8/27/07:
They grow quite a few crops here in Skagit Valley and this last month has been cucumber harvesting time. Driving back into the valley from the north down I-5, down Bow Hill, I have watched the fields to the west of the freeway being picked. Day after day the cucumber fields are filled with pallets and boxes, a porta potty or two about. People along the rows of green are bent over, pushing aside leaves to find cucumbers that are the right size to pick.
Jay grew up in the valley and as a teen worked in the fields some, but only picked cucumbers one season. The grueling work, paid as "piece work", at the end of the day did not pay close to minimum wage at the time, so he did not do it another season. These days the teens seem to work anywhere but in the fields. Fields are picked by adults, I see them bent over as I go north for work and, even on the hottest days of the summer, bent over as I drive home late in the afternoon. I wonder if these days they get up to par with minimum wage? I wonder if they get health insurance… No, we all know the answer to that question.
One of my co-workers got a new car, one with all the bells and whistles. As she showed it off she bragged that her husband had ordered all sorts of extras on it for her. Another co-worker remarked "that's okay, you deserve it". The remark startled me. Both co-workers make a huge amount more than myself and more than a huge amount more than the people bent over in the fields. "Deserve", an interesting choice of words. The remark sent an image flying into my head, an image of the people in the fields, bent over in the heat. I wondered if they had gotten a new car. I wondered what it would take for them to deserve something so grand.
That all of us were stranded inside ourselves was a new feeling, but it would become as familiar to us as a bad habit, and then, as again and again we felt it— in that house and later in the wide world— it would take on the irrefutable constancy of a truth. We couldn't have known it then, but our lives had already begun to change in a direction which dictated we would soon leave Jakarta and spend the next twenty-five years of our lives living in other people's homes and being told which room we should and should not enter.— from "the winged seed" by Li-Young Lee
8/26/07:
Saturday we went to Rexville Grocery's "Summer Wine Tasting Event". We wandered about after greeting Stuart and buying some appetizers, sampling wines from Mount Vernon's Tulip Valley Vineyard (home of Red Barn Cider) and from Eastern Washington's Mary Hill Winery. We liked Tulip Valley's offerings best. Their store is in a red barn only a couple miles west of us on Memorial Highway— stop in for a taste test if you are in the neighborhood.
We also tasted the always wonderful wares of "The Cheese Man", purchasing a yummy blue cheese (aged in a cave in France the company owns) and a buttery German mountain cheese. It was a decadent treat for this cheese lover, after months of fat free and 1% cheeses due to my high cholesterol. We listened to some songs by the band "Guys Night Out" while watching people and tapping our toes. This was the first time Stuart has held a wine tasting event outside, in the covered area he uses for a farmers' market. The weather cooperated well enough for us, cloudy but warm, with rain waiting until we were well on our way home.
Click on the cheese guy to the right for a test to tell you what kind of cheese you are—
I'm blue cheese :)
No opera plot can be sensible, for people do not sing when they are feeling sensible.— WH Auden
8/25/07:
A WALK IN MARCH
This hill
crossed with broken pines and maples
lumpy with the burial mounds of
uprooted hemlocks (hurricane
of '38) out of their
rotting hearts generations rise
trying once more to become
the forest
just beyond them
tall enough to be called trees
in their youth like aspen a bouquet
of young beech is gathered
they still wear last summer's leaves
the lightest brown almost translucent
how their stubborness has decorated
the winter woods
on this narrow path ice tries
to keep the black undecaying oak leaves
in its crackling grip it's become
too hard to walk at last a
sunny patch oh! i'm in water
to my ankles APRIL
— Grace Paley
Jay brought this poem to my attention yesterday, it was in the May 28th issue of The New Yorker on our coffee table. The picture links to a short story by Grace Paley The New Yorker links to from an article about her passing this week.
8/19/07:
I did quite a bit outside yesterday. I did move some plants from the side where we plan to build (one purple bee balm, one dusty miller, one low purple flowering mystery plant, two primroses and one violet), moving them to, well, to the other side. I watered the transplants with water from the rain barrel and then watered everything in the vegetable and flower beds, running into Mrs. Becker up next to the road. She was trying to catch her cat as she did not want to leave it out while she was gone. She still drives and does a pretty good job of it.
We woke up today to discover it had rained a decent amount overnight and was still raining. Our plants needed a real good soaking, and it gave me an excuse to piddle about indoors. Jay kindly braved the rain to pick some zucchini for me. I sliced up the smaller ones in a lasagna-type casserole and shredded the big one, making two loaves of zucchini nut bread and freezing enough for six more loaves. Not too shabby for piddling about.
The picture up to the left is of one of the posters put up on the utility poles around here; it links to a bigger, readable version. C'iao…
Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies.
And be it gash or gold it will not come
Again in this identical guise.
— Gwendolyn Brooks
8/17/07:
It was a lovely day today, sunny and pleasant.
There are colorful, red flyers posted on the utility poles at each end of and along our road. They announce, for public comment, that we are wanting to add on to our house, in case anyone cares. So, we are one step closer in this process of getting permission to add onto our home. If it is nice tomorrow I will continue my ongoing work of moving plants from the side of the house where we intend to build. It is a pretty big task for me, as it entails creating new planting beds in addition to deciding to divide many in the process. How many plants can a tiny yard have? Hmm, guess I'll have to count. More to follow.
Jay sent me the picture to the left in his constant efforts to keep me informed. Click on it to go to a BBC article about the art show it was exhibited at.
Yes, a glowing chandelier made of 14,000 tampons.
So what it is in me that cannot celebrate
their beauty, that looking out this window
feels only disquiet and regret?
The grey pieties of a damp, grey island.
I'd love to write a poem about how natural,
how beautiful the Bateman sisters are.
But I cannot get away from that boy
trapped in the coldness
of a Christian Brother's classroom:
All flesh is sin.
Your body is a temple.
A woman's curves are the Devil's tools.
— from "The Bateman Sisters" by Tony Curtis
8/14/07:
Jackie and George Brown moved in next door to us (next door in the country meaning only one corn field separated our homes) when I was, I think, in 4th or 5th grade. Their son Mike was a couple years younger than my brother Donnie and the two of them ended up playing a lot together. Their younger son Mitch was a toddler then, and their daughter Karen wasn't even a twinkle yet. We called George by his middle name, Ray. This is the name I still think of him by. Ray was from New Jersey and Jackie was from England— I loved to hear their accents.
Ray worked at the Owens Illinois glass plant in Charlotte while Jackie toiled tirelessly in their garden growing wonderful things. I remember raspberry jam she made being particularly yummy. Both my sister and I served as babysitters for the occassional evenings out Ray and Jackie took. Ray had a big smile, a ready chuckle. He was a nice man who helped me get a job at the glass factory in 1973 when I was in between going to Central Michigan University and the University of Michigan. That job helped me a lot.
Ray retired quite a few years ago now, I last saw him when I visited he and Jackie in May 2004. By that time he needed a lot of assistance with everything, and Jackie was always there to help him. The picture above is of me and Jackie during that visit— you can see some of her paintings on the wall in the background. Jackie and George celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary earlier this year, in June. Their daughter Karen arranged a wonderful semi-surprise party for her parents' celebration.
My mom called this evening to let me know that Ray, now called George by most, passed away today. My thoughts are with Jackie, his wonderful, loving wife.
Faith is the seamstress
who mends our torn belief
who sews the hem of childhood trust
and clips the threads of grief.
— Joan Walsh Anglund
8/12/07:
I picked up a book of photographs accompanied by interesting words, called "What Took You So Long?" by Sheldon Kopp [1979], at a used bookstore in downtown Mount Vernon a couple of years ago and enjoyed it immensely. I liked it so much I checked the internet, searching out and buying another book by the same author, called "An Eschatological Laundry List". I bought more copies of each and gave both to Kira earlier last year, and I mailed one to Carrie too. Back in October last year, I included text from the latter book for my entry on the 9th. The picture to the left links to that October page.
The photographs in both books were by Claire Flanders, so I tried searching the internet for more on her too. Turns out she died in 2003 and I could find information on only one book she published of her photographs. A picture of the cover of it is to the right and links to a review written when it came out. The book was nowhere to be found for sale, until this month. I bought it and have enjoyed it too immensely. The first picture up above to the left is by Claire and is of a river she enjoyed swimming in as a child, I believe in France.
Sheldon Kopp starts "What Took You So Long?" with a lovely old story from India before moving on to interesting insights accompanied by Claire's photos. Here are some:
Often things are as bad as they seem.
Why grieve, when nothing helps? We cry because nothing helps.
If you stubbornly refuse to mourn your losses, you get depressed.
What's a person to do about feeling helpless? For a while there's just no way to see what's funny about being stuck.
At last you cry out in anguish: "Why me?" God answers: "Why not?"
You can so stand it.
After all, it's only pain.
What makes it seem unbearable is your mistaken belief that it can be cured.
If we allow pain more of our attention than it requires, we miss some opportunities for joy.
It helps to know that everyone is in the same situation. It helps, but not a whole lot.
We insist our situation is special. It's so hard to accept how ordinary we all are.
We must learn to love in the absence of illusions.
We must try to live a just life in an unjust world.
We must be willing to go on caring even when we are helpless to change things.
Our best may not turn out to be good enough. Still it will have to do.
I'm not OK. You're not OK. And that's OK.
Photo: fresh raspberries just out of the freezer, ready to be bagged for later use. "Raspberries" photo courtesy of Jay Eckert, my favorite photographer of all.
8/11/07:
Today we drove over to Anacortes to check out an estate sale place there that is only open one Friday/Saturday a month— this was the Friday/Saturday for August. We picked up a couple of interesting little items, including an old tin of electrical solder like Jay's dad used in his television repair business.
We also went to the very small Anacortes theater and saw the Simpsons Movie. We were pleasantly surprised to find less than ten other people enjoying the movie with us. We enjoyed Matt Groening's newest work, laughing out loud more than once.
On the whole human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.— George Orwell
8/10/07:
We have had overcast days here, but most have cleared to sunny late afternoon, or at least evening, skies. Today was sunny and pleasant by noon— a lucky thing because this was the evening Jay and I planned to go to the Skagit County Fair. The local annual fair is small but has nice 4-H entries that we enjoy looking at.
We ate our supper at the fair (a bbq pork sandwich with cotton candy for dessert for me, a small supper of curly fries made with a drill for Jay) and walked about. As usual there were lots of animal entries and, as usual, we felt bad for the poor caged house cats on display. We saw farm equipment and lots of handicrafts, sewing and art work. We got free garden gloves at a roofing display and talked to a man about roofing made of recycled tires. We had a good time and learned a little to boot.
This year they had an interesting machine, a hybrid of animal and machine actually— you can see it above, left. If you click on the cowasaki it will take you to a nice picture of a girl and her cow at the Skagit County Fair.
Man is the only animal that can remain on friendly terms with the victims he intends to eat until he eats them.— Samuel Butler (1835 - 1902)
8/6/07:
So, some politics for the August page…
The Bush Administration's latest "new" idea is to arm the Mideast to the teeth, so that we will be safe. Actually it is an old idea, recycled by the henchmen of previous administrations that Bush chose to recruit for his own. It is interesting to try to figure out what kind of mind would come up with arming the most volatile parcel of earth in order to make it safe. I can't wrap my head around it, although it is the same kind of mind that armed Saddam in the 1980s. As you can see from The Times of India, the rest of the world is in awe of the Bush Administration.
The Times picture links to more political information, the picture to the right links to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services' website page with naturalization information for military personnel.
The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger.— Hermann Goering
8/4/07:
The weather has been nice the last several days. This morning we worked in the yard and garden a bit, under often cloudy skies. I decided the clouds were just messing with our minds and watered everything pretty well before closing shop on our gardening endeavors.
Mid-afternoon we headed over to Anacortes for the annual arts festival and street fair. We checked out the pier exhibition and studied the works of six artists, then voted for our favorite. Jay and I liked the same artist the best- the picture to the left is of his work and links to a bit on him.
We left the exhibit and wandered through some Anacortes shops we like to browse, then walked the length of the street fair, checking out the wares and art works. I had pretty much given up on getting some cotton candy as we made it all the way up the street on one side and started down the other, but Jay spied the lone cotton candy vendor at the festival and I obtained my indulgent treat. We basked in the sun as we walked along the street fair and returned to a stuffy house, with still no rain in sight.
for it is late autumn
and this child is dreaming
the brown into her eyes.
— Tony Curtis, Irish poet
8/1/07:
Today is my daughter Carrie's 25th birthday. Carrie is a strong, smart, resourceful woman. I have not seen her since August 1, 2004, yet still I know this is so.
Carrie was born in Ann Arbor, Michigan five weeks before I started my social work graduate program. For the next sixteen months I nursed Carrie while attending classes and working in an internship. After graduate school we moved out to Washington and her father attended college the next five years. Life did not turn out the way we planned, and I was never really able to cut back my working hours to be home more. This was my childrens' childhood, with a harried, tired mother trying to make ends meet. I was not a perfect mother, apparently to my children I was not even a good enough mother. To make matters worse, after 22 years of marriage I did something for myself and left their father to his own resources. I even selfishly went on to be with someone who makes me happy. For this the price is heavy. For this the price is heavy. So be it.
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
—from "Separation" by W.S. Merwin
Jardot's World: August Edition, 2007
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