Dr. Metablog

The Love Song of Gov. Mark Sanford (in his own 'eamailed' [sic] words).

                                                                           -I-

 

You were basking

in what seems a great spot.

 

I am most jealous

of  your salad

under the palm trees.

 

I do not want to raise expectations

about feelings

and things.

 

You are special

and unique

and fabulous

in a whole host of ways.

 

I will write you a longer note

with a few more profound thoughts

tomorrow

or

Wednesday.

 

It won't be worthy of bedside placement.

 

                                                           -II-

 

I went out and ran the excavator with lights until the sun came up.

There is something wonderful

about listening to country music playing in the cab,

the air conditioner running,

the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background

the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness

of trees and marsh,

the day breaking

and vibrant pink becoming alive in the morning clouds.

And getting to build something with each scoop

of dirt.

 

It is admittedly weird.

 

                                                                    -III-

 

Do you really comprehend

how beautiful your smile is?

Have you been told lately

how warm your eyes, and how they softly glow

with the special nature of your soul?

 

The rarest of all commodities in this world is love.

You already had

a full tank of love

in the emotional bank account.

 

Since our first meeting there in  the wind-swept

somewhat open air

dance spot in Punta del Este,

I felt that you had that same rare attribute.

 

You have a level of sophistication that is so

fitting

with your beauty.

 

You have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses.

I love the curves of your hips.

I love your tan lines.

 

You have a particular grace and calm that I adore.

In the faded glow of night's light

that we spoke of

at the steakhouse.

 

                                             -IV-

This soul-mate feel

I alluded to

is real.

 

How this lightning strike snuck up on us

I am still not sure.

 

My heart wants to get on a plane tonight to be in your loving arms.

My head says how do we put the genius back in the bottle

 

The bottom line is two fold.

----------------------------------------------------

(Words by South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford with the assistance of Maria Belen Chapur;   poetastical typography by Vivian de St. Vrain.) 

Latest News from Nightmareville.

I had to dispose of the corpse. 

My choice was either to take it to the dump, piece by piece, weekly, or bury it on the property.  Whose body?  Don't know.  How did it get into the freezer?  I put it there, in a black plastic bag, after I killed him.  I gave careful consideration to the pros and cons of each method.  If I took it to the dump, there might be fingerprints or perhaps pieces of paper with my name on them.  And it might take weeks to complete the process.  If I buried it on the land, it would always be here.  Who knows what excavations there might be in the future.  I started to bury it, but just as I put a shovel in the earth, a small, yappy dog started pestering me.  

Time to wake up.  Hey, good deal.  I didn't murder anyone.  I'm clean.  

Les Tits

We drove from DC to Bradford, Vermont. Not desrious of hazarding the I-95 corridor, we veered far to the west, almost to Scranton.  It was a mostly pleasant ride. Travelers, remember the Taconic State Parkway --  it's underused, neatly landscaped, truck-free. 

Along the way, we encountered a road sign which said, Lititz, Pennsylvania. 

Lititz. I know that name. How? Have I been there?  No. Did I have a friend from Lititz?  I searched my mind.  Nope. Some famous person come from Lititz?  No.

It bothered me. Something in my mind connected with Lititz but I couldn't recall it. 

Is it LIT-its?  Luh-TITS?

We at last we arrived here in Bradford, Lititz still puzzling me.  What kind of word is Lititz? Time to fire up the wikipedia.  OK, here it is. "Lititz was founded my members of the Moravian Church in 1756, and was named after a castle in Bohemia named Litice....  For a century, only Moravians were permitted to live in Lititz, and until the middle 1800s only members of the congregation could own houses  The lease system was abolished in 1855." Nice little exclusivist Pennsylvania Dutch town, but still the question lingers  -- how do I know it?

"Lititz is also home to Linden Hall School, the oldest all-girls boarding school in the United States, founded by the Moravians in 1746."  That's an interesting piece of news. 

Do I know someone who attended Linden Hall?  No, I don't think so.

I went to sleep, puzzled. Why is Lititz, PA so familiar to me? 

Next day, we started spring-cleaning the house and ran into distinct signs of recent mouse habitations.  I got out some mousetraps, the kind with the spring that I've been baiting with peanut butter at various catless times these last 50 years.  They're Victor mousetraps.  Aha. Printed on each one, in small letters:  "Woodstream Corporation, Lititz, Pennsylvania." 

Mystery solved.  Next time through, perhaps we'll stop at Lititz, check out the church, the school, and the Moravian mouse-trap factory.