and suddenly, there – in the midst of dried fallen leaves and fallowed underbrush, trees not yet ready to bud – there – there it was.
and it was simply in seeing it – the daffodil – that hope was evident. next is evident. tomorrow is evident.
anything right now will soon be before. the daffodil told us.
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING
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the signs are everywhere now.
birds are singing at the crack of dawn outside our open-at-least-a-slit window. the bunny is out and about in the backyard and there is a new softly-padded divot under the ornamental grasses where she made her nest last year. bulbs are sprouting and the postal delivery folks are starting to wear shorts. it will soon be spring in wisconsin.
it is tempting to go outside and trim back the grasses, rake all the debris from the gardens, pare down the sedum. to unplug the gutter warming cables, to put away the snow shovels right outside the back door, to drain, clean and refill the pond, to bring out the table and chairs, to consider much-needed replacement rugs for the deck. it is tempting to get ready.
but that would be premature.
and, ultimately, we know better.
so we will wait.
patience – at this time of year – with the sun shining and temperatures ranging from the twenties to the sixties – is most definitely hard to come by. we just have to stoke up and be zen in this liminal time.
but all good things do come in time. and eventually, it all plays out. even if it doesn’t really look that way. what’s that expression…? a watched pot never boils.
and waiting is hard.
but i have watched pots in my life.
and i know – for a fact – that – eventually – they do boil.
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
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they seem ready to burst. seeds perched on the starting line, waiting for the right wind to pick them up and scatter them. they have gathered energy – all along – soaking in the winter sun, dried by cold breezes, clinging to the safety of their stalky stem. and now – it’s time soon – to release – to go forth – to spread their fluffy seeds. and, in their own way, they will be heard.
this is not unlike many initiatives. times where people work tirelessly, gather information, research and sort in the fallow times, soak in rare moments of rest, waiting for the time to burst. and then, the marketing campaign hits the market, the album is released, the gallery opens its doors, the ballet has an opening, the law is introduced for passage and enactment, the hearing starts.
so many seeds gathered in one giant fluffball, waiting. though uncertain about their future – uncertain about whether they have stoked enough energy, soaked up enough sun, gathered enough wind in their seed-wings – uncertain about success or failure – they wait. ready to burst.
“hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. you wait and watch and work: you don’t give up.” (anne lamott)
*****
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as i write this, it’s been weeks since we have hiked.âi am feeling the tug.âdespite how sloppy it is likely to be, we really need to get out there – in the woods – and feel the cold, damp air on our faces.
we have been in the basement these days.âduring the negative-whatevers, the snowstorms, the dense fogs, the rain, we have immersed in the boxes and bins and tchotchkes of life.âminus the occasional spider and mouse poop trail, it has been mostly joyful.âto touch these things of life again is a gift of memory.
as we sort i can feel the house breathing.ânow, i have actually been in and seen a hoarder’s house, so i know that there is no comparison whatsoever, but the advent of space is refreshing.âi realize that this paring-down will require a few passes – this is the first big pass – but now that we have started, it doesn’t seem as insurmountable.âthe reward for fortitude in the cleaning-out is the zeal to continue.âit’s a circle.â
i am making every attempt to be more ruthless in this process, in this circle.âbut it is a passage through time and life and my fingertips are tingling, touching the first onesie sleepers and those little booties, the tiny oshkosh b’gosh overalls and even tinier bibs.âthen there’s my sweet momma’s wedding dress and my poppo’s air force “ike” jacket.âsilk flowers and fold-out honeycomb crepe bells from my first wedding.âcabbage patch dolls and children’s books and matchbox cars.â1970s cassettes i listened to over and over and over.âreel to reel, cassettes and cds of my recording studio takes and edits, tracks along the way.âmy report cards from the beginning of time.âthis process is not as easy as it’s made out to be.âbut it’s necessary.â
and, also necessary, is the call-response of the outside.âwe need to go out in the trees.âwe need to hike by the river and follow the deer tracks.âwe need to feel breathless from the wind and overheated by exertion.âwe need the balance.âin this circle.
so we’ll put down the marketplace ads, the bins and big ikea bags holding donations, the cleaning supplies and our yuckiest clothes and we’ll go outside.â
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
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there is no way to maneuver the depth of field on my old iphone. it is all about coming in closer and backing up – eyeing what is framed in the aperture and moving to adjust what i want the photograph to look like.âi know that the newer iphones have some access to depth of field options but – at the moment – i don’t have access to a newer iphone option.âso.âi adjust.
i almost rejected this photograph as a melange post.âwith the closest red dogwood branch a bit out-of-focus it didn’t really meet my parameters for a post.âand then i stopped to reconsider it.âit’s a great visual reminder of how distorted things can look from up close.
clarity is something that comes when you put a little space between you and the issue or object of your attention.â20 always says, “you’re too close!” and it’s impossible to not hear his voice in my head now in the throes of any decision.âand so i try to remember to back up a little, to have some distance as i consider – an overview.â
when d was working for a new software startup (before the business was unfortunately closed) their product was the perfect tool for clarity.âafter i understood even the most basic functions of this remarkable software – as they were looking for names – i kept blurting out suggestions like “pinnacle” or “eagle eye” or “lookout” or “apex”.âit seemed obvious to me that having this incredible overview – a step back – was the perfect new software for people struggling to make sense of too much up close and personal…a pragmatic way to sort and prioritize…a realistic way to have perspective.âit’s beyond my wildest imagination that they did not continue on their merry way into software stardom.âbut alas, such is life, eh?
anyway, that lookout tower approach has its wisdom.âit’s like pulling into the overlook in the appalachia region on route 25e in tennessee.âup until that moment – in the middle of them – you were aware that there were mountains but you were seeing them from too close to really appreciate the grandeur.âyou drive into the overlook, step out of your vehicle, walk to the retaining wall and you are stunned by the magnificence of how the whole world drops off beyond your feet, stretching on and on and on.âand you can see – there are mountains and lakes and a river – things you could not discern from up close.â
in the middle of the middle stepping back is one of the ridiculously hardest things to do.âit feels counter-productive when you are trying to come to some sort of conclusion or have some kind of perspective about a specific thing.âbut up close and personal, the red dogwood is blurry and i can’t appreciate its stunning beauty.âfrom a little distance away, i can see how it plays against the warm beige of the grasses and cattails, how it enhances the fallow of this meadow.
in this crazy-busy time of year – with people rushing around trying to make the holidays perfect for themselves and others – i’m thinking that maybe we are all a little too close.âi’m reminded again and again of what is most important.âi’m taking in serenity as i can.âwe are trying to go slow – to appreciate the big picture – to not be clouded by that which is hard to sort or discern or, for that matter, even clearly see.â
yes, the red dogwood is blurry up close.âbut from a little distance it stands out in a field barren of much color.âthe dissonance fades.âthe chord resolves.âthere is clarity.â
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY
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it would appear that nature is decorating for the holiday season. even in the browns and tans and greys of the fallow, color bursts out at us. it’s stunning. the honeysuckle is unmoved though – it is standard fare in the winter to be berried. we, however, stop to appreciate it.
we decorated early this year. right around thanksgiving we put up our eileen-tree (which we named “e.e.”), pulled out the mini-trees i love to place everywhere, added twinkling white lights and silver ornaments. there are snowflakes and pinecones from the forest floor and heartfilled nods to my children-in-younger-days and my scandinavian heritage. we unearthed the boxes of vintage glass ornaments and shiny brites from my sweet momma and poppo and placed those ever-so-gently on the happy-light-lit big branches we now have year-round in the living room. it looks like christmas.
each day goes by faster now it seems. and then it’s friday again. i’m not sure where the time goes. as we make our holiday cards and a few handmade gifts to send out, george winston’s december is on repeat – the quiet of this album is speaking to us this season. bombastic christmas or vocal-gymnastic-laden carols seem like too much noise. restraint seems more in line with our spirits. more serenity.
there are many festivities to choose from – out there. we thought about a concert or two and lingered back. we thought about a holiday festival or two and lingered back. we thought about stores and crowds and lingered back. we will finish making our cards and creations and do a bit of boutique shopping. we may make a cookie or two. the krumkake of ages past nudges us and sip and feast taunts us with a long island italian almond cookie (gluten-free). we sit under blankets in a darkened living room – lit only by happylights. we savor the sparkle. we sit in content silence, we tell stories of past holidays – wistful, tearing up, laughing, lost in memories and hopes for future holidays.
and there is the woods.
whenever we can, we take time out there. the forest reminds us of both the everpresence and the evanescence of it all. it reminds us of the passing of time, the changing of seasons, adjusting to harsh circumstances and it reminds us of the rejuvenation and renewal of spring. we know that beyond the cold and frozen, there will be warmth. it’s all fluid and some things – like transition – are certain. there is silent wisdom – of the ages – you can feel as you place your feet – emanating from the dirt of the trail.
it is no wonder that nature has already decorated – with quiet fervor and vivid color – for the holidays.
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
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“âĻ the road is long
with many a winding turn
that leads us to who knows where, who knows where
but i’m strong
strong enough to carry him
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
âĻ so on we go
his welfare is of my concern
no burden is he to bear
we’ll get there
âĻ for i know
we would not encumber me
we ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
âĻ if I’m laden at all
i’m laden with sadness
that everyone’s heart
isn’t filled with the gladness
of love for one another
âĻ it’s a long, long road
from which there is no return
while we’re on the way to there
why not share?
âĻ and the load
doesn’t weigh me down at all
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
âĻ he’s my brother
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
(bob russell / bobby scott – he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother)
queen anne’s lace does not bow down under the weight of the snow. it stands – upright – proudly holding what looks like a single-scoop of snowfall. despite the wind, despite the force of gravity – queen anne’s lace bears the burden, singing along with the hollies “and the load doesn’t weigh me down at all…..”
we have a thing or two to learn from nature. long roads, winding turns, shared concern for welfare, love for one another.
we are witness to miracle after miracle out here. they are tiny; they are vast. we stand at the wayside of nature’s rest area – in the fallow that is late autumn and early winter – and we watch as the journey of the woods marches on. working side by side, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder, the forest and its inhabitants are thrust onto the long cold road ahead, eventually seeking spring. the ecosystem is symbiotic and nothing is encumbered more than the next. even in any not-knowing, critters and plants and trees alike trudge on, sans complaint. they carry with them the exchange of energy and the work of the fallow. they are strong. and it ain’t heavy. they are brothers-sisters together.
and they are waiting for us – the humans – to catch up to their simple wisdom.
*****
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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY
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it snowed.
luckily, we had covered the parsley and rosemary and lavender. the mint and basil are far gone. now i have to figure out how to save these others.
i read that you can simply snip off the parsley and rosemary stems and freeze them, so that seems the best solution. the lavendar, though…
i used to have a lavender garden out back. it was thriving until my eastneighbor’s snow-on-the-mountain continuously grew under the fence and suffocated it. that is some aggressive groundcover. i suppose it’s too late in the season now to try that again. over there, next to barney, the perfect spot. i wonder if it’s beyond the time to transplant it into the ground. maybe the next frost will hold off…
i could bring the whole plant inside to winter – it’s a really large pot, though.
i could snip off the lavendar and hang small bunches of them upside down, maybe create some sachets after they’ve dried.
i’ll have to decide soon; i may have waited too long already. the snow was a bit of a surprise and it caught me off-guard. it’s like this weird time-between seasons. sort of like a mixed-berry jam. not just one. not just the other.
in some ways, i feel like i need a pause button. just to pause fall for a minute or two – to drive out in the county and stop at the farmstands with pumpkins and gourds. to go to the apple orchard that has homemade wine tasting and apple cider donuts. to take some more time to crunch on leaves underfoot in the woods. to wear boots and jeans and not-yet-a-heavy-coat.
but winter’s coming on and, even though we sat on the deck late-night last week with shorts and our fire column burning, time keeps moving.
glancing out back as i write this – ahead – snow lingering on the grasses – there is no doubt.
there is no pause button.
*****
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read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY
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fall is coming on. there is no denying it. everything is starting to wane.
the sky is starting to gray. the corn will be soon plowed under and, one of these days, the cabbage fields will have to turn over, the yield from their crop slowed to a stop. the colors are changing.
george winston recorded an album called autumn. you listen inside his wistfulness as he toys with the emotions of the changing. the album was released in 1980 and, for me, that was a distinct time of heading into fallow.
some fallows last longer than the seasons and the tilted axis of the earth seems to evade warming sunlight. the seeds gather strength in the ground – centered in us, even without us nourishing them. and eventually, ever-so-slowly sometimes, the earth tilts back toward the sun and the orbital horizon is rebirth, spring.
it seems to happen fast – the waning. the ebb and flow of the cold. there is nothing as constant as change and, so, we need remember that in times of fallow. the tide – like the corn and the cabbage – will come and go, come and go. an ancient story.
we join hands with others on our path – they are quite possibly on the same ebb and quite possibly will be in the flow with us as well. they stand with us, they encourage us, they surprise us. the shapes of others appear – like revelations – from out of the mist of our fixed frame of reference. everything looks different.
standing on this side of the corn, gazing into the grayness of sky, the dance of color as it fades, i am finding – with much gratitude – that there are others standing right there with me, gazing as well. the wistful tugs at us; gravitational effect far from the sun but with promise of the pull. we stand still, roots under our feet, steadfastly hand-holding, looking at the horizon as it shifts.
and time passes and the seasons flow and flow and, eventually, the axis finally – at long last – tilts and the fallow ends and the seeds that were planted so long ago break through the frozen ground and we know that we have – together – affected even the tiniest change.
and winter comes as we stoke up, readying ourselves for the riches of spring.
*****
read DAVID’S thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY
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it was nothing short of stunning.
in the juxtaposition of october’s start and summer’s last grasp – up north – we were the recipients of the gift of a subtle duality, the gift of liminal space as the seasons shift and morph into the next: summer falling away and autumn rising.
i am a fall-girl and october is my favorite month. way back when – when color and season analysis was a thing – i was told i was autumn. but i already knew it. and now – in what is defined as the autumn of my life – i find myself looking back so as to look forward, to go forward. sometimes this is with great intention, sometimes it is not at all deliberate.
i stumbled across a video the other day. i was googling a youtube of one of my recordings. second up on the googlelist was a video i had never seen. from 1996, shot and edited by a videographer, this was posted recently as a memorial to him and is a 25 minute snippet of a full-length concert i had played at uw-parkside’s auditorium. i released two CDs that night, my second and third…a dozen albums and so, so many concerts and stages ago.
i pushed the play button.
there are days you wonder where the time has gone, how summer has turned to fall and fall to winter. time has rushed by and, in its fleetingness, you have left behind profound moments, defining moments.
watching this video became one of them. watching this video reminded me.
my straight-bangs-wrinkleless-eye-shadowed face was in her element. i could feeel it.
maybe – in the autumn of my life – in the liminal space of relevant-not-relevant, of summer-fall, of falling away-rising – i’m not quite done yet.
*****
read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY
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reverse threading 