Before the Fall

It is impossible not to wonder what Hughes was really planning and wishing with regard to his marriage at the time Plath killed herself. The statements to be found among his papers are wildly contradictory: that she was a wonderful woman but impossible for him to live with- that "it was either her or me"; and, to the contray, that he and Plath were on the verge of a reconciliation, that they had even shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate the end of hostilities.

... Both of them were still the walking wounded, in January 1963, and the wounds were raw.

Suppose, then, that Plath had survived, and she and Hughes had divorced. What would have been the consequences for Plath's status as a writer? Anne Sexton had a response to that question: she identified Plath's suicide as an enviable career move.

suicides have a special language

Like carpenters they want to know which tools.

They never ask why build

pg 216-17 Her Husband

Grass Is Not Green

So my mind continuously is wrapped up on the grass-- that damn brown grass. No matter how much seed, wonderful rich organic composted soil, and wishful wishing I do; and even when the rainfall from last night and today soaked the bumpy land-- zip.



I just see brownish-white, ugly patches that look as though I've been neglectful and absent and I have not.



My eyes take scrutiny to the neighbors on either side of our home and my frustration grows even deeper, unlike the grass seed. Their lawns seemed to have survived the long, snow plunged winter, and lawn-care vans crazily scribble on their adverts that our lawn is plighted by "snow mold" and other such furthering irritating diagnosis's that only add to my immediate sense of urgency.



Patches of deep rich brownish-black soil exposed from hungry squirrels who frolic up and down the trees playing with each other and chipmunk holes... why does our lawn seem overly magnified and a banquet for the spring frenzy? While I too rejoice in the renewal of the season and keep my solo bird feeder stocked to entice aviary beings, even wolves and foxes have found an ease to scavenging in the backyard in the urban demographic.



I have no qualms with our extended living entities-- I welcome them. But the grass just burns something so obsessive into me. And once you get started you have to keep going with the maintenance and upkeep.



Upon purchasing this home I could have cared less about the grass and have begun the slow process of planting prairie grass and naturalizing with other more native plants. Seems more money will be required to make the landscape more sustainable and less time consuming, allowing the natural cycles to take-- even getting a vegetable bed in is going to take more work since the veil of green carpet has now turned. The builder was so cunning and The grass was already freshly rolled out, bright green, lush and healthy. We were none the wiser and so very in love with the place that the grass was furthest from our minds

A Day Like Any Other...

For now I haven't much to post-- I know dreary and dull as it is to waste your time.

Working on the continuation of ideas and journaling of random rumblings... until the rain clears and my mind finds some inspiration.