Happy Non Traditional New Year!

It feels like New Years Day because of the Rose Parade this morning, but this is Monday the 2nd. I'm lukewarm about the tradition of "never on Sunday" for the parade because I am a staunch believer in keeping on traditions for the sake of doing so, but feeling inconvenienced and "off" because of it. I have similar feelings about Daylight Savings time and Leap Year. The year has begun either way, with or without my approval.

A New Years Toast, "Champagne Jam", in honor of my sis Maggie who was Atlanta Rhythm Section's biggest fan. Happy New Year sis, wherever you are!

For the ages

You aren't just the age you are, you are all the ages you ever have been.

- Kenneth Koch

blog test number 1

blog test one

Sometimes it stays with you

Destiny, not guilt, was enough
for Actaeon. It is no crime
to lose your way in a dark wood.
It happened on a mountain where
hunters
had slaughtered so many animals
The slopes were parched red with
the butchering places.
When shadows were shortest and
the sun’s heat
hardest
Young Actaeon called a halt:
‘We have killed more than enough
for the day…’
Actaeon, “making a beeline home from the hunt” stumbled on the bathing place.
He couldn’t help himself. He stared at the goddess’ naked body, and Diana
“blushed like a dawn cloud” and reached for a weapon. She had only water:
So she scooped up a handful and
dashed it
into his astonished eyes, as she
shouted:
“Now, if you can, tell how you saw
me naked”.
That was all she said but as she
said it
Out of his forehead burst a rack of
antlers
His neck lengthened, narrowed,
and his ears
folded to whiskery points,
his hands were hooves.
His arms long slender legs.
His hunter’s tunic
slipped from his dappled hide.
With all this
The goddess
Poured a shocking stream of panic,
terror
Through his heart like blood.
He had become a stag. Bounding away,
Actaeon was caught by his fellow hunters:
He wished he were among them
Not suffering this death but observing
The terrible method
Of his murderers, as they knotted
Muscle and ferocity to dismember
Their own master.



credit: Ted Hughes, reteller of 25 of Ovid's tales, and Anthony Day of the LA Times bringing it to me twelve years ago. Sometimes stuff rocks your world. This was one of them for me.

Attitude pt III

When the world seems big and out of control, and you seem little and insignificant, I think it's important to stop every now and again to take a snap shot of what's going on around you. A picture captured will give you time to look at the other little details in the picture, the looks on faces, the color of the sky. It will give time to reflect what was being said right then, or tasted, or shared. Replay a moment in time a couple of times over and I think the enormity of the world dies down to insignificance, and the weight of the moment becomes enormous. Of course I don't mean to pull out a camera out to do this, but just capturing in your mind's eye a snap shot of something meaningful that you're doing right now. Now stop for a few minutes and look at it. Really look. I'll bet you see stuff that eluded you at first glance. I wonder if you'll notcie how you're all of a sudden in the middle of picture. I know I did, and I didn't even know I was there. But funny enough I was SO there.

Attitude, part II

I miss partaking in the inanity of it all. I miss my old life when there was nothing but time and exploration. Even the stress of low income living seemed tolerable way back when, and dare I say, full of hidden joys. And inanities.

I thought about that as I drudged out front to pick up my empty trash cans from the curb tonite. I felt the black cloud and lightning bolts over my head. A direct cartoon reference to be sure but but one that this kind of mood always elicits and I smiled at the ridiculousness of the visual. I positioned myself between the rolling cans, spun around to face away and take one in each hand behind me ready to drag, I begin to trudge. Drudge. I listened to the roar of the wheels on the hard packed earth. Marveled at the feeling of cobwebs on my hands as I pulled the cans in the dusk unable to see but yet not panicking at the thought. I squeezed them together behind my back as I passed thru the tight space at my jeep and smiled at the success realizing they must not have actually fit but I never slowed down to find out. I rounded the corner of the house and smiled at the plastic Garden Gnome , fresh batteries lighting up his hat and latern in the gloom. The cat readied his attack and pounced at the perfect time, missing me and aiming for the dog who was happily trotting beside me. I laughed out loud at the dog's indifference. I parked the cans and stepped happily out of the dark yard into the warm glow that was pouring from the kitchen door, cat and dog at my heels. And sat down to tell you all how I love partaking in inanities. Sometimes it's the attitude, not the situation.

Five Minutes

Five minutes was all I asked. Five minutes was all I had. In that time I reached up, grabbed a handful of mane, bobbed on one foot careful not to pull the saddle toward me and climbed aboard. Heard the familiar creak of leather. Patted his neck and smelled the familiar smell of sweat and hair on my hand. Gathered up the reins to “put the horse in gear” and stepped on the throttle with a light stab of my heels. The bunching of muscle and twitch of skin told me he was listening and ready to take us forward and true to his nature, left the direction up to me. We walked for a few minutes to establish a working relationship, your moves, my moves. Before we attempt to try out the throttle, we try out the brakes and with a light tightening of the reins, a shift in my balance toward the back and heels ahead and a quiet ho-hup from me, we come to an immediate stop. Loosen the reins but maintain contact we're off again, this time a little brisker. This time the stop a little more immediate. And this time the go is in an opposite direction, just to find out who was really holding the steering wheel. Your wish is my command he seemed to say. A few minutes of that and we're satisfied, ready to walk back to his owner and do what riders do best, sit on their horse a few minutes, slack reined, while just hanging out and talking. No pestering. No fidgeting. No nibbling. Just hanging out. Hold the reins taut in one hand perched on the horn, swing over and balance on one foot for a nano second, and climb down. A scritch on the neck to say thank you and assure that the familiar scent of sweat and hair is on both hands, and hand the reins back over. Five minutes was all it took to realize what's been missing and what will be coming in the coming months.