framework & fretwork


just t he f/acts

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Angela Cook <> June 13, 2013 12:33pm To: *B&B Tails

This makes me sad. It actually hurts me to look at it.

When I was watching a B&B in the middle of scenic nowhere, which is much of Maine, I would roller blade in the afternoon on a twisty treelined and hilly paved route. People will speed on this road occasionally which I particularly notice if I am rollerblading on the road with a narrow if any shoulder. I settle into the dictated pace of the terrain and don't try to raise the bar, as that is not the type of vehicle I have. (I have a very unassuming vehicle that I can use its lack of apparent ballast in favor of unanticipated problem solving agility). In watching what is in front me and to the side, I see the fox crossing the road, that nabbed a chicken from the B&B at high noon, on the front patio while I was present. All nature conspired to sound the alarm at that time, as the crows in the trees about 50 meters away started cawing and flying high in disturbing circles in the air to describe the cacophony in detail, while the clutch of chickens squawked madly. I turned and just caught the fluffy tail of the hubris fox bounding off, not believing in its presumably light and frolicking departure that it had a chicken in its maw, On My Watch! 

I ran after the fox, over the first knoll which revealed a 180 panorama, and the fox was gone from view. I scanned right and left, and went back to count the chickens and one was missing. So I went back to the knoll to survey the land and to think like a fox. To the left is a tree lined shadow, and I followed it the arc, and there I found the de-feathered evidence of the chicken. I gathered some of the feathers as they are beautiful, some smooth and some fluffy, noting some were wet with saliva which I didn't take, and thought about if I only got there a little sooner. I'm a little upset I have been outsmarted by a fox that came to the house I was overseeing in daylight, and to the front porch for that matter! I send an email to the owners, who are gracious.

The B&B is expecting a guest, and I need to address the rogue chicken that will not go into the pen at night, but is perched in the flower box outside the arriving guest's room. I am told if I grab the chicken by the legs and quickly turn it over, it will suspend limply for me. I stalk the rogue chicken from outside the perimeter of bushes and flowers in front of the window. It ruffles and clucks concertedly, apprehending that I am there. Previously, before the rogue chicken took to the flower box, I tried to coax it back into the pen by visibly throwing corn kernels into the pen thru the open door. The chicken just scratched where it was, bending its head over as its feather butt tips high into the air. Like the motion of a see-saw, these to actions move together. I throw more food in the pen, and the chicken scratches where it is, and still sees no food, but it doesn't seem to mind, much to my frustration as it won't let me corral it either. I approach the chicken in the flower box, surveying what I know about its wings, beak, and feet, grab it swiftly by the ankles and flip it, and am happy to see it is dangling easily like a prize in hand, and put it back in the pen.

In the afternoon I rollerblade on the twisting route of the B&B. On the way out I pay attention to the condition of the road, which I have already surveyed via my car every time I go to the B&B, checking for cracks, moisture, rocks and dirt, shoulder width, and noting the general condition and if it deteriorates or if there is a newly laid smooth patch to glide. As I am rollerblading away from the B&B a car overtakes me, menacing me with their speed. They honk, as if that alarming gesture is intended for my goodwill, with no intake of balance it takes to be in my current position. I understand that the road is treelined and casts an inevitable shadow, and am keen to be seen, so I try to pick my points to climb a hill or ascend, and if I can, skate in the middle of the road for a little more free styling, or just give me more leeway as I am going down a hill and gathering speed to turn the corner with room to navigate unforeseen variables, however I cannot account for the speed of approach of a vehicle driven to its uppermost crazy, without determining that I first never get on the street! 

On the way back to the B&B I notice the crazed driver passing me again and think What is the Rush?, and later a prominent rock like lump in the road at the turn and crest of a hill which I didn't see on the way out, which I would have. It is about 4 feet in from the side of the road with no shoulder. I skate up to it and it is turtle, its cracked shell about 13" across. It is lying in a pool of really bright red and viscous blood, which is shocking as I take in its pain pooling on the hard asphalt that is so real. Its head is maimed, and the shell cracked. I think I should get the turtle off of the road per another vehicle. As I lift it and flip it over, as I have never been this close to a turtle to inspect it, and want to ingest its beauty, it moves its four limbs unerringly registering the disturbing presence of me on its world. I feel sad, because it is not dead. I don't know if there is somewhere I can take it, however the likelihood of it being fixed with a damaged head (but perhaps that is not my call, maybe it just looks more damaged than it is) is not likely. I decide to put the turtle to the side of the road, in the dirt and leaves under a tree, and desire like life it self, being the best I can do for it, that it doesn't have a sophisticated nervous system. 

When I first moved to Maine, I was driving a route to where I lived in the middle of scenic nowhere, and there was a turtle crossing the road at the crest of a hill. I stopped my vehicle and got out and tried to pick up the turtle, as mack trucks use this route to and from Canada all day, and it was very likely this turtle would be in the tread of big truck in the time it took it to cross the street. My first thought, after several persnickety attempts to pick up the 6" turtle (it didn't seem to realize I had its best interests in mind) was to look around to see who's pet it belonged to, as people have turtles for pets where I am from. A trucker stops with me in the middle of the road holding the pet turtle, and asks me what I have there. And, I say I have found this turtle crossing the road, and I don't know who it belongs too. He says it is a snapping turtle, and I concur it is very persnickety. He says it isn't a pet, and that it will bite me. He also says he knows what to do with it, and takes the turtle and puts it in his cab. I feel assured he will take care of the turtle, and go on my way.

Back at the B&B, there is a llama on the side of the road. It is walking with two teens, or they are walking with it. A woman stops and tries to put her arms around the llama, but the llama will have nothing to do with it, and breaks free and trots up the street to me where I have stopped in my little car. I see its big eyelashed eyes pause and register me. It is the first nice day in spring, and I cheered its efforts to go for a leisurely walk in its neighborhood, as long as it pleased, to see what it could see. On the way back  on this same road, the llama taking itself for a walk has attracted a dozen people, mostly men with ropes, and they were all in tow of following the llama on its meandering sunny day sojourn. It was inevitable the llama would go back to its pen, as I passed the scene, but I really enjoyed it taking such liberties in open air stride, and kept a sunny smile all day thinking about the perfectly petulant yet dignified llama leading the men by an invisible rope vs the other way around...


Angela Cook <> June 14, 2013 3:54pm To: * feeling sassy

i have moved the hula hoop that effectively serves as the garish baseboard of my bed to the entryway of my apartment.

hula hooping on the bed though is still the best use of space in my apartment, complexifying active space while jumping and waving hands over head.

Angela Cook <> June 14, 2013 5:22pm To: *and to music

always to music...

Angela Cook <> June 14, 2013 7:46pm To: *oh in process

this is my rough draft in process. i am working this from 2 direction. this would reflect the -reverse of the charge-

perhaps you can see more of my intent, direction, where this is going, and maybe u have an idea to participate / capitalize :) because i do feel that is where it must go, as the triumphant icing on the cake pertaining to my self-sufficiency. while i want this process done a week ago, it takes time to do it right, and to be with where ideas develop and take me, to see more of what i can see and incorporate, and be with it with an eye for tightening reflective detail and being leak proof, also be certain of my assertions or that being uncertain is stellar for commensurate purposes. and, i have just signed up for this, so i am addressing keeping balance between the inside and outside, mental/emotional/physical. i can't say i get it right every day, plus learning tricks to redirect my attitude to do the same work / looking at this sh*t and making something remarkable of it.

i found myself going thru the actual motions of cut and paste and physically looking at the organization of paragraphs and ideas, and feeling i am wasting my entire day doing this going nowhere, getting lost in the thick of it. it helps to let you know that i trust you. it's a boulder off my chest. now, what am i not telling you?

sketch of drago/ "photo by paul drinan"


I've been working on a job site near the Shaker Village on Sabbath Lake. During lunch at a picnic table, I noticed a bug that I couldn't identify. It had big, bulgy eyes like a dragon fly or praying mantis, and a beetle body like a potato bug ending in a point, 6 legs, and stunted nibs for wings? I asked the person I was working with if he knew what it was. He didn't. I let it crawl on the palm of my work glove, and it turned to face me. I turned my palm away, and it squared me commensurately. I pondered that this young-bug was aware to have a survival instinct, being neither aggressive nor ambivalent, and perhaps equally curious as myself with this new equation.

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