More thoughts in the time of COVID-19
Wednesday, Day 41 …
Well, it’s a good thing I went in to have the tires rotated and wheels balanced. I had to buy a new tire. One of the ones I had on there had developed a bubble, the size of my thumb, which was explained to me as a separation. Luckily it was under warranty, so the new one cost less than half of new.
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Thursday, Day 42 …
As I was listening to Symphony Hall in Sirius, I began to wonder (more about “wondering” when I get back to Lewis Thomas) … I began to wonder what happens to all the talent which is never really recognized, and what is the trigger to recognize it wherever it is. I knew an amazing pianist when I lived in Mill Valley (an aside … maybe I thought he was amazing because he called me Tondelayo). He was so smooth at both pop and classics (as well as at flattery … at least I took it as flattery). But he never made it in either music venue. His choice? Or just lack of recognition? And how much talent is out there right now that, unless it is right near us and has training opportunities, we will never hear or see? What are we missing?
Seeing photos of wild animals in cities made me think of where I live. Round here, seeing “wild” animals isn’t that much of a shock. But pumas and turkeys and goats and coyotes and deer and bears and who knows what else in the middle of cities and on empty beaches… wow. Just another reminder that when we as a species are decimated (or gone) Gaia will survive, revive, and prosper.
As part of the Met free downloads during these unusual circumstances, today I got to again see Lehar’s Merry Widow which Fleming did, along with Broadway stars, a couple of years ago (bet you’ve never seen opera with a Broadway gypsy chorus dancing a cancan as well as an assortment of Balkan folk dances). Now I look forward to Rigoletto set in the Rat Pack Vegas. I missed it the first time round.
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Friday, Day 43 …
My cousin Gretchen in Alaska is hooked on poetry and has a scary book collection (scary because it is so big and inclusive and I’m a bit envious). She has been stacking some of them up in towers which write poems of their own if you read titles top to bottom. One example was … A quick brush of wings where the forest meets the stars, parallel worlds beyond civilization.
Now back to Lewis Thomas starting with thoughts about poetry. In one of his essay collections he quotes experts (?) who say poetry is not realistic enough (I forget the highfalutin’ word they used). The idea was that a poem should say exactly what the poet means without metaphor or parable or involvement of readers. I disagree. To me the point of poetry is connection. As a poet I write what I sense and feel and think. It is an invitation to you, the hoped for reader, to meet me there with what you sense and feel and think. We are not alone and poetry is connection, not observation. End of opinion !!!
But still with Thomas … he was a word freak and enjoyed knowing the origins of words. One word to which he gave attention was wonder. It comes from an ancient Indo-European root meaning simply to smile or laugh. Seems he loved that word … loved its mixture of message, marvel, surprise, questioning. And from his Late Night Thoughts on Listening to Mahler’s Ninth Symphony (published in 1983) … “Anything wonderful is something [at which] to smile in the presence of admiration (which, by the way, comes from the same root along with, of all telling words, mirror.)” Thomas then goes on to say he enjoys making lists of things about which he wonders. Although Thomas died in 1997, we are compatriots. As I’ve been reading his essays, I keep coming across phrases, thoughts, ideas which resonate making me think I need to share only to find I don’t have the time or space or ability to teach you. Some of his work is obsolete due to the passage of time but his philosophical thoughts are timeless. As a result I will stop trying to explain him. Go read him for yourself !!!
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Saturday, Day 44 …
Watching my 8-year-old grandson play outdoors with only the dog for a companion can be wrenching. My own children grew up fairly solitary, but they had school time with peers. The only contact Paul has had, other than with adults, has been through chromebook school time. I just watched him go out and walk/march through an interesting routine. I can’t imagine what was in his head. Maybe a ritual from one of the books he is reading.
The current family evening read is Jeremy Thatcher Dragon Hatcher. The dragon’s name is Tiamat. That makes me wonder since a dragon is fire and Tiamat was a Goddess of water. Oh well …
I spent three hours this morning running an informal from-home-during-lockdown radio net while listening to the MET Gala from all over the world. We had radio check-ins from locals and some other places in California and Washington state.
As for the Gala … singers participated from their homes in the US, Germany, France, Italy, Latvia, Canada, Wales, Russia, Malta, Switzerland, Spain, and Poland. Seeing inside the homes was a blast (one married couple sang in their kitchen ending with their two kids mugging and waving) … what variety … lots of books and pianos, some bold colour schemes and a lot of neutrals all with assorted kitsch (one house in Switzerland had a mask on Wagner’s statue and a model of the Met on the piano), several fireplaces (some which are obviously used and some merely decorative), one home even sported a very large aquarium, and there were lots of flowers and plants. But talk about miracles … there were several times we heard the Met Orchestra and chorus en toto (including the magic chorus from Nabucco) all playing and singing from their own homes. Okay, are you bored by my interest in opera yet? I regret it if you are, but no apologies.
Listening sparked a couple of follow-up thoughts … wouldn’t it be great if someone like Keith Richards and some guitar playing friends would do something like this, or Ringo and his drummer mates?
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Sunday, Day 45…
For a few days I have been noticing that the days of yellow pollen are here. The evergreens are doing their mating thing with May Day almost here. Regeneration is a nice thought, but a bit messy.
The sweet cherry tree George and I planted when Mikayla was born nealy 26 years ago, and which has bloomed every year but never had a crop worth anything, is in FULL bloom. With climate change, maybe this will be the year. I wonder what that might portend in life for both Mikayla and her tree.
The small, red flowers are nearly gone from the maple, replaced by small light green leaves. Even the birch and apple trees are leafing out. Of course, everywhere is alight with daffodils in all colour combinations.
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Monday, Day 46 …
Well … opera on saturday followed by Broadway on sunday. I missed the bashup yesterday, but am spending time today (in spurts) with those folks honoring Sondheim. Music and more music. Quite a contrast between opera and Broadway. I grok them both. And to think Sondheim lived next door to Katharine Hepburn. I guess that’s how he knew about the calla lilies. Wow …
Weather since friday afternoon had been overcast and chilly, but not cold. Then today things warmed up. This is the kind of weather that fools you into thinking you can begin gardening outdoors.
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Tuesday, Day 47 …
Today was my day to pay for the enjoyment of yesterday. I volunteered to take part in a United Way program to coalesce communities in preparation for emergencies like floods, fires, earthquakes, and plagues. The training was to start in person the first of April. It has been switched to the internet. They are using the person who oversaw the creation of the learning modules as on-line leader who, it turns out, is not a good on-camera speaker. She waves things around a lot (including her arms), says ah and uh and you know way too often. Consequently, listening to (and watching) her is payment for yesterday’s good times. I’ll tell you more about the project later.
While spinning this morning I found myself philosophizing … weirdly. I have had some mixed fiber, sitting in my stash, in gorgeous browns and yellows and oranges for quite some time. I think it is a combination of merino and alpaca with a wee touch of glitz. I had thought to spin it cobweb for a shawl but had given up and set it aside because spinning it was a constant battle. Then, due to lockdown and the need to find something different to do, I got it out to try once more and it still wouldn’t spin cobweb! I’ve been reading Illusions again and got to thinking about the freedom to do what pleases you. Maybe that fiber wasn’t pleased with what I was trying to make it do. Maybe it wants to be socks or a mid-weight scarf instead of a shawl. So I tried spinning a bit heavier and kaloo kalay … so possibly inanimate things aren’t really lifeless.
I took advantage of a waxing moon in Cancer later this morning and did some planting and transplanting. The green rose I had growing in the courtyard (because it was a favorite of my Daddy’s) had been badly damaged during the year following George’s death. I had tried to move it last year and the ground squirrels got to it so I had given up on it. But miracle of miracles, a fresh shoot is showing at the new site (but with a lot of dead wood as well) and an off-shoot made itself known at the old site. With care and luck, I’ll have two green roses. In addition, I put the new elderberry into the ground and moved a lot of prunella (all heal) into a partial sun area for a medicinal patch. This year there will be a lot of Oregon grape, as well as gooseberries, for jelly … and of course the oregano is on its way to trying to take over.
Recipes for dandelion rosemary shortbread, dandelion lemon bars, dandelion rhubarb pie, and dandelion jelly showed up on my computer yesterday. I have fresh rhubarb ready to pull and plenty of dry rosemary from last year and can get a lemon tomorrow and have been offered free use of a yard full of unsprayed dandelions plus what I was able to pick around our own yard … so guess what I’ll be doing thursday.
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Wednesday, Day 48 …
One day last week, when I heard the lockdown had given a friend a really bad few days, I saw this and decided to share …
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
… Wendell Berry
May you find such a place wherever you are as we weather this challenge.
And so … ‘til next week …