Catalpa Eyes

My snail's shell and I have moved yet again ...

Out in the morning I walked a new path and it seemed it would straightforwardly lead me to a hill I like. Instead, it led me to a place where I got to don new eyes! Catalpa eyes-stone eyes-feathery fern eyes. Had I not found my way back to my hill it'd not have mattered but found my way I did and walking through cool shadows there were sun rays ahead and within one ray there was a twinkling sight, you know, like a dust mote that loves to float in the light of day, and I followed the twinkling sight with my eye as slowly it lingered its way down and touched the sun covered cement. Holding my gaze I neared it and wondered at what it could be, this tiny twinkling sky ballerina ... and when I reached it and bent down there awaited for me a precious discovery. The little sky dancer was the tiniest feather I have ever seen. Tinier than the tiniest hummingbird's feather I've ever owned. A gift for me in this new morning in this new Autumn. I've been given a new set of eyes with a slice of new moon and I am reminded of the songs my heart sang in the bamboo forests in Kyoto. And today, even a curly willow tree knows my name. 

Happiness

Hello Dear Ones! I am getting my sea legs about me in my new environment and it feels really good. This photo is of my reading nook in my new abode. The gnarling branch behind my chair is now home to my nests ... I've been feeling content and happy and wish the same for you all. Often I am reminded of a favorite poem of mine by Raymond Carver. I hope you'll enjoy it, too. 

Happiness

By Raymond Carver

From the collection - All of Us

"So early it's still almost dark out.

I'm near the window with coffee,

and the usual early morning stuff

that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend

walking up the road

to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,

and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.

They are so happy

they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take

each other's arm.

It's early in the morning,

and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.

The sky is taking on light,

though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute

death and ambition, even love,

doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on

unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,

any early morning talk about it." 

-Raymond Carver

Forward Moving

Last week I caught sight of this darling Volkswagon replete with a "1958 Sears All-State Trailer", swamp cooler, surf board and picnic cooler. A vehicle ready for adventure!

Speaking of adventure, I am moving. Please know that I have so missed visiting all of your wonderful weblogs during this time of great change in my life ... soon I'll return and will look so forward to seeing you all again!

Impressions

What moves me?

Infinitesimal translucent snail's shells

Freshly born gingko leaves that when observed under a magnifier's keen lens, resemble iris of the eyes

An equisetum shoot twisted into shape by time's wind

The soap bubble breaths & milky smell of a baby

Kyoto moss transported home on the wings of a pottery river shard

Spindle whorls & shed antlers & charred wood

Gray banded stone families living together in their wooden bowl homes

Candle light peering out through pierced tin stars on darkened nights

Seeing shapes formed in mind by the hearing of sound

The wistful song of mourning doves

Finely woven words 

A cat who wants to be with you where ever you go

-sjp

Playing Catch

When I was around the age of twelve I went to a zoo with my family. There was a small cement building where the monkeys were kept. I wandered in there alone. It was a very lonely and sad place made of iron bars and cement. When I walked in I heard a small sound. Like a rhythmic ticking sound - that echoed. There were only a few barred cells and they were mostly empty. I followed the sound and it led me to the farthest wall from the front door. There, all alone, in her own barred cell, was a large beautiful orangutan. Standing there before her I realized what the small ticking sound was. 

When this magnificent creature realized I was there, she did a curious thing. She threw something out to me - straight through those bars it came - and I caught it! What she'd thrown out to me was her toy die. The ticking sound that I'd heard was of her die hitting the wall when she played "catch" with it.

I threw it back to her! She threw it back to me! And again and again and again we played catch with her die! 

And then I heard my mom's voice calling me ... I had to go ... I threw it back to her one last time and headed toward the door, feeling so sad to leave her and our game ... and then ... absolutely amazingly ... I looked back in her direction and saw her straining to see me through her bars as she reached her arm through them and threw her die to me one last time as I stood at the door to leave.

I thought that she wanted me to have it as a gift, I was so touched - and so I kept it. But in years to come I reflected on what happened and I felt sad that I'd taken her toy, that probably she was just wanting to continue to play with me. I guess I will never know.  

Well ... all these years have passed. The photo above is of the orangutan's and my die that lives above my work table. It has always been my treasured possession. 

"To live is so startling, it leaves little room for other occupations."  -Emily Dickinson

Groundhollows

"Groundhollows".  This name comes from a dream I had many years ago. The kind of dream that stays and stays with you.  In it, I found myself to be in an underground world which was comprised of many different honeycomb-like chambers ... within each of these chambers were treasures of all sorts! Lovely and fascinating objects and I was filled with a sense of deep wonder and pleasure to be an explorer of this splendid underearth place. In the dream, I named the honeycomb-like chambers "groundhollows".     

Penguin & Shell

"Sweeney Agonistes" - T.S. Eliot

Under the bamboo

Bamboo bamboo

Under the bamboo tree

Two live as one

One live as two

Under the bam

Under the boo

Under the bamboo tree.

Where the breadfruit fall

And the penguin call

And the sound is the sound of the sea

Under the bam

Under the boo

Under the bamboo tree

Where the Gaugain maids

In the banyan shades

Wear palmleaf drapery

Under the bam

Under the boo

Under the bamboo tree.

Tell me in what part of the wood

Do you want to flirt with me?

Under the breadfruit, banyan, palmleaf

Or under the bamboo tree?

Any old tree will do for me

Any old wood is just as good

Any old isle is just my style

Any fresh egg

Any fresh egg

And the sound of the coral sea. -T.S. Eliot

I Saw a Woman

I saw a woman put on her face

When out my car window I cast my eye

She tilted her head down to fancy her collection 

A make-up kit sure to provide a good rummage.

She chose expertly, desirous of softening 

The hard edges of time's careless hand

I saw a woman put on her

Foundation. Dab - blend - smooth - examine -

Meticulous application.

Palette lined with furrowed brow.

Ready ... dig deeper into cosmetic array.

Procure eyebrow pencil.

Etch - fill in - examine - 

Unabashed application.

Ready ... (all the while the sun shone it's unflattering rays as downward she searched for the next cosmetic she'd wield into illusion. Puffed under-eyes flattened the moment her search concluded, looked up and into rear view mirror.)

Ready ...

I saw a woman put on

Mascara. Up - down - tilt the brush - elongate face - examine -second coat - pause to look over at the two amused children in car adjacent to hers - smile a pretty close-lipped smile - back to business.

I saw a woman put

Eyeliner on precisely. Examining acutely. Her lover awaits, I formulate. She'll next drive away, assured of facial facade, waiting to be beheld. Knowing, she, full well, I'm across from her, mesmerized by this perfunctory familiar ritual ... I nonchalantly look away now and again in a vain attempt to appear disinterested! Yet, rapt I steal back and not a moment too soon.

I saw a woman

Apply lipliner.

With careful ease she traced her lipline, scrutinized - glanced peripherally at me - (aware, of course, of my presence. Where MUST she be off to? To allow the public, me, the children, to be privy to her cosmetic interlude?)

I saw a

Lipstick appear in her hand. Two careless swipes and it was over. The entire deed surely done, until, down she glanced and came back. Lip balm as a glossy adjunct. Elaborate display. Elaborate fascinating display! Ready to drive off I fear, leaving me alone with my thoughts, when,

I saw

Her sweeping on blush. In a moment of pretending not to notice, I coolly looked away and when back I stole, the color was being applied. Serene smile for proper cheekbone placement - smooth - check - moment to ponder - examine - tiny glance at me - (Does she WANT me to watch?) Surely her face has reached completion. No! A powdered cheek color makes its presence known atop the creamy first.   The Ceremony Ends.  The woman does not leave! Does not drive away to some contrived world my mind has conjured! No. She shrouds her painstaking efforts with tremendous red-rimmed sunglasses, takes a final glance at the children, at me, and out her car she strides. Can it be? Destination drugstore?!? Her physical manner transcends not her confident hand ... her poetic face ...

I saw a woman. -sjp

Treetop Starling

Yesterday I saw a sight that was both amusing and made me think. About fifteen starlings flew onto telephone wires in my yard ... one starling in the flock chose to perch atop a small treetop right beneath the wires that her comrades perched on. The branch that she chose was very unsteady beneath her weight - both branch and starling bobbed back and forth like one of those bobbing-headed toys that people used to put in their rear dash car windows. Finally the bird found her balance and the branch was still. Just as that happened all of the starlings on the telephone wires above her decided to fly off. It seemed as though the starling on the branch hesitated a bit - having just claimed her steadiness - but then she flew off to meet up with the others.

••••••••

The pink bird in the photo was my first recent attempt at cutting out forms with my lovely jeweler's saw, also, my first attempts at making rivets! When you get the hang of rivets, they are real fun - my pink bird agrees! 

To see some splendid homes for birds please visit Susan's amazing creations here. And if you have a splash of time, do read Jeff's fascinating post 'Nature Diary', here.. And treat yourself to seeing Melanie's exquisite 'Myrtle Clumpett the Owl Girl' and (naughty) 'Mathilda Crowbird' here.

The Canoe

This weekend I saw this boat and stopped to snap its picture - it reminded me of something funny that happened a few years ago. Walking in my neighborhood I often saw an abandoned house, the windows were boarded shut, dead plants hung on the porch - and nestled in the bushes was a very old metal canoe with an image of an Indian Maiden painted on it. 

One day I decided to rescue the canoe! I thought it would be much happier living in my garden than stuck in the bushes of a house that was no longer loved by anyone. 

So, one bright sunny day I unabashedly walked up the small hill to get to the bushes where the canoe rested. I struggled to heave the huge canoe out and down the small hill where my truck was waiting to take it in. 

When I finally got the canoe into a position where I could heft it up into my truck, I heard a LOUD voice yell out, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY CANOE, LADY!!!!!!!"

It is hard to describe the feelings I felt deep inside my body - it was somewhere between terror, embarrassment  and a ridiculous feeling of humor at the preposterousness of the situation I'd just created for myself. 

The end of the story is that the guy who screamed at me, lived in a strange basement annex of this supposedly abandoned house which at one time belonged to his parents.  After much talk he realized my intentions toward his canoe were noble. He invited me down into his wonderful hobbit hole for tea after he helped me lug the canoe back into the bushes up the hill. 

What is the moral of this story? Appearances can be deceiving. And, a person has to do what a person has to do - and be prepared to pay the consequences. And, apparently there is a reason why I like fruitcake! 

My Sofa

When I was eleven my mom took me to a house auction. I sat on the floor in the front row and the auctioneer sometimes looked at me and every time he said “going once, going twice, going thrice”, I thought for sure that he’d made up the word “thrice” and was only saying it as a joke, so each time I laughed. ~.~  It was at this auction where my mom bought our sofa for $5.00. It was from the turn of the century, made of black wicker with cushions and is very heavy. Years and years have passed … and the sofa has been slept and relaxed on by both my sisters, mom and me and countless other people, it has been recovered and rejuvenated with a black magic marker here and there. Several years back my mom gave this sofa to me. All total, this sofa has been mine really for thirty nine years. What a good sofa! This image was taken in a darling bungalow that I rented when I lived in San Diego a few years back. Sitting next to the sofa you'll see a wooden box. This is a very old firewood box that has been in my family for a long long time. I'm reminded of this dear poem by Rosario Castellanos:

The Cedar Chest : Rosario Castellanos

The ax that felled 

forever the fragrance

and the tree taken

with its torso severed.

Now here you are, under a roof,

in the corner of a bedroom

and guests take you for granted

and you, you seem to accept it

and to keep still.

Don't sell away your memory

to sad routines and to time.

Do not forget the woods

or the wind or the birds. ~Rosario Castellanos

Levity

There once was a spider named Christo

A cranefly he wrapped in his midst-o

His silk came out fine

In fact, just like twine and

His friend in the art world 

Who bore his same name

Shouted kudos and said

We're artistic Mephistos! -sjp

When I Sleep I Listen To My Dreams

I treasure the art created by the gifted Laura Ferrara. Sometimes at night, when I have difficulty falling asleep, her wondrous images take shape in my mind. Thank you, dear Laura, for helping to nourish my dream worlds.

when I sleep I listen to my dreams.

there is where the sounds are seen

and scents are heard

and shadows light and dark are felt

all of which remind me that I am not alone

inside my shell which atop my bones

I carry out into worlds where

light sounds connect with 

scented shadows dark, oneiric.  -sjp

Unearthed

there once was a mushroom

growing in green

and someone decided to pluck

the dear thing.

attached to the former

was a small purple bloom

spindly of root - steadfast to the 'shroom.

said the bloom to the 'shroom

why were we plucked?

we were fine growing there

in the sun and the breeze ...

who knows why?

the one said to the other.

now we will wither

our color be gone

but we're alive in this picture

to live ever on -sjp

Flight

A few days ago I went to a gem and mineral fair that was set up on a huge ranch here in the Northern California countryside. This is the tree I parked by. The sky was an amazing blue and coupled with the deep green of the grasses it made for a lovely shot of this once living grand old tree. 

I saw a lovely array of picture jasper in the colors of the sky and grass. 

One vendor was selling this petrified crab! Wow.

While at the fair I saw this wonderful table filled with dopped stones. I first learned of dopped stones many years back when I bought a small collection of them from a jeweler who was going out of business. ('Dopping' is a procedure used in the jewelry making process. The stone is affixed to a wooden dowel called a 'dop stick' to aid in the sanding/polishing/beveling.)

My own collection of dopped stones live in this old Hotel Creamer. 

Bone-Child

Look at this lovely wood mushroom growing in my front yard - aren't the colors of this beautiful creation something? 

Rainbow Swap Meet

I hawked my wares at the local outdoor swap meet this weekend - I've the sunburn to prove it (~.~). It had been several years since I'd sold at one - and it was as wonderful as I remembered it to be. My first sale was to a man who set up his shop right next to me. He bought a small steel drum I had. When he started to play on it I thought that he'd been a drummer for years - turns out it was the first time he'd ever tapped out rhythm on one - impressive! He was the perfect person to be stationed next to for lots of reasons - one being that he played cajun music cd's throughout the day! It was a welcome and festive addition to the air around us all ...

There are many reasons why I love selling at the swap meet - the interactions with people are amazing! Everyone has stories to tell ... one man told me that a rusty tool I was selling was an antique implement used to secure a metal ring in a pig's nose. Another man tried to convince me that it was an ancient tooth pulling device. (the silly nut!) I love watching people bond with objects ... this swap meet was especially good for that because I sold many things that belonged to me - not things that I bought specifically to sell - one man spent $23.50 - and most everything he purchased cost $1.00 and under - one woman bought a beautiful sculpture of a boy whom my mom named 'Rex Sterling' - the woman told me she had a girl sculpture she was taking him home to live with. Interacting with the children who happen by with their parents is always a favorite experience, too - I brought a bowl full of pretty stones to give to them and anyone else who liked them ~.~ I think that my favorite thing of all though is just experiencing all of the wide open life taking place - the people, music, banter, sunshine, hard work (and money made!), all make for heartening memories. If you've never experienced selling at a swap meet and you've got some things to sell - by all means, do!

***The photos: the first one I took of the inside of my truck the day I packed it for swap meet. I was astounded to see all of the colorful reflections my camera captured! The second is of some tools leaning on my truck - the third is of a boy wagon-ing past, *notice my table and the Linus toy that seems to be staring at him* - the fourth is of two very dear children who smiled for me and my camera and each chose a treasure. The girl chose a slab of tiger eye, and her shy brother didn't know what to take - he was so shy that he sort of froze ... when I brought a shell over for him he lit up and a large chunk of his shyness disappeared. 

Gretchen's Green Eye

Today I snapped a photo of a puffball mushroom growing out in the yard ... when I saw the image on my computer I also immediately saw a leafy green eye and the face of a child. Do you see it, too? The green eye of the puffball mushroom reminded me of one of my favorite photos of my mother - long ago she named this photo, "Gretchen's Green Eye". My mom's name is Caroline, but back then, she fancied the name "Gretchen" and she went by that ... years later, she gave birth to one of my sisters - and named her Gretchen. In this photo of my mom she was pregnant with me. I guess you could say I had the inside scoop. (what comes over me?) A side thought ~ I've been writing lately about my mother it seems. She lives far away from me ... and I miss her.

Years ago I wrote this poem for and about this green eyed mom of mine~

State of Caroline - 19 May 1997

"Where are you from?", people ask -

"Caroline", says I ...

"No, I mean what state are you from?"

"Oh yes, I say. I am from the state of Caroline."

It is the state where roots are not roots

They're enchanted underground highways that

Intersect with alium and calla lillies

And wild thatches of curly willow.

Where gray days are simply the sky's sullen wishes 

To appear foggily anonymous ...

Where beauty lurks in common corners

And sandwiches are Queen's fare

Where technological obstructions are charismatic robots

Where being "organ ized" is visual music

Where stones are artist's subjects

And where olives are fantastical chambers where the privileged wander ...

I am from the state of Caroline

Care to travel? -sjp