Sunday, July 7, 2013


Although they do not appear to be so in that picture, our pancakes this morning were flat-out purple from the blueberry juice. Purple pancakes. Purple as a black eye in that black skillet. And it's Sunday.


No. I am not going to relate my dream. I'd just as soon never think about that one again.

I'm trying to read this book.

I think I've read all of her other ones except the book of essays. Oh wait, maybe not. But I've read three at least and they're never easy but I want, want, desire, to read and love them, probably because Zadie Smith looks like this:

Which is to say like a goddess and those lips but mostly those eyes! Jesus, I know?

But she's not making it easy in NW. Not for me, anyway. I don't know. I guess I'm lazy. I don't want to have to figure out who is saying what, when, where. But then you come across a line that's knock-you-off-your-feet and you blunder on through.

I'm rambling. I have anxiety today, that physical knot in the stomach. For no apparent reason. It's just come up on the wheel of mental maladies. That's what I think. 
Also, as I pointed out, it's Sunday. 

Lots going on tonight and tomorrow having to do with Paw Paw's funeral. This is the south and for a certain generation there are rituals which must be observed. We shall. 

Sunday. The day when the sick eternal soreness under the heartskin rubs closest to the ribs, no matter how the sun shines, no matter how sweet the life, the love. 

I think I'll go get my hands in dirt and then later today it will be time to come clean in the shower, to dress and go to town to be with Paw Paw's family. Tomorrow another full day of it. 


Respect for family, for friends, for the life, for the words, for the faces, for the eyes, the lips, the legs, the arms, the sky, the dirt, the heart.

Which means attending to. Tending to. Paying attention to. Blundering through. 

Purple pancakes in a black skillet. Green plants in dark dirt. Laying to rest, paying respect. Putting aside that which does not serve, bringing forth that which does.

Sunday. And so on.


  1. The Sunday Sickness. I so hear you darling.

  2. Ah, yes. Sunday. Seriously, Sunday.

  3. Putting aside that which does not serve to make room for that which does. Hope those italics work correctly--I've never tried to put them in a comment but here it seems important so I'm trying. May the ghosts be quiet (if not eternally banished) and the love take their place.

  4. a perfect sunday post, purple pancakes, funeral, hands in the dirt and respect. the veil of unease has descended. it is most certainly sunday.
    may we all come through it intact.

  5. I read that book and no, it is not easy, but when I reached the end I was really glad I stuck with it. I can't remember why exactly, but some things came together I think.

    If you want something that is impossible to put down and flows like melted butter, pick up Junot Diaz's "This is How You Lose Her." I couldn't put it down and then was very angry at myself because I finished it so quickly and I wanted more, more more.

  6. Madame King- It seems somehow unfair for one seventh of our lives to be permanently etched in sadness, doesn't it?

    Elizabeth- For so many of us. Damn.

    Mama D- I don't know that they will ever be silenced but at least they are quieter.

    Yobobe- Yes m'am. I am thinking of you. Are you still in the woods, dear woman?

    NOLA- Don't hate me. I couldn't read that book. I tried because everyone loved it so. Maybe someday I will try it again and it will be different for me.

  7. Sundays are just all around hard. I've disliked them since my college days. Big downers, i think.

    I'm sorry you have anxiety today. That really sucks. And it makes the day harder, because it just appears out of nowhere. For me, when i have it, it appears as a buzzing in my head. Then the nausea. But you know all this. I hope you feel better.

  8. I'm listening to it on CD. Not sure I like it. Library wants it back Tuesday. I probably won't have finished. It's grating so far.

  9. Hugs to you and to Billy and Shayla and maw maw too. (Even though I never actually met her, I feel as though she is familiar to me through your stories) And I do, as we all do adore Billy, Shayla and Waylon.

    Stay sweet.

  10. Honey, the photo of Owen and his grandad made me laugh and cry all at once. The Sunday ills.

    XXX B

  11. I tried making pancakes a few weeks ago for the whole family (when the kiddos were visiting) on my cast iron but they stuck and wouldn't do right. I switched over to the non-stick. I am but a grasshopper with my cast iron...I'll get there.

    I just drove 11 hours to get back to DC after a crazy week. I think my Sunday is going to fall mid-week for me -I'll break down from being so tired and emotional.

  12. I am home, but not out of the woods yet.

  13. ugh, comment #2...
    i read this article and thought of you. For you deep connection to life and the beauty of it.


    Can't make it a link---sorry!

    I know this is off-topic, but I just wanted to share it with you.

    Peace and love to you. Always.


  14. I imagine today and tomorrow will be both tender and difficult at the same time. Sweet Jo

  15. Mary- I wish none of us knew what anxiety felt like. I wish we all woke on Sundays with peace in our hearts.

    A- I can't imagine listening to it. That has to be difficult.

    Ms. Fleur- Staying as sweet as I can and that varies from moment to moment.

    Beth Coyote- I know. I know.

    SJ- I always use Pam which works beautifully on the cast iron for pancakes. Always. I know this weekend was hard for you. Hang in there, baby.

    Yobobe- Oh my. Be tender with yourself. Okay?

    Maggie May- I think we forget respect too often.

    Michelle- Thank-you. I linked it in my newest post. Such a good article. I am pleased you thought to send it to me.

    Sweet Jo- I think you are right.

  16. You and I are from a part of the South where we learned what to do regarding paying respects when someone dies. Those "old ways" are rapidly being lost as people no longer seem to even acknowledge the death of a loved one. No one visits, no one attends funerals, etc. It has made me realize that I was brought up to know the right things to do. I am grateful to my mother and father for telling me and showing me how to respect others by being present.

  17. Really? Of course I don't hate you for it. I understand it being difficult to get into "The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" but "Lose Her" is such a little slip of a book I think I read it in about half an hour before I could decide if I were into it or not (ok, that's an exaggeration but only barely).

    Have you read "The Roundhouse" by Louise Erdrich? SO FABULOUS. I thought of you this morning as I read it as the elders were talking at length about sex. I'll be finishing it up this morning, because I can't put it down. This is probably the most "normal" narrative style of Erdrich's - a problem, a main character. But she's a sly one because there are all characters from "Plague of Doves" which I read last year.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.