Ode to....

Pablo Neruda is an amazing poet. I have loved him for years, but just today I stumbled across his poem "Ode to Soap". He has this talent of writing odes to ordinary things: soap, socks, a potato (a spud!), a hummingbird and making them sound exotic, sexy, and brilliant. How can a potato be sexy?

Spud,
sweet
matter,
dusty
almond,
the mother
beyond
did not cradle
dead metal.
There in the dark,
insular softness,
she did not prepare
copper and submerged
volcanoes,
or the blue severity
of manganese,
but rather, with her hand,
as though in a nest,
in the most tender wetness,
she deposited your balloons

There's more, but that captures the necessary essence. I love how he combines the bizarre and sensual, especially in his love poems. On the soundtrack to Il Postino, there are a ton of his poems being read by Hollywood's finest--Samuel L. Jackson' is cool. Definitely worth a trip to the local library.

My date with Dan Friday night went well, except for the fact that Dan wore the wrong shoes. This may seem like a shallow grievance, but when a woman goes to the effort to dress up, she dose not like to feel overly dressed compared to her partner, and when she looks down at her husband's shoes, she does not want to GASP at the sheer horror. We worked through it, but it was a rough 15 minutes in the car while I grilled him as to why he made such a poor fashion choice and how he could be seen in public with Magic 8 Ball Camper Shoes. If I could find a link to insert here, I would, but I cannot. Just picture ugly black leather lace ups that look like bowling shoes with a maroon 8 ball emblem sown on the side. In the end, I forgave him, and we had a lovely night of exotic Mexican/Latin food, an attempt to find live jazz in Denver and do some dancing (didn't happen), and overall great conversation with another couple out here.

On another note, I miss Minnesota. I miss my Porch buddies, my house in the burbs, Byerly's drive up grocery service, the lush greenery, my Northwest Athletic Club crazed aerobic teacher, and watching 10 neighborhood boys fight over their turn on my backyard trampoline. I miss fires at church, Wednesday night casseroles, the road rising up to meet me, my pastor wearing Birkenstocks, my pastor's wife wearing a Fat Albert blouse (it IS a blouse!), and every other eccentricity and wonder I came to experience during my time at 13th Ave. S. I miss Super Target. (Supposedly one is being built by my house out here, but I have yet to see the familiar red arrow mark). I miss Cafe 28's yummy pecan chicken salad (Javier, can you ship that?). I am going through some serious withdrawal/depression. I know over time I will feel more at home out here, but in 2 years, the land of bugs and lakes came to be a nice stop in my journey.

If I were to write an Ode to Minnesota...where would I begin?