This is a willow tree with a beetle sneaking behind (that’s Keith’s).
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Month: November 2019
Caveat: Grinch
When I was a child, Arthur used to pretend to be Mr Grinch. He liked the schtick, and it suited his personality.
Keith’s family is very musical. So they come and perform music. Here is Keith’s sister, Michelle, her husband Tim, and Ky (sp?), who is Keith’s nephew (but not Michelle and Tim’s son). They are performing the song, Mr Grinch.
“Mr. Grinch,” written by Theodor Geisel (Dr Seuss).
Lyrics.
You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch
You really are a heel,
You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a bad banana with a greasy black peel!
You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch,
Your heart’s an empty hole,
Your brain is full of spiders, you have garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch,
I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You have termites in your smile,
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch,
Given a choice between the two of you’d take the seasick crocodile!
You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch,
You’re the king of sinful sots,
Your heart’s a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!
You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch,
With a nauseous super “naus”!,
You’re a crooked dirty jockey and you drive a crooked hoss, Mr. Grinch,
Your soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful
assortment of rubbish imaginable mangled up in tangled up knots!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a nasty wasty skunk,
Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch,
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk”!
Caveat: Poem #1217 “Making themselves at home”
The viruses came, rearranged to their liking, settled in to stay.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #331
Oh de(a|e)r, a tree.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Poem #1216 “With caution”
Six deer were outside, moving cautiously, like ghosts, grazing trees and grass.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #330
This tree is not feeling successful at meeting life’s challenges, but seems to be just barely hanging in there against all odds.
[daily log: walking, 5km]
Caveat: Thanks Given
Our Thanksgiving Thursday was very low-key. Our main, feasting-focused, celebratory event will be on Saturday – that works out better for people’s travel schedules to get here, etc.
So we just had dinner, the four of us: Juli, Keith, Arthur and I.
I am not in the best of sorts, lately. Between the lingering head-cold and the stunning, frustrating and discombobulating news that I am not considered an Alaska Resident by the University of Alaska, I have been feeling physically and emotionally wrecked.
So I was struggling to feel much thankfulness today. Anyway, thanks for reading this, I guess.
Caveat: Poem #1215 “Thanks”
The day: thanksgiving... the Native American said "Thanks for nothing!"
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #329
We drove into the Portland VA this morning for a specialist appointment for Arthur. It was like “old times,” when Juli and I drove in there so regularly last summer.
Here is a tree.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #1214 “Timescape”
I am suspended in a chill soup made of time and bits of clear air
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #328
A tree was seen against a dark sky.
[daily log: walking, 4.5km]
Caveat: Poem #1213 “But not a land surveyor”
I'm stumbling, planless - hindered by the bureaucrats - contemplating fate.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #327
This tree has horses.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: OK, what’s plan B?
Today was the day I needed to go online and register for classes, for the Teacher Certification program I was accepted to last month.
So I went online and did that. It went smoothly enough, until I got the bill.
It turns out University of Alaska has me recorded as a non-resident. This adds a huge amount to my tuition bill – about 300%. And much to my surprise, and against all supposition and against all intuition, I am, in fact, a non-resident by UAS standards – their standard is two years, not one year like most things of this sort that I’ve dealt with or known about.
I am not going to enroll at such a premium to my tuition.
I need a plan B.
Stay tuned.
Caveat: Poem #1212 “The wait”
The apple tree waits: It waits to throw down apples. It waits for spring, too.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #326
This tree is behind Juli and Keith’s camper-trailer, which is where I’m staying as a kind of guest room.
[daily log: walking, 4.5km]
Caveat: Poem #1211 “Vivisection”
Fog pins down the birds. They park themselves in the grass. The sun breaks the air.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #325
I confess that despite being on this Thanksgiving holiday trip and staying at Juli and Keith’s, I remain somewhat under the weather. So I’ve been pretty low-productivity.
Here is a tree (or several) from a walk up to the tree farm.
[daily log: walking, 4km]
Caveat: Poem #1210 “Dogmatism”
The dog finds more dogs, using a keen sense of smell. Then he ignores them.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #324
Being at Juli and Keith’s here in Oregon, of course we took a walk up to the tree farm. There are trees to be seen.
[daily log: walking, 3.5km]
Caveat: Poem #1209 “Sow and reap”
Mossy trees loiter. The stars sow rows of white frost. The black sky purples.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #323
This is a tree at Juli’s house, in the morning. So that’s where I am.
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Poem #1208 “The hidden world”
There is morning fog. Crows cross streets and discuss things. Cars drift, secretive.
– a pseudo-haiku
Caveat: Tree #322
As seen from the ferry crossing over to Ketchikan: the tree is a bit hard to make out – it’s on the bit of land in the lower left of the picture. There is a tugboat towing a fishing boat in front of that bit of land, and in the upper right, a floatplane. So it all seemed very Southeast Alaskan.
[daily log: walking, 3km]
Caveat: Poem #1207 “While the engine thrums”
I sit here somewhat thoughtful, on the ferry, waiting, wary, or hopeful, or just staring, feeling dull.
– an englyn penfyr