Mornings, Newspapers, Applesauce, and a Poem

I subscribed to The Washington Post, but after owner Jeff Bezos' decision not to endorse Kamala Harris last fall, I cancelled my subscription in anger (along with about 300,000 other people). I have three days remaining and have been thinking about re-subscribing, but once again, I'm angry. On Wednesday, Bezos announced a major shift to the newspaper’s opinion section, saying it would now advocate only “personal liberties and free markets” and not publish any opposing viewpoints on those topics. Of course, The Washington Post is his toy and he is free to use it in whatever way he would like, even if that means it is his personal mouthpiece. I just don't want to pay money for a newspaper run this way. It's a shame because I will miss some terrific writers and Ron Charles' book reviews, but not enough to give the billionaire more of my money.

This has changed my mornings a little bit. I read blogs, do Wordle, do a Duolingo German lesson or two, and check the news. This depends on what kind of day it looks like and how much news I can handle. Sometimes I read headlines on NPR, sometimes BBC, but lately I've been reading The New York Times through my library. It's just another reason that I'm grateful for libraries, the resources they provide, and the money they save me (but I know I'm preaching to the choir).

I found this article (gift link) yesterday and it captured my imagination. It's about how poetry helped the author start her days in a different way, not mindlessly heeding notifications on her phone and scrolling. She started memorizing poems during the pandemic, and while I don't think I'll take that approach, I decided that I wanted to make more of an effort to start my day with poetry. I know some of you do this already and I'd love to hear if/how it's made a difference. 

But in an effort to find something to write about today, I've given you some background information about how and why I came upon this poem. It reminds me of my grandmother which is always a good thing and I warmed up some applesauce for breakfast while I read it. I have a cold, I'm irritated at Jeff Bezos, but I have eaten warm applesauce, and I'm finding my way. Here's hoping that you are, too. 

Applesauce

by Ted Kooser 

I liked how the starry blue lid
of that saucepan lifted and puffed,
then settled back on a thin
hotpad of steam, and the way
her kitchen filled with the warm,
wet breath of apples, as if all
the apples were talking at once,
as if they’d come cold and sour
from chores in the orchard,
and were trying to shoulder in
close to the fire. She was too busy
to put in her two cents’ worth
talking to apples. Squeezing
her dentures with wrinkly lips,
she had to jingle and stack
the bright brass coins of the lids
and thoughtfully count out
the red rubber rings, then hold
each jar, to see if it was clean,
to a window that looked out
through her back yard into Iowa.
And with every third or fourth jar
she wiped steam from her glasses,
using the hem of her apron,
printed with tiny red sailboats
that dipped along with leaf-green
banners snapping, under puffs
or pale applesauce clouds
scented with cinnamon and cloves,
the only boats under sail
for at least two thousand miles.

 

From Delights and Shadows (Copper Canyon Press, 2004). 2004 by Ted Kooser.