Yesterday I got rolled; by a giant wave and several of its' siblings. I have the bruises to show it too. I spend so much time in the water that I can barely walk when I get out and so the waves have their way with me. I had over a cup of sand in my bathing suit and I still have sand coming out of my ears.
I love the water. The salt stings stings my eyes like crazy, but I cannot help but open them underwater. It is green, so green and tinged ochre with the swirling sand. Occasionally I find sea lettuce or red weed; sometimes having been startled by its' brushing up against me. Unlike being on land, however, when this happens, I laugh. I laugh when the waves lift me to their peaks and drop me down their backs, three, four sometimes a six foot drop into the waiting water below. I laugh when the breakers tumble and roll me into the rough sand and pebbles. I laugh when I dive through the huge breaking wave as it bubbles over my feet and call it nature's Jacuzzi. I laugh all the time in the water.
I sound rather mad out there, but other people seem to get in on the humor. They too, smile and laugh as the surf rolls them, drenches them, and generally teaches them to play again.
By the time I stumble to my towel on the sand to dry off and regain my strength, I am totally relaxed, sandy as a half eaten lollipop dropped on the beach, but relaxed and happy.
There is nothing like water. Underwater it is quiet and colorful. The sunbeams stream through the depths and fill me with calm and hope. I swim underwater so as to keep the stillness intact and to feel the ether flowing all around me. Were I amphibious, I might stay under for hours.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Thursday, September 4, 2014
The Warmth of History
Today as I walked through the halls of a school I have known all but five years of my life, I was struck by the influence the place has had and continues to have on my life.
I started there in kindergarten and stayed through twelfth grade. I returned through my college years to visit and to assist on field trips. I went to a couple of fund raising parties and generally had fun with the place.
I went on to volunteer every year, serving on the Alumnae Executive Board, on which I still sit, taught, worked at the their camp, even went so far as to enroll my daughter and watched her graduate.
I have seen three new portraits of former heads of school, rise to the walls. I have watched in dismay as buildings were torn down and in amazement as new ones went up. Furniture has come and gone, hell blackboards have come and gone. Many of my teachers have died, I might go so far as to say most of them and a few of my peers as well.
Last year I finally found and met with one of my most important teachers from Lower School; an art teacher of course. She was as kind, intelligent and thoughtful as I remembered her. Today I found I have been working with the son-in-law of my Lower School French teacher, another outstandingly kind and intelligent woman. I was delighted to hear news of her and sent her a message of gratitude and affection.
Those old crusty walls of the buildings I know like the back of my hand, are like the walls of my childhood bedroom; they know me. Unlike my bedroom walls though, they know hundreds of students and bind us together in a common experience. The unity of that group of people, is that we, faculty, students, and the staff of every single department, worked together towards our common goal; waking our minds. We did so very well.
I started there in kindergarten and stayed through twelfth grade. I returned through my college years to visit and to assist on field trips. I went to a couple of fund raising parties and generally had fun with the place.
I went on to volunteer every year, serving on the Alumnae Executive Board, on which I still sit, taught, worked at the their camp, even went so far as to enroll my daughter and watched her graduate.
I have seen three new portraits of former heads of school, rise to the walls. I have watched in dismay as buildings were torn down and in amazement as new ones went up. Furniture has come and gone, hell blackboards have come and gone. Many of my teachers have died, I might go so far as to say most of them and a few of my peers as well.
Last year I finally found and met with one of my most important teachers from Lower School; an art teacher of course. She was as kind, intelligent and thoughtful as I remembered her. Today I found I have been working with the son-in-law of my Lower School French teacher, another outstandingly kind and intelligent woman. I was delighted to hear news of her and sent her a message of gratitude and affection.
Those old crusty walls of the buildings I know like the back of my hand, are like the walls of my childhood bedroom; they know me. Unlike my bedroom walls though, they know hundreds of students and bind us together in a common experience. The unity of that group of people, is that we, faculty, students, and the staff of every single department, worked together towards our common goal; waking our minds. We did so very well.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Weed Welcome
Talents come in many forms. I seem to have a natural talent for growing weeds. Some may say this comes from my inherent laziness, and yes that plays a factor. However a larger factor is my fascination with what grows in my yard, naturally.
My house came with lovely gardens, fully planted with, almost exclusively as it happens, poisonous plants. I found this amusing. Their blooms were delightful surprises all the first year we lived here. In my intelligence I have added even more toxic plants over the years. We bloom delightfully from March through September or so, every year, the same flowers in the same places.
My weeds though, being capricious little plants, grow as they please and where they please. I encourage this. I let them grow to their full potential and some have proved quite amazing. My husband was annoyed when he was weeding one day and I told him "NO!" Don't pull the violets, I like them. I put them there from the lawn." "Why?" he asked. "They have beautiful flowers and grow into large leafy ground cover with heart shaped leaves. I like them" "But they are weeds." "Only in the lawn, dear. I invited them here."
He and I agree on that point. A weed is only something that is uninvited. (I know a lot of people who might qualify under that status. An Australian friend of mine used to say "That guy is such a little weed."). A rosebush in a corn field is a weed.
Weeds in my garden have included, wild daisies, wild snapdragons, thistles, grasses, millet, sunflowers, lots and lots of black walnut trees (silly squirrels) butterfly bushes, at least three each year, and many others plants that I cannot name.
Amonsgt the nameless are the weeds in the photos below. Note that these three magnificent plants are about eight feet tall. My hubby is chomping at the bit to kill them, but I am thrilled and have pleaded for their mercy until the go fully to seed. I have to admire their exuberance.
Perhaps that is the secret of my fondness for weeds. I admire something that grows so well where it is unwelcome. I also love the sheer surprise. We all have times when we feel we do not fit in. Be like these weeds; grow tall and bloom. Surprise the world out of its' old order to introduce your unexpectedness, joy and energy. Admire a "weed, " know the "weed, " be the weed."
A completely different, giant plant.
My house came with lovely gardens, fully planted with, almost exclusively as it happens, poisonous plants. I found this amusing. Their blooms were delightful surprises all the first year we lived here. In my intelligence I have added even more toxic plants over the years. We bloom delightfully from March through September or so, every year, the same flowers in the same places.
My weeds though, being capricious little plants, grow as they please and where they please. I encourage this. I let them grow to their full potential and some have proved quite amazing. My husband was annoyed when he was weeding one day and I told him "NO!" Don't pull the violets, I like them. I put them there from the lawn." "Why?" he asked. "They have beautiful flowers and grow into large leafy ground cover with heart shaped leaves. I like them" "But they are weeds." "Only in the lawn, dear. I invited them here."
He and I agree on that point. A weed is only something that is uninvited. (I know a lot of people who might qualify under that status. An Australian friend of mine used to say "That guy is such a little weed."). A rosebush in a corn field is a weed.
Weeds in my garden have included, wild daisies, wild snapdragons, thistles, grasses, millet, sunflowers, lots and lots of black walnut trees (silly squirrels) butterfly bushes, at least three each year, and many others plants that I cannot name.
Amonsgt the nameless are the weeds in the photos below. Note that these three magnificent plants are about eight feet tall. My hubby is chomping at the bit to kill them, but I am thrilled and have pleaded for their mercy until the go fully to seed. I have to admire their exuberance.
Perhaps that is the secret of my fondness for weeds. I admire something that grows so well where it is unwelcome. I also love the sheer surprise. We all have times when we feel we do not fit in. Be like these weeds; grow tall and bloom. Surprise the world out of its' old order to introduce your unexpectedness, joy and energy. Admire a "weed, " know the "weed, " be the weed."
 |
| Note the car which is right behind them; the fence is is just over four feet tall. |
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Reality Check
After returning from ten days at the beach, I have one conclusion, as follows.
Chaos: live with it or wash away.
Monday, September 1, 2014
An Error in Judgement
My neighbors had a beautiful cat, who has, alas gone to "kitty heaven." He had a thick luxurious coat covering his large frame and muscular body. He loved to come over and rub up against the leg of anybody (everybody) who would pet him and speak nicely to him. Eventually he would flop over onto his side and roll over on his back, like a dog, begging to have his tummy rubbed. Woe to those who fell for this trick! One touch and the errant finger on his upturned belly entered the domain of the sharpest claws I have ever encountered in any cat. The claws would instantly, from all four paws, simultaneously, close upon your unsuspecting, loving hand, drawing blood and obvious feline delight from this clearly confused creature. Not thirty seconds later, he would amiably rub up against you and try to entice again. Once I thought, perhaps I had hit a sore spot on his poor hunter's body. Nope, he was just a deceptive, clever, beautiful, purring feline human trap.
I fall into all kinds of human traps. I am very gullible. A priest once told me it was one of my finest qualities, but he was after all, a priest. I find it one of my most annoying and embarrassing. I trust, I believe...until I get cynical. Once a person arrives at cynical it is hard to overturn; it often takes me an hour or so.
There are exceptions of course and I can hold a real grudge forever, but my grudges are always mixed with the feelings of love or affection, hope or joy that led me to trust in the first place. The result is that many of my feelings become mixed and confused; thus decision making becomes clouded through past experience. Nevertheless, like staying in art despite the knowledge that it is unlikely to win me respect or success in any worldly way, I continue to find avoidance of art or of human caring an impossibility; I have tried.
In a quiz I took today on some silly online site, I was asked "What super power would you choose?" I answerable as I always choose- invisibility. However, I realize that dreams of hiding cannot save me from cat's claws or from human tsk tsks. It can't let me avoid being tapped for help and then smacked on the nose for my way of helping either. What I require is self control; if I could just keep quiet - oops I am blogging.
I fall into all kinds of human traps. I am very gullible. A priest once told me it was one of my finest qualities, but he was after all, a priest. I find it one of my most annoying and embarrassing. I trust, I believe...until I get cynical. Once a person arrives at cynical it is hard to overturn; it often takes me an hour or so.
There are exceptions of course and I can hold a real grudge forever, but my grudges are always mixed with the feelings of love or affection, hope or joy that led me to trust in the first place. The result is that many of my feelings become mixed and confused; thus decision making becomes clouded through past experience. Nevertheless, like staying in art despite the knowledge that it is unlikely to win me respect or success in any worldly way, I continue to find avoidance of art or of human caring an impossibility; I have tried.
In a quiz I took today on some silly online site, I was asked "What super power would you choose?" I answerable as I always choose- invisibility. However, I realize that dreams of hiding cannot save me from cat's claws or from human tsk tsks. It can't let me avoid being tapped for help and then smacked on the nose for my way of helping either. What I require is self control; if I could just keep quiet - oops I am blogging.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Barefoot and Gargling
Last Thursday....I thought it was Friday and so no post. I was on the town with friends and I when I say friends, I mean friends - at least I hope.
Friends forgive one another's stupidities and I was stupid last Thursday. I was trying to make a point about something, and frankly I do not even recall what, because I made a huge gaff. My foot was lodged so deeply, I received a stomach acid pedicure!
Sadly I cannot report that verbal clumsiness is new for me. I am grateful to have been granted forgiveness by my dear friends, many, many times. Their generosity does not excuse me of course, and I spend hours of my life reliving moments I dread, again and again, through deep regret. Despite the remorse my habits do not change. It seems things leap out of my mouth before the leash has hit the brain; It is only after the dogs are loose that realization kicks in. My pain is genuine, but I fear it is no more than theirs. I pray their remorse at my friendship does not outweigh the benefits. If it does, I have lost more than my dignity, which went the way of all flesh ages ago.
I want to write a note, but that will only rub salt into their wound (I managed to offend both people of the couple). I will wait it out and hope kindness falls on my side again. In the meantime, perhaps it is time to tweak my humorous story repertoire; that or invest in athlete's mouth spray.
Friends forgive one another's stupidities and I was stupid last Thursday. I was trying to make a point about something, and frankly I do not even recall what, because I made a huge gaff. My foot was lodged so deeply, I received a stomach acid pedicure!
Sadly I cannot report that verbal clumsiness is new for me. I am grateful to have been granted forgiveness by my dear friends, many, many times. Their generosity does not excuse me of course, and I spend hours of my life reliving moments I dread, again and again, through deep regret. Despite the remorse my habits do not change. It seems things leap out of my mouth before the leash has hit the brain; It is only after the dogs are loose that realization kicks in. My pain is genuine, but I fear it is no more than theirs. I pray their remorse at my friendship does not outweigh the benefits. If it does, I have lost more than my dignity, which went the way of all flesh ages ago.
I want to write a note, but that will only rub salt into their wound (I managed to offend both people of the couple). I will wait it out and hope kindness falls on my side again. In the meantime, perhaps it is time to tweak my humorous story repertoire; that or invest in athlete's mouth spray.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
"...And Not A Drop To Drink"
Astrologically, I am a Gemini. My mother used to say that this was the correct sign for me because I was all over the place, doing more than one thing at once and that I loved change; all of which is correct. I defined flibbertigibbet for her. However Gemini is an air sign and while I like air, generally it provides me with far too little support and even less cushion. Huh? Well, I fall a lot, always have; air is not kind to clumsy people. Water, on the other hand is my friend. Water lightens me, supports me and yet absorbs me when I, true to form, fall.
Water silences the noisy sounds of the air and softens the look of the harsh world. It comforts my skin and entertains endlessly. Whether playing in the waves, salty and wild, or swimming deep under the surface of an indoor pool, laned and chlorinated, water restores my body and soul. Even watching fountains, waterfalls or rain can be effective. Is it any wonder that my field of printmaking called to me; soaking the beautiful paper to soften it or making an image based on the fact that oil and water repel on another, (lithography) water is critical.
Studies say that our bodies are 50-75 percent water. I must be on the high end, mushy and heavy, wishy washy and spreading, but oh in my element, so happy. My husband says I swim like an otter; I am happy, larking about in the water (how is that for mixed metaphor)? Of course my new little buddy Syndey loves water as well; kidneys adore water.
If you need escape, seek water; swim, walk by a river, creek, or the ocean. Watch an undersea science show on TV, go fishing, sit by a fountain, drink a cup of tea or run through a sprinkler. Just find some of that amazing substance, let your mind wander and play: and if anyone ever says to you "You're all wet" remember to say "Thank you!"
Water silences the noisy sounds of the air and softens the look of the harsh world. It comforts my skin and entertains endlessly. Whether playing in the waves, salty and wild, or swimming deep under the surface of an indoor pool, laned and chlorinated, water restores my body and soul. Even watching fountains, waterfalls or rain can be effective. Is it any wonder that my field of printmaking called to me; soaking the beautiful paper to soften it or making an image based on the fact that oil and water repel on another, (lithography) water is critical.
Studies say that our bodies are 50-75 percent water. I must be on the high end, mushy and heavy, wishy washy and spreading, but oh in my element, so happy. My husband says I swim like an otter; I am happy, larking about in the water (how is that for mixed metaphor)? Of course my new little buddy Syndey loves water as well; kidneys adore water.
If you need escape, seek water; swim, walk by a river, creek, or the ocean. Watch an undersea science show on TV, go fishing, sit by a fountain, drink a cup of tea or run through a sprinkler. Just find some of that amazing substance, let your mind wander and play: and if anyone ever says to you "You're all wet" remember to say "Thank you!"