Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Seeking the Pearl River
we came upon something smaller.
Shaded from the sweltering heat
by languid trees,
we floated down the little river
as though we were care free
and all that existed
was each other.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

how you doin'?

How you doin' ?

I'm doin' alright - how 'bout yourself?

Not too bad, not too bad.

You not looking so good today. Whatsa matter?

You hear the news today?

Noooo. I don't read the paper. I don't turn on the tv. I don't got no internet. I don't got no iPhone, no androids. I'd hang out at the water cooler at work, but there ain't none. I go outside, sniff for rain. The kids call me to tell me when they got another baby, or somebody's croaked. That's about it.

Hmmm.

Whatsa matter?

Never mind.

Monday, July 29, 2013

At some point, you come to realize the labels we use aren't always accurate, and we miss the truth because we have certain things categorized and neatly filed away in the wrong drawer.

For years, I've bought bird food and enjoyed watching who showed up at the feeders. Back in Hays County, Texas - goldfinches, cardinals, scrub jays, chipping sparrows, golden-fronted woodpeckers were frequent visitors - and occasionally there might be a painted bunting. But then there were moments I'd holler out - there's a squirrel eating the bird seed! And one of us would go outside and wave our arms or toss a stick in the direction of the feeder until the squirrel would exit with hurt feelings.

I can't believe how long it took me to get past the label 'bird food'. The bag contained sunflower and other seeds, peanuts, kernels of dried corn, bits of dried fruit. Ahem. Squirrel food! (Mouse food! Horse food! People food! etc.)

Speaking of nuts, I remember sitting at picnic tables as a kid and as an adult while squirrels up above tossed one brown pine cone tab after another at my head as they dug out the nuts. Yesterday, for the umpteenth time this month, I passed under a pine tree where on the ground there were half-chewed pine cones that had never reached enough maturity to produce pine nuts. These cones were hard and green. The thought of trying to digest something like that gave me pangs in the gut. Why would a squirrel be trying to eat something that's not near ready yet?

So I've been thinking of the squirrels. I'm thankful for all the pecan trees and oak trees the squirrels have planted across the millennia, carefully burying nuts and acorns. Now when I see the skinny little squirrel that swings and sways in the 'birdfeeder' box hanging from the tree limb, I just nod my head and say, enjoy.

writing from Lafayette, Louisiana -

Sunday, July 28, 2013

'life with computer'



( Image available via Wikimedia Commons. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e3/Macintosh_128k_transparency.png/511px-Macintosh_128k_transparency.png )


Those of us who are part of the generations that experienced both 'life before computer' and 'life with computer' probably can come up with what got us initially hooked. For the general population, we're probably talking about the early 1980s here.

For some, it was a way of organizing office information, managing accounts, drafting documents, maps, and blueprints. For many, it may well have been the access to fascinating, stimulating, funny or adventurous games. (Before internet, you bought the software on floppy discs and manually loaded it to the machine.) For me, the main draw was the beautiful experience of using a word processor. It was awkward being a writer with terrible handwriting. Now, with my cube shaped Mac, I could clearly read what I wrote, and edit as I went. That experience was an enormous gift. (You don't know how bad my penmanship is!) The quality of my writing, the pace, and the quantity of finished product (such as poems, reports, short stories) skyrocketed. Although those first years I had no access to internet, I spent hours working at my computer, an invaluable tool.

As internet became available, the pleasure of emailing, of being able to receive and send work documents and messages to friends without delays, was a tremendous lure.* Then, as the internet expanded, companies came up with ways to sell products online. As more and more companies provided this service, and as ways to actually make financial transactions on the computer became available, the resistance to using a computer broke down among the masses, and it became an assumption that everyone had access to online information and activity.

Well, maybe it wasn't exactly like this, but from my perspective, and as my memory permits, this is how I experienced the rapid first stages of what has been both a great and, in some ways, a catastrophic, societal transition.



* (This was supposed to ease our consumption of paper products. Unfortunately, as printers became standard equipment - not only with office and personal computers, but with things like computerized cash registers and gasoline pumps - consumption of paper per capita has increased enormously.)

life with computer



( Image available via Wikimedia Commons. http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e3/Macintosh_128k_transparency.png/511px-Macintosh_128k_transparency.png )


Those of us who are part of the generations that experienced both 'life before computer' and 'life with computer' probably can come up with what got us initially hooked. For the general population, we're probably talking about the early 1980s here.

For some, it was a way of organizing office information, managing accounts, drafting documents, maps, and blueprints. For many, it may well have been the access to fascinating, stimulating, funny or adventurous games. (Before internet, you bought the software on floppy discs and manually loaded it to the machine.) For me, the main draw was the beautiful experience of using a word processor. It was awkward being a writer with terrible handwriting. Now, with my cube shaped Mac, I could clearly read what I wrote, and edit as I went. That experience was an enormous gift. (You don't know how bad my penmanship is!) The quality of my writing, the pace, and the quantity of finished product (such as poems, reports, short stories) skyrocketed. Although those first years I had no access to internet, I spent hours working at my computer, an invaluable tool.

As internet became available, the pleasure of emailing, of being able to receive and send work documents and messages to friends without delays, was a tremendous lure.* Then, as the internet expanded, companies came up with ways to sell products online. As more and more companies provided this service, and as ways to actually make financial transactions on the computer became available, the resistance to using a computer broke down among the masses, and it became an assumption that everyone had access to online information and activity.

Well, maybe it wasn't exactly like this, but from my perspective, and as my memory permits, this is how I experienced the rapid first stages of what has been both a great and, in some ways, a catastrophic, societal transition.



* (This was supposed to ease our consumption of paper products. Unfortunately, as printers became standard equipment - not only with office and personal computers, but with things like computerized cash registers and gasoline pumps - consumption of paper per capita has increased enormously.)

Friday, July 26, 2013

There was an article, or chapter in a book - something I read years ago - that addressed the duration of gestation (meaning - how long it takes for an infant to develop in the womb before birth). The author stated that gestational time is not fixed - that the birthdate of a baby depends upon the genes in the family, the circumstances (such as nutrition and health) during the pregnancy, and other conditions. He brought up deer as an interesting example. Deer, compared to many other animals, are noted for variation of time between fertilization of the egg, and giving birth. If the weather is good, and food and water are in steady, reliable supply, gestation is short. During a dry year when food and water are scarce - the time before birth can be extended as long as two months, until food and water are more readily available.

I also read, regarding human beings, that even when the fertilization date is exact, the timing of the birth can vary considerably from one mother to the next. One cannot reliably predict date of birth, it's always an ETA (estimated time of arrival). This can be hard on people who like to know in advance, to do everything on schedule as carefully planned! But there is a wisdom in how nature works.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

i aim the nozzle way up high
water sprays the tree trunk
the undersides of branches
leaves nod and bob and tip their hats
they say
'thanks, mate!'

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

summer squash

I was going to list all of the zucchini recipes I keep stuffed inside the yellow Whitman's Sampler chocolate candy box I use to store such things, but I loaned the recipes out and I don't have them in hand. There must be twenty of them! Almost all are from the years in the mid 1970s when I was attending school in Pullman, Washington.

Pullman, Washington was unusual in a number of ways, but we'll stick to zucchini tonight - Italian squash. Quite a few people grew vegetable gardens in the short warm summers with long days. The soil must have been ideally suited to zucchini. It only took one or two zucchini plants to be overwhelmed by these long green vegetables. If you picked them regularly at short intervals, you'd have a satisfying supply of trim, manageable squash. But if you got sidetracked by work, studies, other projects in your life, and then said, oh my gosh, I've neglected the garden, you'd be likely to come staggering through the kitchen door, arms laden by zucchini the size of a chihuahua.

So what do you do? There is only so much zucchini one person can consume.

Well - I learned you can give them to friends, and if they say no thank you, you can anonymously leave them on their doorstep. The local grocery, Rosauer's, had recipes printed on index cards. So, no, you didn't have to eat zucchini stir fry every night. There were zucchini omelettes, zucchini and corn casserole, zucchini potato skillet and what not. Friends traded recipes, and you made zucchini bread and chocolate zucchini cake (which is a lot more delicious than perhaps it sounds).

And when all was said and done, there were still more zucchini, until winter hit and it was below zero (that's Fahrenheit), and the stuff inside of your nose froze as you slogged through four feet of snow. But that's a whole nuther story about what made beautiful Pullman so unique -

Saturday, July 20, 2013

It's a long history of happy drives through Texas Hill Country and this one yesterday was welcome. Despite the drought and other factors, oaks and junipers appeared to be thriving, and there was little evidence of the dying, withered flora that has characterized trips in recent years. Yet, something is missing, and it's hard to grasp except that what came to mind again and again was, where is the milkweed?

What is gone is bigger than that, but the absence of milkweed seemed to clue the whole of it...

Thursday, July 18, 2013


motel window

welcome to the hallelujah song
floating in through the window
the skyscraper lights
peeping from behind weighted drapes

the reflection on the glass
mirrors the mirror behind me:
the image of itself,
the skyscraper lights,
the hallelujah song

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

life in the 21st century

there was ice in my diet coke
and I had some in my mouth
my teeth were crunching ice
i long ago gave up that habit
and reminded my teeth
teeth,
let it go
but my teeth kept chomping up and down
upon the ice

a caregiver
told me of some items dad needs
to care for his feet
and I heard her, and I saw her write the items on a list
but no movement entered my body
no thought to get these things came through
even though obviously
this was my job to do

we were chatting
at the dinner table
and I mentioned east of Houston
though I meant to say west of Houston
and I started to self-correct
but blew on forward with the conversation
and proceeded to say
east of Houston
two more times...
or was it west of Houston

I was lying on my bed
in the mid-afternoon and I wanted to get up
but that seemed to make no difference
the back of my legs pasted against the covers
and I smiled because apparently I didn't care
apparently I wanted to spend half the afternoon on top of the bedclothes
then, someone passed through my mind
and I blinked and flew up and out of the bed
and watered the tomato plants in the back yard

these things are happening to many

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Parties revive the spirit, add life to old friendships, and offer a chance to make new friends. When I was a little kid, there was a birthday party where the cake was a white, fluffy coconut rabbit with jelly beans - yellow, green, purple, pink - peeking from the green-dyed coconut grass. We stood around the table, and oohed and ahhed as the birthday girl blew out the little candles. Cool, huh?

As parents, we hosted many a party for our kids - friendly soccer game, spider pinata, treasure hunts. There were the impromptu parties too when the low water crossing was flooded, and kids in the neighborhood, freed by bad weather from the obligations of childhood, came by for sweet goodies and games. One morning, it snowed, and a couple of guys down the way came to wake up the sleepyheads in our house for a snowball battle. We fixed pancakes and bacon and turned it into a party of kids, faces flushed red with the fun in the cold.

We had parties with folks our own age too. Friends embraced certain dates for annual get togethers. One family celebrated April Fools each year, another, the 12th day of Christmas. Another had a Tamalade in December. We gave parties on an equinox, or a Christmas/Hanukkah celebration at winter solstice.

There's always a bit of risk in throwing a party - everyone under the sun may show up, or no one at all. As you heap barbecue on a platter, you may learn your friends have turned vegetarian in the months since you last saw them. You worry about keeping everyone happy. What kind of drinks to offer? What kind of music do you play when you've invited both classical afficionados and country western fans? But the truth is, most guests are so grateful to be invited to an event, they're not going to quibble about the details. At parties, a guest has the opportunity to try new foods, drinks, music, and to flirt with the safely marrieds. If the guest don't like the food and drink, the guest can always eat comfort food when the guest gets back home. With time, though, you do learn a little bit about the preferences of those who are dear to you, and sometimes are happy to coddle them. The main thing is a party is time set aside solely to enjoy life and friendship, and we do thrive on a little social happiness now and again.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Yosemite

from The Yosemite by John Muir
The Approach to the Valley

(John Muir (1838 -1914) was a remarkable naturalist and photographer. The following paragraphs are quoted from Chapter 2 as reproduced by Wikisource.)



So on the first of April, 1868, I set out afoot for Yosemite. It was the bloom-time of the year over the lowlands and coast ranges the landscapes of the Santa Clara Valley were fairly drenched with sunshine, all the air was quivering with the songs of the meadow-larks, and the hills were so covered with flowers that they seemed to be painted. Slow indeed was my progress through these glorious gardens, the first of the California flora I had seen. Cattle and cultivation were making few scars as yet, and I wandered enchanted in long wavering curves, knowing by my pocket map that Yosemite Valley lay to the east and that I should surely find it.


The Sierra From The West

Looking eastward from the summit of the Pacheco Pass one shining morning, a landscape was displayed that after all my wanderings still appears as the most beautiful I have ever beheld. At my feet lay the Great Central Valley of California, level and flowery, like a lake of pure sunshine, forty or fifty miles wide, five hundred miles long, one rich furred garden of yellow Compositœ;. And from the eastern boundary of this vast golden flower-bed rose the mighty Sierra, miles in height, and so gloriously colored and so radiant, it seemed not clothed with light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city. Along the top and extending a good way down, was a rich pearl-gray belt of snow; below it a belt of blue and lark purple, marking the extension of the forests; and stretching long the base of the range a broad belt of rose-purple; all these colors, from the blue sky to the yellow valley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of light ineffably fine. Then it seemed to me that the Sierra should be called, not the Nevada or Snowy Range, but the Range of Light. And after ten years of wandering and wondering in the heart of it, rejoicing in its glorious floods of light, the white beams of the morning streaming through the passes, the noonday radiance on the crystal rocks, the flush of the alpenglow, and the irised spray of countless waterfalls, it still seems above all others the Range of Light.

...the whole range five hundred miles long is furrowed with cañons 2000 to 5000 feet deep, in which once flowed majestic glaciers, and in which now flow and sing the bright rejoicing rivers.

Saturday, July 13, 2013

it's my challenge and privilege tonight
to write
of something that has yet
to be in existence -
a spontaneous contribution
to world peace and happiness -

have you ever heard
of Valentine's Day in July?

(Nota Bene:
no anxiety over purchases
for there are no purchases,
but so many other ways
to share a moment's affection -
or more.)

happy valentine's!
XO
Some seven years back, exploring the Menil art museums in Houston, Texas, I came upon a gallery devoted to the works of Cy Twombly. I had no knowledge of this artist and at first was taken aback by the amount of space devoted to a painter who liked to doodle and scribble on large canvases without evidence of much forethought, or concern about composition or polish. Some of them had material in only one corner of the canvas, as though he'd jotted a grocery list, then wandered off. But as we walked from room to room, a power in his work dealt me a dazzling blow. What was this about?

Then I found one piece with some fish and meandering words in his inimitable terrible hand. My first reaction was - this is mine! I, a first-time visitor, had created this. I never had that feeling before about another person's art, nor since, but it was as though I'd stumbled upon something I'd left behind in another life. More realistically, I felt a bond with the artist who a few minutes ago I hadn't known at all.

We took leave of the building to find another artist's works - neon light tubes in a large space reminiscent of a skating rink. But first we gabbed with a gallery employee who was handing pecans to a squirrel outside, and who gave us each a pecan to offer to the boisterous-tailed resident.

Friday, July 12, 2013

pogy

many years have passed
since i stood near the pier
on the mississippi coast
and watched the pogy
catching light over water
as they swam and leapt
fast and silvery
under afternoon sun
churning water into foam
the dolphins and sand sharks
not so far behind
now I'm far from sea
the pogy sail
through dreamy trees
as though to say
'remember me'

Thursday, July 11, 2013

America the Beautiful coins



In 2010, the United States Mint began to issue a series of quarters (25 cents) honoring our national parks and monuments. They are called 'America the Beautiful Quarters'. Last month, June 2013, the 18th coin in this series was introduced: Great Basin National Park (in Nevada). Two others have entered the currency flow this year: White Mountain National Forest (in New Hampshire) and Perry's Victory and International Peace Memorial(in Ohio). Still to come this year: Fort McHenry National Monument and Historic Shrine (in Maryland), and Mount Rushmore National Memorial (in South Dakota). I've come across the Denali, the Crater Lake, and the Hawaii Volcanoes coins, and have been moved by the beauty of their designs. The series is expected to continue to introduce new coins at a rate of five per year at least through 2021.

(Image above courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:ATBQ_2010_WY_Yellowstone.jpg)

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

walking
one foot two foot
up and down beneath the streetlights
the timing of planting
shovel, shovel
pat pat pat
taste the earth
silence has a timing too,
the heart's pulse
we feel and catch the gracious wave
all is failing
keep the beat

Monday, July 8, 2013

meet the possum at night
where moonlight mingles
with the shadow of leaves

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Breakfast in Mentone, Alabama

1973 was the last year I visited Mentone, Alabama. During the summer in the 1930s, my mother's family drove north from New Orleans to stay at the lodge for a break from the sticky heat. My parents continued the tradition a few times with us kids. Mentone was a very small town in northeast Alabama, near Fort Payne, perched up in the southern edge of the Smoky Mountains. The Smokies are old, soft, weathered sedimentary mountains, unlike the sharp-edged Rockies out west. The lodge was rural, not gated or fenced, just situated in the middle of heavenly nowhere. The only cars were the few arriving or leaving. You could fish in the creeks, walk to see waterfalls, explore caves. Grownups spent a lot of time on the front porch of the lodge, just breathing in the mountain air, conversing with other guests, and watching the birds, the butterflies, and, at nightfall, the lightning bugs. Sometimes the grownups would go into the yard to play shuffleboard or horseshoes with their kids.

There was a big bell in front of the lodge and the cabin house. Not certain, but breakfast may have been at 9 on weekdays, and 10 on weekends. Ten minutes before breakfast, someone would come out and ring the bell. When breakfast was arriving at the tables, the bell was rung once again.

By the second bell, just about everybody was already gathered inside. No one wanted to miss the food. The mountain air made you hungry, and just as you thought you might faint, there came the couple who owned the lodge and their helpers, carrying bowls of steaming food to the two long tables with their clean tablecloths, good utensils, and cloth napkins. The old china bowls and platters, patterned with flowers, held steaming grits, scrambled eggs, strips of crisp bacon, and fresh biscuits, still dusted lightly with the flour from the rolling pin. There was a plate with curls of butter, and bowls with strawberry or peach preserves. Glass pitchers of milk, water, and orange juice were at the end of each table, and coffee was served once everybody was seated. No, no one was late for breakfast.

You don't forget a breakfast like that, now like a dream, so vividly real then - the bell, the friendly voices, the smell of the bacon and eggs, the sunlight on the tables, the clean, cool mountain air.

Monday, July 1, 2013

When we fed the animals in winter, there was hay, and then there was good hay. Hay was straw. Good hay was alfalfa - more substance and nutrition and a green fragrance that alerted the mind like the air before a thunderstorm. The bales when I was a kid were long and squared off. We'd take a few squares to toss to the goats and horse. Most of the bales I see now are cylindrical. Alfalfa is used to make food products for other animals, such as rabbits. This spring, I bought some rabbit food (alfalfa pellets) to help nourish the depleted soil when planting. The tomato vines now are wild and crazy and taller than me, full of blooms and clusters of fruit. Not sure that its the alfalfa, but the alfalfa didn't hurt.

According to the World Dictionary (2009), the word alfalfa comes from the Arabic term al-fasfasah. This means 'the best sort of fodder'.