I'm "vegging" at a great little hotel in Dallas in between gigs...I love this part of traveling..reading, writing, hitting the hot tub.
What amazes me about traveling is how small I sometimes let me world become. I can meet 50 new people in a day just by driving 5 hours south from my home. There is something reassuring about that...seeing people who inhabit lives that know nothing about you and you about them. Like the world that you inhabit is really small, after all...they don't even know you, you don't even know them...it makes all things in life seem less pressing, less of a "big deal". And indeed it is, thankfully.
I'm reading Joyce Carol Oates "Man Crazy" and listening again and again to Marc Broussard...my favorite track on his album "Save me"...great quirky beat...I can't wait to hear more from this artist.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Taking a break with Marc and John
Best Buy is the iconic cave for our generation. It's where the artistic and innovative go to create, think, ponder and of course buy great tunes.
I ducked in during a lunch break today and was instantly hit with the smell of new plastic, metal and all things electronic. I was transported out of the heat of the June day into a cool, loud and very tech-y interior where images, sounds from another world greeted me.
I so rarely visit a "real" store anymore, (most of my shopping being done online) that I felt like a kid at the amusement park. I restrained myself --- I wanted to run from the 400 versions of the digital camera (all lined up in a swirl pattern) , then back again to the computers ( I was tempted to run my fingers up and down the computer keyboards like a kid might do in a music store. ) Instead, I lesirely loped over the to the music section and found my favorite alternative rock bands and read their jacket covers (do CD's have 'jacket covers' or is that old-school talk for album art?)
I settled upon two new artists - Marc Broussard and John Hiatt. Actually, most John Hiatt fans would laugh to hear me call him a "new artist"..he's actually one of most enduring musicians around. His newest album "John Hiatt and the Goners" is still in its plastic sheeting and I plan to rock out to it this afternoon while working.
There is a certain mystique in purchasing a new CD (or album). My kids disdain this type of purchase, "Just go online and purchase the SONG you want, instead of all those songs you don't" is what they always say to me. I dunno. I kind of enjoy letting the artist reveal him or herself to me through the different songs that they've created. I feel that I get more personal with them, understand their particular musical vernacular. Only one song feels more like a a "first date"...too short, too easily forgotten and leaves you just wanting more, anyway.
Music is the narration of life. It speaks into our souls, illuminating feelings that cannot be spoken. Music, like all good art, brings us into the realm of another god, someone who understand the complexities of their world and can explain it to us. A chord, a musical phrase can bring a "rightness" to the world that defies description. The best music is the stuff that introduces us to ourselves, speaks to us on levels that we can only hear through the voice and sounds of another.
Great lyrics from Marc Brousard off his CD ("Carenco")
I ducked in during a lunch break today and was instantly hit with the smell of new plastic, metal and all things electronic. I was transported out of the heat of the June day into a cool, loud and very tech-y interior where images, sounds from another world greeted me.
I so rarely visit a "real" store anymore, (most of my shopping being done online) that I felt like a kid at the amusement park. I restrained myself --- I wanted to run from the 400 versions of the digital camera (all lined up in a swirl pattern) , then back again to the computers ( I was tempted to run my fingers up and down the computer keyboards like a kid might do in a music store. ) Instead, I lesirely loped over the to the music section and found my favorite alternative rock bands and read their jacket covers (do CD's have 'jacket covers' or is that old-school talk for album art?)
I settled upon two new artists - Marc Broussard and John Hiatt. Actually, most John Hiatt fans would laugh to hear me call him a "new artist"..he's actually one of most enduring musicians around. His newest album "John Hiatt and the Goners" is still in its plastic sheeting and I plan to rock out to it this afternoon while working.
There is a certain mystique in purchasing a new CD (or album). My kids disdain this type of purchase, "Just go online and purchase the SONG you want, instead of all those songs you don't" is what they always say to me. I dunno. I kind of enjoy letting the artist reveal him or herself to me through the different songs that they've created. I feel that I get more personal with them, understand their particular musical vernacular. Only one song feels more like a a "first date"...too short, too easily forgotten and leaves you just wanting more, anyway.
Music is the narration of life. It speaks into our souls, illuminating feelings that cannot be spoken. Music, like all good art, brings us into the realm of another god, someone who understand the complexities of their world and can explain it to us. A chord, a musical phrase can bring a "rightness" to the world that defies description. The best music is the stuff that introduces us to ourselves, speaks to us on levels that we can only hear through the voice and sounds of another.
Great lyrics from Marc Brousard off his CD ("Carenco")
"The Wanderer"
I'm just drifting on thie lonely road of mine
And if you like you can come along with me
But I promise you that I am not the man I used to be
But I promise you that I am not the man I used to be
Now you and I we've seen our share of ups and downs
Somewhere we just lost hope
I can't change the past, but who cares
Your love is all I've ever known
Your love is all I've ever known
I'm a wanderer I have no place or time
I'm just drifting on this lonely road of mine
If you would accept me for me
Then I promise you that there's a better man inside of me
Yes I promise you that there's a better man inside of me
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Letter Home
"Dear Mom and Dad:
"I got your letter this week and want to try to calm your fears about my recent decision to
attend church at another place.
"I know that you have been worried about me but I want to tell you that I'm doing fine. I'm making lots of new friends and am really enjoying hanging out with them.
"I know that you have a lot of questions. You worked really hard for your faith and you wanted so badly for me to have your faith, too.
"Problem is, I can't have your faith. I have to have my own. And that's what I'm trying to do.
"You asked me about the type of service, the classes, and a host of other things. Let me try to answer you the best way I can.
"Truth be told, the service is not that great. I mean, the bass player only knows a few chords and stuff, so we pretty much stick to a few songs that we all know. Even though we do have a worship order, it's not published anywhere and we really don't know what song might be coming next, which I know would drive Dad crazy. Maybe you, too.
"Sometimes the music is too loud for me, because we never had instruments at church when I went with you. I guess what really matter to me, though, is not so much for the form of the music but the soul of it.
"You asked me about the preacher and the preaching. Well, honestly, the preaching isn't as good as what I'm used to. Mainly because a lot of people who aren't "preachers" share their thoughts and their ideas, so since they aren't really "professionals" it is really informal and sometimes spontaneous. I guess what I like about this is that it seems real and authentic to me, more like a discussion in which I'm a part, involving me, talking to me and me with it.
"You also wanted to know about small groups and stuff like that. I know you'll be disappointed to know that we don't have those really. But when I went through a tough time with my job I had several friends come by and try to cheer me up. We talked about things and they told me that they were "there" for me. They didn't have to do that, though, because I knew that already just because they came to see me.
"Finally, you asked me about what kind of building we have. Again, you'll be disappointed in me when I tell you we don't have a building. We meet in a movie theater along with the leftover coke cups and candy wrappers. And, we aren't really thinking about a building because there are lots of people in our community in need and we want to be able to give to them when we can. We don't have a lot of "staff" (by now, you're probably really worried!) so our money can be used for things like the tsunamai victims and other global neighbors.
"Mom, Dad, I know that you are probably really disappointed in all this. You raised me to go to church three times a week and there were rules and a "way to do things". I guess though the thing that is most important to me is that when I hurt, people are there for me and when I celebrate people are there, too. And I get to be a part of their good and bad times too. I think that is what community is, doing "life" with people and letting them do "life" with you. I'm just not as good as you guys are at pretending and I really want just to be myself and have others just be OK with that.
"You've asked me in your letter about what I think God would think of my choice. I've thought about that question a lot. As I've thought about my new community of faith I see a lot of things that could be different. What I hope is that God sees that we really care about each other and hopefully, others who come into our midst can see that too. I think, Mom and Dad, that when I try to think about what God would want, from what I understand, is that God wants to see us love and accept each other in spite of stupid stuff that we sometimes do. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think that is more important than how good a sermon might be or how many classes we have.
"So thanks for writing. I know it's hard to see your kid make different decisions than you might make for him. Love, Your Son"
"I got your letter this week and want to try to calm your fears about my recent decision to
attend church at another place.
"I know that you have been worried about me but I want to tell you that I'm doing fine. I'm making lots of new friends and am really enjoying hanging out with them.
"I know that you have a lot of questions. You worked really hard for your faith and you wanted so badly for me to have your faith, too.
"Problem is, I can't have your faith. I have to have my own. And that's what I'm trying to do.
"You asked me about the type of service, the classes, and a host of other things. Let me try to answer you the best way I can.
"Truth be told, the service is not that great. I mean, the bass player only knows a few chords and stuff, so we pretty much stick to a few songs that we all know. Even though we do have a worship order, it's not published anywhere and we really don't know what song might be coming next, which I know would drive Dad crazy. Maybe you, too.
"Sometimes the music is too loud for me, because we never had instruments at church when I went with you. I guess what really matter to me, though, is not so much for the form of the music but the soul of it.
"You asked me about the preacher and the preaching. Well, honestly, the preaching isn't as good as what I'm used to. Mainly because a lot of people who aren't "preachers" share their thoughts and their ideas, so since they aren't really "professionals" it is really informal and sometimes spontaneous. I guess what I like about this is that it seems real and authentic to me, more like a discussion in which I'm a part, involving me, talking to me and me with it.
"You also wanted to know about small groups and stuff like that. I know you'll be disappointed to know that we don't have those really. But when I went through a tough time with my job I had several friends come by and try to cheer me up. We talked about things and they told me that they were "there" for me. They didn't have to do that, though, because I knew that already just because they came to see me.
"Finally, you asked me about what kind of building we have. Again, you'll be disappointed in me when I tell you we don't have a building. We meet in a movie theater along with the leftover coke cups and candy wrappers. And, we aren't really thinking about a building because there are lots of people in our community in need and we want to be able to give to them when we can. We don't have a lot of "staff" (by now, you're probably really worried!) so our money can be used for things like the tsunamai victims and other global neighbors.
"Mom, Dad, I know that you are probably really disappointed in all this. You raised me to go to church three times a week and there were rules and a "way to do things". I guess though the thing that is most important to me is that when I hurt, people are there for me and when I celebrate people are there, too. And I get to be a part of their good and bad times too. I think that is what community is, doing "life" with people and letting them do "life" with you. I'm just not as good as you guys are at pretending and I really want just to be myself and have others just be OK with that.
"You've asked me in your letter about what I think God would think of my choice. I've thought about that question a lot. As I've thought about my new community of faith I see a lot of things that could be different. What I hope is that God sees that we really care about each other and hopefully, others who come into our midst can see that too. I think, Mom and Dad, that when I try to think about what God would want, from what I understand, is that God wants to see us love and accept each other in spite of stupid stuff that we sometimes do. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think that is more important than how good a sermon might be or how many classes we have.
"So thanks for writing. I know it's hard to see your kid make different decisions than you might make for him. Love, Your Son"
Monday, June 13, 2005
New tunes
I've been checking out some new music and found some great new bands (to me, anyway)..
Marc Broussard (www.islandrecords.com/markbroussard)
John Hiat (www.vanguardrecords.com/hiatt)
and my personal fave right now...Carbon Leaf (www.garageband.com/carbonleaf)
I really like the garagaband site...dedicated to independent artists who are bypassing more traditional music outlets. Carbon Leaf has this ether-music sound that I really "dig" (if I can use that word now that I'm 40). Hard to describe, must be experienced.
Marc Broussard (www.islandrecords.com/markbroussard)
John Hiat (www.vanguardrecords.com/hiatt)
and my personal fave right now...Carbon Leaf (www.garageband.com/carbonleaf)
I really like the garagaband site...dedicated to independent artists who are bypassing more traditional music outlets. Carbon Leaf has this ether-music sound that I really "dig" (if I can use that word now that I'm 40). Hard to describe, must be experienced.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
The Mike Tyson in all of us
"You're smart too late and old too soon," Tyson said. "I just got caught up in that suction cup. I feel like Rip Van Winkle right now."
Tyson reportedly earned $5 million of his last bout, which he ended early and then conceded. The purse will be doled out accordingly:
2 million to his creditors (he is over $4o million in debt)
2 million to the IRS
and $750,000 to his ex-wife.
I've read all the stories and seen with my own eyes the antics of this man who has been an amusement for the boxing world. But still, I feel for him.
Maybe you and I don't fight in boxing rings where we bite people's ears off for fun and profit. Maybe you and I don't sit with Barbara Walters with our (now) ex-wife and talk about how the relationship with our spouse has spiraled out of control. And maybe we don't return to the boxing ring and lose our dignity in front of thousands of unmerciful fans.
There's not much about a Mike Tyson that I'd want to emulate. But truth be known, I probably have more in common with him than I'd care to admit.
I don't take off ears in the boxing ring, but I am sure I've taken off a few heads in my ignorance and arrogance. I haven't been to divorce court but I've sure taken my hits in my own relationship with family members. And Lord knows I've paid more than my fair share to the IRS.
It would be too easy to laugh at a Mike Tyson or other celebritiesand hold myself above them. But I'm not. I'm just as capable of blowing my career, my marriage and my image as he is. And the thing is, most of the rest of us are, too.
Still, we like to look at celebrities and admire them when they are on top of the world...and chastise them when they are at the bottom.
I guess I've reached the point in my life that I have to say, "there but by the grace of God go I..." and really mean it.
So, Mikey, tough fight. I wish you well, man. But most of all, I wish you peace. The kind of peace that has to seep into old bones and make them new. The kind of peace that all of us are looking for no matter what kind of office we keep.
Tyson reportedly earned $5 million of his last bout, which he ended early and then conceded. The purse will be doled out accordingly:
2 million to his creditors (he is over $4o million in debt)
2 million to the IRS
and $750,000 to his ex-wife.
I've read all the stories and seen with my own eyes the antics of this man who has been an amusement for the boxing world. But still, I feel for him.
Maybe you and I don't fight in boxing rings where we bite people's ears off for fun and profit. Maybe you and I don't sit with Barbara Walters with our (now) ex-wife and talk about how the relationship with our spouse has spiraled out of control. And maybe we don't return to the boxing ring and lose our dignity in front of thousands of unmerciful fans.
There's not much about a Mike Tyson that I'd want to emulate. But truth be known, I probably have more in common with him than I'd care to admit.
I don't take off ears in the boxing ring, but I am sure I've taken off a few heads in my ignorance and arrogance. I haven't been to divorce court but I've sure taken my hits in my own relationship with family members. And Lord knows I've paid more than my fair share to the IRS.
It would be too easy to laugh at a Mike Tyson or other celebritiesand hold myself above them. But I'm not. I'm just as capable of blowing my career, my marriage and my image as he is. And the thing is, most of the rest of us are, too.
Still, we like to look at celebrities and admire them when they are on top of the world...and chastise them when they are at the bottom.
I guess I've reached the point in my life that I have to say, "there but by the grace of God go I..." and really mean it.
So, Mikey, tough fight. I wish you well, man. But most of all, I wish you peace. The kind of peace that has to seep into old bones and make them new. The kind of peace that all of us are looking for no matter what kind of office we keep.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Favorite Shows
I am not a TV watcher per se. I love great comedy so I adore the stand up on Comedy Central (most of the time). And I love "Law and Order". I think both great drama and great comedy has what writers must also have - great timing, a voice (or point of view) and the ability to tell great stories.
Tonight, I watched Chris Rock...which some would say is inappropriate with his four letter words (he's especially famous for lobbing the a few "F" bombs). I think his social commentary, through all the haze of his langauge, is on-target. In his most recent stand up he really nails marriage and relationships and I found myself laughing so hard that I could hardly breathe. I'm like, "Does this guy know relationships or what?"
I think that's what is great about comedy -- it can be so personal and so "right on" but it's trick is it makes you laugh at yourself. That's all it is...you watch this person and realize that he (or she) is talking about you and your crazy life. It's deeply personal and revealing.
Which is also what I love about great books, novels. Today, I picked up several of Joyce Carol Oates books that I have not yet read. I am reading "Zombie" and it is grossing me out. Not your average read.
The thing is, I can't read anything anymore like I use to! I read it now like I'm some editor looking for all the techniques that the writer is using. How does the author get this character in the car? How does the author move the characters through the paces of the story? What devices does the author use to create mood, atmosphere, tension? And now, I've started doing that with my favorite shows.
I watch for dialogue, tone, and all that stuff. It's a great way to learn the form of writing and its nuances, but I'll probably never read a book the same way again! And I love it.
I've written almost 15 pages of my current project and I'm having a blast working with an editor and learning how to write. I have so much to learn and I'm enjoying it immensely.
Tonight, I watched Chris Rock...which some would say is inappropriate with his four letter words (he's especially famous for lobbing the a few "F" bombs). I think his social commentary, through all the haze of his langauge, is on-target. In his most recent stand up he really nails marriage and relationships and I found myself laughing so hard that I could hardly breathe. I'm like, "Does this guy know relationships or what?"
I think that's what is great about comedy -- it can be so personal and so "right on" but it's trick is it makes you laugh at yourself. That's all it is...you watch this person and realize that he (or she) is talking about you and your crazy life. It's deeply personal and revealing.
Which is also what I love about great books, novels. Today, I picked up several of Joyce Carol Oates books that I have not yet read. I am reading "Zombie" and it is grossing me out. Not your average read.
The thing is, I can't read anything anymore like I use to! I read it now like I'm some editor looking for all the techniques that the writer is using. How does the author get this character in the car? How does the author move the characters through the paces of the story? What devices does the author use to create mood, atmosphere, tension? And now, I've started doing that with my favorite shows.
I watch for dialogue, tone, and all that stuff. It's a great way to learn the form of writing and its nuances, but I'll probably never read a book the same way again! And I love it.
I've written almost 15 pages of my current project and I'm having a blast working with an editor and learning how to write. I have so much to learn and I'm enjoying it immensely.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Surviving the Senior Picture Day
One day, $1,000.
That about sums up my day with my son after we tackled the senior pics and the summer band fee.
Wish I had as easy a gig as a photographer with a senior picture thing going. I'll probably get clobbered for saying this here but c'mon! Is there any more of a "sitting duck" than a mother, strung out because her first born baby boy is leaving the nest? You throw some great looking shots of his mug up on a big screen, play some sappy music and you've just made some easy cool cash.
I got through about two of the shots of my baby boy in a suit and I was a goner. Mascara smearing, snot running, heaving sobs. OK, I exaggerate...the mascara didn't smear too much, really, it was good stuff.
I have to give the photographer credit though, he took it all very well. I mean, if you are an artist and had someone sitting there who had never taken a picture of any quality telling you, "That one looks goofy.." when you know the lighting is perfect, the angle sublime...well, THAT tells me this guy has his ego in tact.
At one point I leaned over to him and said, "Y'know I'm not looking at your photos...I'm looking at pictures of my kid."
The photographer did a fabulous job capture Nathan's subtle, thoughtful, mischevious self. I tried to stay out of it as much as possible and let Nathan pick out the shots he most wanted. And here I have to give it up for Nathan..he was the perfect gentleman, even asking my opinion on a couple of shots. How can there ever be any bad shot of a mother's pride and joy?
That about sums up my day with my son after we tackled the senior pics and the summer band fee.
Wish I had as easy a gig as a photographer with a senior picture thing going. I'll probably get clobbered for saying this here but c'mon! Is there any more of a "sitting duck" than a mother, strung out because her first born baby boy is leaving the nest? You throw some great looking shots of his mug up on a big screen, play some sappy music and you've just made some easy cool cash.
I got through about two of the shots of my baby boy in a suit and I was a goner. Mascara smearing, snot running, heaving sobs. OK, I exaggerate...the mascara didn't smear too much, really, it was good stuff.
I have to give the photographer credit though, he took it all very well. I mean, if you are an artist and had someone sitting there who had never taken a picture of any quality telling you, "That one looks goofy.." when you know the lighting is perfect, the angle sublime...well, THAT tells me this guy has his ego in tact.
At one point I leaned over to him and said, "Y'know I'm not looking at your photos...I'm looking at pictures of my kid."
The photographer did a fabulous job capture Nathan's subtle, thoughtful, mischevious self. I tried to stay out of it as much as possible and let Nathan pick out the shots he most wanted. And here I have to give it up for Nathan..he was the perfect gentleman, even asking my opinion on a couple of shots. How can there ever be any bad shot of a mother's pride and joy?
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Gardener's Journal: After the transplant
It's leaves are brittle, brown and flaky. Even though I had put a stump beside it, the small tree drooped and was lifeless.
I kept watering it although I had little hope it would survive. It was a "volunteer" sprout which had shot up beside a stronger more steady tree. But the emerging root system was small and frail and transplanting did it in.
Today, I went out to take it out of its misery and remove it from view. I had put this off for several days, hoping that some sign of life would show itself and that I could keep it. I had big plans for it, since it was an oak sapling, that it would grow tall and shade the sunny side of our house. It was positioned just right and if it grew would be a beautiful specimen.
I had even gone so far as to plan other fall plantings around it, cultivating a theme with redbuds and evergreens to make a beautiful forest canopy.
Faithfully, each day I had watered it. Had refused to be daunted by its lack of life and its droopy shoulders.
But today it was clear, it would not be. So reluctantly, I went out shovel in hand, ready to do my deed.
As I neared it, I saw something. The tiny trunk was green. And just below all the crunchy, brown leaves there were small sprouting buds of new growth. I put my shovel down and ran to it..."you're alive" I cry, as if it could hear me.
I sat there on my knees for a bit just wondering how it could have fooled me so. Why had it waited so long to reveal itself? All along as I had been waiting, it had given no sign of life, no sign of anything. It was saving itself, waiting for the mystical combination of light, water and nutrients before it made its big debut.
Saving itself for more life later. Resting before reappearing. Emerging just when all hope might be gone.
A new tree, a new life...are they so different? Isn't the hardest part the "in-between" times of leaving and regrowth? Aren't the times when it appears no life is present just about the time when life and grace appear? And isn't in those times when my heart and soul cry out for some sign of life, of hope?
For some lives are like some trees. They cannot stay in the shadow of the established parent. They cannot flourish when competing with another's roots. They cannot reach to the heavens when their branches are tangling for sustenance, growth.
Tomorrow I will water my new tree again. I will not be so quick to give up life. I will not so soon cry "death" when I have seen the emergence of life in a translant.
I kept watering it although I had little hope it would survive. It was a "volunteer" sprout which had shot up beside a stronger more steady tree. But the emerging root system was small and frail and transplanting did it in.
Today, I went out to take it out of its misery and remove it from view. I had put this off for several days, hoping that some sign of life would show itself and that I could keep it. I had big plans for it, since it was an oak sapling, that it would grow tall and shade the sunny side of our house. It was positioned just right and if it grew would be a beautiful specimen.
I had even gone so far as to plan other fall plantings around it, cultivating a theme with redbuds and evergreens to make a beautiful forest canopy.
Faithfully, each day I had watered it. Had refused to be daunted by its lack of life and its droopy shoulders.
But today it was clear, it would not be. So reluctantly, I went out shovel in hand, ready to do my deed.
As I neared it, I saw something. The tiny trunk was green. And just below all the crunchy, brown leaves there were small sprouting buds of new growth. I put my shovel down and ran to it..."you're alive" I cry, as if it could hear me.
I sat there on my knees for a bit just wondering how it could have fooled me so. Why had it waited so long to reveal itself? All along as I had been waiting, it had given no sign of life, no sign of anything. It was saving itself, waiting for the mystical combination of light, water and nutrients before it made its big debut.
Saving itself for more life later. Resting before reappearing. Emerging just when all hope might be gone.
A new tree, a new life...are they so different? Isn't the hardest part the "in-between" times of leaving and regrowth? Aren't the times when it appears no life is present just about the time when life and grace appear? And isn't in those times when my heart and soul cry out for some sign of life, of hope?
For some lives are like some trees. They cannot stay in the shadow of the established parent. They cannot flourish when competing with another's roots. They cannot reach to the heavens when their branches are tangling for sustenance, growth.
Tomorrow I will water my new tree again. I will not be so quick to give up life. I will not so soon cry "death" when I have seen the emergence of life in a translant.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
New photo album
With the idea that no one can have too many web sites, I have discovered a new way to
display and record photos...I've posted those that have been previously here at my site into one concise place. http://maurietray.phanfare.com
This blog will remain my main "brain dump" for ideas and writings, when I'm not involved with novel writing, essays. Writing is taking more and more of my time and I love it! It is becoming more a part of my life and I'm finding it both a source of pleasure and comfort.
Kathleen Brehony says that in mid-life, those artistic parts of ourselves that we may have overlooked up until now, those dormant sides of ourselves that we push down so that we can get on with the "business" of life, emerge powerfully strong. She believes from her book, "Awakening at Midlife" that it is these strong, artistic and very vital qualities that render us hopelessly lost if we fail to recognize their power.
Over the past several weeks I have been working with some ideas about my writing. It is all very new and yet very old, too. I've been writing most of my life, just never really focused my efforts much. I have had to yield over the past few months to that calling, regardless if it leads me to a book deal or just leads me to myself, more whole and more at one with myself.
display and record photos...I've posted those that have been previously here at my site into one concise place. http://maurietray.phanfare.com
This blog will remain my main "brain dump" for ideas and writings, when I'm not involved with novel writing, essays. Writing is taking more and more of my time and I love it! It is becoming more a part of my life and I'm finding it both a source of pleasure and comfort.
Kathleen Brehony says that in mid-life, those artistic parts of ourselves that we may have overlooked up until now, those dormant sides of ourselves that we push down so that we can get on with the "business" of life, emerge powerfully strong. She believes from her book, "Awakening at Midlife" that it is these strong, artistic and very vital qualities that render us hopelessly lost if we fail to recognize their power.
Over the past several weeks I have been working with some ideas about my writing. It is all very new and yet very old, too. I've been writing most of my life, just never really focused my efforts much. I have had to yield over the past few months to that calling, regardless if it leads me to a book deal or just leads me to myself, more whole and more at one with myself.
Cinderella Man
Grabbed the late show last night with high expectations of the new Ron Howard film, "Cinderella Man" starring Russell Crowe, Renee Zelleweger and Paul Giamatti.
Ron Howard is a superb storytelling and creates a mood from the opening scenes. He seems to understand the role of music so very well. Often when I'm watching his films I notice the music as overall part of the experience, but it doesn't distract from the story itself. I think this subtelty is what makes Ron Howard's films so good -- he understands the importance of a subtle suggestion in a look, a gesture, an accent, a note.
Russell Crowe plays "Jim Braddock", a real life depression-era story of a boxer down on his luck. It's also a love story between Jim and his wife Mae (played by Rene Zelleweger). Finally, there are other supporting roles and relationships that fill out the film making it another -- what no doubt will be - -a box office hit. Crowe has made a career out of being the guy that everyone bets against (Gladiator, Master and Commander) and proves them wrong. His ability to look down trodden and beten wtih dignity are what make him one of Hollywood's most bankable actors.
Paul Giamatti, who plays Braddock's manager/trainer, is the real hero of this film. Masterfully, he creates the iconic image of the depression-era business man. Through Giamatti, Howard weaves the parallel images of two men, caught in the turmoil of the depression, living out their individual lives in the best way they know how. Giammati is one of those actors that you just want to get to know...his eyes give his performances soul and his ability to create the persona of Joe Gould particularly reels you in for the ride. In short, I think his performance is the best of those in the movie.
Howard also seems to understand the powerful connections between people and it is those relationships that give the story sustenance and power. The main characters are held in check, per se, by the strong performances of other characters who provide the life and the fabric of a life, in this scenario, the life of JimBraddock.
Overall, I was disappointed in this film. The trailer is superbly done and I walked into the theater expecting to laugh and cry and do all those things that movies do. I did a little of both but the film seemed to lose its timing somehow and I got lost a couple of times in all the hitting and punching.
I'd see the movie again on a rainy Sunday afternoon, cuddled in my easy chair just for to watch Giamatti at his craft.
Ron Howard is a superb storytelling and creates a mood from the opening scenes. He seems to understand the role of music so very well. Often when I'm watching his films I notice the music as overall part of the experience, but it doesn't distract from the story itself. I think this subtelty is what makes Ron Howard's films so good -- he understands the importance of a subtle suggestion in a look, a gesture, an accent, a note.
Russell Crowe plays "Jim Braddock", a real life depression-era story of a boxer down on his luck. It's also a love story between Jim and his wife Mae (played by Rene Zelleweger). Finally, there are other supporting roles and relationships that fill out the film making it another -- what no doubt will be - -a box office hit. Crowe has made a career out of being the guy that everyone bets against (Gladiator, Master and Commander) and proves them wrong. His ability to look down trodden and beten wtih dignity are what make him one of Hollywood's most bankable actors.
Paul Giamatti, who plays Braddock's manager/trainer, is the real hero of this film. Masterfully, he creates the iconic image of the depression-era business man. Through Giamatti, Howard weaves the parallel images of two men, caught in the turmoil of the depression, living out their individual lives in the best way they know how. Giammati is one of those actors that you just want to get to know...his eyes give his performances soul and his ability to create the persona of Joe Gould particularly reels you in for the ride. In short, I think his performance is the best of those in the movie.
Howard also seems to understand the powerful connections between people and it is those relationships that give the story sustenance and power. The main characters are held in check, per se, by the strong performances of other characters who provide the life and the fabric of a life, in this scenario, the life of JimBraddock.
Overall, I was disappointed in this film. The trailer is superbly done and I walked into the theater expecting to laugh and cry and do all those things that movies do. I did a little of both but the film seemed to lose its timing somehow and I got lost a couple of times in all the hitting and punching.
I'd see the movie again on a rainy Sunday afternoon, cuddled in my easy chair just for to watch Giamatti at his craft.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Slogger, Blogger
I've been chastized on two accounts for my lack of blogging. And they are are right to do so, for blogging is a way that I get into my writing, sort out ideas and basically think on paper.
There are two reasons why I've been a blog slacker...one -- I've been working on a new area of writing that is, learning how to develop characters. Since I am often referred to as a "character" then it would seem not a hard proposition for me to come up with some of my own. And actually that is true, I am finding it rewarding to think about what a character has for breakfast, how many tattoes they may or may not have, and what their ethnicity may be.
In fact, I'm finding it so rewarding that I've now created several characters and they have this little life that I've created for them. Their names will remain anonymous right now, because, who knows, I might change their names. What power a writer must wield, to create these entire realities simply by a few keystrokes and some ideas.
The other reason I've been a slacker on the blogging is simply this -- I've been working on what some might call my "real job" that is, finishing out a fiscal year end and starting a new. This always is somewhat of a reality check -- did certain goals get met? If so, why or why not? This requires a good deal of personal introspection and a good deal of personal honesty.
Now a "seasoned" veteran in the world of sales, I find that my goals and my aspirations are changing significantly. There are new reasons why I want to achieve certain things and there are old goals that, while they may be important, do not hold the same charm for me as they may have. I don't consider this failure...I consider this maturation.
I think what I'm talking about here is the idea that sucess -- and one's definition of it -- are constantly fluid, or should be. After all, when I was 7 I wanted to be Carol Burnett. Thank goodnes some goals and dreams do pass on! For there can only be one Carol Burnett, and I'm not here.
Which leads me to what I believe is a better definition of success -- at least for me. It has nothing to do with the scoreboard or how much money one can make. There must be more dimensions of success than those scoreboards. There must be more than a dollar figure put upon someone's worth to humanity and to those around them. At least, for me, I'm learning, there must be more to it than that.
I'm not saying that one should become a boehemian and live their life on the lam and shun all things material. This is not a "sour grapes" treatise that is replacing personal failure with some type of manifesto for better living. It is, I think, a mid-life correction that simply says, life is shorter now than ever and what you do with it matters. Or at least it should.
There are two reasons why I've been a blog slacker...one -- I've been working on a new area of writing that is, learning how to develop characters. Since I am often referred to as a "character" then it would seem not a hard proposition for me to come up with some of my own. And actually that is true, I am finding it rewarding to think about what a character has for breakfast, how many tattoes they may or may not have, and what their ethnicity may be.
In fact, I'm finding it so rewarding that I've now created several characters and they have this little life that I've created for them. Their names will remain anonymous right now, because, who knows, I might change their names. What power a writer must wield, to create these entire realities simply by a few keystrokes and some ideas.
The other reason I've been a slacker on the blogging is simply this -- I've been working on what some might call my "real job" that is, finishing out a fiscal year end and starting a new. This always is somewhat of a reality check -- did certain goals get met? If so, why or why not? This requires a good deal of personal introspection and a good deal of personal honesty.
Now a "seasoned" veteran in the world of sales, I find that my goals and my aspirations are changing significantly. There are new reasons why I want to achieve certain things and there are old goals that, while they may be important, do not hold the same charm for me as they may have. I don't consider this failure...I consider this maturation.
I think what I'm talking about here is the idea that sucess -- and one's definition of it -- are constantly fluid, or should be. After all, when I was 7 I wanted to be Carol Burnett. Thank goodnes some goals and dreams do pass on! For there can only be one Carol Burnett, and I'm not here.
Which leads me to what I believe is a better definition of success -- at least for me. It has nothing to do with the scoreboard or how much money one can make. There must be more dimensions of success than those scoreboards. There must be more than a dollar figure put upon someone's worth to humanity and to those around them. At least, for me, I'm learning, there must be more to it than that.
I'm not saying that one should become a boehemian and live their life on the lam and shun all things material. This is not a "sour grapes" treatise that is replacing personal failure with some type of manifesto for better living. It is, I think, a mid-life correction that simply says, life is shorter now than ever and what you do with it matters. Or at least it should.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Garage Sale Days
Ellen is having a garage sale today. She decided that she could make some money for summer this way and I was glad to have her take some of the things we have around the house.
It's not even noon and she's already sold over $900.
It's humbling to see one's possessions assembled, marked and offered for resale. There is a sense of ending and beginnings in a garage sale like this. The bedspread that I had specially made for Ellen when she was 6 is now going for $5. Nathan's soccer pic that I spent days selecting the frame will go for less than $10. And books -- many books that I've read and now have on tape or on audible are going for pennies on the dollar.
Still, it's a sense of relief to move on past the middle school years into the full throttle of high school and beyond. We are chucking the bicycles to make way for the cars. We're selling the VCR so that the DVD's will have more room. The cassette tapes? Some antique dealer will make a killing.
Life marches on and on and on and we hear the cadence, pick up the drum, march along to the beat.
We have less than three years left to "raise" our kids. The truth is, they are already raised, it's just the feeding and caring for them that we are doing now. The foundations are poured, the paths are forged and we're moving to higher ground.
It's not even noon and she's already sold over $900.
It's humbling to see one's possessions assembled, marked and offered for resale. There is a sense of ending and beginnings in a garage sale like this. The bedspread that I had specially made for Ellen when she was 6 is now going for $5. Nathan's soccer pic that I spent days selecting the frame will go for less than $10. And books -- many books that I've read and now have on tape or on audible are going for pennies on the dollar.
Still, it's a sense of relief to move on past the middle school years into the full throttle of high school and beyond. We are chucking the bicycles to make way for the cars. We're selling the VCR so that the DVD's will have more room. The cassette tapes? Some antique dealer will make a killing.
Life marches on and on and on and we hear the cadence, pick up the drum, march along to the beat.
We have less than three years left to "raise" our kids. The truth is, they are already raised, it's just the feeding and caring for them that we are doing now. The foundations are poured, the paths are forged and we're moving to higher ground.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Gardner's Journal: "rock" music
When you mention the word "garden" most people think of the plants: the flowers, the shrubs, the grasses. Most don't consider the "hardscaping" a part of the garden, but it is an essential part. In fact, it provides the structure and the design of how everything "holds" together...it is a container for what you see.
In essence, planting is only a small part of the garden and the chores of having a garden. It's the fun part and the more "glamorous" part but its not what keeps a garden looking great. The garden has to have good bones and that is hardscaping -- arbors, bridges, gazebos, fences, pathways.
We built a pergola last year and I stained it a musky gray. At first, I was unsure about the color but this year the gray is stunning and restrained against the power of all that yellow that is there. And this year, we added a new feature: a rock speaker.
I know, it sounds really corny. It may well end up in some future garage sale. But for this year, I love it.
In the mornings, I switch the cable station onto what some call "new age" music. After my run, I head to the back yard where the main garden is, and I water, weed, and listen to music.
The speaker is wireless and it creates an ethereal mood. Sometimes, with the morning light and the music, the mood in the pergola is a mystical mix of chords, light and rhythm. It is a beautiful place to think, to ponder, to pray.
In the evenings, we find ourselves drawn again to that space where the long shadows of evening begin to reach their fingers across us. When it's hot, we hook the hose up to the "mist maker" that we've tacked around the upper beams and enjoy a cool mist.
Sometimes, though, I have to turn the station to the "rock" station so I can hear Eric Clapton, Aerosmith, Foreigner and other great classic rock songs of my youth. My kids look at me in disbelief when I hear "Freebird" come on and have to get up and play my air guitar. "This, " I say, "This is WHAT I'm talkin' about!" is what I say when "Stairway to Heaven" comes on.
That's OK. Everyone needs stories about their crazy parents to tell their friends.
In essence, planting is only a small part of the garden and the chores of having a garden. It's the fun part and the more "glamorous" part but its not what keeps a garden looking great. The garden has to have good bones and that is hardscaping -- arbors, bridges, gazebos, fences, pathways.
We built a pergola last year and I stained it a musky gray. At first, I was unsure about the color but this year the gray is stunning and restrained against the power of all that yellow that is there. And this year, we added a new feature: a rock speaker.
I know, it sounds really corny. It may well end up in some future garage sale. But for this year, I love it.
In the mornings, I switch the cable station onto what some call "new age" music. After my run, I head to the back yard where the main garden is, and I water, weed, and listen to music.
The speaker is wireless and it creates an ethereal mood. Sometimes, with the morning light and the music, the mood in the pergola is a mystical mix of chords, light and rhythm. It is a beautiful place to think, to ponder, to pray.
In the evenings, we find ourselves drawn again to that space where the long shadows of evening begin to reach their fingers across us. When it's hot, we hook the hose up to the "mist maker" that we've tacked around the upper beams and enjoy a cool mist.
Sometimes, though, I have to turn the station to the "rock" station so I can hear Eric Clapton, Aerosmith, Foreigner and other great classic rock songs of my youth. My kids look at me in disbelief when I hear "Freebird" come on and have to get up and play my air guitar. "This, " I say, "This is WHAT I'm talkin' about!" is what I say when "Stairway to Heaven" comes on.
That's OK. Everyone needs stories about their crazy parents to tell their friends.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Gardner's Journal: Making Peace with Unfinished
It's driving me crazy. It's just lying there, open, vacant, ready.
I've removed all the weeds that I can see, but millions are still in there just waiting for the right mixture of sun and water. After making my crips outline, I then bury the newly thatched dirt under black coverings, where it will sleep until Fall.
I can see in my mind the garden that will go there. I see the water feature that will grace the wall and I see the gravel and the container plants. This garden will have a mediterranean or old world feel, which will be perfect for the location: South side of a brick home.
But for now, the plans for this garden will lay under wraps, shrouded in darkness, like black tombs awaiting some resurrection.
I find myself thinking, "maybe it wouldn't hurt...just an evergreen, or two.." But I know I am kidding myself. I wouldn't stop at one, just like those potato commericals from years ago.
No, for now I must sit and wait and ponder, drawing out the designs on my pad and retracing them in my head. Gardening isn't for sissies and it sure isn't for impatient sissies. I stand at the corner of the garden, thinking, imagining. Do I strip off the veil, go to work, make this idea of mine alive?
It's tough stuff, this waiting. Like a nothingness that hangs over you, fooling you into thinking that nothing really worth doing is going on. Yet it is in this waiting that all things of value come into being. In the business world, time and patience are virtues, too. Mortages mature, bonds come to be due, loans reach their end. What started out as a small thing become bigger, larger, more full. "In due course.." legal ease reads.
But I won't lie..I don't like this waiting stuff. I'm impatient to see the results of my ideas, my designs. I want to check it off my list, show it off to my friends, say "i'm done" and move on.
But that, there, is the thing. Moving on doesn't mean finished. Moving on means letting time take its course. It's nurturing, healing, wonderful course.
And so I wait, swinging in my swing, impatient to start. What I am coming to understand, waiting is starting.
I've removed all the weeds that I can see, but millions are still in there just waiting for the right mixture of sun and water. After making my crips outline, I then bury the newly thatched dirt under black coverings, where it will sleep until Fall.
I can see in my mind the garden that will go there. I see the water feature that will grace the wall and I see the gravel and the container plants. This garden will have a mediterranean or old world feel, which will be perfect for the location: South side of a brick home.
But for now, the plans for this garden will lay under wraps, shrouded in darkness, like black tombs awaiting some resurrection.
I find myself thinking, "maybe it wouldn't hurt...just an evergreen, or two.." But I know I am kidding myself. I wouldn't stop at one, just like those potato commericals from years ago.
No, for now I must sit and wait and ponder, drawing out the designs on my pad and retracing them in my head. Gardening isn't for sissies and it sure isn't for impatient sissies. I stand at the corner of the garden, thinking, imagining. Do I strip off the veil, go to work, make this idea of mine alive?
It's tough stuff, this waiting. Like a nothingness that hangs over you, fooling you into thinking that nothing really worth doing is going on. Yet it is in this waiting that all things of value come into being. In the business world, time and patience are virtues, too. Mortages mature, bonds come to be due, loans reach their end. What started out as a small thing become bigger, larger, more full. "In due course.." legal ease reads.
But I won't lie..I don't like this waiting stuff. I'm impatient to see the results of my ideas, my designs. I want to check it off my list, show it off to my friends, say "i'm done" and move on.
But that, there, is the thing. Moving on doesn't mean finished. Moving on means letting time take its course. It's nurturing, healing, wonderful course.
And so I wait, swinging in my swing, impatient to start. What I am coming to understand, waiting is starting.
"The bleep" continues
Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.- Carl Gustav Jung
The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.- Oscar Wilde
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.- T. S. Eliot
Below is an excerpt found at www.whatthebleep.com of the most meaningful part of the film for me.
Create My Day - (Dr. Joe Dispenza in What the BLEEP Do We Know!?TM)
The most often referenced interview in the film is Dr. Joe Dispenza's comments on creating his day. In response to the numerous requests, the following is the transcript of that part of the interview.
"I wake up in the morning and I consciously create my day the way I want it to happen. Now sometimes, because my mind is examining all the things that I need to get done, it takes me a little bit to settle down and get to the point of where I'm actually intentionally creating my day. But here's the thing: When I create my day and out of nowhere little things happen that are so unexplainable, I know that they are the process or the result of my creation. And the more I do that, the more I build a neural net in my brain that I accept that that's possible. (This) gives me the power and the incentive to do it the next day. "So if we're consciously designing our destiny, and if we're consciously from a spiritual standpoint throwing in with the idea that our thoughts can affect our reality or affect our life -- because reality equals life -- then I have this little pact that I have when I create my day. I say, 'I'm taking this time to create my day and I'm infecting the quantum field. Now if (it) is in fact the observer's watching me the whole time that I'm doing this and there is a spiritual aspect to myself, then show me a sign today that you paid attention to any one of these things that I created, and bring them in a way that I won't expect, so I'm as surprised at my ability to be able to experience these things. And make it so that I have no doubt that it's come from you,' and so I live my life, in a sense, all day long thinking about being a genius or thinking about being the glory and the power of God or thinking about being unconditional love.
"I'll use living as a genius, for example. And as I do that during parts of the day, I'll have thoughts that are so amazing, that cause a chill in my physical body, that have come from nowhere. But then I remember that that thought has an associated energy that's produced an effect in my physical body. Now that's a subjective experience, but the truth is is that I don't think that unless I was creating my day to have unlimited thought, that that thought would come."
(Dr. Joe Dispenza in What the BLEEP Do We Know!?TM)
At this point, I'm still ruminating and thinking on this fabulous film -- I don't really have anything profound to say. I'm thinking so hard it makes my head hurt.
The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.- Oscar Wilde
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.- T. S. Eliot
Below is an excerpt found at www.whatthebleep.com of the most meaningful part of the film for me.
Create My Day - (Dr. Joe Dispenza in What the BLEEP Do We Know!?TM)
The most often referenced interview in the film is Dr. Joe Dispenza's comments on creating his day. In response to the numerous requests, the following is the transcript of that part of the interview.
"I wake up in the morning and I consciously create my day the way I want it to happen. Now sometimes, because my mind is examining all the things that I need to get done, it takes me a little bit to settle down and get to the point of where I'm actually intentionally creating my day. But here's the thing: When I create my day and out of nowhere little things happen that are so unexplainable, I know that they are the process or the result of my creation. And the more I do that, the more I build a neural net in my brain that I accept that that's possible. (This) gives me the power and the incentive to do it the next day. "So if we're consciously designing our destiny, and if we're consciously from a spiritual standpoint throwing in with the idea that our thoughts can affect our reality or affect our life -- because reality equals life -- then I have this little pact that I have when I create my day. I say, 'I'm taking this time to create my day and I'm infecting the quantum field. Now if (it) is in fact the observer's watching me the whole time that I'm doing this and there is a spiritual aspect to myself, then show me a sign today that you paid attention to any one of these things that I created, and bring them in a way that I won't expect, so I'm as surprised at my ability to be able to experience these things. And make it so that I have no doubt that it's come from you,' and so I live my life, in a sense, all day long thinking about being a genius or thinking about being the glory and the power of God or thinking about being unconditional love.
"I'll use living as a genius, for example. And as I do that during parts of the day, I'll have thoughts that are so amazing, that cause a chill in my physical body, that have come from nowhere. But then I remember that that thought has an associated energy that's produced an effect in my physical body. Now that's a subjective experience, but the truth is is that I don't think that unless I was creating my day to have unlimited thought, that that thought would come."
(Dr. Joe Dispenza in What the BLEEP Do We Know!?TM)
At this point, I'm still ruminating and thinking on this fabulous film -- I don't really have anything profound to say. I'm thinking so hard it makes my head hurt.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
"What the BLEEP do we know?"
In two different conversations, I've had two different people mention to me what they learned from the film "What the Bleep Do We Know?" (ASIN: B0006UEVQ8 ) . There is so much that I'd like to share about this film, yet I find that I'm still processing it. If you haven't seen it, you must! It's creative, thought-provoking and helpful. I'll post more on it as I think through it.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Gardner's Journal: Fall Plans
We continue leveling the area around the new ponds. At first I thought I'd build a bridge between the small island-like area between the ponds. Now I have another idea, taken from something I saw in a magazine. I am thinking, instead, to use a pathway that is, in essence a bridge, but softer and less formal.
I've decided to get some youpons which are my favorite foundational plants. There are several varieties but what I enjoy about them is their eternally evergreen nature. They grow tall like trees (in effect some varieties are) and keep their leaves year round. They take the heat well and they grow with vigor.
I usually plant in threes, establishing a backdrop or rhythm, sometimes in a triangle so that there are lots of geometric shapes taking "shape" before your eyes as you look towards the garden. It's an old design trick...repeat in odd numbers with a similar texture, color or shape. Any good painting will have this if you look closely enough. Gardening is simply living art, which is why, I think, it can become an obsession. Art calls upon the primordial nature of our souls which can only be answered with creating new, living things. It is a call that cannot be ignored and once you hear it, you hear little else.
Today the weather is expected to reach 95 degrees so the weeks prior of mulching, watering will pay off. No more planting for this year until Fall when I hope to put the beginning brush strokes of a new garden onto the canvas.
I've decided to get some youpons which are my favorite foundational plants. There are several varieties but what I enjoy about them is their eternally evergreen nature. They grow tall like trees (in effect some varieties are) and keep their leaves year round. They take the heat well and they grow with vigor.
I usually plant in threes, establishing a backdrop or rhythm, sometimes in a triangle so that there are lots of geometric shapes taking "shape" before your eyes as you look towards the garden. It's an old design trick...repeat in odd numbers with a similar texture, color or shape. Any good painting will have this if you look closely enough. Gardening is simply living art, which is why, I think, it can become an obsession. Art calls upon the primordial nature of our souls which can only be answered with creating new, living things. It is a call that cannot be ignored and once you hear it, you hear little else.
Today the weather is expected to reach 95 degrees so the weeks prior of mulching, watering will pay off. No more planting for this year until Fall when I hope to put the beginning brush strokes of a new garden onto the canvas.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Gardner's Journal: Bermuda
I awaken around 2 to the rush of a spring storm. The heavy rain falls and I think in my pre-awaken stupor of one thing: weeds.
I know that the hard Oklahoma sun will soon bake the earth into an unmoveable clay pot, unforgiving and unyielding as May gives way to June, June to July. By August, even the hardiest of annuals and perennials are thirsting and wilting.
But not Bermuda. This spongey grass is the usual selection of most yards which face the cruel ice of winter and the heat of summer. It is heat resistent, tolerant and oh so persistent. While its beauty of a lawn can outlast other varieties, it's deadly in the garden where it inevitably makes its way. Like a great green spidery wave, it laps at my garden, threatening.
My love/hate relationship with this plant yields more towards "rage" this time of year. After weeks of carefully laying the foundation of my beloved roses, perennials each day more and more of my garden is laid in its path.
I have made counter-attacks by building borders of wood, sometimes 12 inches high. I have laid a trench of sand, covered by a rubbery length of something. I have laid rock, retaining walls as a fortress to my creations. "Stay out!" I say, each day. "Why are you here? It's not as if you don't have two other acres to fill in!" My shouting is futile, my effort seemingly worthless. It's fingers clutch at the edges of the borders, grasping for the mulch, sending itself towards the plants, overtaking all in its way.
This is its attack: Sometimes the start of one end is just a distraction...it's real root is perhaps several feet away, every few feet or so it sends its death-defying roots into the ground, anchoring itself, feeding on the healthy soil. It's a thief, this thing, keeping all the nutrients for itself, keeping others waiting, despairing, hungry for food and water.
Each day I assess the damage, weeding fork in right hand, bag in other. These are my extensions, my claws as I trudge, make my way. I stoop and kneel and begin the removal. Precision is called for, concentration needed. I point the fork into the moist ground (always better to weed after a big rain), it gives way. I push a bit more and then some more. There is a deep pleasure I feel in going deeper and deeper until the end of the root is found. Triumphantly, I push with my forked claw and I pull with my left and the intruder is removed.
Sometimes I curse at it, amazed at its persistent and strength. I believe that if I don't keep doing this work that my entire house will be a victim to its voracious appetite and strength. Drifts of it have been known to cover entire stones, eating its way through sidewalks, even walls.
Each day this is my work. I water, I weed. I water, I weed. Water, weed, water, weed. Within the counter attacks there is a certain respect I have for this persistent lodger. Its verocity and strength amaze me. I think of its qualities and I see things worthy of respect: tenacity, strength, consistency.
But Bermuda, like a malignancy runs through my yard, with its bandido ways and piracy.
Some of my friends suggest that I use weed killer and I have. But the blessed wind in Oklahoma can really be tricky with that. One small breeze and what I intended for the root of bermuda will be on my hydrangea or my begonia or worse, my roses. And if indeed the weed killer does its work, it leaves its mark with an anemic patch of yellow. Better to have the claw, I find.
My battle lines are clearly drawn, I will fight to the end. I have the same tenacity it has..I can beat this thing. So each day, I trudge, I claw, I weed.
(unfinished)....
I know that the hard Oklahoma sun will soon bake the earth into an unmoveable clay pot, unforgiving and unyielding as May gives way to June, June to July. By August, even the hardiest of annuals and perennials are thirsting and wilting.
But not Bermuda. This spongey grass is the usual selection of most yards which face the cruel ice of winter and the heat of summer. It is heat resistent, tolerant and oh so persistent. While its beauty of a lawn can outlast other varieties, it's deadly in the garden where it inevitably makes its way. Like a great green spidery wave, it laps at my garden, threatening.
My love/hate relationship with this plant yields more towards "rage" this time of year. After weeks of carefully laying the foundation of my beloved roses, perennials each day more and more of my garden is laid in its path.
I have made counter-attacks by building borders of wood, sometimes 12 inches high. I have laid a trench of sand, covered by a rubbery length of something. I have laid rock, retaining walls as a fortress to my creations. "Stay out!" I say, each day. "Why are you here? It's not as if you don't have two other acres to fill in!" My shouting is futile, my effort seemingly worthless. It's fingers clutch at the edges of the borders, grasping for the mulch, sending itself towards the plants, overtaking all in its way.
This is its attack: Sometimes the start of one end is just a distraction...it's real root is perhaps several feet away, every few feet or so it sends its death-defying roots into the ground, anchoring itself, feeding on the healthy soil. It's a thief, this thing, keeping all the nutrients for itself, keeping others waiting, despairing, hungry for food and water.
Each day I assess the damage, weeding fork in right hand, bag in other. These are my extensions, my claws as I trudge, make my way. I stoop and kneel and begin the removal. Precision is called for, concentration needed. I point the fork into the moist ground (always better to weed after a big rain), it gives way. I push a bit more and then some more. There is a deep pleasure I feel in going deeper and deeper until the end of the root is found. Triumphantly, I push with my forked claw and I pull with my left and the intruder is removed.
Sometimes I curse at it, amazed at its persistent and strength. I believe that if I don't keep doing this work that my entire house will be a victim to its voracious appetite and strength. Drifts of it have been known to cover entire stones, eating its way through sidewalks, even walls.
Each day this is my work. I water, I weed. I water, I weed. Water, weed, water, weed. Within the counter attacks there is a certain respect I have for this persistent lodger. Its verocity and strength amaze me. I think of its qualities and I see things worthy of respect: tenacity, strength, consistency.
But Bermuda, like a malignancy runs through my yard, with its bandido ways and piracy.
Some of my friends suggest that I use weed killer and I have. But the blessed wind in Oklahoma can really be tricky with that. One small breeze and what I intended for the root of bermuda will be on my hydrangea or my begonia or worse, my roses. And if indeed the weed killer does its work, it leaves its mark with an anemic patch of yellow. Better to have the claw, I find.
My battle lines are clearly drawn, I will fight to the end. I have the same tenacity it has..I can beat this thing. So each day, I trudge, I claw, I weed.
(unfinished)....
"Schlock": A definition
Schlock -- a yiddish term meaning crap devoid of soul.
Spirit -- a aesthetical sense, as the animating principle of the mind, imaginative and entirely opposed to the spirit of imitation. (Immanuel Kant)
Creativity -- natural gift or talent which gives rise to the original and beautiful. (Kant)
"A poem cold be elegant and neat but without a greter depth; a conversation might be entertaining but lack soul; a man could be handsome but not contain this soulful animation..." (Brehony)
"Creativity is a ntural manifestation of life and its origins are in the unconscious." (E.W. Sinnot)
"Creativity is a critical aspect of every self-actualized personality" (Maslow) Maslow also observed that, "all creative acts were not in the domain of certain kinds of professionals, but as with potential, was within every individual and that creativity reflected itself in everyday, mundane activities. ...a first rate soup is more creative than a second-rate painting and that generally, cooking or parenthood or making a home could be creative while poetry need not be; it could be uncreative."
"Creativity is nothing less than the 'process of making or bringing into being the way we express our being.' (Rollo May)
The English words create and creative come from the Latin creare, meaning "to cause to grow; to bring forth, create or produce."
Creativity is more than an occasional good idea. It is an attitude toward life, a way of expressing inner reality by bringing it into our outer world. It incorporates innovation, new perspectives, passion, humor, playfulness, joy and inspiration. Living a fluid creative life enriches the texture of existence, brings sensation to a new level of experience and allows for a new understanding of our connection to the great Mystery. (Brehony)
Spirit -- a aesthetical sense, as the animating principle of the mind, imaginative and entirely opposed to the spirit of imitation. (Immanuel Kant)
Creativity -- natural gift or talent which gives rise to the original and beautiful. (Kant)
"A poem cold be elegant and neat but without a greter depth; a conversation might be entertaining but lack soul; a man could be handsome but not contain this soulful animation..." (Brehony)
"Creativity is a ntural manifestation of life and its origins are in the unconscious." (E.W. Sinnot)
"Creativity is a critical aspect of every self-actualized personality" (Maslow) Maslow also observed that, "all creative acts were not in the domain of certain kinds of professionals, but as with potential, was within every individual and that creativity reflected itself in everyday, mundane activities. ...a first rate soup is more creative than a second-rate painting and that generally, cooking or parenthood or making a home could be creative while poetry need not be; it could be uncreative."
"Creativity is nothing less than the 'process of making or bringing into being the way we express our being.' (Rollo May)
The English words create and creative come from the Latin creare, meaning "to cause to grow; to bring forth, create or produce."
Creativity is more than an occasional good idea. It is an attitude toward life, a way of expressing inner reality by bringing it into our outer world. It incorporates innovation, new perspectives, passion, humor, playfulness, joy and inspiration. Living a fluid creative life enriches the texture of existence, brings sensation to a new level of experience and allows for a new understanding of our connection to the great Mystery. (Brehony)
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Writing
The first letter I remember writing was to my grandmother. We lived for a time in Louisiana and I suppose the crabs, crocodiles and humidty went to my head. I wrote her and she wrote back and offered me wonderful encouragment. "You'll be a great writer someday."
But one's grandmother is just one removed from mother, so though I was happy SHE was happy, I didn't much think of myself as being a writer. And the same grandmother also encouraged me to get a job that "pays". Even grandmother knew that not all dreams pay well.
Over the years I've dabbled in writing, reading all the time, thinking that I would still love to grow up and be a writer. There is no activity, save reading, that gives me more pleasure and a sense of being "in sync" than writing.
Recently, through a series of really interesting events I stumbled upon someone who is a "real" writer and who believes in my work. And she and I are working on getting some of my creations -- should I say "our" creations together.
And since there is a big difference between a "writer" and a "published writer" then I should hasten to add that sure, being published would be a dream come true. But just having someone say (besides a family member) that what I have to say and how I say it is worthwhile is more than enough for me.
This blog is a good "training tool" for me and a lot of the stuff that I'm working to refine may have first been seen here.
I have a lot to learn, probably more than I realize. But the adventure is calling and I'm up for the trip.
But one's grandmother is just one removed from mother, so though I was happy SHE was happy, I didn't much think of myself as being a writer. And the same grandmother also encouraged me to get a job that "pays". Even grandmother knew that not all dreams pay well.
Over the years I've dabbled in writing, reading all the time, thinking that I would still love to grow up and be a writer. There is no activity, save reading, that gives me more pleasure and a sense of being "in sync" than writing.
Recently, through a series of really interesting events I stumbled upon someone who is a "real" writer and who believes in my work. And she and I are working on getting some of my creations -- should I say "our" creations together.
And since there is a big difference between a "writer" and a "published writer" then I should hasten to add that sure, being published would be a dream come true. But just having someone say (besides a family member) that what I have to say and how I say it is worthwhile is more than enough for me.
This blog is a good "training tool" for me and a lot of the stuff that I'm working to refine may have first been seen here.
I have a lot to learn, probably more than I realize. But the adventure is calling and I'm up for the trip.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)