IT'S ALL RIGHT

It's All Right

It's all right to leave everything.

Everything waits quite patiently,

well practiced in the art of being.

 Even seashells from distant shores,

the fallen feathers of  birds, old rocks

to remind this space of all other places.

The museum of myself surrounds me.

I am embedded within it here in rooms

where memories are visible as artifacts.

I'm the main exhibit and sole curator.

The museum is my home. Here's where I,

an aged woman, live my life in the everyday.

It's all right, tonight I made my singular mark;

three long flights to the street, around several blocks

to the lunch-room of what we called School for the Deaf.

Ignoring that irony, I counted voters, unknown

and long known neighbors who elected participation.

At home, 'hen of the woods' soup waiting to soothe me.

I remember when one could ride the 'Vermonter'

straight through to Canada, absent of border guards.

Now fears have returned to dominate my 'golden years'.

It's all right. I've rivers of sweet dreams flowing;

dreams wherein love is the answer to every question,

where kindness is the highest value and empathy prevails.

~*~

Manhattan New York

November 6, 2018

Rx FOR TOUGH TIMES

"To regain patience, learn to love the sour,
the bitter, the salty, the clear." 

-James Rchardson-

SOUR

Canada on my mind

(Signage on a phone booth third Avenue NYC)
The Alberta wildfire, which has come to be known as "the beast," has destroyed 2,400 homes and businesses, and displaced upward of 94,000 people.  Evacuees, now spread across the province and the country, are waiting for word on when they can return home. The fire has moved away from the city, and is expected to burn in forested areas for many more weeks.

What happens to wildlife caught in a forest blaze?

(Answers in the Link at bottom)

~*~



BITTER 
Dreaming Nettles
I dream fields of bloom and dirt paths, old gates,
blue skies, wildflower drifting days, nettle soup,
moon strewn nights and starlit visions of heaven.
-M. Slater-

(screen shot from Terri Windlings wonderful blog Post on Nettles)
Her Recipe
"Melt some butter in the bottom of the soup pot, add a chopped onion or two, and cook slowly until softened.  Add a litre or so of vegetable or chicken stock, with salt, pepper, and any herbs you fancy.  Add 2 large potatoes (chopped), a large carrot (chopped), and simmer until almost soft. If you like your soup thick, use more potatoes.  Throw in several large handfuls of fresh nettle tops, and simmer gently for another 10 minutes.  Add some cream (to taste), and a pinch of nutmeg.  Purée with a blender, and serve."
(Much more beauty at the Link Below)
~*~



SALTY
Like the sea, like sweat, saliva, blood and tears.
 Salt of the earth salty.  Purifying curative salt.

(Himalayan pink sea salt in a shell)

Cloud Cult is an experimental, orchestral indie-rock band from Duluth, Minnesota led by singer/songwriter Craig Minowa. The name originated from the ancient prophecies of indigenous North Americans.  Just a part of what's to love about this band: "In 1997 Craig Minowa formed Earthology Records on his organic farm, powered by geothermal energy and built partially from reclaimed wood and recycled plastic. This nonprofit label uses only recycled materials and donates all profits to environmental charities. The band also tours in a biodiesel van."

https://youtu.be/mvy0BwulnEc
(More about them at the Link)  
~*~

CLEAR
Mystification is easy; Clarity is the hardest thing of all.” 

(Photographer shoots her moon)

"Clarity is the hardest thing of all.”

(Rose petals)

"Clarity is the hardest thing of all.”

(Steel wool-Black Walnut-Red cabbage)

"Clarity is the hardest thing of all.”

Violet infused vinegar)

"Clarity is the hardest thing of all.”

(Paper butterfly in a vase)


"Clarity is the hardest thing of all.”

https://youtu.be/Q5DUaqi6vSE
~*~

LINKS

http://www.macleans.ca/news/canada/where-the-wild-things-are-2/

http://www.terriwindling.com/blog/2016/05/from-the-archives-picking-nettles.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cloud_Cult 

https://www.blogger.com/profile/09479767121319709878

***

SIMPLY DREAMING

Saturday opened with rain that was transformed by afternoon sunlight, and passed so quickly it seemed as though time had accelerated.  Waking from a nap, I wondered briefly where I was.  Some dreams take on dimensional reality that's very convincing.

I stole some more violets for the vinegar while the seven o'clock mass was in session.

Even though it was me who carted those violets there in the first place, and me who spread them from place to place over the decades, I still felt like a thief.  Onward then, down to the East river Styvesant Cove park at dusk to a reflected sunset with a 'bird' cloud.

Some Plant Profiles:

Names temporarily forgotten

 *

 Got much too close

 *

 Having focus problems

"Hmmmm" I thought

 *

Waking reality is simply another kind of dream

One perfect Cherry Tree

 *

May I dream as a bee dreams tonight.
Summertime dreams:

https://youtu.be/MxVeUvo5COI

LINK

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stuyvesant_Cove_Park

WHY?

Why?

You might ask why, in the middle of the night,

was I suddenly obsessed with Kay Ryan?

~*~

I Saw A Photograph

While reading a recent article in the L.A.Times about how she was hit while riding her bicycle near her home.  That is not quite what grabbed me, though it did.  That she was sixty nine when it happened, shattered a hip and some ribs that punctured a lung--those things moved me, yes of course.  It was her face--the shape of it, the slant of her mouth, the color of her eyes, and something familiar in the gaze--that's what got me.  I felt I was looking at a relative.  Her name--same as my Aunt Kay Ryan, and my mothers maiden name sparked further resonance.  I set up a mirror here, snapped a shot of us side by side, stared at it.  She's healthier and younger than I am, yet I see a strong resemblance.

 ~*~

Then, reading the poems in 'Persimmon' drew me

closer, I felt I understood her perfectly in this one:

The Best Of It

However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn’t matter that
our acre’s down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we’d rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us. 

And so many more--all sixteen short ones here: 
 http://www.persimmontree.org/v2/summer-2011/sixteen-poems/
 *
Also this wonderful video from 2006


Ageing
 I know that too is the reason I focused on her.

AGE
As some people age
they kinden.
The apertures
of their eyes widen.
I do not think they weaken;
I think something weak strengthens
until they are more and more it,
like letting in heaven.
But other people are
mussels or clams, frightened.
Steam or knife blades mean open.
They hear heaven, they think boiled or broken.
- See more at: http://www.persimmontree.org/v2/summer-2011/sixteen-poems/#sthash.Ubq4ES36.dpuf

AGE
As some people age
they kinden.
The apertures
of their eyes widen.
I do not think they weaken;
I think something weak strengthens
until they are more and more it,
like letting in heaven.
But other people are
mussels or clams, frightened.
Steam or knife blades mean open.
They hear heaven, they think boiled or broken.
- See more at: http://www.persimmontree.org/v2/summer-2011/sixteen-poems/#sthash.Ubq4ES36.dpufI was thinking about myself :

At the Memory and Aging Center

~*~

It Started 

When I woke for no good reason at four in the morning, and decided to read my emails.  The Writers Almanac was wrong about her birthday. That led me to , to read her life story, then to poetry sites.

Why didn't I just go back to bed? Perhaps it was that familiar hollowness near dawn, the longing for family to be cooking breakfast in memory kitchens where 'ice-box' was not a euphemism but a fact. Maybe that's what woke me.  Was I dreaming of my childhood?  I sidled up to her words and voice, communing with myself in her virtual company. 

Now it's  near dawn, traffic is moving.

I'll have a little nap to prepare for the new day.

(Wikipedia)