i have sixty-three recent photos of our peonies. to say i love them would be an understatement. they have endeared themselves to me and i’m craaazy about them.
the other photos are more “normal” – they are taken at eye level with the peony or a photo of their generous flower – they are moments capturing raindrops on fragile hot pink petals. they are pictures of tightly-wound buds and sunlight escaping from an early blossom. they are peonies in full regalia.
because i have so many photographs of them it seems obvious to look for a new perspective. “the real voyage of discovery consists, not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” (marcel proust)
so i knelt down and put my iphone on selfie mode, held the camera under the peony flowers and clicked peonies in the sky. because our world tends to be a from-the-top-down, house-stage world, it seems prudent to look from the bottom-up sometimes. it changes things.
the juxtaposition of color is intense. it takes away the denseness – and the greenness – of the whole plant. it focuses on the individual flowers, on their stems.
i’m not really fond of this photo shoot so much. i prefer the other 57 i took up-close-and-personal with my precious peonies. but it’s a good reminder to step back and look at peonies from many aspects. they will look a tad bit different depending on the surroundings, depending on the background. they will blend in and they will stand out. they will be one-of-many and they will be the star-of-the-show. each peony may be appreciated in different ways, in different contexts, for different reasons. with new eyes.
once upon a time she decided to hold others accountable.
unlike the david and goliath story, she has no slingshot, no rocks to thrust. it is the real world.
she is an individual against a system – one that hides and protects its own, that has no hesitation around spinning webby tales, one in which truthtelling does not fit into the agenda. nevertheless, she persisted. despite their fabrication of narrative. despite the misogyny. despite their absence of proof and her wealth of evidence. she persisted. despite the badmouthing. despite the betrayal. despite the hypocrisy. she persisted. despite the lack of respect. despite the disregard of boundaries. despite the downright ugliness. she persisted. despite the small desperate contingency of Them in a her-them. she persisted.
and in the end, that will be the prize. persistence. speaking up. standing up.
maya angelou is quoted, “each time a woman stands up for herself, she stands up for all women.”
we stood there – in fresh thyme – tawking, tawking, tawking – for at least 45 minutes. we hugged, we showed photographs, we told stories. we laughed, we got serious, we spoke in earnest, we laughed more. delightful, it was a total social experience. a visit. in the grocery store.
and when we left, waving and still laughing, we promised to continue our catch-up. a bit later. in person. not in an aisle.
the thing is – these bits and snatches of community are important. and i, for one, am grateful to the cart.
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“tonight while the lights are shining and the microphone is on, i’ll play for you…” (seals and crofts)
or no lights.
a piano perched among the boulders looking out toward the mountain range – in this very special place. a boom mic.
in my dreams, i can see it.
the bigrocks are seats and the program is not written. it all comes from the spirit in this place, from air, from healing. and – even more specifically in my dream – a yamaha disklavier pro minus the fancy-schmancy newfangled stuff – an instrument to record directly to disk…on-the-fly on-tape, in the vernacular.
in my dreams – in my regaining of feeling relevant – my fight to regain relevance – as a 65 year-old recording artist who broke both wrists snowboarding and then tore my scapholunate ligament (leaving me with a rh grand total of 45° forward rom) – i am sitting at C7 pros all over – in fields of boulders, in canyonlands, perched on mesas, in meadows of wildflowers, on a cool sand beach. i am playing the boulderfield, the canyonland, the mesa, the meadow, the beach. it is a conversation between us – even, maybe – through me. it is simply an offering to anyone – or any one – who wishes to listen. it’s a dream awash in unlikelihood but with maybe-just-maybe the smallest iota of possible. maybe we can make it happen.
i stood – again – on the most obvious rock from which to bow to my invisible audience. and i bowed low.
because sound or not, there is music. sheet music or not, there is composing. audience or not, there is listening. it is all happening – simultaneously. right there. in that place.
the boulders on the grassy knoll know it. and i can see it.
“i’ve practiced many years and i have come a long, long way just to play for you… my life is but a song i have written in many ways, just to say to you…”
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“follow me where i go, what i do and who i know. make it part of you to be a part of me. follow me up and down, all the way and all around. take my hand and say you’ll follow me.”
“you see I’d like to share my life with you and show you things i’ve seen. places that i’m going to, places where i’ve been. to have you there beside me, to never be alone. and all the time that you’re with me, we will be at home…” (john denver)
the first time i saw the rockies i was 18. i was in the backseat of my mom and dad’s dodge and they took my breath away. i was changed – those mountains stayed a part of me.
so when it was that he was from there, it just seemed right. our path now includes going there fairly regularly and always a desire to be there more and more, to return and return, to linger. those mountains…it’s that john muir quote: “the mountains are calling and i must go.”
there will be a day soon he will follow me to long island. we’ll go to the regular haunts. we’ll bring sage with us and, having lost them forty-five years ago, i’ll take those places back. and he will be there. with me. our path will take us to the beach and to the harbor, maybe out on the sound, definitely past my old house. we’ve been there together before – because we have followed each other – taking turns leading the way – for over a decade now.
“…take my hand and I will follow you.“ (j.d.)
the path through the john denver sanctuary in aspen leads past boulders of lyrics. we amble our way through, choosing to be slow. we have returned here. we will return again and again.
“come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountain tops, sail o’er the canyons and up to the stars…”(j.d.)
we have danced in places noisy and places quiet. we have danced in places with music and without. we have waltzed on our deck, in our kitchen and on dusty dirt trails. we have carried the wind with us and discovered stars on the horizon we had not noticed before. the path winds and makes unexpected turns. laughing and crying turns. and we trust it together.
“you fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean. you fill up my senses, come fill me again.”(j.d.)
and we tell tales of the times we did not share together, the stories of before. sometimes we tell them over and over. they don’t get old. they are the pieces that made up who we met eleven years ago. two weeks after the day we first set eyes on each other, he came back – to see if it had really happened. sometimes you have to see home more than once to believe it.
“this is my autograph…here in the songs that i sing, here in my cry and my laugh, here in the love that i bring. to be always with you…and you always with me.”(j.d.)
and each path now – in the simple times and in the fancy times – we’ll hold hands or link arms, we’ll dance, we’ll lead, we’ll follow.
it was somewhat inconspicuous. the heartrock just tucked in with the rest of them, quiet, unassuming. it knew it would be seen; it knew it would be recognized. it was not unexpected – particularly that very day.
because earlier in the day – that very day – just a tad bit earlier – right before lunch – in late morning – inconspicuously and quietly – my beloved girl married her best friend. and, as unassuming as they wished this all to be, nevertheless, there were six parents in the world who felt the shift of the earth, whose heartstrings were tugged, who held her and held him – both – closely – in these intentionally-unassuming but admittedly-profound moments. sans tulle and without a nod to anything traditional, our families connected the dots and joined together. and a new chapter started.
i would have been surprised not to stumble across the rock that day. i worked kind of hard at not leading toooo much from my heart, tried to be casual, mellowishly nonchalant even. but i’m sure i lost some laidback points that day. i was celebrating my beautiful and fiercely bold daughter, who was choosing this dearest guy with whom to spend life. it’s a big deal for a momma…if not from an event-ish place, definitely from a heart-place.
and that particular day, the heartrock was waiting for me. it was just a couple hours past the moment. we took a walk – a most exquisite stroll – slowly through the sanctuary and it nodded at me as i started to pass by, making sure i noticed, grounding me. i let out a deep breath, a few happy tears. it was a stunning day in aspen.
because that particular day was different. not the mountains, not the blue sky and brilliant sun, not the smell of pine and the early quaking aspen leaves, not the roaring fork river gurgling.
the axis had shifted a little and things were changed.
and six moms and dads were there to hold space as part of our hearts married.
embrace of life – by mimi webster, the john denver sanctuary, aspen, colorado
THIS is how i feel in the mountains.
all worries, concerns, things we are suffering or things too complex – shed – as clothing falling off, a nakedness of joy, exulting in the sky, the purity of air, the scent of early spring in high elevation.
THIS is how i feel there.
it is not unlike how i feel at the side of the ocean, with waves lapping my feet, infinite blue meeting aqua on a horizon too far away to particularly discern, salt air sticking to my hair, sun beating down, uninhibited.
it is recent discovery that we realize it is a new time. though we both are – and have been – aware of the tenuousness, aware of how nebulous it all is – and one of us distinctly more thready than the other – we are beginning to see life in smaller morsels. we are not sprinting past on our way to somewhere which will ultimately be on the way to somewhere else. instead, we are slower and more deliberate. we are undressed inchworms – exposed – in miles and miles of life. intentionally.
at the entrance to the john denver sanctuary, embrace of life stands, gloriously. i needed no reminder. i walked in – throwing my head back to the sky – throwing my arms out to collect it all, to wrap in it, to bring it all home. my heart is open. wide open. air rushes in as we walk among boulders chiseled with lyrics and prose. each moment is shimmering.
i have determined that life would be infinitely easier were i to have new house closets – the kind you see on hgtv – all walkinable and organized – with shelf units and hanging storage of different heights – light and airy – indeed, in many episodes, quite beautiful.
that’s not us.
we don’t have those.
and so, my clothes are smushed into my oldhousecloset. and that means that i really barely know what’s in there.
i can definitely tell you that 1977 has a moment in there. the 1980s have a nod or two. the 1990s have a real presence, as do the early 2000s. many of my coolest clothes – from what i can remember of them – are from these eras. and then, hanging off the end of the hangery part of the hanger are other hangers. these are the things from somewhere in this century. on the outside of the hangers hanging on the hanger are the 2020s. this is the stuff i wear most of the time.
but recently i had to dive into the restofit. and in there i found a really great olive green blazer. now, this cotton relatively unstructured blazer was from circa 1998 and had patch pockets. i am not a fan of patch pockets. but i am a fan of olive green and i needed a crop jacket for a jumpsuit (circa 2018) i was going to wear to a very special event. so – at risk of many other hangers coming with the hanger that the olive green blazer was on – i pulled out the jacket and tried it on. i still don’t like patch pockets, but it was the right style and the right color for the jumpsuit.
scissors and a thread-pulling safety pin made the old jacket a new jacket – cropped with a fringed hem. the same kind of thing i was pondering purchasing from poshmark for a prolonged period of time.
now i’m wondering what else is in there that might be repurposed. and i know i need to clean this closet out. that way i might have an idea of things i could wear, things i forgot about, things i’ve “outgrown”, things i might actually need.
the thing that gets me – the instant i start pulling hangers out – is the wash of memories that come with all of it. it is nearly impossible to give away a top i will never wear that my sweet poppo specifically picked out for me or his old blue-jean jacket. and that skirt! i remember buying it at target with my girl when she was little! it is ridiculously hard to throw out a worn-out big shirt i wore on more than one flatbed, playing and singing. and what about those chico traveler-fabric capris?? they never wrinkle no matter what you do to them – even stuffing them in an overstuffed closet!! it is silly-excruciating to put-in-a-pile a denim jacket i’ve had since the day i purchased my yamaha c5 for my studio. it is mildly depressing to pull out all the concert attire and set it aside. that top with sequins!! those long black blazers!! those jeans that were featured on the album covers!! it is heart-tugging to take out the patchwork shirt i wore with my it’s-the-real-thing-coca-cola-pants. i am lost – lost – in a vortex of memories. and i haven’t even started trying it all on.
i need a whole ‘nother closet. one for the stuff that actually fits.
we waited until the really torrential rain stopped before we drove on to aspen. the forested slopes, sagebrush-dotted mountains and an amazing canyon are just too much to miss in driving rain. the marmot, the bighorn sheep and the mountain goats were all out on our way there – the reward of patience and not rushing. they grinned as we went by, slowing to gaze at them, all pretty close to the shoulder of the road.
we were gifted with a herd of elk lounging in a meadow on our way back from the ditch trail. it’s not to be underestimated – the size of an elk. they grinned at us from the field and told us that the real hulksters – the moose – wouldn’t be making an appearance that day.
and then, back a couple hours on the other side of the canyon, right in the middle of breck, this tiny family of foxes. momma fox watching over her kits, the incredibly adorable curious little babies romped around the old building, scurrying from one plaything to another, scooting under the foundation. none of them seemed fearful and we were grateful that people weren’t chasing after them like the nincompoops in national parks seem to be doing these days. they were grinning at their audience, just happy-go-lucky-living life and momma fox was watching over her brood carefully. we were enchanted.
we saw them a few times while we were there. each time we laid back, quietly watching, enthralled at their courage and delighted at their zeal.
this is always a hard place to leave – these mountains. we try to make the most of the gloriousness while we are there. every breath here counts.
and i wonder if someone is watching from some other planet or galaxy or dimension. they can see us – david and me – romping and scurrying, playing and scooting – just like the baby fox. they might think we were just happy-go-lucky-living life. they might be enchanted.
reverse threading 