we are equal grape jelly opportunity suppliers (egjos, for those of you who like acronyms). though our dedication to grape jelly is – supposedly – for the orioles and house finches, house sparrows and hungry potbellied squirrels are enthusiastic fans. and i mean, who can blame them? they are opportunistic foragers so all’s fair game.
we personally don’t have an issue with sparrows and squirrels eating jelly. we just clean the vessel and refill it as needed. watching from the deck or the patio is a joy and those squirrels – well – they are sooo entertaining with antics that challenge world-class acrobats (all while they are also always keeping an eye out for dogga).
opportunistic foragers take what they can get. if welch’s is on the table, then welch’s it is.
in the last few days, few months, couple of years, we have read numerous articles about the government of this nation – you know, the government of the people, by the people, for the people – eliminating all kinds of regulations that protect the people, protect the people’s land, protect the people’s food, protect the people’s water, protect the people’s healthcare, protect the people’s education, protect the people’s social programs, protect the people’s rights, protect the people’s vote, protect the natural resources and wildlife that is part of the land of the people. and why is that? because – in an innocent google – i came across a term that describes them in a polite way: they are opportunistic foragers. they will take whatever upon which they can get their greedy paws.
“…politicians are widely characterized as opportunistic foragers who navigate their environments by adjusting policies, rhetoric, and alliances to maximize power and secure reelection.” (ai)
not cute like pudgy squirrels or innocent like house sparrows, they are robbing our grape jelly and absolutely everything else we-the-people value. the corruption is rampant, the conscience is absent, the constitutional cornerstone of this country is ripping.
in dramatically exciting news, this has been the week of tabouli. with heat indexes off the charts, it’s a refreshing change of pace.
it’s only mid-july and already our little potting stand garden is rocking. we have sooo much mint, a wild burst of chives and some curly parsley (our flat parsley has been the incredible-shrinking parsley – which must be because it’s on the preferred diet choices of our local squirrels.) the first batch of jalapeños are ready to harvest, many of the cherry tomatoes are orange-ing up, the basil is happily basil-ing along.
in an effort to use the herbs of which we have plenty, it brought to mind our quinoa tabouli – which uses the harvest we already have at our fingertips.
in these days of sickly sticky parasites invading the fruits and vegetables of these united states it feels extra good to have just gone a few steps outside to clip off what i needed for this fresh salad. it is a weird world with way too many things to worry about.
pasta with basil, homemade pizza margherita, jalapeño poppers, pesto, mint and lemon suntea that basked on the deck…and soon…more of our own cherry tomatoes for everything under the sun…the recipes line up in wait.
our adirondack chairs adjacent to our little burgeoning herbandveggie garden, we sat outside – after dinner – after sunset – while the fireflies danced through the backyard – and talked. our tiki-type torches lit, dogga conked out on the deck, we reviewed yet another strange set of days – strange in an insane number of ways. we wondered – yet again – what we can do.
we are beyond saddened by the schisms that deepen with every single corrupt thing that is reported (leaving us to truly ponder what is too opaque – too silenced – too hidden – to be reported, even by hardworking alternative media sources.)
and yet we know – even with our intense sadness – that there is no going back. anyone who thinks that all this is acceptable in any way – including what seems too easy to avoid – the new veggiefruit parasites running rampant because of this administration’s gluttonous greed and incompetence – is lost to us. that loss is mindboggling. it is heartwrenching.
and so, i guess we’ll just party on with our tabouli.
*****
WEEPING MAN mixed media 48″ x 36″ (available for purchase)
the heat index was 106 degrees. it had finally gotten a tad bit cooler and we were lounging – relatively motionless – in the gravity chairs mid-evening. watching the birds busy at the birdbath and the squirrel ecstatic at the barney-buffet, we suddenly were aware of two stunning dragonflies zipping around us and then landing on the piece-o’-our-beloved-tree branch on the deck next to us. just a couple feet away from us, they stuck around for a long time, gently flexing their wings and repositioning but not leaving. it’s like they wanted us to notice they were there.
it was shocking how close they allowed me to get to photograph them…so close that my iphone blurred some of the insect images – the depth of field of the camera instead opting to clear-focus on something further away.
dragonflies – are associated with messages of “transformation, joy and living life to the fullest…are often seen as gentle nudges to release worries and embrace the present moment.” it is also popular that they are “a gentle reminder that guardian angels or loved ones who have passed are watching over you…bringing…comfort…during transitional times.”
good grief, this is a good time – in countless ways – for a connection between heaven and earth.
i’ve been around big water most of my life. the ocean, long island sound, the gulf of mexico, lake michigan. dragonflies are drawn to bodies of water, so it would make sense that i would have had plenty of first-person experiences with dragonflies. clearly they have been around and i have admired their flight nearby. but i can’t point to a moment before when i was as viscerally aware – in a sharing of the same vibration-frequency way.
this time was different.
in a time that is fraught with so many uncertainties, i feel like any nod to reassurance or comfort is worth noticing. i feel like any “omen of power, bravery, transformation” is buoying. i feel like anything that might connect us to greater good is paramount.
the aerial (adult) stage of a dragonfly – the time this beautiful creature flies on these iridescent wings – is typically short — weeks to months long. most of its life is spent in its previous nymph stage, up to five years in the water. once airborne, their wings cannot repair, and high speed flight and other perils of tattered-wing damage blunt their ability to fly.
the dragonfly’s primary goal – their evolutionary goal – is “for the insect to disperse, find a mate and lay eggs near water“. their compound eyes – as many as thirty thousand of photoreceptor cells – take in everything around them and help them have a prey rate of 97%, one of the most successful predators currently on the planet. these fleeting creatures are stunningly impactful, successfully passing on life to their next generation.
we have limited time with the iridescent wings of our own lives. it would seem that we are – indeed – in our aerial phase…the phase of transformation and embracing the present moment. it would seem that our job – no longer nymphs – is to pass on a world that is worthy.
if we merely sit still – silent, timid, withdrawn, inactive, self-focused – it is possible our fragile wings will last a tad bit longer.
but if we fly – bold and brave, eyes wide-open, risking tatters – we will have simultaneously touched the sky – even heaven – and lived on earth.
in 1992 david sold a painting to a man he has not spoken to since. a couple days ago he received a message on his website from this person – reaching out to tell him how much he has enjoyed this painting for the last almost-35 years. they mutually agreed that the reaching-out-reaching-back was like a homecoming.
this is why painters paint, why recording artists record, why writers write.
because sometime – in the vast sometime that is time – and somewhere – in the vast somewhere that is out there – someone is touched by a work and actually reaches out to let you know.
from conception to completed work – is anything really complete without an audience? – we work to bring to life an idea, a question, a texture, a gesture, an emotion.
just like these cherry tomatoes we pay attention…check on the necessities – like sun, water and sources of inspiration, muslin-tie up the branches that grow long and lanky, heavy with early buds and new fruit – protecting the muse, watch for pests – like aphids or a lack of confidence, hope for the best – tomatoes in the end or something worthy to release into the world. and then we set it free – this piece of us – so that we can start what’s next.
i learned early in the studio that to hold on too tightly to a track of music is to never be able to move on, to never grow, to never period the sentence. despite any lack of total perfection – for is anything ever really, truly perfect? – i learned that good is – actually -good and, by accepting that, i could produce a finished product.
the recording label our son owns posted a meme one day which read, “just make it EXIST first. you can make it good later.”
I laughed reading this. it goes hand and hand with the john cage quote i have in my studio: “begin anywhere“.
it is both in the trepidation of the beginning – and the anxiety of the finishing – where artists can get lost. it takes practice – and courage – to start. it takes practice – and courage – to finish.
it never hurts to hear from someone that a work has made their world a little bit better, even that a work has accompanied them – for years and years – on their walk in the world.
the cherry tomato ripens. if all the conditions are right, it’s inevitable. and, in the way of indeterminate tomato plants – which “continue to grow and blossom and produce fruit throughout the entire season” – more tomatoes will ripen – even if you pick some and consume them, even if some fall off the vining branch. the plant keeps on, regardless. “there are no gardening mistakes, only experiments.” (janet kilburn phillips)
so, too, it is with artistry. we are indeterminate – it is the imperative – we will continue to grow and blossom and experiment and produce more fruit our entire seasons – especially if all the conditions are right, especially when we know the fruit resonated with someone in vast sometime-somewhere.
no matter, though. the tomato plants keep growing wildly in these weirdly wisconsin sub-tropical summer days. despite it all.
and the artists do as well.
“…stick with it no matter what. tell your story.” (barkersounds)
our lakefront is really quite beautiful. the city does a remarkable job with the gardens; flowers are everywhere. the harbor and the pavilion at the park are sites for many a photo shoot – anything from proms to family reunions to weddings to quinceañeras. just a few days ago we walked past a bride and groom and their stunningly-dressed wedding party celebrating over by the beach, just beyond the ribbon-wrapped-chairs in the garden.
i imagine this sequin-lace-tulle butterfly is from either a quinceañera dress or, less likely, a prom gown. somehow it took wing and flew from the hostess’ frock, this froo-froo landing on the harbor sidewalk where we walked by it on a hot summer day. though i snapped photographs of it, we didn’t pick it up, thinking that maybe a little girl or boy might pass by and claim this magical butterfly, seemingly waiting for them. i can dream a little.
though i have a few sequins – concert performing clothes – i haven’t worn any in quite a while. these few hangers have been relegated to a side of my small closet – things that hold no current relevance. even most concerts didn’t merit sequins. not because the audience didn’t merit them, but because i am not really a sequin person and i like to perform authentically.
we just aren’t fancy-schmancy people.
20 stared at my flipflops the other day – wrinkling his brow and grimacing with a few words, “expensive flipflops, eh?” and “i don’t like flipflops”.
old navy flipflops have pretty much been our standard fare in the summer. though age and knees and hips and such have made us hike in actual hiking sandals. nevertheless nothing schmancy. i wrinkled and grimaced back at him.
i have to say, though, that i have taken a liking to fancy bandaids. because i am having some sort of toe issue – i injured my toe and the nail fell off – i know, ewwwww. i have taken to wearing a bandaid over my toe to protect it.
now, i am a toenail polish girl – mostly because i inherited these enormous toes from my parents and painting them makes me feel better about their gigunda size (and also distorts my reality by making me think that they look smaller, more dainty and feminine with merlot-colored toenail polish on them). in real life, i suppose no one is really looking at my toes – though they might now that i have drawn attention to them. regardless, a plain beige (plastic or flexible fabric) bandaid on my big toe is gauche perched next to my other toes with self-painted merlot. (some of the perils of womanhood are grander than others.)
and so, i went on the search for fancier bandaids.
funny. most printed bandaids are for children. they have tons of options. not so much for adults or – specifically – a woman trying to disguise a non-nailed toe amidst her other toes, which aren’t so cute to begin with.
i did find a box of wildflower bandaids. the distribution of sizes is a challenge. they parse out 15 tiny bandaids, 10 medium bandaids and only give you like 5 bandaids of the largest size – the size i need for my nailless toe. (of note – in case you need this information: large wildflower print does nothing to tone down a large toe. small wildflower print helps minimally.) i honed my skill at layering a plain bandaid with a fancy-schmancy one and bought a second box just in case. lord knows how long the grow-out might take. and what if i have to go to something fancy-schmancy in the meanwhile…something that requires cute sandals and a sundress or the flowy overalls in my closet i like to wear with flipflops that have a little slanted platform (also old navy and so many years old now that i dread their demise)…
if, perchance, you are worried about my wearying of this one print of bandaids (two if you count the layering approach), i certainly welcome any and all suggestions of other schmancy bandaids you have found.
in the meanwhile, i could always wrap my toe in tulle, sequins and lace and call it good.
ahh…the saying “you can dress ’em up but you can’t take ’em anywhere” comes to mind.
after the fourth was over, i watched a video of the fireworks display in glenview, illinois – just down the road a-piece. by the time darkness had fallen, glenview was socked-in by fog. it looked like hundreds, if not thousands, of people had gathered, on chairs and blankets, ready for the show.
this is much like our town – our fireworks displays are held on the lakefront, over the water. there are crowds of people, gathered on bag chairs and blankets and beach towels. for the size of our city, the display – sponsored by the local grocery store – is actually amazing. though we haven’t attended the last two years, i know that it is well-done, well-timed, well-managed and safer than those people who are setting off ridiculously large fireworks – overkill, really – in backyards with houses all around.
glenview was ready for theirs on the fourth. and, as the instagram video started, there was nothing to see. until suddenly, the foggy sky lit up in waves of orange and green and then red and then pink – much like heat lightning or aurora borealis. people began to laugh and ask where the fireworks were. the fog had taken its toll on the actual display and wasn’t letting go. had it lifted during the program of pyrotechnics, i’m sure it would have revealed beautiful sparkling sparks, clear trajectories of color, a stunning show. it appears it never lifted.
it seems that the fireworks in the nation’s capitol had a, well, similar problem. in a predictable effort to havethemostfireworksever, it appears that whatever company administered the fireworks very, very late on the fourth did not write a thoughtful show, did not reasonably time them, did not take into account rests inbetween the notes. instead, the longer the display went on – a display that was only designed to be thebiggestandthebest – the more smoke filled the air until the fireworks were no longer visible but for the smoke that had overtaken them. a fog of smoke caused by a fog of arrogant pretentiousness or poor planning or ignorant superiority or just plain incompetence. it’s not a surprise.
fog is one thing, but lacking capacity to properly time a fireworks display is completely another thing. wasteful. it should be embarrassing.
in a perfect parallel of themes, i wonder when the contrived-fog that has distorted the actual capacity to think for those cheering on this current administration might lift. when those who are sycophants, those complicit, those perhaps just-too-stupid-to-care might start to see things clearly. i wonder – if they ever do see things clearly – when they might actually do something about it…push back, speak up, put down the bigotry that blinds them.
i wonder if it will be too late. so much will have been wasted. so much will have lifted into thin air – behind the fog of this unconscionably destructive administration, gone, decimated, replaced – our democracy in tatters.
there were many comments on the glenview fireworks post. some people complained that they shouldn’t have gone. some people found humor in the natural circumstance of weather wreaking havoc on their fun. some people expressed they didn’t know what they were missing for they hadn’t been to the fireworks display before. it was all perfectly innocent. no one purposely interfered with their fireworks or destroyed their event.
what will socked-in people say when they come out of the fog of complicity and cultish-reverence and realize what is gone in this country isn’t natural, isn’t funny and, for sure, isn’t innocent? will they realize how a very purposeful intention set about to destroy their nation?
and the sailboat – in a bit of misty lake fog – sails on. and we sit in a country wasting away. it’s embarrassing.
in the “what’s in your wallet” series of ads, adorable jennifer garner is featured as a fixture of the marketing campaign. pictured everywhere, she quips, “what’s in your wallet?” advertising for the capital one credit card.
staring south down lake michigan we can sometimes see itty-bitty evidence of the chicago skyline. the curvature of the earth…the line of sight – slightly angled upward looking south – appears farther east, the right atmospheric conditions and refraction of light in the atmosphere…bending light’s path, the time of day…best when the sun is lower in the sky: all factors in the the ability to see even portions of that incredible skyline. the words “what’s on your horizon?” come to mind.
as the sun set in the west, the east put on a show the other day. with shades of trader joe’s dried mango slices and glasses of provence rosé dancing along the horizon, i waved at chicago, fully believing our son could see it. the magic of the horizon is like that.
i suppose that we don’t know – day to day – what will really be on our horizon. there are no guarantees and so we really should do the best we can to live best each of these days – chock full of horizon possibilities. like my sweet momma said, who would have been 105 a few days ago on the 5th, “live life, my sweet potato”.
but in these uncertain times we find we also have to draw some lines – on our horizon. we cannot pollyanna that which is ‘out there’. there are things we refuse to ignore, things that impact people we love and care about and, yes, even people we do not know, things that are based on cruel and extremist ideologies (if you can even call them ‘ideologies’ – which seems generous, considering the intentions behind them). there are things that color our days, whether or not they directly affect us. we can’t look away or be dismissive. we can’t become part of a kind of conscious avoidance, of avoiding the seeing of or learning about what is really happening in an escape to having to push-back against it, or – even worse – a denial of knowledge of its existence. the horizon is all of it. all the layers.
and even in the day to day of our lives – with all the layers of personal stuff to deal with on our own horizons – it is impossible to not feel the burden of trying to save this democracy, the heavy weight of trying to hold true to the constitution and its amendments, all the colors of what it means to live right now coalescing to make our horizon complicated.
we look down the lake, squinting to see chicago. sometimes the view is clear and sometimes – when the conditions are not in place – it is totally obstructed.
maybe we need to keep looking – to view, to discern our horizon at all different times of day and night, during all different weather circumstances, at all ages and stages – in order to get an accurate picture of what’s really out there, to grok the magic and the challenge of the horizon: all its choices and decisions, all its beauty and its ugly, all it can show us about living authentically – so that we can honestly answer “what’s on your horizon?”
there is something about a train platform that makes you feel like an explorer. not necessarily like ferdinand magellan or lewis and clark or amelia earhart or jacques cousteau or edmund hillary and tenzing norgay or jane goodall or neil armstrong or sally ride, but maybe something more along the lines of maybe erma bombeck on errands or a fantastically prolific carole king in a new recording studio or an unabashed meg ryan on a new romcom set, slightly more tame, but nonetheless full of infinite possibility that might inspire your muse.
we have been on this particular platform many times – well, for people who live in wisconsin, anyway. it is often relatively empty when we wait on this side – the northbound side – later at night.
it is always after a really full day – rich in time with our son, eventful, fun, alive. we are usually pretty tired on this platform as we wait for our train, incoming from downtown. and we are usually talking about the day, reviewing all we have seen and heard and how really full the day was.
and there are always moments we realize that it feels like we have been away from home – like this one day – when we spent many hours traveling down, being in the city and then traveling back – it feels like way more than just the hours in one day.
exploring is supposed to be like that, i believe. you are supposed to feel like you have been away – away from everything that is usual. instead you have stepped away into time that is reserved for new experiences, for new people, for new ideas, for expanding what you knew into more. even if only to the metropolitan city that is just down the road from you, exploring opens you.
it’s one of the reasons we love watching youtubes of people doing thru-hikes, people climbing ridiculous mountains, people free-soloing and people snowboarding in the back country. it’s one of the reasons we love non-fiction and autobiographical/biographical narrative. it’s all different from our own lives and some of it is crazy stuff, but – vicariously – we can feel the energy of exploration and it feeds ours.
though right now we are minimally physically exploring ‘out-there’ – not traveling the way we would – we are reading, viewing, researching, adventuring as we can.
wide-open exploration is not something insurmountable – it is as minimal as reading an opinion that is opposite of yours, it is questioning what you know, it is trying something new, it is pushing one tiny self-imposed limit, it is going away even if you don’t go away, it is opening your mind to the imaginings of an empty train platform late at night.
“…and the moon rises, so beautiful it makes me shudder, makes me think about time and space, makes me take measure of myself: one iota pondering heaven…” (mary oliver – the sweetness of dogs)
in the moments we all sometimes immerse – those moments when we take ourselves way too seriously, when we feel intertwined with angst, when we foolheartedly believe there is allthetimeintheworld – we should sit and watch the moon rise.
it has risen every day whether or not the old truck’s battery was dead, whether or not all the burners on the stove worked, whether or not we wore namebrand clothing or had namebrand cars, whether or not the student loans were paid, whether or not the bedroom furniture matched, whether or not we had a few pounds to shed, whether or not we had a mighty 401k, whether or not we had granite countertops, whether or not my hair looked good, whether or not the old wood floors squeaked, whether or not we had extension eyelashes, whether or not we had plaques or certificates lining our office walls, whether or not the chimney leaked, whether or not we had visited saint lucia or monaco, whether or not we had a 72″ tv, whether or not we had central air conditioning, whether or not we had a walk-in closet or a dishwasher, whether or not we were retail fanatics, whether or not we had followers, whether or not we had fiscal or commercial success, whether or not we lived authentically.
because the moon is like that. it is incessantly dependable. it is a sure thing. it is the tide of our souls. its passing by – its wax and wane – brings us to the peaks and the abysses, both.
and though we may – from time to time – linger in the whatwedon’thaves, that moon – annoyingly – is unperturbed by it all. its rise, its fall – like breath in our chest. we, like the moon, keep going nonetheless.
and i stood and looked at the tiny crescent moon above our beloved old house and i could feel all the passage of time – zooming through me – until i arrived at the moment i was in.
and everything i had seen or felt or lived made sense. the dots connected for the briefest moment. and i was – yes – one iota.
i don’t even know if it is necessary to add anything to this quote, circulating as a meme with an unknown author.
though there is so much potential for us, for our country, and for mother earth, we are living inside their sickness, a sickness that clearly must not be able to grok bursting life, bursting love, a sickness that wipes out sense and conscience and all manner of compassion, a sickness that threatens all we hold dear, a sickness that is a quicksand eddy of all the worst things, a sickness that pulls a curtain on the existential questions of future.
so i’ll just leave it here for you and say that i get it if you are feeling this way. we are sad together.
reverse threading 