the faucet is the saddest instrument

I have a couple poems up at Prick of the Spindle – Rioja and Faucet Song. Rioja is an older poem and the latter is part of my never-ending series of household obsession poems.

Both my husband and our aupair leave the faucet running frequently. They turn it on full blast and leave the room. They say they aren’t “leaving it on,” they’re coming back. It makes me want to scream. Sometimes I do scream, or writhe. It’s really not just plain old vanilla neurosis on my part – it’s blatant waaaaaaaste.

In response to recent submissions, I got a rejection a couple days back from Redactions, but also an acceptance for two poems from Main Street Rag – The Conservationist (“… all the ooze and diamonds of the poor …”) and I Have the Feeling You Enjoy Stress (“…slosh some vodka across the stovetop…”).

On Thursday the kids and I leave for the states for the annual U.S. vacation touching points northeast. I’m scheduled up the wazoo, which I don’t usually prefer, but it’s okay – the kids dig it. I think I’m going to have to skip Philadelphia this time and the used bookstore I love. I will try to squeeze in the Strand in NY, though. I hope.

Sherman also came upon the rebel pickets

My au pair is a lunking sweetheart and you'll be glad to know that, while there is no McDonalds in his Siberian city, his mother was fond of Hawaii pizza. He says he's keeping a record of my recipes. I must roll my eyes. I hate to cook, and rather than a cookbook I use whatever I’m reading at the moment in the kitchen, which at this moment is Ulysses S. Grant’s Personal Memoirs.

When I’m wondering if I’ve put enough salt in the sauce, General Grant notes, “While a battle is raging one can see his enemy mowed down by the thousand, or ten thousand, with great composure; but after the battle these scenes are distressing, and one is naturallly disposed to do as much to alleviate the suffering of an enemy as a friend.” And then I add more salt.

When I’m wondering, though not with total attention, if the pasta's done, General Grant says, “There was about two feet of water in this swamp at the time. To get through it, even with vessels of the lightest draft, it was necessary to clear off a belt of heavy timber wide enough to make a passage way. As the trees would have to be cut close to the bottom – under water – it was an undertaking of great magnitude.” Then I figure the pasta is al dente.

Mr. Grant, I ask, is it better to use sage in this dish, or thyme? And General Grant, later President Grant, says “The Mexicans were very kind to us, and threw no obstacles in the way of our landing except an occasional shot from their nearest fort. During the debarkation one shot took off the head of Major Albertis. No other, I believe, reached anywhere near the same distance.” So I use sage.

the joneses

Our new aupair is here. He came in on a bus from siberia. It took 5 days. I always worry we won't find the aupair at the station when s/he arrives. And if i get in the bus and yell "Dmitriy!," half the males answer. Anyway, he's really tall. So riding my bike is out. Also the bed in his room may have to be chopped for firewood. I don't even know how tall he is. But it's no problem because my husband is a gigantic talker. The good thing is he can help us spy on the neighbors' gardens. We've needed some help with that.

It's a boy

Our new au pair, Maxim, arrived Friday from Russia. The kids are in heaven. We were always a little wary of having a young man, but after years of au-pair girls, I guess it’s time to admit that one moody female in the house is enough.

Let’s see… we’ve had Muriel from France, Sabine from Germany, Tatjana from Estonia, Xenia from Russia, Monica from Bulgaria, Darina from Russia and Maryna from the Ukraine. A couple of them were wonderful. But one was a drinker and heroin dabbler, one was a thief and another sat in the dark in the living room listening to Billie Holiday sing Gloomy Sunday and Strange Fruit.

Darina recommended Maxim. Since we liked her so much we figured he must be okay. We didn’t know then that he’s her boyfriend. But no matter -- the kids adore him. Miles keeps talking about his muscles and Luisa is batting her 10-year old eyelashes all around the house. On Sunday I came downstairs for breakfast with Miles to find Maxim’s shoes. Miles said, “Check out how big those are! Man, look at those shoes!” And he picks one of them up like a new baby. They’ve played hide and seek, they’ve play Monopoly, they’ve played Memory. Then Maxim fixed my bicycle and helped Carlo make dinner. Yup, it’s a real Wow World over at my house.

In poem news, the print journal River Oak Review accepted “Some Things I Didn’t Tell You about Tuesday.” I also got rejections from Frigg and Boxcar - I really like both of those so I plan to submit again. I’ve got such a bunch of poems in my file. I’m having a hard time coming up with appropriate places to submit them. Or I’m having trouble finding the time to come up with them, and go through with it.