A Fur Teacup of a Life

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Lea Ann this morning in silhouette, putting on her shoes to go for a walk with her friends, looks like a young girl. This is the way I, an old man, like to see her.

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I started a poem once with the line, “We expect so much of our lives” but never got further than the first line.

2

What a mess I’ve made of my life! That I haven’t always lived up to it. But perhaps the whole notion of living up to life is a false notion I derived all on my own from poets and artists and athletes. Still, I’m somewhat consoled that I did at least one one thing correctly, and that our boys grew up to be fine men.

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Last night in bed my right knee started beating a drum, softly, and then gradually a typhoon of pain swept over the lower part of my body all the way down to my right foot. My left knee however was a peaceful companion.

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I got out of bed at 2:40 am PST and made a cup of tea, as the Queen might have done were she still alive.

 2

This morning hearing the gentle hum of the dishwasher: a mountain stream flowing under the bridge in a small village in France.

4

Jean-Pierre of Montaigut-le-Blanc using the word correctment to describe a restaurant he admired: that they did things the right way.

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Did Meret Oppenheim ever drink out of her fur teacup?

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And all this time I thought Helen Mirren was the Queen. 

And All This Time I Thought Helen Mirren was The Queen, collage, mixed media, “8 1/2 x 11”. 2022. Private collection.