Given Lemons, I'll Make Sorbet

oly cow! It's been a month since I last wrote. No bueno. Sorry, folks. In general, progress on the screen adaptation of ACYW continues, but just not as fast as I'd like. I've been given a lot of lemons lately to deal with and just the other day figured out how to make lemon sorbet with them (which is particularly good with Prosecco). It's a new project I look forward to starting as it deals with the significant loss of my sense of humor lately. Hopefully in the process of writing, I'll get it back or at least find out where it's been hiding and try to coax it out with some other lemon-based good.

It ain't over till it's...

There are a few words I refuse to use in writing; always, never, perfect and my own personal tetragrammaton, l-v-, among others. Why? Because I sincerely doubt the first three exist. And the fourth? Well, Robert Frost once said that a poet should never use the word "beautiful" more than three times...and that he now had two opportunities left. Well, Bob, I'm Italian and we can't get enough of beauty. (I truly believe that Italians' morality hinges on that which is beautiful versus that which is ugly as opposed to the old good versus evil dichotomy.) Rather, as Yehuda Amichai described in his poem, Stewardess (below for good measure), I more often than not vote with the conservative party of l-v-rs and I pretty much refuse to dole the word out like it might feed the starving. But that is all material for another book.

As for this blog and this book, I'm tempted to add "done" to this list of words. Yes, I edited the final 8 pages and smoothed out the ending, but there are many ts to cross, is to dot and many more eyes to read it all before anything is "done."

Stewardess by Yehuda Amichai

A stewardess told us to extinguish all smoking materials

And did not detail, cigarette, cigar, or pipe.

I answered her in my heart: You have beautiful love material,

And I did not detail either.

And she told me to buckle up, bind myself

To the chair, and I answered her:

I want all the buckles in my life to have the shape of your mouth.

And she said: You want coffee now or later,

Or never. And she passed by me

Tall to the sky.

The small scar at the top of her arm

Testified that she will never be touched by smallpox

And her eyes testified that she’ll never fall in love again:

She belongs to the conservative party

Of lovers of one great love in their life.