Birdsong

Inspirational song: Mockingbird (Carly Simon feat. James Taylor)

How long is it acceptable to ruminate about a subject, without making any progress, before you have to admit the answers just aren't there? For two weeks, I've wanted to revisit the topic of my art, and how I am gaining acceptance with what my particular role is. I keep hearing little throwaway lines here and there, and I think, that's it, that's what I needed to tie it all together. But I still keep putting it off. It started when Will Smith was on the Tonight Show, the new version, and he was offering advice to Jimmy Fallon on his first night. He said something that really struck me. He essentially said that you've got to remember that your art is a gift to people, to help brighten their lives, even just to get through a day, and when artists get in trouble is when they start to think it's all about themselves. 

I've struggled many times with feelings of inadequacy, when I think about how light my subject matter is. But I don't want to drag anyone down with the news of the world, and I certainly don't want to ignite a firestorm over politics or religion. I refuse to be more inflammatory than to take a side for sporting events. That's not what I'm about. I want to comment on the small moments, and I believe that I can find parallels to the human condition in my vignettes, even when I fill a post with gardening victories and cat adventures. I keep these short, so it only takes a couple minutes to read and look at the pictures. I hope that I am delivering at least a few minutes of peace every night. If I can lower your blood pressure for five minutes, and give you a chance to take just one deep, relaxed breath, then I have done my job well.

I am still working on that ghost story I started in November. It's never far from my consciousness, although it is not progressing very quickly. While I was gathering influential statements to write the above, comedian Chris Harwick informed me (and thousands of others) that two Kardassian sisters wrote a book. He screamed at the camera, "hey, frustrated writers, now you have no f-ing excuse!" I felt properly chastised and shamed.

I keep hearing birdsong, in real life and on television. I assume that it catches my ear mostly because my text notifier is a chirp, but I think I'm particularly drawn to it now because it's almost spring. I want to throw open the windows, and be able to leave them open all day and night (not yet). I love listening to my cardinals serenade me and taunt the cats. Today we had to watch the birds through the windows only, and that made me the least popular human in the house. I shut the door on two cat heads today (not all the way), preventing escapes on the heels of the dogs. I was listening to another comedian today, John Fugelsang, who lives in New York City and takes his cats out on walks in a stroller. He said, "Cats think they run the house, and you have to show them how low on the totem pole they are, and this will put the fear of Homo sapiens back in them." Oh, silly man. You're just toting them around in a sedan chair like all good nobles throughout history. Don't you know your place?

Secret, Secret

Inspirational song: Mr Roboto (Styx)

It's getting late at the Park. I think I am the only one around here with open eyes. I have to sit at an angle, when I would prefer to have my feet propped on the couch, since there is a pile of snoring, twitching felines taking up my personal space. I'd love to go to bed, but not only do I need to write, but I also just remembered that I abandoned a crazy ex-librarian move mid-shift. I was moving around my bookshelves, and I unloaded the shelf unit I had double-stacked with trashy novels (I love them, don't judge me) all over my bed, so I could group them by author and series. I'm talking three shelves, two rows deep on each, and extras wedged in to every open space and stacked on top, spread out in a thin layer over my whole bed. I think this is going to be one of those nights I will be glad that we replaced the mattress on the guest bed when we moved in to this house.

I had a lot of fun working on my secret project today, but that means I didn't spend a lot of time thinking of anything to write about. I did cave in to the group demands of a walk in the park this afternoon, so at least I have some new pictures to share. It's one of those nights with more pictures than words. I've decided not to beat myself up about that. 

I hope I remember who I am when I wake up in the wrong room in the middle of the night. It's the price I have to pay for my secrets.

Buzzed

Inspirational song: Long Time Gone (Dixie Chicks)

I'm finding it nearly impossible to slow down long enough to write tonight. I've been feeling super awake all day, like I was yesterday as I raved about how my senses were reviving, and how I am getting in touch with the person who was dulled for years from bad nutrition. But today I had a little help from some of the old, bad poisons, to throw me into hyperdrive. For the first time in a long time, our ladies' lunch was not canceled due to freezing precipitation (although right on cue, a cold front did come through with a huge dip in temperatures and non-stop rain today). After two months of feeling cut off from that circle, I had a great meal with people I have missed terribly. And then a few of us crossed the parking lot to run errands at Target, and somehow I thought it would be brilliant to carry twenty ounces of syrup-soaked espresso with me through the store. That got all my gears spinning, but it was this evening's entertainment that kicked on the afterburners. We missed a lot of bunco due to winter storms, and this was the first time we've been able to do it in a while. My guard was down, because again, I was more focused on catching up with my friends, and I stopped paying attention to how often my hand dipped in every candy bowl on every table, as we rolled the dice and traveled between rounds. I don't think I have any active memories of being on a sugar high, even back in childhood. I've had such a steady stream of sugar, an uninterrupted supply for decades, and I thought I had lost my ability to get an obvious energy burst from it. But sure as anything, here I am feeling like I'm a runaway train, wanting to talk fast and play on three different electronic devices at once, while watching television and playing with the pets, and shifting in my seat, and failing to write coherently...

It's kind of encouraging to learn that I could become sensitive to sugar in this way again, while at the same time very irritating to need to sit still and focus long enough to write. Maybe I should grab a pen and paper, and switch gears to completing the design I've been struggling with for days. My secret project needs attention, and I've had a few breakthroughs in the last 24-48 hours. Now I must carve time out of my resurgent social calendar to work on it. A tiny hint is visible in the picture of the spoils of today's shopping expedition, if you know what you're looking for. And with that, I'm back to other things, while I try to burn off a little of this excess energy. If I'm lucky, I'll get to sleep before dawn.

Make It Plain

Inspirational song: Fast Food (Richard Thompson)

It was the perfect temperature to drive home from physical therapy with the windows down in my car. I don't do it often, because the wind noise usually irritates me, but it was worth it today. Along the way, I passed several different restaurants, most of negligible quality, and the car was filled with the smell of crappy hamburgers, crappy chicken, and powerful roasted garlic (which smelled good, but it was an Italian restaurant, and pasta is right out). It set me thinking about all the things that have changed, the farther into a gluten free lifestyle I go. My sense of smell has been weakening for years, to the extent that I couldn't smell a live Christmas tree in my house for the last decade. Now that I'm starting to pick up things I haven't in ages, like these food smells, or the freshly purchased lumber sitting in my garage, I'm starting to wonder how many other senses have been dulled from a bad diet. I'm definitely tasting food better, but to be fair, I am also tasting better food. I've always had a strong aversion to excessive seasoning on processed food, including restaurant fare. I always told my children that my favorite flavor was "plain." This is not to imply I like bland food. I just always wanted to eat the actual item, not an "amped up" version of anything. I suspect that laboratory-created flavor blends, in increasing intensity, are meant to cover up the horrible quality of the base components in what we as a nation are buying and eating. Factory food is a nightmare, and only these chemicals and "natural flavorings" can trick our brains into accepting it. I've turned my back on all of those processed foods, and I am finding that I no longer feel queasy after eating. I feel nourished every time I eat, for the first time in memory. I'm alert, I have energy, and I have a good attitude. It's remarkable, really.

I think my brain is starting to function better now that I'm completely on the gluten free wagon. I am starting to hear music differently, able to follow the complexities in ways that previously only signaled an impending migraine headache. (I used to worry when I could pick out the different instruments and musical lines, all at once, because that meant I had at best a couple hours before I was down for the count.) I'm starting to see an improvement in my conversational skills. I had started feeling like a crazy recluse over the years, as I backed off from in-person social events, to hide how difficult it was for me to hold a train of thought in spoken conversations. I'm not 100% yet, but I'm not as easily distracted. Any improvement is welcome, in that respect. And the suggestion of sensory inputs are setting me off. I have found myself watching things on tv, like coffee brewing, wood fire, mowed grass, and I swear I can taste it, smell it, feel it. My creativity and imagination are improving, obviously.

I wonder how long this will all feel fresh and new. I must get used to it at some point, and stop being startled when my senses are triggered. I hope that time is far away. I'm enjoying feeling like I'm smelling and tasting and hearing everything for the first time.

(I have no photos that match this topic, so I will share the handful I took today when I came home from physical therapy. I had a yard full of visitors.)

Fresh and New

Inspirational song: Good Day, Sunshine (The Beatles)

Today is a good day to think about new beginnings. Spring is essentially here, even though we have some chilly nights to get through before my giant ficus gets to sleep outside again. I got the text yesterday afternoon that my friend finally had contractions regular and close enough to go to the hospital, and this morning at 4:20, a new baby boy joined our community. The mah jongg master and I went to visit him this afternoon, and we each got to hold him for quite a while, and talk to the pale and tired, but very proud parents. He slept the whole time we were there, even through all my jostling and shifting in my seat to make sure he was secure and I was comfortable. He's absolutely beautiful, and the second I looked in his face, I realized he was the image of his big sister. She's my practice grandbaby, and I have enjoyed her company immensely for three years. Now there's another copy of all that wonderfulness. I'm so happy.

I spent a couple hours pruning roses again. I further untangled the large mass of dark rose pink knockout bushes briefly, and then went around the circumference of the house, addressing most of the others. I think I only have three left to deal with next time. Most of them are already starting to leaf out, so I have very little time left to do what I need to do. The roses outside my bay window are in very bad shape. I don't know what kind of anger management issues that particular roofer had, but he beat the crap out of all my shrubs and trees, and that corner took the worst of it. The entire center of that rose bush was smashed, with more than half of the thick supporting canes twisted and bent, shredded and broken. When I was first inspecting it all, the canes still looked alive, and it wasn't until they'd had a couple weeks to starve that I realized the extent of the damage. I cut back a lot today, and am hoping that the buds on the deeper canes will start to emerge and spring back. Roses are usually pretty hardy, and they tolerate significant pruning every few years. I have no reason not to assume this one will pull through.

Last fall, for a couple months, I watched my old man cat fight off a virus that I was just sure was going to take him out. He bottomed out, and for a few nights, I was on death watch. Then, like he decided he just wasn't ready to go, he turned around, and started regaining weight and looking like his old self. Around Christmas, I realized my calico had the same virus, as she started to evaporate in front of my eyes. Over the weekend, she was at that same make or break point. I have been feeding her meat directly off my plate for weeks, trying to get her to gain some weight back, and have the strength to fight, but I was afraid that she was about to give up. I have been leaving the back door open for days, and letting the Pride roam, and she always went back to her spot, between a rose and other thorny bush, in the canna garden. I decided that she was telling me that's where her forever spot would be, if it came to it. But yesterday and today, when I picked her up to carry her inside, for the first time in months, she feels like she has a little heft to her. She's looking like she feels almost normal again. I don't think we're out of the woods yet, but I'm allowing myself a little hope that I will get more than 12 years with her after all.

Athena is taking to the outdoors finally. That scary man isn't out there to send her hiding under the deck, so she's feeling more secure. She still comes to check on me, and talks at length about what fun she's having. Today she found me by the corner of the house, and was so excited, she ran up and jumped onto my hip, like the trees she had been hopping on all day. I think she was just having so much fun, she forgot the rules of climbing onto a fleshy surface. I'm loving discovering the Park through her new eyes.

It feels wonderful being outside in the mild spring sun. My beautiful peach tree that I keep photographing is covered in bees. There's a fern in the rock garden that is starting to re-emerge, when I was sure that I'd lost all the moss and sedum and ferns I'd planted over there. More trees are budding, including the plum, fig, and maples. Still no signs of life from the bald cypress and weeping willow, but there's time yet. And the countdown to forsythia time is ticking down. Soon we will win the gold. Forsythia gold.

Good to Know

Inspirational song: Making Our Dreams Come True (Laverne & Shirley)

Back in the Dark Ages, in the pre-internet world, it was possible to wonder things, but never find quite enough gumption to go through the effort of looking things up. It wasn't as easy as pulling your phone out of your pocket to know the entire body of all human knowledge (or to look at pictures of kittens). You actually had to know someone who knew things, or at least know a librarian who knew how to look up things in books. And if it didn't fit into your schedule to go to a library, or to ask your friends questions that might reveal your own inexperience or ignorance of a topic, then you went years, maybe your whole life not knowing certain things. Like the meaning of the words in the opening to Laverne and Shirley. Thirty-seven years ago, give or take, I first heard the chant, of what sounded like made-up syllables to a little girl. I never quite made out the actual words when I was young, and by the time I was a teenager, I had outgrown the show, and didn't think much about it again, as its viewership dropped off and was eventually canceled. In the era of cable television, I came across an occasional rerun, and eventually understood the words, even if I had no idea what a schlemiel or a schlimazel were. Tonight, that little factoid was finally offered to me unbidden, and I am pleased to be able to check that little box in my quest to attain all possible trivial knowledge. One of the people I had dinner with tonight was a gentleman a few years older than myself, and he told me funny stories of his siblings. He said his brother was the messiest eater he'd ever met, but no food ever landed on him. His flying debris tended to cover all around him, whether human or furniture or other. He explained that his brother was the schlemiel, and the rest of the family were the schlimazels. In simple terms, his brother is the spiller, and they were the spillees. I laughed at the folksy definition, and assumed it was a real world application for a much more complex sort of character. In order to get my spellings right, I looked it up on wordsmith.org, and there it was, almost the exact same simplification: "In a restaurant, a schlemiel is the waiter who spills soup, and a schlimazel is the diner on whom it lands." To my ten year old self, wondering whether they were really words, the answer is yes. Good ones, that I need to learn to use in the future.

My furry kids are looking a little worse for wear. We had a trip outside to play, and while I wasn't looking, my large boy cat got a big scrape on his noggin. His temple has a pea-sized patch of bare, bloody skin. No idea what he did, but I immediately rounded everyone up and closed the door, to prevent him from rolling around and getting dirt in it. Yesterday, I came home from the grocery store, to a phone call from my neighbor across the street telling me that there was a very naughty white kitty on my roof. I went upstairs and found my screen knocked out, and an escapee who had squeezed herself through a three-inch wide opening. When I opened the window the whole way and called to her, she acted like she was in a panic, and immediately came inside, from her perch way over on the other side of the garage. It wasn't until today that I noticed that her cheek, right above her lip, was scraped up and looking very tender. I shudder to imagine her slipping on the slope of the roof, and scraping on those brand new asphalt shingles, in a desperate attempt to avoid falling. I feel like I can't turn my back for a second around here. I had visitors while I progressed on my cleaning and organization project upstairs, with them taking turns sitting in the window, overseeing the back yard. I think I need to make a cushioned window seat for that spot, but only if they promise not to push out the screens anymore, since that window drops not to a porch roof, but straight down onto the a/c unit.

I saw more signs of spring today. I got my first crocus and daffodil bloom, and I didn't even realize they were this close. There will be many, many more to come. My busy season is just getting started.

Ducky

Inspirational song: Disco Duck (Rick Dees & His Cast of Idiots)

I'm not quite ready to write about the information I absorbed today. I'm gathering from multiple sources, and will soon have a nice essay about art. But tonight, I'm taking it easy. 

I learned a new coping skill, and I think I've practiced it enough lately to set it as a habit. Since I recommitted to a wheat free lifestyle, and transitioned to eating only whole, real food, finding restaurants I trust has become a nightmare, even in the foodie Mecca where I live. I have ceased being able to view chain establishments as purveyors of actual food, and I'm not always able to locate local indie restaurants of any quality near some of my haunts, like the strip mall where my favorite movie theater sits. Today, my friend and I had a movie date, and her apartment complex is a stone's throw from that very strip mall. Rather than surrender control of my lunch to a chain steakhouse, chain pub, or chain Tex-Mex shop, I suggested I bring over food, and we eat on her tiny patio, overlooking a pond. Thus I found myself having a fantastic chicken salad over super greens, instead of sending a waitress off multiple times to ask the kitchen staff whether an item was gluten free. I had years of creative blocks against cooking, and in the last year or two, I've broken through them, and am finding less and less desire to go to restaurants anymore. What's this? My food tastes better, I feel better after eating it, it's costing me less money, AND I've started to reverse a weight-gaining trend? Is there a down side here?

After our lunch al fresco, we took a quick stroll around the pond, to look at the ducks and turtles, and wonder about the veracity of the "warning: alligator--no swimming" sign. We never saw a gator, but the turtles watched us closely from the water, waiting for us to remove ourselves from their banks, so they could go back to sunning themselves. It was a beautiful day again, with hints of the approaching spring everywhere. I had to run an errand on the way home at the big box store closest to my house, and today was the first time I let myself wander close to the danger zone. I entered through the garden center, and walked around the rows of flowers, but did not yet let myself touch anything. I have a lot of prep work to do here still, and there's one last cold snap expected. But soon. The big dance is coming.