mooning around

so much color everywhere

It's evening, the sun shining low in the west turns the light buttery yellow, daytime harshness softens. I'm drinking Lung Ching Dragon Well green tea and it will probably keep me awake half the night, but who cares? It's the start of a Blue Moon night and there's a definite end-of-summer feel in the air. A different kind of quiet surrounds us. Still hot during the day, much cooler at night. Birds are already flocking together, gorging themselves on sunflower seeds and whatever else is in the fields and trees...chokecherries...

The birds make me think of a favorite chapter in The Wind in the Willows -- when they gather on a wire and discuss where to go and when to leave. Unlike them, we plan to stay. But we still gather (at a bistro table) -- my knitting friend Joan and me, discussing yarn and new projects -- the lure of cooler nights seeping into us much as the changing quality of light seeps into the psyche of the wild birds.

do not try this in the woods
Meanwhile I finished the socks I've been working on. They resemble rugged hiking socks, but hand knit socks aren't the best things to hike in. I learned that a long time ago, the hard way.

The mountains are turning pink now and I'm tired from a long full day -- friends, summer heat, good food, yarn. Resting up for a drop-dead-deadline weekend and a blue moon.

follow your Inner Moonlight
don't hide the Madness
                   Allen Ginsberg

blue moon musings

Tonight I'm thinking about beach houses I've stayed in. And leafing through that atmospheric photography book of Joel Meyerowitz, A Summer's Day (on Cape Cod).  I'm drawn to it every summer and place it on my coffee table here in the southwest until autumn comes and it's put it away for another year.

Something in the air this dusky sunset. I look through photos of beaches I've walked. Light begins to recede, breezes are cool, birds make last sounds before going silent for the night. I leave the slider open until the voice in the next room says "it's cold in here!" and I grudgingly close it. But not yet. I am reveling in that mysterious often-occurring sea scent that has always baffled me -- so far away.

The nearly full moon floats high in the darkening sky and we look forward to a Blue Moon in a couple of days. How cool is that! All those legends.

Can you hear the waves breaking? I can. Feel the undertow?

Inside water, a waterwheel turns.
A star circulates with the moon.

We live in the night ocean wondering,
What are these lights?
                                  Rumi

outflow=inflow=outflow

I was so in love with that sock-against-the-sky photo I posted last week that I put it on my facebook page. It triggered notes from writer friends and sock fans who own my handknitted socks. I haven't seen some of these women for years and their comments have opened up memories of mornings writing in a friend's zendo, a week at Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu, the Yuletide fair in Taos, a week in the Yucatan, the dream Trudy had about a drawer full of handknitted socks all the colors of the rainbow! And then Nita reminded me of the Clan of Sock Women.

Clan of the Sock Women
A few years ago, as one of a small group of zendo writers, we met once a week at a friend's earthship in Taos and meditated, walked, and wrote. I usually wore my hand knitted socks on those early mornings since my feet are always cold, even in summer, and Nat, whose place it was (and who is still a collector of my socks) wore hers. Gradually curiosity (and sock-envy) was aroused and I was asked if I had any more. Silly question! I always have far too many socks - either on needles or in lavender-scented boxes. And before I knew it, colorful wool socks were appearing on the feet around me -- which prompted Nita to proclaim us The Clan of the Sock Women. I wrote about it in my sock pattern chapbook, but sort of forgot until Nita declared it once again upon seeing the latest photo!  So now I love facebook (which I've been lukewarm about) and the unexpected reconnection it provides. These sock women are poets, writers, artists, a recent poet laureate, spiritual teachers, workshop leaders, celebrities...they live all over the country and in Mexico and England...in other words they are Remarkable Women. They have touched upon and changed my life in many unaccountable ways and I'm proud to have touched their lives in some small way and that they remember. And, yes, there's a new crop of too many pairs of socks once again. Outflow makes way for Inflow! S stands for Sanity and Socks. It's what I do - and I'm not a bit embarrassed by the sheer volume! 

Volume. The ornamental cherries, inedible, in profusion in the park. I walk under the tree, on top of a carpet of small slippery red balls, glance at the blue sky in between leaves and branches, a stage set; feel grateful to be alive on a cool morning in late summer, able to walk, to feel the sun on my shoulders, breeze in my hair. Remember how the cherry trees looked in spring. Yesterday?

And then I receive news about a friend who has been diagnosed with stage three colon cancer. And I understand that personal worlds and casual future projections can change in a moment. I thought getting old was the qualifier, but that's nothing compared to what could be waiting in the wings. So am I now more mindful? more grateful? I don't know. I want to be.  But it's hard to change a lifetime of belief and so easy to fall into despair.

Stop for the flowers in the early morning sun, breathe deeply (as my daughter is always telling me to do). Think about knitting something the color of a tropical sea with the Aslan pot-dyed yarn I found the other day in that odd store that recently opened in Taos. Nice yarn. Lovely color. Color heals. Doesn't it? Or the three poem drafts I wrote today? I can knit a pair of socks to keep her feet warm as hot summer fades into cool, cold, autumn. She might be cold.

I slept in a bed 
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
                 Jane Kenyon

falling into a blue hole

I'm not bored with this sock anymore -- nor with the incredible cloud work in our skies these days.

We have had some rain and the fields are turning green. So much beautiful green. The color of creativity, the color of life. It always amazes me the way nature operates in a sub-alpine desert area  -- the way plants and seeds disappear until moisture hits them and they sprout overnight. I sometimes think that if the climate around here changed to moist, we'd quickly be living in a jungle -- all those seeds growing in time-lapse photography style, into gigantic trees and bushes.

three tall women
Last night I attended a staged reading of Edward Albee's two-act play, Three Tall Women. It was presented as part of the SOMOS Summer Writers Series at the Harwood Museum. The three performers were Judith Kendall, Heather Antoniesson, Judith Rane, otherwise known as A, B, and C. Three ages, three women. Directed by Steve Parks. All four are actors have performed numerous times in venues in and out of Taos.  It was the first time that SOMOS deviated from authors' reading their poetry and prose, occasionally with music, and was quite successful. The play itself, of course, is somewhat dark. There are humorous moments and the compelling subject of the life and times of a 90 year old women. There's something about that compressing of a lifetime that leaves a big existential hole. So I'm in recovery today. And if I can just finish up my editing commitment...and not fall into a hole...

and it feels like rain

coffee in the sky
A favorite coffee shop, Elevation, has replaced their nondescript sign with this giant cup perched above a sculptural monolith. I stopped to pick up a latte with a splash of vanilla syrup in it and was surprised to be greeted on high by the largest red cup I've ever seen. Especially since I'm suffering one of those gray-sky-gray-mind days. Explained, perhaps, by my trying to readjust to my quotidian life with the result that all I'm experiencing is restlessness and lack of imagination and wondering why I'm embroiled in yet another editing project. The sky matches my mood, even though I can appreciate cooler temperatures and relief from unrelenting sun. If only it would rain. Storm threats abound in the north. A few sprinkles fall, stop. No stars visible tonight.

Heard about and visited a new store in town called Tuesday Morning -- an offshoot, I learned, of Marshall's and Target. A fun store to browse in with a hodgepodge of unrelated items. Tucked away on a bottom shelf I found boxes of yarn! Nice yarns, but not much of it. Still I managed to find a ball of sock yarn in exactly the black, white and gray of my mood at a shockingly inexpensive price. But, alas, even starting a new sock didn't move me off center. I admit it: I was bored.

So now I've escaped into Pride and Prejudice -- which I've read so many times I could probably be one of those wandering people in Fahrenheit 451 who memorized books in a world that burned them. P&P surprisingly fits my escapist mood with its pleasant unreality and romantic denouement. Especially after reading The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka -- an award winning novel about Japanese women (and their men) who made lives in California and ended up being forgotten in internment camps during WWII. An excellent book, sad and poignant. Builds up so compellingly that I couldn't put it down until the very last page.

"It's true that I sometimes can't separate what I actually feel from what I know I'm supposed to feel"
             Danny Gregory

tipsy & full

oh no, we hardly knew ye...
It certainly doesn't feel like the end of summer, but there are signs...windfall apples and cool nights that require a light extra blanket.  Fresh veggies pulled from the earth of our neighbors' garden...

washed and ready to be cooked (if I can figure out how to cook beets)...

you've got a friend...
Mag left this morning after more than a week together. We entertained Maria and her husband (who took the photo), feasted, laughed loud and long, exchanged gifts and ice cream and flowers. An unforgettable day that started at noon and ended at 9:30 p.m.

After a long editing meeting this afternoon I return home, eat too much, try to find a still point, illustrate a journal page (what I do when rest is needed - the editing session was long). Drawing for me is a right- brained effort that requires stillness without expectation of mastery -- I am not an artist or illustrator, but who cares. This effort is not necessarily dependent upon wine or chocolate and therefore more of a meditation. (Well, maybe chocolate).

The bouquet of daisies is still perky, I'm not. But it's raining! Blessed, wet, cool, rain. Heavenly. Remembering last night's sumptuous dinner at Lambert's, Ron back from long drive home from Las Vegas, tired but in rare form, like last hurrahs before death (he's already asleep at 7 pm), Mag and I getting in last words and ideas and plans until next time together. (December?  March? here? there?). Duck, steak, porcini mushrooms, Grappa (which nearly killed me). I write words in my notebook, sip the chilled leftover Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand and think about an early bedtime.

thanks for he dance
I'm sorry you're tired
the evening has hardly begun
thanks for the dance
try to look inspired
one two three, one two three one
                  Leonard Cohen

what it is

Early morning or sunset, the sky is a canvas on which the angels (and CameraBag app) paint.

So what is it about Thursdays? The last two have been insane in many ways. Meetings, guests, problems, wine, food, anxieties, pleasures, remembering. Like yesterday. And then blessed in the early evening by an unexpected gushing, pouring rainstorm. So welcome. When I returned home Spike was dripping wet and there was a rain puddle in the living room. The air outside was washed clean and the wet earth, chamisa and sagebrush, smelled like honey and vanilla.

Mag and I drove to Chimayo on Wednesday. To the Santuario with it's sacred dirt.

And it's holy gift shops.

In the Santuario part of the church, miracles and healings are recorded through dozens of crutches, casts, shoes, walkers, and canes left behind.  Walls of photos. People who have passed on? Or healed? I'm not sure of the protocol, but it makes you think.... What I do know is that if you lose something valuable it's best to lose it in a Catholic Church. Mag lost her expensive prescription sunglasses there, but they were found and turned in. She's driving back today to retrieve them.  On the way home we stopped at  Las Trampas church - one of the oldest, perhaps the oldest in northern New Mexico. Didn't stay long as the sky was darkening and we were tired and hot facing a longish drive.

But today there is a new moon and astrologer's think it's a good one. Oh, and about the end of the world on December 21st? Saw a cartoon that puts thing in perspective. The dialogue goes like this:

Ancient Mayan guy (holding famous round calender): "I only had room to go to 2012"
Other Mayan guy: "Ha! That'll freak somebody out someday"