Saturday, March 16, 2013

Me and my partner: Best drum battle; Canasta; Cat No-No; Love love love

Best if enlarged to 150%


We've been keeping watch over the city
by day and night for a week
while the 3rd of this arrangement
is gone.

The woman who herself got us this cat 
- hunted this huntress to talk to -
the 3rd of this partnership
has been in Pleasant Valley Maryland
keeping watch over her ill dad

but she left me this silver bullet
as a talis- (purr-wo!) 
 man to feed and tell joys and troubles to.

This morning KD Cat waited patiently
on cushions near slippers
for an awakening. Once she jumped
cat-like on the bed and gently nosed this face.

I stretched in the too
 empty bed and arose at 5:45 AM.
This well-behaved  creature
- my other partner -
came to life and scampered down the
long Odd Fellows hall to the
great room with the tall windows

where she does her Mourning Dove
and Squab-vigiling,
then ran back top speed
to me pulling on pants.
Her thing.

The 3rd of this arrangement
comes back tomorrow
and we will be complete.

She'll be back buying her morning carry-out
container of Steaming Cuppa and
returning to the Odd fellows 
like she always does, soon.



This video came to us from Doug James of Bearsville, NY near Woodstock
 brother of our late 1956 college friend, David James.
He was known here as The Immortal Babes.
Check the Raccoon archives for him by name.
David James.  David Farragut James, originally from Fox Point WI.

Doug, though, was the drummer (understatement); 
David was on piano, banjo and orgamonica.
The Babes played by ear, with feeling.
He once sent us a turquoise cabochon from Arizona
with an abstract raccoon within it, a natural composition.



My Old Aunts Play Canasta in a Snow Storm

I ride along in the backseat; the aunt who can drive
picks up each sister at her door, keeps the Pontiac
chugging in each driveway while one or the other
slips into her overshoes and steps out,
closing her door with a click, the wind

lifting the fringe of her white cotton scarf
as she comes down the sidewalk, still pulling on her
new polyester Christmas-stocking mittens.
We have no business to be out in such a storm,
she says, no business at all.

The wind takes her voice and swirls it
like snow across the windshield.
We're on to the next house, the next aunt,
the heater blowing to beat the band.

At the last house, we play canasta,
the deuces wild even as they were in childhood,
the wind blowing through the empty apple trees,
through the shadows of bumper crops. The cards

line up under my aunts' finger bones; eights and nines and aces
straggle and fall into place like well-behaved children.
My aunts shuffle and meld; they laugh like banshees,
as they did in that other kitchen in the 30'sthat
day Margaret draped a dishtowel over her face
to answer the door. We put her up to it, they say,
laughing; we pushed her. The man—whoever he was—
drove off in a huff while they laughed 'til they hiccupped,

laughing still—I'm one of the girls laughing him down the sidewalk
and into his car, we're rascals sure as farmyard dogs,
we're wild card-players; the snow thickens,
the coffee boils and perks, the wind is a red trey
because, as one or the other says,

We are getting up there in the years; we'll
have to quit sometime. But today,
deal, sister, deal.

"My Old Aunts Play Canasta in a Snow Storm" by Marjorie Saiser, from Lost in Seward County. © The Backwaters Press, 2001


Cat No-No

Attitude adjustment needed
(see downtown Waukesha)

Lee and Erin
A found old valentine

Where are those seagulls now?
(Lee wore beach-shed gull feathers stuck in his cap)

NOTE: Thumbs-up, everywhere!
It's going to happen! S/ His Transciency, ASR

As a postscript:

See the boy above with his thumbs-up signal?
Well, for those who are interested in what he's doing
now with that thumb,
watch this. 
This is our son.