Frank said

Frank: Leo, how was music class?

Leo: Good, did you see me?

Frank: Yes.

Leo: Were you sad?

Frank: No. I just wanted to play music with you. Can I play with you when I'm 5?

A guided meditation

Refresh yourself with this soothing, guided meditation by Jason Headley.

Notes on last summer

Grammatically correct Bangkok graffiti.

Old editors don't die. They just wander the world critiquing graffiti. Never mind the expression. It's typical of the trade. The Language Barrier's Itinerant Editor is actually expressing pleasure over the correct use of the apostrophe. Thus we are going back to Bangkok for more. Before we leave, I have much to do. That is why, of course, I am doing a blog post which I must begin with a lament.

I blew it! Thea Bella and Kristiana stayed with us for five weeks in Florida this summer but I kept only the barest record of their wonderful visit on my external memory, otherwise known as this blog. Now there is not, for the cold winter nights ahead, a reliable path back to those sweet memories, only flitting recollections of the quirky details, things five-year-old Thea said and did. So, for my future self, here are three memories. May they lead to more.

Every night, Thea would invite me to come listen to the bedtime story, Harry Potter. At that point, they were nearing the end of book two. I would bring my pillow and lay on the end of the bed and Kristiana read to us. She is a fabulous reader. Very dramatic with perfect, distinct voices for each character. It was very entertaining. Thea's memory is much better than mine. She knew the plot and all the characters by name and the reading seemed to energize her. With the irrepressible curiosity of a five-year-old, she asked a lot of questions, all the while doing things like standing on her head and bouncing on the bed. That took some getting used to as, being grandma and all, I became instantly drowsy and was happy to drift in and out under the spell of the words. It was a bedtime story after all. In any case, this endearing nightly ritual became, for me, one of the defining moments of the summer.

Another defining event was how Thea, being so enamored by the sometimes even 90° water of the Gulf, refused to come out even long enough to eat lunch. She'd run ashore, grab her sandwich, give grandpa his, then they'd have to run back into the water. She would only eat standing in the waves. By the end of the summer she was snorkeling, beginning to anyway, and fearless in the surf. 

Mesdames K. and T.
An electric evening at the jetty

Then there were the amazing, wild tales she and grandpa made up about everything. I wish I'd recorded some of them. For example, they discussed reflections in mirrors. The little Florida house has many. She wondered if the Theas in the mirrors were real. That story almost got out of hand. They pondered which was the real Thea. Was Mirror Thea the real Thea? Was she her reflection? I almost pulled the plug on that one because, for the one moment Thea considered that, her eyes took on the appearance of dark, faraway vortices. Luckily, the next moment she rejected the idea and declared that, without a doubt, she was the real Thea and the Mirror Theas, each and every one of them, were their own separate persons. Naturally on the last day, when she and Mom were preparing to leave for the airport, she went around saying good-bye to them all and wishing them well.

As for our time in LA with M. Lee's mom, way back in July, at some point I will also do a post on it. M. Lee even requested that I do. A first! For the record, I started one before Thea and Kristiana arrived, also back in July, but it still languishes in draft. When Mesdames Thea and Kristiana came, blam-o! I did manage my morning five minute write, before Thea got up, but that's about it. My hat is off to all parents with fledglings in the nest. I think we forget, once our kids are launched, how totally engaging they are. There's never a second. It would be 9 or 10 PM before I could finally sit down to write about the day, then suddenly I'd wake up disoriented, exhausted, laptop gone dormant, cicada singing away in the mangrove dark and I could only toddle off to bed, the day gone and unwrit. So for now, minimal as it is, this will have to do.

Shane, Lee and Kathy at the Getty - LA

Fiona's story

I found a "note to self" on my desktop tonight. It had one word, Fiona, and a link to the video below. Thank you, past self. Watching it pulled me back from the abyss I fell into today fiddling with the endless details for this upcoming trip. So I'm embedding it here for my future self, because the time will come again, and for anyone else happening by who might like, or need, a sweet story about now.



PS. If you happen to know who did the song, please let me know. It's not only perfect for the video, it's just good.

My little problem

I am finally having to admit that I have a problem with, how do I say, cameras? It's not a technical problem. It's not the camera. It's me. I'm obsessed with taking photos. It's unmanageable. I spent the day juggling an absurd number of images from the last month alone. I (excuse me. quick pause while I take a couple of photos of some really fabulous clouds in the evening sky) 'm not kidding. It's bad. I am drowning in images. I've got to start dealing with this.

LA at night from a moving vehicle

Notes along the way and a great link

In the last month or so I have started and abandoned many posts. I could not settle on the words. I seem to be changing. How, I don't know. Motivation, patience, medium? Something is different. Maybe I'm just restless but I think it's more fundamental. I just don't know yet.

Generally, for my future self, I like to make note of at least the basic changes, events and circumstances in my life but they are slipping by unnoted. So...here's a recap. We were home for about a month, now we are back on the road. It was good. It was different. It was centering. I regretted leaving but also don't feel like I can hold on to anything anymore. And last week our neighbor Dwayne died. His cat Suki still lives next door, now with his son, but he neglects her, won't let her in the house, so she spends a lot of time in the Bird Park. It is safe and quiet there but, of course, her presence keeps the birds away. While we were there, I fed her anyway because she was hungry and for Dwayne because took her in when she showed up in his back yard a couple of years ago, hungry and lonely. Now she sits on that chair on my porch waiting for me and I am not there. That makes me sad.

And while we were home, I didn't contact any of my writer friends. I told them I would would when I got home but I didn't. I am always reluctant. I don't know why. I'm a freak. And it seemed there was never time enough. Now, we'll be gone till fall. This week we will be with the family in Portland. We're really looking forward to it. After that, we'll drive across the country to Florida and, along the way, we're get to meet Roy. Woo-hoo!

Ps. If you're a writer, painter, reader, thinker and/or conscious person Matt Ashby's article "David Foster Wallace was right: Irony is ruining our culture" is a must read.

My mother's diary

April 29, 1939  Friday - Andy and I talked again to-nite of marriage - religion - breaking up. What's the right thing to do? I think we really love each other - - And I think it's up to me to break it up.

The entry is done in pencil and the years have nearly completed their job of erasing it.


Lucky for me, she didn't break up with Andy after all. He's my dad.

Check-in

Little A'Le'Inn - Rachel, NV bordering Area 51
I feel like a sailor in port, neither here nor there. For the next few weeks we're home but we've mostly been living out of our suitcases for the last year and the months ahead will be the same. Home. The word sounds odd but when I look around, yes, it's home. My stuff is here, what little there is, and I get into my own routine here. That's nice. And I have friends here that go back awhile. That's comforting. But, if our med checks turn out ok, we're leaving. I'm not complaining. I just need to acknowledge everything, write about it, photograph it, keep some account. Otherwise, I lose my bearings. The Language Barrier is one of my few constants. I need to come here otherwise, in a way, it's like I don't exist at all.

How to create a better password

This post is filed under the label "notes to self" so, if you're not interested in reading about creating better, stronger passwords.That is all.

Lines Past Death

I sat with my Uncle all day the day he died. That was Saturday, February 1, 1992. These poems greeted me when I brought his ashes home to Southern Oregon a few days later. He had mailed them to me from Portland the day before he died, Friday, January 31. In the accompanying letter he  wrote, “All I need is a chance at a new peace”. He died the next evening with me sitting by his side, our faces touching, breathing together. I’ve taken the liberty of calling this collection, “LINES PAST DEATH”.

LINES PAST DEATH

The two were dressed in black, in what seemed like rented clothes.  They went to the man in the next stall, be still, is all I could do.  The man had died.  They took him away on a palette covered with a royal maroon cover and deposited him in a long station wagon.  So he passed his time, in a setting of principles.  No more to be seen.  Only the rented costume comes to mind as I write.  THAT was a fancy way to leave his guest.  Like a disappearance. 


#2

evergreen and birch trees and a small bed of roses…low evergreen shrubs and a lawn on either side of an entrance walk.  Crows scan the higher branches and frighten other birds.  The distance cold alerts one and the winter sun tries to subdue the body’s alarm.  Still, it is day, and we have the whole affect of nature to subdues us    and bring peace.


WINTER

A stalwart, winter day,
seen through the vibran
escapade of voices,
leaves me to wonder at the meaning left behind.
enlivening the shadow of this,
puts the mind at ease.
Where the January sun causes
steam to rise from the grass,
enfeebling cold fingers more.
To move is a mundane project
of prospects made whole
by the failing man seeking
to encase the situation
into something respective to itself.
Cold out, he said and felt in his pocket for the next phrase.
Only metal sounds and the body thrusts viably to taste the cold air
circulating on its tattered edge.


VARY AND VARIANCE

sit well – and sleep well,
‘til all these things stand still.
The existentialist needs somewhere to go.
incidental to the truth.  how depressing =
stay. and see if you like yourself.
cold are the winds of January.
grey, dull forces of winter, cleansing of the topical mind;
male and female appear to take away the body of summer.
You go – I’ll stay, adrift are crows, caw-ing in the twilight.


ONE BRIEF INSTANT OF GRACE

After some few weeks of silence, I long to show the contour of such meanings as could survive a hallway of elders and a nursing home; lunch.  The fittest apothegm means to be oneself elsewhere, and neglect to conclude what this does.

Leave the tray a while.

Why eat all the time


~John Chance, 1992

Note: The word "vibran" is Haitian creole for "stirring".
_____________________________________________

Note on arriving home

Just wanted to note that we got home last night from what was essentially a nine month trip, save for the couple of weeks in the fall when we stopped by to repack for Asia. Naturally, the first thing I did was fill the bird feeders, scatter some seed for the quail and leave a few peanuts on the table for the Seven O'clock Magpie, figuring it would take a couple of days for her to realize that I was home. She showed up this morning. That's my girl. Didn't miss a beat.

Recipe for a Winter's Day

I repost this Marvel Meal recipe every winter but it's good all year round. It's cheap, easy and fun to make and birds love it. Give it a try.

Marvel Meal - homemade bird suet

1 cup peanut butter (crunchy or plain  BUT NOT SALTED*)
1 cup vegetable shortening
4 cups cornmeal (yellow is higher in vitamin A)
1 cup white flour (nor self-rising)

-optional-
sunflower seeds, chopped peanuts and other nuts, chicken scratch, apple bits, dried fruits, sugar, bird seed etc.

• Mix peanut butter and shortening. (It helps to melt them first in microwave.)

• Combine cornmeal, flour and any optional ingredients and stir into peanut  butter/shortening mix.

• Form into shapes that fit your feeders

• Store remainder in refrigerator or freezer

• Feed the birds

*SALT IS VERY BAD FOR BIRDS. IT CAN KILL THEM SO BE SURE TO USE ALWAYS UNSALTED PEANUT BUTTER.

After a long hiatus, I've been spending a lot of time on flickr lately. I have so many photos and have rediscovered flickr groups. Panoramio is just not that interesting anymore. It's fun posting photos to Google Earth, but that's about it.

We left Portland this morning and are slowly working our way south. It was great seeing everyone. The grand kids are heartbreaking sweet and growing up way too fast so we have visit again soon. We're in southern Oregon for the next few days and planning to drive back to Nevada on Sunday.

M. Lee's mom has been doing some serious estate planning since we saw her at Christmas. She hit us with it all as soon as we arrived this evening. She's in good health and spirits but decided it's time to get her affairs in order. I still haven't done that. This year. I've got to do it. It's a must.

2014, day two

We're in Oregon now, with the family. It's great to be home. As usual, I'm on the run. Here's a great article titled, How to Beat Procrastination. I've read half of part 2 and finishing it is definitely somewhere near the very top of the 2014 To Do List.

source: Tim Urban

Happy New Year.

Buddha's lizards

Buddha and his lizards
Sukhothai

We leave for Hong Kong in the morning and, on the 26th, fly from there to the US, arriving in Oregon 40 minutes later. I'm going to miss Thailand and all the lovely Buddhas here but it's time to go, at least for now.

Buddha and his lizards
Sukhothai

Lately, I've been in a kind of emotional undertow. Sensory overload, I suppose. We've been traveling for the last nine months and, though I'm not all that excited about returning "home" I think, for a while anyway, it's where I need to be.

Swami, Dalai and the Tulku

I started this post in the Siem Reap airport this morning while waiting for our flight back to Bangkok. Seven days in Cambodia was more than enough. For all the beauty, nice people and stunning ancient ruins, it's a dark hard place to be. I even dreamt I was blown up by a landmine. Trust me. That wakes you up with a start.

Swami contemplating Ta Keo,
the cursed temple

We went back to Ta Keo three more times but the girl who said she'd keep looking for Swami was never there. So sadly, whether lost or stolen, Swami is gone and now we must move on. If one of the girls selling souvenirs at Angkor Thommanon took him, I hope he brings her much happiness. His smile truly is irresistible.

Swami contemplating Swami

I will say this. I had an ominous feeling about Ta Keo the minute I saw the place. Swami felt it too. I have since read that during its construction, the High Priest declared the presence of an evil omen, halted the work and the temple has remained unfinished to this very day. That was a thousand years ago. Recently the Chinese adopted Ta Keo as a pet restoration project and are hard at it, putting what remains back together. Good luck.

Swami leaving Angkor Wat

But here's the thing. We have decided to think of Swami as a low level Tulku. To put that in perspective, the Dalai Lama is a top level Tulku. Top level Tulkus have to leave their bodies (die) before they can reincarnate in a new body. It's much easier for low level Tulkus. They aren't incarnations. They are "incarnate emanations" which means that the original doesn't have to die for a new emanation to manifest. Get it? Copies can exist simultaneously. Slick, eh? And emanations can be just about anything, human beings, deities, rivers, bridges, medicinal plants, animals, trees, birds, art, crafts etc. I suppose even puppets and dolls. Confused yet? The Dalai Lama goes into lots of detail here but put simply, Swami is back!

Swami and the Big Buddha of Ko Kood

He's there, wherever there is, and he's here with us. For now he's in a strange little body made of coral, a piece I picked up on a lonely stretch of beach on Ko Kood. It had such an odd shape I couldn't resist. Okay. It called to me. And I just happened to have it with me in Angkor Wat when Swami disappeared. Of course, we will look for a little yellow guy with a big red smile. M. Lee has already begun searching online for a doll maker who has experience replicating them. Reconstructing Swami will be our winter project. As they say, life goes on.

Swami contemplating the full moon.
Ko Kood

The last of it

Rainy day on Alligator Creek.

There was an all night frog symphony last night on Alligator Creek. It was stupendous but forget about sleep. That giant sprawling tropical plant to the right of our poor little flood-locked mailbox is the frog palace/opera house. It's been raining like hell since yesterday. The drops are so big they're blops. And yes, thunder is rattling the house and the lightning is way too close. It's very unnerving since I learned that lightning can strike twice. I even heard about one guy around here whose house was hit three separate times. Once is enough! Everyone is laying low, even the lizards. I guess it's better that way. We leave in the morning. No more good-byes. I would like to say good-bye to the Gulf but it doesn't look like that's going to happen. I'm not done packing but this is the last of it. The hard part. The details. Then I'll clear out the screen porch where I spent all the lovely, buzzy evenings of summer, the sweetest with family, and that will be that. Done.

The last of it.

It wasn't much of a squirrel party this year but, hey, nobody died. I stuck to putting out peanuts and bird seed only in the morning and evening instead of randomly all day. A hawk did drop by now and then but the yard never became the big hunting ground like before. And, things being quieter, I had a chance to try out a little squirrel whispering on Dd. If you remember, she was the first one to show up after we arrived. I know. It sounds absurd, but actually it's not. Horses, squirrels, even people...the same principles work for everyone. Too bad I'm out of time. It was just beginning to get interesting.

One last screen porch wildlife rescue.

Mockingbird Arias for Autumn

It's a warm, sunny morning here on Alligator Creek and just this moment a mockingbird, perched on a frond in Frida Kahlo's pineapple palm, is singing her wild heart out. She's doing it all, from "Pretty Bird" to never-to-be-written Arias, one replacing the other with equal speed. Today is the Autumn Equinox, that brief moment when light and dark are equal. Now the days grow shorter and the night long.

Back to forward

Now the family has come and gone and it feels pretty empty around here. Even the light feels empty, as it does when the sun is in sidereal Leo. But the bug or frog or whoever it is who croaks like a stick drumming on a tin can is singing in the mangroves tonight and in just over a week we drive back to Nevada and, shortly after that, leave for China. These are the good old days but I never want to forget how it used to be staring out the window at a dead end world.

Aftermath and arrivals

Thanks to Laura, our very cool landlord who OKed everything, and M. Lee's quick action, there were three repair guys out here today and they fixed nearly all the damage from the lightning strike the other night. I'm really grateful. Internet, A/C, TV and the garage door are working again and she approved a new stove. That will take a few days to arrange, but basically we're ready for Thea and her parents to arrive. And just in time. If their plane is on schedule, they are minutes away from landing at Tampa International. We wanted to be at the gate to greet them but simplicity prevailed. We rented them a car, which they'll pick up at the airport, then they'll drive themselves here with the GPS. They should get in sometime after 02:00. Like Leo and Frank a couple of weeks ago, this is Thea's first really different environment and first warm ocean!

New old poem

I posted a new poem at annasadhorse tonight, Epitaph. This makes 27 to date that I've posted there. As with the others, this one is not new, just new to the site. I wrote it 25 years ago. I've never submitted it anywhere but I read it on the radio and at poetry readings. I was living in Ashland, Oregon at the time, a theater town and good place for poets. It's where I founded SkyRiver Press, but that's another story and it's late.