a different kind of feast

new terrain
I spent a lovely afternoon yesterday with poets, writers, artists, at a friend's home in La Puebla, approximately halfway between Santa Fe and Taos. It might as well have been in another dimension. Once one drives through rather unattractive Espanola, heading east, the terrain changes dramatically. Mesas, haunting sandstone shapes, soft hills dotted with pinon and juniper. It's quiet, the wind is softer. There are animals. Two sweet miniature horses - not Shetland ponies as I first thought, but small shaggy horses.

A gorgeous sweet-tempered dog who came to them as if out of a dream and stayed, followed me around when he wasn't resting on the new green grass among the flowers.

La Puebla is at an elevation of just over 6000 feet and it's much warmer than Taos. There, one can actually sit under a portal and not vaporize, freeze or get blown away. I'll bet you could even have a candlelight dinner outside - something we've never been able to do as it gets fairly cold here at night, even in summer - and it's always too breezy for candles. I do love this northern part of Taos Valley with it's million dollar views, but it's more ski country than gentle valley.

cheers
The reason for the gathering at Santa Fe Poet Laureate Joan Logghe's home was to bestow two New Mexico Literary Arts 2012 Gratitude awards. One to poet James McGrath and one to SOMOS (The Society of the Muse of the Southwest). A few years ago,  a group of Santa Fe poets formed this non-profit organization specifically to help individual poets and organizations who support them. They have kept it alive with small grants and donations. An awards dinner sounds chi-chi but it was organic and earthy.

Jeans, sandals, wine, homemade cookies, cakes, poems. I loved being there, meeting new people, seeing old friends and acquaintances. All of us getting older, better, more opinionated and accomplished! Many have appeared through the years in the anthology I edit, Chokecherries, and whom I hadn't  met. I couldn't help but think about how the whole scene must be similar to times past when creative people of like mind nourished each other and their works. We've all read about them: 1920's Paris, New York, San Francisco, artist, beat poets...the golden ages that Woody Allen depicted in Midnight in Paris... I thought those scenes were long gone, but they're not. Even as somewhat of an outsider, I felt welcomed and inspired. In between conversations, I wandered around with my camera.

The birdhouse is still available for rent and the lilacs (in my yard) are still holding tight...

I come from that city. I am now living
in the city of lost beauty, but I may
return to that first city. I am now living
on three acres of heaven and three acres
of hell. I am now counting the chickens,
the cacti; three Araucanas, limitless prickly pear. 

I am now watching my neighbors age as we wave
across arroyos and gullies...

      (Joan Logghe, excerpt, "That Other City", fr. The Singing Bowl, University of New Mexico Press, 2011)

a plethora of elixirs

It's dandelion time and I can't help thinking about how my mother added young dandelion leaves to the salad, how I hated them because they were bitter, and how once 19 years ago, so enamored by Ray Bradbury's book Dandelion Wine -- that incredible memoir about his childhood in Waukegan -- that I found a recipe and brewed a few bottles that we gave as gifts at Christmas. I recently found a half-filled bottle of it, with its homemade labels, at the back of a kitchen cabinet. Nineteen years worth of fermentation is a little scary and I dumped it out pronto.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in."
                                                                   (Ray Bradbury)

that's the way witches tend to be
One of the recipients in that long ago holiday season (1994) was Ron's art dealer who actually said, when I handed it to her, "I hate dandelion wine," and kept it. That was pretty typical of her personality. She said she came from generations of brujas (witches) and it was easy to believe. Soon after that she and Ron had a parting of the ways and he's been safe ever since. But we love the common yellow flowers that decorate weedy overgrown lawns.

elixirs
Dandelion wine reminds me of Joanne Harris's novel, Blackberry Wine. I love the magical realism in her books. She wrote Chocolat, one of my all-time favorites (and the movie, too). She also wrote two French cookbooks and the recipes are amazing (the Gateau Lawrence is magical!). Anyway, the novel is about a blocked writer and his recollections of a character called Jackapple Joe who made bottles of homemade "plonk" from fruits and berries and who influenced his childhood. He drinks a hoarded 24 -year-old bottle of the stuff and his life changes. He tunes into his memories and unlocks his future. Maybe I shouldn't have dumped out that old bottle of dandelion wine? Well, it might have killed me.

acknowlegments
Today's photos are from my brand new (yesterday) iPhone and I'm obsessed in love with it. I read the huge biography of Steve Jobs by Isaacson. I forgive Jobs for his difficult personality and excuse him because he was a genius. I also thank Apple support, Verizon, and my dear daughter Melissa for helping me get started with this small but stupefying gadget. I'm already reading books and taking pictures! (but couldn't figure out how to answer the first phone call I received!). And she had fun, fun, fun...

dust in the wind

Lovely afternoon in Santa Fe yesterday with a dear friend. We met up, went to lunch at great little hidden-away restaurant, Vinaigrette. Santa Fe is having a super-lush spring this year and Nat wanted to show it to me. We drove around to her favorite places and I was so enthralled by the lavender and purple clouds of lilacs and wisteria-type hanging blossoms (don't know names), and white French lilacs galore, that I forgot to take pictures. But did manage a few other subjects in other places.

And on my own sweet dusty dirt road...apple blossoms...

I drove home from Santa Fe in gale force winds that swirled up dust thick enough to obliterate distant mountain landscapes. And that's saying a lot since landscape is everywhere! The wind came from the Pacific coast, sweeping toward us (according to the weather bureau) and bringing in cooler temps (40 degrees last night) and rain. Rain! blessed, wonderful, wet, soaking, driving rain. This morning we awaken to ragged clouds and vivid greens! Acequias are running again and water has arrived!

     Spring rain:
a mouse is lapping
     the Sumida River
                       Issa

she's got the blues again

The wild plum blossoms in are in bloom and sending out fruity-sweet scents that seem particularly strong after dark. In a few weeks the birds will feast on the fruit and it's all theirs. I've tried to make jam from wild plums, but they are bitter and require too much sugar to make palatable. Better to leave them on the trees for the birds and animals.

Fleecy indigo sky with blackbirds on one of the few bare trees left.

I read recently that doorways are one of the most popular subjects for camera buffs. Especially old scruffy-looking ones. I'm currently hunting for doorways to fulfill a photographic assignment that's fun and challenging. Challenging because we (publisher, author, me) have specific ideas in our heads and they don't necessarily match. More about it later. It's fun and tomorrow I'm off to Santa Fe to meet up with a friend and hunt for doors.

vivace

Big blast of real spring today, birds and leaves and daffodils and all, plus dazzlingly loud finished Koolaid socks! Dancin' sox that practically pirouette on their own! A counterpart for last evening's gaudy tangerine sunset.

...which this beautiful horse didn't appreciate because his companions had been moved out of the field early in the day and he was all alone. He agitatedly called for them all day long and into the night. They came back this morning to make him content again.

minimalist edible
I'm about to start another indoor basil plant in a picturesque tomato can with hope that I can keep it alive throughout the summer. In Roman times Italian maidens put sprigs of basil in their hair to indicate that they were eligible. Pots of basil were placed in prostitutes' doorways as another sort of welcome. As for me, I'll use it in pasta, pesto, salads. I'm not that easy!

   While you are dancing in a ring,
girls, sing:
Now the fields are green,
now bonny April has come.

        Antonio Machado, Songs, XV

...even though April is nearly over, sing, anyway...

the substance of sensuous

Friend Joan and I met at the Convention Center this morning for the first annual Taos Fiber  Marketplace. There are 31 juried vendors appearing for three days, good selection of yarns, some notions, kits, knitted and felted items, handspuns, hand dyed, baskets and shelves of blurry mohair in delicious soft colors...

Saw some friends and acquaintances, met dedicated fiber people and their yarns. Ruth Baldwin from The Natural Twist, Albuquerque, NM; Myra Garcia from Fancy Image Yarn in Shelton, WA; Kimberly from Cat Mountain Fiber Arts in Colorado; Weaving Southwest, and a host of others, all with high quality offerings. The event was organized by Julie Silvian of Red Willow Fibers in Taos. She came here two years ago from Washington where she was the organizer for the Madrona Arts Center.
     We heard that yesterday, opening day, visitors came from the east and west coasts and lots of places in between. It seems there are fiber fanatics lovers who follow various wool festivals wherever they are and were excited to check out this new one. This I understand. Aside from The Taos Wool Festival in October, I'm hoping for Rhineback this year, and Stitches West in February.

All in all, it is a welcome April offering. When it can still be chilly, requiring sweaters and scarves, changeling days of snow, sun, rain - or anything else the weather gods toss at us mere human mountain dwellers. On this gorgeous day, I wish us all Happy Spring!

felicity

I'm so deeply involved in editing (or helping to edit) three manuscripts at this time that I've hardly had time to breath, much less finish knitting projects, fully appreciate new yarns that have arrived, and take pictures. So I rely on cellphone pics of dear Dante (too far away) in Connecticut, to brighten my day. As usual, I'm amazed that the infant I last saw, who couldn't do much, is now filling bottles and buckets on a sandy beach! Everything is possible when barefoot and wearing a cool red hat!

After a few necessary errands in town, I'll be back at my desk later today. It does feel good to get stuff done. Why don't I ever learn that procrastination is unecessary suffering in the roster of 84,000 sufferings that the Buddhists talk about and one of the 64 kinds of headaches that Lorca mentioned.

The countryside bites its own tail in order to gather a
   bunch of roots
and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in the grass for 
   unrealized longitude 

 (Federico Garcia Lorca, from Landscape of a Pissing Multitude)

another world?

a bit of Tibet
I love prayer flags, the way they get faded and worn from seasons of breezes, storms, rain and snows, burning sunshine. All those messages of joy, fortune, health, flying off on the wind for the benefit of all.

poets & writers
Recently heard  a great phrase from Miriam Sagan (Santa Fe poet extraordinaire) that describes readings as: poetry in a ghetto of poets. Close to the truth.  There is a sort of solid and condensed community in spite of so many authors whose work is published nationally and internationally. Here in Taos (and Santa Fe) it's tight. As it is in many other hubs, like City Lights Books in San Francisco. Attending a reading there is like attending a private gathering. And the 92nd Street Y in Manhattan. Of course, many non-writers attend readings, but the majority of audiences really are composed of writers published and aspiring. Perhaps that's what made the weekend's Remarkable Women of Words festival so successful. If writers are competitive in this community, they hide it well and mostly what is heard is encouragement (or silence) and a tacit level of competence.

come back, spring!
Weather warms up slowly each day since the freezing cold and snow on Saturday night. I look for color everywhere in the pale sun and less than verdant spring. 

Working like a demon on victims of procrastination. Progress feels sooo good. My goal is to have everything finished by June 1st so I can go east to see the family and not have any deadlines haunting me and breaking into my limited and precious time with them.

book note
just finished reading (on Kindle) a strange and entertaining book: This Book Does Not Exist by Mike Schneider. Fantasy, mystery, relationship, intention, parallel lives, technology. The beginning of a new wave of novels  in which smartphones, ipods, computers, texting (isn't that an awkward word?), cells, are an intrinsic and necessary component? Check it out. I was skeptical at first, but Schneider's good writing and compelling tale kept me interested to the end. And it cost only $2.99 for the ebook (I'm not sure if there's even a paper edition). Another indication of where books are heading. Is it a positive or negative trend? Well, I guess our opinion hardly matters, it's happening and there's no stopping it.

"...the impossible is possible in the other world..."

it's all remarkable

It's Sunday. This photo of a marigold chain and Tibetan bell were taken yesterday afternoon just before it started to snow again. It's still snowing.

This has been a busy two days. I've written before about how this is the "Year of Remarkable Women of Taos" and that's what it's been about.

the literary heart of Taos
On Friday, SOMOS (Society of the Muse of the Southwest) celebrated the woman who has been its president, supporter, overseer, and muse for over 20 years. Phyllis Hotch retired at the young age of 84 amidst a gathering of friends and colleagues. The event was held at the spiffy new SOMOS digs overflowing with flowers, champagne, cakes and goodies. It was officially announced that her third book of poetry would be coming out in the fall.

This was the transformed "tea party" that I wrote about last week where we all planned to wear hats and gloves. It somehow turned into a champagne party, sans accessories, except for Phyllis who looked ravishing in her hat. About 40 people showed up to honor her with poetry, gifts, flowers, reminiscences. A good time was had by all.

festival
Arrived home that evening and immediately got to work on the final edit for the reading I was scheduled for next morning at Mabel Dodge Luhan House. It would open the all-day Remarkable Women of Words Festival.  Ron actually came to hear my segment and took this fuzzy pic from the back of the room before I went on. (Note on Ron: although he has three degrees, reads, paints, scuplts, he stubbornly refuses to go to readings because he hates to be "read to"). I was pleased and surprised that he came and he showered me with accolades when it was over.

The huge (40 writers) event was coordinated by Liz Cunningham and Veronica Golos and the whole day turned into a resounding success. The readings, panels, music, were presented in segments with breaks in between, two tables of books by featured authors were available for sale (the only books with my work included and which I had extra copies of were KnitLit too and KnitLit (the third). (knitting is attached to my life the way my shadow is).

Books were purchased, acquaintances renewed, enthusiasm reigned. Four writers, knitting in the audience, added to the theme of Remarkable (and multi-talented). The audience, ever-changing, reconfiguring, never diminished in volume. Plans are afoot to make it an annual event.

and then it snowed...
At some point in the early evening, before the final segment was presented and before the audience started pouring in, with heavy snow falling, I stepped outside to take snow pics.

It was lovely and magical and I didn't go beyond the open doors to photograph because it was also very wet. I'd already rushed home once to change from bare feet in sandals and flimsy top with light cardi (it was gorgeous warm spring in the early morning), into socks (sigh!), real shoes, warm sweater and winter coat (retrieved from back of closet where I'd stashed it only last week with hope in my heart).

How great do socks feel when your feet are cold!
I remember a cousin of ours saying that one March afternoon when we'd all just returned from a long Narragansett beach walk. Andrea said, socks are the most useful, beautiful article of clothing ever invented. This was long before I learned how to knit them and maybe recollection of her words years later, were what prompted and inspired me to always have a sock or two or three or four on needles since that gray chilly day.

sickly & nifty

I'm in recovery. Struck by a bout of vertigo on Monday night, I spent all of yesterday sitting and not moving in any direction lest the room start spinning. After taking the pills the doctor prescribed I felt a slight improvement (as well as groggy and stupid) and knitted on some new projects. They kept me calm and I didn't feel like I was wasting a precious day of my life (okay, so I'm obsessed). For those of you who have commented that reading about knitting on this blog called The Knitorialist is a turn-off, you may want to leave now and return in a couple of days. Nothing personal, just fair warning.

I downloaded the new Anne Hanson pattern Plain Jaynes mitts and couldn't wait to try it.

The first mitt (left) was made in Casbah's gorgeous color "beach house" and is a bit thicker than what's called for in the pattern. Not surprisingly it is a little large for my hand. So I started another in Shaefer's "anne", a light fingering weight (almost laceweight) that I've had around for awhile, have tried in numerous patterns and ripped out more times than I care to count. It works for the mitts. However the skein is around 600 yards and the mitts require 200! Guess I'll be making multiple versions, and thank the knitting gods that there are women in my family who crave handmade socks and mitts and wish for situations like this.

I almost finished the first Alpaca Sox "lipstick" sock. Great color, great yarn.

I put aside the Knitpicks Felici "minty" because, although it's a nice stripey combo, the dark colored dye was coming off on my hands.

I'll finish the pair at some point and then wash them until the dye is gone. I've used this yarn before (in other color combos) and haven't had the problem, so maybe this is an unusual occurrence.

For now, I'll sign off, as there is a lovely sound of thunder in the distance and the air actually feels like rain is coming! A good day to knit? I'm not fully recovered yet.

poetry of x is music

an old casino by the bay
Once in a while we stop at one of the dozen casinos in the 140 mile stretch from Taos to Albuquerque. It's like running a gauntlet and we sometimes succomb to the lure. We've been lucky, most times not. So I started writing a piece about the phenomenon of gambling in the USA and how 81% of the population, on all economic levels, do it. I learned that, in our society, 1-2 millionaires per day are made in casinos, more than through any other means (which could explain its popularity). Remember that Cole Porter song from the 1956 movie, High Society? who wants to be a millionaire?  answer: it seems everyone does.

Not all casinos are on glittering strips or picturesque mesas near mountains and deserts. Some are run down or abandoned, as Wallace Stevens so hauntingly wrote:

Life is an old casino in a park.
-----
----- a grand decadence settles down like cold.
------the rain
Swept through its boarded windows and the leaves
Filled its encrusted fountains...
                       (excerpts from Academic Discourse at Havana)

This one is in Bodega Bay, CA. I didn't go inside even though the motorcycle guys outside were friendly and polite. Do you think they still have old "fruit machines" in there? Next trip, I'm going in.

Until then, I'll research, write, and possibly visit some of the old casinos that still exist. My son conveniently lives in Las Vegas, NV and although we haven't been there for awhile because Vegas forces me into theme park mentality and I'm not good at it, I will go now with a sense of purpose that will amuse him and he will probably come with me. He lives there but never goes into a casino.

other senses...

The second batch of neon-food-coloring dyed wool came out of the crock pot the way I hoped it would; a glory of blues and magentas. All the colors morphed easily into the early morning mountain backdrop as spring continues to ebb and flow. The birds at least know what season it is as they trill a Babel of sounds into the air.

If the poetry of X was music,
So that it came to him of its own,
Without understanding, out of the wall

Or in the ceiling, in sounds not chosen,
Or chosen quickly, in a freedom
That was their element...
                (excerpt, Wallace Stevens, The Creations of Sound)

easter colors anyway

steeping
of a different type - this one in a crock pot filled with yarn. I used the Kool Aid recipe (with some modifications) to dye Knitpicks Bare fingering yarn. Since there are 462 yards in each skein, and it's superwash wool, I wanted deeper color than usually results with KA alone. Also more water, more vinegar, and a pinch of salt (don't ask - it's in the recipe). I also added to the 2 packets of orange KA, a tube of Betty Crocker Neon food coloring gel in orange. Since this is Easter weekend, there was a run on food coloring and it wasn't easy to find. When I did, it was the last box on the supermarket shelf. Hope some kid isn't deprived of colorful eggs tomorrow. But I'm a kid, too... and having fun...

I let it steep in the crock pot on low for 8 hours, turned it off, left it to cool gradually for another 8 hours. ta da!

This wool will one day metamorphose into neon orange socks (with a deliberate variation in intensity). But I couldn't stop and at this very moment as I write, there's another interesting brew brewing.

I used only the purple Neon food coloring (with a few drops of pink) because KA grape is so dull. Am keeping fingers crossed that it will actually look as nice once it's out of the pot, as it looks now - and that it won't fade out when the finished socks are washed. I know KA doesn't fade and god knows what's in this food coloring! I can't help adding this warning: use both products for dyeing, but think twice about giving it to your kids to drink or frost a cake. And forget about strawberry Frappacinos at Starbucks with cochineal coloring. I simply can't overcome my horror at the thought of coloring a drink with dye made from dried bugs! Surely Betty Crocker wouldn't do that, would she?

nothing ordinary here

Feeling all dusty and achy after sorting through old file cabinet drawers searching for a short story I wrote several years ago. When I stashed it away, I knew it wasn't as good as it could be and after a dream that reminded me of it, I was curious to find out if it still had any merit. I couldn't find it in the usual places, hence, the day spent going through voluminous files filled with unfinished novels and mediocre stories. I gave up writing fiction a long time ago in favor of creative non-fiction, but couldn't part with some of my "darlings" (those imperfect but well loved children of the imagination). The trash can in my workroom is overflowing this evening. And I did find the story I was looking for, haven't reviewed it yet (courage!).

More importantly today, as snow melted, I saw that the apricot blossoms DID survive the intense storm! They are beautiful, full, seemingly undamaged, and the sky is sooo blue "you could eat it with a spoon".

No brown petals evident on the blossoms in spite of lingering snowballs. If temperatures don't go too low tonight we might see fruit this summer. This weather has been awfully dramatic lately. The Albuquerque newspaper called this winter/spring the quirkiest in memory. When clouds rose up last evening and the sun was low on the horizon, we were once again stunned by spectacular-spectacular. Just an ordinary reflection through cottony clouds in the east, of the setting sun in the west!