Renewal

Due to an exciting opportunity to go toe to toe with some Blue Footed Boobies, this blog will be resting, not nesting - although some things may be incubating - until February 7.

New Year’s resolutions:

Resolving to do anything any differently from same ol’ same ol’ often ends with me feeling like a failure. Instead, for the past 30+ years, I’ve practiced planting the seed I want to nurture in the coming year on the Winter Solstice. What I find fascinating is that whatever I write on paper as an intention does somehow come to fruition in some form - though, often less recognizable than I imagined. 

Conspiring with Mother Nature appeals to me. In the northern hemisphere, the winter solstice around December 21, is the longest night. This is the perfect time to commit to the nourishment of the earth herself, the seeds we want to sprout up in the spring.

In preparation for planting, I first cast out what didn’t work so well in the previous year. I write out the personal and global failures or less than ideal outcomes and BURN the list. This frees up raw energy to support the growth of what I want to nourish.

My solstice seed includes both personal and global “wishes.” And, because my own perspective may be too narrow, I write the disclaimer, “What ever is best for the highest good of all.”

Who am I to say that “World Peace” is all it’s cracked up to be?

My perspective on man-made and natural disasters may be too limited to judge the “usefulness” of them in the grand scheme of things. Still, I wish for peaceful resolutions to conflicts among nations and among all peoples, global climate stabilization, and that Mama Earth stops trying to throw us off her back.

Whatever is for the highest good.

Happy, HEALTHY, Hope-filled New Year to you and all your dear ones!

'til February...

Flu

Flu, FLEA!

FLY, Flu!

Get the fleck outa here!

I do not like you, Flim Flam Flu,

I really hate you, yes I do!

So leave me be, evaporate!

For you to leave, I just can’t wait.

You make me shake with fever chill,

You make my stomach churn, not still.

Is there really not a magic pill?

I don’t do well with old Nyquill.

Smart body will kick you out.

Fever cook you, scream and shout.

There, that’s better, you Flim Flam Flu,

I’ve got the upper hand, now, Neener Neener POO!

Sparkle in the Dark'll Bring us Out.. we hope

He says, “Cheerios are seeds for donut trees... put ‘em in the ground and see what happens. They’re gluten free... but only the holes.”

I laugh. “Do you suppose when we put people in the ground, they grow Peopler Trees... sorta like Poplar Trees - only with softer bark?”

“Maybe...”

“And is that how we get ‘Dogwood Trees - by putting dogs in the ground?’”

“Maybe... and they probably have louder barks than Peopler Trees!”

This absurd conversation goes apace - filling the time it takes to walk through the back streets and park towards home from the farmer’s market.

This is the dark of the year... the DARKEST, made darker by recent losses. We laugh to keep from dropping into the depths of darkest despair. When kids we know from camp go to the light, it leaves the rest of us in darkness of a pricklier texture than any other darkness we know.

While at the market this morning, we ran into our dear neighbor. He shared news of his family and the gratitude he and wife Cathy feel - mixed with co-arising exhaustion born of caring for their grand twins who are about five years old now and FULL of energy.

Our neighbor also spoke of a recent favorable review in the NY Times of a film he made some years ago about Sister Corita Kent. He walked a copy over this afternoon and we just watched it this evening - enthralled. I kept hoping to see my mother Barbara in the footage, as she was a student of Corita Kent’s at Immaculate Heart College, Los Angeles in the mid 1960‘s. The experience of watching bears repeating... so I’ll use the pause button on crowd scenes next time and see if I catch mom. I'd also like to linger longer on some of the serigraphs - just to take in their beauty and decipher the words.

Fresh from that colorful and moving picture experience, I'm all a-sparkle from several gems which are hallmarks of Sister Corita’s teachings. 

1. We have no ART, we do everything as well as we can. (Balinese saying)
2. There are some Rules and Helpful Hints for Students and Teachers (by John Cage) to which Corita Kent adds, “There should be new rules next week.”
3. Ideas can come from anywhere.
4. If you’re watching a movie, don’t blink or look away. You might miss some still photograph of great beauty or meaning or mystery.

There are actually two films on the DVD, each with many gems. 

Thank you, neighbor, for the holiday cheer!

Happy Christmas, Soulful Solstice, 
Quaint Kwanza, Neato New Year, 
Marvelous Merry-Making to all 
and and to all a 
Good Night!

Dream Crystals Coalescing

t r a p 

     

          d

              o

                  o

                     r

           t  o  r  p  o  r

t  o  r  p  e  d  o   i  n  g      t h e     m i n d

mine                   

                                                                     fertile     

               field                               field 

                          which one will she find?

w  r  i  t  i  n  g       t  h  r  o  u  g  h      t  h  e      f  o  g     o f      w  a  r  

t  h  a  t      r  a  g  e  s     i  n     h  e  r     h  e  a  d

f  l  a  t  t  e  n  s      h  e  r      a  n  d       b  a  t  t  e  n  s      h  e  r  

s  h  e  '  s      d  r  a  i  n  e  d      a  n  d     n  e  a  r  l  y      d e a d

“SHAKE me, SQUEEZE!   

WAKE me, PLEASE,”

she cries, “must catch a train!”

the ticket’s lost; 

don’t know the cost 

of   r e - t r a c k i n g   her   brain....

she's edgily emotive

could there be a loco motive?

good night bowl full of mush

good night old lady whispering hush

there... fore... she sits 

drowsily she re-collects 

fractured facets of the dream

hoping morning light will stream

to clear her eyes, reveal the prize

that crystallized last night

as she slept the idea crept 

and crouched - behind - just out of sight

IF the shaft of sun now streaming 

cannot show what’s born of dreaming

what’s the point of sleep at all? 

why the torture of blanched blank wall?

are we meant to apprehend 

what eludes us ‘round the bend?

perpetual game of cat and mouse? 

ideas fat with promise hide under the house........

experiences of childhood 

had to be repressed

energy spent to keep them down 
is gone, so she's depressed 

h  o  l  e  y    s  w  i  s  s    c  h  e  e  s  e   

w  a  s    g  r  a  y    m  a  t  t  e  r  

f  e  e  l  i  n  g    m  a  d  d  e  r 

t  h  a  n    t  h  a  n    t  h  e    h  a  t  t  e  r

striving forward all a-slant  

aching toward the sun to plant

this fresh idea seeded, deeded in the night

dwindling mental real estate's a fright

who can help this helpless lass 

the damsel swoons, she well may pass

drenched with sweat by labor pains 

her brow is wet; she grunts and strains

surely an  e n d  to work so hard,

that it might have killed The Bard,

has a p l a c e; will lend its g r a c e

to us thus plagued and lined of face

could  L u m o s i t y.com  be answer

to this creeping vengeful cancer

of aging brain from life’s huge dramas; 

shrapnel left by ancient traumas

let's scoop her up in tender arms

removing her from further harm

take her to some stout stone table 

in oaken glen I think we're able

to scrape out what’s no longer needed, 

compost the dross, freshly re-seed it

resurrected mind most welcomed, 

come home to her now and stay

the writer writes, having writ, 

moves on... into the light of day

ordinary tasks now call her, 

cooking, cleaning but feeling taller

she glides and hums, a soft smile thrums 

in her heart. she swallows

open mouthed she sings her treasure

remembered dream in metered measure

to be heard and read and savored

perhaps she’ll (later) correct the flavor

or not

still caught

by job descriptions all too varied

w r i t e r  isn’t one that tarried

long enough 

to make it stick

so onward upward 

that’s the trick

Borogrove Mimsy...Screeners and Dreamers

Holiday hell-a-day hula day thrill

Whimsical Musical some vital fill

Why’re you, flier through plier too down?

People‘re steeple air feeble in town

Fly away try ‘n’ weigh Myron Q. dog

Mail away, sail away, trail a wee frog

Stitchery kitcherie split, dearie do

When’re you blender woo splendor to you?

Finery Spinery winery  Patch

Flagrantly fragrantly open the hatch

Mistletoe, thistle dough trestle the train

Fatuous, platypus out in the rain

Spinning wheel winning feel primal again

Gaining ground waning mound moon beams on hen

Holly Daze, Polly Graze piddly plays suck

Hooligan drool again who likes a duck?

Log on the fire, of blogging I tire, Playing with words to churn mud

Mind is a muddle I’d rather cuddle or bite my nails ‘til there’s blood

This is no fun, today, there’s no sun and I’m up a tree in the rain

So fetch me a log and sit while I blog with rhythms that leap from my brain.

The end.

Watching screeners all this week has left plot lines planted in my dreams...

Inside Llewyn Davis, American Hustle, The Hunger Games (first one), White Lies... all are entering into my sleep time. By the time 4am rolls around, I’m tossed and turned by the tide of images so that all I can do is get up and putter around the house. They say the surest cure for insomnia is to think about mopping the kitchen floor... you’ll go right out... they say. And if not, the floor will get cleaned.

The other morning, so early, all was dark out except for this...

Who spilled moonlight on the floor?

I tripped and slipped on three silver drops 

Which spun me into a silver-threaded dream.

Whoever you are, 

THANK YOU for the silver slippers.

I will look for you again 

On the floor

So I can dance

Next lunar cycle.

The very very very ve-ry end... a book report on Peter Raaaabit...

Amazing Graze

Amazing Graze...

How sweet the taste

That fed a k’vetch like me

Pecan yams and greens

Cuban style pork and green beans

Took our time, but then made haste

We started out 

With brined turkey

Moved to collards, chard and kale

Potato Latkes AND potatoes mashed

Life is short

Try the chocolate without fail

Whatever you call

This holiday

Be it Hannukah,  

Thanksgiving or both

May you celebrate with a full plate 

You can diet again Monday

Giving Thanks for Family Funnies

This Thanksgiving is for the dogs…

The chop, chop, chop of the big knife on wood breaks through Marvin’s dreamy reverie. With great effort he rouses himself and lumbers into the kitchen to take up his station under the cutting board, hopeful that some errant carrot circle will roll off and land on his turf. Anything on the floor is fair game for Marvin Gardens the now “Olden” retriever. Marvin is so long and lean he looks like an articulated bus. When he goes around corners… he bends in the middle. His characteristic panting is nearly as loud as a bus and his breath… ugh! worse than bus exhaust!

I remember when he first joined the family. It was just before Thanksgiving thirteen years ago. I was driving carpool in the white van and had just picked up my 8^th grader, Megan and her car-pool buddy, Adam. There, in a busy intersection was this bandy legged golden retriever puppy. I told Megan to open the side door and we called to him. He came running over all gangly-dangly limbed and loose jointed. With considerable effort he clambered up into the van. Immediately inside the door he put both front paws on a box of tissues and began pulling them out one at a time, rhythmically, systematically. So proud of his bird retrieving genes, he was also a clown and thoroughly delighted with himself. He made us laugh.

Megan told me and Adam that a boy in her classes, Charlie, had been palling around with this pup all day. We went back to school where Megan found Charlie who assured us that the dog wasn’t his. No one seemed to know from where the golden had come. It was clear this 4-legged had misplaced his owners. We called him “Charlie” all the rest of that day.

Having relieved the retriever of the Kleenex box, we dropped Adam off at his home then hurried back to our house. Using a sweater as makeshift collar/leash I escorted the 6 month old pup, who’d already endeared himself to us with his antics, into our fenced-in back yard. There, for the first time, he encountered MacDougal MacDuff. 

MacDougal, a shelter foundling himself, had already been with us for 6 months and he let everyone know that HE, MacDougal, was ALPHA dog. For the first 5 seconds the fur was raised along both dogs’ backs. As doggie noses know these things, it only took them a heartbeat to sort out the alpha/beta thing. Then, there was nothing to do but PLAY! They ran circles round the yard and around each other roto-tilling the lawn in the bargain. It was hilarious watching them. Marvin was slightly shorter than MacDougal who was very fast but what Marvin lacked in speed he made up for in his rangy gait and being just plain goofy! His entire aura was one of delight with life. “Game? I love to play games! What’re we gonna play next!!??”

Megan and I made signs on her Dad’s cue-card stock to put up all around Oakwood School and in our neighborhood. I called the L.A. Times, The Recycler and a local throw-away newspaper to run ads about a FOUND Golden Retriever. I called two local shelters describing the foundling and leaving our phone number. He stayed that night and the next which brought us to Thanksgiving.

That year was one of our larger gatherings: 37 people for dinner. Three tables; no waiting… all buffet. In addition to our family that year we had several strays (people who were without their own kin for one reason or another). There was very little floor space for all the table legs, chair legs and people legs. The “Charlie, Marvin” being ingratiated himself to all by lying in the middle of the only open floor space so we all had to walk around or step over him. We thought of calling him “Mat.” In fact, we tried out several suggested names that day.

During the following two weeks there was not a single nibble from the shelters, the ads, the signs, or the walking the neighborhood by school. It dawned on us that our mission was accomplished: we had found him a good home. His crazy puppy gyrations made MacDougal look calm. All in all it seemed a good fit. So… we got him all his shots and gathered his nuts for the winter (neutered him) and then set about in earnest to find a suitable name. By late December it was clear that he was a gardener… bringing in whole tree branches and the last of the scraggly tomato crop and zucchini squashes from the yard. So we called him “Marvin Gardens”… in his case it was a verb not just one of the yellow properties on the Monopoly board.

I’m remembering this all as I chop up the left-over vegetable crudités from yesterday’s feast. We were a smaller group, only 16 people. MacDougal passed away last January. Marvin can barely see, hear or stand up but he’s still so full of love and still a clown. Each Thanksgiving brings the memory of his first one with us.

* * * * * * * * * * *

This is the story of Aunt Mickey and the stove top stuffing. Ghosts of Thanksgiving Past…

Aunt Mildred is one of those Aunties who lends herself to good-natured ribbing because she definitely has some quirks. Thanksgiving day 1974 the whole family packed up to go camping at McGrath State Beach. By WHOLE family I mean: My husband and I and our dog, Fairfax (1974 was B.C. – before children), my mom, step-dad and 11 year old brother and their dog, Butchie, my mother in law and her dog Girl, my older brother, his wife and two sons 8 and 4, Uncle Larry (my mom’s brother) and aunt Mickey (Mildred) and their 2 daughters and their dog, Pepper. In addition, Mickey’s brother and sister-in-law, and my then eighty something year old grandparents came for the meal but stayed in a nearby hotel, rather than camping out.

One of Aunt Mickey’s quirks is that she carries about with her an unwieldy fear of germs. It has gotten in her and other people’s way on numerous occasions. It may have to do with her doing a stint as a registered nurse for our old family doctor, Irv King. Something about staphylococcus made her cock-eyed. 

The whole of our camp-out Thanksgiving feast was pot luck. Aunt Mickey was in charge of the turkey & stuffing. So… she cooked that turkey without stuffing it because heaven knows that would magnetize dread salmonella bacterium and sicken us all so we’d croak right there on McGrath State Beach. (I can see the headline: Entire family and dogs wiped out by bad turkey Thanksgiving Day.) Uncle Larry carved that turkey at home. There was only one better carver than Uncle Larry and that was his dad, my Gramps. Well, they froze all the turkey meat in neat foil packages. Auntie planned to warm it up and make stove-top stuffing….which she did from a box over the camp stove in about 3 minutes flat.

It was November at the beach. It was powerfully windy. It was cold… penetratingly cold. Mama Freddy, my mother in law had brought some pot roast bless her heart! And it was warm and fragrant. The turkey never did quite thaw out. To say that the stove-top stuffing was not a hit is like saying that Hitler was not kind. It tasted like the cardboard box from which it came. No one ate it. 

We put it down for the dogs. “Girl,” Mama Freddy’s dog walked over, sniffed it and walked away. Now, this is a dog who ate horse plop from the equestrian trail near her apartment. This is a dog who would eat anything not chained down. My beloved husband called her a Sealy Posturpedic with legs. Our dear Fairfax took a sniff and also walked away which was not altogether unexpected. Mark says Fairfax was an old man in a dog suit. There were many foods from which he’d walk away. And with such attitude! “What? You expect me to eat that? Feh! A dog wouldn’t eat that!” Next up was Pepper, Aunt Mickey and Uncle Larry’s dog…same story… a sniff and a walk. Butchie, my mom & dad’s dog, bless his short-legged Corgi heart walked over to that stove-top stuffing, nosed it a bit, then lifted his back leg and peed on it! He christened it “INEDIBLE!” for all the world to see. Even Aunt Mickey had to laugh. We were roaring ‘til the tears came and nearly froze on our cheeks.

When our children were growing up and would beg us to tell them “Family Funnies” this story was one of the favorites. Marvin is patient with my reminiscing but enthusiastically earnest, doing his ever-hopeful-dance… that some more veggies will fall off the cutting board as I chop, chop, chop.

Written in 2005. Marvin is in doggie heaven chasing tennis balls with MacDougal, Girl, Pepper and Butchie. So is Aunt Mickey. Mercifully, they don't allow Stove Top Stuffing in heaven.