Wednesday, November 11, 2009. Quick cooks, miss and completely different. 1 Dinner is cooked and ready in a jiffy. 2 The cyclone misses Mumbai and the rains let up in Pune too. Everyone heaves a sigh of relief. November rain, making up for lost time and dentist.

What is the question? As a Reference librarian, my job is to answer questions. But sometimes, just figuring out what the question IS is the real job. 0160;A woman called the desk one night. Can you give me the phone number for that college in Berkeley, California? 0160; UC Berkeley? Sure, hold on just a moment while I find it, I said.

Meanwhile, back in the holler. Thursday, January 8, 2009. I am sure you will censure and scold me when necessary. And the nuts in that are.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015. I think about getting caught up on my blogging a lot. Maybe some day I will. We had a picnic lunch, the kids played on the play equipment, and then we walked through the gardens. It was lovely to see some spring flowers blooming. Tuesday, May 12, 2015. A couple stuffed animals were recruited to be Indian guests. Wednesday, April 08, 2015.

On most days I walk once around the park and write 30 words about it. Thursday, 15 October 2009. The workmen have parked up on the lawn. They are now sitting in their truck eating lunch and smiling at the newly cut bank. Tuesday, 13 October 2009. Monday, 12 October 2009. Wednesday, 7 October 2009. Saturday, 3 October 2009.

To capture moments with poets - from reading, meeting or imagining - I have started this blog. Monday, January 11, 2016. In a local branch of Age Concern I came across an LP on the old Camden label. Which means Fairy Tale in Verse. There was a town of noble heritage,. A church, shops, thatched roofs with spiral chimneys,. A hill that sloped down to a landing stage. I see white blossoms drifting on the breeze,. The pleasant boredom of the boats in Summer,.

Merely almost left somewhere I have never been. By this new fireplace that has as much integrity as. Being born again in 1810 urns of plastic. I have holy neighbours now, screened by propriety. And fences that barely cover my naked, unruly soul that is the garden. What am I to do with that? Guilt clad, I venture noticed.

I think everyone has travel rituals, that are partly to do with avoiding thinking about the ridiculous level of risk represented by flight. This all brought back a strong childhood memory of sitting in a flower bed eating pa.