Where are we going & why are we in this handbasket

"Going Out" While Staying In: DIY Comedy Club Date Night

2021-02-09T12:03:00.004-05:00

With Valentine’s Day coming up this weekend, I thought now might be a good time to share this celebrate-from-home party idea I carried out for my husband’s birthday.

Sometimes, for whatever reason—personal illness, a global pandemic, financial issues, bad weather, childcare problems—there are times we can’t “go out to celebrate” things. Maybe it’s a birthday (or a whole year’s worth of birthdays), an anniversary, an entire holiday season, a promotion or other good news. Hell, even just a regular old we-made-it-through-the-week-let’s-have-a-date-night!

Life certainly means we’re often dealing with circumstances outside our control. Unfortunately, sometimes our spirits don’t get the memo. They’re still longing for something that marks a day or event as “special” or that gives us something to be excited about, or even that makes it feel like today is not the same as yesterday or tomorrow and oh yeah what day even is it?

But just because we can’t go out, that doesn’t have to mean we can’t do something at home to make it feel special or as though we are out.

See, our go-to lately has been to lean on our typical Valentine’s Day celebration: we put the kids to bed, then pop open a bottle of nice wine, work together to make our favorite foods, and listen to our personalized playlist. (In normal times, it was a fun, relaxing way to be together, a break from the hassle of finding a sitter, the bustle of loud restaurants, and the annoyance of their weird special menus.) But at this point, even that has stopped feeling special.

For my husband’s birthday, I really wanted to try to hit on something out of the ordinary.

In the past, we’d celebrate a birthday by going for dinner out and maybe a trip to a comedy club or play or jazz bar.

Then I wondered: could I make my own comedy club?

We could watch a Netflix comedy special—there’s tons to choose from.
We could have our favorite alcoholic beverages and snacks—either made from our own stock or ordered in from a local place that does takeout.

But a comedy club is more than that. It’s the somewhat tacky décor. It’s the darkness. It’s the high top tables. It’s the people. And guess what? 3 out of 4 of those I could do.

Thus, I embarked on a plan to transform our family room (see photo below)—which serves as the place we watch tv, the cats’ kitchen/bathroom, and also my workout area—into a comedy club.

BEFORE: Ho hum all-purpose family room space

AFTER: Comedy Club space
(which looks way cooler in the dark so keep scrolling)

AFTER: full panorama of comedy club

Décor:

I started by deciding on a color scheme. I went with black and red because the comedy clubs we’ve visited in the past had similar schemes, and I figured it would be easy to work with those colors and also knew I could use things I had on hand. Later, I added silver accents to the mix.

My first major concern was the walls. I wanted to change at least 50% of the typical wall surfaces so they looked different. I wanted darkness, but also a drapey vibe, to mimic stage curtains. For that, I used plastic rectangular table covers ($1 each from Dollar Tree) –two black and two red--on opposite walls. I taped them at the top of the walls, right where the ceiling and wall meet.

Decor items

At the (smart) suggestion of my 9 year old, I also ended up taping a red tablecloth (from our table linens stash) to cover the DVD shelf next to the tv. Because our movie collection didn't need to be visible, did it?

Then I covered the coat closet, leaving what looks like a black wall. Then I did the same to the far wall by the fireplace, only draped in red.

No more closet. Just a dark wall.

I also wanted to close off the room from the rest of our house, creating the illusion that when we entered this space, we were no longer home. So I hung silver tinsel fringe curtains (I found a 2-pack on Amazon for 8.98.) at both entry points to our family room. They made a perfect doorway, and looked especially fun when reflecting the candles I lit later. (Bonus: they had a convenient peel-off self-stick strip at the top, so they were a breeze to hang.)

Fringe for a doorway and some sparkle

Furniture:

First, I moved the coffee table that usually sits in the center of the room to a spot along the wall. (I covered it with another red tablecloth from my linen stash. Later, I put 3 candles on the middle of it and a pitcher of water for easy refills during the “show.”) This left the main space of the room wide open.

Simple furniture rearrangement, another accent wall,

accessorized color pop

For me, the most important element for the vibe I was looking to create was a high top table and chairs. Those were pieces we didn’t already own but, after careful consideration, were an investment I chose to make. We will absolutely use them on our deck in the warmer months. Plus, in the past, I’d considered investing in a standing desk, and I realized the bar-height table would work for that purpose, too. (I was right! I've already used it twice since getting it a few weeks ago.) Therefore, I went for it. (I found the table online through Amazon and the chairs through Walmart.com.)

They worked perfectly! And—bonus—they all fold and can be easily stored flat/mostly flat when not in use.

Table facing the "stage" with disco ball above the table

High top table and chairs

From the other angle, showing the entry areas
(and the dog-friendliness of this establishment...)

From the door frame

I understand if you can’t or don’t want to invest in new furniture for this type of project. Had I decided against it myself, my backup plan would have been to set up one of our folding tables with two of our dining room chairs facing the “stage” and cover it with a dark table cloth. (If we were younger and had an easier time getting up and down, I might even have considered doing away with chairs altogether and setting up a pillow lounge on the floor in front of the sofa, perhaps using the coffee table to hold drinks and snacks. You know your knees and lower-back best, though. I defer to you.)

Extra Little Touches:

Our sofa is tan, but to transform the look of it, I covered it with red blanket from our stash. Voila!

Off-brand Snuggie for the win

I accessorized the leather chair with a heart pillow my daughter lent me, for another pop of red. (See photo above.)

My mom found a disco ball at 5 Below ($5) which I hung over the table for an extra bit of kitsch and light-catching. (See photo above.)

I covered the table with a black tablecloth specially made to cover these types of tables. It has the feeling of a book sock, with its stretchy nylon fabric. (I jokingly called it a table condom when discussing it with people, but for some reason, that term seemed to weird people out. Ha!) It fit over the table perfectly, tucking under the legs, and made an otherwise utilitarian piece look almost elegant. (I was lucky to snag mine on sale for just under $9 on Amazon, but it’s usually 11.99.) (See photo above.)

I made a poster with the name of our Club, which I hung behind the television (our “stage”) since many comedy clubs have the name of either the club or comic featured up on stage. Because our family room is sort of sunken in our house, and in honor of my husband’s birthday, I named ours Club 47 Underground. (I got the poster board and 2 packs of red, glittery letter stickers at Dollar Tree for $2.50 total. The rest of the lettering I printed on my printer and glued on.)

The "stage" and club signage

I lit candles throughout the room to create the low lighting. The way the candles reflected against the metallic curtains at the doorways looked very cool.

I created a “menu” of comedy specials from which my husband could choose which we’d watch. (I assembled the list in advance based on availability, user reviews, and a few articles I read on the internet discussing the “best” Netflix comedy specials on the site.) I thought this approach would be the best way to avoid sitting and aimlessly scrolling through Netflix for an hour when we could be laughing. Of course I also could have made an executive decision and chosen for us, but I didn’t want to get blamed if I made a poor choice. Haha. This way, the pressure was off of me. Win-win!

Comedy options

More options

As I set it all up in the daylight, the doubt crept in. I kept thinking, “Ok, this just looks like my stupid family room with dollar store plastic tablecloths on the wall. It doesn’t feel like a comedy club. This seemed so much better in my head.” But can I just say, when evening rolled around and the lights were out and it was just candles and the glow of the tv? It looked really friggin cool. There was a definite air of "not-at-home." Best of all, my husband was completely surprised and kept remarking on the transformation. So even though we were still technically home, for a few hours, we were celebrating his birthday at the newest comedy club in town: Club 47 Underground.

The candles helped create the perfect atmosphere

The fringe catches the light just so

Ready for the headliner to take the "stage"!

I have a plan to revisit Club 47 Underground for a jazz night in the not-too-distant future, possibly swapping out the red for purple accents.

So that's how I did it. It was easy (and actually very fun) to pull together, and I was so pleased with how it came out. Just sharing it on here in case you ever need some inspiration or ideas for at-home ideas.

Here’s to making our own fun with what we have!

A Big Bowl of Metaphor Soup: Ina Garten's Baked Fish Chowder

2020-12-29T18:16:00.006-05:00

Hoo boy. It has been a year, and I’ve posted no recipes. Aside from my poem-a-day posts throughout April (and a 3-ingredient scone post I drafted but never posted), I didn’t blog at all this year.

So why am I here now, just a few days before year end?

Well, I received a new cookbook for Christmas—Modern Comfort Food by Ina Garten—and while flipping through a few nights ago, I saw a recipe for Baked Fish Chowder. I’ve never been a particular fan of fish soups—I can occasionally enjoy a well-seasoned Crab and Corn Chowder, and have oohed and ahhed over some very decadent Lobster Bisques in my day—but, in general, you won’t find me excited for fish soup. However, when I saw this one, something about it seemed so delicious and wonderful and screamed out, “Make me!” In fact, the thought of that soup took root in my head for a few days, and so I decided, yes, this would be my maiden recipe of this book.

There’s something about cookbooks that takes me out of my world for a spell. When I read good cookbooks, I see my life differently than it actually is. I imagine myself eating, as a meal, a baked raclette (which is basically baked potatoes and sausages with cheese) served alongside a “big green salad and a crusty baguette” even though that’s not what meals at my house look like. Yet, in the moments of scanning recipes and brilliant food photography (in this case by the perfectly-named Quentin Bacon(!)), I see myself eating that way, imagine my kids delighted by their open-faced Spanish-imported tuna melts or fancy chutney-studded grilled cheeses or even, yes, the potato thing.

That’s how I found myself salivating over the fish chowder. I decided it would be a gift to myself to try to slow down and mindfully prepare this meal (as opposed to checking it off a to-do list as mealtime has started to feel these days), and be thankful for our good fortune at having food to eat and a way to pay for it and a home in which to prepare it, especially as so many others are denied what should be human fundamentals.

Two days ago, I set about acquiring the necessary ingredients. The list required a separate trip to the market (something I avoid at all costs these days) for items like fish stock (which I’ve never purchased in my life), saffron threads, yellow potatoes, fresh cod, dry white wine (I mean, of course I have wine here, but I wasn’t using one of my expensive wines in my soup, so I bought an $11 bottle of Sauvignon Blanc rated a 90 by Wine Enthusiast, and that’s what I used), and a little travel-sized bottle of Sambuca because it turns out I didn’t have anise liqueur among my barstuffs. I already had celery, onions, fresh thyme, bacon, butter, heavy cream, and half & half. An inexpensive throw-together recipe this was not.

Yesterday, it was Chef Time. I put on Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony and got to it.

Full disclosure: I’m not what one would call a “quick” cook. In fact, I’m pretty slow at just about every aspect. Set-up, prep, clean-up, all of it. Though not among my favorite personal characteristics, I’ve come to accept it. I know that when I cook, it’s going to be a process. For recipes I’m trying for the first time so I don’t know where to implement shortcuts, a longer process. And for recipes I’m photographing as I make them? Even longer.

Thus, I knew going in that this particular chowder was going to take me a long time to make.

Oftentimes, cookbooks include time estimates at the top of the recipe to give you a semblance of how long the recipe takes to prepare. I find these guidelines frequently underestimate the total time, even accounting for my aforementioned pace, so I automatically tack on an extra 15-30 minutes depending on the number of steps and/or ingredients, but I still appreciate an author including them so I don’t end up eating dinner at 10pm. This book, however, does not include any time estimates. Which means that, even though it’s something you should always be doing anyway, it’s even MORE important in this instance to read through the entire recipe before you start.

Between my own tortoise pace and a recipe that--after much slicing, dicing, washing, and peeling—still required 10+ minutes to crisp up some bacon; then around 15 minutes to sauté onions, celery, and thyme; then 30-40 to bake with potatoes and stock; then another 20-30 to bake with the cod; then 5 more to rest after stirring in some final touches before serving, I’d prepared myself for a marathon cooking sesh. That said, I still wasn’t quite prepared for how long it took me.

I tied on my apron at 4:40pm and began my veggie prep (I’d already prepped my cod the night before when I got it home from the market) and I sat down and tasted my first official spoonful at 7:59pm. I could have shaved a good 20 minutes off my time had I worked smarter, but I basically cut and measured everything so I had mise en place going, rather than using the cook times to prep as I went along.

Here’s how I suggest you tackle the project.

Start by crisping up a half pound of bacon in a large oven-safe Dutch oven.

While that cooks, prep your veggies: you need 6 cups of thinly sliced onions, 3 cups of diced celery, 1 Tablespoon of fresh thyme.

When the bacon is crispy, remove it with a slotted spoon and add the veggies to the bacon grease.

Sauté that situation for 10-12 minutes, until it gets soft and starts to become lightly browned. During that 10-12 minutes, peel and slice a pound of golden potatoes. Pro-tip: DO NOT get baby ones. Ina called for 2” diameter goldens but my market was all out, so I subbed in the babies. It was a PITA to peel that many tiny potatoes, and I shaved off a fingernail in the process.

When the veggies are lightly browned, add ¾ cup of good white wine (scrape the brown bits off the bottom of the pan) 1 ½ teaspoon kosher salt (I used Morton’s which, apparently, is saltier than Diamond, which Ina uses and calls for 2 teaspoons), and 1 teaspoon pepper, and let that simmer for another 2 minutes.

Remove half the onion mixture from the pot and then layer on half the potatoes and 2 Tablespoons of diced butter.

Add the onions you removed back into the pot, evenly distributed over the potatoes, and repeat the process with the rest of the potatoes and another 2 Tablespoons of diced butter.

Add the 2 15oz cans of Bar Harbor seafood stock (which, I’m seeing only now, I was supposed to have heated to a simmer prior to use, but which I didn’t—oh well!) and saffron threads (which I hydrated by stirring into a Tablespoon of hot water just before use) into the pot.

Cover and bake for 30-40 minutes. I set my timer for 35 minutes and headed downstairs to watch the season 2 finale of Virgin River. When the timer rang, the potatoes were nearly cooked through, which was the goal, so 35 minutes was perfect for me.

Pour ½ cup EACH half & half and heavy cream and stir gently.

Then add in 2 pounds of fresh cod cut into 1”x3” chunks and sprinkled with kosher salt and pepper (I used just under a Tablespoon of salt and 1 teaspoon of pepper) and press gently into the cooking liquids.

Cover again and bake another 20-30 minutes. Mine took about 30 for the fish to flake easily with a fork.

Add 2 Tablespoons of anise liqueur (I used Sambuca, but Ina suggested Pernod) and the reserved bacon (I only added half the bacon and topped individual bowls with more because stirring crispy bacon into liquid makes it suddenly soggy bacon once more) and let it sit 5 minutes before serving. Note: you might be tempted to skip this liqueur. After all, the recipe doesn’t call for that much and you probably don’t have it on hand and it can’t possibly make a difference, right? Wrong. It adds a subtle depth of flavor that makes the dish feel complete. You don’t get strong anise flavor, but you do get a little less fishiness, and a roundness that flavors the broth in a pleasant manner. For $1.49, you can buy a tiny hotel-room sized bottle of Sambuca and it is worth it.

Now, after all this work, how was it?, you’re doubtless wondering.

I thought about this earlier today, as I drank my coffee, and chuckled to myself as I realized my experience of the chowder was sort of the perfect metaphorical reflection of 2020.

See, I’d gone in with certain expectations, a hope for it to taste as delicious as it looked, for it to be satisfying and, frankly, wonderful. I knew I’d have to do my part to help achieve that outcome—I’d need to use the right ingredients, follow the recipe guidelines, know when to make executive decisions if the directions outlined something that I experienced differently, etc. I thought I was ready for all the work and expense involved with making it—and I did do my best to stay enthusiastic as I went—but sometimes along the way I wished I hadn’t taken it on, wished I’d just ordered pizza instead.

It was a whole lot of buildup, but when I tasted it, my first thought was that it was fishy. Too fishy, not good. Oh no! Catastrophe! All this time and effort and money completely wasted! But then—right behind that initial taste, other things came through: well-seasoned onions and creamy, well-cooked potatoes, and a really rich broth with hints of fruit from the wine and just the right amount of spice from the black pepper and some floral notes from the saffron and smokiness from the bacon and whatever that roundness of flavor is that came from the anise. I didn’t love it overall, but I loved things within it. I ate everything in my bowl because this was my dinner.

My family had their own mixed feelings—my younger daughter liked it. My older daughter said she just doesn’t like seafood (which isn’t entirely true, but she blows hot and cold about things she likes in general, so this day was one when she doesn’t like fish). My husband looked as though he was doing his best to tolerate it, but he had the misfortune of getting quite a few hidden bones in his cod (nobody else did) so that made for a tense eating experience. At the end, we had half a pot left on the stove—nobody went back for seconds—and I felt a little sad because I’m not prepared to throw it away but I also have very little desire to eat another bowl of it in the future.

All in all, it wasn’t what I’d been hoping it would be, didn’t feel like it was worth the struggle, and I was glad when my bowl was empty.

And yet…I did go back today and have another taste. It’s still not my favorite thing. For sure, it’s not. But there are some delicious aspects of it. It’s most certainly not all bad. There’s parts of it I loved, techniques and flavors I would take with me in the future and try to replicate or improve. There were parts of the soup that were worth the added time, expense, and effort, and that were part of my experience which, fine, maybe wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but that I’m not worse off having tasted. Oddly, this baked fish chowder ended up being the perfect recipe for the end of my year, even if not for the reason I thought.

Even better is that I look forward to trying other recipes, even as I know some will be a complete triumph while others will be a disappointment. But guess what? That’s the joy of cooking, and what a gift it is to be able to do.

April 30: "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley

2020-04-30T11:36:00.000-04:00

The 2020 National Poetry Month poster from Poets.org

Invictus

by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

***

Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day! That means you should carry around a poem in your pocket today. Pick one you really enjoy. Then, read it to someone or otherwise share it. If you're lucky, they'll have a poem in their pocket, too, to share with you. (If you want to read more about my background celebrating this fab holiday, I wrote a guest post for my friend's book blog back in 2014. You can read it here.) Today, I'll be carrying with me the powerful poem above. (Carrying it around the house since, you know, lockdown. But still. It'll be in my pocket per the rules!)

I had big ideas for this year's Poem in Your Pocket Day festivities, but obviously the pandemic had other plans. So my plans have to wait until we can, you know, leave our houses and come within 6 feet of one another. But we'll get there. Here's hoping we'll have a vaccine by next April (that's probably too soon to have one ready yet, but we're gonna hope for it just the same!)

Today is also the last day of April, which means the last day of daily poems. Thank you for joining me this month. I hope you read a poem or two (or ten!) that spoke to you and made you smile or laugh or sigh or feel understood.

Here's to all the beautiful words we shared this month. Here's to the poetry. Be well, friends.

April 29: "My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms" by Bon Jovi

2020-04-29T10:36:00.001-04:00

My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms

by John Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora

My Guitar Lies Bleeding in My Arms lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Misery likes company I like the way that sounds
I've been trying to find the meaning
So I can write it down
Staring out the window it's such a long way down
I'd like to jump but I'm afraid to hit the ground

I can't write a love song the way I fell today
I can't sing no song of hope
I've got nothing to say
Life is feeling kind of strange
Since you went away
I sing this song to you wherever you are
As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms

I'm tired of watching TV it makes me want to scream
Outside the world is burning
Man it's so hard to believe
Each day you know you're dying
From the cradle to the grave
I get so numb sometimes that I just feel the pain

I can't write a love song the way I feel today
I can't sing no song of hope
I got nothing to say
Life is feeling kind of strange
Strange enough these days
I send this song to you whoever you are
As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms

Staring at the paper I don't know what to write
I'll have my last cigarette-well, turn out the lights
Maybe tomorrow I'll feel a different way
But here in my delusion I don't know what to say

I can't write a love song the way I feel today
I can't sing no song of hope
I've got nothing to say
And I can't fight the feelings
That are burning in my veins
I send this song to you wherever you are
As my guitar lies bleeding

I can't write a love song the way I feel today
I can't sing no song of hope
There's no one left to save
And I can't fight the feelings buried in my brains
I send this song to you wherever you are
As my guitar lies bleeding in my arms

Source: LyricFind

Personal Note:

Last weekend, for a change in scenery and because I felt incredibly sad, I went for a walk in my old neighborhood. I thought a stroll down memory lane might cure what ailed me: namely, a sense of loss over my previous, less fraught way of life.

I thought visiting my old neighborhood and walking the streets from my (mostly happy) childhood would calm me down. Or cheer me up. Or both.

Sadly, it made it a little worse. The neighborhood looked so different. The changed landscaping made the street I’d lived on almost unrecognizable. (There used to be hedges and trees separating property lines, setting each house apart as its own little section. Now most of those were gone. Each house blurred into the next.) My elementary school has been leveled and replaced with a new housing development. The whole experience was incredibly sad.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, of course, since I haven’t lived there in over 17 years, but it was still jarring.

What hadn’t changed, though, were the streets. Those I walked the same way I did in the evenings with my best friend all those years ago. I even texted her while passing some of our favorite old spots. Also keeping me company on this walk was Bon Jovi’s album These Days.

One of them—today’s “poem”-- stood out to me as I walked along. The lyrics resonated as I thought of this current situation and how I haven’t been able to do much writing (or even significant reading since I can’t concentrate for long spells) since sheltering-in-place started.

Listen to the song here.

April 28: "A Woman's Answer to a Man's Question" by Mary T. Lathrap

2020-04-28T12:33:00.000-04:00

A Woman's Answer to a Man's Question

by Mary T. Lathrap (1838-1895)

(Written in reply to a man's poetic unfolding of what he conceived to be a woman's duty.)

Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above—
A woman's heart, and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?

Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy,
Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy?

You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I shall question thee.

You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirt be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And as pure as heaven your soul.

You require a cook for your mutton and beef;
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for socks and shirts;
I look for a man and a king.

A king for the beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the maker, God,
Shall look upon as he did the first
And say, "It is very good."

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day,
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep,
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;
If you give all this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

If you cannot do this — a laundress and cook
You can hire, with little to pay,
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way.

April 27: "The Moment" by Marie Howe

2020-04-27T10:30:00.000-04:00

The Moment

by Marie Howe (2011)

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment

when, nothing

happens

no what-have-I-to-do today list

maybe half a moment

the rush of traffic stops.

The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be

slows to silence,

the white cotton curtains hanging still.

April 26: "I May, I Might, I Must" by Marianne Moore

2020-04-26T12:18:00.000-04:00

I May, I Might, I Must

by Marianne Moore

If you will tell me why the fen

appears impassable, I then

will tell you why I think that I

can get across it if I try.

April 25: "Anger" by Charles and Mary Lamb

2020-04-25T13:46:00.002-04:00

Anger

by Charles and Mary Lamb

Anger in its time and place

May assume a kind of grace.

It must have some reason in it,

And not last beyond a minute.

If to further lengths it go,

It does into malice grow.

'Tis the difference that we see

Twixt the serpent and the bee.

If the latter you provoke,

It inflicts a hasty stroke.

Puts you to some little pain,

But it never stings again.

Close in tufted bush or brake

Lurks the poison-swelled snake

Nursing up his cherish'd wrath;

In the purlieux of his path,

In the cold, or in the warm,

Mean him good, or mean him harm,

Whensoever fete may bring you,

The vile snake will always sting you.

April 24: "April Rain Song" by Langston Hughes

2020-04-24T12:00:00.001-04:00

April Rain Song

by Langston Hughes from Collected Poems (Estate of Langston Hughes, 1994)

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night--

And I love the rain.

***

In case you want to hear the poem with some graphics, here's 2 options for you.

This one is from Disney Junior and features Disney characters. (The poem itself starts around the 35 second mark after an introduction of kids talking about how they love poetry.)

This one is by the New York Botanical Gardens, and features lovely nature shots.

April 23: "Forgetfulness" by Billy Collins

2020-04-23T12:23:00.000-04:00

Forgetfulness

by Billy Collins from Questions About Angels (University of Pittsburg Press, 1999)

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

April 22: "I'm Feeling Fabulous, Possibly Too Much So. But I Love It" by Mary Oliver

2020-04-22T11:59:00.000-04:00

I'm Feeling Fabulous, Possibly Too Much So. But I Love It

by Mary Oliver from Blue Horses (Penguin Press, 2014)

It's spring and Mockingbird is teaching himself

new ways to celebrate.

If you can imagine that--that gusty talker.

And the sky is painting itself a brand-new

robust blue

plenty of which is spilling into the pond.

I don't weigh very much, but right now

I weigh nothing.

And my mind is, I guess you would say, compounded.

One voice is saying, Ah, it's Mockingbird.

Another voice is saying, The pond never looked

this blue before.

Another voice says, There couldn't ne a more

splendid world, and here I am

existing in it.

I think, just for the joy of it, I'll fly.

I believe I could.

And yet another voice says, Can we come down

from the clouds now?

And some other voice answers, Okay.

But only for a while.

***

A note from me: I love this poem. I've had it earmarked to share since I decided to share poems this month. However, I'd been waiting for--hoping for-- a day I was actually feeling fabulous. Unfortunately, lately, I haven't had any of those days. The best I've managed is "okay," but definitely not "fabulous" in any degree.

Now, though, it is Earth Day. And despite a strong breeze and cooler-than-preferable temperatures, it's gorgeous out. The sky is blue. The sun is shining. The flowering trees are blooming. The leaves are pushing out of their buds. The world looks alive and stunning and, dare I say, fabulous.

So, rereading this poem, I feel like maybe--even if I can only manage it for a short while--I need to force myself to let these wonders of natures spread outward to make me feel fabulous.

For Earth Day, the poem had to be one by Mary Oliver, because no one is better than she is at noticing and capturing life itself in her poems.

April 21: "No Matter What" by Mary Oliver

2020-04-21T12:59:00.001-04:00

No Matter What

by Mary Oliver, from Blue Horses (Penguin, 2014)

No matter what the world claims,

its wisdom always growing, so it’s said,

some things don’t alter with time:

the first kiss is a good example,

and the flighty sweetness of rhyme.

No matter what the world preaches

spring unfolds at its appointed time,

the violets open and the roses,

snow in its hour builds its shining curves,

there’s the laughter of children at play,

and the wholesome sweetness of rhyme.

No matter what the world does,

Some things don’t alter with time.

The first kiss, the first death,

The sorrowful sweetness of rhyme.

April 20: "Burning the Old Year" by Naomi Shihab Nye

2020-04-20T13:07:00.000-04:00

Burning the Old Year

by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.

Notes friends tied to the doorknob,

transparent scarlet paper,

sizzle like moth wings,

marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,

lists of vegetables, partial poems.

Orange swirling flame of days,

so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,

an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.

I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,

only the things I didn’t do

crackle after the blazing dies.

April 19: "Otherwise" by Jane Kenyon

2020-04-19T15:25:00.000-04:00

Otherwise

by Jane Kenyon from Otherwise: New & Selected Poems

I got out of bed

on two strong legs.

It might have been

otherwise. I ate

cereal, sweet

milk, ripe, flawless

peach. It might

have been otherwise.

I took the dog uphill

to the birch wood.

All morning I did

the work I love.

At noon I lay down

with my mate. It might

have been otherwise.

We ate dinner together

at a table with silver

candlesticks. It might

have been otherwise.

I slept in a bed

in a room with paintings

on the walls, and

planned another day

just like this day.

But one day, I know,

it will be otherwise.

April 18: "No Thank You, John" by Christina Rossetti

2020-04-18T18:11:00.002-04:00

No Thank You, John

by Christina Rossetti in Goblin Market and Other Poems

I never said I loved you, John:

Why will you tease me, day by day,

And wax a weariness to think upon

With always “do” and “pray”?

You know I never loved you, John;

No fault of mine made me your toast:

Why will you haunt me with a face as wan

As shows an hour-old ghost?

I dare say Meg or Moll would take

Pity upon you, if you’d ask:

And pray don’t remain single for my sake

Who can’t perform that task.

I have no heart?—Perhaps I have not;

But then you’re mad to take offence

That I don’t give you what I have not got:

Use your common sense.

Let bygones be bygones:

Don’t call me false, who owed not to be true:

I’d rather answer “No” to fifty Johns

Than answer “Yes” to you.

Let’s mar our pleasant days no more,

Song-birds of passage, days of youth:

Catch at to-day, forget the days before:

I’ll wink at your untruth.

Let us strike hands as hearty friends;

No more, no less: and friendship’s good:

Only don’t keep in view ulterior ends,

And points not understood

In open treaty. Rise above

Quibbles and shuffling off and on:

Here’s friendship for you if you like; but love,—

No, thank you, John.

I stumbled upon this poem a few nights ago and read this interesting write up about it, and it just made me shake my head. No means no, John. Thanks bye.

April 17: "The Peace of Wild Things" by Wendell Berry

2020-04-17T11:32:00.001-04:00

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry from The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

April 16: "Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

2020-04-16T15:08:00.005-04:00

Good Bones

by Maggie Smith from Waxwing magazine (Issue IX, Summer 2016)

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

April 15: "When Giving Is All We Have" by Alberto Rios

2020-04-15T11:03:00.000-04:00

When Giving Is All We Have

by Alberto Rios

One river gives

Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.

We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.

We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,

We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,

Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,

But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,

Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.

Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you

What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

April 14: "I Dream a World" by Langston Hughes

2020-04-14T13:15:00.003-04:00

I Dream a World

by Langston Hughes

I dream a world where man
No other man will scorn,
Where love will bless the earth
And peace its paths adorn
I dream a world where all
Will know sweet freedom's way,
Where greed no longer saps the soul
Nor avarice blights our day.
A world I dream where black or white,
Whatever race you be,
Will share the bounties of the earth
And every man is free,
Where wretchedness will hang its head
And joy, like a pearl,
Attends the needs of all mankind-
Of such I dream, my world!

April 13: "The Moment" by Billy Collins

2020-04-13T16:10:00.001-04:00

The Moment
by Billy Collins from Poetry Magazine (April 2005)

It was a day in June, all lawn and sky,
the kind that gives you no choice
but to unbutton your shirt
and sit outside in a rough wooden chair.

And if a glass of ice tea and an anthology
of seventeenth-century devotional poetry
with a dark blue cover are available,
then the picture can hardly be improved.

I remember a fly kept landing on my wrist,
and two black butterflies
with white and red wing-dots
bobbed around my head in the bright air.

I could feel the day offering itself to me,
and I wanted nothing more
than to be in the moment-- but which moment?
Not that one, or that one, or that one,

or any of those that were scuttling by
seemed perfectly right for me.
Plus, I was too knotted up with questions
about the past and his tall, evasive sister, the future.

What churchyard held the bones of George Herbert?
Why did John Donne's wife die so young?
And more pressingly,
what could we serve the vegetarian twins

we had invited for dinner that evening
not knowing then that they travel with their own grapes?
And who was the driver of that pickup
flying down the road toward the single railroad track?

And so the priceless moments of the day
were squandered one by one--
or more likely several thousand at a time--
with quandary and pointless interrogation.

All I wanted was to be a pea of being
at rest inside the pod of time,
but that was not going to happen today,
I had to admit to myself

as I closed the blue book on the face
of Thomas Traherne and returned to the house
where I lit a flame under a pot
full of water where some eggs were afloat,

and, while they were cooking,
stared into a little oval mirror by the sink
just to see if that crazy glass
had anything particular to say to me today.

April 12: "Two Butterflies went out at Noon" by Emily Dickinson

2020-04-12T21:08:00.001-04:00

Two Butterflies went out at Noon -- (533)
by Emily Dickinson

Two Butterflies went out at Noon--
And waltzed above a Farm--
Then stepped straight through the Firmament
And rested on a Beam--

And then--together bore away
Upon a shining Sea--
Though never yet, in any Port--
Their coming mentioned--be--

If spoken by the distant Bird--
If met in Ether Sea
By Frigate, or by Merchantman--
No notice--was--to me--

April 11: "Go to the Limits of Your Longing" by Rainer Maria Rilke

2020-04-11T18:22:00.002-04:00

“Go to the Limits of Your Longing”

by Rainer Maria Rilke from Book of Hours I59

Translated by Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows

Listen

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

The lines "Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final" was the central idea within my daily Calm meditation on Uncertainty. (By the way, I highly recommend that app. I've been using it for a few years now.) I liked the sentiment so much I decided to look it up and, guess what? Part of a poem!

It appears in Rilke's collection The Book of Hours. Per Penguin Random House: "At the beginning of this century, a young German poet returned from a journey to Russia, where he had immersed himself in the spirituality he discovered there. He “received” a series of poems about which he did not speak for a long time – he considered them sacred, and different from anything else he ever had done and ever would do again. This poet saw the coming darkness of the century, and saw the struggle we would have in our relationship to the divine. The poet was Rainer Maria Rilke, and these love poems to God make up his Book of Hours."

If you're interested in reading more about that collection, here's a wikipedia article about it.

April 10: "If--" by Rudyard Kipling

2020-04-10T16:04:00.000-04:00

If --

by Rudyard Kipling (from Rewards & Fairies)

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

And, for a bonus If, here's Bread's version. hahahaha!

April 9: "Choose Something Like a Star" by Robert Frost

2020-04-09T15:12:00.000-04:00

Choose Something Like a Star

by Robert Frost from Collected Poems, Prose & Plays (Library of America 1995)

O Star (the fairest one in sight),

We grant your loftiness the right

To some obscurity of cloud—

It will not do to say of night,

Since dark is what brings out your light.

Some mystery becomes the proud.

But to be wholly taciturn

In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn

By heart and when alone repeat.

Say something! And it says, ‘I burn.’

But say with what degree of heat.

Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.

Use language we can comprehend.

Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,

But does tell something in the end.

And steadfast as Keats’ Eremite,

Not even stooping from its sphere,

It asks a little of us here.

It asks of us a certain height,

So when at times the mob is swayed

To carry praise or blame too far,

We may choose something like a star

To stay our minds on and be staid.

Personal note: When I read these words to myself, they're set to music. That's because in middle school I was part of a select vocal ensemble, and this poem was one one of our songs. At the time, it was one of my least favorite to learn and practice. The soprano part at the beginning was just us singing "O star" and holding the high note for what felt like forever: "oh staaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrr." And because the pace of the song is so slow, practicing it always seemed to drag. Still, when it all came together, it was pretty nice. If you'd like to watch a lovely performance of it (and to be clear, this isn't my middle school choir, it's the University of Illinois Chamber Singers), you can find that here.

April 8: "The More Loving One" by W.H. Auden

2020-04-08T12:30:00.000-04:00

The More Loving One

by W.H. Auden

For more about this poem and a reading by astrophysicist Janna Levin, visit this Brainpickings piece by Maria Popova.

To hear the poet reading his own poem, go to this YouTube video.