Monday, April 10, 2017

Ramps


Flossing


I have a moment to write but I'm distracted by thoughts of flossing. That's pretty bad. Flossing. Not running barefoot across the field getting stabbed by goldenrod stalks. Not pouring myself a shot of run. Not checking out who the name of the quailing songstress who just came on the radio. No, flossing.

***

One sunny day last week, I hung out the laundry and a wave of boredom acme over me. I pondered having another baby. Babies cure some types of boredom.

***

I also made some art yesterday. It was hard to do. It was hard to think of how to express myself. I was inspired after watching The Punk Singer, a film about Kathleen Hanna who was the singer for Bikini Kill, Le Tigre, and The Julie Ruin.

A friend invited me over to her house to watch it. The invitation was charming, so old-fashioned. Like back in the day when a friend got a new 7" and invited you over to listen to it. Or, when friends made elaborate mix tapes for each other. Or, when I used to write letters to my punk rock friends in Saginaw, Atlanta, Long Island.

Letters, long letters! Imagine! Exhortations of love and friendship, complaints about jobs, details about tours and clunky vans. And now, I think about flossing? Alas! Domestication!

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Crazy Dreams

I've been having crazy dreams lately. Absolutely crazy. Dreams that Jared and I would jokingly call "man dreams". Violent swirling dreams. Floods. Devastation.

Maybe its because my six year old, and I looked up photographs of the 1906 San Fransisco earthquake on the National Archives website.

Ruins in black and white. Beautiful and gaudy Victorian homes missing their north wall. Pianos and pictures on the wall. Roads heaved and cracked. It only last a minute or so. And then the fires burned.

A single wall standing, and not another for blocks.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

The Park on a Nice Day Is No Longer Like a Chicago Song

Hello? Today was a nice day, and yet the park was a lonely place. Maybe because today was Sunday not Saturday?

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Saddleback Butte, California.

Saddleback Butte, California.

Raven tracks, especially around the ant hills.

Rattlesnake. Joshua trees.

Empty campground. The day before the big rains in Santa Barbara and surrounding areas. Only one camper and truck in the lot.












Sunday Morning Thoughts

On my reading list - Free to Learn: Why Unleashing the Instinct to Play Will Make Our Children Happier, More Self-reliant and Better Students for Life by Peter Gray and Mothers and Others by Sarah Blaffer Hrdy.

On Jared's - The Foraging Spectrum, and grim-looking anthropology book.

On Beren's - Anything samurai- or ninja-related.

What I want on my reading list - some humor, some damn good humor.

***
Spring Herald

I heard the eastern phoebe's call yesterday. Red-shouldered hawk's call today.

The meadow looks drab but as I stare at it, it moves. The foraging juncoes.

Crocuses keep blooming. An outlier appeared in the lawn. Daffodils blooming.

Windy, raw, wet alternating with warm and breezy.

***

I woke up in the darkness and saw the crescent moon rising in the east. Beautiful. Last week.

***

Jared's out exploring. I'm writing. Beren's upstairs, occupied.

***

This morning, Jared rose first. I stayed in bed, thinking. I've been doing that for years now. One day in spring, I will rise far earlier than everyone and go outside. I'll do that for weeks, until summer.

I've been working on training my thoughts. Taming them in the morning. My pattern is to wake with thoughts marching through my head. I'm taming them. I will!

I've also been practicing kung fu in the morning again. I took a break from that. The snow was a challenge. Practicing around chairs, toys, a husband, while trying not to wake a child or rouse a fiesty cat. Business started picking up, too. A bunch of crummy, inconvenient things happened. Skipping my practice didn't work, so I'm back at it.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Grackles

Finally, it is here. We are back outside more than we are inside. Shoes are muddy and wet. They come off and socks are sopping and muddy. The crocus bulbs are plugged in thanks to Podd. 

The house is warm without a fire all day thanks to big sunny windows that face south. 

Our lack of inspiration to cook because of lack of fresh foods is now turned to too busy to cook. We are out playing past dinnertime.

The grackles flew over. Momma look at the birds, Beren says. Jared and I after so many years together reach for the door knob simultaneously, then the dead bolt, then the lock on the door knob. Our simultaneous movements are like the grackles, one mind. We don't accomplish anything until I withdraw my hand and let him unlock and open the door. We don't accomplish but we acknowledge our one mind and laugh.

The grackles creak and wheeze. We listen, just like every spring for the past decade. Beren leaps out the door, I don't need shoes he exclaims. We can only watch time by his changes. We are counting our growth rings by adding one more set of lines etched around our eyes.