Sunflowers and Blue Skies

Photo of Elspeth by Tanza Smith from her website

Some days I wake up grieving I know not what. There's always plenty to sigh and storm over. So, most often, I don't puzzle on it too much. It is what it is or maybe it is nothing.

Today there is something. After reading Mig who wrote about justifying one's own existence (or not), I was reading Yarnstorm at Jane Brocket's little slice of the world. Jane wrote about the sad news of Elspeth Thompson's death.

Elspeth sort of enchanted me ( and I mean that in the "moved by magic" way it sounds) with her beautiful blogs, books, and columns.

I read a comment left in condolence by arusa that quoted a poem:

Why did you vanish
into the empty sky?

Even the fragile snow,
when it falls,
falls in this world.

- izumi shikibu -
woman poet of the Heian period, Japan

And then another comment that is one of my beautiful Mother's favorite poems by Mary Oliver:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver

published by Atlantic Monthly Press

© Mary Oliver

And lastly, I recalled this from Kathleen Raine posted by Elspeth on her own blog here:

I BELIEVE NOTHING

I believe nothing – what need

Surrounded as I am with marvels of what is,

This familiar room, books, shabby carpet on the floor,

Autumn yellow jasmine, chrysanthemums, my mother’s flower,

Earth-scent of memories, daily miracles,

Yet media-people ask, “Is there a God?”

What does the word mean

To the fish in his ocean, birds

In his skies, and stars?

I only know that when I turn in sleep

Into the invisible, it seems

I am upheld by love, and what seems is

Inexplicable here and now of joy and sorrow,

This inexhaustible, untidy world -

I would not have it otherwise.

Elspeth had that extraordinary ability to appreciate and nurture the exquisite in the ordinary and untidy. Sometimes extraordinary skills demand an excruciating sensitivity.

So, to make sense of the painful impermanence of the beautiful we can try words, frail though they be.

I like to look at my child's eyes. From his early days to now they are made of sunflowers and blue skies.

click on photo to see the sunflowers up close

They are as miraculous as anything I've known.

What is enough? Enough to convince us to stay. To see things through. To believe that there is something ahead of us or something right now that requires our presence.

To steady my gaze on the now, I claim the natural world, these eyes, and a quote that I believe originated with Pam Houston in Cowboys Are My Weakness:

"A death wish is a life wish, as love is the flip-side of fear."

And I will not judge another for their own conclusion.

Not You Again!?!

Oh No!

Dear OPB,

For the love of dog how can it be possible that it is again time for PLEDGE Week/Month? Why?Dog why? How many years is it really appropriate to replay Rock, Rhythm & Do Wop? Seriously! Frankie Valli is freakin' me out! Have Mercy!

I've not yet completely forgiven you for the whole soft ball lob from Jim Lehrer to George Bush during the Bush - Kerry debates when your rabid neoconservatism reared its ugly head (as an aside, how the hell you got to good old liberal Texan Jim Lehrer is a frightening thing upon which to speculate. He was so obviously and deeply affected. It aged him overnight.)


So, back to what I once was able to refer to as pledge week-now pledge month. Is your target demographic really the over 80 set? Really? Because I don't feel that old. I am a pretty regular viewer now that you have mended your ways and put a little Public back in public broadcasting. I think Frontline is amazing. I dig Art Beat. I watch Julia cooking with Jacques religiously -it is my sole religion come to think. Mr. Roger's owns me as we have discussed previously. Sewing with Nancy makes me sweat in a good way. Do not get me started on Masterpiece Theatre. Zut! I have never been the same since I watched Glenda Jackson as Queen Elizabeth in my first remembered Masterpiece Theatre viewing orgy as a wee girl in the early 70's.

Heavens! I could rave endlessly about my devotion to you. It is an awesome thing.

However OPB, despite my obviously overlooked devotion to you, you consistently and quarterly wound me. Honestly, I can not watch Victor Borgia one more time. Nor do I need a quarterly review of the Big Band Years. I am also worn out by Ed Sullivan and the Beatles. That's saying something, as I bear a deep and abiding love for all things Liverpudlian. I hold you personally responsible for permanently destroying the Beatles-induced frisson I've cherished MY ENTIRE LIFE.

Shall we talk aerial views of Italy, Scotland, Ireland, and Greece to uplifting, ethnically appropriate elevator music?


These shows are probably fab when the viewer is stoned beyond high. But sober, again, once is enough.

Oh yeah! Suze Orman can blow me. She and her helmet hair creep me out and pleez with cheez sister who in this third world nation we inhabit has the resources to set aside 6 months salary in a rainy day fund? She tells me at least 4 times a year that I am heading toward financial ruin. Always a heartwarming thought. Well Suze, excuse me but you do not inspire me to give OPB any more money than my basic membership because, as you remind me ad nauseam, I am on track for abject poverty. As I said, "Suze Orman blow me."

And Suze, what is with all the weird jackets girlfriend?

Also, if Wayne Dyer tells me about that butterfly that came and sat on him one morning whilst he lounged in perfect mental health on the lovely lanai of his house in Hawaii because he is highly evolved and therefore in possession of a beautiful Hawaiian estate complete with friendly winged insects one more time I will expire. Hey Wayne! A freaking GINORMOUS red dragonfly once landed on me and convinced me that life was worth living.


I don't show up in your living room 4 times a year to tell you about it.

As for Celtic Thunder, Celtic Women, and the Celtic Tenors - I get it. My name is celtic. It translates to warrior. And yet, whenever I observe that yet again you are inflicting Michael Flatley upon me



or those weird generic blonde and redhead waifs that sing Enya songs badly 'tis not my Celtic blood which rises but the Viking Berserker who dwells in my heart and feels the call of a good and frenzied pillage -perhaps at OPB headquarters.

Now, you may feel that I am overreacting. Certainly, there are people who adore repetition of all things celtic, baby boomerish, 1950's US gloryday-ish, rockandrolldowopish, and self-helpishisms. It must be working for someone. It is your go-to fundraising formula. But here's the thing OPB, allow me to one up your own rerun mentality.

When, of an evening, I come home wired and tired from a day of trying to make impossibly unhappy people happy and all that I want is a cup of tea, my cozy bed, and a good Brit-com (and here we catch the author suffering from her own bout of regurgititous)

it pains me, nay, near slays me, to find that 12 weeks have so swiftly flown and once again I'm subjected to weeks of the same crap you've been slinging to solicit dollars for the last twenty years. Gee, next weekend I'll get to watch that creepy guy who bears a slight resemblance to Willford Brimley making Down Home Favorites and American Comfort foods on those weird cooking USA shows you love so well. And then, I'll have another chance to catch Celtic Thunder!


I have a proposal.

Please, please, please-the prettiest of pleases with brown sugar on top PLEASE just once could we have an all BBC Pledge Break?

We could start here:

Move on to this:

Add a dash of circus:


Revisit Grace Brothers and Mrs. Slocombe:


Kick it into high gear with my darling Inspector:


Schedule a week night with Basil:


And the Pledge Month climax could always be:

You would rake it in OPB! I swear. I'd beat Suze's projections for my complete financial collapse by instantly gifting my entire estate to you! Seriously squeeeeee!

I am a pacifist despite my inner berserker. But hear this OPB and let me be clear. One more of these and I may blow:

This one goes out to the ones I love...

Off to a Groovy Start!

Well done Oregon!

We kicked off a new decade by insisting on tax fairness. Every once in a while my fellows in the pnw surprise me with votes for justice (for example, our death with dignity vote, which was challenged and re- affirmed by Oregonians).

Again, well done you! This vote was much needed by yours truly as an affirmation of social sanity after the Supreme Court sold our democracy to the highest bidder earlier in the month (it's been a long drawn out sale-now complete. I hope the buyer doesn't notice the holes in the roof!).

I would also like to thank my Oregon peeps for the whole vote by mail deal. No dangling or pregnant chads, no corruptible Diebold machines (hackable in 4 minutes flat!). Simple is good my friends.

When my baby was younger we would make a big deal of trips to the polls. The first few rounds of vote by mail I insisted he walk the 12 blocks to elections headquarters with me. But now, it has become such a simple ritual-whoever is driving, walking, running, biking past drops our secure ballots off-saving a stamp and celebrating the fact that at least for this day, in this unique place, we are free to vote our conscience with a black or blue ink pen and a secrecy envelope and a signature.

So far, January has been more pluses than minuses. Most happily Heather & Mike welcomed Maddie's healthy and gorgeous baby sister Annabel Violet. I cried. Mama and baby are well. Life insists.

I, somehow ( I think via sfgirlbybay), discovered John&Fish's Flickr photostream:



I wonder if birds in Taiwan are indeed more colorful than in Oregon? Perhaps I am not paying close-enough attention. These photos are worth a look for the diversity of the beautiful,winged creatures so exquisitely captured by camera.

I finally have my own Rosehip Crocheted-edge Pillow Case from Beata! It's the one on top in this photo:


You can grab one for your own cozy, tiny bed from her etsy shop.

Baby brother and familia are safe in their new digs in Mexico and obnoxious father has returned safely from escorting them south to prepare for his first landing upon European soil. Peace be with all of you in the EU.

My beautiful mother enjoys the warmth of a winter sun in her secret, sunny lair. I miss her but enjoy imagining her basking in those Vitamin D rich rays.

Assorted nieces are insisting I watch Glee with them. How lovely is that! To have assorted nieces and to have them like you enough to plan movie night with you! So sweet.

My delightful son with the wicked dry sense of humor cut down the neighbor's invading bamboo forest for me and used it to create a privacy screen so that I can romp around deshabille in privacy (where are my accents?).

My daughter of choice, the glorious Alexandrea, has found her own cozy, warm, and love-filled nest. I am so very happy for her to be so well situated after so long a search for a home of her own.

Additionally, I have creative commissions to work on and a quick trip to market in Seattle next week to look forward to.

Supa Dupa so far is the verdict.

December=Mr. Toad's Wild Ride

Blurry?
That's how it looked.
I'm now 47.
Merry was made.
Many Christmas presents were made too!
Perhaps we can talk ear flap hats and cowls and snoods and bunting in 2010.
Santa arrived.
Presently hoping for less blur and more peace in the New Year.
Adieu 2009 you were sort of fine. I won't miss you.

Thank You

MissMazyMoon

We (being the royal We) officially call a truce with the universe (don't think we were winning any way) to offer gratitude and thanks for the following:

1. Keenan and his hearty good health and humor
2. Mama who loves unconditionally
3.Obnoxious Father who tells me he loves me
4.Family who hold me up, make me laugh, and play with me
5. Wonderful pals like you dear reader Red Tara who inspire me
6. A roof (less-leaky) over my head
7. A kitchen filled with roasting and baking things
8. Santa arriving promptly at the end of every Thanksgiving Parade
9. Creativity kicking in

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Despite the whine, I know I am blessed beyond measure.

We Shall Love One and Other

Migrant Mother
photo by Dorothea Lange

"To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses-that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things."
-Pablo Neruda, from "Childhood and Poetry"


I usually find Newsweek sadly lame. Spending time recently in various medical waiting rooms, I've been exposed to countless noxious substances like contrast dye for my brain-scan, various flu viruses, In Style magazine, Golf Digest, and Newsweek. With not a National Geographic, The Nation, or Highlights in sight, I perused this week's (actually next - 16 November) Newsweek and found an editorial by Julia Baird that was of interest: Seeing Dignity in Poverty, Dorothea's Lange's politics of respect.

Ms. Lange's photographs are mesmerizing. Her work-and that of her fellow FSA photographers- has been an important influence in my life. I will never forget the moment I cracked open Agee and Evan's brilliant Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and out fell truths that sharpened my teenage mind to justice and injustice and what it means to be human.

Ours is a terribly confused culture. We miss essential moments, attend to illusions, and deny our connection. While crying out about how blessed and Christian we are as a people, Americans are practicing an entirely different set of values. We reject the idea that we are our brother and sister's keeper while, at the same time, employing a religious moral foundation to infringe upon human rights and attempt to "reform" (or failing reform, to discard) those among us who do not fit our narrow view of the acceptable. Damn dear reader Red Tara, I am so pompous.

One thing I know to be true is that it is so much greater a test of your humanity and your courage to be poor. To be poor in America is to be stripped of your dignity and to have assumptions made about your essential humanity. There must be a reason why the misfortune of poverty has fallen upon you. You are obviously not one of the "chosen people". Perhaps you are not even American. Yeah, maybe if you don't like it here/can't make it here, you should just leave. As Americans we are raised and rallied to believe that we have been "chosen" for the winning team, to lead the world, to provide its moral compass.

As the health care reform debacle and the global monetary crisis demonstrate, we Americans are"not so much no more" the chosen people nor arbiters of morality. Rather, we are the formerly entitled who must now awaken to a world in which we are merely another group of hominids trying to make our living.

Will this old/new state of affairs lead us to a greater sense of connectedness? Will we discover the truth that we are all each others keepers? It is so hard not to be cynical.

As a young woman I studied 17th century French theatre. Moliere's Tartuffe and Le Misanthrope are favorites (Le Bourjeois gentilhomme aussi). I was in agreement with Moliere's Alceste, “…Mankind has grown so base, I mean to break with the whole human race." Ridiculous social conventions and the absurd significance placed on position and perception seemed to be unchanged in the intervening centuries. I renounced human-kind (except for a series of hot boyfriends- do not get me started on the latitude given to beautiful men in my life) and prepared myself for life as a curmudgeon, a true misanthrope.

Alas, dear reader, I kept falling in love (much like Moliere's protagonist) and I continue to do so. This falling in love with people kind of jacked my whole "unabomber-cabin-in-the-woods-I-want-to-be-alone" deal.

On an individual basis humans are exquisitely lovable. One on one I want to smooch you all.

We are also extraordinarily thick-headed and resistant to change. If you pay attention to history, always a fabulous idea, you see the regularity with which we repeat failed plans and political strategies. We relive the same plot over and over and over. Our memories are so short that it all seems entirely original. Every day feels novel, shiny bright, or terrifying depending on how the news waiter/waitress tells us we should feel.

We are either completely myopic or possess tremendous powers of denial as we move through our lives imagining that they are unique, all these moments we are spending- no one has ever felt thus, loved thus, been this sad, faced this crisis, lost so much, been as joyful, written this blog post.

I think we are weird.


My dogs have a stronger true north on their moral compass (all dogs share one compass). Like Dug in Up who says, "I have just met you, and I love you," they are willing to pitch in with your lot and see you through or go down trying. As the beloved Ani sings and dogs know "we are not here to see through each other, but to see each other through." Nevertheless, or perhaps therefore, we are amazing creatures. And we do have a deep well of compassion from which to drink- to get all cliched and stuff.

Each morning I wake not knowing who will win the battle between my inner misanthrope and my Pollyanna love child. It is all so very disorienting -that is until I see my son or I look at that face above or notice my neighbor Crazy Mary passing by on the street muttering epithets under her breath or read your blog. Then I remember that I just met you and I love you and that "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together"- So we must all be walruses.

Photo Source

With our majestic tusks and stately whiskers, we are imbued with tremendous dignity.

Updated 11/16/2009 to add that the universe conspires to delight. Right now in my green and pleasant town you can see Dorothea Lange's 1939 photos of Oregon during the last great depression. For details visit here.