A weekend of cheese.

A weekend of ecstatically happy dykes, of celebration, and of hearing horrible homophobic words out the mouths of our neighbors in our neighborhood on the streets where we live.

A weekend of anniversaries, of Cancer birthdays, of the rare warm sun. Figs, cherries and plums. A weekend on the front porch, on the grass, on the couch reading: Jarnot's Duncan biography excerpted in the latest Xantippe. Mike Davis on Slums. Niedecker, Lake Superior Country:

"The Canadian Sault Ste. is larger and cleaner-looking than the Michigan city, tho at the waterfront the washings were strung high from roof-top to roof-top. Up where the stores are we heard French spoken like a brook over pebbles, and British-English. My basket-pocketbook gave out from the weight of notebooks and stones so I bought another -- made in Hungary. Failing to bring along enough shirts for Al we bought at Calcutta fabric (not at all expensive) made in Honk Kong. The word for the entire trip is International. From agate on. The journeying, the mixing and changing.

"At last we were ready to start toward Wawa, known to us already (circulars) as the town with the large statue of a Canadian goose with its wings half spread. Not far from the Soo we passed masses of rock thru which the road had been cut -- whitish with splotches and flows of pink-red. I shouted "Oh" and could only think of marble. My manual tells me marble began as soft limestone and then heated by magma changed into many colors depending on the color of the sediment out of which it originally formed. Later I was told by someone who knows that what I'd seen must be granite. In some places as we went on, in certain light the rocks looked greenish."

Closed with white wine and apricot pie.


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