“only when a fire sweeps through, melting the resin, do these heat-dependent cones open up, releasing seeds that are then distributed by wind and gravity.” (national forest foundation)
one by one we fed ten lodgepole pine cones into our small solstice fire. one by one we silently whispered a prayer, a wish, a hope for each one. one by one we watched them ignite, slowly burning off the resin and sending off invisible seeds into the universe.
it was a perfect summer night. the wind had shifted off the lake and it was at least ten degrees cooler than it had been. we sat on the back patio for hours. it was quiet, peaceful.
it seemed a good night to look to something new, to celebrate the light of the solstice, the potency of life. it seemed a good night to lean into the lodgepole’s protection from unwanted energy, from evil influences. it seemed a good night to embrace resilience and renewal.
we have saved these pinecones, ever so slowly choosing them for release from a boxful that had been gifted us by a dear friend for our wedding. her words about fire and light and rejuvenation were truly soul gifts and we hold closely these precious lodgepole pinecones.
this morning i read that pine is “generally associated with longevity and wisdom, instilling courage and optimism.”
in the coincidence of the universe, these were a few of the words i held as i watched the pinecones i added to our solstice fire burn.
it is our new elsa sass peony, grown from a root that was gifted to me last fall.
we planted it carefully, following every instruction, with the eyes of the root system facing up, in exactly the right depth of soil. it was all new to us and we were eager to learn how to properly care for this amazing flower. i placed painted rocks at the site of this root and an amalia olson we also planted. and then we waited. and through fall and into cold winter and then, finally, spring, we waited.
and then, in later april, the maroon sprouts appeared. there were a plethora over by where our one other peony is – the one with hot pink blooms, a transplant from a friend’s garden that zealously grows each spring. and there were a couple tiny sprouts by our painted rocks, indicators of at least the possibility of a little success. i took photographs and was pretty excited.
these are small plants this year, only a few stems. yet they each had a couple buds – tightly wound – promises of blooms. and so we kept a watchful eye and carefully placed fencing to prop them up – these fragile stems against the spring storms.
the pink peonies exploded into being. their scent wafted through our backyard and into the open windows of our house. it is an amazing display of color, a celebration of flower!, a double peony orchestral reminder of beauty.
and then, ever so slowly, the elsa sass opened to the sun. the white bloom – like a cup of petals – in slow motion, responding to a few warmer, sunnier midwest days.
i would have been absolutely content if this bloom had simply stayed exactly like this. i was taken by its sheer beauty, its purity, overwhelmed by its sweet fragrance.
maybe it’s the state of the world, the tenuousness of our land. maybe it’s an inventory of time – both that which has gone by and that which is ahead of us. maybe it’s simply presence – the moments gazing at something so beautiful you can hardly believe its perfection. in any case – for whatever the reason – i was obsessed with this stunning flower.
this one blossomed peony – this one bud that slowly unwound its way into the world – was a light for me. it filled me up. it reminded me to breathe. and – in the most-amazing way – this tiny cup of petals lay bare the lesson to hold gently all within me.
no matter how many fresnels, how many gels, how many follow spots, how many tracks, how much confetti, how many bubbles, how many furries – it does not match the energy in the giant pavilion as it built through their performance.
our son and his musical EDM duo partner aced their set – their music setting the heartbeat – and, from a new vantage point in the middle of the crowd, it was sheer joy to watch.
PRIDE milwaukee was a celebration of freedom – freedom to respectfully love whomever you choose to love. there is nothing like being embraced and encouraged by a festival-sized crowd to be whoever you are. it’s like there was a mash-up of the words of cher’s “believe” and marlo thomas’ “free to be” ringing in my ears. empowering. tolerance.
and i stood in the middle of all of these thousands of people – all just being who they are, all dancing and laughing and hugging and feeling in their skin – wondering how anyone can reject acceptance, how anyone can squelch love and draw parameters, how anyone can vote against LGBTQ rights and freedoms, how anyone can wish to instill fear in a community, how anyone can righteously think they are above others.
i was proud to be at PRIDE.
one of our son’s friends said, “you are such supportive parents.”. i thought to myself – wow – that’s redundancy at its best – “supportive” and “parents”. aren’t they one and the same?
yes, i was proud to be at PRIDE.
on saturday night, surrounded by thousands of others, i danced with my hands to the sky, grateful to be here in this community of people loving people, granting each other the freedom to be, grateful to choose to be a mom who was there.
and then, the reality of right-now crept in.
and i thought about the peril part. the danger of this precipice between democratic freedom and autocratic elimination of rights, of silencing LGBTQ, of the denial of acceptance and empowerment and support.
and i thought of the deplorable act of voting for this abhorrent administration – against family members or friends or people in one’s own community.
i thought about ALL the cruel policies, sweeping up and discarding in the name of xenophobia and racism, banning rights, freedoms, hotlines to help, books, HIV/AIDS resources in the name of homophobia, gleefully destroying healthcare, food security, assistance in the name of oligarch wealth. it’s sickening.
“there’s a land that i see/where the children are free/and i say it ain’t far to this land from where we are/take my hand, come with me/where the children are free/come with me, take my hand, and we’ll live
in a land where the river runs free/in a land through the green country/in a land to a shining see/and you and me are free to be/you and me
every boy in this land grows to be his own man/in this land, every girl grows to be her own woman/take my hand, come with me/where the children are free/come with me, take my hand, and we’ll run
to a land where the river runs free/to a land through the green country/to a land to a shining sea/to a land where the horses run free/to a land where the children are free
and you and me are free to be/and you and me are free to be/and you are me are free to be you and me” (1972…free to be…you and me – stephen lawrence/bruce hart)
and, astonished at the speed at which evil takes over, i wondered: where did this land go?
the sun, the contrail – elements of an exclamation mark in the sky.
i imagine it is an exclamation-mark for the beginning of PRIDE month – events with themes like “united in pride!” (chicago) and “remember, resist, rejoice!” (milwaukee) and “rise up: pride in protest! (nyc). i imagine it is lifting up the indisputable importance of acceptance of others and pushing back against discrimination and the violence that accompanies it.
we are proudly attending PRIDE – both in milwaukee and chicago. our edm artist son is performing at both festivals. for the last years we have attended both PRIDE events in these cities and i have come away with the big-sky-like feeling of people loving one another. it is a freeing reminder for anyone who has forgotten what it’s like to just care about each other, despite any of the differences that have been politicized into marginalizing people.
i – we – will always be staunch supporters of our son. we will always be staunch supporters of his friends, his extended family. we will always be staunch supporters of the LGBTQ community. we will always question the ugly – people who wish to eliminate LGBTQ freedoms and safety. we will always question those people – who tout their “christian” beliefs, their “jesus-saids” – while their gross bigotry shamefully reveals their empty words. no, jesus did not say anything that would buoy your cruelty. we will always question those people who have voted against the rights and privileges of the LGBTQ community, who have gleefully cheered on the homophobic, patriarchal march into autocracy, who have betrayed their own families.
the exclamation mark in the sky marks the beginning of a month in which we have the opportunity to promote unity, in which we have the chance to truly love one another, in which we might set down the vileness of homophobia and pick up kindness and the embrace of what diversity is.
“peace has not broken out,” said marcus noland, executive vp of the peterson institute for international economics.
now there’s an understatement. no. peace has not broken out here in these un-united united states.
now, had they been priced a tad bit lower – ok, quite a bit lower – we might have liked to have added a metalwork alien to our backyard. but our purse strings did not allow for it and our backyard has enough stuff. besides, it’s not really our style. so we kept walking.
but the addition of the peace-loving greenguy would have been a hoot. it was rather tall and a place on our deck would guarantee visual impact for houses – and people – around us. maybe the antique flea market find would have made a positive impact on everyone around. ahh, wishful thinking. maybe not.
peace.
over the weekend we chose one day during which we did nothing. literally, just about nothing. we tended our gardens, adirondack-chair-sat and watched dogga and our birds. it was absolutely necessary. we did not scroll. we did not browse social-media. we did not read articles or newsletters. we did not watch videos or news footage. we deliberately tuned out. instead, we just simply sat.
it was a very quiet day – none of the neighbors were out – it easily became one of my favorite days lately. lots of sun, a very gentle breeze, a good throw pillow behind us, a few snacks.
because peace has not broken out, it is kind of imperative to take some – even manufactured – time of peace. we are all so immersed in the crazy, the chaotic, the mean-spirited – to separate ourselves out for a bit of time is necessary. we simply won”t endure if we walk 24/7 in the maniacal sickness of this administration.
so, with the memory of our greenfriend-of-the-market, we sat. and imagined the rest of the weekend and what all we would do with it. we drank in the stillness, reveled in our hummingbirds. we marveled at our dogga and dreamed dreams about vw minibus campers and backcountry excursions on foot.
peace was in our backyard for a bit. it had broken out with the sun and we were grateful. for just a little bit, all seemed ok.
“we come in peace,” the greenguys insist.
if only that were what they would find here on earth.
i have always been drawn to notebooks. composition books, spiral notebooks, journals, graph paper pads, legal pads, pa-pads – really, i guess, any kind of bound group of paper. blank paper.
it all represents a beginning. “begin anywhere,” john cage urges on a piece in my studio.
but sometimes there is a paralysis. sometimes there is something – some quirk – that stops me from starting – it stops me from putting pencil or pen to the first page. i feel this very big responsibility to the new blank paper. sometimes it feels like what i might write, compose, jot down may not be worthy of the first pristine sheet in a new paper vessel that could – ultimately – contain hundreds of writings, compositions, jottings. i haven’t yet gotten over that.
and so i dig out old spirals that my children used in elementary school – with wide rule lines – or high school – with college rule lines. their names are on the front and i can – delightedly – still find scribblings inside the notebooks. lab results or math problems, vocabulary words or drawings or paragraphs of tiny stories they were creating – it’s all thready for me and so this stack of old spirals and folders speak to my heart – in so many ways. i can easily write in these.
but there are those really delicious new books, new pads, new journals. and i glance at them, wondering when i might think that anything i might pencil in them would be worthy of their newness.
just staring at the beach was zen-full. it was quiet. almost pristine.
the beach had been combed – stunning horizontal lines – raked, perfectly clean but for a few sets of footprints walking – along the horizontal and taking the hypotenuse to the water.
the orderliness was just a tiny bit interrupted. and the orderliness was waiting for more disorderly. the disorderly would mean people – walking and running, children playing and building castles in the sand, seagulls clamming, dogs digging, sand flying.
even as i write this, i think about pulling out one of the brand new notebooks. taking my ever-present mechanical pencil to the first page (or maybe the second – to leave the first page clean and blank).
it makes me think that maybe the disorderly – the walking, running, building, digging, sand-flying – might actually be the real joy.
it makes me think i just might walk the hypotenuse across the college-ruled page. and wreak a little havoc on some clean paper.
so many clay pots and assorted planters, i drew a sketch of them all and began to list what plants and herbs and flowers we wished to grow this summer, sorting plants to pots. and we began the dreamy conversation about stepping off the deck and snipping basil or parsley, making ann’s jalapeño poppers, gazing at colorful flowers scattered on deck’s edge or along our gardens of grasses.
we are not well-versed in plants. we are most-definitely not well-versed in growing things to eat. and we truly don’t know much about different annual flowers – so we depend on the tags at the nursery and research. a few days ago we were drawn to two tiny-bloom flowers, though we didn’t know anything about them. it was a heart thing.
last fall my sister-in-law sent me two peony roots. we carefully planted them – exactly as the directions stated – making sure that the “eyes” were facing up and the root wasn’t too deep into the soil. in the miracle that is spring, peony shoots have risen from the ground – and you would think we’ve given birth – our wonder, our level of excitement are off the charts. it is a joy to think of these new beauties – with gorgeous big white blooms – growing alongside two established peonies, many ornamental grasses, wild geranium, day lilies, hosta, and healthy weeds of many varieties.
we have much to learn…about all of it.
gardening, we see, is like the joys of being an artist. experimentation and not being able to determine an outcome ahead of time – both are important in the process. we give over to the mystery of it all. we know that it all is steeped in potential and we embrace it. it’s a giant responsibility – a gift of nurture we can give – to our artistry, to our garden.
it would be an easy segue to connect the dots of this kind of potential – this kind of responsibility – to the governing of this country. it would be easy to speak of the glorious mystery of our melting pot, the growth that is possible in the garden of humanity. it would be simple to believe that there should be wonder and great excitement in nurturing all the people of this country – whether or not they are different than those we know well – learning and growing together. it would be natural to depend on research and heart in moving forward all that we – in these United States – can be.
but no. i won’t go there. it all just seems so obvious.
a country – a first-world democracy exuding potential beyond belief.
why wouldn’t you tend that garden with great care and embracing respect and intelligent research and nurturing love?
why would you wish to crush or annihilate or suppress or obliterate all that potential?
i went out the back door and walked around to the front to see what was happening.
the house sparrows were building a nest above our front door, tucked carefully into the architectural elements of trim.
now, we love our birds. we take comfort in hearing them early-early in the morning. we watch them out the window on the wires above our driveway. we watch them out back at the feeder and the birdbath.
their constancy is balm for our spirits.
and in these times, there is nothing we need more.
many, many years ago – when my children were little – they used to play a computer game called bugdom. it was based on perspective from – well – a bug’s life. the actual plot – as i recall – is way too contemporaneous now for comfort but the graphics – at the time – were fascinating and the mac version of this game was amazingly realistic. winding your way between bits of vegetation and rocks, you could feel immersed in bugdom as you – playing the part of a rollie pollie – try to save other bugs – like ladybugs – after an evil and tyrannical ambush of the bug kingdom. like i said, too close for comfort.
i often think about what things look like from a different perspective. it is essential as artists. the trying-to-stand-in-someone-else’s-shoes thing is important to me. things that are affecting bugdom are not just the things that are affecting me. since all of bugdom is interconnected, anything that is affecting one is, therefore, also affecting me. we try not to be so isolated – or cavalier – as to think that the plight of the ladybugs will not affect us rollie pollies.
so i get down on my knees to shoot photographs from a vantage point swinging on a snowdrop or a wild daffodil leaf. i sit on the ground to shoot pictures through the may apples. i take videos of caterpillars on their plane of existence, practically laying on the ground.
because everything changes when your perspective changes – when you allow for a shift in how you are looking at something, when you entertain empathy and compassion – when you stand in another’s shoes.
somewhere in the old romper room do-bee song i’m guessing there’s a line that says “do be a good rollie pollie.”
the sun was getting lower in the sky and was shining through the marsh as we walked past. we hadn’t hiked a long distance that day – only about five miles or so – but we had started late and it was time to mosey home and think about making dinner.
the shadows on the path ahead made me grab my camera to capture a picture. cattails.
their shadows so clear it left little doubt as to what they were, the cattails punctuated the gravel as the end of the trail led up to the trailhead. patterns across the path were spaced like college-ruled spiral notebooks or full and half rests scribed on staff paper.
throughout our hike i kept drawing attention to our shadows on this beautiful blue-sky-sunny day. they changed from a short-stumpy pair of people to two elongated-legged tall people. in every moment, clearly – people. those two people were us, but – were those shadows stamped in time – you could only tell that we were people. nothing more.
what will the shadows of this time look like, later on down the road? when the sun has completely set on a day when the values of this country are no longer upheld, how will those shadows appear? will they show the truth of all this malfeasance? what does corruption look like in a shadow? what do greedy, evil, soulless humans (and i use the term ‘humans’ loosely) look like in their shadows? can you tell they are greedy, evil, soulless?
there is no way to tell – by looking at the shadows of these cattails – the state of their inner being, the truth of the cattail. should we really wish to know we must be careful to discern their health or dis-ease by examining them more closely. we must be willing to know more about cattails and measure their well-being by applying this knowledge. we cannot simply look at their shadows – and not look at them, their environment and their impact on that environment – to determine their vigor, their fitness, their soundness, their dedicated synergy with the rest. the shadows don’t tell the story of stagnant water, dying ponds or an over-abundance of cattails toxically crowding out ecosystems, the risk of flooding or being a prime pest habitat, a dangerous breeding ground of illness.
we must be willing to look at the cattails for what they are, what they represent, how they are sharing space. we must be willing to discern their true impact – good or bad. we must look at the cattails themselves and not their shadowy shadows. anything less could kill the marsh and forever pollute the pond.
reverse threading 