Patchwork

A Simon and Garfunkel song has been playing nonstop in my befuddled brain for the last while -Oh Cecelia, I'm down on my knees I'm begging you please to come home.

Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia
Up in my bedroom(makin' love) I got up to wash my face,
When I come back to bed
Someone's taken my place.
The trouble is that not only is the damn thing on an endless loop, I'm also thinking about the words. Never do that. 'My bedroom'? Not 'theirs'? So then why does he ask her to 'come home'? I'm sure the answer has to do with metre, rhyme and stress, but it's bugging me.


After running around pretty well nonstop on the Health Centre's fundraiser business for the last few days, I had planned to take this morning off and do housework, etc. Especially etc. I had a cherry pie filling thickening on the stove when the phone started ringing -- press release deadline looming, EA's email fried, chair of fundraising committee needing an edit job, now-now. Well, I got the pie baked, but the first load of laundry is still in the washer and lunch time is rapidly approaching. Time to stop and give JG some food.

Speaking of food for JG, that's why the pie. Last Sunday week we held the Community Hall's fundraising Hunter's Dinner and I made fruit pies for it. Mostly the bakers donate meringue pies, but I stink at meringue, so I do two crust -- blueberry and cherry. Both of which JG adores. I went down to the Hall early to make salads and took the pies. By the time JG got there to eat, they were long gone. He has been plaintively demanding his own pie ever since. The one I made today is a bribe, because I have to be away all day tomorrow at a CHC event and most of the day Sunday working at the Hall. New version of Marie Antoinette's apocryphal utterance -- Let him eat pie!

The pie came out of the oven perfect -- the ones for the Hall all ran over. Rats!

All this driving around has started me off composing haiku in my head. The best versions never get written down. I have three different lines sloshing around in my head.

Stripped branches bending,
Dead leaves, sere grass, fine rain falling.
Snowless November.

I'm sure the other versions were better.