Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Weather-You Like It or Not
When I was a kid the first of May was a special day. Mayday was when we gave or received May baskets to girls, in my case, that you liked. You rang their doorbell and ran away but just slow enough that they could give chase and catch you. At that point the shy ones would let you go; the bold ones would give you a kiss.
Today was Mayday. I rode my bike to work in 30 degree weather with a windchill of 18 degrees. Midmorning we were kissed by snowflakes. What remains of the snow did not melt today. It has been said many times before that in Minnesota, if you don't like the weather, just wait a day or two and it will change. Last week our world was locked in by crusty snow that kept us from the sugarbush. This is the first year we were not able to get in to tap trees. By late weekend we could have gotten in but Karen and I threw in the towel on the syrup season for this year. While I know we could get there now the weather has not been right for a good sap run. We will bide our time till the morels come up.
It has been horrifically windy the past few days. Where are the iceboaters now that the snow is off the lakes? Granted, the surface would not be smooth as oiled glass but the lakes are wide open. Karen has established a small jungle of young plants growing in containers, waiting for the weather to improve so they can go outside to play. Everything is waiting on the weather; it's not warm enough yet or its too wet, or too windy. We are never satisfied. And our wishes really don't matter. The weather will be what it will be, whether we like it or not.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Judge Rules Against WhiskeyJack Flats
In a ruling handed down at 9:30 pm. last night, a local judge denied road access to WhiskeyJack Flats. Members of WJF have been using the road for access to their local sugarbush since 2002. Spokesman for WJF said " He, (the judge), is just using the depth of snow and the icy hardpack as an excuse to deny us access to our ancestral sugarbush. His claim that snowmobiles made the road impassable is irrelevant." In an ironic twist to this case members of WJF helped the judge when he was SBNS, (Stuck Bigger'n Shit), prior to making his ruling. "We shoveled our asses off and gave him a jerk with our truck and tow rope. Who's the jerk now? All that shoveling aggravated my tendonitis."
WhiskeyJack Flats will consider appealing the decision as soon as the snow melts. The judge could not be reached for comment.
WhiskeyJack Flats will consider appealing the decision as soon as the snow melts. The judge could not be reached for comment.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Acceptance-More Practice Required
The CT scan went well, I guess. We'll know the results next week. What proved to be a challenge today was a god damn TV in the laboratory lobby-carrying "live coverage" of the Fargo city commission meeting discussing flood preparations. The damn thing was right above me as I was trying to read-to take in Mary Oliver's Blue Pastures. When my blood work was done I was moved to the CT waiting area and that was okay for a while. Then an old couple hobbled in. (Am I really this cruel and judgmental?) The woman is waiting for her own CT and her husband, with a walker, kept her company. Again, I was trying to read Mary's book and then Gary Snyder's essays but this couple had stuff to talk about. Not much, mind you and not loud but-well-my ears were trying to pay attention when I didn't want them to listen and then my eyes went "what the what?" And my concentration was at risk and the hell of it is, the stuff they were talking about was just the nothing special-small talk of no consequence about things it never mattered and never will. Am I being judgmental again?
What was really difficult in the end-the topping on this cake of misery, was the elevator shopping Muzak jazzy shit coming from the speaker in the ceiling. Once, just once, they gave up on the sax and organ vibe and we had something that might have felt like Carlos if you are brain-dead. So today hell was other people. No-really. That wasn't hell. Just another day to practice acceptance. And acceptance is "the word" lately as winter keeps dragging her ass across a landscape leaving cold snow behind. Fishing opener is one month away and the lakes still have over 3 feet of ice. Everyone seems to be grumbling about the long winter. We aren't tapping trees yet but I doubt were missing anything so far. And yeah, I'd like so weather to begin to warm up and stay that way so the roads can become dry and my bike can carry me to work again.
So yes, in the end, the day was good. Any day we are alive enough to practice is bound to be a good day. Peace and love to you all.
Mike.
What was really difficult in the end-the topping on this cake of misery, was the elevator shopping Muzak jazzy shit coming from the speaker in the ceiling. Once, just once, they gave up on the sax and organ vibe and we had something that might have felt like Carlos if you are brain-dead. So today hell was other people. No-really. That wasn't hell. Just another day to practice acceptance. And acceptance is "the word" lately as winter keeps dragging her ass across a landscape leaving cold snow behind. Fishing opener is one month away and the lakes still have over 3 feet of ice. Everyone seems to be grumbling about the long winter. We aren't tapping trees yet but I doubt were missing anything so far. And yeah, I'd like so weather to begin to warm up and stay that way so the roads can become dry and my bike can carry me to work again.
So yes, in the end, the day was good. Any day we are alive enough to practice is bound to be a good day. Peace and love to you all.
Mike.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Shadows
According to our WeatherGuide Calendar today, December 16th, is when the sun casts the longest shadows of the year. I have to take the word of the calendar people; the sun never cast a shadow here today. We had one of those days where the sky and the ground were the same flat whitish-gray. If not for the trees on the horizon one would not know where the earth ended and the sky began. It seems a bit ironic that the longest shadows of the year come just 5 days before the shortest day of the year. Or put another way, the longest night of the year. Whatever your faith beliefs are it is no accident that at this time of year we celebrate the season of light.
But light does not shine equally into all lives. Our friend, let's call her Sue, leaves for Mayo tomorrow for a PET scan to look for more spots of cancer in her body. She finished chemo last spring and life looked pretty good. But some spots showed up in X-rays and last week a biopsy of her lung confirmed the presence of cancer. Her liver has a 'shadow' or suspicious spot, but it can't be reached for a biopsy. The spots on her lung and the shadow on her liver have cast a pall on her life. A shadow is dimming the light of hope.
And long, long, long shadows of grief reached families of those slain by young man in Connecticut this week. Their pain and loss is something none of us can imagine. The shadow cast by that horrific incident will touch us all.
The thing about shadows is: you cannot have a shadow without some source of light. What illuminates life for the survivors? What light stands behind Sue, to cast a shadow on her life? I don't pretend to know. It is just a question. I imagine some people will say "God is the light..." They may be right. Or at least they have an answer that works for them.
On this day when there are too many dark shadows in the lives of good people let's all do something to help make the light shine and wash those shadows away. Do whatever your faith or beliefs tells you to do, but take a few moments to offer thanks and pray for those who need more light in their lives.
Peace and love to you all,
Mike
But light does not shine equally into all lives. Our friend, let's call her Sue, leaves for Mayo tomorrow for a PET scan to look for more spots of cancer in her body. She finished chemo last spring and life looked pretty good. But some spots showed up in X-rays and last week a biopsy of her lung confirmed the presence of cancer. Her liver has a 'shadow' or suspicious spot, but it can't be reached for a biopsy. The spots on her lung and the shadow on her liver have cast a pall on her life. A shadow is dimming the light of hope.
And long, long, long shadows of grief reached families of those slain by young man in Connecticut this week. Their pain and loss is something none of us can imagine. The shadow cast by that horrific incident will touch us all.
The thing about shadows is: you cannot have a shadow without some source of light. What illuminates life for the survivors? What light stands behind Sue, to cast a shadow on her life? I don't pretend to know. It is just a question. I imagine some people will say "God is the light..." They may be right. Or at least they have an answer that works for them.
On this day when there are too many dark shadows in the lives of good people let's all do something to help make the light shine and wash those shadows away. Do whatever your faith or beliefs tells you to do, but take a few moments to offer thanks and pray for those who need more light in their lives.
Peace and love to you all,
Mike
Saturday, December 1, 2012
The Fine Line
As long as I can remember I have been fascinated by those short twilight moments between light and dark; the crepuscular periods. Watching the light grow and fill the day or watching the darkness swallow the light, making it disappear into imagination and memory, has given me more special moments than almost any other natural phenomenon. What really catches my eye at these times is the ever so fine line separating the light from the darkness. I cannot turn away from this line. Traveling at sunset on a clear day my eyes will follow every rise and fall of this line on the horizon. I cannot help myself and for reasons I do not yet understand I have the feeling that this line is more than a visual boundary. I have the certain feeling that this line, taken down to its' most infinitesimal, defines some aspect of life. Don't ask me how or why I feel this way. I just do.
This fall I have a couple reasons to think of another line; the line between Faith and Desperation. Deer season brought this on. Too many hours in a stand, in the cold, without any deer walking by make me wonder about a lot of things. And I began to wonder about the difference between faith and desperation. How do I keep the faith when my friends are getting deer and I am not? How desperate will I become before I get a deer or give up?
But this is not about hunting.
One of my very best friends is fighting cancer again. This past spring she finished chemo and began to have a life again. Any of you who have put your lives on hold for some serious calamity know the feeling of rejoicing when you are finally able to step away from the struggles and pain and begin to live your life anew. Now she is having to face the idea of cancer again. More chemo, maybe more surgery, who knows? And that is the hard part. At this point even the doctors don't know for sure but all the signs point to a recurrence and all that comes with that.
This is where the fine line comes into play. How do you stay on that line? How do you keep from falling into desperation? How do you find or maintain faith that all will be well? I know people who put it all into God's hands and use the power of prayer. I cannot deny them their beliefs but sometimes even with prayer, good people die of cancer.
For my friend the line exists and like the dark silhouette of a tree-lined horizon back lit by the twilight of a setting sun, the line is incredibly crisp and sharp and difficult to define. The line holds the last part of the day and the beginning of the darkness and I believe for those reasons the line is the key to life. I apologize for what surely seems like something "way out there" but my ability to explain it better eludes me in this moment. Almost all of us have stood on the edge of a great abyss after inching our way cautiously to the very edge of the precipice. And whether you admit it or not most of you have wondered what it would be like to have the ability to fly but not a one of us has tried jumping off. But you have stood for a moment on the line.
For my friend and all who know and love her the fine line between faith and desperation will define life for all of us. How do you define your life?
Peace and love to you all.
Pray for healing and comfort to those who fight cancer and all other illnesses.
Mike
This fall I have a couple reasons to think of another line; the line between Faith and Desperation. Deer season brought this on. Too many hours in a stand, in the cold, without any deer walking by make me wonder about a lot of things. And I began to wonder about the difference between faith and desperation. How do I keep the faith when my friends are getting deer and I am not? How desperate will I become before I get a deer or give up?
But this is not about hunting.
One of my very best friends is fighting cancer again. This past spring she finished chemo and began to have a life again. Any of you who have put your lives on hold for some serious calamity know the feeling of rejoicing when you are finally able to step away from the struggles and pain and begin to live your life anew. Now she is having to face the idea of cancer again. More chemo, maybe more surgery, who knows? And that is the hard part. At this point even the doctors don't know for sure but all the signs point to a recurrence and all that comes with that.
This is where the fine line comes into play. How do you stay on that line? How do you keep from falling into desperation? How do you find or maintain faith that all will be well? I know people who put it all into God's hands and use the power of prayer. I cannot deny them their beliefs but sometimes even with prayer, good people die of cancer.
For my friend the line exists and like the dark silhouette of a tree-lined horizon back lit by the twilight of a setting sun, the line is incredibly crisp and sharp and difficult to define. The line holds the last part of the day and the beginning of the darkness and I believe for those reasons the line is the key to life. I apologize for what surely seems like something "way out there" but my ability to explain it better eludes me in this moment. Almost all of us have stood on the edge of a great abyss after inching our way cautiously to the very edge of the precipice. And whether you admit it or not most of you have wondered what it would be like to have the ability to fly but not a one of us has tried jumping off. But you have stood for a moment on the line.
For my friend and all who know and love her the fine line between faith and desperation will define life for all of us. How do you define your life?
Peace and love to you all.
Pray for healing and comfort to those who fight cancer and all other illnesses.
Mike
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Identity Theft
It happened to me again. Yesterday some guy got hold of my personal information and began using it against me. Before I knew it he had drug up all those things from the past that no one should have to know and began flinging them back in my face. Truly, it is a helluva way to start your day.
This isn't the first time but that doesn't make coping any easier. I mean, after a few times you begin to learn what steps to take for protection. You also learn from experience what the thief will do next; what painful thing he is going to use against you. One of the really frightening aspects of this is the predictability of the crime. Certain events trigger this theft. I often have the feeling that this whole thing is cyclical and that is really scary for me.
Probably what hurts the most is that I know the guy and I don't yet understand why he keeps doing this to me. What did I ever do to him?
Have you ever had the feeling you know what is going to happen next, or that this is going to be a difficult day? When that happens to me I know before I even open my eyes, that this guy is waiting for me. It is enough to make me swear off getting up in the morning. Or shaving. He always stares at me when I am shaving. We both know he has the upper hand and he toys with me, trying to get me to look him in the eyes but I can't.
At that point the rest of the day is a total loss for me. The thief stuffs my head with rage and doubt and hatred. He spares no one and no thing. Any one I have loved becomes a threat to my personal wellbeing. Any activity I have ever enjoyed is made worthless. Before he is done with me the thief has me ready to cast aside any one or any thing I have ever loved.
For years I was puzzled by this scenario as were the loved ones in my life. How could I change from such a caring guy into a dark, angry animal, snarling at the ones I loved the most? In the beginning it took me a long time to recover from this violation. Sometimes weeks would pass before he would disappear, leaving me something like a hangover but not from drinking too much alcohol.
After awhile I'd forget about him. When life was just beginning to get really good, Bam! he'd show up, knock me down and the whole cycle of hatred and pain would start all over again. Even though I've known the thief intimately for my whole life I just began to get a handle on his motivation for this terrible crime.He loves drama.
The thief is my pain body; that part of my ego that loves pain and drama. He feeds on the negative energy produced by pain and drama and discord. When my life is going to well the pain body gets bored and hungry and picks on me when I am not paying attention or when I am tired and feeling a bit down. That's when he strikes.
If there is any element of jealousy or resentment or frustration, no matter how small or inconsequential, he will find an opening and begin to work his dark magic against me. He is so subtle. Often he begins his work before I even know he is here. He might take two or three days setting the stage then hit me hard right between the eyes early in the morning when I am not even fully awake. His is the cruelist sort of ambush. He sits in his dark little corner of my mind, laughing his head off while I withdraw in fear and begin nursing all sorts of imagined hurts. The thief really likes it when my mind goes into default mode and I begin trying to find a way out of my pain and any way out becomes an acceptable alternative.
Over the years I have finally learned not to listen to this demon, not to take what he says or plants in my mind, as the truth. Because my pain body knows me so well, ignoring him is hard, really hard. This time it took me about half a day before I was able to push my pain body back down and regain some positive energy and balance in my life.
The pain body is like a parasite. He can survive a long, long time on very little and he never really kills his host because then he would die too. No, he just waits and feeds whenever the opportunity presents itself, filling up on as much negativity as he can hold before I discover him at work again and send him back into his hole. My goal is to feed him smaller amounts and less often; keeping him too weak to do much damage when he does appear. And when I do see his face, recognize him sooner and stuff him back down where he can't hurt me or my loved ones any longer.
In the meantime I have to make peace with the knowledge that I do have a pain body; we all do. But we don't have to let the bastard run our lives. I have already lost too much time to him in the past. So maybe from now one I'll put up a Wanted Poster to remind me what my pain body looks like and I can kick him in the ass. My reward will be a better, happier life with less pain and drama. Do yourself a favor. When you see your thief, kick his ass for me. Your life will be better it.
Peace and love to you all,
Mike
This isn't the first time but that doesn't make coping any easier. I mean, after a few times you begin to learn what steps to take for protection. You also learn from experience what the thief will do next; what painful thing he is going to use against you. One of the really frightening aspects of this is the predictability of the crime. Certain events trigger this theft. I often have the feeling that this whole thing is cyclical and that is really scary for me.
Probably what hurts the most is that I know the guy and I don't yet understand why he keeps doing this to me. What did I ever do to him?
Have you ever had the feeling you know what is going to happen next, or that this is going to be a difficult day? When that happens to me I know before I even open my eyes, that this guy is waiting for me. It is enough to make me swear off getting up in the morning. Or shaving. He always stares at me when I am shaving. We both know he has the upper hand and he toys with me, trying to get me to look him in the eyes but I can't.
At that point the rest of the day is a total loss for me. The thief stuffs my head with rage and doubt and hatred. He spares no one and no thing. Any one I have loved becomes a threat to my personal wellbeing. Any activity I have ever enjoyed is made worthless. Before he is done with me the thief has me ready to cast aside any one or any thing I have ever loved.
For years I was puzzled by this scenario as were the loved ones in my life. How could I change from such a caring guy into a dark, angry animal, snarling at the ones I loved the most? In the beginning it took me a long time to recover from this violation. Sometimes weeks would pass before he would disappear, leaving me something like a hangover but not from drinking too much alcohol.
After awhile I'd forget about him. When life was just beginning to get really good, Bam! he'd show up, knock me down and the whole cycle of hatred and pain would start all over again. Even though I've known the thief intimately for my whole life I just began to get a handle on his motivation for this terrible crime.He loves drama.
The thief is my pain body; that part of my ego that loves pain and drama. He feeds on the negative energy produced by pain and drama and discord. When my life is going to well the pain body gets bored and hungry and picks on me when I am not paying attention or when I am tired and feeling a bit down. That's when he strikes.
If there is any element of jealousy or resentment or frustration, no matter how small or inconsequential, he will find an opening and begin to work his dark magic against me. He is so subtle. Often he begins his work before I even know he is here. He might take two or three days setting the stage then hit me hard right between the eyes early in the morning when I am not even fully awake. His is the cruelist sort of ambush. He sits in his dark little corner of my mind, laughing his head off while I withdraw in fear and begin nursing all sorts of imagined hurts. The thief really likes it when my mind goes into default mode and I begin trying to find a way out of my pain and any way out becomes an acceptable alternative.
Over the years I have finally learned not to listen to this demon, not to take what he says or plants in my mind, as the truth. Because my pain body knows me so well, ignoring him is hard, really hard. This time it took me about half a day before I was able to push my pain body back down and regain some positive energy and balance in my life.
The pain body is like a parasite. He can survive a long, long time on very little and he never really kills his host because then he would die too. No, he just waits and feeds whenever the opportunity presents itself, filling up on as much negativity as he can hold before I discover him at work again and send him back into his hole. My goal is to feed him smaller amounts and less often; keeping him too weak to do much damage when he does appear. And when I do see his face, recognize him sooner and stuff him back down where he can't hurt me or my loved ones any longer.
In the meantime I have to make peace with the knowledge that I do have a pain body; we all do. But we don't have to let the bastard run our lives. I have already lost too much time to him in the past. So maybe from now one I'll put up a Wanted Poster to remind me what my pain body looks like and I can kick him in the ass. My reward will be a better, happier life with less pain and drama. Do yourself a favor. When you see your thief, kick his ass for me. Your life will be better it.
Peace and love to you all,
Mike
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Shades of Grey and Billy
Piles of gear are beginning to erupt from the floors. Sleeping bags and pads, cooking utensils, tarp, tent, Duluth packs in the garage. Dehydrated food in the dining room. A small mound of clothing in the bedroom. The fourteen day list of gear is out, slashed in half and a permit awaits our pick up at the Kawishiwi ranger station.
There are a few odd things being packed for this trip and by odd I don't mean as in "a few odds and ends", I mean odd, as in, we have never taken them on a canoe trip before. The two red folding chairs and a Coleman stove look out of place. They aren't even on the list, yet they they stand all anticipatory next to the gear which is standard for our canoe trips.
This is our first canoe trip since Mike had cancer and wrecked his shoulder and since I had surgery and school for my fibromyalgia. We decided that it would be a good idea to take an "easy" trip. So, we have two portages, wide and nearly paved by portage standards, and a one day paddle to a base camp. Something we have never in the history of us done. Our M.O. is to travel every day. To, put on miles both on water and land. The last trip we were on covered 90 some water miles and 20 some portage miles. Not this time. We are being, I hesitate to say, cautious.Mike doesn't know how is shoulder will do or how managing an ostomy will shake down; I just don't know how my body will react.
Cautious is not really like us in the wilderness and base camping is a foreign concept. Still, what this lacks in reckless abandon it makes up for in luxury - lawn chairs and a camp stove. Also, I am bringing a little hand work and a book. Or at least I was going to bring a book. Nearly ashamed to admit it, but feeling like I can since no purchase was made, I had planned on reading Fifty Shades of Grey, a shameless, soft porn, work of fiction AND a complete departure from my normal genre' of non-fiction outdoor essay writing and poetry. BUT thankfully Billy Collins intervened this morning.
As we sat together in the sun on my couch he said:
"And there was I.
up on a rose-grey block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,
down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day." (1)
And then he said:
"before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at." (2)
.........a wise man this Billy Collins.
The trash novel will remain unpurchased.I will not pack pages of paragraphs nor allow chapters to distract me from the windowless vistas which will be ours for a week. Instead, my journal, full of dust, with it's stiff binding will slide into the waterproof pouch. My favorite mechanical pencil, hungry for words, will get a belly full of graphite and together they will be put into the front of my pack just behind the flap that reads "Got Portage?"
Oh, and Billy Collins just got invited on this trip. I hope he doesn't mind the feel of canvas on his skin. I'll try my best not to let him end up under the spot on my pack that says, "kick me." He deserves so much more than that. He deserves to sit upon rose-grey knobs of granite under clear blue skies, breeze on our skins, pungent warm pine twining up into our noses, the sound of nuthatches and no window or wall to be seen for miles. There we will sit as Jackfish place concentric rings on flat black water and beg for one more day.
Peace,
Karen
Both excerpts taken from "The Trouble with Poetry" by Billy Collins
1) Statues in the Park
2) Monday
There are a few odd things being packed for this trip and by odd I don't mean as in "a few odds and ends", I mean odd, as in, we have never taken them on a canoe trip before. The two red folding chairs and a Coleman stove look out of place. They aren't even on the list, yet they they stand all anticipatory next to the gear which is standard for our canoe trips.
This is our first canoe trip since Mike had cancer and wrecked his shoulder and since I had surgery and school for my fibromyalgia. We decided that it would be a good idea to take an "easy" trip. So, we have two portages, wide and nearly paved by portage standards, and a one day paddle to a base camp. Something we have never in the history of us done. Our M.O. is to travel every day. To, put on miles both on water and land. The last trip we were on covered 90 some water miles and 20 some portage miles. Not this time. We are being, I hesitate to say, cautious.Mike doesn't know how is shoulder will do or how managing an ostomy will shake down; I just don't know how my body will react.
Cautious is not really like us in the wilderness and base camping is a foreign concept. Still, what this lacks in reckless abandon it makes up for in luxury - lawn chairs and a camp stove. Also, I am bringing a little hand work and a book. Or at least I was going to bring a book. Nearly ashamed to admit it, but feeling like I can since no purchase was made, I had planned on reading Fifty Shades of Grey, a shameless, soft porn, work of fiction AND a complete departure from my normal genre' of non-fiction outdoor essay writing and poetry. BUT thankfully Billy Collins intervened this morning.
As we sat together in the sun on my couch he said:
"And there was I.
up on a rose-grey block of granite
near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,
my name and dates pressed into a plaque,
down on my knees, eyes lifted,
praying to the passing clouds,
forever begging for just one more day." (1)
And then he said:
"before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at." (2)
.........a wise man this Billy Collins.
The trash novel will remain unpurchased.I will not pack pages of paragraphs nor allow chapters to distract me from the windowless vistas which will be ours for a week. Instead, my journal, full of dust, with it's stiff binding will slide into the waterproof pouch. My favorite mechanical pencil, hungry for words, will get a belly full of graphite and together they will be put into the front of my pack just behind the flap that reads "Got Portage?"
Oh, and Billy Collins just got invited on this trip. I hope he doesn't mind the feel of canvas on his skin. I'll try my best not to let him end up under the spot on my pack that says, "kick me." He deserves so much more than that. He deserves to sit upon rose-grey knobs of granite under clear blue skies, breeze on our skins, pungent warm pine twining up into our noses, the sound of nuthatches and no window or wall to be seen for miles. There we will sit as Jackfish place concentric rings on flat black water and beg for one more day.
Peace,
Karen
Both excerpts taken from "The Trouble with Poetry" by Billy Collins
1) Statues in the Park
2) Monday
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Testing Testing
Yup, I'm on Facebook strike and maybe that's a good thing because here I am on our abandoned blog. I know we said we hadn't abandoned it just neglected but let's be honest....
I'm not gonna play catch up on this post or any post so no worries that this is like the dreaded Christmas newsletter you get in December or if you are like many of my people....January or February.
Mostly, I'm just testing. Seeing who's out there. Finding out that I've been wasting my time on Facebook when I could be here writing something substantial instead of reposting cartoons or cat videooowwwsss...er videos.
Any how....hello...is anyone out there?
Peace,
Karen
I'm not gonna play catch up on this post or any post so no worries that this is like the dreaded Christmas newsletter you get in December or if you are like many of my people....January or February.
Mostly, I'm just testing. Seeing who's out there. Finding out that I've been wasting my time on Facebook when I could be here writing something substantial instead of reposting cartoons or cat videooowwwsss...er videos.
Any how....hello...is anyone out there?
Peace,
Karen
Sunday, March 11, 2012
First Right of Spring
Tonight, my ears sting and itch with a virus. Throat is sore and nose runs. My heart however races like a child's because tomorrow we drive to the trees, our trees, my trees and begin our right of spring. Tapping the maples. This will be my 9th or is it my 10th or 11th season of mapling and each year I fill with youthful excitement on the first warm day in March.
So, tomorrow, sick or not, we will drive the 13 miles to our permitted site in the "Chip" with buckets, spiles, drill and taps. We'll stop first at the "Grandmother" tree or rather her body. Last year we arrived to find her lying down, holding up one last hurrah of buds, severed at the waist by some fierce gust of wind. I sat at her base in tears, sad to see her go, but understanding this was the way of such things.
We will offer tobacco and set to hand drilling holes in the maple forest. We could use power tools but that doesn't seem right. We should have to labor, just like the trees, for this reward. We will listen for that certain squeak of the drill bit. The sound that will tell us, yes, we are on time, the trees are beginning their run.
And yes tomorrow, we will give ourselves to the trees. They will own us for as long as the sap runs. We will visit every day to take what they give and be thankful for each clear sweet drop in our buckets.
Tonight, daylight savings is welcome, because it brings me tomorrow one hour sooner.
Peace
Karen
So, tomorrow, sick or not, we will drive the 13 miles to our permitted site in the "Chip" with buckets, spiles, drill and taps. We'll stop first at the "Grandmother" tree or rather her body. Last year we arrived to find her lying down, holding up one last hurrah of buds, severed at the waist by some fierce gust of wind. I sat at her base in tears, sad to see her go, but understanding this was the way of such things.
We will offer tobacco and set to hand drilling holes in the maple forest. We could use power tools but that doesn't seem right. We should have to labor, just like the trees, for this reward. We will listen for that certain squeak of the drill bit. The sound that will tell us, yes, we are on time, the trees are beginning their run.
And yes tomorrow, we will give ourselves to the trees. They will own us for as long as the sap runs. We will visit every day to take what they give and be thankful for each clear sweet drop in our buckets.
Tonight, daylight savings is welcome, because it brings me tomorrow one hour sooner.
Peace
Karen
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Having and Wanting
Mike's been pretty impressed with this. He watched me struggle with the framework or armature as it's also called. He watched rows of knots go in and those same rows come out, not once, not twice but several many times. A lot was learned from this tiny piece (3x5 inches) mostly what it taught me was that it takes patience to make art and the art itself will always be your best teacher.
When I wasn't working on it I was thinking about it. I was wanting to go back to it and never felt like I had to. There were no deadlines. Nobody expecting it. There was no "having". The process was pure, unadulterated "wanting". Each time I approached it there was joy in being with the knots and with the product they were wanting to be. I opened my hand and my mind and art became form. The whole experience was peaceful, yes, even the "unkotting".
This past week Bemidji Community Arts Center announced it's member's show. Mike, who joined at their individual level, and I'll let him 'splain that, suggested I submit this piece. Knowing I wasn't the member I thought I could be immune from the show, but no, he could submit any art he did or owned and could submit the piece for me. I ignored his request. He tried it again a few days ago and then again tonight. Feeling a little pressured I explained what entering the piece would mean for me at this point, it would be the difference between having and wanting.
I've been listening to what this piece wants. I learned to listen to the art on another collaborative piece I'm involved with and boy that piece will NOT accept anything it does not want. I feel that if I were to submit this piece (and for god's sake I should name it) I'd have to have it mounted and framed and would I have enough time to get that done? I'd feel like it was something I HAD to do. I'd have to have it done up for the show and then I'd be obligated to it...it...it....it would become a, I shudder to say, responsibility. I would fear, at this point anyhow, that my newly found art form, the form that flows from me, through me and draws me to it would lose it's luster because I had to do something with it and more might be expected and I'd have to... well you get it don't you? I'm not ready for this to feel like something I have to do. I want to want it. I want it to control me not visa versa.
So, no show. I'm gonna be a no show artist. For now anyhow. Oh I'll post pictures. I may make a few pieces to give away or sell but for now my art is my art and that's how I want it.
Peace,
Karen
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