I suppose librarians tried to decipher illegible names millions of times prior to electronic checkout. The antiquated appearance of a check-out card makes it seem like we used these cards hundreds of years ago. But look, it appears this one was still being used as late as 2004!

Well, as you know, Giffords hadn’t died. She survived that day, and now she’s let us know that she’s thriving; she’s going to be OK.  Today she resigned from Congress, but said she’s only taking a break so she can focus on healing and rebuilding her body. I’m extraordinarily amazed by her because she looks so sincerely positive, optimistic. So often I’m skeptical of people who seem cheery and grateful despite some tragedy in their midst. In the case of Giffords, I actually believe that big smile.

I can’t say that I’d be as upbeat. It’s entirely possible that I would crawl into a cave and die if some deranged moron changed my life in the way Giffords’ has been changed. But she’s taken the step of going back into the public eye, letting us see some of the physical effects of the shooting (this is one dauntless woman), effectively sharing her recovery with us, and even promising she’ll be back someday soon to work with us again.

What an inspiring woman! Ms. Giffords, bravo, and I look forward to seeing you again soon.

I didn’t meet the potter, and the clerk knew nothing else about it except that it was the only one in the shop. “Jamaica” is scratched onto the bottom of the vase, plus a potter’s signature that I can’t read. It really is a sweet little piece and I enjoy it every day in my kitchen:

My poems:  fledglings, heirs,
Plaintiffs and executors,
The silent ones, the loud,
The humble and the proud.

As soon as the shovel of time
Threw me onto the potter’s wheel—
Myself without kith or kin—
I grew beneath the hand, a miracle.

Something stretched out my long neck
And hollowed round my soul
And marked on my back
Legends of flowers and leaves.

I stoked the birch in the fire
As Daniel commanded
And blessed my red temper
Until I spoke as a prophet.

I had long been the earth—
Arid, ochre, forlorn since birth—
But you fell on my chest by chance
From beaks of birds, from eyes of grass.

Arseny Tarkovsky

I who don’t know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me

(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even

what line it was. No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,

the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can’t find,

and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that

a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines

in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,
for

assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.

Well, it’s not really about summer, but that’s perfectly fine. Even better, I think Twain would like that I’m reading this particular poem of his on a cold winter night, over 100 years after his death. (Reminds me of his comment about visiting Duluth, MN:  “The coldest winter I ever spent was the summer I spent in Duluth.”) But the poem:

Warm Summer Sun

Warm summer sun,
Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind,
Blow softly here.
Green sod above,
Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart,
Good night, good night.

Maybe that’s part of why I also enjoyed my most recent read, State of Wonder, by the wonderful Ann Patchett. Unlike Z, Patchett’s book is fiction, but it, too, takes place in the Amazon. It first appealed to me because it was written by Patchett, the author of Bel Canto and Run, two solidly written books with very original plots. Then I started reading State of Wonder and learned the protagonist, Dr. Marina Singh, is a 42-year-old woman from Minnesota (so am I), and that the plot takes our Marina to the Amazon in search of a rogue (?) scientist, Dr. Swenson, a woman who has managed a research project for a big pharmaceutical company back in Minnesota, while living in the Amazon for many years . . . and who has stopped communicating about her progress in developing a drug to treat infertility. On top of that, Marina’s office mate, also a scientist at the pharmaceutical company, Dr. Anders Eckman, has already gone to the Amazon to get some information, only to wind up dead from some unspecified fever. So, Marina’s been asked to get more facts about Eckman’s death and (more importantly) how the drug trials are coming along, and she agrees to go to this terrifying jungle to visit with a researcher who has refused to communicate with her employer, the pharmaceutical company, literally for years.

Yeah. I know what you’re thinking. When I read the book’s rundown at the library, I laughed a bit skeptically at the premise of the book, because it sounded so Heart of Darkness-y. And despite my earnest efforts to enjoy Conrad’s famous novel, I’ve only come to appreciate it, never to love it or even like it. But I checked out State of Wonder, started it that night, and gobbled it up pretty quickly. Its plot has some fun and surprising twists, and there’s enough Z-ness about it (such as big snakes, poisonous frogs, malaria, native tribes, and even references to cannibalism) to make up for what eventually becomes a bit of an outrageous tale that still somehow reads believably to those of us who rarely suspect their disbelief.

If I say much more about the plot, I would spoil the book for someone who might read it. But it’s another solid one from Ann Patchett. She doesn’t need references to Joseph Conrad at all, nor (I suppose) would she want any. And I wish I could find more authors whose books are so reliable. She’s made my short list of those who are always sure to delight:  Anthony Trollope, Edith Wharton, Ian McEwan, Wendell Berry, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Philip Roth, and Jane Austen. Thanks, Ann.

1) Mitt Romney comes from a family of polygamists.

2) Mitt Romney actually IS a polygamist and his 8 other wives and 54 other children live somewhere off the radar out in Idaho or some other weird state. He visits them secretly every week, and supports them all because he is a Big Man. Oh, and he gets lots of sex anytime he wants.

3) Oh, and he was not born in the United States, either! What a thrill! His “birth certificate” is a fake and we all know it. C’mon, Americans, admit it. We all know it.

4) He is also a socialist, a communist, a fascist, an environmentalist, and by the way, can you believe that Mexican blood?

However . . .

I am not a Republican. Mitt Romney is not a Democrat. And therefore, none of these stupid assumptions will get any play. He will NOT have to show his birth certificate. Republicans will be very forgiving of someone who supposedly sired 54 children; after all, we do need to keep the economy running, and the world could easily support 10, 12, even 14 billion people. And procreation is so beautiful.

I didn’t mind Mitt Romney, at least personally, until this week, when he departed from the issues and started sounding like FOX News “reporters” with his hate speeches about our President. I will not be linking to the speech I refer to, needless to say. Let’s just say that Karl Rove has obviously met with Mr. Romney and coached him on sounding like a spiteful spoiled brat instead of the level-minded conservative he seemed like even a few weeks ago. Karl certainly knows what pulls in the votes—rhymes, jingles, and puns, the latter of which particularly make republicans feel like they are “catching on” to something really covert and clever. This is what Karl gets paid the big bucks for. He’s really good at his job, I’ll say that for him. My employer does not pay me nearly as much money. That joke, sadly, is on me.

By the way, how’s about those New Hampshire Republicans? Romney wins the Iowa caucus by 8 votes and overnight, New Hampshire primary voters can’t even think for themselves anymore. It’s breathtaking, really, the herd mentality of the members of this party.

I have not blogged much about politics. I’ll try not to to do it again. This time, I couldn’t help myself. I know why the Democrats are not jumping all over this story; Democrats don’t CARE if Romney’s ancestors and relatives are Mexican, and they don’t even care if he is the ancestors of polygamists. But if Mitt Romney were a Democrat, Republicans would care. Good night, Chet.

(PS – He even looks like a Mexican!)