At dinner, I had as much corned beef and cabbage as I wanted, but now I would really, really like a peanut butter and jam sandwich. I bought two jars of natural peanut butter today, stirred one up vigorously, and had a big spoonful. It was runny, so it was not quite the same experience as the Skippy low-fat I’ve had to resort to lately. In order to convince myself that I really, really don’t need to enjoy a PB&J on soft, white bread (which I no longer buy), I decided to read this . Unfortunately, it starts out talking about mashed potatoes, which I cannot have either. Near the bottom of the page, peanut butter is mentioned on the same line as quicksand, beach sand, and candy compounds. Which brings to mind fudge being stirred in the pot. Then there’s such a thing as peanut butter fudge.

Clearly, this is going in the wrong direction. Hope lies in this viscosity chart , where dangerous terms such as ‘Hershey chocolate syrup’ and ‘peanut butter’ are shoulder-to-shoulder with ‘blood or kerosene’, ‘anti-freeze’, ‘caulking compound’, and ‘motor oil’. I have achieved balance. I will sacrifice an orange.

I think I’ll read it again soon. Here’s the first chapter.

At the library, I found Dave Eggers’ You shall Know Our Velocity, and Beth Gutcheon’s More Than You Know.

Two doves are making the rounds of the yard, looking for nesting material. In the side yard, it appears a hawk ate another mockingbird, judging from the clump of feathers. There’s a killing stump that was used a great deal last year, but now the predators seem to prefer a loftier table. On the roof, ravens have been hammering away at whatever food is up there. I can see their feet when they walk across the skylights.

My neighbors across the street water and feed their trees regularly, and their crabapple is more than twice the size of ours.

Cooking early because I expect a very busy week. If I don’t do it now, come St. Patrick’s Day, I will be gazing in the fridge, and seeing the meat with its somewhat garish juices staring back at me, raw and unappetizing. I have purchased 4 cabbages. I’m set.

When I was a college student in Memphis, I got my fix at the Corned Beef House. The ladies would pile on the meat in mouthwatering plenty, with sauerkraut, if I wanted. There’s still a listing for one on Airways Blvd., but I’m not sure if it would be the same.

When the boys were little, Fin M’Coul by Tomie De Paola was a favorite. In the story, Fin and his wife Oonagh conspire to outwit Cucullin, the bad giant.

In other versions of the Fin myth, the Giant’s Causeway, located near Fingal’s cave, plays a big part.

Fingal’s Cave inspired Mendelssohn to write his ‘Hebrides Overture’, also known as ‘Die Fingalshole’. Keats, Tennyson, and Wordsworth wrote of it. Turner painted the cave in 1832.

Pink Floyd produced the track Fingal’s Cave for the film Zabriskie Point (not used). And in this poem, W.S. Merwin writes of Mendelssohn and birds.

An excerpt from The Red Hourglass by Gordon Grice.