easy come, easy go, not

When a writer publishes a book, an essay, poems, she still always has them. The books are on the shelf, in book shops, they can be reread, collected, given away numerous times. But when an artwork goes to a gallery and is purchased, it's gone forever. Often the artist doesn't even know who bought it. So tonight, this is what Ron is dealing with.

Two men from Envison Gallery came to take his steel stabiles away from our land where they have been displayed for several months, and move them to a sculpture garden in a gorgeous setting (pictures will follow when I take them).

Through it all, the horse who is currently on our land, and used the sculptures every day to scratch his head, watched the whole procedure with a sort of worried look on his face.

So now, Ron-the-artist-who-is-never-satisfied-because-he's-an-artist, is already missing them! However, he won't miss them as much if they sell. Instead he'll be in Paris at a cafe sipping a good French vin and drawing on a napkin. Or in Italy sipping Prosecco. Ahh! (And guess who will be with him?).

I have brought few belongings
an easel I can pull up to the light
the sky with ladders of honey
     Marjorie Agosin (excerpt from "Apple Trees" in Starry Night)

some getting

Walking in the park by 7:30 a.m. turns out to be the best way to experience cool air and moisture these days. It's so dry, windy, often smokey from wildfires. Not a drop of rain in sight. Some national park areas around Santa Fe have been closed completely and here we have to be careful with our water usage. Most of us with wells have no idea of how much water is in the cool depth of the earth -- in our case, 260 feet down. Early morning in the park is a challenge though, as sprinklers can suddenly go on unexpectedly. It's a friendly game of avoidance and challenge. I've been caught a couple of times.

in love
...with a set of double pointed needles unknown to me a week ago....

My friend showed me ones she'd recently purchased: Karbonz made by Knitters Pride (in India). Made from carbon and fiber materials used in stealth airplanes and racing cars, tipped with tapered nickel-plated brass, they are light, strong, warm, smooth -- and not too expensive. I ordered through Amazon on Thursday and they arrived yesterday! After dinner I cast on for a Van Gogh, Room at Arles (Opal) and didn't stop until late last night after knitting half a sock! I love these needles! I'm sure they have some sort of magic embedded in them -- like those Hermoine used to knit hats for elves -- my hands didn't hurt and the stitches knitted up fast and neat. I'm avoiding this project today since I'm already procrastinating on a manuscript and also forced to think about what to pack in a few days. Oh, did I say I ordered an interchangeable set of Karbonz circulars?

All things that live
must make a living.
There's nothing got
without some getting.
     Yuen Mei (1716-1798)

solstice nights & poetry

It's not that the food is so interesting. Only a light antipasto summer supper. One glass of chilled white wine. No, not the food, but the colors that caused me to reach for the camera.

On a glorious full moon night. Big and close. Light pouring in through too many windows. A bright poet's moon in the dark sky. Coyotes madly howling and yelping into the dark distance.

Long days are nice, but I have to admit that this weekend I need to unwind and embrace cool darkness. I missed the farmer's market, walking, and my meditation session this morning because I was suffering a general malaise and physical discomfort. Crampy, stiff, tense. The printer proof of the anthology was waiting for me (not that I attribute my condition to hypochondria) and I knew I would have to look it over ultra carefully -- which meant reading every single word of 115 pages of poetry and prose (how many times now?). Well, over the next hours I did read every word and a good thing, too. I found four typos! How does that happen? It's been proofed and corrected several times and still these little typos sneak through. Is it a trick of technology? Or is it that our brains just fill in and correct as we go along? I'm so close to the material now that I can practically recite the whole volume. On Monday it goes to print -- its destiny left to the whims of the book gods.

So, at this point I'm feeling like this peony, past it's prime, but not quite dead yet. I expect to rally, but for now, I accept what is and read poetry (that I don't personally have to edit or proofread). Arthur Sze's poems are in the anthology and I love his work. I highly recommend any of his poetry books. Poetry saves!

I sip warm wine out of a sky blue bowl
flecked with agate crystals in the glaze
           (Arthur Sze,  from Quipu)

life lived in the past

I've been washing sweaters and had to repair a tiny rip. In my sewing basket (rarely used) I found the tape measure and thimble that belonged to my mother. The things I saved after she died. They're probably 100 years old. My mother was born in 1904, began sewing as a girl, and never threw anything away--ever! And then there's me. I hate to sew. I knit. And lately I'm not very motivated beyond socks which are more like therapy and meditation. But I did finish a pair of socks for Dante (GG grandson) whom I'm going to see in a week (I hope he likes me)! 

plunged into the 1980s
On Wednesday evening, all of our internet and cell service went out. For a moment I thought that maybe I'd forgotten to pay the bill! But we weren't the only ones. Next morning I found out that a fiber optics center in Eagle Nest had gone out. The reason, they surmised, was due to rodents! Ah, New Mexico! High tech done in by mice! Ten hours later we were still without services. I met up with my friend at mondo italiano cafe and connected my iPad to their wi-fi service called Pizza Pie. Then I found out that all had been restored, but didn't know I had to reboot my router! The guy at the internet office was disdainful. How? I asked. And that really plunged me into an useless object who feeds on the brilliance of others. However, I followed his directions and within minutes we were back online.

It was quite nice to not feel compelled to check emails and facebook for more than 24 hours. It was like reeling back in time before devices -- I was ready to chop wood and haul water! While working, I had to resort to actual paper books on my bookshelves for reference. It was nice and I remembered when we first came to Taos for a month or more each summer and drove 2200 miles from Connecticut and the car was filled with cartons of reference books, reams of paper, and a Smith-Corona word processor that was the cat's pajamas in the 1980s. I worked at a small student desk in the bedroom of the condo near a slider that opened out to a patio where I sat tanning and heard prairie dogs' calls and thought it was so very Southwest and there was a faraway neon gas station sign that blinked, in red, Gas House Gas House. Ron worked at the dining table with his paints and pads of paper and was inspired to turn out humorous paintings that involved surreal cows that eventually sold over 300 prints! Ah, those were the days. I loved that townhouse that we had no responsibility for except to respect it.

Dante and the socks
A few weeks ago I found yarn called Socken-Monster -- I had to make a pair of socks for Dante!

I researched the unusually named yarn and discovered that there was a book from 2003 called Flusi the Sock Monster. It's out of print but I found one and ordered it for Dante and will give it to him with the socks.

It's a rather ordinary, predictable tale of how socks go missing in the wash, but the illustrations are lovely and since Dante's just over 2 1/2 years old, he will probably love it. He only knows me as "grandma from New Mexico" and that's usually connected to the knitted stuff and books I send him. I can't wait to get reacquainted. He was only seven months old when I last saw him in person. He walks, he talks, he sings, wears sweatshirts and jeans, and loves books and cows.

So now my peaceful throwback interlude is over and I have to plunge back into the oral history manuscript and get ready to leave for New York on Friday (I may take the ms. with me). Oh dear. I like to travel light. Which shoes? Which camera? Do I need a sweater? an umbrella? What don't I need? Let go. I miss the family so much -- that's what's important. And I do hope those linen pants from J. Jill, coming on Monday, actually fit.

before the peppers

monkey mind
Feeling a bit spacey. Yesterday (Sunday, Father's Day), designer Lesley and I made the last of the changes in the final manuscript of the anthology. Today it goes to the printer. This has been a long haul, more than six months, and more intense than usual. I should know by now that books aren't born easily or quickly and there's always a point where I wonder why I'm doing it at all and am desperate to escape or quit or drink a lot of wine. Well, I got through that danger zone (with moderate wine consumption) and now will face a few sleepless nights before the printer proof comes in. At 3 a.m. I'll be sure that typos and errors will prevail and the whole concept in my mind was really stupid and sure to fail and that no one will like it or buy it and the funders will have regrets and the contributors will be pissed. There, I said it!

accepting myself
So, in this spacey place, I found the pictures that Heather Lynn Sparrow took of me during the Remarkable Women literary event last year. What fun! Heather is a outstanding photographer with an out-of-the-ordinary artistic viewpoint. Many of her subjects are dressed up (or down) and the results are usually unexpected. I chose the feather boa and typewriter from her props. This photo (one of several) makes me look more interesting than I am. Thank you Heather! I could be a woman from early Edward Weston photos, stylized, pictorialized, before the peppers and toilet bowl, and not diffused.

Some of Heather's photographs will be in this year's edition of Chokecherries. Lovely, edgy, abstract, mysterious. Check out her website to see her full roster of subjects. She's really good! When the book is out I'll post some photos from it.

literary (he)arts

celebrating
Last night in Santa Fe at a NM Book Association event, Storied Recipes won the Southwest Book Design & Production Award!

Now we can put gold stickers on the books before selling them!

Bring on the wine! We were three happy women. (Lesley, Me, Bonnie)...!

But seriously folks, we are pleased that a book that nearly did us in during production, is appreciated and honored in this way. It was all Bonnie Lee Black's vision from the beginning. She calls it a book of stories, with recipes. Lesley is a brilliant designer (she received honorable mention for another book's design & production last night). You, dear reader, can buy a copy at somos@somostaos.org. No money goes to us - it's all for SOMOS (The Society of the Muse of the Southwest): The Literary Heart of Taos. And do try Grandma Marchese's Sicilian Potato Patties....

"These recipes from all over the world are more fun to make than the spaghetti sauce in Goodfellas."
John Nichols

need oxygen!

I'm drowning in the past. Need oxygen (or Scotch). After six consecutive days walking in the park I just didn't want to go there on this Sunday morning. Too much weekend activity, a craft show, softball games....summer season is finally upon us....it arrived today! The wind seems to have stopped, it's hot, and that's the signal for summer. The park appeals to me only during the week when there fewer people and no events happening. So I decided it was time to clean out the garage (I'll get back to my desk tomorrow).  Even got Ron to join in. The garage (which hasn't had space for our second car for about two years) wasn't as bad as expected.  I found a couple of boxes with papers in them that had to be sorted through before tossing into the truck bed destined for the landfill. And so it began.

First there was the packet containing a brand new gray hairnet. I don't remember my mother ever wearing one but she must have considered it at some point (and why do I have it now?). I found my father's Teamsters' dues booklet. He had to get a chauffeurs license and join the union for the brief time he drove a taxi in New York City -- and although I can figure out what Stablemen did, what the heck were Helpers?

He paid dues from July 1939 to January 1941. Soon after that he worked for a car dealership and became their Service Manager. I found his business card, too. He wore a white jacket with his name embroidered on it -- like a chef. He was well-respected and was able to buy land and build a house in the northeast "country" of the Bronx where he and my mother lived for 40 years.

All of this is long gone, as he is, but I found myself detached from my current place in time and transported to another era, even before I was born, as forgotten family stories flooded back into my mind. I found my 8th grade graduation program and almost remembered all the names listed (oh, heart be still...Vincent G and John C (I think I still love you) and never mind that blond muscular hunk Frank who jilted me; found my First Communion certificate, a passport from 1987 (not my first, but oh, I looked so young -- that hair! gorgeous and curly -- what happened to it?). And a postcard from Rome from my soul sister/best friend who wrote it while sipping vino at a cafe near St. Peter's and said: I don't think I ever want to leave - Let's all move to Italy! This is the place to be...life is bella!

 

In time, we each found new love, changed our lives and moved to Taos, but didn't quite live in Italy as planned. She painted, I wrote, our spouses did their thing...and she died three years ago. Ah, life. The mysterio tremendo.

poppy park & peace

Poppies blooming in the park. So vivid. I want a scarf in that color to brighten up my mostly black and neutral outfits. Lately I haven't brought a compact camera with me when I walk. It's been a self test of non-attachment (sort of) and I have to admit that I feel uncomfortable without one.  But I am having fun with the iPhone (also a camera but one I can't really take seriously). Two professional photographers recently told me they are going out into the wide world with only their phone camera. I have a feeling we will all get bored at some point, but it's fun for now. I figured out how to create folders on my phone so that my many photo apps aren't scattered over several "pages." I know this is probably not news to most of you, but for me it's a breakthrough to another level! And so is the tiny eensy-weensy macro lens for my phone camera. Purchased from PhotoJojo. It's officially called "conversion lens for mobile phone."

I've been experimenting with it and it does improve close ups dramatically. The lion shown here is a sticker about 1" overall. (So is the lens about 1" overall).

Leo, photographed using regular closeup on camera phone & no macro attached:

Leo with macro lens:

I don't know, frankly, how often I'll use this lens, but I like having it. The only problem is that the case I currently have on my phone can't accommodate the lens which attaches magnetically. The PhotoJojo people have made suggestions for different cases but I haven't gotten around to checking them out. Meanwhile, I can just remove the case. Duh!

A friend sent this to me and I send it to you. It makes all that I've just written irrelevant.

they are coming!

The chili-windsock-tree in the park has now sprouted faux flames. I don't quite know that this means in the overall scheme of things but I'm sure it has something to do with the appearance of Mumford & Sons there tomorrow night. I'd never heard of them until two weeks ago. Someone (who hadn't heard of them either) said, "sounds like a moving company". Yeah. But then I did some research, found out they'd just won a Grammy for their album Babel and listened to some of their music, downloaded it and have been listening ever since. These guys are good! There's something in their style that evokes shades of Celtic, Chapin, even Dylan, brings me back to my younger days but with a decidedly contemporary edge. It feels like real music, not the over and over, nearly tuneless, boring refrains on the local radio station. These guys can write lyrics! I'm not going to the concert -- even if I could get tickets (not possible). I hate being among crowds of people squooshed together on the grass, wildfire smoke in the air, and the inevitable traffic. Rather, I will listen to their music in the cool quiet of my home. Maybe with a glass of wine, the horses outside, and hazy smokey mountains in the distance -- and be happy that at my advanced age I can groove enjoy the music of twenty-somethings.

cataloguing life

As you know, if you read this blog with any regularity, I love photography and cameras. This photo was taken on my morning walk in the park today using my iPhone. Huge nylon chili peppers (wind socks?) hang from an old cottonwood. I assume it's inspired by the much-anticipated appearance of Grammy Award winners Mumford & Sons at the Solar Festival on Thursday evening in that very same park. It's expected that 11-13,000 people will descend upon Taos starting tomorrow. Where they will all sleep, how they will eat, use bathrooms, get enough water, is still a mystery. Roads around the park will be closed to vehicular traffic. The Solar Fest organizers have always been paranoid strict about keeping non-paying spectators out and this event is a biggie. They're already putting up barriers so people can't sneak in through openings in the fences around the park during the concert.

and then there were none
But music is not what I really want to talk about. I just learned that on May 30th, all 28 photographers at the Chicago Sun-Times were fired in one fell swoop (including a Pulitzer Prize winner). The higher-ups decided that journalists with iPhones will now provide visuals to go with their stories. One photographer, Rob Hart, is cataloging his experience using his iPhone (see Tumblr for his pics and blog). It's ironic and sad. Alex Garcia, photographer who blogs at Shooting from the Hip, and also lost his job, said:

Reporters are ill-equipped to take over. That's because the best reporters use a different hemisphere of the brain to do their jobs than the best photographers. Visual and spatial thinking in three dimensions is very different than verbal and analytical thinking. Even if you don't believe that bit of science, the reality is that visual reporting and written reporting will take you to different parts of a scene and hold you there longer. I have never been in a newsroom where you could do someone else's job and also do yours well....They require different ways of thinking.... He goes on to say he is not worried about himself, but about the profession he loves.

I agree. This is a cold sharp-edged time we live in where corporate-think is dominant. What are the corporates thinking? (Is it really about union-busting, as some suspect?) We're all trying to adapt to changing technologies and trends and many of us (including professionals) are loving digital photography, iPads, computers, and finding new ways to use them (e.g., David Hockney and his iPad paintings), but at the expense of photojournalism? Whenever I'm in a writing workshop and a topic comes up like "if you could change your life, who would you be?" (you'd be amazed at what people write) I always say "a photojournalist." If I worked at the Sun-Times, I would have been fired last Thursday, too.

all good

To the sound of three galloping horses released onto our land a few minutes ago (they always wildly run when allowed into a new field), I write in my journal....

and sip California Chardonney....

Life is good now that I've taken this day off. After days and days of high energy, stress, and schedules, I let go today with nothing to do until late afternoon. Hit with exhaustion and a stiff back and being in a weak state, my dominant hypochondriac self kicked in and I keep hearing the words from that Bette Davis movie (Dark Victory) "prognosis negative". Oh my. She died. I was told to pull myself together and heeding that directive, got ready for the "tea" and reception at Marge's home for Bonnie Lee Black (I have now confirmed my status as BLB Groupie). She's doing lots of talks and readings locally and I've been invited to all of them and have, so far, gone to all of them! Nice. She's a fine writer and a delightful personality who entertains her audiences and keeps them interested.

Bonnie, who is an accomplished chef, was a caterer in Manhattan for ten years. She won the Gourmand International Award in Paris last year (for her book How to Cook a Crocodile), and baked about a dozen different types of cookies for today's event, better than any fine bakery you can think of. Don't even mention the almond/jam cookies or I will weep with pleasure! (terrible picture, but trust me on this).

A good time was had by all and tonight I'll read a bit of poetry, scribble a few more notes, finish the wine, and prepare for another busy week ahead. By the way, the Storied Recipes cookbook that I mentioned in past posts, edited by Bonnie and for which I was Production Manager and Lesley Cox designer, is a finalist in the New Mexico Book Association Design Award. The award will be given on June 14 in Santa Fe -- keep all fingers crossed please.