Mrs Rip Van Winkle

I sank like a stone
Into the still, deep waters
of late middle age,
Aching from head to foot.
I took up food
And gave up exercise.
It did me good.
And while he slept,
I found some hobbies
for myself.
Painting. Seeing the sights
I’d always dreamed about:
The Leaning Tower.
The Pyramids.
The Taj Mahal.
I made a little watercolour
of them all.
But what was best,
What hands-down beat
the rest,
Was saying a none-too-fond
farewell to sex.
Until the day
I came home with this
drawing of Niagra
And he was sitting up in bed
rattling Viagra.

There was less time to read this week. The August in April weather made the garden a lush green, but it's inches from becoming a jungle. I should be hacking away with a machete, but  it's raining cats, dogs and alligators at the moment.  The sudden transition this year resulted in less clouds of blossoms floating down to petal carpets, but my azaleas and lily of the valley are already blooming.




The Vanity Fair piece on Madoff was rivetting and the latest cover art? Several magazines flaunted jars of coins, but no piggy banks. Was swine flu to blame? It's business as usual here except with more hand washing. I wonder how the threat of the pandemic affects those with OCD? I can't imagine that compulsion. It's hard enough dealing with garden variety writers neurosis. You know, hunched over a computer, wearing coffee-stained jammies, eyes glazed after banging your head against the wall.

Never underestimate the marketing power of cover art. I've never been able to wrap my head around the minimalist cover art in France. What's up with that? Anyway, you gotta love this week's book art from very funny writer Sarah Dunn, and her latest novel Secrets to Happiness.  Dogs are in on the secret. The secret of happiness is rolling on fresh grass. Add a belly rub? Nirvana. Now, back to the head banging...