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Posts Tagged ‘antler horn button’


There is a rambunctious colony of island cats living in the nooks and crannies of the Büyükada Patisserie. I see a pair of grey stripped tails flowing from behind an earthenware pot of sweet lavender, and three black and white kittens ricochet between my rickety green wooden table and the orange table nearby. The sun warms me and makes me drowsy, so I toss back three glasses of hot sweet tea and eat three sticky pieces of diamond-shaped Revani cake. I stand, button the curved antler buttons on my shapeless grey linen jacket, fling my rucksack over my shoulder, and prepare to take off down the dusty road. My plan in to spend a week in the Turkish island countryside, sketching, reading, and reciting poetry to the shimmering stars.
“we would rather be rowdy and gaunt and free
and dine on a diet of roach and rat
than slaves to a tame society
ours is the zest of the alley cat
fish heads freedom a frozen sprat
dug from the gutter with digits frantic
is better than bores and a fireside mat
mehitabel us for the life romantic”

(By Don Marquis)

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Francy and I pull into Sägmühle, located in the “Tal der Liebe” in the Palatinate Forest. She has played herself out, and is curled up on the dashboard like a pair of snoring fuzzy dice. I’m tired, grumpy, and have eaten too much cake. The sun is starting to set, and the cool forest night air is blowing in over the lake. I put Francy on her leash, cook myself a leek and goat cheese frittata, eat, make up my bed with air-dried cotton sheets, and then settle down to relax with a little Marlene Dietrich on my accordion. I do not eat any more cake. I’m wearing worn denim overalls with antler horn buttons, a long sleeved black waffle knit shirt with holes in the elbows, sienna home-knit socks, and orange high-tops. Tomorrow, the plan is to play on the outdoor ping-pong tables. Yeah, ping-pong!
“You do something to me
Something that simply mystifies me
Tell me, why should it be?
You have the power to hypnotize me
Let me live ‘neath your spell
Do do that ‘voodoo’ that you do so well
Oh, you do something to me
That nobody else could do.”

(By Cole Porter)

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A group of seven of us travel to Lake Hope every winter. It is almost dark, and we have turned left instead of right at a crucial fork in the road. We expected it though, as we always get lost on the way to Lake Hope. I can hear the board games rattling around in the trunk, dice and timers from Scattagories and Pictionary clunking every time we go over a pothole or dodge an ice slick. We finally make it up to the cabins, retrieve the key from the Lodge and find our cottage. It has started to snow, so you bring in our firewood to start a fire. It is chilly in the cabin and I put on a pot of water for hot chocolate with marshmallows. I’m wearing denim overalls, a black turtleneck, and low brown boots with side-buckles. I button up my wool cable knit rust sweater with its antler horn buttons. Everyone unpacks, and someone starts playing “Honeyed Out” on the guitar. Tomorrow, we plan on hiking the Hope Furnace Trail.
“Your love is like too much sugar, too much sugar for me to eat
Nothing wrong with a little sugar but too much sugar’s too damn sweet
Your love is like too much water, too much water all around
Nothing wrong with a little water but too much water make a body drown
Your love is like too much whiskey, too much whiskey in my cup
Nothing wrong with a little whiskey but too much whiskey fuck you up
Your love is like too much candy, too much candy on a stick
Nothing wrong with a little candy but too much candy make you sick
Your love is like too much honey, too much honey in my mouth
Nothing wrong with a little honey but lately I’m just honeyed out”

(By Kris Delmhorst)

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