lettered

 

Untitled, oil and wax crayon on paper, 1969, Cy Twombly.

Dear Blue Letters,

Today I have for you two lovely thoughts on letters, from two lovely books.  

The first is this quote from By Cecile, written by Tereska Torres: 

But this afternoon Myette holds nothing in her hand but the sheet of white paper, on which there runs a writing so miniscule that one might think that there are only light, delicate lines traced across the page, lines that do not form letters, only a series of sea-blue threads marking undulating wavelets on a deserted beach.

These lovely blue lines lead me to your song of the day, and to the Cy Twombly drawing above.  The tangle of unletters in the drawing bring me to the letters beyond z which you can read about in Things in Nature Merely Grow (by Yiyun Li).*  The notion of letters that are beyond z opens a door to fabulous visual and mental experiments: what do they look like?  What can we spell with these letters?  What sentences should be written with these letters that are beyond?

Which reminds me of visiting the page-scented used bookshop with a friend and a conversation we had after:  I was saying that reading was keeping me sane, and we talked about whether all reading could keep you sane, or if it needed to be un-fluffy reading.  Now, we could spend a lot of time discussing what fluffy reading is, that's sure.  Maybe fluffy is the stuff than confers what you know already?  Bias confirming?  Or is it the stuff that entertains?  The books that mesmerize and enchant you into staying up late to see what happens?  I think, though, even so: any port in a storm; any reading will keep you saner than no reading.

*  Yes; that actually makes a total of three lovely books.  Enjoy a further tangling.  And another.

little fishes

 

Dear Shopping List,

If you happen to be going to Trader Joes, will you please pick me up another packet of these custard filled fish?  What a beautiful world this is, that custard filled fish are available to buy!

I had Taiyaki first two summers ago, at a place that sold them in Palo Alto.  I loved them then, but there is no nearby custard fish monger.  Until now.  If you are like me, you maybe don't have an air fryer or microwave, and maybe you don't want to wait 8 minutes on the oven; but I have a solution for you!  It's my same old solution for re-heating anything that tells me to put into the microwave- you probably already have one in your kitchen- a frying pan!  Be sure, my friends, to fry these fish in butter!  They are so good!  If you want specifics, use a non-stick pan, put the fish in on medium-low, with a lid on it.  After a minute or two, turn the fish over.  Wait another minute or two, then remove the lid, and butter each side of your scaled little pals, right in the pan.  Now grill them until you achieve your desired crispiness and color.  

PS  

Yes, I tried the bean paste filled also; and the Oreo-filled, and the matcha-filled, and the chocolate, too.  My favorite was the certain blandness of the custard.  Ah, and did I mention you can get them with ice cream in them, too?  If you are feeling like you want a larger cooking project than 5 minutes of buttering and pan-frying, you might like this recipe for making them from scratch.  You will need a sea bream shaped mold, similar to this one.

tea stained

 

Still Life, on tea bag paper, Ruby Silvious.

Dear Surface Interested,

What do you think of this?  Might we sew these salvaged tea bags into sheets that we could draw or print on?  The thing that compels me is the delicate and random staining.  It speaks of age and weathering, fragility and skin, also the relationship of the tea to the drinker's lips, and the leaves of tea that have grown somewhere far away.

cheeries

 

Dear Chérie,

I often write cheeries, when I mean cherries.  This is somehow as it should be.  I am making some ceramic cherries.  These are the proto-cherry.  Watch this space for more, possibly.

These cherries may put you in mind of a cocktail I made up, the Don't Worry Baby;  I can tell you right now that the Baby, I Don't Care cocktail (as soon as it is invented) will be even better than the Don't Worry Baby.  In the meantime, baby, have this great book of poems.  Have this, too; baby, I don't care.

everyone*

 

Dear Radio Dodo Listener,

Here is a fine version of a fine song: your song of the day!  I love this song's stately procession.  A woman sang it at our wedding.  A thing happened, though, at the wedding, where another paid musician suggested that I ought to also have Forever Young, because this fellow had had it at his wedding.  I said okay, because I didn't want to fight with talented musicians who knew better than me; but, yes, I regret that I didn't say no to it.  It's a tiny thing, of course, like every transgression (and every grain of sand).  Forever Young is fine, it is fine, really.  But it isn't half the song that Every Grain of Sand is:  Forever Young is a wish song, Every Grain of Sand is a statement song, a proclamation.  Our wedding was not a wish, our wedding was a proclamation.  If I had it to do again, well, there'd be some changes made.

1.  It will be our guest list.  Not anyone's mother's guest list.  No one 'should' be on the list- the list will contain the names of people we want to celebrate with, people we want to witness the pronouncement of our vows.

2.  Our wedding will be in the publicly owned Estrella Adobe, because a smaller venue is no problem (see item 1).

3.  Not only am I making the cake, I am going to make the food, too.  Because items 1 and 2.  I do not want to share the fun of throwing this big party.  We will not have dinner, or lunch, or gawdhelpus brunch; we will have things you pick up and eat.  Petits fours, tiny sandwiches, itty-bitty crackers with cheese, jam, and a celery slice on them, olives, nuts, that kind of precious, exquisite thing: amouse-bouche.  We will have champagne.

4.  No stupid registry.  In fact, no gifts.  Because when you are 55 and looking at your overcrowded kitchen and your underfunded savings account, you are going to choose to sell all that silver on eBay.

5.  No suggestions.  Have your own damn wedding if you want to have certain songs sung, or certain foods served, or a professional florist.  I loved doing the flowers myself- it was a pleasure to spend all that time amongst the flowers.

That should cover it.  If you know anyone gettin' hitched, give them this list, or the gist of it (which is Do it Your Own Damned Way)- they'll thank you for it!

*Everyone.  Everyone.

bedtime story

 

Dear Tucked-In,

Tonight, a bedtime story.  I think you will find it delightful!

who died and left you in charge

 

Dear Searching,

A book you might like/read/find beautiful is Things in Nature Merely Grow by Yiyun Li.  Notice my ‘might.’  I worry about making suggestions to you- because who died and left me in charge?- as my friend’s mother* used to say. 

Things in Nature Merely Grow is a book about suicide and being a mother.  There was a joke, around looking for books for 8, 10, 12 year olds when my son was that age:  Book has an award; qualifying question:  Does the dog die?  I can tell you right now that the dog dies like you wouldn't believe.  I still think you should** read it.  

Two more books, which I also liked, even loved, but with a little more distance; with a measure of bleakness & sorrow:  Bastard Out of Carolina ( Dorothy Allison) and Member of the Wedding (Carson McCullers).  Dogs die and so does hope in these two, but yeah, I still think you should read them.  The truth has a beauty no matter how sad.  

*My friend's Mom was named Yvonne.  An amazing woman, really; much older than the usual 13 year old's mother.  She and I got along like a house on fire (peculiarly, all old people liked me in my early teens).  Yvonne was a classic alcoholic who chain smoked .  Which didn’t daunt me, because outside of my parents, all my relatives were drunks, and most of them smoked.  She was a connoisseur of country music (when that category meant Tammy Wynette and Waylon Jennings), and a font of phrases like ‘better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.’  She also loved to say; and this one might be my favorite:  Let’s not, and say we did.  I imagined, in my very rural and insulated childhood, that everyone’s mother had phrases like these, and that I would just be collecting more and more of them as life went on; but no, no one else’s mother talked like that, and I have only the handful of phrases to get me through the age she must have been when I knew her.

 ** But, don't read Bridge to Terabithia,  Or do. because adults love this book.  If you want a book where the dog doesn't die, try Pinky Pye.  Or the very lovely Raising Hare.

 

Super

 

Eric Carle, from Draw Me a Star.

Dear Asterisked,

I have been really looking forward to giving you this inflorescence of songs.  I know you probably get weary of my hyperbole; tired of my adoration for all kinds of wonderstuffs made by people.  Well, you can invest your time anywhere; but for me, it is so nice to think of you getting this little packet of beauty.

Keely Smith

Belinda Carlisle

The Carpenters

Sonic Youth

 Peggy Lee

U. S. Girls & Bootsy Collins

The Ray Conniff Singers

The Ventures

Delaney & Bonnie

 PS  The song was originally titled "Groupie," and it was written by Bonnie Bramlett and Leon Russell.