Greenmen

Dear Millicent,

I washed the dishes this morning, and now, no matter what I do, I can’t get the smell of the dishwater off of my hands.  I’ve washed them with baking soda, and when I smell them directly, they smell clean as they ever were. But as I type, I keep getting wafts of the dreaded water and spaghetti sauce.  It’s a bit disconcerting.  Foul, even.  I am worrying that it is me–that my natural odor is cooking grease and suds.

While I was away it sounds as if so much has happened.  The crush? All green? Does he wear green every day?  Is he Robin Hood? Peter Pan? The mythic Green Man (he appears in Northern Exposure once or twice as Ed’s imp friend)? Does the crush continue…as I was reading your post, I was thinking how nice it was that this man was taken.  Now you get to feel that heat, but examine it without action (this, actually, was the state of my high-school and college years).  This is much better now though, because I think it’s important to know that the feeling isn’t a stage in life, but a very active chemical that appears.  And, if he was available, what a swamp you would be in right now.  The senses could be overwhelmed, with consequences (instead of ideas of consequences).  But don’t I sound like a nosey Nelly, praising something as if I know what is best for you and your senses?  I feel like a bit of a twat.  But, I also stand by my opinion.  Again, a bit of a twat (and I mean this in the British sense, which might be the same as the American sense, but much less offensive because so often used).

This also reminds me of how much work I used to get done while in the throes of the kind of unattainable attraction.  Sigh.

In short–is/was the crush good news to you–a sign of some kind.  Things sorting and healing?

Also, just yesterday I found Gwendolyn Brooks’ thoughts on Emily Dickinson,and thought you might enjoy.  It’s very brief and unspecific, but the synchronicity of coming across it and your appreciation for the poet was striking. I was using Brooks for a class, and stumbled, as the internet often arranges.

My favorite thought of us as clocks is the rusting.  I like rust and metal wearing down as reasons for fault, it seems honest and always at the mercy of fragile repair.

Before I rant about Madmen–do you buy Peggy’s finale baby?  I can’t get over the idea of being told you are pregnant, and then before that thought can process, having the baby.

I am back and in full power of my faculties and technologies, so more is on the way,

I am going to wash my hands again, and then shower.  If I still smell like the dishwater, I don’t what I am going to do!

CF

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