange to get rid of so many things. Including Lady who frankly has been driving me so insane that I want to drive her to the pound and throw her over the fence. Every time I open the back door (which is constantly due to above-mentioned stuff removal), she tries to escape and often succeeds. Yesterday she made it all the way up to the main drag several blocks up and over where I cornered her behind the pizza parlor. Strange looks from pizza counter guy who was having a cigarette in back door of store. Perhaps because I was dressed in what amounted to pajamas and Jack's sneakers. No new home for dog yet and looks like she may end up at shelter in Brooklyn called Barc that my sister knows about. Jack goes to camp next week and haven't even looked at his supply list yet. Had prolonged argument with Cablevision yesterday who refused to accept that I only want online and phone, no TV (new place has satellite). Guy finally said, oh my computer won't let me transfer only two of three, just tell the guy you don't want the T.V. when he gets there. I hate Cablevision. Well Kate is stomping around shouting "Hungry, hungry, hungry!" So I have to go. I hate my children as well. Going to Oregon in August, and I CAN NOT WAIT! Oh and Jr., when I see you I am going to pull your hair for calling me up early and making Jack poke me awake.

Poems (In the Next Galaxy)

When you come back to me
it will be crow time
and flycatcher time,
with rising spirals of gnats
between the apple trees.
Every weed will be quadrupled,
coarse, welcoming
and spine-tipped.
The crows, their black flapping
bodies, their long calling
toward the mountain;
relatives, like mine,
ambivalent, eye-hooded;
hooting and tearing.
And you will take me in
to your fractal meaningless
babble; the quick of my mouth,
the madness of my tongue.

Ruth Stone