And speaking of muses;
there are nine of them, all named and with specific areas of expertise and knowledge
and then there's a tenth, unnamed and up for grabs.
But why stop at ten, says I.
Why not have a stock of muses to be delivered, free of charge, to anyone who might wish for one.
Someone like me.
A muse that would fit your personality and life style which in my case would be a muse prone to sloth, half blind and tone deaf ( a security measure should I ever decide to sing aloud ) and with just one leg ( another security against me dancing ) but most important
it would be my muse and mine only.
Why Not ?
Surely I am not the only one in need of unconditional love other than of the canine variety.
So I say, bring on the muses and let us all have at it.

My Dance

I don't dance.
For one, I was born with two left feet
and two, all my adult life I have been surrounded by superbly trained and talented professional dancers
so, no , I don't dance
except
this evening, as I was finishing my meal and a bottle of cheap wine
the radio played a particularly enchanting version of Greensleeves, counter tenor and guitar
and I got up
and I danced
and the dogs went into hiding and the birds stopped chirping
but this was a moment between me and my half blind, tone deaf and one legged muse
and we danced.
It may never happen again.
We had our dance.
Everybody should have their dance.
And this was our moment.

What a trip.
It started with a video on Youtube of a-until recently unknown to me - young singer.
I was mailed the link and that led to a clip of the same singer singing Handel's Messiah
which led to my all time favorite counter tenor singing the same aria
which led to him singing in a production of Handel's Julius Cesar
which led to a damn fine production of that opera and to a wonderful Danish soprano
and a superb number of the opera done at Glyndebourne to
at the end of the line
a zany television production of the Handel arias by the ever luminescent Kiri Te Kanawa
and I thought
WOW
I never had to get up and change the record/tape/CD, all is done with a click of the mouse.
Allright, so the sound quality is not the greatest, but good enough to make you sit and weep at the beauty of the music and the artistry of the singers.
What a trip.

There's an old saying - and I paraphrase - if you seek wisdom, go to the ants.
Well I for one don't think the ants are all that smart; devious, yes.
They will do their dastardly deeds at night when regular folks are asleep so they wake up to yet another defoliated plant, but my point is this.
If they were so smart, they would leave some leaves so the plant could recuperate faster.
Not so with these ants. They strip the poor plants to stalks leaving nary a leaf, and many times killing the plant in the process.
Is that so smart ?
My advice is not to go to the ants for wisdom and it makes you think that-maybe- the former administration should have heeded that suggestion.
And don't get attached to your plants if you live near leaf-eating ants.

It makes you wonder.
I don't entertain but should I wish to, I have enough stuff to set a table for twelve.
So why did I feel compelled to buy a bunch of glasses ?
For sure they were cheap
and for sure I thought they were nice looking
but why ?
A secret desire to one day have dinner parties with scintillating conversations and superbly prepared dishes and lots and lots of water glasses ?
I sure don't know,
but what I do know is that now, right now, I have a set of twelve water glasses stored in a cabinet, not likely to be used for a long, long time.
It makes you wonder, though.

All dogs bark, but the Worthless Ones seem to bark more than most
so the other day when I was busy at the computer and they were having a fit, I just yelled for them to shut the F... up
which they did not.
I got up to see what the cause was
and walking in the street was this little Mexican guy who had been cutting grass for his animals and was transporting the grass on his head.
All one could see of him was from his knees down and the tip of his machete.
A walking haystack.
If I were a dog I would have barked too.

A change

Three of the worthless ones did not come home last night.
At my normal hour I locked the doors and went to bed.
When we had the Schnauzers I would have been in hysterics,
now I was looking forward to a good night's sleep.

It was not one of my better days, but as I was finishing my dinner, the radio was playing a collection of arias, sung by one - unknown to me- soprano.
And I thought
I may not have a lot of worldly goods
but I still have an inquisitive mind and a keen sense of beautiful music
and for that I am grateful
and that, nobody can take away.

The Tarte Tatin

I had the apples, I had the time, goodness knows, waiting again for the cell folks to show, so I decided to bake a tarte tatin, which is an upside-down french type apple tart.
Now mostly when I do these, I marvel, I jump for joy and then I eat it, not having anybody to share it with.
This time, though - since it came out near perfect - I wanted to share it, so here it is
my Tarte Tatin
and it tastes as good as it looks.

Driving

I never experienced my mother driving; she got her license years after I had left the old country.
She flunked three times and I don't think she was a good driver.
I am reminded of her when I drive to town these days. Now we have an explosion of vehicles and a disproportionate amount of female drivers.
Drivers like my mother.
I truly believe that women multitask better than men, but put them in a car and they regress.
In a car they focus all their attention on screaming at their rowdy kids, or commiserating with their best girl friend in the passenger seat or, worst of all, long and involved conversations on the cell phone.
And driving and other drivers be damned.
I shutter to think what my mother would have been like driving if she had lived to see the cell phone revolution.

My Secret Square

Erik mailed me a link to a site showing pictures of the disastrous winter of flooding and snow that happened to Mallorca, his chosen island.
One of the pictures was this, and I thought:
I love this. This is my secret little square. This is what I want to see one early morning in summer when they get ready for breakfast,
and at night, with the trees verdant and the little shop open for late night purchases.
This is my plazita.
I don't really know where on Mallorca this is, and I may never find out, but to look at the picture and to dream
that makes it just as real to me.

It was a simple task, really.
I had a check and I wanted to open an account in a Mexican bank with this check.
I know the Mexicans love of paper works, so I brought my passport, my visa and a household bill.
What I did not bring was a list of "contacts " so I had to go home and get that.
My second visit to the bank I had all I needed and sat through the excruciatingly slow and tedious process of having the clerk fill in the required information on the computer and then, finally getting a bunch of papers to sign.
And I signed the first paper and the clerk looked at my signature, grabbed my passport and looked at it and then studied my visa and finally said
They are not the same.
I know, I said. Every time they are a little different. I am not a robot.
But, I said, since you saw me sign, why don't you countersign?
My suggestion was ignored and the clerk handed me another stack of papers and said
sign here and here and here and here....
After the second new signature the clerk said to stop, handed me my check and started to tear up the paper work because the signatures did not match absolutely exactly.
I cashed my check-and no problem with my signature- and went to another bank where I opened a new account with cash and my now shaky and wildly different signatures.