Sunday (sigh)

I think I need a new strategy. It’s always been hard for me to be alone on Sunday afternoons, probably because they were such a special family time when I was growing up. Lunch was always (and still is) a big home-cooked meal, more like dinner. And afterwards, a drive out to the country to visit my uncles (country then, suburbs now), or to Dundalk to see Aunt Mary and Uncle George, who would give us Cokes (!). Sometimes my Dad and I would just drive down to the waterfront in Baltimore and look at the big ships; once I remember we walked all around the deck of an old abandoned freighter, God knows how we got onto it. Of course, they were safer, less barbed-wire times then. And sometimes we’d make the long drive out to Finksburg to visit Detzinka and Streetchek, on their real farm, at the end of a long dirt road that wound past a tiny cemetery plot. It had cold running water and a wood-fired stove and a nice flower garden and apple orchard and black walnut trees. Detzinka, who then must have been in her 70s and smelled of earth and fire and sweat, would kill copperheads with a spade. (Odd that I ended up living in Finksburg for a time; I remember house-hunting there, and feeling the spot where that farm used to be, a hint of the stream and ridge and a grassy road I remembered, but more than that, a spirit, probably Detzinka herself tapping me on the shoulder.) The road, 140, to that farm was the same we would sometimes take to Gettysburg, and in either case there was a stop at Twin Kiss for soft ice cream and homemade root beer in frosted glass mugs. And Sunday night was always pizza from Gil’s, except when it was corned beef sandwiches if Dad and I were downtown and stopped on Lombard Street; he had his favorites, this deli for bread, that for pickles, and another for the corned beef.

Nowadays, it’s as often as not a long, lonesome ride home from the old house in Overlea after lunch on Sundays. But I’m happy to still have that tradition, that sense of family, if only for a short hour each week. And I’m sure glad the dogs are here when I get home.

Got Them No Blueberry Blues

Darn. I tried to order some new blueberry bushes to replace the ones that were lost to the drought, and everyone was sold out for the season. Next spring, I guess.

On a brighter (greener) note, I enjoyed some delicious turnip greens from the garden with my dinner. And this weekend will be enjoying salads with fresh baby greens and tomatoes and peppers. The fall planting is doing very well. I'll be packaging up lots of greens — lettuces, arugula ("the rocket plant"), European greens, kale — to take to la famille on Sunday. Sometimes it's nice to have a gardener in the family, when the crop is good!

Officially...

5:51 a.m. EDT/9:51GMT, Sunday, September 23rd.

Although it's surely in the air already. Looks, feels, and smells like it. But I will sit by as the opening of archery season comes and goes this Saturday, with no place to hunt in Maryland. And no time anyway.

Oh, well, 9/22 should be a good night to burn that brush pile that's been accumulating, a nice official send-off to summer, and welcoming of autumn. Think I'll do that.

As If We Didn't Know...

Organic Tomatoes are Healthier

A 10-year study by the University of California at Davis found that organic tomatoes have higher levels of key nutrients than their conventionally grown counterparts.

The study, published in the Journal of Agriculture and Food Chemistry on June 23, 2007, found higher levels of flavonoids - substances that stimulate health-protective antioxidant activity in the body - in tomatoes grown organically. The study found that the flavonoids quecetin and kaempferol were on average 79 and 97 percent higher, respectively.

from DrWeil.com

Sunset-Moonrise, Kodachrome Basin, Utah

Phallus, Kodachrome Basin, Utah

Indian Paintbrush, Calf Creek, Utah

Kiva Koffeehouse, between Escalante and Boulder, Utah

The Polisher

Whatever love wants, it gets,
not next year, now.

I swear by the one who never says tomorrow,
as the circle of the moon never agrees
to sell installments of light.
It gives all it has.

How do stories end?
Who shall explain them?

Every story is us. That is who we are,
from the beginning to no-matter-how-it-comes-out.

Those who know the taste of a meal
are those who sit at the table and eat.

Lover and friend are one being,
and separate beings, too,
as the polisher melts in the mirror's face.

— Rumi
from A Year With Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks

Thor's Hammer, Bryce Canyon, Utah

Approaching Bryce Canyon, 3 weeks ago today

Tree, East Zion, Utah

Rattlesnake, Kolob Canyons, Utah

Me, Kodachrome Basin, Utah

The Grim Statistics

Lower Falls, Calf Creek, Utah

Slot Canyon, Boulder, Utah

Moonrise, Kodachrome, Utah

Moving back in time...

Last night, horses. I do ride, though I wasn't in the dream.

Interpretation? In this case, perhaps the "daily residue" theory. The mare up at the end of town had a foal. So beautiful together! There was a foal in the dream, too.

Momentum

No airplanes — flywheels. Odd thing to dream about. A reminder of the importance of momentum...and how challenging it becomes when it's interrupted.

Dreams, Crashing

Been having a lot of dreams about trains, lately, including a big crash. And other transportation themes...

Two nights ago, I dreamed I was driving a convertible. Last night, a motorcycle. Tonight a plane?

On an unrelated note (perhaps), I picked raspberries in the yard this morning for my oatmeal. A literal reminder that all sweetness comes with thorns.

On an unrelated note (perhaps), I've secured a supply of horse and/or cow shit (my choice) to add to my garden this Fall.

Ruminations

1.
Where is a foot worthy to walk a garden,
or any eye that deserves to look at trees?

Show me a man willing to be
thrown into the fire.

2.
In the shambles of love, they kill only the best,
none of the weak or deformed.
Don’t run away from this dying.
Whoever’s not killed for love is dead meat.

—Rumi

Moore's Law

Love him or hate him, you need to go see Michael Moore’s latest, Sicko. This country needs an honest, straightforward, soul-searching debate on our healthcare system. We spend twice as much as anyone else, and come up miserably in healthcare rankings, including longevity and infant mortality (yes, yes, McDonald’s is as much to blame).

A university professor on the radio tonight put it well when he said something to the effect that, the problem is, we don’t have insurance, we have unsure-ance. That’s my biggest worry. I got a potential glimpse of my future in the 89-year old man Moore showed, working a janitorial job so he could have health coverage and pay for his and his wife’s prescriptions.

Argue whatever you may, but I think these two truths should rule any argument:

1. Health care should not be a capitalist enterprise governed by the exchange of money; people should not be required to have a certain amount of money to know that they will benefit from the medical knowledge and skill that can care for them.

2. We have an obligation to all our people, as a society, to see that everyone has equal access to a reasonable level of care; that what can be done to save lives and improve the quality of lives, short of ridiculously expensive or exotic treatments, can and will be done.

Let’s start the debate. Let’s find a solution. Thoughts?

Oh BTW, just prior to writing this I got the bill from my daughter’s initial visit to the allergist. $600+. Still haven’t met her deductible this year.

The Lure of the Sea

As hard as this may be to believe, on Monday I walked on a beach for the first time in 11 years. And what a magnificent beach it was, at Half Moon Bay south of San Francisco—beautiful green water and a tumultuous surf, wide white beach, sharp bluffs. I ended up spending a long time walking and sitting. I had it practically to myself; I saw maybe 6 people and 3 dogs (and introduced myself to all the dogs, of course!).

As I sat and gazed at that beautiful water, for the first time I could look across the Pacific and imagine that land far away that has brought such treasures to our shores and to my life—the rich culture, the delightful food, an ancient sensibility about the universe. Most of all, the joy of Luke, number one son, who traveled across that ocean to become so close to my heart.

I thought, too, of how little I knew, those times that I sat and gazed across the Atlantic Ocean, what joy and treasure would come into my heart and life from so far away in that direction—from ancient Persia, further even than my ancestors traveled to arrive here a century ago.

Worlds of joy, come to me across two oceans, and I am so much the richer for those journeys!

Marking the Solstice

June 21
18:06 GMT
14:06 EDT

In the name of God...

(I hope it's not a sin to steal from The Writer's Almanac. This from 6/19:)

"It's the birthday of mathematician and mystic Blaise Pascal, born in Clermont, France (1623). He wrote a lot about religion, and attempted to convert skeptics to Christianity. But he also said, 'Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.'"

Visit From a Master Gardener

A few weeks ago, on a Friday morning, I walked down to the end of town where a sign advertised a yard sale. I was the first customer, and a nice elderly woman was sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway. I recognized her as the Uniontown “tax collector,” the lady who collects our money to pay for the street lights. I picked out a few candles and a couple pounds of fresh asparagus from her garden. Of course, I noticed her garden, particularly her immense vegetable plot.

So after a little small talk I said to here, “C’mon, show me your garden,” and she was surprised but seemed happy to oblige. Turns out she is a “Master Gardener.” There is a program offered in the counties to become such a gardener; my friend and client from the evidently defunct Garden Chat blog took it, but it was too much of a time commitment for me. Anyway, we talked about the various things she was growing and the problems and successes, and she showed me her greenhouse (“got it used, you know, has to be historically authentic”…this is Uniontown, after all) and she offered me this and that kind of seedling which I politely declined, not knowing where I could put anything else in my mess of a yard. I did get excited about one plant, Nigella damascena, “Love in the Mist,” and happily took two small plants from her. Fortunately, I finally got around to planting them a few nights ago.

Fast forward to this past Saturday. I had finished mowing, and giving Trixie a bath, and was coming in to get Charlie for his bath only to find him barking at the front door. I didn’t know who it could be; I hadn’t seen any German cars parked in the driveway. Well, it was Mrs. Neighbor Master Gardener (do you like how we preserve anonymity here on the Double R Daily?) bringing me the brochure for the Carroll County program. We chatted on the porch for a minute, and then with a little trepidation I offered, “Do you want to see out back?” Her “of course” was enthusiastic.

I did a lot of apologizing for the mess, the 1/3-finished patio, etc., etc., and she did a good job of understanding. We looked over the perennial bed, which thank goodness was looking pretty good, and discussed the fig and the lily problems, and I showed her the vegetable patch. She was very enthusiastic about my tomatoes. ☺ Of course, I had to confess that my mother’s were better, but she still was full of compliments. So we talked about the different stuff we grow and the ways we like to fix and eat it and it was very nice. I heard about her husband and her son (who turns 50 this week), etc. As we were finishing up she observed, with a bit of skepticism in her tone, that she didn’t see a compost pile anywhere. So I pointed it (them!) out to her, way down the bottom of the yard, and thus passed the final test.

On the way out, as we chatted out front, I remembered to ask, “Hey, do you grow orchids?” And she said no, don’t they need special moisture, etc., etc., and I invited her into my quite messy house to see my one lone orchid and its 53 — yes that’s 53 — blooms. I think that sealed my status with her as a “serious” gardener.

It was so nice to get that orchid as a present last year, for no special reason at all. What a sweet gift it was, full of sweet memories now.

Long-Distance Father's Day

I got calls from both of the kids today — one 1,000 miles away, one 5,000. And a hand-made card from #1 son yesterday. God bless those kids! But no other calls from near or far with Father’s Day greetings.

I took some flowers from my yard — hydrangea, lily, yarrow — to my father’s grave, and thanked him for everything he did for me, everything he made me, for being there for me, for what he taught me about being a father and a human being, and asked him to keep helping me, because I need it. Today was his birthday, too; he would have been 95.

And I prayed for my friend and her family, whose father died just last week, and for the others I know whose fathers have passed on to a bigger existence, and for the fathers and their children who are separated for whatever reason.

And it was good to see the new fathers in my family, bringing on the next generation. Little Stella Rose even sat on my lap without crying, a Father’s Day gift to me. My brother is such a good grandfather.

There were not as many flowers as I thought would be up at St. Paul’s Cemetery, there at the end of Uniontown, when Charlie and I went for our sunset walk.

A bittersweet day. This is how it seems to me: One morning you wake up and you realize there are no second chances. The beliefs, the hopes, the dreams, the thoughts you had that were not realized or went awry, you realize now are gone. So you hope for not a second chance, but a different chance. Unfortunately, that same morning you might wake up and realize the different chance…well. You end up just being glad you’re a father, and you keep working and working and working at it.

Ten Surprising Nutrition Facts

Stolen from Dr.Weil.com, as culled from presentations at the "Fourth Annual Nutrition and Health Conference." Bring on the garlic!

Bad News:

1. Hunter-gatherers in the Australian outback today live on 800 varieties of plant foods. Modern Americans live principally on three: corn, soy and wheat.
2. One third of Americans get 47 percent of their calories from junk foods.
3. The average American is eating 300 more calories each day than he or she did in 1985. Added sweeteners account for 23 percent of those additional calories; added fats, 24 percent.
4. Vitamin D deficiency is widespread. The following health problems have been linked to vitamin D deficiency: type 1 and 2 diabetes; multiple sclerosis; rheumatoid arthritis, osteoarthritis, periodontal disease, increased susceptibility to infection; osteoporosis, low birth weight infants; low seizure threshold; cancers of the breast, prostate, colon, pancreas and ovary; non-Hodgkin's lymphoma; hypertension, myocardial infarction, stroke, congestive heart failure; wheezing in childhood, and compromised muscle strength and falls in the elderly.
5. In real dollars, the price of fresh fruits and vegetables has risen nearly 40 percent since 1985. In real dollars, the price of soft drinks has dropped 23 percent. The reason unhealthy foods tend to be less expensive on average than foods such as fresh fruits and vegetables has much to do with American farm policy.

Hopeful News

1. Ten cups per day of green tea delayed cancer onset 8.7 years in Japanese women and three years in Japanese men.
2. Three meta-analyses of randomized, placebo-controlled trials found a 5-12 percent decrease in cholesterol levels in hyperlipidemic patients after at least 30 days' treatment with 600-900 mg of garlic extract.
3. Maternal limitation of seafood consumption to less than 340 grams per week during pregnancy did not protect children from adverse outcomes. In contrast, this observational study [Avon Longitudinal Study of Parents and Children] showed beneficial effects on child development when maternal seafood consumption exceeded 340 grams per week, with no upper limit of benefit...
4. "I see a lot of hopeful trends, including the rise of alternative agriculture: organic, local, biodynamic...There are now over 4,000 farmers' markets in the U.S. The number has doubled in 10 years."
5. Chocolate...may have a mild hypotensive [blood-pressure lowering] effect.

Long-Delayed Posts

What patience you have, gentle reader, for wandering back here after so long. My apologies. Life is so filled with busy-nesse these days. And I have added a consistent (albeit lightweight) fitness routine to my days, still another thing that has kept me away. Exercise, a more rigorous diet, supplements…I am on a kick to get healthy and get my cholesterol numbers down. I don’t know that my nurse practitioner has the patience to wait — she has sent me a prescription for statins — but I am going to call her and beg for six months. Meantime, I’m off to make my morning gruel: old-fashioned oatmeal with white raisins, sprinkled with ground flax seed, cinnamon, and turbinado sugar. Then I will tell you about my garden, if you care to hear.

Out In The Garden...

Ah, the garden! Modest though it is, it warms my heart and spirit to be in it. I broke down and bought an A-frame for the porch swing, so now I can sit and watch the tomatoes grow and the moon rise.

The tomatoes are, indeed, looking fine. The stems are getting strong, they are about 18” tall, and getting lots of blossoms. Maybe this is the year I pick one before my mother does! I started Better Boys and Yellow Pears from seed, and Pineapple (although late, as the seed was backordered; I ended up buying a few plants). From Dana’s I got Cherokee Purple and Green Zebra (and way too much other stuff!). Also in the vegetable garden, starting to eat salads; cukes, cabbage, onions, and kale are all doing well.

The bulbs are a mixed bag. I was seduced by the good prices at Costco and bought too many (surprise, surprise!). The dahlias are coming up, about 6 or 8 of them, and the glads; out of a couple dozen Asiatic lilies, maybe 5? And none of the Caladiums; perhaps I planted them upside down or something. And the Chocolate Cosmos I ordered special from Wayside is nowhere to be found. Ugh.

I thought I had lost the fig, but there is green growth from the base. The branches though, are producing nothing. I’m wondering if I should prune them off and let it take over from the bottom. Thoughts? So much for cold-hardy.

The rest of the perennial border is in nice second-year shape. Achillea and salvia are blooming, Petrovski is looking strong (and smelling wonderful!); rudbeckia, bergamot, and the santolinas are looking good. Of the old (pre-me) plants, the roses, irises, and tulips are bloomed out; the hollyhock is getting ready to bloom; the yucca has not yet sent up its spikes.

Oh, very important! I planted a blueberry hedge as a divider and entrance-way to the lower garden room; eight plants. That should be exciting next year, and more so the year after.

This morning, after last night’s wonderful storms, was perfect for weeding. I pulled a good 5-gallon bucket full and then some…after my morning coffee on the swing.

Needless to say, with planting (even though it is modest by any standards) and general clean-up, the patio project has gone nowhere. I’m out of excuses now, so I’ll have to get started on it again.

Meantime, we can still use more rain…

Twilight: After Haying

by Jane Kenyon from Otherwise: New & Selected Poems, swiped from today's Writer's Almanac

Yes, long shadows go out
from the bales; and yes, the soul
must part from the body:
what else could it do?
The men sprawl near the baler,
too tired to leave the field.
They talk and smoke,
and the tips of their cigarettes
blaze like small roses
in the night air. (It arrived
and settled among them
before they were aware.)
The moon comes
to count the bales,
and the dispossessed—
Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will
—sings from the dusty stubble.
These things happen ... the soul's bliss
and suffering are bound together
like the grasses ...
The last, sweet exhalations
of timothy and vetch
go out with the song of the bird;
the ravaged field
grows wet with dew.

For want of a kiss...

(Insert poem here.)

Correction: Seven Years

Jumped the gun by a day. Happy anniversary, Double R Brand...on April 3.

Seven Years

Happy anniversary, Double R Brand!

Happy Birthday, Vincent!

"I have a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out and paint the stars."

— Vincent Van Gogh

The Art of Disappearing

by Naomi Shihab Nye
from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

When they say Don't I know you?
say no.

When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.

If they say We should get together
say why?

It's not that you don't love them anymore.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

A New Record!

March 1st! Who woulda thought?!? I'm going to bring the boxes down from the attic this weekend and pack the ornaments away. But I don't know about actually taking the tree down. The equinox is just three weeks away. Wouldn't it be great to have a tree from solstice to equinox? We'll see how dry it is. Stay tuned...

House For Rent

Interested? Know anybody?

Uniontown: Charming brick Federal-style home for rent. Lots of historic charm. 3 BR, 1.75 baths, hardwood, modern kitchen, nice yard, lots of windows, family room. Pets maybe. Security deposit; references required.

Just Stop Buying!

I'm in. This from the New York Times, 2/24/07:

By M. P. DUNLEAVEY: "It sounds like something that would happen in San Francisco. In 2005, a few friends gathered for dinner and started bemoaning the fate of the planet, the environmental impact of consumer excess — and ended up challenging one another to not buy anything new for six months...

Yet for such a simple and not terribly sexy idea — to buy nothing new, other than food and other absolute essentials — the Compact has managed to build a groundswell of supporters."

You are allowed to buy new socks and underwear, as needed.

Read the whole story here.

The Power of Roses

Amazing how a dozen (or 14) roses in a vase can accent the clutter in this house. Makes me want to clear everything out so their beauty can have the full stage without distraction. At least got me to pick up a little.

I knew it!

Regular Midday Snoozes Tied to a Healthier Heart

By NICHOLAS BAKALAR

Published: February 13, 2007, New York Times

Taking a nap after lunch may be good for your heart. This splendid news arrived in the form of a study published Monday in The Archives of Internal Medicine.

In a study of more than 23,000 Greek men and women ages 20 to 86, researchers found that napping at least three times a week for a half-hour was associated with a significantly decreased risk of death from heart disease. After controlling for factors like smoking, body mass index, physical activity and diet, the researchers found that people who regularly took a siesta had a 37 percent lower coronary death rate than those who never napped. The effect was even greater in working men.

The Blind Leading The Blind

Take my hand. There are two of us in this cave.
The sound you hear is water; you will hear it forever.
The ground you walk on is rock. I have been here before.
People come here to be born, to discover, to kiss,
to dream, and to dig and to kill. Watch for the mud.
Summer blows in with scent of horses and roses;
fall with the sound of sound breaking; winter shoves
its empty sleeve down the dark of your throat.
You will learn toads from diamonds, the fist from palm,
love from the sweat of love, falling from flying.
There are a thousand turnoffs. I have been here before.
Once I fell off a precipice. Once I found gold.
Once I stumbled on murder, the thin parts of a girl.
Walk on, keep walking, there are axes above us.
Watch for the occasional bits and bubbles of light —
Birthdays for you, recognitions: yourself, another.
Watch for the mud. Listen for bells, for beggars.
Something with wings went crazy against my chest once.
There are two of us here. Touch me.

by Lisel Mueller
from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems
© Louisiana State University Press

Microwave Your Sponge!

This was covered in one of my very first posts, and now there's more research to confirm it. It does make you wonder, though, what microwaving might be doing to your food. This, from Dr. Weil.com:

Microwaving Decontaminates Sponges, Scrubbing Pads
No doubt about it, sponges and scrubbers are common carriers of bugs that cause food-borne illnesses. Kitchen pathogens from uncooked eggs, meat and vegetables get from the foods onto countertops, utensils and cleaning tools and from there to the sponges and scrubbers used for cleaning. Now a new study has demonstrated that zapping your kitchen sponges and scrubbers in the microwave will kill any bacteria and viruses they may harbor. Researchers at the University of Florida soaked sponges and scrubbing pads in dirty water containing a disgusting mix of fecal bacteria, viruses, parasites and bacterial spores, including pathogens that can survive efforts to destroy them with radiation, heat and toxic chemicals. They then zapped the filthy, wet sponges in an ordinary microwave for various lengths of time. Results showed that two minutes at full power killed more than 99 percent of all the bad bugs (however, hard-to-kill Bacillus cereus spores needed four minutes). The researchers advised microwaving your sponges and scrubbers every other day. Make sure the sponges and scrubbers are completely wet before you zap them. The study was published in the December 2006 issue of the Journal of Environmental Health.

So How Much Would You Owe Us, W?

Bush: Link exec salaries to performance

By BEN FELLER, Associated Press Writer 32 minutes ago

NEW YORK -
President Bush took aim Wednesday at lavish salaries and bonuses for corporate executives, standing on Wall Street to issue a sharp warning for corporate boards to "step up to their responsibilities" and tie compensation packages to performance.

Can he be serious!?!?

Take this eating test...

Still haven't read that article?

I've come up with what I think is a pretty reliable way to measure the health of the diet around here: How often do you empty the kitchen compost bucket? It you're eating well, it's often. I'm emptying mine at least twice a week, and sometimes every other day. That means lots of vegetables and fruits are being prepared.

Don't have a compost bucket? Then you need to ask yourself a question: Why not? Anyone, anywhere, can compost. If you're feeling challenged or need some tips, post your questions.

One thing that doesn't seem destined for a compost heap anytime soon is our Christmas tree. It's still drinking plenty of water, and dropping no needles to speak of. This makes me happy. I was just reflecting the other day how tragic it is to cut a tree down to honor it only for a few short weeks. I think I'll beat my Valentine's Day record this year. Wouldn't it be great if it lasted all the way 'til Spring!?

By way of explanation...

"It's a nervous work. The state that you need to write is the state that others are paying large sums to get rid of."

— Shirley Hazzard
Short story writer

Hurry Up and Read This!

...before the Times moves it into the premium area. The best, simplest wisdom yet for what to eat, and what not. An excellent, if long, article by Michael Pollan — author of last year's hit, The Omnivore's Dilemma — on the American diet, nutritionism, and the food industry.

Read it here.

Dr. Weil's Daily Health Tip

Breathing as Meditation

In Buddhist and yogic traditions, people claim to have reached an enlightened state by doing nothing more than paying attention to the rising and falling of their breath. What easier way could there be to reach such a state? Especially since breathing - following the ebb and flow of your breath - is an intrinsic part of meditation. By paying attention to your breath, you will rapidly change your state of consciousness, begin to relax, and slowly detach from ordinary awareness. Try to focus on the dimensionless point between your in-breath and out-breath, and glimpse the elements of enlightenment in that space.

Correction

Thank you, kind reader!

On Pain

And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Gibran

Joy & Pain

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy.

— Kahlil Gibran

Radio-Free Uniontown

Yesterday was a rare and blessed "no-drive day," when I didn't get in the car at all. I treasure these fleeting gems. I highly recommend giving it a try, if you're one of us who always have kids or work or shopping or some other reason that pulls us into a car everyday.

Driving home from Sunday lunch at Mom's, I thought maybe when I got home I'd try to go "radio free" for the rest of the day, including all passive forms of electronic entertainment — no radio, no music, no TV, no DVD. Just the hum of the refrigerator and furnace and computer fan — oh, and my brand new vacuum cleaner! I can't really swear off the computer since I have to work.

It's only been what? Five hours? But it is a challenge already. I always have Internet radio on while I'm working, the background drone of New Age (elevator music), classical, or classic jazz. It's different. Quiet.

That new vacuum, though, man! It really sucks. And it's "convertible" — you can press a latch and pull the main sucker off the chassis to use as a canister vac, great for the steps. It's the first time I've had one with one of those clear dirt cups. I'm amazed at how much it pulls up, so quickly. I'm even dirtier than I thought. It's incredible what they've managed to do in the vacuum world in the last 15 years or so since my last new one, onboard tools and all that. I'm loving it. HOWEVER...

They still can't get the frickin' cord right! There's at least 12" to work with between the cord spindles — that seems like a lot of margin to me, and how many ways can you wrap a cord between two points? Yet, the way I wrapped it (straight, no crossover), the plug clip ends up right at the bottom of the curve where it's nigh impossible to clip. So yeah, maybe if you do the math for me, you'll tell me that crossing over each loop can easily suck up 12". I try it and let you know.

Anyhow, thanks Mom, for the Christmas cash. Bissell and Costco thank you, too!

What's In My Journal?

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

by William Stafford, born this day in 1914
from Crossing Unmarked Snow
© University of Michigan Press
stolen from The Writer's Almanac (as usual)

Another Bushticker Spotted...

20 January 2009
The End of an Error

Yet Another Bushter Sticker

"Fermez le Bush."

On the Eve of the New Year...

"Hope smiles on the threshold of the year to come, whispering that it will be happier."

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Great Bumper Sticker

"Frodo has failed...
Bush has the ring!"

Just what we need...another blog!

But hey, this is a good one! We just started it. Tell all your gardening friends! Check it out at:

http://gardenchat.blogspot.com/

Write something dirty!

Merry Christmas from Uniontown!

Xmas Buck 2
Originally uploaded by rebetsky.

Christmas in Uniontown

I have to say, in this, the year of the inflatable front-yard snowglobe, the tastefully restrained decorations in Uniontown are quite charming. The preferred "historically authentic" decorum is fresh greens and a single candle in each window. A few folks couldn't restrain themselves and wrapped white lights around their evergreen garlands, but that's OK; a few with independent streaks on the edges of town put up colored (!) lights. But by and large, it's a very elegant, cheerful display. As for myself, my wreath actually made it onto the door this year, though I don't have candles in the windows. I was about to buy some, but fiscal panic set in before I did.

Here at Brambly Hedge, the presents are wrapped, the pumpkin pies are baked and the sweet potato souffle is ready to go in the oven in the morning. So gentle readers, as the clock is about to strike midnight on Christmas morning, I hope this day brings you things that are good for you, and that your hearts are filled with the peace and joy of the season. Good will to you all, and to all, good night!

Such beautiful ornaments!

ornaments.jpg
Originally uploaded by rebetsky.

I've got a nice collection now. It's always nice to unpack them and enjoy the surprises of the ones you forgot. Only had to use a few traditional colored balls to fill in the gaps.

Another view...

xmas tree 06-b.jpg
Originally uploaded by rebetsky.

We're just about all done getting ready for the holiday here in Uniontown, not that much was done besides put up the tree. The dogs have gotten their Christmas baths. The shopping's all done, just need to wrap. The wreath is still sitting on the porch waiting to get hung on the door. (Last year as I recall, it never did make it onto the door.) Wrap, make the sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie, and I'll be done.

The most beautiful Christmas tree!

xmas tree 06-a.jpg
Originally uploaded by rebetsky.

...and I've learned it's darned hard to photograph a Christmas tree!

Do you doubt climate change?

It generally seems pretty abstract. Sure, it's warm this December, but some years are colder, some warmer than others. I remember more snow when I was a kid, but then, everything was better when I was a kid!

Here's the reality, though: The National Arbor Day Foundation has just "re-issued" the USDA's plant hardiness zone map, and it shows the real impact of global warming. Here in Carroll County, I've always figured us to be a 6 to 6.5. Now, we're clearly a 7. That's a big difference on a scale of 10.

Look your zone up here. The USDA, too, is revising its map, but hasn't released it yet.

As reported in the New York Times: "Cameron P. Wake, a research associate professor at the Climate Change Research Center at the University of New Hampshire, said that winter temperatures in the Northeast have increased an average of 4.3 degrees over the last 30 years."

It's good news and bad news for us gardeners. On the good side, barring the inevitable cold snap, we can shave a week or two off our earliest safe planting times, and get a week or two more out of the season. And it means we can grow some varieties that previously were too risky.

On the minus side, less cold means more insects overwintering, less successful kill-off of harmful disease-causing bacteria and fungi such as apple scab, and more vigorous growth of invasive species including poison ivy, Japanese honeysuckle and English ivy. For us allergy sufferers, too, it means exponential growth in the release of pollen — 10x as much from ragweed as in the old, cold days.

I've always felt that good, long freezes are critical in our area to keep the plant cycles viable (from a human perspective, to serve our needs, of course) and also to kill off germs that make us sick.

So, we'll see how the rosemary does — that should be a good test. We'll know in the Spring.

Does he speak for Iran?

This from the New York Times, reporting on a recent speech by Iran's president at the same university that spawned the revolutionaries who took the hostages in 1979:

"At one point, the head of a moderate student guild complained to Mr. Ahmadinejad that students were being expelled for political activities and given three stars next to their names in university records, barring them from re-entering. The president responded by ridiculing him, joking that the three stars made them sergeants in the army.

The president was eventually forced to cut his speech short and leave. But angry students stormed his car, kicking it and chanting slogans. His convoy of four cars collided several times as they tried to leave in a rush. Eventually the students were dispersed."

Elsewhere, the article quoted students saying nuclear technology was Iran's right, but may not be worth the price. The protests are in response to crack-downs on moderates, reformists and liberals on the campus and elsewhere. Seems like Ahmadinejad has a hard time speaking about anything important without ridiculing something or somebody. If only he were just a figment of the imagination, as he claims the Holocaust is.

Incidentally, one of the slogans the students chanted was "Death to the dictator!" Is death the only option?

Welcome Winter!

It arrives 12/22 at 0:22 GMT; this evening, 12/21 at 7:22 p.m. EST. This from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keilor, which/whom you often find quoted here:

"In the northern hemisphere, today is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and the longest night. It's officially the first day of winter and one of the oldest known holidays in human history. Anthropologists believe that solstice celebrations go back at least 30,000 years, before humans even began farming on a large scale. Many of the most ancient stone structures made by human beings were designed to pinpoint the precise date of the solstice. The stone circles of Stonehenge were arranged to receive the first rays of midwinter sun.

Ancient peoples believed that because daylight was waning, it might go away forever, so they lit huge bonfires to tempt the sun to come back. The tradition of decorating our houses and our trees with lights at this time of year is passed down from those ancient bonfires."

If you'd like to visit The Writer's Almanac, click the title of this post (there's another good Robert Bly today) or point your browser here:

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

Praising Manners

We should ask God
To help us toward manners. Inner gifts
Do not find their way
To creatures without just respect.

If a man or woman flails about, he not only
Smashes his house,
He burns the whole world down.

Your depression is connected to your insolence
And your refusal to praise.
If a man or woman is
On the path, and refuses to praise — that man or woman
Steals from others every day — in fact is a shoplifter!

The sun became full of light when it got hold of itself.
Angels began shining when they achieved discipline.
The sun goes out whenever the cloud of not-praising comes near.
The moment that foolish angel felt insolent, he heard the door close.

—Robert Bly

Do You Have A Prayer?

Ran across this interesting description:

"I've heard various descriptions of how prayer works. Some say God listens, some say our thoughts affect the energy of the universe and create change; some say that we're conditioning ourselves to transform our own attitudes, and that attitudes, good and bad, are contagious. It's a mystery but it does work."

I agree.

Ouch! Did You Have To Tell Us?

"Bush is another president we deserve. He, too, is often accused of betraying Americans — by campaigning as a humble man and governing as something else. But this is also wrong. Bush has governed as he promised to — with the kind of phony-demotic cocksureness that many people like in pickup-truck commercials and think of themselves as embodying. When he let it be known that he didn’t “do nuance,” it was an invitation to say: “Good. Neither do we.” But this banty self-assurance — our self-assurance — appears not such a great trait when it leads you into a bloodbath in Iraq. The feeling circulating since the election is relief — relief that this unflattering mirror is a bit closer to being taken away. It should not surprise us that this feeling is as strong among those who supported the president as among those who did not."

Christopher Caldwell is a contributing writer for the New York Times magazine and a senior editor at The Weekly Standard.

Another Successful Hunt!

Well, daughter unit and I didn’t come close to our record of two years ago — twenty minutes start-to-finish — but in just under an hour this morning we were driving away from Sewell’s Tree Farm with a fine, tall Frasier Fir in the truck. $40, not bad. It’s a little on the narrow side, and mighty tall, over 8’ to be sure, maybe pushing 9. It was a fine morning to be tree-hunting, sunny and crisp but not too cold. Lights go on it tomorrow. Monday, the traditional Chinese food and tree-trimming. I guess there is a tradition or two that endure.

Speaking of tradition, I’ve started my Autumn ritual reading of Faulkner’s The Bear, a little late this year. Year after year, I’m in abject awe of the lambency of that man’s writing. A chronic alcoholic, whose wife tried to commit suicide on their honeymoon (not sure at what point he became an over-drinker, but that was probably enough to get him started!). A man who called the King of Sweden to tell him he wouldn’t be attending the ceremony to receive his Nobel Prize because it was hunting season. Would that I could be so true to my being!

The vocabulary lesson for me from his liquid, seamless flow of pearls:

lambent: 1. playing lightly on or over a surface: flickering 2. softly bright or radiant 3. marked by lightness or brilliance especially of expression. Latin lambent-, lambens, present participle of lambere to lick

abject: 1. sunk to or existing in a low state or condition 2a. cast down in spirit 2b. showing hopelessness or resignation 3. expressing or offered in a humble and often ingratiating spirit . Middle English, from Latin abjectus, from past participle of abicere to cast off, from ab- + jacere to throw

Priam: the father of Hector, Paris, and Cassandra and king of Troy during the Trojan War. Latin Priamus, from Greek Priamos

Caffe Trieste

I saw the man’s picture
on the post while I waited
in line at the Caffe Trieste.
He would be reading
November first, but I
would be two days gone
by then. Pity.
And while I waited
I witnessed what seemed
to me
to be
a supreme feat of pan
handling, not twenty-five
cents for the bus or
the burger but
five dollars for the
grande cappuccino
(it’s come to this?)
but he promised to pay
her back next week
(did he know her?
perhaps by sight)
and she said if not
the week after was OK
(did she know him?
perhaps by plight)
(I’ve seen so much pan
handling this week
past huddled hordes
with ratty
blankets piled and
tarps and shopping
carts)
And I moved several
places up in line
and looked over
there, next to the
girl with the painted
geisha face and
black hair with a
stick in it or two
and there he was
the man in the photo
bristled white eyebrows
and snow-white goatee
cheeks a bit flushed
(some vision of Christmas?)
nursing a stemmed
glass with a last toast
of shining red wine.
There was wisdom on
his face and in his eyes
and I wanted to ask
if it was really him?
I was happy to find him
and then a bit sad
that this would never
be me
enjoying the spoils
of age and some small
notoriety in a stemmed glass.
Perhaps something frothy
for me instead
(if I’ve not been banned
from even coffee)
and if not recognition
then maybe reminiscence
of something worth reading
out loud. Then
to come home to you, Khanoum
with tales of the characters
I’ve seen
to read out loud to you
again.

29 October 2006

Wait, don't wait!

Two years in the U.S. Senate sure...and a bunch in the Illinois legislature. 4 out of the 5 most recent presidents went to the White House with only state, no national credentials. Conservative media trying to scare America (again)? (And how much experience did our current president have?)

American Values

As if all this holiday consumerism wasn't bad enough, this from the New York Times. Analysis of census data describes college freshmen's reasons for going to college:

"In 1970, 79 percent said their goal was developing a meaningful philosophy of life. By 2005, 75 percent said their primary objective was to be financially very well off."

Not even just well off...very well off. There's a life philosophy for you! And something tells me it's not a uniquely American phenomenon, either.

One Year Update

Well here it is a year-plus later since I moved into “Brambly Hedge” in Uniontown. Ai, what a year!

The wall and patio sit unfinished. Memorial Day 2007, that’s the deadline now, with some kind of party to inaugurate it. I’d like to get at least the kitchen painted this winter, maybe a new counter and sink. Upstairs bathroom needs paint, too, but I’m not that optimistic.

It’s still a great house, and a great yard. I finally got the office more-or-less settled. Last week, the seed catalogs started arriving, first Territorial, then a bunch more — one just tomatoes, one just beans!

Definitely: Blueberries. A pair of short and a pair tall, to form the wall and doorway to the far “room” of the yard. I’m thinking maybe two semi-circular beds behind them, maybe one all lavender. A center shape with the angel is pretty much a given. I need to move a couple hydrangeas, boxwoods, and a yucca or two. Lots of rearranging (that’s cheap!). Can’t decide if I have a place for strawberries. Have to get out those initial sketches and dust them off.

And of course, the more I read, the more compelled than ever I feel to grow as much of my own food as possible.

And so Christmas approaches. Going to go cut a tree down tomorrow. The whole damned season is bittersweet (yet again), still another Christmas without a life-mate. I think this is what it’s going to be. Not that it’s bad, but the holidays are a perennial challenge.

Worse this year because of serial trauma. But it will get better. Sorry for the downer. Meantime, there are poems to write, gardens to plan, prayers to make, blessings to count…many, many blessings to count. Count yourself as one, dear reader!

Three Deer Day

It was a good morning for Dom and I — three deer down. Another unseasonably warm day, but nice and overcast. Dom hunted behind the house, and I in the usual spot by the lower pond. I had deer on the ground and Dom had hit one but not recovered it yet. He came down and got me and we went to find or flush the little doe he had shot. We walked through the high brush, about 30 yards apart; I was closest to the big field below the house. Dom called that he found it, but it jumped up and started off. I saw it jump and head toward the fence, and figured it would probably head back toward the mountain. I was by a fence post, standing, and braced myself against it. I shouldered my rifle and looked through the scope, but everything was too close, so I dialed it back. I found the doe, angling at a run (not a sprint, just a run) and tracked her for a few strides then fired. She crumpled on the spot. So go figure — I manage to hit a running doe at 75+ yards, standing braced against a fence post, but yesterday morning, I couldn’t hit a buck at 30-40 yards, standing still, me sitting with my rifle resting on a railing. I would say today’s shot was a lot of luck, though I don’t really believe in luck. Anyhow, we were glad we got that deer, and I had a 6-point as well.

Dom had a job interview this afternoon, so I borrowed his truck and took one of the deer in to the butcher in town. The other two, I skinned and quartered and put in the fridge. Two deer — one, one of the bigger ones I’ve shot, and the other a little tender one — and barely filled two shelves in the refrigerator. Tomorrow we’ll cut them up for the freezer.

It’s been a physically demanding couple of days, and I am sadly feeling my age. Yesterday I helped Dom and Kenny load hay on a trailer. After 80 bales or so, the dust totally got to me; my throat started closing up and my voice got real high. I quit and came down to the house and took an antihistamine and drank a bunch of water. Since then, I’ve gotten winded quickly with just the slightest exertion.

It doesn’t help that I’m way overdressed. I knew it was going to be warm, but this is ridiculous! I didn’t pack any of my lightweight hunting clothes. The only blaze orange I brought to wear was my winter coat and bibs. I could go without the bibs, but I really had to wear the coat, including when I was field-dressing the deer. Ugh!

Didn’t see a thing tonight. It was a beautiful night, though, warm, completely still, with a sky completely covered with wispy, puffy, floating clouds.

Tomorrow morning will be the last PA hunt for me this year (more than likely), then chores, then back to Uniontown.

The Buck Doesn't Stop Here!

Saturday I shot a doe in Maryland in the morning. Today was opening day in Pennsylvania. I was ready to shoot buck or doe, as I have expensive tags to fill, and didn’t shoot anything in Pennsylvania last year. Early, about 6:40 a.m., I had a deer come across the field in front of me, casually grazing and walking in the grass. I couldn’t tell what it was, other than an adult deer. I thought it was a doe, and was getting ready to shoot, but then I saw a glint of antler. Damn! I had to figure out if it had 3 points on one side, the legal minimum now in PA. It kept moving along, slowly, then went through the fence and that was when I could tell it had a nice basket rack. It was now traveling though, between me and the pond, walking. I got it in the scope, then grunted softly. Didn’t stop. I grunted more loudly and then it did stop. I was a bit too far back on it, so I swung the rifle forward a bit, and squeezed. He took off into the woods and down the hill. I heard him crashing through for what I guess was about 30 yards or so into the woods, and then it was quite again. Awesome, I thought, he’s lying down there waiting for me. I didn’t want to get out of the stand and mess things up for Dom, and I wanted to see what else might come along. A couple little ones came right underneath me, and that was it. About an hour later I got out, went down to where I thought I hit him. Nothing. Went to the woods where he went in, walked back and forth, nothing. Did a grid search in the field, nothing. Not a drop of blood anywhere. Went into the woods, and I could see clearly where he went straight down the hill, stiff-legging it and skidding. Nothing. A clean miss. Damn.

So I took the long way out of the woods, came back up the hill, went back and looked again, still in disbelief. Oh, well. Hooked up with Dom and we started heading back. Near the top of the road, I spied a nice buck heading down into the field at about 75 yards. We couldn’t shoot because he was right in front of the neighbors’ houses. We watched him work down behind a rise — just antlers over the hill, then disappeared — and waited for him to come out the other side of the rise. Meantime, we moved down some, I laid down on the ground and made a shooting rest with my pack. He crossed over and went into the field we call the oat field, even though it hasn’t been planted in oats in some years. It was 350 yards or more, but we each took a couple shots; it was, after all, a really nice buck! No luck, of course. He continued trotting into the woods, right underneath the stand I had been in an hour earlier.

Giving Thanks

I am thankful for all the people I've known, and all the people I will come to know...for the people I thought I knew but didn't know, and that I don't know some people anymore whom I did know...for friends and family and all the friends of Bill.

I am thankful for creatures of all kinds — food and friends, pests and pets. For all things that grow and flower and fruit, I am grateful. For rocks and the dirt they become.

For this roof over my head and my warm bed and full belly.

For prayers heard and prayers answered. For the angels Therese, Michael, Malachi, and Jezebel.

For artists of all types and the misery they bring.

For bifocals.

For rhythm of all kinds — the cadence of words and music, the flow of the seasons, the rhythm of two bodies meeting. For lightness and for darkness. For ebb and flow. For all sorrows and the lessons they bring. For joys that can be shared. For gentleness and the brutality of life and death and all creatures. Most of all for forgiveness. Because of that, I am able to be thankful for everything. No exceptions.

And of course, for you, gentle reader, I am most grateful.

Seen on a church marquee...

"Lord, help me to be the kind of person my dog thinks I am."

Excuse ME!

This is for real, from the 11.6.06 New York Times. Why not just stay home? Or put on a latex glove and slap anyone who gets too close?

The Excuse Me flag is a little yellow banner mounted on a lightweight pole, which is attached to one’s waist so it swings back and forth in front of the wearer during walking. Any other pedestrian who walks too close will be slapped in the face by the pole or the yellow flag, which reads “Excuse Me.”

“It generates a cubic yard of free walking space between you and a sneezer,” Ms Beck, a former New Yorker, said from her home in Delaware. “It makes it so you don’t have to touch anybody or talk to anybody in New York.”

Go west, old man!

I have seen California at last. My first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean was on Friday, October 27, 2006, in Santa Monica.

The first five days of my trip were spent in L.A. From the very first, as the plane flew over the city to land, I wondered why anyone would want to live there. My opinion changed little throughout my stay. I stayed in Hollywood (not my choice), and saw some the L.A.’s worst neighborhoods. More on that later.

On Saturday, October 28th, I took the Coastal Starlight train from Los Angeles to San Francisco/Oakland. It should have been called the Coastal Daylight, at least until sunset, as it departed at 10:15 a.m. But I suppose there was plenty of starlight for those going on to Oregon and Washington.

What a magnificent ride! A couple hours along the coast with a fabulous view of the ocean — beaches, cliffs, dolphins, seals, surfers. On the other side, brown corrugated mountains, not dissimilar to many I’ve seen in New Mexico, although the vegetation was different. (Not dissimilar to those I’m flying over now, east of Lake Tahoe, although these appear from 39,000 feet to be completely devoid of vegetation.)

Shortly into the ride I discovered the observation car, with glass all around and outward-facing seats. What a wonderful way to travel! A few hours into the trip, somewhere around San Luis Obispo, the route turned slightly inward and became a mix of those mountains and farmland in the valleys. We passed fields of cauliflower, broccoli, onions, strawberries (that went on a ways, but not forever) tomatoes, lettuce, lemon trees, grapes, a bunch of green things I couldn’t identify, and one field of flowers. Interestingly and not surprisingly, in most places the green and cultivated fields were surrounded by browness, a sure sign that nature did not intend this place to be America’s produce market. There was a field or two of organic tomatoes, distinguished by the abundance of weeds.

Most of the fields and mountains were, in fact, brown. The National Park Service guide (a retired gentleman, volunteer; the first third or so of the journey included interesting narration of the sights) explained that after the rains (Jan/Feb) everything turned green, but it didn’t sound like it lasted long.

Training was so much more pleasant than planing. You could move around and there was lots of room (it was not full). People talked to each other; there was even a fight, a young couple, punky/ghetto, drinking; she ripped his shirt off. They were greeted by police in San Luis Obispo. At one point, my ticket stub fell out of my pocket, which was somewhat disconcerting. I didn’t need it, but wanted it as a souvenir. I retraced my steps — back to the coach, down to the bathroom, back to the observation car, down to the lounge, back to the observation car to a different seat. I chatted it up a little bit with the remaining ghetto drinkers (one an aspiring filmmaker, the other a musician), and about a half hour later some guy came up and handed me a folio and asked if it was my ticket stub. Sure enough, it was.

Lunch and dinner in the dining car, seated with strangers. An entertainment lawyer from L.A., a mental health worker from Oregon, a retired (at 20-something, injured but fine) Army photographer from San Diego going to Oregon to photograph her brother’s wedding. The food was not bad, not great, kind of expensive.

I had brought books, work, the computer, lots of diversions (plus planned sleep) to pass the time on an 11-hour train ride. Once we left the station in LA, they all sat ignored for 11 hours. It was that good.

San Francisco was, of course, fantastic. I was staying below Oakland (the train came into Oakland, and I needed to be near the airport for this morning’s 7:15 flight). I took a cab to the BART and the BART to the city, getting off in the Mission District sometime before 10 a.m. Visited Mission Dolores (oldest building in SF, dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi), then wandered down to one of the alleys to see and photograph the murals. I didn’t go as far as the one with the real Hispanic political murals; it was another 8 blocks or so, and I was trying to pace myself. Then back onto the BART to head downtown, on the trolley car (not the cable car, I learned the difference eventually) to the waterfront, past most of the tourist traps. I did go out on the pier by the Cannery to get a view of the Golden Gate, Alcatraz, etc. It was a beautiful, sunny, breezy day. I half thought about hiking up that incredibly steep hill to see Lombard Street; one-quarter thought about it, actually, before I turned around and headed back down to scope out a cable car.

So this was a tourist trap, catching the cable car at the turnaround. It took at least a half an hour or more to get a much more expensive ticket and wait in line for the car. The whole time serenaded by the world’s worst street musician, a grizzly pony-tailed old guy playing electric guitar, approximating (vaguely) some of the great rock hits of the sixties and seventies. Reminded me of the time I almost learned a song on the guitar.

The cable car, although packed, was a good idea. Up way steep, down way steep, up way steep, etc. I got off in Chinatown, wandered around, randomly picked a place and ate some very bad Chinese food. The marketplaces of the streets were teeming, fascinating, and stinky. As I was working my way out of Chinatown, I thought they were having a parade for me, but it turned out to be a marching band leading a funeral. Nice way to go!

So, then North Beach to the City Lights bookstore (pilgrimage), haunt of the beats. Then, climbed up the incredibly steep hill to Coit Tower, with magnificent views of the whole Bay area — bridges left and right, mountains, the city, wow! I was just a bit too late; the sun was still lighting the Oakland/Sausalito side, but not the rest. Twenty minutes earlier would have been perfect.

Back down the incredibly steep hill to have cappuccino at Caffe Trieste (see separate post), then up to Saints Peter and Paul church (beautiful) for prayers, then wandering around narrating the sites to my love over the cell phone. Waiting in the Steps of Rome for Farideh and Joseph, who picked me up and gave me an after-dark (but not nightlife) tour. Up to the “twin peaks” to see the lighted city laid out below, down through the Presidio to the Golden Gate (the park beneath) which was just magically lit. Around through town, here and there, down the switchbacks of Lombard Street, to end up, surprise! at the North Beach Pizzaria. Faradeh and Joseph were delightful, entertaining, and absolutely gracious. I’d never met them before, and I would not normally do that sort of “arranged” thing, but I was glad I did. (See, I can still try new things and learn!)

Enough of this for now. I need to sleep; only got four hours last night. No mood to write about homelessness now, but I will later. Now, it won’t be long until I am in welcoming and long-awaited arms.

It was a great trip. Especially the last part. And coming home.

P.S. You packed me so well, but you forgot the hand sanitizer!

30 October 2006

When life gives you...

I saw my first lemon tree yesterday.

Requiem: Self-Service

Did you prepare for this?
How well and how long?
You must have packed
silk pajamas and leather slippers
Your hair neatly trimmed and
smoothed, shiny, clean shaven
nails precisely rounded
(even in these small ways
the wisdom of your plan was
coming to fruition, with little left
to be done but dab a little
make-up on your face and
lift and place you into your box
arms still folded across your chest;
but still you left them to pick out
your suit and carry your pajamas home
in what kind of bag?)
Surely you broke your voluntary
if imperfect abstinence
and picked a wine from the hotel’s
cellars, a vintage you would know
and of which the sommelier would
nod his approval. Did you sip it
as you jotted a few last details
or did you leave it all to us?
What thoughts did you have?
What were you thinking?
Or did you ask the wine’s
forgiveness and drink it far
too fast, chasing away those
pictures that would force their
way in front of you like a screen
in a darkened theater?
Her jet black hair and pale silken
skin, his smiles and squeals of glee
on a swing, her blossoming into
womanhood, carrying the boxes into
her first apartment, his first Little
League hit, and him, the first time
(not that long ago) that he said
daddy.
Two pills, then three then four
finding their way on a velvet red
river with earthen overtones
another glass, five-six-seven-eight
no pictures now, all effort focused
on the task at hand: bottle, glass,
bottle, nine-ten-eleven-twelve
Concentrate! Head up, hand
steady, get this done now, don’t
screw this up, enough, more than
enough has been screwed up already
finish this at this desk, finish!
Make sure it is enough
and this finally, finally thank god
will finally be enough
enough at last
stumble to the bed, lay down now
lay your head gently on the
pillow, smooth the silk of
your pajamas, lay your head
down and lay your arms
gracefully, peacefully on
your chest.
There.
All is done at last.
Lay you gently down now
Little lamb, God made thee
God keep thee, God
take thee
Take thy troubles from thee
and leave them here
with us
We’ll take care of everything
We’ll take care of you
You are safe here now
as you have always been
unbeknownst to you
Little did you know
how much we wanted you here
(little did we know how much
we wanted you here)
Little do you know now
how much you still are here
in the empty spaces that
find thoughts of you
in the hearts you’ve left
with nothing but
yearning for you.
Farewell! Sweet dreams!
May the angels keep you well.

23 October 2006

A President and a Poet: Two Quotes

"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed."

— Dwight D. Eisenhower

"To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

— e.e. cummings

Islamic Thought

"Have mercy on that which is on earth, so that which is in heaven will have mercy on you."

Roger's thought:

"If the children of Islam are not happy, your children will never be happy."

And I suspect that, no matter what happens, the children of Islam will not be happy.

Suddenly...

Would it not take one
Who slept alone to know it?
Who could have told you
That the nights in autumn
Are indeed extremely long?

— Takashina Kishi

Autumn, not so fast!

Not until Saturday morning, 9/23, at 12:03 a.m. Awfully late this year!

Yes, that's what I want...

"Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you get."

— Heard on the radio; I missed the source.

Press on!

"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is filled with educated derelicts. Persistence and determination are alone omnipotent. 'Press on!' has been and always will be the answer to every human problem."

Calvin Coolidge

Long Afternoon at the Edge of Little Sister Pond

As for life
I'm humbled,
I'm without words
sufficient to say
how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond
both of these
and over and over,
and long pale afternoons besides,
and so many mysteries
beautiful as eggs in a nest,
still unhatched
though warm and watched over
by something I have never seen—
a tree angel, perhaps,
or a ghost of holiness.
Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.
It suffices, it is all comfort—
along with human love,
dog love, water love, little-serpent love,
sunburst love, or love for that smallest of birds
flying among the scarlet flowers.
There is hardly time to think about
stopping, and lying down at last
to the long afterlife, to the tenderness
yet to come, when
time will brim over the singular pond, and become forever,
and we will pretend to melt away into the leaves.
As for death,
I can't wait to be the hummingbird,
can you?

– Mary Oliver
from Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

Lord, It Is Time

Lord, it is time. The summer was very big.
Lay Thy shadow on the sundials,
and on the meadows let the winds go loose.

Command the last fruits that they shall be full,
give them another two more southerly days,
press them on to fulfillment and drive
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who has no house will build him one no more.
Who is alone now, long will so remain,
will wake, read, write long letters
and will in the avenue to and fro
restlessly wander, when the leaves are blowing.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Autumn in the Air

How quickly the change comes —
A few cool nights
And suddenly the deer
can’t get enough to eat;
they come out earlier and
linger later, hurrying to
put on fat against the winter.
The night sounds, too, go on through
these overcast days, insects
frantic for mates, for offspring.
Me, I consume peaches voraciously
peach dumplings, peach pie
fists full of peaches, not ready
to give them up, not ready yet
to embrace apples. Reluctant
like the trees whose chlorophyll
begins its slow bleeding toward
the roots, already a shade paler
but green still, still thirsting for
the sun. I know that thirst,
I know that draining feeling,
that anxious urge to take in more,
just a little more
against the chill
and the quickening days,
reluctant to let go of a
lifelong season of dreams and desires
and face the inevitably waning light.

12 September 2006

9/11

Grant them rest, grant them peace, grant us peace...

For the Falling Man

I see you again and again
tumbling out of the sky,
in your slate-grey suit and pressed white shirt.
At first I thought you were debris
from the explosion, maybe gray plaster wall
or fuselage but then I realized
that people were leaping.
I know who you are, I know
there's more to you than just this image
on the news, this ragdoll plummeting—
I know you were someone's lover, husband,
daddy. Last night you read stories
to your children, tucked them in, then curled into sleep
next to your wife. Perhaps there was small
sleepy talk of the future. Then,
before your morning coffee had cooled
you'd come to this; a choice between fire
or falling.
How feeble these words, billowing
in this aftermath, how ineffectual
this utterance of sorrow. We can see plainly
it's hopeless, even as the words trail from our mouths
—but we can't help ourselves—how I wish
we could trade them for something
that could really have caught you.

by Annie Farnsworth from Bodies of Water, Bodies of Light
© Annie Farnsworth. Courtesy of the Writer's Almanac

Yes, my life...

"Utter chaos punctuated by extreme humiliation."

A Beautiful Garden Poem

...courtesy of the Writer's Almanac.

Touch Me

Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that's late,
it is my song that's flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it's done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.

Stanley Kunitz

from Staying Alone, Real Poems for Unreal Times

Catching Up

Where to begin? With apologies for being so long.

August is fully here, and so few words about the garden so far! It seems I haven’t spent much more time gardening than blogging, although the results far outweigh the efforts. The one semi-perennial border I put in along the west fence has done amazingly well, with all my old favorites — Russian sage, achillea, rudbekia, santolina, salvia, sage, rosemary, thyme, and the annuals Mexican heather, eucalyptus, basil, parsley, red-leafed lettuce, a couple tomatoes (insurance), a pepper and an eggplant. Petunias in the shed window box. A few scattered pots of coleus, double-petunia, two leftover poinsettias from Christmas, and the scented geranium moved out to the front porch.

The vegetable patch — not big enough to be a garden — yielded some cabbages and broccoli early, and now is a dense, tall thicket of tomatoes. Neighbor Fred made fun of my “oil derrick” tomato towers when I first set them out over the young plants. (It didn’t help that they blew over in a storm before I had them anchored.) But now! Several plants have topped out at 7’. They are dense and lush, putting the neighbors' plants to shame. The only ones bigger all season were my Mom’s, but now mine have eclipsed even hers. Fried tomatoes for dinner tonight, the second time this season. The fruits are beautiful and heavy — the new favorite, pineapple red, and large lemon yellows, smaller lemon boy, tasty green zebra, and a massively sprawling volunteer red currant (the tiny South American variety; it must have sprouted from the compost). Plenty of fruit. I just hope it lasts into the Fall. I never have paid close enough attention to maturity dates to extend the crop, although I remember one year getting lucky and having tomatoes right up to Thanksgiving.

If I get time and motivation, I’d like to pull out that red currant and plant some beets, turnips, kale, and another crop of lettuce. My salad has been delicious but pathetically thin. What can I say? My attentions have been divided…

…as is evidenced by the project from hell, the patio retaining wall. I had to laugh when I walked by it this evening. There it was, half done, with the rest of the stones scattered all over the patio area. I could fill in the gaps with sand and I’d have a finished patio. It’s tough to get anything done when I am away every weekend.

August already, and I have spent hardly any time just sitting out back. When I think back to Taneytown, just a short year ago, with morning coffee outside on the porch or in the garden every day, and the sunset behind the mountains every evening from the porch swing. (sigh)

A couple weeks ago I was complaining that the night sounds had not yet started. This evening, sitting out back at dusk with my book, it was so loud it was almost painful. What a lovely cacophony of insects, although still not loud enough to drown out the yapping of Farmer Sebastian’s mutts coming up from the hollow. The full moon was making its way up through the trees. I was hoping a deer would come in, as I’ve seen once or twice this summer, but no luck. I’m sure I’ll see them again coming after my apples and my neighbor’s.

Other news of the summer: a bout of Lyme disease, which seems to have been knocked out with a nasty course of antibiotics. Daughter unit worked a six-week gig at summer camp. No steady employment for the son. The dogs are beginning to show their age, especially Trixie. I need to be more religious in walking her.

Oh, I started re-reading The Contrary Farmer tonight. I thought of it after I heard something about Wendell Berry the other day, thinking he wrote it. It was funny how I went right to it among the hundreds of books on the bookcases. I was mistaken, it is written by Gene Logsden, but it starts with a long Wendell Berry poem. Has it been years already since I first read it? Four? Five? Six? His simple wisdom still resounds with me, perhaps more than ever. Encouraging and depressing all at once. It would be such a better world if we held such simple, straightforward values. But we will never go back, or forward, to that. The only way to do it is to be…contrary. I shouldn’t mind being that.

It is this...

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?

— Albert Camus

Night Songs

Tonight
you have to listen through
the hum of air conditioners
to hear the crickets sing
and those other insects
whose names I don’t know
cicadas? locusts?
Beats me.

What I do know is
that for many years now
these night songs of
unnamed insects have
serenaded me and
echoed in my bones
Because for many years now
all of them, in fact

I have never been far from trees.

17 July 2006

Day of the Sun

We praise You, Lord, for all Your creatures,
especially for Brother Sun,
who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor,
of You Most High, he bears your likeness.

Laudato sie mi signore cum tucte le tue creature spetialmente messor lo frate sole. lo quale iorno et allumini per loi. Et ellu e bellu e radiante cum grande splendore. de te altissimo porta significatione.

— St. Francis of Assisi

Summer, By My Calculation

According to the U.S. Naval Observatory, the 2006 Summer Solstice occurs 12:26 GMT on June 21. By my calculation, that means it occurs tonight, 6/20, at 8:26 p.m. EDT.

It's the perfect time to get your bearings. Observe where the sun sets (@ 20:29) tonight, and note that direction as true west. Starting tomorrow, it will take the first step on its journey south (yes, I know the sun isn't really moving, it's the Earth's tilt, but just go with it, OK?) and the days will begin getting shorter again. :-(

Happy Summer!

Another Great Bumper Sticker

"If you voted for Bush, a yellow ribbon isn't going to make up for it."

Eight Thumbs Up!

It was a big week for movies. Last weekend, the holiday, my betrothed and I made the trek to suburban D.C. to see Water, since it didn't seem like it was ever going to play in Baltimore. We got there too late for the show, so instead we saw The Lost City, a family story set during the revolution in Cuba that brought Castro to power. Andy Garcia starred and directed. There were a few weak moments, but overall a really nice film. Garcia's love for his subject matter showed.

From there, on to the traditional Chinese symphonic concert in Rockville. It was quite good, but too lullabye-like; we didn't make it past the intermission, and instead headed back to Bethesda for Water. This Indian movie was powerful and very well-done.

The next day, The da Vinci code. Much better than the reviews. And I was proven wrong in my ranting about casting Tom Hanks. I still think it could have been better-cast, but he did fine. Enjoyed it. And Audrey Tautou was quite good. She earned this role from her stellar performance in Amelie, and I'm sure a bunch of other movies I have not seen. It didn't bother me that her hair was not red.

Last but not least, go see it even if it's so inconvenient you have to travel: An Inconvenient Truth. Took three of the kids to it Saturday. They were not particularly moved. But it was informative and compelling. It's real, and urgent. Made me think Al Gore should try to get re-elected in '08.

Coincidence?

A story on NPR this morning reported that psychiatric professionals have codified "rode rage" as "Intermittent Explosive Disorder," or IED. These initials have also become familiar in the reporting from Iraq, referring to "Improvised Explosive Devices," the most common roadside bombs. Coincidence? Maybe we should just stop driving.