a keener silence

Wally Lamb

Last night was the opening of the weekly SOMOS Summer Writers Series. The guest was Wally Lamb! (everyone comes to Taos eventually). He is personable and approachable and read a long chapter from his upcoming book, We Are Water (due out in October). It was essentially a self-contained piece and could easily stand on its own as a long short story. I look forward to reading the book. The Harwood Museum Auditorium was packed and no one made a sound during the whole reading. He is an amazing writer who sustained the tension, foreshadowing, and positive and negative aspects of his character. A woman. If you've read any of his books, you know he can get into the head of a woman and write from there. Perhaps because he grew up with sisters (as he told us), or because he has worked for many years with women incarcerated in the York Detention Center in CT. It was good for me to get away for a couple of hours as Ron rested, preparing for surgery in a few days. It helped me feel less like the graffiti character I encountered this morning on my walk.

snapcrone

The air was cool and fresh as I walked the park paths with an inexpensive new Lumix camera, deliberately taking shots I might have ordinarily passed up. I want to give it a good test run before deciding if I should keep it. It certainly has limitations, but as an alternative to a cellphone camera (so convenient that it's addictive), its 16 mps seem to do a nice job. It's quite light and compact - a prerequisite for me when I begin every day by tossing a camera into my smallish purse, ready, not for "serious" photography, but for photo sketches. I just can't deal with heavy on my shoulders in order to collect those doodles.

I've been reading the blog of Olivier Duong, a young photographer who wrote about what he calls Limitation Creativity, which translates to Gear Minimalism (read: you don't need the most expensive camera and lenses to get good photos). He asks: "Is photography still about photography, or it it the camera? The less you have the more creative you will be, the more you love your camera the more willing you will be to learn and shoot, therefore improving." I like this. It's what prompted me to experiment with this little DMC-SZ3 (with a Leica lens) that costs less than a nice handbag. I agree with Duong that photography for some of us is a lifestyle, and we are all too susceptible to the latest "hot" cameras (me).

It's a lesson in observation and mindfulness that yields surprises when I can "shoot a lot, even when there's nothing to shoot".

on their way

Received messages, calls, and photos this morning from my daughter on the ferry to Martha's Vineyard for the day with other family members. This immediate connection is especially appreciated during these difficult days when many negatives and positives are converging and my far away family can get closer in real time via our cellphones and cameras. And thinking about salty water, waves, breezes, boats, has a calming effect.

It was so hot and humid in Connecticut when I was there recently that I took very few pictures of the beach, harbors and Long Island Sound. One evening we arrived at the beach with drinks and snacks and planned to stay for awhile. The tide hadn't turned from low to high, the air and water were still, and gnats swarmed. I took a couple of pictures, Dante had a swing in the playground, and we left.

I'm happy here in my southwest. The fields are green again due to the lovely rains we've had, the sky is blue, fluffy white clouds are overhanging the mountains, the temperature is comfortable, the colt on our land is frisky and beautiful, yet I can't help longing for the sea (and a sea change?) and feeling a little twinge of dissatisfaction. The voice inside says: you're never satisfied, are you? Such is life. Today I'll get back to work.

blur of fleeting days

I can hardly remember what day it is, much less the sequence of disparate events that changed my whole back-from-CT-I'm-taking-it-easy mentality. The death of my friend's husband in a plane crash, a good friend's major heart attack, my 98 year old neighbor's broken bones, my own husband's surgeries. There have been all night hospital vigils, EMS trucks in driveways, phone calls galore, tears and lots of worry, exhaustion, bursts of energy (like cleaning the kitchen at midnight -- at least two of us doing it last night), and many compassionate people rallying around each other. Good things happened: some steady rainfall and a drop in temperature, the launch party for the anthology (the book well received, the gathering well attended for a Sunday afternoon in one of the busiest summer weekends in Taos).

And the presence of this gorgeous colt on our land. He's only two weeks old and walked over to check me out when I got home this afternoon (his mother, friendly and unafraid nearby).  Oh, those long legs! He's a beauty. His presence a blessing.

So now, with slightly better news on most fronts, I plan to fix a light dinner, pour a glass of wine, take out my notebook and pen and write down whatever flows from my foggy mind.

Bad fortune us what good fortune leans on;
good fortune is what bad fortune hides in.
     (58th verse of the Tao Te Ching)

call down the thunder

it's raining!
My friend, a couple of miles away, telephones, "isn't this downpour wonderful?" Downpour? No, just lots of thunder and some light sprinkles here. So many ecosystems in these mountain regions. We would like the rain, right here and now. Apparently the Farm Services Administration designated Taos County as a natural disaster area in January due to the drought. This continuing dry weather is causing concern for small ranchers in Taos County as there is simply not enough grass or water for the cattle. And the high cost of feed to supplement the sparse hay is costing them lots of money. The newspaper predicts that it could be the end of small ranching. I heard that the monsoon season is building up though, so we'll keep our fingers crossed - and hope for those downpours and wild winds that can seem like the end of the world, but are actually what saves our world here in the high desert.

"drink at your own risk"
It's written on the labels. My son makes wine at his home in Connecticut in what I call his "wine cave".  It's in the basement in a clean temperature-controlled alcove. I persuaded him to take me down there and explain the process. He did and I can't quite remember it now, but I loved seeing those huge decanters where the vino russo is quietly fermenting.

And the stacks of two years' worth of production. We still have one bottle left of the supply he sent us a few months ago and tonight we'll break it out with dinner.

wild things
We don't have a cat. We used to, when we lived in the east. But since moving here, with dogs who didn't like cats, and coyotes that tend to eat them, we won't risk it. But when I travel it seems that whoever I visit has cats. My daughter has three and this one, who wouldn't give me a tumble when I tried to touch it, spent an extended time staring at me from under a chair as I worked at the dining room table one afternoon. I don't know its name or gender (we never got to be on intimate terms), but it sure is cute. And it didn't blink once!

And now once again
a startling watchfulness
   but never speaking

on it goes

when you're making other plans
Writing about my trip in my PJs, at the kitchen table, still sitting here on a discombobulated morning, I think about the lovely time I had back east with family and friends, feel pleased and happy over the SOMOS anthology, look forward to seeing a copy of good friend Phyllis's poetry collection, 3 AM, that I helped edit and which also came out this week. As I review photographs and post to fb and this blog, I learn that my good friend Joan's husband, a seasoned pilot, was killed yesterday in a small aircraft at the Taos airport. This is such an unimaginable event. At the coffee place yesterday with an acquaintance who bought one of my small cameras, we had to stop talking as EMS trucks, ambulances and fire trucks wailed noisily by. She said she'd just heard there was a crash at the airport. Grant immediately flashed into my mind but I dismissed the thought. I'm feeling a bit shaken up at the swiftness with which life can end. So I go back to the photos, the ominous-looking sky over the water, try to find balance.

Like the small feet that wore the socks I made for him, handed me a banana with a phone call, before dancing away in the socks...

...the striking image on an ordinary walk to the SoNo Bakery...

...the lobsters my 85 year old brother and his wife cooked for me...

...the awareness that on this day one year ago, my nephew, their oldest son, died unexpectedly. The lobsters died, too, but we ate them and drank Prosecco toasts to John.

An equilibrium is lost, there's no turning back, and joy is always balanced by sadness. Trite and obvious, but that's what I'm feeling. And also that when a 2 1/2 year old hands you a banana and says you have a call, you answer it.

she's psyched!

it's here!
Definitely back in dry Taos after a week on the east coast in all its heat and humidity. And what arrived yesterday? Chokecherries! yea! hooray! hot dog! yippee! wahoo! whoopie! It's gorgeous and, like having a newborn in your arms, the labor pains have already been forgotten. Within its pages are the likes of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Sam Hamill, Deborah Santana, Tom Folsom, Natalie Goldberg, John Nichols, Arthur Sze, many other distinguished authors and photographers. The amazing cover painting (badly photographed by me) is by David Park, "Woman Reading."

This will be the last edition of Chokecherries after 20 years and it's been a good run.  The SOMOS organization will be heading in a slightly different literary/publishing direction. Stay tuned for some exciting upcoming events and opportunities. I'll post them here as they are finalized. Meanwhile, if you are in New Mexico on Sunday, July 14, come to the launch party at the SOMOS Space. Go to www.somostaos.org for details. The book will be sold at a discount to all you party-goers.

Call in the magic.
Set a place at your table, silver knives, fishbones,
chess pieces of ancient ivory.
     (Judyth Hill, excerpt from her poem "This Will Find You Ready")

Pick a pear, pick a post

What a time I've had trying to write a blog post on my mini iPad! It's a mystery I had to unravel. 

Still in hot muggy Connecticut. Have spent lovely times with family and friends. And especially getting to know my great grandson Dante who at 2 1/2 climbs pear trees In his uncle's backyard. Since I can't quite figure out how to post another photo, this is it for now. Will be here a few more days. Lots of rain and heat, but my hair is curly! And I have a new hair style.