Leaves on the Ground

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It's funny how quickly the air changes. Yes, I know, it really wasn't quick, it changes all the time, it's only my noticing that changes. 

First it's hot and it's dry and it's summer and each molecule is warmed by the sun, each particle on my skin feels like summer and hot.

Then it doesn't.

Like that.

Like - hey, it's September, welcome. 

It is darker earlier. I did notice that several weeks ago. When the other interpreter and I were preparing for the interpreted performance of Twelfth Night in Bend. On Fridays and Saturdays we went to different wineries to see the play. Same show, different location, different days.

And over those three weekends, the footlights came on a little earlier in the play than they had the week before. So I noticed the light shifting.

Then the fourth week, in Bend, the lights came on at intermission.

I see that our temperatures are headed back up for this weekend. And that's good. My tomatoes could use a few more days of heat, they are already slowing their production.

I haven't had enough of the sweet, round, deliciousness. Each day when I pick the golden orange and red cherry tomatoes, half of them make it to the house. And I remember, again, why I don't eat fresh tomatoes very often at other times of the year. It is hard to find a tomato - cherry or full-size - at other times which taste as good as the ones I planted and tended and picked. And popped right into my mouth direct from the vine.

So the air. Now. There are still waves and layers of warm. But the cooler bits are present as well. 

Heat layers warmth and dry puffs mix with molecules of wetter composition. I can smell it. I feel it on my skin.

The calendar tells me it is still summer.

The leaves already beginning to fall tell me it is the edge of autumn.

My skin says, stay present with whatever it is. 

Cool warm sun cloud water. 

*

"Take a Walk in the Park" Day

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Today, March 30th, 2014 is national "Take a Walk in the Park" day. Don't worry if you can't get out to a park today; April 2nd is The American Heart Association's "National Walk Day." So you have two chances this week to participate in a national step-away-from-the-computer-and-move day.

We have so many parks in Portland, it would be impossible to list them all. And why should I? We do have the Parks & Recreation "Find a Park/Facility" website. It is information packed and you can search for a specific area of Portland or for specific amenities/activities.

I thought I would highlight a few of my favorite in town parks. There are certainly more. And with a little bit of a drive, we can have pretty much whatever we want in terms of the surface under our feet. That's one of the great things about living here: within a few hours, we can have a larger metropolitan setting (Seattle), the high desert (Bend, the Painted Hills), the cliffs and water activities of the Columbia River Gorge, the Oregon Coast - pick your favorite for view or walking or shopping or hiking, and the fields and the Willamette Valley to the south, and with a little longer drive - probably an overnight trip - the rivers and rocks and theater of Southern Oregon.

Where is your nearest park? Or your favorite park. For me, the nearest is just a short walk up the hill and I'm at the entrance to Mount Tabor Park.

A sampling of parks around Portland.

Forest Park : great hikes and trails, a forest in the city. It's beautiful and there are many options.

Laurelhurst Park : an inner city lake, with plenty of trees, a playground, picnic tables, and a trail around this very inner city park. Great if you need a trail with little incline and self-contained. I would say it's nearly impossible to truly get lost, although don't take that as a challenge.

 Springwater Corridor : this is definitely a park for the active outdoor users and it goes for miles; literally - 21 miles. It has a multi-use trail for walkers and bikers. It goes through town from along the waterfront of the Willamette River out through East Portland and clear out to Boring.

 Powell Butte Nature Park : wildlife and trails and trees and shrubbery in the 'burbs. This is a beautiful park. But I'm including it because of a fond memory. A friend and I went here a few years ago and it was beautiful. It was a great day. I had my new hiking boots (red flag number one) and it was on the edge of town (not too far of a drive from where we were) and despite there not being a trail guide in the book in which we had found it (red flag number two), it was small and we knew we'd be fine. (Isn't confidence a great thing!) The trail guide maps were out at the trailhead (we were still confident; the book had said something about following the animals stamped or carved into markers along the trails). And we were having a great time. The markers were not so clear or were missing. And we kept walking. And walking and felt a bit like we were going in circles, but, no, we couldn't be. And then we knew we were. We searched for a way out and - well, obviously we did eventually find out way out. It wasn't funny when we finally got out of this little forested nature park four hours after we intended to be home. But it is funny now and a fond memory. It was early in our "let's go for a hike" days and we learned so much. And we were fine. It is beautiful and worth another trip.

And, of course, Mt, Tabor Park : It has water, hills, stairs, flowers, trees, playgrounds, trails. It is gorgeous with gorgeous views. An extinct volcano right here in town.








There are many parks. Pick by area. Pick by activity. Pick randomly! Just pick one and go for a walk.
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December 14 is Monkey Day

While looking up a different topic I was planning to write about, I came across a heading that December 14th is Monkey Day. Distracted from the other topic, which I will save for another day, I decided to find a video about monkeys writing. Which led to this idea and that idea and then I remembered the snow monkeys in one of the movies by Godfrey Reggio with music by Philip Glass.

If you've followed my blog for very long, you will know that I am a big fan of Philip Glass. 

I started looking for the snow monkeys and couldn't remember which movie they were in. But it didn't matter. I found the video below, with meditative music, and snow monkeys in a hot spring in Japan.

It would have been clever to find monkeys writing, but I didn't find any videos I liked. And I do like this video. It is calming. Today I needed calming. So I thought I'd share the snow monkeys on monkey day.

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"This" - poem and photograph

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This

Breath water air

salt sea salt

sky.

Humans cannot reproduce this vision

even a photograph doesn't capture

the intense light through water soaked clouds

reflections ricochet on molecules

above and below and surround

waves running over each other to reach

the sand birds approach and retreat

sky darkens light breaks through.

Beginnings and endings.

Naked

feet

sink

cold and wet.

Smile.

This.

*

poem and photo by Dot Hearn 

Twin Rocks, November 2013

Explosion of Luminous Creation

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Tomorrow is NaNoWriMo Eve. I've been thinking that it was today because, as a late night person and a person who will be showing up at the midnight write-in tomorrow at 11pm, that is Tomorrow. But, technically, I will accept that tomorrow being October 31st makes it the "eve" to November 1st. 

Fine. 

Today I pulled up to the location of an appointment to be greeted by this beauty. Fall is my favorite season, I think. Partly because Fall is so variable, so unpredictable,‎ contains sun and rain and wind and clouds, warm days and cool nights. And sights like this. Trees and bushes exploding colors as they prepare for the (probably) colder days ahead. 

Even with the unseasonably warm and calm Fall we've had, we still get the illuminated leaves, golds, crimson, electric green and everything in between. Trees painting the neighborhood; leaves carpeting the streets. 

A tree of creative fire always catches my attention. 

I'd like to capture some of this energy in my NaNoNovel. 

Speaking of... a quick update. I now have photos to go with each of the main characters. I have ages, hair color, main role in the novel, a few attributes. I'm still working on hobbies, likes and dislikes. One of the characters picked up a pet when I found her photo; I didn't anticipate that - especially not a dog. I have nothing against dogs; this will just be the first time I have a dog in my novel, I realize. Usually there are some cats and two years ago the main cat had a central role in the story. A dog! That's good, too.

I think of the old TV commercial, with customer(s) at the door of a still closed store. It's dark outside. The customer(s) chant, "Open. Open. Open."

I'm chanting (silently), "NaNo. NaNo. NaNo."‎

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Inspiration: Being Present

Walking is one way that I take a break from writing. One way I find inspiration for writing. Walking helps clear my mind as it clears my lungs. It helps move the stuck places so that creative flow can happen. 

And being present is an important component of walking for inspiration for me. 

If you've followed me for a few years, you know that not too long ago I walked a half marathon, I was on a long distance walking relay team, I did 5k and 10k races. And more. That was good. Exhilarating. A real sense of accomplishment.

But it wasn't always being present in the same way. Not for me, anyway. I was present in my body but not as present in the world around me. I had to focus on my pace, on minute changes in my stride, the temperature, my knee, my posture, etc. It was "all good" as the saying goes - but it wasn't creatively inspiring.

Now when I walk I am more present. I still have to notice my knee, my back, and so on. But it's different. I'm not walking to make a new personal best or to qualify for a relay or to increase my time. I'm walking because it feels good and it makes my body happy. And that thing I mentioned about clearing the air - in my lungs, in my brain, in my belly - so that creativity flows better.

And I notice things around me. People. Rocks. Cracks in the sidewalk if there is one; shapes in the cobblestones or the path if not. I see shapes and color and story. I see something happen and a story or a name or a scene comes to me. A person whose appearance seems to carry a story inside. 

Today I went for a walk and these pictures are some of what I saw. I took many pictures and I don't have stories for them yet. But they were inspiring. 

Do you take time to "be" in the world? What do you see? What catches your attention?

What a Great Week!

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This has been a busy week - all in a good way.

I will confess that I am still not caught up on my "21 Moments" prompt writing yet. I thought I would be able to do it this week - get caught up and get back on track - but that hasn't happened. And I'm okay with that, because it's been a really good week. I'll focus on getting some more writing done tonight and tomorrow before work.

This week I had the pleasure of interpreting two plays. And not two performances of two plays - two different plays.

One play was "My Children! My Africa!" by Athol Fugard, put on by Profile Theatre on Tuesday. They've started a new program called Inside Out: Community and School Tour. The first stop was at Roosevelt High School, where Rich Hall and I interpreted the free performance. We had a good sized Deaf school audience and it was fun. The play is well written, well directed and well acted - I really like this play. The Deaf students, overall, enjoyed it and it was nice to see some of the kids I haven't seen for a while, and a few I saw not too long ago at a different production. This play is still running and you can buy tickets. And for signing audience members, Rich and I will be interpreting the play again this coming Thursday, May 23, at Theatre! Theater! at 7:30 pm.

The second play was "The People's Republic of Portland" at Portland Center Stage on Thursday. This is a one-woman show, comedy, and very funny. Lauren Weedman has done a great job of getting the people and things who really do "Keep Portland Weird" and she does it with humor and takes us on a fun ride. This was a challenge to interpret because there was no script, it's fast paced, and humor is a tough thing to interpret from English to ASL - but I felt prepared and I feel good about my interpretation. The play has a basic structure and some common stories - but the order and some content and even some of the stories are mutable - improv, stand-up comedy. So I prepared for this play by seeing it many times (I think 7 in all, including rehearsals). I had a blast interpreting the show and we had a large interpreted section - which was awesome.

I was able to do the two shows in one week for a couple of reasons. Normally I wouldn't do that - because theatrical interpreting takes so much time and focus. But with one of them being a one person show, that meant that I only had to juggle my own schedule for preparation - and with nine performances a week to choose from and because the rehearsals were open, I was able to prepare early and long for this play - on my own schedule. It was also made possible because Rich and I are a good theatrical team. We approach the work similarly and I feel our prep and theatrical interpreting styles are very compatible. He's  a good interpreter and and easy to work; I enjoy working on plays with him. This is the third Profile Theatre play we've done together this season and the plays are by the same author (that's what Profile Theatre does, if you don't know - they select one playwright for the season and present a range of the playwright's work) - so not only do Rich and I work well together, but we are familiar with the playwright's work and style. So theatrical interpreting this week was smooth despite being unusual in terms of interpreting two different plays in the same week.

This week I also had the pleasure of doing another job with a client I very much enjoy working with, and with another interpreter I haven't seen for a long time whom I also really enjoy. I can't and won't say anything more about that - it's all confidential. But I just wanted to mention that as another really positive and grounding experience this week.

Last night I also went to the opening night gala for "Artists Among Us" at Trinity Episcopal, where my partner is showing four cold wax and oil pieces. I love the four pieces she has hanging (the show runs through tomorrow). It was great to see all the different art and wonderful to see our friend Allan Oliver, a fabric artist, whom I haven't seen for awhile.

Then the final "great thing" was this morning. After talking to someone yesterday about the garden, I realized I really should harvest some of the spinach and lettuce and kale. I didn't want to kill off the plants and thought I should wait. But Betsy told me that the spinach bolts easily and I should harvest some - to not worry, it will keep growing more leaves. And in reality, it grows more if it gets trimmed! So this morning I decided to make breakfast with, guess what? Fresh spinach and herbs right out of the garden. I cooked them up with some Vidalia onions (my favorite!), added a little tumeric and sprinkled on some grated three hard cheese blend. Yum!

Oh - no - the actual final thing is that I also harvested some kale. We have two kinds growing and one of them has really taken off with the wetter and cooler temperatures (it was a little early for the plants when we had the 85-90 degree weather a couple of weeks ago). I had a bag of Tuscan (?) kale in the refrigerator and harvested a lot of ours from the garden this morning. So right now I have five trays of kale in the dehydrator. I'm making two flavors of kale chips - one made entirely from our garden. This will be fun and I'm excited to see how long it takes and how it turns out. The taste test of fresh versus bagged kale chips. And, yes, I did eat some kale as I picked it. We also have a big container of lettuce, kale, and spinach for salad from the garden. I do see that we will be eating spinach and kale three meals a day plus snacks, very soon.

A good week. And while not much writing happened, I did pick up a few inspirations from things I saw on my travels around Portland this week and I picked up some energy from all this goodness. That will have a positive influence on my writing and I'll be getting to that after a few errands and things I have to do to get ready for next week. Which will be capped off by an out of town writing workshop.

Things are looking good.
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Challenge : O is for Outlandish Ostrich Orthotics

 O is for Outlandish Ostrich Orthotics

Yes, it looks like it's storytime, again. I was thinking of "O" words and many came to mind. I let them loll around in my head, Orating and Oozing and Ogling each other. I thought I was going to settle on One thing and then the Other popped up and cried, "Me, Oh, pick me."

And here I am, with another tale to tell and, look, it too has an animal.

I wonder what her story is? Let's find out.

*

Olivia the Ostrich was walking along the dirt road. The day was still early and the spring sun had yet to show its glowing orange head above the horizon. The glow from the edge of the world reached up toward the place where Senor Sun would land later in the morning, but for now it was still a deep turquoise blue fading to gold trimmed in near white.

photo from The Princess and the Pump

Far off deep in the clumps of trees Olivia could hear the little birds singing to each other. Talking of their plans for the day and the things they had to do. There was a pair somewhere nearby overhead whispering about a near escape he'd experienced with a big wild cat recently and his friend seemed to listen intently, with only an intermittent peep.

There was no sign of her sister; they were supposed to meet today to talk about what to do for their brother's birthday. Which was only a couple of weeks away. Olivia increased her speed and bobbed her head from side to side, wondering if maybe her sister was playing a joke and would jump out to scare her or something. She'd done that once in the past; she might do it again.

The clumps of trees eased away and the birds' voices faded. The top of Senor Sun's head was emerging on the edge of the world and Olivia could see farther around her now. Still no sister. She stopped on the road and listened. Hearing only the roar of an engine in the recesses of the other side of the trees, she opted to leave the open road.

There were thickets of bracken and clumps of trees smattered across the landscape. She mentally mapped a path of safety to get her out of sight of the road but so she could still keep her eyes on it in case.

In case? she thought. In case, she told herself, her sister appeared. Because their brother's birthday was getting nearer by the minute. Or so it seemed.

But she didn't want to get caught by the car beings because they could be unreliable and mean.

So she hid.

And as she hid, she dozed. The rising sun faded. The lightening sky faded. The grasses and trees which now hid her were the last to go and all was dark or non-existent.

Olivia dreamed of dancing on the sun with her sister. Of catching fireflies with her brother in the moonlight next to a river. Although in truth she didn't know how she'd hold a jar into which to put the bugs; but in her dream it didn't matter.

Then she noticed it. In her dream she was wearing glitter covered red shoes. Just like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Only these shoes had wide toe boxes and the thick heels were rubberized and comforted her feet with each step. They were beautiful and solid and she felt like she could dance all night.

Olivia opened her eyes. She thought she opened her eyes but everything was still dark. And then she noticed a figure standing near her and she jolted wide away and shook her body from side to side.

"Who?" she started. "What?" and prepared herself to run.

photo from deviantArt

"Hey, chill, sis, it's me," came the voice and Olivia felt her body relax. "Lil Joe just want us to play a game of catch a falling star for his birthday. That's all. And his birthday is in ...well, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ... now! You're it!"

And her sister ran away and joined a slightly smaller ostrich, Olivia smiled and chased after them. Slowly. Being the oldest, her stride was longer and she'd catch up to them in no time. But she wanted the game to last so they could be together, so she took her time.

Ostriches in the dark, playing catch a falling star. And Olivia imagined she was still wearing her own ruby red slippers.

Challenge: E is for Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants

Don't ask.
I don't know.
It just came to me in the way that random
words
pop
with a prompt.
See, I'm a writer.
Words
Pop
Without warning.



Today "E" is for Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants. And if you're wondering which came first, the picture or the words? It was the words. Then I searched for a picture to go with the "E is for ..." because it was too good to pass up. Of course I couldn't find Eclectically Ergonomic Elephants online. So these pictures will have to do. They look like they're in Eclectic stances and they are Elephants and I'm hoping that the large creatures are standing Ergonimically, although I have no idea.


photo from A Step Ahead

Esther the Elephant on tiptoes, reached towards the lowest branch, hoping to pull down something delicious

to eat which she thought she saw dangling within her grasp. If she could get the branch just a little bit closer.

In the distance, Edward the Elephent raised his trunk and called to the herd to come near. There was something important news he'd overheard and it was vital to their well being. Esther listened and stretched a little further and managed to grasp a few leaves and the little twigs to which they were attached. She could smell something. Up there. It was there. The. Something.

"Meeting," Edward bellowed louder and longer, drawing it out so there was no mistaking his intent.

Esther heard others coming near. Some were walking quickly, short bursts of their round feet on the dry hard ground. Some scampering like the smaller beings in the area; proabably the young ones. And some taking their time, not in a hurry.

"The branch," Esther thought. "The - thing."

And a little red round deliciousness dropped to the ground. A few elephants ran past her and Esther let go of the branch, which bobbed a bit and rebounded to rap her lightly on the top of her head. She dipped her head and let her trunk search the ground for the little orb which was losing its glitter in the dust of the called to meeting members of her tribe.

Esther raised her trunk toward her mouth, and slipped the treasure into her pointed mouth. She felt the red juice ooze from the cool roundness as she pressed it to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. She felt it swell to double the size, triple the size, and her mouth filled with the sweet juice and she let it run down her throat and tipped back her head and felt it run clear to her belly. The hurry and scurry around her faded and there was only her and red and juice and the sparkle she had seen previously was now inside her head.

photo from The Daily Galaxy

Edward let out a final shout. Somewhere.

Esther felt the redness fade but there was a glow in her belly. She opened her eyes and there were now golden flecks in the trees, the herd was now covered with silver and steel blue sequins,and the sky was amber and fuschia with ribbons of azure. Her feet glided as if on ice as she walked toward the gathering.

Esther smiled.

Razor's Edge:

It's the middle of the night. You heard a sound outside your window and, after lying in bed debating, you decide to take a look.

From a safe distance.

You pick up the flashlight from your bedside table, press it against your pajamas and click the on/off switch. It clicks. But no light. You return it to the table and walk on your tiptoes to the thick, nearly blackout level dark blue curtains. The sound seems to be gone but you think you hear whispering. Or the wind. Or maybe raccoons hissing at your cat. Or something.

A twig snaps. Too loud to be an animal, you think.

You stand as flat against the wall as you can and lift the edge of the curtain, waiting for your eyes to adjust.

You turn your head and look outside. And there, just feet from your house you see ....


(start the video below, go, write for as long as the music lasts - about 8 minutes)


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The Razor's Edge : Unexpected

This week you have another series of pictures to use. Pick one if it inspires you, or use the series of three and tell the story it, or they, brings to mind.

1. Look at the photos
2. start the sound video (it's ~10 minutes long)
3. and using the word prompt :  That morning, she noticed that something was different...
4. write until the rain stops.

.

Razor's Edge : Water Movement

Water is important; we all know that. But this week water has been a particularly commanding presence in my life. It started with the discovery of a soaked bathroom rug in the middle of the night, which led to shutting off water to the entire house, and calling a plumber.

All this on the day the Literary Kitchen started another round of Wayward Writers. And we had a date with the youngest member of our family to go to the Pirate Festival. Oh! And Pirates = water. Yet another connection.

The plumber came and went last Saturday and we had a new cold water connection, a new sink drain, and were told we needed to call our insurance. Which we did. And we waited.

For returned calls.

Which came. With anxiety producing predictions of the process. With threats that the potential damage may not be covered. With trying to schedule visits from a disaster recovery contractor and an insurance adjuster and then another visit from the contractor's office. With more promised appointments and visits to be made, with the potential of another team of workers if the samples taken today turn out to contain asbestos or lead paint (our house is over 100 years old; the chances are good).

All this while trying to work. To write a story. To prepare to interpret a wedding on Saturday. To rearrange the interpreter line-up for PCS because one person had to back out for the season.

This momentum, this movement in a new direction while holding our own in the stream of our lives, started with a burst water pipe under the sink and behind a drawer.

Stepping on a soaking wet mat on the way to the toilet in the middle of the night.

Water. Important. And powerful.

So, for you, today's prompt is water related.

This is a relaxing and attractive video of a river. Turn it up so you can hear the water. When you feel yourself letting go a little, feel the edge of tautness slipping away, read the prompt and write.

Or, read the prompt first and then turn on the video. It's 10 minutes in length; the amount of time I'd like you to write.

PROMPT: 

I looked into her eyes and knew ....

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Writing and Agates

.
This weekend I've found myself, again, at the beach. It's not an accident, of course. I didn't wake up in the morning, look around, and say, "Hey, where am I and how did I get here?"

No, I've rediscovered the renewal possible for me by a trip to the coast. It doesn't have to be for a long stretch and not necessarily for even a couple of days; though I'll do that when I can. Even a short afternoon brings me energy and helps me move stress through and outward.

So, here I am. At the beach. This time with my partner. And today we headed down the small hill to the beach and walked. And walked. Waded in the ocean and looked at the rocks and shells covering portions of the beach, under a partly sunny sky, with a minimal breeze. We'd picked the perfect time of day.

Then I saw the first agate. I do have a skill at spotting the colored rocks, agates, and such on the beach which others might pass by. But most of the time any more they are tiny rocks and not many of them. There have been a few nice composite rocks, but rarely agates bigger than a pencil eraser.

Until today. I found two truffle sized agates a few minutes apart. Then, on the way back to our room, a third, which appears to be a crystallized fossil of a shell fish inside a common grey slate of some type, maybe; or maybe it's not a fossil at all. I noticed a couple of others, which I left. But these three I brought with me.

I took the agates out of the plastic bag into which I'd carried them and they were slick with ocean water and shiny, just as I'd found them on the beach, at the edge of the water. I sat them on the window ledge and went to get my camera.

When I returned, the rocks had dried and, while still attractive, they no longer glowed. The potential fossil was just a charcoal grey and black rock, the caramel truffle was a blondish lump, and the warm butterscotch gem was a dull. A dip in water and their luster was restored and I took a picture before they dried, again.

Later, as I was sitting on the sofa, watching the brown pelicans ride the waves with seagulls and terns, I looked at the rocks. Sitting against the backdrop of the ocean from which they'd come. Still pretty, but less refined - or something. I knew what they could look like all cleaned up, maybe polished, but at that moment, they were nice and ordinary. Which is okay.

As my thoughts sometimes do, they wandered back to writing. From rocks to writing and that's how it goes.

I realized that writing short stories can be like walking the beach and finding agates. In the moment, the words can shine. I find gems and put them down and build the story around them. I may look at them and turn them over in my mind and I know what they look like, what I want them to look like.

But sometimes that shine doesn't hold as they sit and grow. Or a new set of eyes reading the story may be after the surface has dried and they can't quite see the gem I know is inside.

So it got me to thinking about first drafts, and even seconds and thirds, can be like those beach agates or even like the thunder eggs I remember my grandparents having in their basement. The outside may need to be opened up, shined and even polished, to reveal their inner glow. To show their power and beauty.

It's also probably not by accident that writing and revision popped up in relation to being here today. Because today was the first quick write in the Literary Kitchen and work on the first week's assignment begins tomorrow. Having a writing community is the polish and shine for my writing. The other eyes who can give feedback and help me find the fire and strength in my writing.

Anna's Poetry Garden

For Anna Ingre

Today a mutual friend reminded me that
tomorrow
is your birthday. But do I say "is" your birthday
for someone who has died or is it proper to say
"was" your birthday because. Well. You died.
But the day is still the day you were born.
Tomorrow is the day which would
have been cause for a celebration. A variety of
friends
some of whom know each other only
through you.
Your small and cozy home filled with people in every room,
spilling from the enclosed front porch with plants
and starts and vines lined along the house's railing,
into the front room entry way where one wall was covered
from floor to ceiling and end to end
with bookcases full of poetry and travel and spirituality
and pleasure books; the other wall covered with your own
artistic creations.
People meandering into the kitchen with dining area separated
by a peninsula which attached
to the wall, so it was not an island standing alone.

And the friends in clumps and covens and snaking through
the house and people would spill out the back door to your
amazing
incredible
lush and productive
garden.
Some people wandering the rows of plants, touching
gently, sniffing deeply, feeling the rich earth
beneath their feet.
Still others under the large overhanging tree.
Sitting or standing as they could or as they desired.

Laughter
Memories
Nodding heads and topics tossed about from the political
to the heart songs to writing and art and
poetry. Therapy, mental health, pets, relationships.

I can still smell the cooking beans and rice, the sauteed onions,
an herbal tea made from your own garden.
I can see the fresh baked goods brought by friends, the basket
of tortilla chips and bowl of salsa, skewers of veggies and
plates of fruit.

Food and friends gathered.
To celebrate you.

I miss the gatherings. I miss your calm and firm manner.
I miss your determination and independence and strength.
I miss talking about writing and gardening and I wish
I would have spent more time with you, writing, listening,
learning.

The passion flower plant you gave us as a raggedy start root
still blooms. Still screens our front porch, giving shade and
cooling our front room.
Every year the plant returns, no matter the winter weather nor
summer heat.
Every year the flowers bloom, a few at a time, until the first
frost. Scattered wild passion flowers, purple, spikey, and white;
surprising.

Today a mutual friend reminded me that tomorrow is your birth day.
Now four years past your death.
May your journey in the other world be kind 
and gentle
and full of passionate poetry
and dancing plants.

by Dot Hearn 5/16/12

photo from eHow

In the Flow: Water and Words

This picture was posted by Dosho Port recently on his blog, Wild Fox Zen. You might remember that I mentioned Dosho as the person who did the "Zen Howl" writing CD with Natalie Goldberg. One of my favorites: inspirational and influential. It was actually Dosho who gave me the words which helped me in my initial re-commitment to writing as a priority. This picture is from Dosho's regular bike route - beautiful! He had a lovely post, too, which I encourage you to check out.

photo by Dosho Port

I've been missing being on the water. Unfortunately water and my laptop don't mix well, so, while I'm in the throes of completing the memoir/creative nonfiction book, I haven't been on the water. I've been doing more swimming recently - because that takes less time than paddling/kayaking, and all the preparation to get equipment together and drive there and all that goes with it. I miss it. I've been putting kayaking and lake pictures as backgrounds on computers.

Then today I went to the Ridgefield Kayak website and was excited by a couple of paddles they have on their calendar. I will make time to get on the water. Then I was catching up on the blogs that I follow and there was the above picture - with the really nice Zen translation - and, water. Yes. Beautiful.

I have a couple of days before I have to turn in my availability for August for one on-going assignment I'm doing and I think I'm going to make sure to leave some time for going on the water. I have made a commitment to have the editor-ready draft done before the end of this month (along with something else I *have* to do) - so I think August will include some paddling.

Paddling and writing.

Writing and paddling.

And working and teaching.

My writing is flowing like the water right now and I love it. I want to maintain that momentum. And I need to get into the wet flow, as well. (Sorry, my MissFit paddling friends: my Tuesday nights are taken or I'd be in the Hong Kong boats with you!)
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Quick Update While I Have a Connection

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Two things I now know - or at least have a bit of unscientific support for these two things I suspected.

Indulge me for a of couple minutes. This is silly I know, but true. And, who knows, may be of interest to include in a story. Not this, what I'm typing here, but the two things.

Which are really nothing.
 
First thing: Oceanside, Oregon may really have a blackout/energy reduction period every week. Saturday nights for 9 hours, starting around 1 a.m. until around 10 in the morning. I'm not kidding. I really don't *know* beyond a doubt this is true. But the last time I was over here for what turned out to be a personal writing retreat, the power went out at 1 a.m. - and it was amazing because it was the super full moon and the sky was clear. Awesome. Last night, again, the power went out. This time I was asleep, though. But I put away my manuscript and turned out the light about 1:20 a.m.; and when I woke up a couple hours later to do what one does in the middle of the night after drinking a large glass of water just before bed, the electric alarm clock wasn't glowing red numbers. I did check my Blackberry and it was about 3:45 a.m. I didn't test the electricity - I didn't want to wake up that much - so I did what I woke up to do and  crawled back under the still warm bedsheets. I woke up later, right around 10 a.m. and I was cold and it was cloud cover dark and rainy outside. The place I'm staying at this weekend has these heavy duty motorized shades on the windows of the living room area and I wanted to open them to let in more natural light. No response from the switches. And it was really cold. I tried a couple of light switches - nothing. And my computer, which I'd left on overnight, yet plugged in, was down to 40% battery (there's a program in it which prevents sleep mode). So I went back to bed and under the covers with the book I'm reading, "The Chronology of Water" by Lidia Yuknavitch, and snuggled in until something happened. Around 11 a.m. both the wall heater in the living room area and the one in the bedroom came on and the alarm clock started flashing red numbers at me. Power!

So - have I proven that Oceanside cuts its electricity for about 9 or so hours on Saturday nights? No. But, again, there were no sirens or alarms. Just - no power. Both times I've been here. And I know this could be a total coincidence. Or not. [And I do think this also is the reason I have an internet connection right now - though we'll see how long it lasts: the router needed to be reset but the tenant wasn't home, and the power outage did just that. So I may - or may not - have a connection the rest of the day.]

The second very unscientific thing I know now is that it is the instant coffee itself which makes soy milk curdle. It is not just the mere fact of putting it into the microwave (that was an earlier guess), or the water was too cold or too hot. See, instant coffee is not something I drink regularly (like coming to Oceanside). Usually I put in some hot water and the coffee and the soy milk and put it in the microwave to heat up. And the soy milk comes out curdled - sometimes even with some solidish pieces the texture of fluffy scrambled eggs. I've tried just heating the instant coffee in the microwave and then adding soy milk - same result. Today I decided to run the water through the coffee maker so it would be nice and hot without the microwave. Then made instant coffee with that, so no microwave required. Then added the soy milk. The result? The soy milk curdled - though not as much as when it goes in the microwave, I will admit.

So - it seems that the instant coffee itself is actually the cause of chunking of the soy milk. As it sits in the cup on the table, the soy milk becomes granular. I stir and it smooths a bit, but always grainy. And I can see the bits of soy milk pulling inward, leaving a ring of unwhitened instant coffee along the cup's walls. What is it about instant coffee which changes the molecular structure of soy milk? Does it do this to regular milk? What does it do to me when I ingest it? I don't really want to know.  Better than nothing - and note to self: try making a carafe of coffee ahead to bring along next time - although this time there is a coffee pot and a grinder. I didn't want to give up the hours it would take to dress presentable (no, I'm not driving into town in  my sweats and Script Frenzy t-shirt), drive down the very narrow and steep hill from where I am into Oceanside and then over to the next town where there is a store just to buy coffee. It's not that important.

This whole post is not that important.

Just notes on a couple of observations at a time when I'm not in my routine.

Noticing.
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synchronicity

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I've been trying to write this post for an hour. Getting nowhere. So I won't for now.

Except to say that right now seems to be a time of pieces coming together for me. And some not. Of writing about something or a person and then, they appear somehow (an email, perhaps; or a mention from someone who I didn't know had that connection, too). Of reading a discussion thread about a topic and then receiving and email or a class list about just that topic the next day.

I'm not really talking about cause and effect.

More like the energy in the air and multiple sources picking up on it.

Yes - it's in the air and it's being tapped into. Like the waves at the beach, touching the shores for miles and miles and touching the toes or lives of many, who just happen to be there about that same time. And notice the water at their feet.
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Razor's Edge: January 21, 2011

Nature takes back its own. You can't keep her down, you know. Last week many people were stranded up past Sandy, Oregon - from Zig Zag, near Welches, and beyond. Lolo Pass - the major "thoroughfare" (the only way in or out) was washed out by the flooding Sandy River. Houses were lost, damaged; cars, too. The river rerouted itself and took out chunks of road, trees. I also heard about the flooding in Australia, where lives were lost, entire districts destroyed - no comparison, I know.

But this is where I live - near it; I drive by this area on a regular basis for work, for adventures. This is what happened. I'm a bit melancholy and my Literary Kitchen writing assignment this week had to do with the news. So I've been paying a little more attention - not that's not quite it; more like I've been thinking about what I see in the news more, longer time spent on the stories, noticing, reflecting, pondering.

So, while I used something else entirely for my story - another "hot topic" in the media right now - this one struck me and has stayed with me. A month ago I was noticing dandelions and "creeping charley" it's called - something like that - growing through the sidewalk, pushing it aside like soft dirt, refusing to be held back. And there were icicles growing downward through the cement of the highway underpass, and ivy around the opening and also coming through cracks, crevices, any opening, any way through.

So it's not just now - but the Sandy River flooding is one recent and still alive example that, as much as we try, nature goes on. We can hurt it, steal it, co-opt it, and use it - even deplete it - but we can't really totally erase it. And not that I think we should, but it seems that some people want to try to erase it, beat it, make it inconsequential and don't consider how we can work with nature. Or that maybe, once in a while, nature has to purge iself.

This is rambling. This could be seen as navel gazing. This could be seen as thoughts that we need to consider the natural world when we build our world, our shelters, our places for joy and self-expression. Nature was here first and she will have her way. She's willing to share, but we have to meet her part-way.

This week's Razor's Edge is coming from a place of contemplation.

Nature and humans - survival.

The first video are some scenic shots of the raging river set to music - the river beautiful in its strength and powerful in its ability to destroy. The second video is more of the area, showing the washed out road, the destroyed pass, debris - with commentary and live sounds; it's unedited.

The instructions this week are simple: watch one of the videos. Or both. With sound. Or without (there is power in the silence of just watching, too; for those unfamiliar with this area, the second one is interesting as it tells you more about what you're seeing and not seeing).

Then write. For 8 - 10 minutes. Write what you feel. What you remember. What you hope.

Just write.

dot's small stone: January 16

pebbled orange skin in my palm
opening reveals a paler, more aromatic flesh.
sweet clementine

small stone #16
by dot.
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dot's small stone: January 15

cherry red pirate hat atop yellow rubber duckie body,
black pinpoint eyes grinning through the shower's water,
orange neon beak silent.

small stone #15
by dot.
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