Winter is the season for
paying closer attention
to the commonplace.
Certain species of oak
trees retain their leaves
throughout the winter.
Brown leaves on silent trees,
why do you cling so tight?
Grasping the twigs that
gave you birth?
Through winter's icy grip
and punishing winds,
you stay - you persevere.
Did I hear you say
"we aren't done yet?"
Are you holding
your breath until spring?
What will signal
a lessoning of winter?
Clinking of falling icicles,
like chiming
of distant bells?
Come spring,
buds, surprised by warmth,
will swell beneath you.
Your dry leaves must
release and fall.
Announcing
to the warming earth -
let go, breathe,
make way for
the new, aware
of beauty
in the present.
-Clem Nagel
(Comments welcome! . . . just poke the word
"Comment" at the bottom)
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Year Ahead!
The sun streams in through my study windows this morning . The sky is blue after weeks of being grey or white as the snow. Christmas celebrations are almost over. My mind goes to the year ahead.
In my younger days, the new year started in September. Graduate school and decades of teaching organized the cycle of life in our household. Armed with pristine notebooks, every year at least one member of our family headed off to school. Oh how I loved those notebooks - clean slates waiting to be filled!
It took a long time before my internal clock began to reset - rather like jet lag after a long trip across many time zones. For now at least, my internal rhythm feels in sync with the need to write 2011 instead of 2010, when a date is needed.
I think part of that shift within me has to do with the cultural realities in which I live. Major shifts in the political balance in this country emphasize that this is a new time. My sense is that this country teeters on the edge of fear and despair on one side and resilience and determination on the other side. Despite terrible personal losses for many due to the Great Recession, there is the glimmer that comes when the sun rises - and a person rolls over and says "huh, in spite of it all, I am still here" Still alive.
Whatever motivated voters in the voting booth in November, the result was a massive revolt. It would be easy to attribute the changes to movement toward the right or an embrace of Republican or Tea Party ideology. But perhaps when the legislative process resumes in January, people will sit back and say "huh, look what we did." What power we had at a time when we were feeling so powerless.
My hope is that this new sense of power will be used not to pursue of particular political agendas. Ideology does not put food on the table, provide for people's health, or give them meaningful work. With our new found power, what else can we do to get our lives and our country back on track?
On paper, it looks like a Republican country. But the reality is that Tea Party is not synonymous with Republican. Good luck, John Boehner with herding cats! Just as lack of unity in the Democratic party made for some interesting dynamics for Democratic leaders - including the President.
I love a good political discussion as much as anyone. However, my personal life is about relationships with friends, family and colleagues. Taking care of my health. Planning my garden for the spring. Having the financial resources to pursue a creative life. Concern for others who do not have what they need - here and around the world. It is not political ideas that feed my daily life. And I suspect the same is true of everyone.
Happy New Year means something special! It's pristine notebooks waiting to be filled!
In my younger days, the new year started in September. Graduate school and decades of teaching organized the cycle of life in our household. Armed with pristine notebooks, every year at least one member of our family headed off to school. Oh how I loved those notebooks - clean slates waiting to be filled!
It took a long time before my internal clock began to reset - rather like jet lag after a long trip across many time zones. For now at least, my internal rhythm feels in sync with the need to write 2011 instead of 2010, when a date is needed.
I think part of that shift within me has to do with the cultural realities in which I live. Major shifts in the political balance in this country emphasize that this is a new time. My sense is that this country teeters on the edge of fear and despair on one side and resilience and determination on the other side. Despite terrible personal losses for many due to the Great Recession, there is the glimmer that comes when the sun rises - and a person rolls over and says "huh, in spite of it all, I am still here" Still alive.
Whatever motivated voters in the voting booth in November, the result was a massive revolt. It would be easy to attribute the changes to movement toward the right or an embrace of Republican or Tea Party ideology. But perhaps when the legislative process resumes in January, people will sit back and say "huh, look what we did." What power we had at a time when we were feeling so powerless.
My hope is that this new sense of power will be used not to pursue of particular political agendas. Ideology does not put food on the table, provide for people's health, or give them meaningful work. With our new found power, what else can we do to get our lives and our country back on track?
On paper, it looks like a Republican country. But the reality is that Tea Party is not synonymous with Republican. Good luck, John Boehner with herding cats! Just as lack of unity in the Democratic party made for some interesting dynamics for Democratic leaders - including the President.
I love a good political discussion as much as anyone. However, my personal life is about relationships with friends, family and colleagues. Taking care of my health. Planning my garden for the spring. Having the financial resources to pursue a creative life. Concern for others who do not have what they need - here and around the world. It is not political ideas that feed my daily life. And I suspect the same is true of everyone.
Happy New Year means something special! It's pristine notebooks waiting to be filled!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Important Snowpocalyptic Questions
The recent snow has been called a number of things besides mega-storm - even before the Vikings' Metrodrome collapsed.. Two of my favorites are snowmageddon and snowpocalypse. What ever the name given to it, life did slow down for a few days.
The following piece of poetry came to me during that time. What else would a poet do when going somewhere, anywhere is impossible!
When I was a child, we used to dig holes as deep as we could. We were trying to dig a hole all the way to the other side of the earth. An impossible task, but children often don't know the meaning of impossible.
Important Snowpocalyptic Questions
From the Effects of Being Housebound
Do things fall out of people’s pockets,
who live on the other side of the world?
After all, if you find a big hole
dug straight through and peer into it,
you would see the soles of their feet.
To find nesting places in trees,
do birds fly upside down
on the other side of the world?
Or do they fly right side up
as they do here, peering
into clouds for soft places
to lay eggs and raise their babes?
Instead of choosing blue,
are leaves on trees green,
because they want to match grass?
If leaves were blue, it would mean
looking up through trees,
and not being able to tell blue sky
from a thick crop of leaves.
Does snow fall sideways
in a blizzard because it surveys
the landscape, searching to find
the best places to land?
And does ice hold tight to roads
so it won’t slide away
into heaps of plowed snow?
If your brain did not invert what
your eyes actually see,
would you walk around believing
everything was upside down?
Your feet in the air with your head
scraping along on the ground?
Like people who live
on the other side of the world,
with hands holding tight to pockets,
not wanting stuff to fall out.
The following piece of poetry came to me during that time. What else would a poet do when going somewhere, anywhere is impossible!
When I was a child, we used to dig holes as deep as we could. We were trying to dig a hole all the way to the other side of the earth. An impossible task, but children often don't know the meaning of impossible.
Important Snowpocalyptic Questions
From the Effects of Being Housebound
Do things fall out of people’s pockets,
who live on the other side of the world?
After all, if you find a big hole
dug straight through and peer into it,
you would see the soles of their feet.
To find nesting places in trees,
do birds fly upside down
on the other side of the world?
Or do they fly right side up
as they do here, peering
into clouds for soft places
to lay eggs and raise their babes?
Instead of choosing blue,
are leaves on trees green,
because they want to match grass?
If leaves were blue, it would mean
looking up through trees,
and not being able to tell blue sky
from a thick crop of leaves.
Does snow fall sideways
in a blizzard because it surveys
the landscape, searching to find
the best places to land?
And does ice hold tight to roads
so it won’t slide away
into heaps of plowed snow?
If your brain did not invert what
your eyes actually see,
would you walk around believing
everything was upside down?
Your feet in the air with your head
scraping along on the ground?
Like people who live
on the other side of the world,
with hands holding tight to pockets,
not wanting stuff to fall out.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Snow! More Snow!
For all practical purposes, we are snowbound! At times, I can't see the houses across the street through the swirling snow. The wind howls around the corners of our house and through the evergreens. Birds are flocking to the bird feeders. The watchful squirrel already has made off with the extra waffle Clem tosses outside for him - or her.
My photographer's heart itches to be out taking pictures. I console myself that this snow will not make for good images, because the wind will not let it remain where it falls. And I marvel at a sky as white as the snow. Strange how we have built in automatic responses, dependent on where in the world we live. When people here are asked the color of the sky, the first response that comes is blue. Grass is green, even though the ornamental grasses that stand all winter are subtle shades of brown. Such assumptions we live with - to reassure ourselves of the earth's stability.
I am grateful for my own warm home and a pantry stocked with options. Being able to simply enjoy this blast of cold and snow from the north. But I can't forget not everyone is so fortunate. My heart goes out to those who are homeless in this fierce weather. My ever present hope that there will come a time when everyone has the basics of life. And only the young at heart fall down laughing in snow drifts.
My photographer's heart itches to be out taking pictures. I console myself that this snow will not make for good images, because the wind will not let it remain where it falls. And I marvel at a sky as white as the snow. Strange how we have built in automatic responses, dependent on where in the world we live. When people here are asked the color of the sky, the first response that comes is blue. Grass is green, even though the ornamental grasses that stand all winter are subtle shades of brown. Such assumptions we live with - to reassure ourselves of the earth's stability.
I am grateful for my own warm home and a pantry stocked with options. Being able to simply enjoy this blast of cold and snow from the north. But I can't forget not everyone is so fortunate. My heart goes out to those who are homeless in this fierce weather. My ever present hope that there will come a time when everyone has the basics of life. And only the young at heart fall down laughing in snow drifts.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Lake Superior Snowfall
Lake Superior Snowfall
In the stillness -
a raven calls.
Early morning
snowflakes descend
gently.
Arms interlock to
knit networks of
jewel-lace
blankets.
Slight
puffs of air
pilfer
myriads of
connections.
Crystalline hush
of snowflakes melt
seamlessly into
leaden lake.
Stillness merges
with quiet moments
of unity.
From: Listen for the Silence: A Walk
Through the Natural World
by Clem Nagel
(Comments are welcome! . . . just poke the word
"comment" at the bottom)
(Comments are welcome! . . . just poke the word
"comment" at the bottom)
Travel Anyone?
Yes? Have a yen to travel somewhere? You might want to take a look at the world weather map . . .
Let's see. Yesterday, Paris was paralyzed with snow. The Panama Canal was closed due to excessive rain. And a small cruise ship was disabled by a rogue wave and fierce winds in the Drake Passage at the southern tip of South America. The disabled ship is now limping toward Ushuaia, where the temperature is 39 degrees - in the middle of summer. Today, Europe's snow has moved east into Germany, closing airports and cancelling flights. Last week Venice was flooding - again. Pack hip waders.
Been to those places . . .
Closer to home, last week the Buffalo, New York snow trapped people on freeways for hours. Followed by more heavy snow yesterday in upper New York. The weather forecast for this weekend is for a monster snowstorm from the Midwest to the east coast, stretching from the eastern Appalachians into Quebec. Pack warm clothes, emergency gear, and snow shovel.
No thank you. A couple of Holiday parties close to home sounds like a much better idea.
And who can forget Iceland's volcano and its disruption of European travel last spring. The one with the name they tried to teach me to pronounce when I was there. Or the earthquakes in Chile just days after I returned from there.
Then there are the plane flights. Not a week goes by without some "incident." The small dog who got loose, and ran up and down the aisle biting several people. Planes diverted because of unruly passengers. Fights between passengers. Unidentified parcels that cancel flights. The debate about whether it is a right "to recline one's seat." Or plain rude. Women who go through security in bikinis (come on men, where are your spandex swim trunks?). I won't even mention what passes for food.
Right now, a cup of hot chocolate in front of the fireplace with Rick Steves' book, Travel as a Political Act, sounds good to me. With a stack of travel DVDs handy.
Let's see. Yesterday, Paris was paralyzed with snow. The Panama Canal was closed due to excessive rain. And a small cruise ship was disabled by a rogue wave and fierce winds in the Drake Passage at the southern tip of South America. The disabled ship is now limping toward Ushuaia, where the temperature is 39 degrees - in the middle of summer. Today, Europe's snow has moved east into Germany, closing airports and cancelling flights. Last week Venice was flooding - again. Pack hip waders.
Been to those places . . .
Closer to home, last week the Buffalo, New York snow trapped people on freeways for hours. Followed by more heavy snow yesterday in upper New York. The weather forecast for this weekend is for a monster snowstorm from the Midwest to the east coast, stretching from the eastern Appalachians into Quebec. Pack warm clothes, emergency gear, and snow shovel.
No thank you. A couple of Holiday parties close to home sounds like a much better idea.
And who can forget Iceland's volcano and its disruption of European travel last spring. The one with the name they tried to teach me to pronounce when I was there. Or the earthquakes in Chile just days after I returned from there.
Then there are the plane flights. Not a week goes by without some "incident." The small dog who got loose, and ran up and down the aisle biting several people. Planes diverted because of unruly passengers. Fights between passengers. Unidentified parcels that cancel flights. The debate about whether it is a right "to recline one's seat." Or plain rude. Women who go through security in bikinis (come on men, where are your spandex swim trunks?). I won't even mention what passes for food.
Right now, a cup of hot chocolate in front of the fireplace with Rick Steves' book, Travel as a Political Act, sounds good to me. With a stack of travel DVDs handy.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Making a Case For Social Media
Everyday, it seems like I read another article about how Facebook, cellphones, and the Internet are ruining humanity. Perhaps the people writing most of these articles are too young to remember the "olden days." The days of party-lines before the term landline even was invented. When finding answers to your questions involved going to the library and using the card catalog. Writing letters (to one person at a time) - and waiting for them to be delivered - was the best way to communicate with someone at a distance. And then wait for a response. When people were only concerned with what happened in their neighborhood or their town.
Yes, today's instant connections can swallow up a person's time. But it is like blaming alcohol for people's addiction to it. Prohibition was a notable failure - as was making abstinence made a religious premise. Learning habits to regulate one's time spent on-line is as essential as learning that consuming excessive alcohol is a poor idea. Too much of anything is a poor idea.
When I go lunch and look around me, I see people eating alone on their lunch breaks - and chatting away on their cell-phones. I think, go for it, because there was a time in the past where phoning someone meant finding one of those phones attached to the wall with an umbilical cord.
When I sit down at my computer in the morning, news of world events is just a click away. My image of the world as a globe has shrunk and includes places that do matter to me and the rest of humanity.
When I check my Facebook account, I know some of what is going on today among my family's and friend's lives here and far away. A time-consuming task if I was limited to a landline phone and letters.
When I am writing and want to know something, I can search the Internet, rather than put down my pen, get in my car and drive to a library. And hope the book I want is not checked out.
When I use my credit card or bank account, I can track my purchases, checks and deposits. Rather than waiting for the end of the month to discover problems. And it has made it much easier to budget my finances.
When a family member (or me) buys a family member a gift they want, we can send that info out to the rest of the family - rather than multiple gifts to be returned after the holidays.
Perhaps you get my point?
The problem is not that all these tools are bad for us, like eating a whole bag of my daughter's Christmas toffee all at once. It is learning to use them well.
Have a guilt-free time on your computer today - and know when to stop. A face-to-face lunch with friends will never be replaced by the clicking of the keys in front of me.
Yes, today's instant connections can swallow up a person's time. But it is like blaming alcohol for people's addiction to it. Prohibition was a notable failure - as was making abstinence made a religious premise. Learning habits to regulate one's time spent on-line is as essential as learning that consuming excessive alcohol is a poor idea. Too much of anything is a poor idea.
When I go lunch and look around me, I see people eating alone on their lunch breaks - and chatting away on their cell-phones. I think, go for it, because there was a time in the past where phoning someone meant finding one of those phones attached to the wall with an umbilical cord.
When I sit down at my computer in the morning, news of world events is just a click away. My image of the world as a globe has shrunk and includes places that do matter to me and the rest of humanity.
When I check my Facebook account, I know some of what is going on today among my family's and friend's lives here and far away. A time-consuming task if I was limited to a landline phone and letters.
When I am writing and want to know something, I can search the Internet, rather than put down my pen, get in my car and drive to a library. And hope the book I want is not checked out.
When I use my credit card or bank account, I can track my purchases, checks and deposits. Rather than waiting for the end of the month to discover problems. And it has made it much easier to budget my finances.
When a family member (or me) buys a family member a gift they want, we can send that info out to the rest of the family - rather than multiple gifts to be returned after the holidays.
Perhaps you get my point?
The problem is not that all these tools are bad for us, like eating a whole bag of my daughter's Christmas toffee all at once. It is learning to use them well.
Have a guilt-free time on your computer today - and know when to stop. A face-to-face lunch with friends will never be replaced by the clicking of the keys in front of me.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Verdict Is In
It is clear that the snow-season has arrived. And it is not likely to go away soon. Trees are laden with white fluffy clumps. The temperature is below zero. Cars move with caution (at least most of them).
I remember in my younger adult years how excited I was when enough snow fell that I could play outside in it. Skiing, snowshoeing, sledding down big hills. And flopping down in an undisturbed place and making snow angels - even if it meant getting snow down my neck and my boots. Brrrrr . . . !
It's not like life in San Diego or Costa Rica. Instead, the seasons here are clearly marked by change. I reflect upon my own life asking whether I live out of a Midwestern pattern of changes or in a perpetual springtime. I would say the changing pattern of seasons describes my life.
How about your life? Too often we think a good life consists of stable periods marked by temporary transitions. Normal is living on one big flat-topped mesa - and to get to another mesa requires a lot of vigorous effort.
I'd rather think of life as a process of continual and unexpected changes. I invite a few of those changes. But most of the changes in my life seem to pop up out of nowhere. I never expected to teach poetry-making or be a writer. Photography was just something that everyone did when they traveled somewhere. Nor did I think I would travel so extensively over five continents, see icebergs up close, or round Cape Horn.
And every bit of it has changed me. Just like snow transforms my summer garden into a fairyland.
I watch the snow fall outside and reminded of a cat who once owned the house in which we lived. We used to let him outdoors - before we decided the practice was neither healthy for him nor for the birds and chipmunks. When it would rain, he would look out the front door. His dissatisfaction was quite evident Then he would go look out the back door to see it was raining there too. No such luck.
I have had the same feeling this past week - wanting to check if there is snow both in the front and the back.
For right now, the verdict is in. Snow is falling everywhere outside. It is seriously winter.
I remember in my younger adult years how excited I was when enough snow fell that I could play outside in it. Skiing, snowshoeing, sledding down big hills. And flopping down in an undisturbed place and making snow angels - even if it meant getting snow down my neck and my boots. Brrrrr . . . !
It's not like life in San Diego or Costa Rica. Instead, the seasons here are clearly marked by change. I reflect upon my own life asking whether I live out of a Midwestern pattern of changes or in a perpetual springtime. I would say the changing pattern of seasons describes my life.
How about your life? Too often we think a good life consists of stable periods marked by temporary transitions. Normal is living on one big flat-topped mesa - and to get to another mesa requires a lot of vigorous effort.
I'd rather think of life as a process of continual and unexpected changes. I invite a few of those changes. But most of the changes in my life seem to pop up out of nowhere. I never expected to teach poetry-making or be a writer. Photography was just something that everyone did when they traveled somewhere. Nor did I think I would travel so extensively over five continents, see icebergs up close, or round Cape Horn.
And every bit of it has changed me. Just like snow transforms my summer garden into a fairyland.
I watch the snow fall outside and reminded of a cat who once owned the house in which we lived. We used to let him outdoors - before we decided the practice was neither healthy for him nor for the birds and chipmunks. When it would rain, he would look out the front door. His dissatisfaction was quite evident Then he would go look out the back door to see it was raining there too. No such luck.
I have had the same feeling this past week - wanting to check if there is snow both in the front and the back.
For right now, the verdict is in. Snow is falling everywhere outside. It is seriously winter.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Steadfast
First lasting snow.
Two cranes remain
in their summer home.
Our garden offers
secluded safety
among the trees.
There they are.
Quietly standing by
a small freezing pond.
They will carry
the snow's weight
throughout winter.
Their presence
feeds our souls.
(Comments are welcome! . . . just poke the word "Comment" at
the bottom)
the bottom)
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Support for the Arts: A Small Commercial
Just a small commercial for this season of gift-giving.
Clem has two poetry books for sale: Prairie Sky Prairie Ground ($12) and Listen For the Silence: A Walk Through the Natural World ($14). Prairie Sky has a lot of memoir poems from Clem's growing up (or should it be said his first two decades of life, since he is still growing up). Listen For the Silence's poems are reflections on the natural world that is such an important part of Clem. Some of them are from his extensive travels, others from places near to home.
Elizabeth has one poetry book for sale: Waiting For the Heat to Pass ($14). Women especially gravitate to her writings. The best feedback she has heard was by a book store manager who told her about the woman who said "I have to have this book" and walked out holding her treasure close to her heart.
Clem and Elizabeth also have CD's of their collaborative effort with NUBE, a musical ensemble of musicians from South America. The CD's title is The Golden Bird ($15) and traces the journey of a mythological bird down the Amazon River.
The three books are available at these bookstores: Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts, Birchbark Books, Common Good Books, Loyola Spirituality Center, Benedictine Spirituality Center, Cokesbury Bookstore at United Theological Seminary, and St Martin's Table (until they close in December). Out-of-town stores are Beagle Books and Bindery (Park Rapids), Sister Wolf Books (Dorset), and Mound Bookstore (Sinsinawa, Wisc.) At this point in our writing lives, we have chosen to sell our books directly, at independent bookstores, and at nonprofit places who benefit from sales of books
The CD can be ordered from us or from Nicolas Carter (http://www.nicolascarter.com/). Books also can be ordered from us. Contact us at cnagel@cpinternet.com.
And if you just can't think of anyone who would benefit from the gift of our poetry (and we can't imagine anyone who wouldn't), go to Banfill-Locke's annual holiday sale A Gift for All Seasons from December 2-18 There you can buy our photography as well as other gifts made by local artists.
Clem has two poetry books for sale: Prairie Sky Prairie Ground ($12) and Listen For the Silence: A Walk Through the Natural World ($14). Prairie Sky has a lot of memoir poems from Clem's growing up (or should it be said his first two decades of life, since he is still growing up). Listen For the Silence's poems are reflections on the natural world that is such an important part of Clem. Some of them are from his extensive travels, others from places near to home.
Elizabeth has one poetry book for sale: Waiting For the Heat to Pass ($14). Women especially gravitate to her writings. The best feedback she has heard was by a book store manager who told her about the woman who said "I have to have this book" and walked out holding her treasure close to her heart.
Clem and Elizabeth also have CD's of their collaborative effort with NUBE, a musical ensemble of musicians from South America. The CD's title is The Golden Bird ($15) and traces the journey of a mythological bird down the Amazon River.
The three books are available at these bookstores: Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts, Birchbark Books, Common Good Books, Loyola Spirituality Center, Benedictine Spirituality Center, Cokesbury Bookstore at United Theological Seminary, and St Martin's Table (until they close in December). Out-of-town stores are Beagle Books and Bindery (Park Rapids), Sister Wolf Books (Dorset), and Mound Bookstore (Sinsinawa, Wisc.) At this point in our writing lives, we have chosen to sell our books directly, at independent bookstores, and at nonprofit places who benefit from sales of books
The CD can be ordered from us or from Nicolas Carter (http://www.nicolascarter.com/). Books also can be ordered from us. Contact us at cnagel@cpinternet.com.
And if you just can't think of anyone who would benefit from the gift of our poetry (and we can't imagine anyone who wouldn't), go to Banfill-Locke's annual holiday sale A Gift for All Seasons from December 2-18 There you can buy our photography as well as other gifts made by local artists.
Support your local artists this holiday season.
The Twin Cities is a rich place for artists of all kinds. When you give a gift created by one of them, you give three times - to the recipient of your gift and to the artist who lives and works here. And you contribute to keeping the arts alive in this great place where we all are fortunate to live.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Gratitude
The skies are white, the snow falls steadily - and it feels either like Friday night not Wednesday. Or December. Am I disoriented or what!
But I do know that tomorrow is National Stopping-Out Day, the day we take each year to bring all our activities to a halt to gather with friends and family. To say thank you and express our gratitude for the goodness in our lives.
I know that I sometimes get weighted down with all of the troubles in the world. Like shoveling snow off the driveway, sometimes it is necessary to shovel away what falls on each of us to find signs of hope. Small acts of kindness. Advances in treating diseases. News that employment is up. Genorosity of people who bring groceries to food shelves. Laughter of children. The orange sled I saw coming out of a garage, hugged by an eager boy excited by the possibility of snow.
White skies and clean snow that temporarily transforms the world into a fairy land.
But I do know that tomorrow is National Stopping-Out Day, the day we take each year to bring all our activities to a halt to gather with friends and family. To say thank you and express our gratitude for the goodness in our lives.
I know that I sometimes get weighted down with all of the troubles in the world. Like shoveling snow off the driveway, sometimes it is necessary to shovel away what falls on each of us to find signs of hope. Small acts of kindness. Advances in treating diseases. News that employment is up. Genorosity of people who bring groceries to food shelves. Laughter of children. The orange sled I saw coming out of a garage, hugged by an eager boy excited by the possibility of snow.
White skies and clean snow that temporarily transforms the world into a fairy land.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Weather Superstitions
If I had a quarter for every time this past week that I heard "it's payback time," I'd cash in my frequent flyer miles and go somewhere warm.
I don't know if it's a Lutheran-Calvinist streak infecting Minnesota or what, but people around here don't seem to be able to accept gorgeous weather. This autumn produced a whole string of flawless days - setting some kind of record, I think. And when the first blast of arctic air hit the state, I hear people saying "knew we'd have to pay for all those beautiful days."
As though the weather gods have been keeping score and it is time to punish us for enjoying life. A theology based on a God out to get us, if we forget that pain ranks above pleasure. Even my favorite weather man, Paul Douglas said it - and I know he doesn't hear this kind of stuff at the church we both go to.
My grandfather used to plant radishes on Good Friday. The trouble with his gardening schedule is that Good Friday slides around the calendar like cars on black ice. He was on more solid ground when he planted potatoes as soon as budding oak leafs in the spring were the size of mouse ears. Though I am not sure where he observed oak trees, since I grew up on the flattest place on earth and oak trees were in short supply.
Five thousand years ago, the Neolithic people who built Stonehenge in England and the Ring of Brodgar in the Orkneys were much more scientific. They constructed architectual markers that told them when the equinox was upon them and it was planting time. Likewise, the people a thousand years ago in the Southwest's Chaco Canyon. They knew the annual pattern of the sun and stars were reliable guides and not subject to the whims of weather gods. Today, we are more awed because they also marked the solstice with their architecture - when no one is out planting anything.
The first garden calendar arrived this week. I was offended! Don't those folks know that garden catalogs are to be shipped the week after Christmas? I tossed it. After all, there are some rhythms of life that should not be violated! No matter what the weather-superstitious folks suggest.
dreamt last night
it was bitter January cold,
huge stacks of mail arrived,
dozens of seed catalogs,
pages and more pages
of bright pictures,
sweet promises
from the fertile earth
from "summer death
winter resurrection"
in Waiting for the Heat to Pass
(by Elizabeth Nagel)
Meanwhile, I can only dream of warm places as I take note of the pale grey sky this morning and the concrete-like snow that is slowly disappearing to reveal green grass beneath. Sigh, Costa Rica would be nice . . .
I don't know if it's a Lutheran-Calvinist streak infecting Minnesota or what, but people around here don't seem to be able to accept gorgeous weather. This autumn produced a whole string of flawless days - setting some kind of record, I think. And when the first blast of arctic air hit the state, I hear people saying "knew we'd have to pay for all those beautiful days."
As though the weather gods have been keeping score and it is time to punish us for enjoying life. A theology based on a God out to get us, if we forget that pain ranks above pleasure. Even my favorite weather man, Paul Douglas said it - and I know he doesn't hear this kind of stuff at the church we both go to.
My grandfather used to plant radishes on Good Friday. The trouble with his gardening schedule is that Good Friday slides around the calendar like cars on black ice. He was on more solid ground when he planted potatoes as soon as budding oak leafs in the spring were the size of mouse ears. Though I am not sure where he observed oak trees, since I grew up on the flattest place on earth and oak trees were in short supply.
Five thousand years ago, the Neolithic people who built Stonehenge in England and the Ring of Brodgar in the Orkneys were much more scientific. They constructed architectual markers that told them when the equinox was upon them and it was planting time. Likewise, the people a thousand years ago in the Southwest's Chaco Canyon. They knew the annual pattern of the sun and stars were reliable guides and not subject to the whims of weather gods. Today, we are more awed because they also marked the solstice with their architecture - when no one is out planting anything.
The first garden calendar arrived this week. I was offended! Don't those folks know that garden catalogs are to be shipped the week after Christmas? I tossed it. After all, there are some rhythms of life that should not be violated! No matter what the weather-superstitious folks suggest.
dreamt last night
it was bitter January cold,
huge stacks of mail arrived,
dozens of seed catalogs,
pages and more pages
of bright pictures,
sweet promises
from the fertile earth
from "summer death
winter resurrection"
in Waiting for the Heat to Pass
(by Elizabeth Nagel)
Meanwhile, I can only dream of warm places as I take note of the pale grey sky this morning and the concrete-like snow that is slowly disappearing to reveal green grass beneath. Sigh, Costa Rica would be nice . . .
Friday, November 19, 2010
Where Are the Happy Warrior and Paul Wellstone When We Need Them?
Reading the newspaper this week was a dismal activity. Senseless violence, more threats to air travel, political mayhem and petty politics, the probable derailing of needed light rail in the Twin Cities. Further moves to the right by Catholic bishops promise renewed energy devoted to stopping all gay marriage and opposing health care reform as a step toward outlawing all abortion. And Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich move closer to announcing their bids for president. God have mercy on us all.
Last night we listened to the PBS portrayal of Hubert Humphrey. I had forgotten his boundless energy, which he coupled with skillful use of political strategy.His moral passion generated a long list of legislation we now take for granted. Would the Civil Rights Act ever have been passed without the "happy warrior's" determined efforts.
Today, I have been thinking about Paul Wellstone. A man small of stature, he would literally bounce up and down in his passion for justice. People still keep his bumper stickers for re-election on their cars - in this time when people are driving their cars longer than in previous times.What more might this man and his spouse have given to this country if their plane had not crashed in northern Minnesota?
And news of the royal engagement. Like romantics all over the world, I read and listened to every tidbit of news. In good times, I expect I still would have paid attention to the announcement. But in this time of news as dismal as the grey November skies, they represent hope. Not just for a strong marriage for them, which William's mother and father did not have. Hope for decency and better times for all of us.
Moral passion and romance - badly needed in our world today.
Last night we listened to the PBS portrayal of Hubert Humphrey. I had forgotten his boundless energy, which he coupled with skillful use of political strategy.His moral passion generated a long list of legislation we now take for granted. Would the Civil Rights Act ever have been passed without the "happy warrior's" determined efforts.
Today, I have been thinking about Paul Wellstone. A man small of stature, he would literally bounce up and down in his passion for justice. People still keep his bumper stickers for re-election on their cars - in this time when people are driving their cars longer than in previous times.What more might this man and his spouse have given to this country if their plane had not crashed in northern Minnesota?
And news of the royal engagement. Like romantics all over the world, I read and listened to every tidbit of news. In good times, I expect I still would have paid attention to the announcement. But in this time of news as dismal as the grey November skies, they represent hope. Not just for a strong marriage for them, which William's mother and father did not have. Hope for decency and better times for all of us.
Moral passion and romance - badly needed in our world today.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Article Published
Check out my latest publication in View From The Loft. There I described what I learned teaching a four-week course at Catholic Eldercare last spring. Going into the experience, I thought I knew how to teach poetry. What I found were a bunch of outspoken and avid students, who helped each other navigate their various physical obstacles.Such as limited vision, hearing, memories, or an ability to write! Click on the Loft link and go to the View and go to my article, " Prepared."
How fitting it was that my article was published on the fourth and last session of a second poetry-writing course at the same place. The first course was so popular that residents requested another opportunity to experiment with words.
It is one of the most satisfying things I have done in a long time.
How fitting it was that my article was published on the fourth and last session of a second poetry-writing course at the same place. The first course was so popular that residents requested another opportunity to experiment with words.
It is one of the most satisfying things I have done in a long time.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Last To Leave
The poem was completed at 11a.m. on Veteran's Day, 2010. This day in history was marked as being the "eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month" of 1918, commemorating the armistice (signed at Compiegne, France) between the Allies of World War I and Germany. While this official date reflects the cease fire on the Western Front, other countries in the region chose to continue the fighting and to be the last to leave.
The Last To Leave
The climbing honeysuckle vine,
always last to drop its blossoms
before winter sets in,
blooms in mid-November's
quiet morning sun.
It is a favorite refueling stop
for hummingbirds.
Just a few weeks ago, I spied
one such feathered jewel,
now - long gone
on its yearly journey to Mexico.
I stroll garden paths,
discover again freshly turned dirt where
daffodil and tulip bulbs lie buried deep.
Hopefully, their roots will grow
to anchor them before
a yet-to-come hard freeze.
A while back,
I watered their dormant,
naked forms, and left them
mulch-covered.
Perhaps - just one more
douse of water would be good.
It hasn't rained for some time.
I sit quietly on a bench
beneath a leafless tamarack,
almost hidden from
the sky's eyes.
Hearing geese moving southward,
I enter my house, not wanting to be
the last to leave.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
First Snowfall
On Wednesday, the temperature was just shy of 70 degrees. Today, the trees are laden with heavy wet snow. The forthysia has big balls of snow clinging to its branches. It looks like a giant cotton plant ready for picking.
Just like that - the world around me is transformed from one season of life into another. Almost as dramatic as the southern tip of Chile where the sun shone in blue skies, it rained, the fog came in, and there was a bit of snow in the air - all within an hour's time.
Some days, the news seems a repeat of yesterday's news, and last week's, and last year's . . . Disasters, wars, invasions, violence, political differences, greed. The list is long. It makes a person wonder if humans are hard-wired to never grow up. Where is the transformation that might move humanity to another season of life? When will we learn to live with each other in peace and compassion?
Over dinner, a friend shared his anguish over a NPR call-in radio show in which many callers declared no medical care should be provided to those who "are not useful." The instance being discussed was about a child with severe health issues. I wondered if those callers would include all those elder members of our society in nursing homes. Would they just wheel them out to the curb and leave them to die?
Then it snows. Big heavy flakes. And I ask myself what does it mean "to be useful." I suppose the snow would qualify as useful since it has not rained for weeks. It also is useful by providing seasonal work for those charged with snow removal and selling snow-blowers. At the same, I imagine many folks around town are entranced with the beauty of the first snow. Does beauty qualify as useful?
Sometimes my life has been touched by someone who will never realize what they have given me. It may as fleeting as the sudden smile on an infant's face as their parent carries the baby past me. Like the soft touch of snowflakes on my face. I'd certainly call that useful.
Just like that - the world around me is transformed from one season of life into another. Almost as dramatic as the southern tip of Chile where the sun shone in blue skies, it rained, the fog came in, and there was a bit of snow in the air - all within an hour's time.
Some days, the news seems a repeat of yesterday's news, and last week's, and last year's . . . Disasters, wars, invasions, violence, political differences, greed. The list is long. It makes a person wonder if humans are hard-wired to never grow up. Where is the transformation that might move humanity to another season of life? When will we learn to live with each other in peace and compassion?
Over dinner, a friend shared his anguish over a NPR call-in radio show in which many callers declared no medical care should be provided to those who "are not useful." The instance being discussed was about a child with severe health issues. I wondered if those callers would include all those elder members of our society in nursing homes. Would they just wheel them out to the curb and leave them to die?
Then it snows. Big heavy flakes. And I ask myself what does it mean "to be useful." I suppose the snow would qualify as useful since it has not rained for weeks. It also is useful by providing seasonal work for those charged with snow removal and selling snow-blowers. At the same, I imagine many folks around town are entranced with the beauty of the first snow. Does beauty qualify as useful?
 |
| Lake Superior |
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Twinkie Diet
I am going on the Twinkie diet. No, I'm not going to start eating Twinkies, something I have never done. Nor Hostess HoHo's either, even someone dear to me confesses it has been her occasional junk food fix since childhood.
Yesterday I was perusing one of my favorite online news sources, which is 75% serious news and 25% supermarket tabloid items. My eye catches man loses 27 pounds in two months on a self-designed Twinkie diet. Not quite ready to get to work on a writing project, I checked out what I thought must be either a joke or a gimmick.
No gimmick. A nutrition professor from Kansas State was seriously conducting an experiment with himself as the subject. BHE (before his experiment), he ate a healthy diet of whole grains, vegetables - you know, the whole healthy food routine. His intent was to create a tool to use with his students.
He restricted his caloric intake to 1800 calories and ate junk food such as Twinkies, a daily protein shake and a can of green beans. He added a multivitamin to the mix. The results were unexpected. His weight dropped quickly (always knew there was no food value in snack food). But the biggest surprise came as he monitored his vitals over the two months. His cholesterol dropped. His good cholesterol went up and the bad stuff went down. His BMI decreased and put him in the normal zone.
The end result? On all counts, he was healthier at the end of his experiment than when he started. The conclusion - it's the calories stupid. We are all eat too much - and weigh too much.
So I said to myself: this is the diet for me. The Twinkie diet (minus the Twinkies). Eat less food. Stop trying to always eat healthy foods and guilting myself when something is not. The multivitamin is easy. I am already one of the superstitious, who take multivitamins under the belief that a pill a day keeps the doctor away. The green beans do have to go - a can of green beans has enough salt in it to make me gain 27 pounds due to water retention.
Going on a diet just before the holiday season starts is a good strategy. This way I will be ready in January for the new Congress to assemble and do their own attack on consumption by cutting taxes and big government (just don't mess with my entitlements). Who knows, I may be bikini shopping by spring!
Yesterday I was perusing one of my favorite online news sources, which is 75% serious news and 25% supermarket tabloid items. My eye catches man loses 27 pounds in two months on a self-designed Twinkie diet. Not quite ready to get to work on a writing project, I checked out what I thought must be either a joke or a gimmick.
No gimmick. A nutrition professor from Kansas State was seriously conducting an experiment with himself as the subject. BHE (before his experiment), he ate a healthy diet of whole grains, vegetables - you know, the whole healthy food routine. His intent was to create a tool to use with his students.
He restricted his caloric intake to 1800 calories and ate junk food such as Twinkies, a daily protein shake and a can of green beans. He added a multivitamin to the mix. The results were unexpected. His weight dropped quickly (always knew there was no food value in snack food). But the biggest surprise came as he monitored his vitals over the two months. His cholesterol dropped. His good cholesterol went up and the bad stuff went down. His BMI decreased and put him in the normal zone.
The end result? On all counts, he was healthier at the end of his experiment than when he started. The conclusion - it's the calories stupid. We are all eat too much - and weigh too much.
So I said to myself: this is the diet for me. The Twinkie diet (minus the Twinkies). Eat less food. Stop trying to always eat healthy foods and guilting myself when something is not. The multivitamin is easy. I am already one of the superstitious, who take multivitamins under the belief that a pill a day keeps the doctor away. The green beans do have to go - a can of green beans has enough salt in it to make me gain 27 pounds due to water retention.
Going on a diet just before the holiday season starts is a good strategy. This way I will be ready in January for the new Congress to assemble and do their own attack on consumption by cutting taxes and big government (just don't mess with my entitlements). Who knows, I may be bikini shopping by spring!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
The Color Blue
It's funny how those odd bits and pieces lodge themselves in some crevass in your brain, only to show up later in some entirely different form. When I was a child, my favorite color was blue. Not the sort of startling thing I would expect to turn into anything that matters later in my life.
But it has. Spread out like jigsaw pieces waiting to be noticed as having a pattern. The color blue is embedded in my present life.
There is the blue of New Mexico's sky, one of the few places in my traveling life where I return. Once when I was there, I struck up a conversation with a woman painting at an easel. I asked where she was from. Florida she said. I then asked her why she came all the way to New Mexico to paint. Her reply was that it was the particular blue of the sky, so different from Florida's blue sky.
Hmmm. I hadn't noticed. But she was right. Most of New Mexico is over a mile high, some parts a mile and a half above sea level. The air is thinner - and the sky is dramatically more blue. Just like the blue sky on the images on my earlier blog of Snows and Blues. (No photoshopping and the kind of film here - it is what my digital camera "saw.")
Now that I have begun thinking about those pieces of blue scattered throughout my life, I imagine I shall find many more!
But it has. Spread out like jigsaw pieces waiting to be noticed as having a pattern. The color blue is embedded in my present life.
There is the blue of New Mexico's sky, one of the few places in my traveling life where I return. Once when I was there, I struck up a conversation with a woman painting at an easel. I asked where she was from. Florida she said. I then asked her why she came all the way to New Mexico to paint. Her reply was that it was the particular blue of the sky, so different from Florida's blue sky.
Hmmm. I hadn't noticed. But she was right. Most of New Mexico is over a mile high, some parts a mile and a half above sea level. The air is thinner - and the sky is dramatically more blue. Just like the blue sky on the images on my earlier blog of Snows and Blues. (No photoshopping and the kind of film here - it is what my digital camera "saw.")
 |
| Salinas National Monument |
And there is the blue ice of the glaciers that so intrigue me. Alaska's tidewater glaciers slowly traveling into the sea.
 |
| Alaska |
And there were those icebergs in Greenland, pieces of glaciers that have broken loose to flow toward open water.
 |
| It's bigger than it looks! Iceberg in Greenland |
And at the other end of South America, there is the remoteness of Chile's Avenue Glaciers.
 |
| Glacier melt in Chile |
Or perhaps blue continues to capture my attention because it is the color of my dear love's eyes.
 |
| Taking a snooze in the sun while waiting for the next glacier |
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Snows and Blues to Give Me Perspective
When Clem and I were growing up, we lived in the Mississippi flyway, one of the great migration routes for waterfowl. Every spring swans, Canada geese, and snow and blue geese would fly overhead in great clouds. It is a precious memory that sustains me when I begin to slip over the edge and become too caught up in political and world drama.
I did not have a camera then, which was capable of capturing these images on film - only my boxy Brownie camera. Now thanks to the digital cameras of today, it is possible for me to capture some of the essence of these wild creatures, who seem all but oblivious to humans, awed by their flight northward into Canada.
 |
| Wintering Snows and Blues |
 |
| Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge New Mexico |
One of their wintering places is in central New Mexico. Smart snowbirds!
Today, Minnesota waits to see who their next governor will be. A county by county map of the state reflects the disparity of election results across the county. The margin in each county is 10-20% for either candidate, even though less than 1% separates them statewide. Either folks in each county clearly liked one candidate or the other.
Another "throw the bums out" election, the third such election in four years, awaits the pundits' attempts to understand what the results mean. While Senator John Boehner tries to discover a strategy to herd cats in a coalition labled Republican, but consisting of Tea Party-ers and the ever present Sarah Palin. While bombs worldwide explode and children die of treatable diseases and malnutrition.
My perspective? I have grandchildren in public schools and the university. My neighbor across the street was laid off and my heart aches for their frantic fears. Arts and music disappear from school curriculums, affecting children I know personally and those who would teach them. My middle-class peers grow poorer. Stores where I sometimes shop are filled with goods for which my friends and I have little need, prolonging a stalled economy while people examine their consumer lifestyles.
An older friend once related what she experienced when her 90-some year old mother died. She looked out the door four days after the funeral. The mailman was making his rounds as if nothing monumental had happened. She had to resist the urge to holler at him, "don't you know my beloved mother just died."
Then I remind myself of the great flocks of birds who are flying southward to wait until the snow season passes. Some will not survive the journey. But the great flocks will fly north again in the spring and hatch new chicks. Huge flocks will swirl across the skies and I will listen for the deafening sound of them calling to one another. Wheeling and turning as if the whole flock is one giant organism.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Scary Times
Happy Halloween! The dark forces will prowl the streets in the disguises of little children dressed in costumes and begging for candy. And if you believe that, you are in big trouble.
And happy voting. On second thought, that doesn't sound right, given the climate of these midterm elections.
The world does not need any more political commentary, including mine. All I hope for every one of us is that we don't confuse Halloween's dark forces with the realities of what we are voting for.
See you at the voting booths - and leave your candy at home. I understand an overdose does weird thing to children and the adults who care for them.
And happy voting. On second thought, that doesn't sound right, given the climate of these midterm elections.
The world does not need any more political commentary, including mine. All I hope for every one of us is that we don't confuse Halloween's dark forces with the realities of what we are voting for.
See you at the voting booths - and leave your candy at home. I understand an overdose does weird thing to children and the adults who care for them.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Check It Out In MinnPost!
If MinnPost.com isn't a part of your regular online reading, You might consider adding it to your regular routine. It describes itself as: "a nonprofit journalism enterprise that publishes MinnPost.com. Our mission is to provide high-quality journalism for news-intense people who care about Minnesota."
If that is not enough incentive to whet your curiosity, call up the site and click on Community Voices. My article is today's (October 25) featured reading. Bill Moyers is one of my heroes and I still miss his Friday night Journal on TPT (public television). In this election frenzy, I have wondered who he might have interviewed. With the airwaves awash with political commentary, some of it good and some of it verging on grounds for libel, I suspect he would have invited some thoughtful voices for us to consider.
I'd like to think and hope that all of this vocal election expression is part of a process that leads us somewhere. Some years in the future we will have the advantage of a long view. I suspect we will see more than the Great Recession and political polarization. We are going somewhere new - into uncharted territory without GPS and reservations at our favorite campgrounds.
I remember a colleague years ago who had become very vocal about the prospects of nuclear war. I asked her why, since the rest of her life had been focused on advocacy for children's mental health issues. She said if nuclear war happens, no other issue matters.
I wonder what would happen if our culture could leave behind all the rhetoric and the distortions. What would we name as what really matters?
If that is not enough incentive to whet your curiosity, call up the site and click on Community Voices. My article is today's (October 25) featured reading. Bill Moyers is one of my heroes and I still miss his Friday night Journal on TPT (public television). In this election frenzy, I have wondered who he might have interviewed. With the airwaves awash with political commentary, some of it good and some of it verging on grounds for libel, I suspect he would have invited some thoughtful voices for us to consider.
I'd like to think and hope that all of this vocal election expression is part of a process that leads us somewhere. Some years in the future we will have the advantage of a long view. I suspect we will see more than the Great Recession and political polarization. We are going somewhere new - into uncharted territory without GPS and reservations at our favorite campgrounds.
I remember a colleague years ago who had become very vocal about the prospects of nuclear war. I asked her why, since the rest of her life had been focused on advocacy for children's mental health issues. She said if nuclear war happens, no other issue matters.
I wonder what would happen if our culture could leave behind all the rhetoric and the distortions. What would we name as what really matters?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Pelicans and Sparrows!
Two of my poems were published recently in Kingfisher, the newsletter of the Minneapolis Chapter of the National Audubon Society.
I had been driving along I-694 in Fridley and caught sight of a large flock of large, white and black birds. Paying attention to my driving . . . I exited and pulled to the side of the road and found the flock again.
They were flying in formation. White Pelicans, sailing and flapping in unison. I had seen pelicans before but never in an urban area. Then I thought . . . hey . . . Moore Lake is near by. Perhaps they stopped temporarily in their migration south.
What an incredible sight it was! Here is the poem:
Their fall traveling songs are nothing like their spring clear whistles that sound like the words “Old Sam, Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.”
They aren’t too bad as vocalists even in the fall. After all, they are the national bird of Canada!
Muffled mumbles –
I had been driving along I-694 in Fridley and caught sight of a large flock of large, white and black birds. Paying attention to my driving . . . I exited and pulled to the side of the road and found the flock again.
They were flying in formation. White Pelicans, sailing and flapping in unison. I had seen pelicans before but never in an urban area. Then I thought . . . hey . . . Moore Lake is near by. Perhaps they stopped temporarily in their migration south.
What an incredible sight it was! Here is the poem:
Pelecanus erythrorhychos
Black-tipped whites set sail
glide, flap, turn – in unison
Silent symphony
∞
White-throated Sparrows are certainly staying around a long time this fall. Usually they slip through quickly on their migration south. Not so this year. But, I’m not complaining. Their fall traveling songs are nothing like their spring clear whistles that sound like the words “Old Sam, Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.”
They aren’t too bad as vocalists even in the fall. After all, they are the national bird of Canada!
Fall Mumblers
Muffled mumbles –
inside the forest’s edge.
White-throated Sparrows
are passing through.
Almost reluctantly,
a full, clear, whistled
signature-call sounds.
Just once.
Then, back to mumbling.
Saving the best
for spring.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
The Cranes are Congregating
Sandhill cranes are fiercely territorial. Every year when they reach their nesting site, they drive out every other creature from a broad area around their nest. But in the fall, something triggers their migratory instincts and they gather together in large flocks in spent cornfields. There they fatten up for the long flight southward. Just as in the spring, they congregate along a sixty mile stretch of Nebraska's Platte River on their way north. True snowbirds!
Several days ago we went to Crex Meadows Wildlife Area in Wisconsin, near the St Croix River. In farmers' fields south of the refuge, the cranes were gathering. We watched them - and they watched us. Small groups would rise up in the air, a picture of grace par excellence. I think there is nothing more beautiful than the sight and sound of them, churrrring to each other as though they live year-long in large flocks.
Wheeling overhead, they practice for the journey. The first-year chicks have become adolescents, still "living at home" with their parents. They are trying out their wings to go somewhere they have never seen, trusting their two protective parents will guide them across the miles.
Their migration remains a mystery although research has given some tentative explanations. A combination of cues passed on from generation to generation guides them south in the autumn - and north into the Canadian and Siberian tundra in the spring. This year, the lingering warmth of one of the warmest Octobers ever has meant the cranes are late to migrate. As are the geese - "late to come down," as one local man put it.
How like us are the migrating birds. We live by regular patterns in our lives, scarcely aware of cues that guide us through the days and the months. Sometimes abrupt changes remind us of those cues, such as shift-work or jet lag that disrupt our body rhythms. Or people in our lives behave unpredictably.
And we like our weather patterns to be regular. How many times this past month, have I heard people remark about the glorious autumn we have had - and then follow it with either the we-will-pay-for-it-later comment or say something about their fears of climate change.
I'm not a migratory being. My travel is more erratic and the cues come from schedules of conferences or available experiences. At the same time, as the last leaves swirl down from the trees and the light softens, I respond to old rituals. Washing windows. Cleaning out closets. Making sure evergreens and shrubs get thoroughly watered in preparation for below-freezing temperatures.
Several days ago we went to Crex Meadows Wildlife Area in Wisconsin, near the St Croix River. In farmers' fields south of the refuge, the cranes were gathering. We watched them - and they watched us. Small groups would rise up in the air, a picture of grace par excellence. I think there is nothing more beautiful than the sight and sound of them, churrrring to each other as though they live year-long in large flocks.
Wheeling overhead, they practice for the journey. The first-year chicks have become adolescents, still "living at home" with their parents. They are trying out their wings to go somewhere they have never seen, trusting their two protective parents will guide them across the miles.
Their migration remains a mystery although research has given some tentative explanations. A combination of cues passed on from generation to generation guides them south in the autumn - and north into the Canadian and Siberian tundra in the spring. This year, the lingering warmth of one of the warmest Octobers ever has meant the cranes are late to migrate. As are the geese - "late to come down," as one local man put it.
How like us are the migrating birds. We live by regular patterns in our lives, scarcely aware of cues that guide us through the days and the months. Sometimes abrupt changes remind us of those cues, such as shift-work or jet lag that disrupt our body rhythms. Or people in our lives behave unpredictably.
And we like our weather patterns to be regular. How many times this past month, have I heard people remark about the glorious autumn we have had - and then follow it with either the we-will-pay-for-it-later comment or say something about their fears of climate change.
I'm not a migratory being. My travel is more erratic and the cues come from schedules of conferences or available experiences. At the same time, as the last leaves swirl down from the trees and the light softens, I respond to old rituals. Washing windows. Cleaning out closets. Making sure evergreens and shrubs get thoroughly watered in preparation for below-freezing temperatures.
Perhaps that is why when the sandhill cranes fly overheard, constantly calling to each other, I am stirred in the deepest part of my soul.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Banfill-Locke Juried Art Show
Stop by Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts in Fridley for a look at the wonderful annual art show. Lots of really great stuff. It will be up through November 5th (open Tuesday through Saturdays).
And Elizabeth got an honorable mention on one of her photos - one of her favorites. Come and see.
And Clem entered three images of his own, a first for him! One he calls his mystery shot, because neither of us have any idea what it is, other than that it was taken somewhere in the North Atlantic.
And Elizabeth got an honorable mention on one of her photos - one of her favorites. Come and see.
And Clem entered three images of his own, a first for him! One he calls his mystery shot, because neither of us have any idea what it is, other than that it was taken somewhere in the North Atlantic.
For the show, he matted it upside down - as if that matters - and in Clem-fashion called it "Titled." Any guess as to what it is?
And he got an amazing shot of sheep being herded by sheep dogs, taken from inside a bus through the window in the Orkney Islands. Elizabeth is jealous because none of her "window shots" ever turn out.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Why Have I Become a News-Junkie?
How did happen? My addiction to the latest news.
True, I have read Time magazine off and on since I was in graduate school. And the daily newspaper has been part of a daily ritual, which began in the "olden days" before the instant-news of the Internet.
This summer a trip to a writers conference in Santa Fe provided an opportunity to explore remote places in Colorado and Utah with my cameras. It was then that I realized I had an addiction - to the news when I could not pull up the online news or watch TV news. Later in the summer we traveled across the north Atlantic where we were sometimes "out of satellite range." When Hurricane Earl watch began, we were dependent on the ship for news of its progress north along the coast - and knew nothing about anything else in the world, including Earl's path along the eastern seaboad.
Since then, I have been paying attention to this addiction of mine. Sure, I could set limits - and the problem would go away. But it would be a missed opportunity to learn something about myself.
As a writer, I spend a lot of time before a computer screen. Access to news updates is easy. Am I simply an awe-struck older person for whom the phenomena of global connection is something new? Perhaps news gazing has become just too easy.
Am I somehow deluded in believing that if I know what is going on in this chaotic world, I can make better decisions for my life? And feel a little more in control?
Is news-addiction just an expanded version of people-watching, one of my favorite sports? As an inveterate listener to other people's conversations, I am fascinated about what makes people and relationships tick. Perhaps the news is another form of observing people.
As I have thought further, I believe a major contributor to my addiction to the news has to do with my legacy to my grand-children. Beg pardon, you say!
Yes, part of what I have to give my grandchildren is my hard earned wisdom. Before I had children, I lacked perspective about the culture in which I lived. I grew up in a small community where what was happening around the world had little impact (or so I thought). When I parented my children, I was busy with the day-to-day aspects of being involved in their lives and my involvment in my profession.
Now I look across our three generations, while trying to make sense out of who I have become and how did the culture in which I lived have an influence. And how does what is happening in the EU, Asia, Africa, or South America continue to shape and form not only me, but the global community?
Global community - a concept that did not exist in my childhood. What happened in my small prairie hometown had little to do "with the price of tea in China." Today what happens in China affects all of us deeply. For example, watch the story unfold with this year's Peace prize winner. Nixon had it right about the "domino effect." But his mind could never have imagined today's world - nor could any one's mind at the time of his presidency.
News-junkie? The question goes beyond the "what has my generation wrought?" The angst about what kind of tattered world have "we" created and are now handing over to the young adult generation. The coming to terms with what I have done to make a difference - and the limits on my ability to make a difference. Legacy is not something passive, a done-deal. It is alive and fluid as I reflect about the news as a mirror.
True, I have read Time magazine off and on since I was in graduate school. And the daily newspaper has been part of a daily ritual, which began in the "olden days" before the instant-news of the Internet.
This summer a trip to a writers conference in Santa Fe provided an opportunity to explore remote places in Colorado and Utah with my cameras. It was then that I realized I had an addiction - to the news when I could not pull up the online news or watch TV news. Later in the summer we traveled across the north Atlantic where we were sometimes "out of satellite range." When Hurricane Earl watch began, we were dependent on the ship for news of its progress north along the coast - and knew nothing about anything else in the world, including Earl's path along the eastern seaboad.
Since then, I have been paying attention to this addiction of mine. Sure, I could set limits - and the problem would go away. But it would be a missed opportunity to learn something about myself.
As a writer, I spend a lot of time before a computer screen. Access to news updates is easy. Am I simply an awe-struck older person for whom the phenomena of global connection is something new? Perhaps news gazing has become just too easy.
Am I somehow deluded in believing that if I know what is going on in this chaotic world, I can make better decisions for my life? And feel a little more in control?
Is news-addiction just an expanded version of people-watching, one of my favorite sports? As an inveterate listener to other people's conversations, I am fascinated about what makes people and relationships tick. Perhaps the news is another form of observing people.
As I have thought further, I believe a major contributor to my addiction to the news has to do with my legacy to my grand-children. Beg pardon, you say!
Yes, part of what I have to give my grandchildren is my hard earned wisdom. Before I had children, I lacked perspective about the culture in which I lived. I grew up in a small community where what was happening around the world had little impact (or so I thought). When I parented my children, I was busy with the day-to-day aspects of being involved in their lives and my involvment in my profession.
Now I look across our three generations, while trying to make sense out of who I have become and how did the culture in which I lived have an influence. And how does what is happening in the EU, Asia, Africa, or South America continue to shape and form not only me, but the global community?
Global community - a concept that did not exist in my childhood. What happened in my small prairie hometown had little to do "with the price of tea in China." Today what happens in China affects all of us deeply. For example, watch the story unfold with this year's Peace prize winner. Nixon had it right about the "domino effect." But his mind could never have imagined today's world - nor could any one's mind at the time of his presidency.
News-junkie? The question goes beyond the "what has my generation wrought?" The angst about what kind of tattered world have "we" created and are now handing over to the young adult generation. The coming to terms with what I have done to make a difference - and the limits on my ability to make a difference. Legacy is not something passive, a done-deal. It is alive and fluid as I reflect about the news as a mirror.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Chile Triumphs
Along with people all around the globe, we watched the first miner in Chile step from the rescue capsule - via live feed. And watched the last rescue worker step into the capsule in the underground chamber where the 33 miners had lived for over two months. Such is the present world, where we can be present and be here simultaneously.
From travel in Chile, I know the country as remarkably resilient. Since Pinochet's reign of terror ended, it has become one of the most stable countries in South America. Occasionally, I go to places where I say: "I could live here!" Chile is one of those places. The natural beauty of its southern tip is breath-taking beyond description. Its people are warm and welcoming.- determined to keep their hard-earned democracy functioning. And they learn from its mistakes.
Stable economically and politically that is! The tectonic Nazca Plate under the Pacific is constantly moving eastward under South America's continental plate, making Chile highly earthquake-prone. Every day a quake occurs somewhere in Chile. However, those quakes are rarely felt because they occur so far down in the earth. Most Chileans just shrug their shoulders regarding any risk.
Not so the massive earthquake that struck Chile last February. A month later, Sebastian Pinera was inaugurated as president, while aftershocks still shook Valparaiso's congressional building. He certainly has had his work cut out for him. Two major disasters within five months.
The rescue of the 33 miners has given the rest of the world a model to use when catastrophe strikes. The government took charge immediately and began to develop a plan if the miners were found to be alive under mega-tons of rock. They were not hesitant to call upon expertise from around the world. There was no energy wasted by finger-pointing about blame. All of the attention went toward safely rescuing these men.
Of course the saga is not over. The mine was considered unsafe before its collapse - and adequate government regulations for safety were not in place. Chile's mining industry and the technical details of the rescue will be examined under the world's microscopic eyes. And questions will be debated about the rapid mobilization of the country's military, both with this man-made mining disaster and the natural disaster when the earth erupted with such force last February.
The triumphant rescue was not perfect. However, the world has gotten a flavor of what Chile is about - this long pencil-thin strip of land once so isolated from the world. Last February, I wanted a bottle of wine from Chile to celebrate Valentine's Day and our travels there. The twenty-something woman in the liquor store said she thought they had some Chilean wine and led us over to a section of European wines.
We laughed after we left - with a bottle of wine from Chile that we found on another shelf. Thank goodness our clerk was not an aspiring travel agent!
From travel in Chile, I know the country as remarkably resilient. Since Pinochet's reign of terror ended, it has become one of the most stable countries in South America. Occasionally, I go to places where I say: "I could live here!" Chile is one of those places. The natural beauty of its southern tip is breath-taking beyond description. Its people are warm and welcoming.- determined to keep their hard-earned democracy functioning. And they learn from its mistakes.
Stable economically and politically that is! The tectonic Nazca Plate under the Pacific is constantly moving eastward under South America's continental plate, making Chile highly earthquake-prone. Every day a quake occurs somewhere in Chile. However, those quakes are rarely felt because they occur so far down in the earth. Most Chileans just shrug their shoulders regarding any risk.
Not so the massive earthquake that struck Chile last February. A month later, Sebastian Pinera was inaugurated as president, while aftershocks still shook Valparaiso's congressional building. He certainly has had his work cut out for him. Two major disasters within five months.
The rescue of the 33 miners has given the rest of the world a model to use when catastrophe strikes. The government took charge immediately and began to develop a plan if the miners were found to be alive under mega-tons of rock. They were not hesitant to call upon expertise from around the world. There was no energy wasted by finger-pointing about blame. All of the attention went toward safely rescuing these men.
Of course the saga is not over. The mine was considered unsafe before its collapse - and adequate government regulations for safety were not in place. Chile's mining industry and the technical details of the rescue will be examined under the world's microscopic eyes. And questions will be debated about the rapid mobilization of the country's military, both with this man-made mining disaster and the natural disaster when the earth erupted with such force last February.
The triumphant rescue was not perfect. However, the world has gotten a flavor of what Chile is about - this long pencil-thin strip of land once so isolated from the world. Last February, I wanted a bottle of wine from Chile to celebrate Valentine's Day and our travels there. The twenty-something woman in the liquor store said she thought they had some Chilean wine and led us over to a section of European wines.
We laughed after we left - with a bottle of wine from Chile that we found on another shelf. Thank goodness our clerk was not an aspiring travel agent!
Friday, October 8, 2010
The "Silent Generation"
Wait a minute! As I raised my voice in objection.
Reading the paper this morning, I learned that I was born into the "Silent Generation." Somehow I missed this little categorization of my generation. I certainly have never been known as "silent."
Nor were a lot of my peers. We were the ones marching for civil rights and protesting the war in Vietnam. Women in my generation were the ones who challenged the traditional roles assigned to us. We were experimenting with art forms and forms of literary expressions.
Ours was the generation that brought African American soul music of rhythm and blues into the mainstream. The Beatles and rock music changed forever the American musical culture. The course of American poetry was altered by the Beat Generation's poetry that helped birth today's predominant free verse style of poetry-making.
I would hardly call Martin Luther King Jr, Gloria Steinem, Robert Kennedy, Elvis, Paul Wellstone, Jim Morrison, John McCain, Jimmy Hendrix, Noam Chomsky, Adrienne Rich, Daniel Ellsberg, Ralph Nader, George Will, Dave Brubeck, Allen Ginsberg,Bob Woodward, Paul Newman, Ellen Goodman, Jasper Johns, Bob Dylan, Joan Didion, Sandra Day OConner, bell hooks, or Ray Charles silent people. And these are just Americans. There is a much longer list of people around the world, born during 1925-1945 who have not been silent.
A bit of research was in order. I learned that the term, "Silent Generation," was coined in a Time magazine article in 1951. This "silent" generation were those of us born between 1925-1945, the time of the Great Depression and WWII. The article characterized us as "grave and fatalistic, conventional, possessing confused morals, expecting disappointment." William Manchester described the members of our generation as "withdrawn, cautious, unimaginative, indifferent, unadventurous and silent. "
Pardon me?
Another name for this generation are the Traditionalists whose traits include being hard working, loyal, submissive, tech-challenged people who "value traditional morals, safety and security as well as conformity, commitment and consistency."
Makes me want to crawl under the bed, stuff a rag in my mouth, and hide.
On the other hand, well-done sociological research needs to look at the whole picture. Certainly my cohorts include people who value not causing trouble. They work hard and contribute to their communities without drawing attention to themselves. But another whole bunch of us worked just as hard calling attention to the injustices around us. We avidly pursued new forms of expression in literature, music, and art. All of us have changed the face of American culture forever.
The just-announced 2010 Nobel prize winner for Literature was Peruvian Mario Vargas Llosa - born in 1936. His interests are wide-ranging. He is no isolated writer working in seclusion to create meaningful streams of words. He says: "literature is an expression of life and you cannot eradicate politics from life even if you think politics is in many ways a disgusting, a dirty activity, it's a fact of our life."
Why not re-label my generation born between 1925-1945 "The Vibrant Generation?" And honor the wide range of us, from rabble-rousers to creative innovators and hardworking contributors who have dramatically changed our culture.
Reading the paper this morning, I learned that I was born into the "Silent Generation." Somehow I missed this little categorization of my generation. I certainly have never been known as "silent."
Nor were a lot of my peers. We were the ones marching for civil rights and protesting the war in Vietnam. Women in my generation were the ones who challenged the traditional roles assigned to us. We were experimenting with art forms and forms of literary expressions.
Ours was the generation that brought African American soul music of rhythm and blues into the mainstream. The Beatles and rock music changed forever the American musical culture. The course of American poetry was altered by the Beat Generation's poetry that helped birth today's predominant free verse style of poetry-making.
I would hardly call Martin Luther King Jr, Gloria Steinem, Robert Kennedy, Elvis, Paul Wellstone, Jim Morrison, John McCain, Jimmy Hendrix, Noam Chomsky, Adrienne Rich, Daniel Ellsberg, Ralph Nader, George Will, Dave Brubeck, Allen Ginsberg,Bob Woodward, Paul Newman, Ellen Goodman, Jasper Johns, Bob Dylan, Joan Didion, Sandra Day OConner, bell hooks, or Ray Charles silent people. And these are just Americans. There is a much longer list of people around the world, born during 1925-1945 who have not been silent.
A bit of research was in order. I learned that the term, "Silent Generation," was coined in a Time magazine article in 1951. This "silent" generation were those of us born between 1925-1945, the time of the Great Depression and WWII. The article characterized us as "grave and fatalistic, conventional, possessing confused morals, expecting disappointment." William Manchester described the members of our generation as "withdrawn, cautious, unimaginative, indifferent, unadventurous and silent. "
Pardon me?
Another name for this generation are the Traditionalists whose traits include being hard working, loyal, submissive, tech-challenged people who "value traditional morals, safety and security as well as conformity, commitment and consistency."
Makes me want to crawl under the bed, stuff a rag in my mouth, and hide.
On the other hand, well-done sociological research needs to look at the whole picture. Certainly my cohorts include people who value not causing trouble. They work hard and contribute to their communities without drawing attention to themselves. But another whole bunch of us worked just as hard calling attention to the injustices around us. We avidly pursued new forms of expression in literature, music, and art. All of us have changed the face of American culture forever.
The just-announced 2010 Nobel prize winner for Literature was Peruvian Mario Vargas Llosa - born in 1936. His interests are wide-ranging. He is no isolated writer working in seclusion to create meaningful streams of words. He says: "literature is an expression of life and you cannot eradicate politics from life even if you think politics is in many ways a disgusting, a dirty activity, it's a fact of our life."
Why not re-label my generation born between 1925-1945 "The Vibrant Generation?" And honor the wide range of us, from rabble-rousers to creative innovators and hardworking contributors who have dramatically changed our culture.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Secrets: So Zip Your Mouth
Butterflies must be on my mind lately, as I savor these last wonderful warm days.
Secrets: So Zip Your Mouth
The Swallow-tail told me his mother told him
that before he was born, his parents would
flutter about and land on
some kind of poop on forest service roads
just west of Lake 22 in northern Minnesota and that
cars would stop and people would marvel at the scenc.
But his mother didn't tell him why.
The Swallow-tail told me that when he
emerged from his chrysalis, he couldn't
drink or talk because
the two sides of his tongue hadn't yet
been zipped together and that
even worse -
his wings were all deflated and crumpled.
But the butterfly didn't tell me why.
I so wanted to tell the Swallow-tail
that I could identify with his "tongue-thing" and
not being able to fly, but -
for the life of me, I couldn't figure out
where his ears were.
So I told him anyway.
That when I was in first grade,
I never said a word. I talked OK at home
but never in school.
A while ago,
before I was almost seventy, for safe-keeping
my mother gave me my end-of-the-year
first grade report card.
Inside, my teacher Daisy Rose
had wirtten a comment.
"Clemens said his first word today."
I figure the Swallow-tail will keep
his mouth shut and tongue zipped
about my secret.
Because now I have voice and can fly .
Secrets: So Zip Your Mouth
The Swallow-tail told me his mother told him
that before he was born, his parents would
flutter about and land on
some kind of poop on forest service roads
just west of Lake 22 in northern Minnesota and that
cars would stop and people would marvel at the scenc.
But his mother didn't tell him why.
The Swallow-tail told me that when he
emerged from his chrysalis, he couldn't
drink or talk because
the two sides of his tongue hadn't yet
been zipped together and that
even worse -
his wings were all deflated and crumpled.
But the butterfly didn't tell me why.
I so wanted to tell the Swallow-tail
that I could identify with his "tongue-thing" and
not being able to fly, but -
for the life of me, I couldn't figure out
where his ears were.
So I told him anyway.
That when I was in first grade,
I never said a word. I talked OK at home
but never in school.
A while ago,
before I was almost seventy, for safe-keeping
my mother gave me my end-of-the-year
first grade report card.
Inside, my teacher Daisy Rose
had wirtten a comment.
"Clemens said his first word today."
I figure the Swallow-tail will keep
his mouth shut and tongue zipped
about my secret.
Because now I have voice and can fly .
Monday, October 4, 2010
Gone
I am not sure such glorious October days are best named Indian summer or autumn. The crystal clear blue skies make it easy to forget our troubled world. These last days invite us to play outside us, rather than tend to the usual list of things that need doing before the snow comes. This is the time when we Minnesota folks indulge in a bit of denial - as if summer could go on forever. It is the garden that knows its summertime days are over and trees dress in glorious reds, oranges and yellows.
GONE
Butterflies are
more beautiful this fall
maybe it's emergence from
a summer of great overcast
smoggy skies
ominous clouds
but now
after mind-clearing rains
the skies have cleared
at least to the eyes
butterflies dart, flutter, glide
shine in the sun
one swalltail briefly lingers
on patches of
the last phlox by the pond
earlier it searched out
newly emerged profusions of
pink resurrection lilies
then the animated patch of yellow
makes a brief circle survey of
the flower garden before
its vertical ascent
greeting the still blue sky
GONE
Butterflies are
more beautiful this fall
maybe it's emergence from
a summer of great overcast
smoggy skies
ominous clouds
but now
after mind-clearing rains
the skies have cleared
at least to the eyes
butterflies dart, flutter, glide
shine in the sun
one swalltail briefly lingers
on patches of
the last phlox by the pond
earlier it searched out
newly emerged profusions of
pink resurrection lilies
then the animated patch of yellow
makes a brief circle survey of
the flower garden before
its vertical ascent
greeting the still blue sky
Friday, October 1, 2010
The Lives of Seniors?
Earlier this week, I read in the business section of the paper about the upsurge in building senior communities. Nice, given the housing crisis the last couple of years. Someday, those communities might be an attractive option for the two of us. Even if it means no more watching for our daffodils to poke their heads up in the spring and gardening in the summer sun.
There was one line in the article that caught my eye - or might I say, raised my eyebrows. It was how such communities offered a better life for seniors than "living in single family dwellings and watching TV." I kid you not. Watching TV? What a description of seniors living in their own homes?
I imagine what the writer of the article meant is that for seniors who have limited mobility, living in a communal settings does create more options. But that's not was printed. Not all seniors living in community settings or living in their own homes have limited mobility. And it denigrates the ingenuity of aging seniors to find ways to live busy and active lives. After all, older folks do have friends and family . . .
It was the patronizing attitude toward older adults that set my teeth on edge. Most seniors that I know complain more of too much activity in their lives rather than a generalized boredom resolved only by watching TV.
This embedded value in our culture says a person is only of worth if they are working to pay the rent. As though the only purpose in life to earn money. If you aren't, you are second class and written off. That includes stay-at-home Moms (or Dads), people who manage to support themselves on part-time income, the unemployed, couples who simplify their lives so that one income is sufficient, and anyone with non-earned income (which includes many seniors). And many of my writer friends in committed relationships, whose life-partner brings home the bucks to help their beloved birth a dream. After all, making a living as a writer does fall in the rare event category.
Yes, there are couch potatoes of all ages who absorb too many hours of TV - or computer games (and yes seniors do play computer games and engage in social networking sites). There are a far greater number people past the senior cut-off age of 55 (or 50, according to AARP) who spent their time doing all kinds of interesting - and productive - things with their time. They take writing classes at the Loft and art classes at Banfill-Locke, volunteer their time and accumulated wisdom, love their families and friends, mentor their grandchildren, teach English as a second or third language, start new businesses or progessions, lobby at the Legislature . . . The list goes on and on.
Yesterday, I began reading a book written by a local artist:, Lucy Rose Fischer, titled I'm New at Being Old. The book is delightful. And just as interesting is her bio at the back of the book. She was an award-winning PhD research scientist, who asked herself as she approached 60, "how old do I have to be to follow my dream?" Now she is an artists whose work has been in more than 50 exhibits.
Now, what was that about watching TV?
There was one line in the article that caught my eye - or might I say, raised my eyebrows. It was how such communities offered a better life for seniors than "living in single family dwellings and watching TV." I kid you not. Watching TV? What a description of seniors living in their own homes?
I imagine what the writer of the article meant is that for seniors who have limited mobility, living in a communal settings does create more options. But that's not was printed. Not all seniors living in community settings or living in their own homes have limited mobility. And it denigrates the ingenuity of aging seniors to find ways to live busy and active lives. After all, older folks do have friends and family . . .
It was the patronizing attitude toward older adults that set my teeth on edge. Most seniors that I know complain more of too much activity in their lives rather than a generalized boredom resolved only by watching TV.
This embedded value in our culture says a person is only of worth if they are working to pay the rent. As though the only purpose in life to earn money. If you aren't, you are second class and written off. That includes stay-at-home Moms (or Dads), people who manage to support themselves on part-time income, the unemployed, couples who simplify their lives so that one income is sufficient, and anyone with non-earned income (which includes many seniors). And many of my writer friends in committed relationships, whose life-partner brings home the bucks to help their beloved birth a dream. After all, making a living as a writer does fall in the rare event category.
Yes, there are couch potatoes of all ages who absorb too many hours of TV - or computer games (and yes seniors do play computer games and engage in social networking sites). There are a far greater number people past the senior cut-off age of 55 (or 50, according to AARP) who spent their time doing all kinds of interesting - and productive - things with their time. They take writing classes at the Loft and art classes at Banfill-Locke, volunteer their time and accumulated wisdom, love their families and friends, mentor their grandchildren, teach English as a second or third language, start new businesses or progessions, lobby at the Legislature . . . The list goes on and on.
Yesterday, I began reading a book written by a local artist:, Lucy Rose Fischer, titled I'm New at Being Old. The book is delightful. And just as interesting is her bio at the back of the book. She was an award-winning PhD research scientist, who asked herself as she approached 60, "how old do I have to be to follow my dream?" Now she is an artists whose work has been in more than 50 exhibits.
Now, what was that about watching TV?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Today's Blossom
These waning days have a certain comfort as our garden settles into dormancy. The few fall roses linger in their beauty. Throughout the summer I had dutifully tended the roses Clipped their spent blossoms, trimming the shoots back to leaflets of five or more to encourage more flowers. But now the autumn blooms are left alone to fade and be transformed into colorful rose hips that will adorn the soon-to-be winter landscape.
Today’s Blossom
![]()
Today’s Blossom
If you must—
touch today’s flower bud
and imagine
tomorrow’s blossom.
Imagine the promise,
uncertainty, and
impermanence that have
taken haven within.
Tomorrow—
if you will,
hold today’s bud.
Should it be opening,
be grateful.
Now—return to today,
come live in
each moment’s
unfolding.
touch today’s flower bud
and imagine
tomorrow’s blossom.
Imagine the promise,
uncertainty, and
impermanence that have
taken haven within.
Tomorrow—
if you will,
hold today’s bud.
Should it be opening,
be grateful.
Now—return to today,
come live in
each moment’s
unfolding.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Lure of Wild Places
There is something about the extremes of the Earth that draw me. These are not places where I would choose to live. But they are places I carry around in my memories and my heart.
Trips to Alaska with snowcapped mountains too numerous to name. The North Cape of Norway high above the Arctic Circle, where a third of the world's Atlantic Puffins live. Our journey around South America's Cape Horn. And this latest voyage across the North Atlantic.
I grew up in a closed container geograpically. Landlocked, though not in the way the term is usually used. My family never traveled and I had no expectations that my life could be any different. At the same time, seeds to explore were planted in my soul, somewhere below my conscious mind.
When Clem and I made our first dash for freedom, my closed container expanded - and has continued to expand. Wild places danced before me and I answered.
Of course, inevitable questions rise up within me. Why these places? What is their meaning for me? How do I carry them now within me? I close my eyes and remember.
 |
| Iceland |
I grew up in a closed container geograpically. Landlocked, though not in the way the term is usually used. My family never traveled and I had no expectations that my life could be any different. At the same time, seeds to explore were planted in my soul, somewhere below my conscious mind.
When Clem and I made our first dash for freedom, my closed container expanded - and has continued to expand. Wild places danced before me and I answered.
 |
| Faroe Islands |
 |
| Greenland |
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