Entering the Provincetown Center for Coastal Studies, you are greeted by a pod, or coven, or a pride (what is the right word?????) of rays. The placement near the open, mega-glassed entrance, uses the available light to add depth and movement to these sweet and welcoming sea creatures.
As a Cape Cod native, anything sea speaks to me. But then, when you add raised and rusty eye nails and recycled coat hanger bodies, the work moves from art to a spiritual experience, and back again….
To years ago, I celebrated Earth Day buying a Lilac tree from a yard sale, and planting it in my very bare front yard.
This year, the base is age appropriate, but the buds – ohhh the buds – are ripe and teasingly large.
The seller, a woman (now my friend) who generously thins her gardens and sells (for pennies) to frugal gardeners (like me), spent the time to tell me where to place my new “stick”: how to amend the soil, how deep to plant, and how much water it would take for my new acquisition to establish and move from potential to tree. Even though it was a thinning (to some, a throw away) from her garden, she wanted to make sure I had the knowledge to plant successfully. It was actually more of an adoption than a sale.
As I use my Patriots’ Day holiday for yard work, I’m reminded that everything I plant is a nod to potential and hope. Perhaps if we decided to treat our yards, our neighborhoods, or towns, our states, our country, and our world as a young dependent, we’d be more gentle, more kind, more attentive and more respectful.
Countdown to Earth Day 2010!
Is there a link between the timing of the 1st grade patriot song night and the tea bagger’s welcome of Sarah Palin in Boston? Actually, cross generational awareness is an ingenious way to get the whole family politically involved.
Each time I pull a cookbook out to look for a recipe, my side by side stacks get a little more wobbly. And because I like to live dangerously, there are a few little, weird, breakable items (an old ashtray, holding a crystal candle holder, holding paper clips, pennies, and a lonely earring) in the middle that threaten to fall and shatter. Today I decided that holding my breath each time I walked by that bookcase was just silly (and I was getting lightheaded), so I started removing, dusting, replacing and balancing the tilty piles.
Under Salad Days by Marcel Desaulniers, I found a book I bought several years ago: Poems Seven: New and Complete Poetry by Alan Dugan. Going right to the bookmark, I was, again, treated to poetry perfection.
Now I know what was calling me from the kitchen: It wasn’t the precarious pilings, but a poem unlike any other that brought me joy then, as it did again today.
Thesis, Antithesis, and Nostalgia
by Alan Dugan
Not even dried-up leaves,
skidding like iceboats on
their points down winter streets,
can scratch the surface of
a child’s summer and its wealth:
a stagnant calm that seemed
as if it must go on and on
outside of cyclical variety
the way, at child-height on a wall,
a brick named “Ann”
by someone’s piece of chalk
still loves the one named “Al”
although the street is vacant and
the writer and the named are gone.
When I tell you I’ve tried everything to ease the menopause beast, you have to take me at my word.
I started the old fashioned and conventional way: an arsenal of prescription drugs. My first experience with my new anti-depressant left me unable to drive and drooling. My doctor said I had to give my body time to adjust: to what – catatonia? Back to the crawly skin and the hot flashes; drooling is not a good look for me.
My non-traditional efforts started with a weekend of pouring (all of) my pee into a gas-can-like container to be sent off (to Virginia, I think) for analysis. Then we (myself and my NEW doctor) worked on finding just the right combination of vitamins. The problem with this method is that you have to take take the vitamins, assess their usefulness, and then reevaluate: add some, take away others. An expensive little equation because, of course, vitamins (and most holistic doctors) are not covered by my insurance plan.
So I seem to have reached a detante (this is such a great post menopause definition) with my hormones and my body, but I’m left housing all of these unused and rejected vitamins. Most of them have expiration dates, making them easy to throw away, but what about the viable ones?
Since our wavyo bags are made out of recycled, post consumer plastics, perhaps there is something that can be done with my (and your) cabinet full of pre-consumer vitamins.
Any thoughts?
Walking and listening to old Terry Gross interview’s on my I-pod is such a treat. I’m never at home or in my car when Fresh Air is on, so I miss a lot of great radio. On this particular day, I was listening to Terry interview Rosanne Cash about her newest CD, “The List.”
Thirty-five years ago, Rosanne’s father, Johnny Cash, gave her a list of what he considered the songs she absolutely had to, at least, be aware of if she was going to call herself a well educated musician; he called the list 100 Essential Country Songs.
I seldom choose to listen to country music, but after this interview, I couldn’t wait to hear (the first installment of) what Johnny Cash considered must-know country songs.
I’m enjoying the whole CD, but her interpretation of Motherless Children hit me like a fist to the gut. I’m sure it was because my brother-in-law just lost his mother. Dorothy E. (Lefevre) Sandlin was 90 years old and very sick, so her death was a blessing for her and the rest of the family. By changing the word “dead” to “gone”, Rosanne Cash infused this sad song with even more longing, more sadness and more resignation than the original. (Lucinda Williams (dead) – Rosanne (gone).
The wake and the funeral are over; unfortunately, the missing and the forever start now.
There are certain items that you can’t wash in your dishwasher, and my popcorn bowl is one of them.
Washing and pondering – why does it take so long to take off those last few stubborn pounds?
Running late, I jumped into the shower while brushing my teeth. With toothbrush and drool dangling (it’s OK, I’m in the shower), I apply shampoo directly to my head.
Brushing while lathering is not as easy as it sounds, and once again, I had to stop and laugh at myself.
THEN I remembered a great teacher workshop I attended a long time ago. BrainGym – a number of movements to be performed before sitting down to a long day of classwork – can help kids (and adults) connect and/or awaken both sides of their brain, assisting with concentration and focus. (At least that’s how I remember it.)So unintentionally, I recycled a long ago training and rediscovered a whole new set of morning exercises. Forget the gym. I’m now using Awkward Ablutions to perk up my morning and my mind. I’m just curious to see if anyone notices….
Recycled pears: pie. Recycled bagels: stuffing. Recycled sushi: kidding. Just wanted to know if you were paying attention.
Make your gratitude outweigh your tribulations, and have a happy and healthy Thanksgiving.
Always wavyo: Kimberly, Lucie, and Tina
Not your average pies; not your average entertainment.
Join the Upper Cape Family Network for the craziest Pre-Thanksgiving Pie Auction ever. It’s this Saturday, November 21st, at the Oakridge School in Sandwich. We’ll be there at 7:30 am, but you don’t have to show until the door opens at 9:00. Entertainment provided by the Toe Jam Puppet Band (and they begin at 9:30). There is NO CHARGE for Toe Jam, so bring everyone you know! Live auction begins at 10:30 and silent auction winners will be announced at 11:30. Can’t stay for the auction? Check out the bake sale table. Craft tables for your kids, assisted by the Sandwich High School students… Trying to keep all the pies in the air without dropping any.
So many small details… Now where did I leave my signs?