“You are late-sleepy relaxation, the half-awake moment when you realize it’s morning, but you don’t have to get up, because there’s no place you have to be. You are that cozy spot under the covers where everything feels temporarily perfect, even if you know you’ll eventually have to wiggle out and start the day. Maybe you’re the artistic type, who doesn’t function well on a normal schedule. Sleep’s important to you, and you like the freedom of sleeping as late as you want (especially since that is closely related to the freedom to stay up as late as you want). You like to roll out of bed, put on some comfy clothes, and get a laid back start to the day. If not everything on your list gets accomplished, no worries. Your only priority is having no priorities – you just want to take things at a slow, mellow pace.”

these had better be some fine pancakes to get me up so early.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..

ETA: My blueberry multigrain pancakes and fresh-squeezed oj were delicious. Almost made up for having to get up.

I read on Reya‘s blog that the annual Bloggers’ (Silent) Poetry Reading is on again today. Reya began this tradition years ago with an in-person poetry reading and expanded it to become a worldwide phenomenon in 2006. The date was chosen to honor St. Brigid, poets, dairymaids, blacksmiths, healers, cattle, fugitives, Irish nuns, midwives, and new-born babies. Her feast is also used much like Groundhog’s Day, to remind you that winter will not last forever.

The host of this year’s reading is Deborah.

Last year’s poem was Grace Paley’s “Here” and the first year’s poems were “A Physics” by Heather McHugh and “Ode to American English” by Barbara Hamby.

This year I offer you this poem on the sunny morning after a day filled with rain:

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me
        ~Mary Oliver

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again

in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches

and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment,
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain —
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.

I think what helps to define any city is its restaurants. Sure, sometimes it’s the fancy-pants places. I mean sure the Russian Tea Room helps define New York City. C’mon. But New York would be even less New York without its corner hot dog and pretzel and nut vendors.

So, too, are the cheap eats places of D.C. We have our Charlie Palmer’s and our Nora’s, but we also have our Ben’s Chili Bowl and our Julia’s Empenadas and our Amsterdam Falafelshop. And for a little while longer, we have our Georgetown Bagelry and Pizzeria.

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