10/31/09:
InterBoard Poetry Competition, First Place Winner, December 2004
SEARCHING FOR POE'S GRAVE ON HALLOWEEN
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins?
— Edgar Allan Poe
Not here on Fayette Street
where the dull faces of commuters
stare back at us in their pilgrimage
to nowhere. Not on the sidewalk
where a dingy robin lies
like a broken doll, its missing eye
peering into the next world.
Not in the greasy smoke that braids
the air above Hardees with animal scents,
drifts into the blue haze of power plants.
Not in the used hypodermic needles
that gleam through a sewer grate,
or crushed cans of Colt 45 rusting by the curb.
Not in the red scrawl of graffiti on brick
row houses where home-boys lean
against the wall, peddle baggies of rock or weed
to walk-ups and drive-bys. Not in the purple
and black billboard advertising play by play
for the Ravens’ games. “Perversity,” Poe wrote,
“is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart.”
In the end, he lay face-down in the gutter,
delirious with fever, poisoned by madness
and tainted alcohol, bribed to vote
under the names of dead men for shot after shot.
Now, his features carved in garish granite
come alive in stone. Sunlight reflects
off stained glass windows. Roots strain
to topple markers in their slow crawl through soil.
The path we’ve walked from his Amity Street
garret traces Poe’s own footsteps
as he strolled with his pubescent cousin-wife
and her mother on their way to worship.
We read from Tales of Mystery and Imagination
into the sunset’s orange glow, wait for his spirit
to rise through clay to accept our offerings—
this bottle of cognac, and a black rose.
—Jim Doss (Wild Poetry Forum)
10/27/09:
This is another picture of some of my flowers that are still blooming in the bed next to where Jay parks his truck. The space this plant is in used to be part of the old driveway and required my chipping at it with a pick axe because it was compacted gravel and dirt rather than just plain dirt. I picked this plant up at a local nursery because it seemed similar to a plant I had admired last summer at the Mount Vernon Post Office– later examination proved this to be correct. This close up picture links to a garden web site that includes my plant (scroll down a bit), Hot Lips Salvia. It has tolerated full sun with very little water and bloomed all summer in addition to thriving now. Oh, yeah, it also thrived in pretty darn hard soil because I am not all that good at chipping up driveways...
I did go to the opthamologist Monday morning because my right eye continued to be full of daddy long legs— long strings with little bodies. Initially last Tuesday the "floater" was more like chalazae, that white stringy stuff around egg yolks. A thorough examination determined that I have posterior vitreous detachment, although the eye doctor thought the floaters looked more like one big seahorse. Posterior vitreous detachment is not uncommon but causes concern for retinal detachment and I have to go back in one month to monitor for that. It is weird to have bugs in my eye. Apparently the bugs are made up of the "glue" that held my posterior vitreous stuff in place and will remain in my eye. The prognosis is for my brain to clear my vision by ignoring the input of the floaters and adjusting what I "see", which is starting to happen. Marvels galore...
Just because a man lacks the use of his eyes doesn't mean he lacks vision.— Stevie Wonder
10/25/09:
I am tired and thankful for the rain today, weather that provides a good excuse not to pursue the rest of my gardening projects just now. It not only poured rain going down to Seattle last week, it poured coming back, making the driving tiring. I also fussed and bothered about my right eye as it has had large pieces of floating material in it since last Tuesday, bothering my vision and somehow also making me feel fatigued and achy. I plan to call an opthamologist tomorrow to see if I can get in, 'bout time.
My mom was in the hospital Thursday night and I talked with my sister about what was going on until bedtime at the hotel. Mom had chest pain and dad took her to the ER, they did not find she had a heart attack but admitted her to monitor heart irregularities. Just as had happened when she had her last hip replacement, she reacted strongly to pain medication, becoming disoriented and upset. My dad had to spend the night at the hospital with her, making it a tiring night for all concerned. My sister was a good advocate for my mom and dad, got mom home Friday since the hospitalization seemed to be accomplishing nothing good. It took a bit to get settled down at home, but things headed back to normal, with one tired set of parents. It will be good to get back to Michigan for another visit in December.
That pretty much catches things up from last week. Today I went to town to run just a couple of errands, picked up a few nice things for Christmas presents at Ross. On the way home I went by Jay's old childhood home again— the two out-buildings were gone, apparently bulldozed away since our visit just 7 days ago. The tides of the universe tug away, sometimes we vaguely feel them and turn our attention away to more important things, but sometimes we, mostly unknowingly, let them lead us to where we belong. When we do follow the tug of the tides of our time here, wonderful things can pop up, like old thermometers. Wonderful things.
When I got home I snapped photos of some of my remaining flowers, including the last rose of 2009. If you click its picture up above you can see the full view, in context. The adventure continues, enjoy this next week of your life. Ciao.
If the only prayer we ever say is thank you, that is enough.— Meister Eckhart
10/24/09:
It was a busy last week and I have not been around a lot. I went down to Seattle Wednesday evening in order to attend a 2 day training on stress management. By the time I drove down that evening I did, indeed, need de-stressing. I drove down through sheets of rain and "hydroplaned" on the freeway. It was bad enough to slow down other drivers, that was how bad it was. I stopped in Everett to break up the drive, stopping for some of my favorite Vietnamese food which I had not had for quite a while. After training on Thursday I headed south of Seattle to visit with my friend Carol, going out to eat and share stories of our lives. Carol has now been out of the hospital longer than any time this year– 6 weeks. That is great news because, even though she has not gotten a lot of the strength back in her legs and continues to use a wheelchair, this time chances are good she will keep all the gains she makes.
Last Sunday, the 18th, Jay and I were out and about running errands and came home via Bennett Road where Jay lived in his later childhood years. Back in March 2008 Jay wrote about (click here to read) the land he helped his dad convert to a small trailer park getting bulldozed for the dike district to add more river overflow space. Since his folks sold the house and land there have been several owners and lots of people in and out of the mobile homes. Jay's dad built the modern single story home in the '60s and as we drove by Sunday we found it not only empty but boarded up. Jay had talked to one of the dike district guys a couple of weeks before who knew him from years ago, he told Jay to feel free to look around as he knew it was his family's at one time. We stopped and walked around the sober site, finding lots of things, also known as crap, left in the outbuildings by various people over the years. If you click on the small tree picture at the beginning of this entry you can see a picture I took of Jay under one of the big black maples he helped his father plant all those decades ago. Then we wandered into the cinderblock building Jay's dad built for a laundry center for the trailer tenants– it included the utility meters for the trailers that you see up to the left. That picture links to a larger picture of Jay kneeling next to a heavy cement sink Jay's dad hauled there from his own father's home.
But the last outbuilding, a temporary structure that also had lasted decades, held the greatest treasure. It still had a lot of junk left by all sorts of people over the years, including an old thermometer left by Jay's dad, Reuben, that had also come from Reuben's father's home. Jay is holding it in this last picture to the right and it is now on a bookcase in our bedroom. Treasures come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and sometimes they are pretty rusty yet beautiful at the same time. If you click on the thermometer picture you can see a big one of Jay standing in front of his childhood home, such as it is now.
So, some of the adventures of the last week, with more to tell about later. Ciao.
It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Late Entry for 10/17/09:
Saturday the 17th was our 5th Anniversary. Five years, both long and short at the same time, like a good vacation. We had a lovely day, enjoying a lazy morning, a nice dinner out and then a concert in Edmonds. A lovely day.
We went to a concert with a female singer I like– Shawn Colvin is pictured to the left. I first heard Shawn on the waterfront in Seattle, the warm-up singer for Richard Thompson. You can catch some of her songs on YouTube to see if you know her too. Once again the concert included a warm-up singer I did not know but enjoyed, Paul Freeman— click on his name and go to his site on Myspace, where you can listen to some of his songs. I suggest taking a listen to "That's How It Is" and see if you like him too.
Shawn included near the end of her set one of my favorite of her songs, lyrics here:
DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH
As a little girl I came down to the water
With a little stone in my hand
It would shimmer and sing
And we knew everything
As a little girl I came down
But in a little while I got steeped in authority
Heaven only knows what went wrong
There is nothing so cruel than
to bury that jewel
When it was mine all along
I'm gonna find it
You're shining I can see you
You're smiling that's enough
I'm holding on to you
Like a diamond in the rough
Every now and then
I can see that I'm getting somewhere
Where I have to go is so deep
I was angry back then and you
know I still am
I have lost too much sleep
But I'm gonna find it
You're shining I can see you
You're smiling that's enough
I'm holding on to you
Like a diamond in the rough
Like a diamond in the rough
In my dreams I go down by the water
With a little girl in my arms
And we shimmer and sing
And we know everything
In my dreams I go down
You're shining I can see you
You're smiling that's enough
I'm holding on to you
Like a diamond in the rough
Like a diamond in the rough
— Shawn Colvin
My mother's birthday, our anniversary, a nice day, a nice time together, still. And many more. Happy Anniversary Jay, Love Cindy
10/18/09:
The weather has turned, fall colors are in view, the first good frost hit our fig tree this week, and a big fat fly is in our house, buzzing about. As the days have gone on and on, with the fly still in obvious good health, both Jay and I remarked that we were always told that flies only live a day yet in our personal experience that seemed to not be the case.
As I got ready for bed last night I once again noted not only the large size of our house guest, but its continued presence. I thought about documenting its lifespan and wished that I had marked down the first day I noted it in the house– ah, too late for that. The obvious fall-back position was to simply record the fly's presence on a calendar from now forward. That was not a very satisfying compromise as so many days had already been "lost", and it occurred to me that those sightings could be questioned– how could we prove it was the same fly and thus dispute what we knew of fly longevity? I suggested to Jay that he could capture the fly in his hands and we could mark it with white paint to prove it was the same fly. Jay had his doubts, and not just about this particular plan...
So, I decided to drop the experiment idea and do some research. Today I found on Answers.com the uban legend my life had been built upon, a statement that "Once the adult house fly hatches from the pupal stage, it has an approximate life span of 15 to 25 hours." See! That was what I was brainwashed with ever so long ago, despite a plethora of personal experience that belied the "fact." Pushing the envelope I searched some more and found myself in the presence of truth itself. Kidzworld.com speaks to the heart, the one organ of the body that can and should at times override the brain: "Once the adult house fly hatches from the pupal stage, it has an approximate life span of 15 to 30 days." Vindication! Ah, but what was that? More information: "Females are able to start producing eggs after two days of life and will continue to lay eggs for about a month. Female houseflies are usually larger than the males." Yikes! The big fat fly in our house is probably a female and is probably laying eggs all about... how will we know when she is gone if her progeny look just like her? Hmm, where is that little jar of white paint...
The dissenter is every human being at those moments of his life when he resigns momentarily from the herd and thinks for himself.— Archibald MacLeish
10/12/09:
As you may have noticed I have included excerpts from Abigail Thomas' book A Three Dog Life recently. I will finish up now...
Abigail's is a book I got at the library a week ago and finished up in a few days– quick for me. The book is a memoir of the author's experiences, thoughts, etc. from the five year period after her husband is hit by a car while walking the dog and sustains a severe brain injury, eventually settling in to live at a residential facility. Abigail gets a house nearby and eventually accumulates three dogs, who provide warmth and comfort, of course. I liked it, recommend reading it.
Abigail includes a definition from Wikipedia at the front of her book: Australian Aborigines slept with their dogs for warmth on cold nights, the coldest being a "three dog night."
The rest of the excerpts I wish to include:
Recently someone asked about my worst fears— what were they? I couldn't come up with anything. To have a fear you have to be able to imagine the future, and I never think about the future anymore. It is no longer my destination. There are lots of things I don't want to have happen, of course. I don't want to have a flat tire or get lost driving at night or be eaten by wild animals. I don't want to lose my mind or my livelihood. I don't want to forget where I parked the car or the names of my children but I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it, as an old friend used to say. I did recently Google "fluid in the inner ear" and worried briefly about obscure ways to go deaf, because my left ear was clicking, but that went away—the fear and the clicking—after a Sushi Deluxe with Claudette at the Wok and Roll in Woodstock. But as for fears, I don't have any. Page 163
I arrive at the Northeast Center. Rich looks good. "How are you?" I yell into Rich's ear. He smiles at me. In twenty-nine days it will be five years.
"Either I feel weak and can't find something or I feel good, inexplicably good." I love it when he talks, when he answers with more than just a word or two.
"That's great," I say, "how did you sleep?" I no longer feel silly shouting such simple questions. They are easy to hear, easy to answer.
"I don't have any trouble sleeping," says Rich. "I just replay everything."
"What do you replay?" This is curious, something new.
"The accident," he says, "with none of the ghastly details."
"What do you remember?" I'm shocked.
"I don't remember being out with the dog."
I don't remember Rich ever talking about the accident.
"What made you think of it?" I'm careful to shout and enunciate at the same time.
"Lying here." Lying here alone, I think.
"Tell me more," I say, feeling my heart pound.
"I wish I could. I wish there were more to tell."
"What else do you remember?" To keep this conversation alive, I can't allow silence.
"I don't remember anything from before. Just that I'm trying to piece together the past, the very recent past."
"What pieces do you have?" He looks calm, I don't feel calm at all.
"Just the aftermath. I don't remember anything about the dog, about running after the dog, the whole thing escapes me."
"But you're remembering it now."
"I've been remembering that aspect ever since I can remember."
"What else?" I have to keep the balloon in the air. If it touches the ground,the conversation will be over.
"Nothing else really. I don't even remember that it was raining because I would have suggested we skip the rain because it was very hilly."
We sound like two people having a normal conversation.
"You can ask me questions and I can answer them," I tell him. Rich doesn't say anything so I continue. It is suddenly terribly important that he know this: "I was upstairs when it happened. Pedro called and I ran to where you were."
"You gave out a scream?"
"I did. Many screams."
We both fall silent. I realize that what he wants to remember I am trying to forget.
A minute goes by. I ask Rich if he knows how long we've been married.
"About a year," he answers.
I shake my head. "Seventeen years," I say, "we got married in 1988 and it's 2005."
"Abby," he says, smiling, "our life has been so easy that the days glide by." Pages 180-182
Ciao...
10/11/09:
Yes. For me it is a 3 day weekend, in celebration of Columbus Day on Monday the 12th, which became a federal holiday in 1934 in order to celebrate Columbus' journey to the "new world". Columbus' was a journey that was simply part of the well-known manifest destiny of caucasians – destined, as it were, to spread democracy and other "right" values over the American continent. Native Americans are, perhaps, more familiar than most with this doctrine of what, for a better word, can simply be called empire-building. Yes, I'm celebrating European mans' domination of other cultures Monday the 12th. Hooray for paid days off!
We celebrated our weekend Saturday with an outing, unusual for us, to a comedy club. Last evening we drove down to Kirkland, 60 miles from Mount Vernon, to Laughs Comedy Spot to see a comedian we were familiar with from FM radio, Maria Bamford. I specifically sought out Maria's schedule and, as it turned out, it was fun to see her. You can go to YouTube.com and search for Maria to check her out. We had a good time, enjoyed more than one chuckle. There were 2 comedians opening for Maria, Jackie Kashian's nice schitck and another guy named Dave— we liked them both and I squeezed the upper arm of the guy later as I came back from the bathroom... Anyhow, we had a good time and will do it again in a year or two, when we have the energy.
Today I harvested the very last of the green beans, cleaned and cut them and put them in the freezer for later. I also baked 2 acorn squash and 2 of another winter squash which I think are buttercup squash, the kind of flattened round ones. I always clean the outside, cut them in half, scoop out the seeds and stringy things (retaining the seeds in a separate pan sprayed with Pam, putting a bit of olive oil or olive oil spray + salt on them and put them in the oven with all the rest), put the squash's cut sides down in a pan sprayed with olive oil or Pam, put water in the pan to cover up to the edge of the cut squash (about 1/2 inch), cook about 1/2 hour in 350 degrees, then dump out the water, turn over, spray with oil or butter, cook another 1/2 hour with the option of adding bread crumbs, meat, non-meat, nuts, or whatever to the scooped out part in order to have protein + veggie 1/2 hour later... lord god almighty, good stuff from the earth.
The leftovers, which there are from 4 whole squash, can be simply warmed and eaten or skinned and cut up in cubes, sauteed in oil and maybe a bit of rosemary, and served with anything you want because it will be yummy. Yesterday afternoon we had steamed spinach with some grape and cherry tomatoes from the garden plus melted cheese for lunch. The earth is good, hope humans make it to enjoy her bounty longer. We will not destroy the earth, only ourselves. We're not that powerful, we are not the end-all, we are just part of the process, regardless of our limitless ego. Hmm, come to think of it, maybe we are the "end-all". Ciao, more later, enjoy autumn 2009, it may never come again...
Rich and I don't make conversation; we exchange tidbits, how well we slept, what was for breakfast. We are stripped down to our most basic selves, no static, no irony, no nuance. Once in a while Rich says something that takes my breath away: "I feel like a tent that wants to be a kite, tugging at my stakes," he said one day, out of a clear blue sky. He was lying in a hospital bed, but his eyes were joyous. In some ways we are simply an old married couple, catapulted into the wordless phase ahead of time. An old pal of mine used to extol the virtues of basic body warmth in the days when I was more into the heat, but now I understand. Rich and I sit together, we hold hands; we are warm-blooded creatures in a quiet space, and that's all the communication we need.
— Abigail Thomas, A Three Dog Life
10/10/09:
When I was young, the future was where all the good stuff was kept, the party clothes, the pretty china, the family silver, the grown-up jobs. The future was a land of its own, and we couldn't wait to get there. Not that youth wasn't great, but it came with disadvantages; I remember the feeling I was missing something really good that was going on somewhere else, somewhere I wasn't. I remember feeling life passing me by. I remember impatience. I don't feel that way now. If something interesting is going on somewhere else, good, thank god, I hope nobody calls me. Sometimes it's all I can do to brush my teeth, toothpaste is just too stimulating.
The future was also the place where the bad stuff waited in ambush. My children were embarking on their futures in fragile vessels, and I trembled. I wanted to remove obstacles, smooth their way, I wanted to change their childhoods. I needed to be right all the time, I wanted them to listen to me, learn from my mistakes, and save themselves a lot of grief. Well, now I know I can control my tongue, my temper, and my appetites, but that's it. I have no effect on weather, traffic, or luck. I can't make good things happen. I can't keep anybody safe. I can't influence the future and I can't fix up the past.
What a relief.
— Abigail Thomas, A Three Dog Life
10/8/09:
On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
— Henry David Thoreau
I picked the rest of our tomatoes Monday evening because it is getting cold at night and I figured I'd best be getting them while the getting was good. I rinsed them off, along with some spinach for a lunch salad the next day, laying my harvest bounty out on a dish towel next to two of our apples and some of our grapes. Jay said "Go get your camera". Yes, Jay was right. October harvests– bright, colorful, beautiful. The joyous stuff of life.
10/6/09:
Now that the gouges taken out of my feet are mostly healed I have returned to swimming. This is good for me and for Jay as it does help me as a stress-reliever as well as exercise for my flabby body. Tonight I was late out of work and afraid the pool would be packed, but miraculously I was the only one there for 13 of my 16 lengths. Ahh, swimming in solitude...
For the last decade I have been the only adult lap swimmer wherever I go that wears a nose-clip. My preferred nose-clip is the one to the left, just like the kids. I took swimming class in college and learned to become proficient enough to glide back and forth in enjoyment, rather than my previous view of swimming the length of a pool as some sort of torture. I have swam much of my life since then. It was always a struggle when the kids were young, swimming and getting in good shape then succumbing to a cold or sinus infection which would sideline me for a while before getting back on track again. About 10 years ago I had what I refer to as "roto-rooter" surgery on my sinuses due to having such frequent infections, trying to help them drain better. The first time I went back to the pool after the surgery I discovered that as I ended the first lap a BUNCH of water drained out of my nose, which at first was interesting but quickly became horrifying. Yes, pool water in your sinuses, hmm, how sterile is pool water? Yes, imagine even a teeny amount of pool water pooling in your sinuses for... well for a long time. Yikes!
Of course that was when I started wearing nose-clips to swim, despite any odd looks from "serious" swimmers. As I thought about it I realized that most likely whenever I, or anyone else for that matter, swam a teeny bit of pool water had always snuck up the snozzle. It would explain the sinus infections that kept putting a crimp in my swimming. That's what I came up with. I can't remember the last sinus infection I have had, maybe 2002? Maybe longer ago than that... Keep on swimming man. Ciao.
So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.— Ben Franklin
10/3/09:
October has arrived with crispness, sun and rain. Today is sunny, cool and breezy, pleasant weather for running extra yard waste to the composting place and tackling a task or two outside.
We have lavender plants that fill up most of the space under our apple trees. The lavender is big now and has taken over, crowding a couple of plants I have meant to move, including the Ozark Sun Drop that is pictured to the left. Today I dug it out and put it up by the house, between the snowball and mallow bushes– we'll know late next spring if it will survive being moved and, if it does, it should thrive without the lavender bearing down upon it. I have a few other before-winter projects I'd like to accomplish, so I also pulled up some sod where I want to move another plant... it will never be done. For me flowers and perennials are always a work in progress, moving plants for better growing or dividing and filling in spaces. Sometimes there is more progress than others...
The difficulty in life is the choice.— George Moore
10/1/09:
Our apple trees don't have very many apples this year, but the ones there are bigger than normal. I picked the ones pictured here and at the top of the page in the morning before work earlier this week. I just wanted one and knocked two more down in the process — never to mind as they are now gone, incorporated into my body. It is handy to have a couple of apple trees next to the front entry...
Yesterday I was very efficient as I headed out to work, testing for the first time our spare key system that has existed for several years. Routines are important; who knows sometimes what throws one off? The small shelf under our front entry mirror holds the leaf-shaped dish that I put my keys on when I come home each day and from which I retrieve them the next time I leave. I found it takes one aback to hold up your hand as if to lock the top lock after shutting the front door and discover your hand is empty. The mind races, albeit slowly. Hmm, yes, the keys are inside, on the shelf, on the dish. Hmm, I don't have car keys either. Hmm, sigh. Put your things down on the porch, traipse about, dampen your work shoes in the grass, try the found emergency key on the back door and then the front. Yes, get the key ring, retrace your steps... no problem, adventures abound. Happy October.
We decided that it was no good asking what is the meaning of life, because life isn't an answer, life is the question, and you, yourself, are the answer.— Ursula K. LeGuin
Jardot's World: October Edition, 2009
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