I swear that when I’m going through my day, I think of this or that and then I think, “I can blog about that.” And then, when I get here and am staring at the screen, I just go blank.

On Friday, April 13th, I actually went out to celebrate my friend Joey’s birthday (which is actually Friday). Her boyfriend had organized some bowling. I thought that sounded fun, and even though Han was working, he encouraged me to go. So I headed downtown and was having fun bowling, when suddenly, Matt (Joey’s boyfriend), goes behind Joey who was turning around after bowling a frame and got down on one knee and asked her to marry him! We were all shocked! It was so beautiful and sweet. I was so sad Han had missed it, but I learned that Matt had told him about it the day before and asked him to be their officiant when tye the knot. Yay!

The weekend was stormy so a work volunteer event was cancelled and I did basically nothing. It was pretty great. I think I was in my pajamas until well into the afternoon. I was lazy and loving it, doing my best to not feel guilty about it. That night, Han conducted a songwriting workshop so I had some alone time. Again, was not productive at all, and that was okay.

On Sunday, the Acoustic Duo and I went over to Poway for a short 1/2 hour set to promote a big show coming up in September. It was a gorgeous day and it was nice to be outside. Afterward, Han & I had some lunch, took naps, and lounged about until his client for the afternoon showed up. I used the time to get the grocery list together and go shopping.

This week has been the basic same routine: work, home, dinner, work, sleep. Tonight, D went to a show at her old school and Han has rehearsal. I worked already, and still have a bit of time before Han gets home.

Of course, the blankness also applies to the poem world so nothing original, but this poem was the poem of the day from and I just loved it.

Pretty Polly
by Jane Springer

Who made the banjo sad & wrong?
Who made the luckless girl & hell bound boy?
Who made the ballad? The one, I mean,
where lovers gallop down mountain brush as though in love—
where hooves break ground to blood earth scent.
Who gave the boy swift words to woo the girl from home,
& the girl too pretty to leave alone? He locks one arm
beneath her breasts as they ride on —maybe her apron comes
undone & falls to a ditch of black-eyed susans. Maybe
she dreams the clouds are so much flour spilt on heaven’s table.

I’ve run the dark county of the heart this music comes from—but
I don’t know where to hammer-on or to drop a thumb to the
haunted string that sets the story straight: All night Willie’s dug
on Polly’s grave with a silver spade & every creek they cross
makes one last splash. Though flocks of swallows loom— the one
hung in cedar now will score the girl’s last thrill. Tell
me, why do I love this sawmill-tuned melancholy song
& thud of knuckles darkening the banjo face?
Tell me how to erase the ancient, violent beauty
in the devil of not loving what we love.


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