Listening In

This is a making-an-exception post from my retired mode because these are exceptional times and I've been hearing good things.

Eavesdropping is a skill according to my mother who liked to point out the spies at various tables. I was impressed by her ability as she didn't understand any of the languages spoken in any of the countries to which my father was assigned. She had an explanation for this lack: "Portuguese is just Spanish with a French accent." Diplomacy is also a skill so I didn't point out to her that she didn't know any Spanish she could joi de vivre. Today, I misheard someone say, "She's a full time psycho." My immediate reaction was, "Whew. It's good she is full time! Gets all the benefits!" Reading tees is also a form of eavesdropping. A woman who had trekked to Tibet showed off what the trip was all about, "Yak Yak Yak."

What could be more satisfying than tuning in to someone's deep down heartfelt, what some call Soul? So in this post I am sharing the result of my Soul Restoration online art class journal. The premise of many quotes for restoring is that I should get back to the person I was. I find this amusing since the assumption is that my former person was hot stuff on a platter. My preference would be the phrase, "You are never to old to be the person you were meant to be." I am partial to Mary Engelbreit's painting called, "Late Bloomer." I think Late Bloomer is who I was meant to be. I enjoyed the videos accompanying the class, the journal prompts, and the air of festivity. I don't know if I'll continue with a Homework Time no longer required but it has changed the nature of my eavesdropping. Now when I hear a snippet I can't resist jotting down , I put it in my notebook with pressed flowers, glitter glue, stampings, and doodles. A quote must also be the quote it was meant to be.

Hearing Things

The hypnotherapist is in England.

He has no idea where I am

but he knows my procrastinations

as they are everybody's.

He is trying to motivate me

with his soothing North Country accent

by giving me images of myself

doing what I'd rather be doing

than facing this Other I

really, really, really

don't want to do.

As he distracts me with his suggestion 

to sit in an imaginary chair,

(chintz? overstuffed? pockets for books?)

I wonder what could possibly be better

than this luxury.

But he has my archetype firmly in hand,

The Sulky Child,

and consequently bribes me--

if I will carry my chair in my mind all day,

momentousness with happen.

I hear you, Dr. Hypno.

I plump up the pillows of my pretend chair. 

Oh, look! I've hidden some chocolate 

between the silk ties!

and here I go

to my desk. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

ON DOGWOOD ACRES ROAD

Strolling along Dogwood Acres Road on my return from shopping at the co-op (Seventh Generation dryer sheets, potato/Roquefort salad, Blood Orange Pellegrino, souvenir tee) in Southern Village, a Chapel Hill neighborhood, I saw a pretty sight--a young woman with a row of butterfly tattoos across her upper back. She was standing with her dog who had her eye on the ducks in a pond. I caught up with them and said, "I like your butterflies!"  Then I added, "Oh, I like your necklace, too. And how about those socks!" The dog turned to find out who I was so I couldn't resist one last compliment, "Your dog is not half bad, either." The young woman smiled. I told her I was visiting and would she mind if I took a picture for my blob. I really like putting a kind of spiritual beauty out into the world. I felt these two had some. She said her name was Julie and the dog was Ellie. 

They posed nicely and appeared to be quite comfortable with this unusual encounter, although I had not seen another person on my hour walk. After a friendly goodbye, I started looking at the rural mailboxes to find one I thought would suit Julie and Ellie. Sure enough, there was one--peace symbol amidst the azaleas.

Speaking of beauty, I recently had an interesting dream. For the first time, a poem came to me whole. I could see the lines written out on a page of old Victorian stationery. I thought I would revise it but I decided it was very like Yeats' "automatic writing" during which time he apparently went into a trance and let some otherwordly entity take over. So here is my dream poem in all its simplicity. It came as a result, I believe, of having feasted with Arlette. She had been depressed when I arrived but perked up immensely by the time I left. You may revise it to suit your point of view.

THE ENEMIES  OF SADNESS

Shared solitude

Fish stew

Bus schedule

Bird song

"And how are you?"
 

Entre a Cruz e a Espada - Tião do Carro e Mulatinho

ORIGINS & DESTINIES

On 1st

 

Strolling down the avenue,

I pass Opera Costume Jewelry.

I was born to wear costume jewelry;

it's easy to see why.

I entered the world

to the sound of the forro bands,

 the glitter of gypsy gems.

Before the war. 

And after?

Perhaps the later chapters

were all a recapturing

of that long ago time

carefree, cherished.

Little tokens in the window

catch my eye, symbols

now of days lost.

There are my mother's earrings,

my aunt's brooch,

riches cheap and well-suited

to a flower child,

traveler of foreign streets, 

her means modest. 

~~~~~~~~~~  

"WHAT WONDROUS LOVE IS THIS"

  I was in Eureka, California at a Motel 6 visiting my son who was in college. 1988.  I had never seen MTV before so while I was waiting for him to get off work, I watched the videos. I grew up on classical music and folk. I knew who Theodore Bikel was but not Axel Rose. Erik arrived and was highly amused at my comments as we saw a few of the songs. I'm famous for saying Morrison had no charisma. Well, sorry, but for charisma, one has to open his or her eyes and he didn't.  When a man came on singing, "Livin' on a Prayer" I jumped up and exclaimed, "He could be an opera star!" In his usual deadpan fashion Erik said, "I hadn't thought of him that way." I said, "That's going to be my theme song!" Erik was into alternative rock so I guessed he was being diplomatic to his mom because all he did

was nod and in a Philly accent said, "O.  K.  " But right there was probably the beginning of a big dream of mine which at the time I didn't realize would involve this same Bon Jovi. I had a passion for helping homeless people. As a child, I would find them sitting on the steps outside. Whole families of them. I felt so helpless. When Bon Jovi started his Soul Foundation, I cheered. If every celebrity could personally help the homeless hands-on, especially children of war, I thought the world could be such a lovely place. When I moved to New York city, I read that as part of his projects, Bon Jovi had an "All are welcome at the table" restaurant called Soul Kitchen. I dreamed someday of going there. A suggested donation of $10 for a three course meal with no alcohol and nice iced tea appealed to me. Volunteers can pay for their meals by jobs around the garden or in the restaurant. Strangers sit together and become part of the positive energy seen in any Bon Jovi concert. I have not been to one of his concerts but I TELL YOU and I kid you not, trekking down to Red Bank this past Sunday was as exciting and transforming as a Sunday + concert could be. At the table for four, Maria told us about another, similar, restaurant in Denver called the 180 because it changes lives 180 degrees. Her life had been changed 180. The details of her story I will let her write as I didn't ask permission but it is a winner! I was glad to read later that community places such as these are catching on. Fabulous.

 Whatever dreams you have, secret or shared, I hope they will come true. One of mine did in a place called Red Bank, New Jersey on a Sunday

          .http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDK9QqIzhwk

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SWEET AND SILLY APRIL

For April, I changed the layout of my bloggity (a borrowed term) to reflect the emphasis on art since my online soul restoration art class will be winding down midmonth; and I wrote a lighthearted observation:

AMIDST THE SHOWERS

There's an April poem

here somewhere

in a drawer like Emily's

or under a stack of chillers

(non-fiction thrillers).

Did a dragon gobble it?

Remember pocket poems?

I have plenty of those.

There's an April poem 

here somewhere

about Spring, rebirth,

the not too hot yet days,

the new beginnings,

the leavings, 

and, of course,

to merrily go with it,

an April fool.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

BECAUSE OF AMOUR

AT THE HOME

The last thing she remembered was Brahms.

She lay peacefully under the coverlet

she had saved since the boy's childhood

in hopes he would return someday

and note her faithfulness.

"Brahms," she said, "my favorite."

Then her eyes clouded

the way they had been doing lately

when she took to wandering.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked.

No recognition, pulling away slowly,

stripped of the agitation

that marked the previous week.

Not knowing that death is nigh may be amiable, after all.

Who knows where she is--in a summer garden 

with the bees reeling

or in the stillness of a winter walk

or in a time travel escapade

back to overladen wagon trains

with their prospects of gold?

Somewhere in the mush of the brain's circuitry,

in her confusion and my helplessness,

it comforts me to think

she does hear Brahms.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Photo Credit: Robert Janz

My Teacher!

Melody Ross: Mission Statement

NOT SO CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

A Two Minute Friend in Eureka called me Flutterby. I seem to have more than the average under ten minute chance encounters worth writing up. Remember my poem written after an 9 minute encounter on a tour bus? Or  Twinkie's Chapeau? Last Wednesday, I arrived nine minutes early to the library to return my books. An elderly woman asked how long we would have to wait. I looked at my watch and said, "Nine minutes. I wish there were an outside drop box." She replied,"Oh, I need to get another book." I said, "I don't need another book. A writer friend in Albuquerque sent one of her wonderful YA books." The woman practically gasped, "I've been thinking about an assisted living place in Albuquerque. I'm from Connecticut but have spent most of my life here in the boroughs. I might go to the Bronx. I can't decide. Do you know anything about Albuquerque?" I told her how much I liked it from when I visited Uncle Henry who lived in an efficiency a few blocks from the university. He had a friend named Georgia who drove a van full of senior citizens to see the opera in Santa Fe. The woman then asked what YA books were and why I particularly liked them. I recounted how I had found Carolyn Meyer's Young Adult book Loving Will at the Eureka library. I mentioned how her story of Isabella had been a catalyst for me and the thing about YA's is their compactness, their research, their clarity. Our nine minutes were up and the library opened. Now this is a very small branch. I've never found a Carolyn Meyer book there but Wednesday, I felt a nudge. Sure enough. There was a paperback copy of  The True Adventures of Charley Darwin with my favorite cover art. I snatched it up and rushed over to where the woman was looking for a David Balducci. I said, "Here, have this. It's a sign. You are going to love Albuquerque! Say hello to Carolyn Meyer for me!" What a big smile! I said, "You see, your true adventure awaits!" Afterwards, I had to laugh. I never get anywhere early. I'm a right on time person. Oh, the Universe!  

IN THE MOON OF POPPING TREES

There were a lot of big grins in my family and perhaps the biggest belonged to my Uncle Henry, my dad's littlest brother. For my ninth birthday, Henry sent a coffee table style book about the Plains Indians. I immersed myself in the clothing, headdresses, and jewelry. To this day that influence causes me to wear not one bracelet but six. I mourn the fact that casual wear now means something akin to astronaut minimalism. Apparently, fitness attire has claimed first place for designers which is ironic as the American Indian's (Lakota Russell Means' preferred term) passion for dances probably ranks in my top five for weight, endurance, and strength training. I loved the Native American (I use both) names and coincidentally am reading a book with two characters named Moves Rivers and Moves Mountains. I appreciate other cultures with similarly descriptive names. What happened when egotists came along and a place to stay would be called Hilton instead of the Inn of Sixth Happiness? Another coincidence: I started watching Ken Burns' The West and who should be one of the men interviewed? Rudolfo Anaya, the author of Serafina's Stories in which Moves Rivers and Moves Mountains appear! Ken Burns. How I wish he had been around when I was taking history. I couldn't grasp the textbook. With Ken Burns, I could have understood the story of the Cherokee who welcomed the settlers, learned reading/writing/speaking English, and even had a newspaper until that tragic time of eviction. The long march on the Trail of Tears where 2,000 lost their lives meant a lot to me but watching the documentary brought it powerfully home. If only. If only the Cherokee could have remained. What a getting along example that could have been. I noticed how quickly the facts were absorbed. I suddenly realized  I might have the genes of an ancestry with an oral tradition as I don't learn by reading. I learn by hearing. No wonder my mother read to me every night and recited poetry every day. Did she know? As I am writing this, I am whispering the words to  myself. I need to approve the rhythm, catch the errors in the only way I can.

 I will be visiting Eureka, California this June and hope to finally see the Hoopa Valley, home to California's largest reservation. The basketry and  jewelry on the tribe's website will get a close inspection from me. And, in honor of Uncle Henry, the greeting cards. From my early childhood, he sent postcards of the Hudson River School of artists. My enchantment with California undoubtedly began with Bierstadt. Henry didn't romanticize The People. Yes, there were outstanding accounts of peacefulness such as those of the Yosemite and the welcome given to Cabeza de Vaca but there was, unfortunately, constant warring, brutal raiding. "Dog Soldiers" were highly esteemed, ruling the hearts of the women left behind. The beautiful Cheyenne, Lakota, Comanches, Pawnee fought one another relentlessly when actually they had much in common. The introduction of horses caused constant temptation. I'm not one to deny this  In every cosmology, there has always been evil but I "look for the good."  I'm thrilled by the Idle No More successes, a protest group started in Canada which has rapidly become worldwide.

Apache Ten Commandments--attributed to Sitting Bull, found on http://tipiheaven.wordpress.com/

1. Treat the earth and all that dwell thereon with respect,
2. Remain close to the Great Spirit,
3. Show great respect for your fellow beings,
4. Work together for the benefit of all mankind,
5. Give assistance and kindness wherever needed,
6. Do what you know is right,
7. Look after the wellbeing of mind and body,
8. Dedicate a share of your efforts to the greater good,
9. Be truthful and honest at all times,
10. Take full responsibility for your actions.

 I suggest you remember the names, the spirit animals, the totems. Listen to the myths such as the seven sisters who became a constellation in the night sky; the creation tale of darkness and void;  the emergence of Grandmother Bear. (See http://wearewalkinginbeauty.org/Walking_in_Beauty/Grandmother_Bear.html). Rejoice in the beauty of the land.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cree 
 "Just before it was too late, the Indian would regain his spirit and teach the white man reverence for the Earth, banding together with him to become Warriors of the Rainbow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your  coat of rough grey blue warms my chilled bones,

dear alpaca, spirit friend.

THE SOURCE OF ALL HEALING

There are wonderful sayings and quotes rumbling around in my head that I enjoy when I have my hour on Facebook each night. However, my new favorite quote came from a TV series I picked to watch because it was set in Scotland and starred Susan Hampshire. I was so taken with her when she was in the pre-Masterpiece Theater production of The Forsyte Saga playing "Fleur." I loved that name and amongst the many nicknames I gave my daughter, one of them was Jennifleur. I was pleased when Susan Hampshire starred in the first Masterpiece Theater as she had been the catalyst for its long run. I hadn't seen her in decades and wondered how she had turned out. Did she still have those penetrating, soulful eyes? I digress, as usual. The quote came in a scene in which an actor played a sort of guru/shaman/NewAger who wants to bring his holistic practices to a grand house in the highlands. What he very quietly said to the young laird (who didn't go at all for this nonsense) was this: "There is no healing in denial." I was knocked out by that phrase. I paused the video and replayed it at least ten times. I've thought about the truth of it most of my waking days and may have even dreamed of this solution. It was like the Theory of Everything for me. Of course. There is no healing the earth if we deny climate change; there is no healing from unrequited love if we deny the impossibility of hope that change could happen; there is no healing from the brink of death if we deny its coming; there is no healing of a family if the parents won't acknowledge their children's shortcomings. It seemed to me that the problems of the world didn't boil down to science or religion which upon analysis could be fixed. The problems required facing squarely what we don't want to know. I became interested in looking up Susan Hampshire and was delighted to find an interview in which she has taken this solution to heart. Her enchanting globetrotting husband began sinking into dementia. At first she gave over the nursing duties to caregivers while she went on the road. When she returned from one of these assignments, she was appalled at how her husband had declined under the "care" and she embraced bravely what she needed to do. She left acting behind and began to spend all her time as caregiver. She learned not to raise her voice and watched how he responded when playing card games or doing puzzles or chatting or having her fix his favorite dish. He took Aricept which is apparently successful in early stages. They walked in the fresh air of the garden and Sir Kulukundis improved. I will probably forget the plot of "Monarch of the Glen" but I will remember the Scottish hills, the music, and the manner Susan Hampshire taught me to go forth. Cheerful. Kindly. Persevering. Denying nothing.

 I hope this post will be as revelatory for you as the quote was for me and we can heal the world together. 

dogs leap on the street

birds scatter by the lamposts

springtime in winter

artwork by D. de Letta

THE READERS WRITE

Most of the comments from readers come in the mail not in the Comment section of the blob. I enjoy reading these because they tell me if I have succeeded in my writing. What is success? Clarity, brevity, and warmth are what I like in aiming to please. This past week, Kathy asked if I wrote the poem first. Why yes, I did. Poems are usually the inspiration for prose for me. Marcia (pronounced mar-see-ah), who knew me when we were twelve, marveled that she hadn't heard about my living in Jerusalem only a few years previous to our meeting.  As I have said, I was a quiet child; I preferred to be mysterious rather than to tell anyone anything about myself. Stephanie was curious about the Jewish family. Harriet's note was short and appreciative with decorative flowers and hearts attached. Caroline wanted to know how I pick my topics and was there any particular, consistent catalyst for my postings.

Each case is different. This time it was coming across a name which brought a rush of memories. What prompted the Lizette post is that I was intrigued by a writer, not the writer of the book, the character. In The Nobodies Album the main character is a writer, Octavia Frost. The whole book is basically her description of how a writer would react to the events in her life. Commentary within commentary. I was reminded of Chinese nesting tables or Matryoshka dolls. So what I decided to do was write a poem (the underlying foundation) and then add  details in prose (the colorization).  What was important to me then and now is that Sister Marie Mignonette be painted as the person I wanted to be. Whimsical, persevering, imaginative. Your comments have shown me I succeeded in illustrating my message and I thank you. 

Gratitude spoken or unspoken

can never be underestimated.

It is the spark illuminating

the night when the pen rises to the occasion

and contact is made.     

 

OO LA

We sat in a circle on the stone floor while the young nun talked to us about the fruits of the spirit and the evils which caused the fruits to decay. She had a sweet little mouth and turned up nose. Her habit weighed more than she did, I'm sure. Someone said her real name was Lizette and she had been hidden by Jews in a long trek from France to Jerusalem. That was a switch. It didn't seem a likely story to me but, on the other hand, here she was in the Holy Land and she did have an extensive knowledge of the Torah. When she read from the New Testament the words became branded on my heart as the way to write--simple, exquisite, humble. She mixed in  Yeats and Keats as though they were part of her sacred texts.  Her attitude was plucky personified. She tossed envy, hatred, grumpiness, into an invisible bin with flicks of her bird hands. Often, her remarks were followed by, "Oo la" as though the nutty world was something to marvel at. Who would want to be competitive, anxious, clawing to the top of a corporate mountain?? Oo la. Such crazies! I loved her French accent and her certainty. I wondered if she really thought her students would escape the lure of worldly temptations. I'd like to think she rests in peace now in a convent garden full of the lilies of the field she liked so much. I would wish her to know that the circle had flawed admirers but I bet many of us will catch ourselves once in a while, exclaiming, "Oo la" feeling a little burden lifted, hearing the sound of sparrows. 

Sister, Sister, more!

Tell of banshees, dancing goats,
sailing galaxies.

Corrupt governments? 
Famine? War? Catastrophe?
"Press on!" Sister smiles.

Recollection's strange.
Not one child's face can I see.
Only oo-la's ring. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A LITTLE SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOU BY

My dad had a wheezy sort of laugh, not very soundworthy but delightful and he laughed often, shaking all over.. He was highly amused by my daily "horror"scope which was a broken record of, "Don't scatter your forces." Out of this he would cheerily caution me, "Amass your forces!" "Don't hide your forces under a barrel." Too bad he didn't see Star Wars. He could have added, "May the forces be with you." Over the years, I've noticed I remember people by their catch phrases and whatever music was popular at the time. Since he didn't listen to the hit parade, Toreador from the opera Carmen comes to mind. Naturally, he used the alternative lyrics of, "He wants his shirt. He wants his shirt." Sometimes, the catch phrases aren't even phrases. In my circle of high school friends there was one whose entire conversational input consisted of, "Duh." I nicknamed him The Multilinguist. Another friend liked, "Cute!" She could shade it just-so to denote either sarcasm or gleefulness. I asked her if she had seen The Undead (the original) figuring there was no category she could place it in that was cute. I was wrong! It came under the heading of Chrissie's Silly Wit. I think fondly of Louella who described the man of her dreams in three words--hero, hunk, gorgeous. She never failed to repeat this glowing vision during study hall. I discovered years later that she had married at the age of 52. I was eager to hear if the man was the man of her long ago dreams. The answer came quickly, "No. This one is real."

I wonder if all these shortcuts were a precursor to bites and texting. Did they start with I Like Ike or maybe the New Deal? Would the small-govenment people of the 18th Century fought to save  money on the calligrapher ultimately changing history because the drafters of the Declaration of Independence ended up stating simply, "Free at last"? Pookie & Sebastian went out of business on 3rd Avenue. Was the name too long? The Gap has downsized its logo to something that looks like a highway sign on a drivers' test. Nobody but nobody says, "United Nations." U.N. and U.S. make me think of Unamuno. Thank goodness, he was a man of more words, though definitely not Proust. I was a quiet child, never raised my hand in class. College days transformed me. My language skills were developed by a fellow classmate who responded to everything I said, such as "What's for lunch?" with, "What does that mean?" I felt obligated to explain, rephrase. Voila, a storyteller was born. 

Walking on the streets of the Upper East Side, I am struck by how streamlined people and buildings have become. There aren't the elaborate window surrounds from the talent of a bricklayer/artist such as on the "Landmarks." Does part of being a New Yorker have to do with a The North Face jacket? (Does anyone know that this famous fashion line was designed by a student at Berkeley?)  I'm guessing if one's life is schedule-driven and multitasked to death. this is a good thing. As for me, I plan to go out on my adventures colorfully unhurried. I won't scatter all my forces but you can believe, I will scatter a goodly heap. "See you soon!" 

GO AGAIN!

William A Bake
 Boone, North Carolina

When my daughter was learning to talk she exclaimed, after a merry-go-round turn, "Go again!" It became her mantra. Read a story? Go again! Ride the trolley? Go again! Have a minicone of vanilla ice cream? Go again! So this post is about going again with a post from January 2011. My opinion of 2013 and all the other coming years. is this:  if they insist on coming so fast, then you  will have to tolerate a Reprint every once in awhile.  
 

Call me She Who Does Not Finish. Perhaps it's my horoscope which is a broken record of the warning, "Don't scatter your forces." However, I don't buy my horoscope because where I was born the stars were all upside down. Maybe it's because I am, according to Barb Sher, one of many a Scanner. These are good people who simply dabble in everything and there's no time left over to accomplish any one of the tasks. Get this: "What you've assumed is a disability to be overcome by sheer will is actually an exceptional gift. You are the owner of a remarkable, multi talented brain trying to do its work in a world that doesn't understand who you are and doesn't know why you behave as you do." !!!! I started a novel in '79. So far, no one has taken the title. A sign? I did write 92 pages and 150 drafts of those same pages. I told the story except for the ending to dozens of people on trains, planes, and buses. I imagine somewhere right now someone is wondering whatever happened to my delightful character, Evy. I had a dream once where Evy did the same. She came in a whisper of a cloud and asked, "What happened to me?" Guilt trip. I honestly don't know. There are several possibilities. She either succumbed to a recurrence of polio, or married Bartholomew Fields and together they created an orphanage in Cadiz, or quite possibly he died unexpectedly while filming in India and Evy went on alone visiting her old home on the Outer Banks where she became an artist of paper cranes. I asked several authors to write it for me with the identical response, "It has to be in your voice." Oh, bother. I also started an autobiography in 2003. I really liked the first five paragraphs. I liked them so much, I couldn't go on. Nothing seemed as lively or inspiring as those five paragraphs. Therefore, announcing to you that this is anniversary week on the Blob comes with great pride in achievement. I was only going to do one post on January 7, 2009. And yet, here I am. It is an unfinished work but a continuing one. I was looking at the entries of an old Gratitude Journal I kept in 1999. Every single day is accounted for. Another achievement. The last scribble says, "I thank you, my Gratitude Journal, for your attention and guidance and friendship, discipline and sympathy." Perhaps it is a fitting quote for the Blob as well. Perhaps a Scanning Gemini/Sagittarius is nae sa bad. A few things do get done and the itinerary always reads, "And then...."