Posts Tagged ‘bone button’

I am deep into pre-spring cleaning…that tidying up that is a preliminary to the real thing, which invariably involves wide-open windows, fresh air, and buckets of hot sudsy water. This is a different cleansing though; I have taken each carefully folded note from you, turned it over, and held it to the white moonlight for secret messages. Will each plea for love change into its opposite, and what would that become? If I sew them together into a quilt of wavering words, would the meaning change? The only thing to wear for such a comically tragic endeavor is haircloth. I’m wearing the next best thing; a three-piece rumpled suit of faded brown linen with natural bone buttons in delicate shades of cream and listening to the soulful sounds of Ann Peebles.
“I can’t stand the rain ‘gainst my window
Bringing back sweet memories
I can’t stand the rain ‘gainst my window
‘Cause he’s not here with me”

(By D. Bryant, A. Peebles, B. Miller)


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It is a breezy morning, with the sweet smell of the changing seasons in the air, so I’m bicycling to the beach for a meditative walk along the sand. It is a straight stretch to Ocean Beach, and I’m flying….my coat-tails flapping behind me like dove wings. I’ve unbuttoned my cream-colored linen jacket’s organically-shaped bone buttons, and feel delightfully well-ventilated. Once I reach my destination, I dismount, chain up my bike, and amble to the shore; I want to wet my feet in the salty Pacific Ocean. I’m looking for answers, but perhaps the answer is the feel of icy water on my toes, the rolling clouds overhead, and the delicately hopping sandpipers. I take a sip of deep green, velvety Soupe aux Orties from my thermos, and pick up the scattering of sand dollars that are nestled at my feet. Is this another answer?
“Went to the fortune teller
To have my fortune read
I didn’t know what to tell her
I had a dizzy feeling in my head”

(By A. Toussaint)

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Bone Button

Food and love…what else is there? I suppose there is also music, fashion, and poetry. This is the list of the objects of my affection that I have swirling in my head as I cross the boulevard on the way to meet you, and I am particularly enamored of Hafiz today. Chinese Elm and Flowering Pear trees shelter me, and I step off the curb onto the path of a rusted forest green Volkswagen Beetle. The car clatters to a halt, and I’m grateful to be spared an accident. The lattice-topped cherry pie that I made you starts to tumble, but I nonchalantly set it upright, dust off the cuffs of my leaf green and turquoise cotton paisley shirt with ivory bone buttons, wave insolently at the VW driver, and continue onwards.
“I beg thee that to no one else thou showest
These words I send in such a hidden way
That none but thou may cipher what I say ;
Read them in some safe place as best thou knowest.”
When in her heart these words of mine thou sowest
For Hafiz, speak in any tongue thou knowest;
Turkish and Arabic in love are one
Love speaks all languages beneath the sun.”

(Hafiz, Ode 566)

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It is mid-morning, and I’m on my way to a corner café for breakfast and brooding. As I stroll blearily, I think. There are always questions to ponder; when is it appropriate to utilize a semicolon? What is proper tea time etiquette? What is the difference between the pleasure of love, and the pleasure of seduction? Francy the kitten has no need to philosophize, and is still slumbering at the Pension Stadtmitte. I’m wearing a suit of Shetland wool in an olive green and coffee brown broken herringbone pattern with classic bone buttons, a starched white shirt with a paisley bow tie, brown cable-knit cashmere socks, and brown Blücher shoes. I sit down at one the table-cloth covered round tables at the café, and order hard rolls with fig jam and strong hot coffee; deep thoughts require sufficient caffeine. A musician sits a few tables away tuning their guitar.
“We talk of parks and simple places,
Sense the thickness of the air.
Highly strung like nervous guitars”

(By Martha and the Muffins)

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I have arrived at my destination, Saarbrucken. I want to hail a cab, but in the interest of frugality, catch the local tramway instead. I’m staying at the nearby Kirchberg Hotel garni. Once I get into my room, I disrobe, send my travel-dirty clothing out to be laundered, and step out for shopping and dinner. I am overdressed, but this is all that I have right now that is clean. I am wearing a 1920’s black tail-coat with natural bone buttons, matching straight-legged pants, a white pleated tuxedo shirt, a black leather bow tie, mustard yellow and grey dotted socks, and silver leather sneakers. I stop off at the propriétaire ’s desk to ask for directions to a fish shop. I plan on buying Francy a little treat.
Fish heads fish heads,
Roly poly fish heads,
Fish heads, fish heads,
Eat them up yum
Roly poly fish heads are never seen
Drinking cappuccino in Italian restaurants,
With oriental women, yeah”

(By R. Haimer and B. Mumy)

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