Here’s an Owl Chatter Valentine’s Day love story for you. Maud Gonne, the Irish Nationalist, was one of the most beautiful women of her time. In 1889, the poet William Butler Yeats fell in love with her the moment he met her. He described her face as “delicate in color as apple blossom.” He said the same about her bosom, but that’s none of our business. He asked her to marry him but she said she couldn’t because she believed they were brother and sister in a previous life. (Both she and Yeats believed in the occult.)
I can’t tell you how many times that line was used on me back in the day:
“Not so fast, Pedro — pull your pants back up, I think I’m your sister.”
And I’d go, “Yeats, right?”
Things worked out a lot better for Robert Louis Stevenson. He was walking by a house in France, glanced in a window, and fell madly in love with one of the women who was having dinner with friends. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and finally opened the window, climbed in, and introduced himself. She was an American, Fanny Osborne.
Long story short: they married several years later. RLS was quite ill at the time. Fanny described him as “a mere complication of cough and bones, much fitter for an emblem of mortality than a bridegroom.” They honeymooned in an abandoned mining camp in Napa Valley north of SF on Mount Saint Helena. It’s near Robert Louis Stevenson State Park today.
BTW, his middle name was originally spelled LEWIS. He changed it to LOUIS when he was 18. Just put that in your pocket — it’s sure to come in handy some day.
A headline in The Onion today said: ”Coughing Baby Aimed At Enemy.” This is from the story: While the mother had initially been trying to isolate the baby and contain his illness, something reportedly snapped deep inside her, causing the normally agreeable woman to engulf her enemies, bystanders, and even herself in a 10-foot-wide, deadly cloud of viruses guaranteed to infect them immediately. At press time, the woman could be seen packing up her stroller and walking away, but not before muttering, “You’ll be dead within the week.”
The Onion also administered a memory test to President Biden and the results were not reassuring. He was unable to recall correctly “What is pi to the 20th digit?” And when asked how many months ago seven months ago was, he said “Seven months ago was five months ago.”
These two answers eluded me in a challenging New Yorker puzzle by Natan Last this week: The first clue was “Hangs without dropping, perhaps?” The answer was TRIP SITS. I know — what? It means to stay with a friend who is taking an LSD trip to make sure he’s okay during it. So you are “hanging” with him, without yourself “dropping” LSD.
The second clue was “Cracks in a small window?” The answer was TIGHT FIVE. Again — what? It turns out this is referring to a five-minute set a stand-up comic gets. It’s “tight” so he has to use his best material. So the “small window” is the five-minute time limit, and the “cracks” are jokes.
Other neat clue/answers:
“I’m in no mood to fight.” DON’T START
“Prevents from stealing, say?” TAGS OUT
“Perch for a bowler, perhaps” HAT TREE
“Uses a powerful engine.” GOOGLES
In 1986, Ted Kooser sent a Valentine’s Day poem on a postcard to 50 women he knew. He kept up the tradition for 21 years, but the list grew to over 2,500. You see, he’d be at a poetry reading or somewhere and mention the tradition and ask if any women there wanted to be added to the list. And, of course, who wouldn’t? It became expensive. His wife wasn’t jealous because she knew he was a lunatic and it was harmless fun.
The poems were collected in a small volume called Valentines. This is one of them.
In the Alley
In the alley behind the florist’s shop,
a huge white garbage truck was parked and idling.
In a cloud of exhaust, two men in coveralls
and stocking caps, their noses dripping,
were picking through the florist’s dumpster
and each had selected a fistful of roses.
As I walked past, they gave me a furtive,
conspiratorial nod, perhaps sensing
that I too (though in my business suit and tie)
am a devotee of garbage — an aficionado
of the wilted, the shopworn, and the free —
and that I had for days been searching
beneath the heaps of worn-out, faded words
to find this brief bouquet for you.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you lovers out there — all of you handsome men and spectacularly gorgeous women — to Taylor and Travis, Wilma and Welly, my Caitlin and her Danny, my Sam and his Sarah. To Joe and Jill, Volodymyr and Olena, Patrick and Brittany. Treat yourselves to some chocolates, everybody — open your hearts.
See you tomorrow! Thanks for stopping by.
The Wellington Files 