Happy birthday

Happy birthday today to matociquala.

And to Frodo and Bilbo, natch.

Ms. Magazine blog

Ms. Magazine has a blog which is syndicated at msmusings.

PubSub

Who's linking to your LiveJournal? PubSub will give you a snapshot look over the past thirty days. Here is mine. Put your livejournal link in at the top and see yours.

Universal Health Care

Starbucks spent more last year on health care for its employees than it did for the raw materials to brew coffee.

This is just insane. We need universal health care.

Since it's the first day of autumn . . .

J. Keats

CCLV. Ode to Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Rage and karate

I arrived at the dojo tonight in a state of white-hot incandescent rage. I did not smile or say hello to anyone. Not even to the charming and disturbingly handsome Jeba, who is still sporting a hand brace a week and a half after I kicked him in the hand in sparring class. I did a series of yoga sun salutations as I often do before class to stretch out, since I need extra stretching out, above and beyond what we usually do at the beginning of class. They didn't help.

The class was led by a new instructor, Ms. Deasy, who led us through warm up punches and kicks. Yes, I was thinking about punching and kicking someone in particular, and not for self-defense, either. My yells were ferocious. My punches made the pad fly. I have never gone through a lesson like this before, in a state where I really wanted to beat someone up. When we stopped for warm up stretches, I had to fight down tears as I bent over to stretch my hamstrings. I hoped no one would see, so I wouldn't have to mumble something like, it's just personal shit, forget it.

But nobody saw, and I gradually reeled the emotions back to rage. We were doing punch defenses, which suited my mood beautifully. I got paired off with a teenage boy who has a history of mouthing off to the instructors and being told to drop and do ten. He behaved himself tonight. Perhaps he was intimidated by the set of my jaw and the steely look in my eye. I noticed that he avoided meeting my gaze through the whole series. He kept blocking wrong, too.

I did my deadly best to hit him, and was glad of the excuse.

But I didn't start calming down until we started doing slow kicks, and then multiple front and round kicks in the center of the room, not at the bar. I sweated and frowned and fought for my balance, but the energy suddenly switched from kill, kill, kill to careful now . . . balance . . . Which is a very different sort of energy. I was much calmer by the time class ended, and was able to contemplate actually managing to drive the car home without crashing into anything.

I must remember that, next time I get furiously angry: distract the brain by trying to do balance exercises.

P.S. I swung by minnehaha's and although I missed K. and B., I got the package left for me in the front door. I was pleased to get the tickets, of course, and I've already thanked you, but ecstatic when I discovered what else the bag held. Thank you so much! The pieces fit just great, and I'm so glad to add them to my wardrobe. K., pass on your thanks (to your mother, right?) for me.