Snow white

This week was punctuated by twenty-four hours of house arrest after Missouri was hit by an event locals call "thunder-snow." Yes, the weather here is strange.

At least I was stuck indoors with one of Claire's lovely blooming orchids.

A long weekend with Leo "Dear Heart" Stigliani

Leo "Dear Heart" Stigliani was my main squeeze this Valentine's Day.

Leo on the day after Valentine's wearing his new collar
designed and sewn by Marie Stigliani.

Claire went away for a long weekend, leaving Leo and I to fend for ourselves in Columbia. Many hours were spent in bed while I transcribed thesis interviews and Leo napped. Leo also did a good job of letting me know when he thought I'd done enough work with the classic nosebutt-typing-disruption technique. But I think that we both got what we wanted in the end. I did manage to finish the transcriptions, and I believe Leo would agree that he was well-loved in Claire's absence.

Momentum

This week, I received an invitation to participate in a press trip to the European Union headquarters in Brussels and made inroads with finding a magazine to publish the off-the-grid story I wrote last semester. Things are happening. I'm not sure where they're going, but it feels good.

Oh, and on a non-career note, I have a new favorite cake. It's a chocolate buckwheat hazelnut Nutella-like delicious thing, which I've made twice in a three-day period. I didn't eat them all myself (although I wouldn't have minded). I shared them with friends at two different dinner gatherings. They liked the cake too.

A poem

I've had more time to write poetry lately. Here's one of them.

Sweet Sleep

By Emilie Stigliani

Most likely where it all began.
In the hospital bed shortly after my birth
with Marie, Marisa and Claire Stigliani.

I have searched for sleep

On buses, trains

In cars and planes

Through fearful nights

When I left the lights bright

And checked the lock

Listening to tick-tock

Waiting for the sun

Which couldn’t come

Too soon

I have found sleep

In all shapes

The sweet “S”

Where a cinnabon dog

Curls in the crook of my knees

My polished teaspoon

Nested in another’s tablespoon

Under the silvery moon

The party-pooper corpse pose

On a crumb-covered sofa

To the lullaby of laughter

I sleep best

Not alone

Nuzzled and squeezed

The result of a family bed

Lie beside me