I sold my volume of Elizabeth Bishop's letters to a fellow in Melbourne, Australia, yesterday. Before I mail it away, then, I offer two little excerpts:

To Arthur Gold, December 2, 1958:

I want to go back to the Amazon. I dream dreams every night—I don't know quite why I found it so affecting.... [W]e stopped at a place called "Liverpool" late one night—a narrow channel, nothing visible but a few white blurs of houses and candles, and one lantern. The ship waited and waited—then plop—plop—very gently, a canoe came out, a big one. Several men were in it, with two lanterns —one the old-fashioned burglar's kind of dark lantern—they were bringing out a dying man to be taken to the hospital in Belem. It was very hard to raise him up to the ship—in a sheet, I think, an old man with a nightcap on. The lantern light fell on his face, on the red muddy water—it was quite incredible....

To Robert Lowell, October 30, 1958:

Yesterday and today we've had terrific thunderstorms in the afternoons—the beginnings of "summer." The dogs and the cats all try to get on my lap at the same time, in terror, and it rains so hard I had two boys working away with squeegees yesterday, pushing back the water from under the doors as it came in, like a sinking ship. Then it stops suddenly and quite often there's a rainbow. There are wonderful birds now—one a blood-red, very quick, who perches on the very tops of trees and screams to his two mates—wife and mistress, I presume, again in the Brazillian manner. But oh dear—my aunt writes me long descriptions of the "fall colors" in Nova Scotia and I wonder if that's where I shouldn't be, after all. 11:06:59 PM    comment []  trackback []  

We drove out under a clear just-brightening sky and parked near the cold dark storefront at 8 a.m. At 9 we went to our meeting, leaving the door to the store unlocked in the event a brave Phone Guy arrived to do the right thing in our absence. The meeting lasted long, and on our way back afterward we stopped at a bake-sale table in front of the Sports Hut on Main Street where some very nice ladies were selling pies to raise money for Sacred Heart Church. We hadn't had time for more than a piece of toast apiece before leaving home, and so we bought a gorgeous golden cheesecake pie, and stopped at Main Street Coffee for a coffee-to-go to go with it, and to beg a plastic fork.

Around 10:30 we settled in at the store again, where I was in the midst of sorting through book boxes, tossing chaff into the Free pile. On digging into the pie I found that beneath a thin fraudulent stratum of cheesecake-like substance was another, thicker layer of melty chocolate chips, and below that another, even thicker, of mushed Oreo-cookie-crumb crust. Altogether less wholesome than I'd hoped, and intensely sugary. I ate a couple of bites for my turn, and then handed pie and fork to Brian, who was allowed to eat a substantial wedge of it. Then I promised him the remainder of the pie for desserts to come at home.

About then the Phone Guy burst in, all jolly, and "heated up" the phone jack for us. I hadn't brought a computer to test the DSL with, but supposedly that's there, as well. The Phone Guy told me they're bringing (taking?) DSL to Thoms Creek—to the remote development where I live. They finally have enough people on the list to put in a hub. Wouldn't you know! Heck, access to broadband was half my inspiration for opening the bookstore in town.

We shut up shop after that, and I walked down the street to Frank's Carpets and bought enough carpet padding to cover the cold concrete floor in the back half of the store. It cost $137. I also picked out a 12ft x 24ft carpet remnant to buy next payday ($265). It will replace the purply-gray carpet in the front of the store; the purply-gray carpet, which is perfectly good but which clashes severely with everything, will move to the back room.

We bought our four bales of hay and dozen crickets at the feed store, and our groceries at the Holiday Market, and retrieved another eBay-purchased packet of used books from the post office box before wending our way back home, where everyone was so glad to see us. I gave Gunter some great outer leaves of Romaine lettuce and an apple and an armful of hay. We put away the groceries and cooked a decent lunch. While the throw rugs thrashed in the washing machine, I applied hay-hooks to the bales in the truck and manhandled them into the garage; it was clouding up by then, and I didn't want them getting wet.

Buckwheat soba with tofu and ginger and shoyu for supper (no scallions—damn!). Afterward Brian went upstairs to watch I, Robot. I settled down with a cup of hot bancha twig tea (I made it too strong, and so here I sit at 2 in the morning...) and Saving Private Ryan. I actually made it through to the end. Usually I give up on it. I guess tonight I needed a story, however harrowing, about strong people prevailing against the worst possible odds, even in death. It's the subconscious trickle-down from stories and myths of vast and horrible pain and trauma suffered by millions of individuals for the sake of great and noble causes into the quotidian sorrows and sufferings of the obscure and unworthy who nevertheless grow from time to time faint of heart.

It's 2:30. A desk frog just hopped into the lamplight on the blotter. He wasn't expecting to see me, and now he's crept back into the shadows. He's very fat. I guess they're doing all right.
2:41:19 AM    comment []  trackback []