April 2002 Archives

"The web underground waves the same DIY flag with the same ethos as punk rock and the indi music scene. HTML, HEAD and BODY are the three chords of the medium. And like punk, it all depends on what you do with them," writes Todd Dominey.

Thirty-six little books, 2 3/4 inches wide by 3 1/2 inches tall, each with a tiny bookplate of course. And how did you spend your Friday night?

Pittsburgh's churches and civic buildings have duck pin bowling lanes in the most unlikely places. Some are still used regularly, some are nearly forgotten. They mark a kind of civic life and common recreation that many fear Americans have lost. One of Pittsburgh's great strengths is the depth of spirit in its communities - bowling lanes may be a way to talk about that spirit, past, present, and future.

My husband says he'll write an essay, "The Hidden Lanes of Pittsburgh." He bowls in a Friday night duck pin league that's been going since just after the second World War. A fellow bowler has offered to help with the photography. I post this now to push them to get it done - I want to see it and think about these things some more.

Found $20 on the sidewalk while walking home from work.

That means you have 2,000 days of good luck, says the seven-year-old math scholar in the back yard.

To celebrate, I bought an origami-like bag from yakpak... I've been coveting that bag for several weeks, but didn't have the $19.50 it cost. Today I do.

And I figure a purse bought with found money might come with its own luck.

Seasonably warm, and then some. Mid seventies tonight and dinner outside, enjoying the yard. Half the fun is the garden in my mind - partly a future garden, partly wishes for the present which are surprised by the real garden when they meet. Oh, was that there? and it's in bloom. Where did thase weeds come from - or are they offspring of an obscure perennial planted late last year and forgotten?

And I'm sleepy... still adjusting to the daylight time change. I stayed downstairs late to practice. My piano playing gets better now, slowly. After I've practiced I hear the notes again in my ear, and am astonished that I'm making those sounds happen - even in slow motion.

Opening celebration of the Kelly-Strayhorn theater in East Liberty tonight. We had comps. (Our favorite price.) But I'd pay my own money to see Attack Theatre perform again. Goofy, moving, fabulous. Not to mention the athletic pas de deux with an office chair - in the spirit of Gene Kelly. Unforgettable.

Of course there was also the singer who forgot the words to "Singin' in the Rain." He was unforgettable in his own way...

I cut some branches of serviceberry to go with three daffodils (three quarters of the total number of daffodils in bloom so far - one of these years I'll plant some early varieties - in the fall I never remember how pathetically eager I am for blossoms - any blossoms - in the beginning of spring) on the table for Easter dinner. The branches had buds, but not much color. Now I think the buds are bigger, and showing some white. Will they open and be impressive? Or just fall off. Might help if I renewed the water in the vase.

Guitar in the background. Woodsmoke. Enough t.v. this evening to be entertained, not so much that I feel glazed and dulled. Same for internet. Some browsing around, but Airport reception on the sofa is iffy, so I knit for a while instead.

From the sound of these posts I seem so domestic - is that what I'm inclined to catalog? and not the ins and outs of my multiple jobs (three, I think, but other projects crop up from time to time), art projects, community projects/meetings... Each of the activities is fascinating - but I'm not moved to write about them.

Suppose I took the Diary of a Provincial Lady as a model? I find her sympathetic, and her tone of voice familiar. Does it translate to the American provincial inner city... hmm. Keep playing. Keep listening to guitar and a new song evolving in the living room (or maybe it's an old one - I confess I don't always keep them straight without words).

Reading aloud at night under a homemade blanket of felted sweaters. Snuggling kids, good prose (The Children of Green Knowe by L.M. Boston - an old Penguin/Puffin paperback), a reassuring end to the evening.

The blanket's inspiration came from the premiere issue of Ready Made Magazine. I had been buying and shrinking sweaters all fall, not knowing why, but being intrigued by the feel of the material and delighted by the colors and textures. The project was on the verge of becoming a family joke. Then along came Ready Made with instructions for making a quilt. So that was done and everyone likes it. I may do other things with the leftover bits of felt, but I think the impulse to acquire and shrink sweaters has passed.

Awoken by birdsong and a change in the light. Visited by a seven-year-old.

- Hey, look out the window, there's snow!

- Snow?

- April Fool! I was planning that since yesterday.

It's the last day of my vacation and I'm going to work anyway - guess I am some kind of April fool.

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