saluti per tutti!

There were birthday parties at Christmas (his and Ron's), good food and wine (always wine), dogs, cats, mingling of families in San Francisco and Taos, art (lots of that), books, change, disagreements,  a bit of modest travel, literary/art events, new restaurants, quiet dinners. We mourn the passing of our long time friend Charlie who breathed his last breath today. I am glad I got to see him yesterday, spend a few moments alone with him and say goodbye. His spirit had already moved on (I sensed that) but his body was not ready until today. I don't think I'm crazy, I have seen it before. In any case, it's what I experienced -- my perception. I remember the chocolate cakes I baked, the socks we designed and I knitted for an ahtist and how he loved them so much he hung them up in his studio and didn't want to wear them out by wearing them! Silly.

But other artists have had the same reaction to hand knitted socks (they were all men). I wonder if they're still in his studio somewhere. Or did he finally wear them until they fell apart. I forgot to ask.

I pour a glass or two of what Coppola Winery calls "wine for everyday life" (read: inexpensive) but good, and worthy of a toast to the departed. Ron can't toast with me yet, but there's been a bit of an improvement today and I think we can cut back on the pain killers at last. Saw a picture of another old dear friend tonight and now I'm all haunted and reveling in memories and recalling the past. This has been coming for a few days and I've been resisting. Because the way is being gradually cleared, I'm getting used to it, actually. I can weather this. I can. And another dear friend will be coming to stay with us at summer's end, followed by our 18 year old granddaughter Megan. Are things beginning to look up? I'm not waiting anymore, there's motion beneath my feet in spite of my implacability. And rain earlier today. Lovely, wet, steady rain. Clearing the way for blue.

The great Tao has no expectations for me,
no demands, no battles or wars to fight,
and no history to live up to.
      (Wayne Dyer translation of the Tao)

orange you?

In need of self-pampering, I took myself out for a pedicure. Plus, I wanted to use the new orange you jealous? polish. The Vietnamese couple who own the business were busy. She had a third child a few weeks ago and is back on the job looking quite tired and worn out. When I arrived and asked if she had time, she said no, but did I want him to do it? I said yes (with a slight bit of hesitation). Her husband, as friendly as possible for a man who doesn't speak or doesn't want to speak English, proceeded with the spa pedicure. Conclusion: on close inspection he did a lousy job that cost too much. I could have done it better myself. But since I didn't want to, I'll just shut up and accept the consequences of my laziness. No one will be inspecting my toenails soon and no one will notice the sloppy job. Funny, isn't it, how the mind turns to banal, inconsequential things when it begins to hit overload (well, mine does). And so it goes, as did the drama of yesterday's unedited sunset.

I stopped fighting my inner
demons. We're on the same side now
          (unknown source)

conjuring optimism

and keeping things vague
It astonishes me that so much that is sad and disturbing has happened in the two weeks or so since I've been back from my trip. Makes me long for a Hobbit house to disappear into -- or Badger's well-stocked home. Fantasy can save, but it seems the door is closed.

There have been surprises, too, not all sad, but disturbing in some instances and I haven't sorted them out yet. Ron will be fine, but it will be a longer recovery than anticipated. I have not gone to book parties that coincidentally happened for two good friends this week. And I didn't go to the launch of the Remarkable Women of Taos book last night. I'm even mentioned in it, but just couldn't face anything celebratory after hearing that the friend who had a stroke and seemed to be improving has had complications and is not expected to live. It's a waiting game now. I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of wine and wrote and wrote until late into the night. Poem drafts, free writes -- because I have to find a way to deal with all of this without sustaining too much damage. The other alternative to writing is knitting and I'm randomly picking up the projects I started in the hospital a few days ago. This Handmaiden Casbah, hand-dyed cashmere blend, will make a generous and soft scarf. Makes me think of beach walking in March. Go know. Where will I be in March? What beach will I traverse?

And this sock in Crazy Zauberball (sp) sock yarn. I knitted it as I sat by Ron's bed (I'm not good at waiting) and the nurses gathered around and all said they wanted a pair -- and then another patient was wheeled in and they had to attend to their duties and no one was thinking about socks anymore. There is something to be said about small town hospitals (both negative and positive) and it's hard work to be a nurse in the Observation unit. But they all managed to be cheerful and friendly. If it weren't for the humble sock I would have gone crazy myself.

Too anxious to read, I started six different books on my iPad but couldn't concentrate on the words -- which does tend to interfere with reading. Remembered sitting by my dear friend's bed for weeks knitting socks as she was dying (I ended up with eight pairs!). I was available for her if she needed me, but not intrusive. At least that's what she said, and added: I like it. I hope when my time comes, there will be a quiet knitter in the room, a dog at her feet.

Writing last night was deeply satisfying and maybe something worthy will come out of it eventually and make it into the book, maybe not -- it doesn't matter at this point. What matters is getting it out. Allowing the unreliable narration of memory to flow.

Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
              (Joan Baez, Diamonds and Rust)

metaphor soup

I'm getting my metaphors all mixed up. On facebook I wrote about how I'm navigating turbulent seas and was just going to write that I'm stumbling along the path, not sure how much debris is on it. One thing I do know is that huge change is in the air. Astrologers say it's real and will affect everyone on the planet. I don't know about that, but I'm certainly on shifting sands (there, I did it again! forgot I was at sea!). Aliens? Maybe, but probably not quite like Gort who appeared in 1951 - a time when we thought the greatest dangers were atomic bombs and Communists.

I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that unexpected people and things are turning up in my life and setting me all adrift (in those seas again). Old enemies, old loves. Stories I'd thought I'd forgotten, others I didn't know until now. Tears spring up -- from where? I didn't know I still felt that way.... All of this converges as I deal with Ron's medical problems and surgeries. He'll be fine eventually, but it's rough now. It's been two weeks and I still haven't been able to get down to work editing that manuscript that is taking on more importance (and size) with each passing day of avoidance or simply no time.

Hospital environments are their own planet and after a few days (or long chilly nights) the world outside dissipates. It surprises me when I step outside. Will it rain? Did it rain? When did the colt start exploring on his own? Weaned already? He's only three weeks old and not concerned with existential issues.

We find perfect existence
through imperfect existence

taking a detour

It's one of those discombobulated days. Running here and there for groceries, prescriptions, reading (always interrupted), writing (ditto), eating too many chocolate biscotti. Connecting with an old friend on facebook who looks much happier since her elderly husband passed on. Trying to write an essay on photography I get bogged down, use other people's words, delete them. About that bird: a Lorikeet or Lorie or Lorini or Loriinae. Somehow I feel a connection with all these colorful Lori's -- although I feel much less than colorful these days. In the case of the bird, they are tropical, the one on my head is actually quite conservative in color -- these birds look tie-dyed -- black stripes on red breasts, yellow polka dots on green thighs. When I tried to take a picture, they landed on my camera. They were quite amazing and can be seen at the Maritime Center Aviary in Norwalk , CT. In winter they are shipped to southern Florida. They sure couldn't survive a New England winter! Nor could I anymore which is why I moved to the Southwest. Didn't know that winters can be very harsh in northern New Mexico at 7500 feet -- but there is more sun and it's dry, and that's what counts. Spare me from S.A.D. syndrome. Oh yeah, and then there are the ducks. My daughter is a rubber ducky collector. She saw these in  Cape Cod shop window.

I'm going to blow the whistle now and show part of the collection in her home! She will probably kill me for this, but.....

One of my favorite books is Moby Duck by Donovan Hohn. Not fiction, but the true story of a freighter filled with tons of rubber ducks that fell overboard in the North Atlantic during a storm, years ago. The ducks turned up in the most unlikely places many years later and Hohn followed the trail. He's a fine writer, and it's pretty frightening to read about the trash and trash "islands" in the oceans of our fragile planet. Check it out.

Countdown to surgery is less than 48 hours and I'll be in nursey mode for several more days.  Doesn't fit my personality (I'm kinda selfish), but when something has to be done it has to be done - and I'm trying to do it with compassion and a good attitude. I do want to make him as comfortable as possible and I know he appreciates it.

In the hot kitchen
A feather drags its shadow
Over steaming rice.
        Richard Wright

Daily accumulating

I'm still working on learning how to write blogs on my iPad. Its not like I have nothing else to do. I'm caring for Ron who is still in discomfort and preparing for surgery on Monday, trying to keep the house clean, and avoiding the manuscript I have to finish by end of next week. So I knitted. Finished a project that has been languishing and causing irrational guilt for about two years! Experimenting with the camera too. I haven't quite figured out how to control the position or size of photos on the iPad. 

And I can't help thinking about the night we went to the hospital and how surreal it felt. That wee hour of the morning we drove to the ER through a steady rain, and an empty town with wet streets shiny and reflecting lights on in closed shops and gas stations. I saw no other cars and the town was vibratingly and reflectively beautiful and eerie. For 20 minutes or so I forgot why and where I was driving at 2:30 in the morning. The images in the park, the sock I finished at midnight last night, all I can manage. 

I place fewer and fewer demands upon others,

And especially myself. I am free to commune

With nature, work, play, read, or just do nothing. 

                (Wayne Dyer translation Tao Te Ching)

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.