With apologies to my atheist friends

I encountered this verse, from a poem by e.e. cummings, years ago.  It spoke to me then, and it speaks to me now, and if you like, just take out the word God - it isn't necessary for the verse's evocation of that feeling of transcendence and exaltation the beauty of the world and life can inspire.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

Musical Exaltation

Tonight I went to Richardson Hall for a concert of the complete Brandenburg Concertos.  They have been my favorites since I was very young - eight or nine.  I remember discussing which one was my favorite with the influential German philosopher, and member of the Vienna Circle, Paul Oppenheim, who was to me "Uncle Paul."  I think we agreed on the sixth, but I have never been able to choose as an adult!

I have listened to them countless times, but I have never attended a live performance.  When the music started, I was suddenly overcome - so many memories of listening to the Brandenburg Concertos in so many different circumstances, most especially with my father, who loved them also, and whose musical tastes I shared.  In fact, had it not been for my father, I don't think I would have developed the love for classical music that I have.

My eyes filled with tears that welled and then spilled over. I felt a hot flush of embarrassment spreading over my face. Luckily, after the first movement, my emotions settled down, and I was able to feel myself sinking into the music.  It adds such dimension to attend a live concert.  I promised myself  I would buy more tickets soon, and also that I would play the Brandenburg Concertos for myself when I got home.  I was amazed at how much of the music I had missed; I had enjoyed the surface, without knowing what was going on beneath.

The night before, I went caroling.  A violinist and mandolin player accompanied the group.  It was wonderful to listen to them.

At some point, watching the musicians, I wondered at human beings:  at our inventiveness, our creativity, the culture we have constructed to keep ourselves entertained.  I saw, just briefly, the musicians on stage as though I had never seen musicians before - a group of people holding wood and sinew and hair and metal that had been fashioned as if by magic into instruments and using them to make pleasurable sounds for the entertainment of other people, sitting and listening.  It all seemed so improbable, and so amazing.

Tonight I got my holiday present



Me as Marie Antoinette, in honor of the showcase we may do.



Tonight I drove down, way down, to White Pine, New Jersey.  Pete Berlin, my financial advisor (goodness, just typing that makes me feel like a zillionaire; would that it were so!) was throwing a celebration party* for his clients, and I had rizvipped that I would go.

Not that when the time came, I was unequivocally enthusiastic.  Far from it.  I had received an invitation to join friends of mine at a free concert a two block walk from my house, and then to go for a late-night breakfast at PJ's Pancake house, where we would share an order of buckwheat pancakes (be still my heart!).  Giving that up wasn't easy, but I had said I was going, and by golly, I was going.



The traffic on Route 1 was hellacious.  For half an hour, I made a turtle look like Speedy Gonzalez.  I breathed deeply, listened to Beethoven and Bach, and told myself whenever I got there, it would be fine.  Then my GPS system displayed its puckish sense of humor and took me around and around until it finally had mercy on my despairing soul and deposited me at the fancy schmance Trump Golf Country Club.



When I entered, my advisor, Pete Berlin, and his wife were there and greeted me warmly.  We chatted for a while, others chiming in, and then I saw an old ballroom dance acquaintance of mine.  I sat with him and his mother, another ballroom dance pal, and we had a wonderful, energizing, totally copacetic time.  I basically forgot to eat - I begrudged the time it would take me to go get the food from the buffet.  (And believe me, my advisor pulled out all the stops.  The food was terrific and gourmet in the best sense of the word.  I wish I had some now for a midnight snack!)



We made plans for the three of us to do a dance showcase together involving Marie Antoinette era costumes, complete with powdered wigs and minuets, and to have dinner together sometimes before rehearsals.  I felt, at the risk of sounding really sentimental, that the universe had given me a great gift; a gift of friendship, with people who are creative and excited about working on new projects as well as being thoughtful about life, with its ups and downs, its delights and despairs.



What a reward for doing the right thing and driving down to this dinner!



And by the way, because I don't want to slight his impact on my enjoyment of the evening, Pete Berlin was an incredibly thoughtful host.  I spilled my diet soda at one point due to an importune gesture, and when I found my way over to the bar to get another, he was already there getting a replacement for me!  Now that's thoughtful.



As I drove home, I felt so filled with gratitude and also energy - the energy that comes from spending time with kindred spirits.

I have gotten a wonderful gift for the holidays this year; there could scarcely be a better.  Thank you.



*He was celebrating moving to Ameriprise near Marlton, NJ from another firm whose ethical standards were quite a disappointment.  Pete Berlin, in addition to being a really good financial advisor who thinks about each client's particular needs in depth and anticipates things that may come up in the future and suggests plans for them, is a truly ethical, decent human being.  I respect him enormously.



So there, Lorenzo the Magnificent!

As I explain in my amended post about a space alien visitor for Thanksgiving, my friend Lorenzo the Magnificent was appalled by the computer-distorted photo of myself I posted, and yielding to his horrified entreaties, I have banished the photo to the outer reaches of cyber-space.

Stung by his (and other's) implication that this photo remotely represented me, I immediately grabbed my obsolete cell phone, which has a camera included (the only camera I use) and, pausing only to brush my hair, but not even to put on makeup (this was at the end of a long, trying day), or take off my coat,  I took my photo.  So this is me, as of Tuesday, December 14, 2010, after a day of editing, tutoring, erranding, and Stony Brook brook exploring.  It may not be my best photo ever, but I don't believe anyone would accuse me of being a space alien - based on my looks . . .

Magical Explorations

I had plans for this afternoon; plans which I entirely forgot until I was headed to dinner with my brother and sister-in-law.  I regret the forgotten plans to go to Drumthwacket for early music concerts, 18th century festivities, and cookies and cider; it would have been different and social.  But I cannot find it in my heart to regret my afternoon's occupation, which yielded enchanted finds to treasure.

I found a new secret stream and forest, today, one which I had no idea existed, and one which has a rushing brook, moss-shrouded boulders, and bramble-protected bowers.  It seems to go on and on, twisting and turning, rushing and babbling deliriously through the rocks and boulders wedged in the stream bed. I wanted to follow it through to its end, but didn't have time.  The stream itself was protected by a wall of brambles, then a wide wooded walkway, and another wall of brambles, making it truly seem like a world apart.  I would have loved to have strolled on the other side as well, but for that I would have to wade through the water, and and I deemed it imprudent.  Now I wonder why.   I can hardly wait to go back, with boots. 

Then I explored a different stream, getting much further down than I had ever gone before, discovering in the process a sand-bank strewn with quartz and pebbles with vari-colored inclusions.  The woods did not yield up their secrets without a fight, however.  The brambles were astonishingly vicious and animated, twide they scored hits brutal enough to make my blood literally flow; my fingers were covered with blood.  But the battle and the wounds were worth it.  Rootling around the sandbank, I found, among other nifties, a pale rose-quartz, a quartz pebble so clear part of it is transparent,  a fossilized whelk(?) shell, a large semi-petrified oyster shell, and - a geode with sparkling crystals exposed!!!!  Yes, it is tiny, the crystals are tiny, but it is a geode, naturally eroded to display the crystalline interior, and I found it; I didn't buy it, I found it in the stream! 

I love rubies and emeralds and sapphires and opals and amethyst and diamonds and the list of gemstones goes on; but the clear quartz pebble, the petrified shells, and the geode are just as exciting to me; as dear to me as a royal diadem, because I found them, and because they are natural magic.  I want to go back to this second stream - again with boots, and in this case, with a tough set of pruning shears for all the brambles - and explore more pebbled sandbanks and find more treasures. 

There is no end of excitement in the world if one simply peeks behind the veil obscuring the thrilling adventures awaiting us.  I was eight years old again today, and it felt wonderful.

Skating geese

I went to a workshop on kinetic sculpture this morning, and had a good time.  Interesting people, some very creative, some super talented, all nice.  And on the way home, I stopped off at Colonial Lake, where a house is for sale and where there is a lake and a creek.

The lake had a thin but complete skim of ice over the top, on which were perched two separate - very separate! - bird communities, one of seagulls, and one of Canadian geese.  Further off in the creek, ducks paddled in pairs, male and female, foraging not very successfully for food.  I worried about them, but there is an unequivocal sign saying not to feed the waterfowl, so I will have to leave them to nature and the authorities.

The Canadian geese were massed in a huge mob at once end of the lake, talking, squawking, and gossiping amongst themselves.  Every now and then one or two would decide to check out new neighbors, and would start to walk along the ice.  Except the ice was so slippery, it was step, slide, step, slide, step, sli-i-i-ide.  They skated gingerly along the surface and I couldn't help laughing out loud.  I stood and laughed despite myself, and despite everything that is going wrong right now.  Luckily, they ignored me.  God forbid I should hurt their feelings!  These were very dignified geese.

At one point on the lake, there was some crazing that looked like jagged leading for a sharply geometric monochromatic stained glass.  It was so unusual, and so beautiful, I looked and looked and looked at it, hardly believing how beautiful it was.  I mourned not having a camera, but perhaps I would see less if I were more involved in photographing.

What a beautiful day.  Thank you ducks, thank you seagulls, thank you Canadian geese, thank you everything that is real, that is true, that is positive.

Chasing the Moon

Last night I tried chasing the moon.  It was so beautiful:  a pale orange, hanging low, low in the sky.  I could see just a part of it, the rest obscured by trees and a cloudlet, so I drove and drove in pursuit of the moon, hoping to see it whole.  But no matter what twists and turns my route took, the moon eluded me, so at last I turned my car toward home, and told myself to be grateful that I had seen as much of the moon as I had.  I will never forget it glowing there just beyond the tree tops, huge and luminous and an otherworldly orange. 

Strangers in the night

Tonight I met a bat.  It was not a meeting I welcomed, and indeed, it was not even a meeting of which I was aware at first, and trust me, the first moment I realized that the odd squeaking rustling was coming out of something hanging from a branch over my head was the same moment I shrieked in horrified enlightenment and fled, the stray cat I had come out to feed looking after me quizzically.

Such was my sense of responsibility, however, that I lured the cat out with many blandishments and fed her right next to the back door, eager to get back inside.  With a hurried admonition to the cat that it should be careful, and a final toss of my hair to make sure there was nothing . . . untoward . . . in it, I dashed in my back door and barricaded it shut. 

I barely had the nerve to run my hands through my hair, but decided that I had better find out sooner rather than later if I had an unwelcome guest tangled on my head.  I have read about this primitive fear women have about bats and hair, but never before  understood it.

Now, intellectually I like bats.  They are helpful little creatures, and most of them innocent of evil intent.  But there is an inborn dread of them I cannot expunge, and now I am concerned that I am so spooked, I will be afraid to go into the back yard near that shrub again. 

That shrub actually made me very happy yesterday.  It is a fragrant honeysuckle which blooms in the spring, but for some reason has some open flowers on it!  I was so excited to discover this yesterday, so grateful.  My rhododendron seems on the verge of bloom, too, as a matter of fact, and my roses are still going.  Wow.  For that I am so grateful.  For the bat, less so.  I don't want it to come to harm, but I think it should move on and out.  Well, it's late, so on and out, over and out, 'til next time.

On the edge

And now I will delete this post.  I wish I dared leave it to satisfy my misery and anger, but prudence wins out.

Random comments of kindness

I went in to Philadelphia on Sunday, still struggling with the remnants of a really unpleasant cold, but determined not to break the record I have set of seeing the Phikladelphia Museum Crafts Show every year.  It is one of the two best shows of its kind in the country, and relatively easy to get to.

I had to really talk to myself sternly to get myself on the way, so let's just say my level of enthusiasm was a tad lower than previous years.  As I was walking through the train station toward the Convention Center where the show is held, a middle-aged black man, dressed neatly but not effetely in jeans and a nice denim jacket, said to me out of the blue:  "You look so pretty."  I stopped  dead in my tracks and thanked him, at which point he said again, "You look so pretty," and then, gesturing at me, "And your outfit, your skirt . . .it all looks so nice." 

Well. I told him he looked pretty spiffy himself, and he laughed and said we were both doing our bit, and I walked on, feeling wonderful.

Here was a nice, regular guy, clearly compos mentis (or not a nut job, as they put it in the vernacular) who thought I looked so pretty he wanted to tell me, and even expand on it. He was complimenting me and my outfit, not some twenty-year old.  I felt so much lighter and positive as I walked into the craft show, so much more open to the day's experiences and to others.

I am reminded of someone I knew in another lifetime, Shia Zuber, who told me that angels are just ordinary people who for that moment are used by God to bring help and support to others.  I have always liked that idea, and feel I have encountered several angels during my life so far.  And this man, in his way, was an angel, an angel sent to remind me that the right people will always find me appealing and worthwhile.

Those aren't the correct words, but it is the best I can do at the moment.  It is such a complex feeling to convey without sounding simpleminded!  Or is it a simple feeling which takes a complex explanation?  It's all too much for me to unravel. 

Let me just end by saying:  Yay, God.

Carpe Craftem

The Arts Council in town was celebrating Dia de los Muertos on Monday, and the blurb mentioned some snazzy-sounding crafts, so although I knew it would be 99% children, and although I was bushed, I went over to take a look.  First I had to stand through a brief, non-microphoned speech explaining the holiday and its observances, which, alas, was mostly inaudible.  Then there were two dancers who did a couple of traditional dances.  They started slowly, but by the end I was really enjoying it, although throughout I was eyeing the craft tables impatiently.

At last!  The program was over and it was time for crafts.  What should I make?  A skeleton head puppet or a diorama?  The diorama won out.  There was a small, deep cigar box to start with, painted red inside and black outside.  While it was drying, I made three skulls and hot glued them to three corks (I was restricted to what supplies they had, of course).  I found two small plastic dogs for two of the death's head figures to walk, and an old small metal wheel which I afixed to the top as "The Wheel of Life."  (In medieval iconography, for example, one will encounter images of the the wheel of life.)  A pair of dice with the snake's eye side showing,  and a teensy toy wood block with an M on it (for Miranda?  for Muerte?)  went inside the box in the front.  Then I found a small metal gear that looked like a crown and an old jewelry bit with dangles that upside-down looked a bit like a hat, and glued them to the heads of the two figures in front, along with a small green pom pom for one of them.  Someone filched the trim I was going to use for the edges, which I thought was really low, by the way, so I think I will use sparkle pipe cleaners.  I still have a few things to add at home - hope I get to it - but either way, it was so much fun to make something like that again!  I made a couple of dioramas a year or two ago - I will post a picture next time around.

Yay!  I'm still out of my rut!!  It takes constant vigilance not to slide back in . . . .

More Rambling About Rambles

This will be a very brief ramble indeed, since it is quite late . . . I visited two, count 'em, two brooks today, and walked along the Delaware and Raritan Canal to boot.

The entrance to the woods with one of the brooks is overgrown and mostly impenetrable, but just past a pair of drooping shrubs cloaked  in five leaf akebia, with turquoise blue berries everywhere, is an entrance point.  The shrub is enticing.  I peered under its canopy and imagined sitting there, hidden from the world, shaded by is finely-cut leaves and cerulean berries.  The second stream, too, was well-protected by bramble sentinels guarding the way, but the merest shadow on the shrubs indicated a secret entrance which made my heart beat faster.

I thought then, that when I was a child and set off on a quest to the woods, I was always hoping to find the enchanted portal into the other world I knew existed, and which I occasionally glimpsed as it flickered into view and then flickered out. Sometimes by luck all unknowing I wandered through that hidden door and found myself in that other, mysterious world.  Then I would have soul-stirring adventures until I inadvertently stepped back through the door into the ordinary world.  

I realized, as I headed for the obscured passage into the woods this afternoon, that I am still hoping to find that portal, and that every now and then, the blinders fall from my eyes and I see that hidden world for a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes, before my vision is obscured again.  And somewhere in the woods, smiling and nodding at me, my child self lingers, sheltered in the embrace of  the drooping branches of a shrub mantled in vines and berries.

Last Night's Moon

Last night, there was a witches moon.  I have never seen one before, but I looked up at the night sky before going in for the night, and there it was, beautiful yet somehow ominous, shadowed by a misty gray caul, and slashed by a ragged scrap of black cloud.  It was a moon made to be seen with a witch silhouetted in front of it on her broom, flying to some unholy Halloween revels.

What a bewitching ending to a what was, all in all, a very satisfying weekend.

Adventures in Princeton and Everyday Magic

What a weekend of ups and downs! Friday morning started out on a quirkily positive note as I discovered three yellow chrysanthemum flowers arranged neatly on my front doorstep.  No note, no indication of the source of the floral tribute.  It's good to start the day with a pleasant mystery!

Unfortunately, things took a turn downward at midday when I received the incredibly distressing and infuriating news that the one of financial institutions with which I am embroiled because I am transferring my accounts from one to the other had failed to do what it had promised, that is, keep my checking account untransferred until I gave them the word that the last check had cleared.  They had sworn, promised, assured - choose your synonym.  But then, a week after they swore, promised, and assured me, it turned out they had only just put through the information, and that for another week the funds would be in limbo, causing many checks to bounce.  This is Morgan Stanley Smith Barney, by the way.

Now, everybody makes mistakes, but I had called in to make sure everything was being taken care of, and was told that everything was, even though nothing had been done.  I draw the line at deliberate "misinformation."  That does not count as a mistake.  Anyhow, I  spent about half an hour frothing at the mouth and gnashing my teeth.  When I had done everything I could to rectify the situation, I drove over to a nearby patch of woods to check out a brook I hadn't been to in about two years.

It was wonderful, more wonderful than I remembered.  Gnarled roots and branches; twisted, blasted trunks; mysterious holes and hollows amid the tree roots; and tiny waterfalls; rills and spills of water; the sound of rushing water - who needs more magic than that?

It has been a dry summer, with rain in the recent weeks, so although there was plenty of water in the stream, the water level was still down enough so that much of the way, I could balance from rock to rock in the stream itself.  At one point I heard a crashing and a smashing, and my heart leapt into my throat.  A young buck dashed down the bank, across, and up and then stood on the far side of the brook, looking at me.  I stood still, and it finally turned away and loped off.

I finally pulled myself away, with much more to explore remaining. On the way back to my car, I found a dime, which reminded me of the dime I found in the waters of Stony Brook a week or two ago, and some shattered car mirror glass, which is just beautiful in a mosaic-style design on a book cover.  I felt as though I had been showered with treasures that day.

Saturday brought the English Country Dance in the evening, where I even got to do the waltz, and I felt a glow of virtue that I had gone even though the scheduling was difficult.

Sunday, breakfast with a friend, cleaning up the mud room, a "short" meeting that ended up being two hours, which was really inconvenient, because I still had to go kayaking.  Luckily, I still got an hour of kayaking in, which included one turtle and glowing, fiery foliage which amazed me with its glory.

I'm forgetting a few things, but that's what new posts are for!

Staying out of the rut

Well, I certainly stayed out of my late, unlamented rut this past weekend.

On Friday night was Mike Agranoff and his musical co-conspirator, Connor, an 18  year-old wunderkind on the violin and fiddle.  The program was astoundingly good and exciting, including Bach Fugues played on violin and concertina!  I thought to myself, "this is what it is all about," wonderful music enjoyed with friends.

Saturday, I managed to hit the bank and supermarket before going kayaking in Griggstown. I was a bit better at the paddling thing than last time, which was quite encouraging.  I definitely want to kayak one more time before they close up in early November.

Then Sunday was the Festival of Early Music at the Grounds for Sculpture, which was lovely and - yay! - packed with people.  (I admit, it suprised me that it was so well attended.)  Then I had a bite at the cafe and strolled around the grounds.

It has now been two days without an evening out (LS cancelled our theater for this evening - it will be rescheduled for next Wednesday or so) and I feel antsy, even though I went for two separate walks today along two separate bodies of water, and bought school supplies, worked, AND went to the supermarket.

If this post seems perfunctory, it is.  I am tired and would rather do something else, but wanted at least to put up this skeletal (Halloween is coming!) draft.

Weddings, Vows, and Architecture

I went to a wedding not long ago.  The service was at the Presbyterian Church.  Presbyterian churches, while handsome, have a distinctively severe, almost coldly classical exterior.  Not really my thing.  I like unconstrained eccentricity and exuberant imagination in my buildings.  I love high Gothic and Queen Anne revival styles (actually, among many other quieter architectural styles as well) and I really love any building with charm.  This Presbyterian Church is not charming.  Super handsome, yes.  Imposing, yes.  Charming, not on your life.  It feels downright chastening, something which no doubt most of us deserve, but still....

However, the service was lovely and moving.  It talked about support from friends and family for the couple (so important, and often not acknowledge how an idle word or comment can undermine) and the couple promised to love and honor each other.  The idea of honoring each other really hit me deeply.  Thinking "does this honor my spouse?  Does this honor my marriage?  Does this honor God?" might nip some not-so-good stuff in the bud.  But who knows.  Maybe it's just not realistic.

I do think it is realistic for this couple.  They seem very well suited and I wish them happiness with all my heart, and speaking of honoring, I was truly honored to have been included in the wedding celebration.

Music Hath Charms . . . .

Yesterday evening my friend took me to a lovely "Italian Garden Party."  The weather was beautiful -sunny, cool, blue skies with just the right number of puffy clouds - and the scene was so festive: colored paper lanterns, scattered tables and chairs, all with different, multi-colored tablecloths, some with rainbow umbrellas shielding them.  An opera singer performed excerpts from various operas, a few of which I had never heard, and in some cases, heard of.  And for a few moments, there was one of those experiences which come infrequently, but which linger in the memory.  There was the singer, and behind her voice, so to speak, the sweet tones of a piano; congenial company surrounding me;  glowing lanterns, towering trees - and then a breeze that gently swept past me and rushed through the trees, adding the softest rustling of the leaves. For just a few moments, time stopped, everything was so perfect.  What a lovely evening!

Later, my friend and I listened to recorded music, some of it so bubbly and frisky, like the brook I so long to have behind my home someday,  sparkling along; and some of it more profound. It still delighted the soul, but there were so many emotions within, so much of life with its sorrows and triumphs.  When one is immersed in sorrow, this music can bring understanding and courage.

Well, I don't want to sound too solemn.  The evening was wonderful, and a reminder to do the things I love.  As the Bratslaver Rebbe said, and I have quoted before:  "Do all manner of things to make yourself joyful." Amen.

The Last Weekend of Summer

Today I went kayaking.  I had been thinking about kayaking or canoeing all summer, but going on my own was not my first choice.  Not my second, either, but I realized that I should just carpe diem et paddlem, and go kayaking this weekend.

So, after delaying as much as possible - a leisurely lunch at Carousel, my town's favorite breakfast and lunch joint, chatting with the staff, walking into town to sign up for a workshop at The Paper Source, a mouth-watering paper craft store, and then watering all my plants - I realized there was still time to go, so I went.

I drove out to the Griggstown Canoe and Kayak rental, which I haven't used before, climbed shakily into my snazzy red kayak, and started out on my riparian quest for nirvana.  I had checked out paddling technique in a book about kayaking a couple of evenings ago, but somehow the words didn't translate into action, so I decided to worry about technique later, and just paddle any way that seemed to work.

It was like life, in a way.  Sometimes the paddling went so smoothly.  My kayak just glided through the water, and my strokes were effortless, rhythmic, regular.  But just when I thought to myself, "Hey, I've got the hang of this!"  my paddling would go to pieces and the paddle would go in too far, or not far enough, or my strokes would be too strong on one side, too light on the other, or it would just feel wrong and laborious for no reason I could discern.  And then it would feel smooth and relaxed again.

Along the way I saw some incredibly beautiful lobelia cardinalis, a bright, bright red wild flower;  I back-paddled and then just floated by as slowly as possible to try to really see it as much as possible.  And I spotted two turtles; one sunning on the shore, and a much, much larger one diving off a tree trunk into the canal.

It was lovely, especially the floating interludes, when I just sat back in the seat and let the paddle rest in front of me, feeling the gentle drifting and flow of the water.

Afterwards, it was still light, so I drove over to some woods and wandered along a brook.  I am always looking for treasure when I walk in the woods - a grotesquely twisted, gnarled branch, a pebble with a "fossil," anything with a whiff of magic to it.  Today I found a large white plastic pawn - about 3" tall, mostly buried in the loamy soil.  It was so odd.  What did it mean?  (I know, I know, these things don't really "mean" anything, but what meaning would feel right if I ascribed it to this find?)  I am just a pawn in life?  I should stop being just a pawn?  Pawns get tossed aside and stepped on?  Life is like a game of chess?  (Unfortunately, I am deeply, truly inept at chess!)  At any rate, it was surprising enough that I took it along with me when I  emerged back into the real world.  I wish it had been made of alabaster instead of plastic, but I have silver and gold leaf, and have been mulling over how to transform my pawn.  I think the least I can do for it is give it a crown.

At any rate, according to the freckle-faced teen at the kayak concession, there are six or more weekends of kayaking left, so I will definitely go again.  I am so glad that inertia didn't overcome my good intentions!  You know about the road to hell; I don't want to contribute any further to its paving!  ("The road to hell is paved with good intentions.")

Summer thoughts

A cricket chorus,

A thousand insect choir:

I close my eyes

Surrounded by their music

Wrapped in the starry night

And know there is enchantment in the world.

Tempus fugit really quickly!

Wow.  More than two months have gone by since my last post.  I have been house-hunting, looking for a house very, very close to Princeton, with a nice layout, in good condition, with low property taxes, and with a running brook on the property.  I am shocked, shocked, that with such minor requirements I haven't found one yet!

I am thinking about the two Alice books by Lewis Carroll.  They are such classics, and yet think for a moment if you really were in Wonderland or through the looking glass and reality were distorted, turned on its head, and no-one would listen to you . . . it sounds more like a nightmare to me.  I must re-read them.

A lot of children's books have a subtext of confronting the terrors of childhood.  I suppose they supply a catharsis, but I am a bit of a wimp, and prefer sunnier, happier texts that emphasize the magic you can find in the world if you just keep your eyes and your mind open.

Alas, sometimes magic seems in short supply, and darkness overwhelming.  But according to Chassidus, we all have a divine spark inside, and if we let it grow, it can light the way for us.

Long Time, No Post

Wow, time flies when you're having fun.  I am still playing with the goodies I got at the Art Opera art retreat I attended in Redbank, NJ two weeks ago.    I have so many ideas for new projects, and so little time to do them in!

The next Art Opera in 2011 is shaping up to be incredible - possibly in Lambertville, which is not only close by, but also home to antique stores, art galleries, book stores, flea markets - I'm getting light-headed just thinking of all the cool stuff to do and see there.

I have a workshop with Pamela Huntingdon coming up on May 1 - she is a terrific teacher: organized, prepared, encouraging, and fun.  You need the organized and prepared part if you want your students to have a shot at finishing their projects, and if you want to be able to answer their questions.

Then I am taking a Newark Museum workshop on May 21 or 22, I forget which, in greeting card paper engineering, which I am really excited about.  I love pop-ups and want to learn as many "movements" as possible.

There is art I would like to get accomplished at home as well, but that is more difficult . . .

And switching from human art to nature's art - my backyard garden, raggedy though it be, is so fragrant I almost feel like swooning - lilacs, wisteria, and fragrant honeysuckle combine to create an intensity and sweetness of scent that I could get drunk on.

The roses are waiting in the wings:  heavenly-scented Heritage chief among them, a luminescent pink "Old Rose" from David Austin, creator of some of the most incredible looking roses around.  I also love my pink Eden rose, with large, cabbagey blooms.  I have the "old reliable" Blaze, a brilliant red rose, as well as a pink semi-double which blooms and blooms, a red and white stripe I adore,  a lavender rose, which like most purples is quite finicky and now sports a sucker, and last, a red, orange, yellow, and pink combination rose with a name from Disney which now is in near-complete shade, thanks to my neighbor's uncared for trees on either side of my yard which, growing unpruned for years, now meet and intertwine over my yard, making it more and more difficult to find a place where most perennials will be able to flower.

Almost everyday I stroll into my backyard and sniff the flowers ecstatically, and feel that if one has such beauty available, who needs material frills?

Art Opera Opening

Tonight I went to the opening dinner of Art Opera, the fantastic new art retreat in Redbank, New Jersey.

WOW!  And YUM!  What fabulous decorations and colors and imagination!The dining room looked like a magical seaside fairyland, with pink and aqua and sparkles everywhere; beach umbrelettes, sand pails, vintage images - it was enchanting.  The dinner was absolutely first-rate and delicious.  I admit that I am a dessert person - there was an individual ramekin with a warm brownie, strawberry ice cream, and a drizzle of strawberry sauce.  Really, really good - not too sweet, it really made my sweet tooth vibrate in ecstacy.

Incredible goodie bag, too.  Too much to write about now - have to hit the sack because tomorrow the workshops begin.

A special mention, though - Jenny Heide (sp?) was a standout of friendliness and style - she has candy pink hair that made my heart stop, it was so gorgeous.  What a talented person - I'll include a link to her blog and website tomorrow or the day after.

And kudos and congrats to the organizer, Lisa, and her sidekicks.  May they be successful and rewarded for all their hard work, and may Art Opera continue forever!

Life, Love, Art

I have an art retreat the day after tomorrow; a much-anticipated event which unfortunately requires planning in advance and considerable amounts of organization.  Not my strong points.

I find myself still picking up supplies, ferretting through the mountains of craft supplies I already own, planning last-minute nifty projects despite the fact there is clearly no time to even begin them, let alone finish them - in other words:  SNAFU - Situation Normal, All Fehpoodelt Up.

The fact is, there are things in life which are more important than being 100% prepared for an event, and in my case, being with Twin when he needs me is an easy winner.  He lost his father about a week ago, and his mother had died about a year ago; a lot of loss in a short period of time. 

So I may not have the skirt with the mermaid appliques I had been planning for the festive opening dinner, and I may not be able to complete more than one mermaid piece of jewelry to wear. 

But I was with Twin for his father's funeral, when he needed me, and deepened closeness and connection I feel for him has a significance and a beauty which more tawdry satisfactions cannot hope to impart.  Sometimes satisfying one's heart and doing the right thing are the same.  That was certainly the case for me here.

Now, if only I could figure out what to do with those mermaid appliques when I get back from the retreat . . .

Ah well, for now they get added to the teetering mountain of containers crammed full of craft supplies in my so-called studio,  which more closely resembles a grubby storage facility.  Someday, though, I will be in dire need of mermaid appliques, and who'll have the last laugh then?

Today felt like the most beautiful day since the beginning of the world:  the skies were blue, the temperature balmy, the sun shining, and the gentlest stirring of the air, not even up to a breeze, stroked my cheek.

I sat in my winter-blasted backyard for a while after work, looking at the shrubs and bare earth and seeing instead the foliage and flowers as they will be in a month or two.

I do have flowers, though.  I have a hellebore with lovely, drooping heads of purple, yellow eranthis (also called Winter Aconite), snowdrops, and honey-scented Fragrant Honeysuckle (Lonicera Fragrantissima, a rangy shrub with tiny, almost invisible white blush flowers which are so fragrant they can be smelled from twenty feet away).

Above is a mixed-media, mostly oil pastel piece I did which makes me think of Primavera, a goddess of Spring.  Spring is definitely in the air today, and so is heartbreak, for can this weather possibly last without another blast of winter? One can but hope.

Art Opera in Redbank Coming Up in April!

A super art event is coming up in Redbank, NJ starting April 7 called Art Opera - packed with fabulous workshops, special events, and creativity.  When I first found out about it by nosing around the internet, I almost fell off my chair with excitement.  In my neck of the woods, there usually aren't art events like this - one has to travel hundreds of miles to get to one.  And here is one with the most mouthwatering classes only an hour and a half away in Redbank, which is a great town.  I used to go there regularly to stroll around and check out the antique stores.

Check out the Art Opera Website at:  http://www.artoperanj.com/
Art Opera is April 7-11, 2010. Most workshops are April 8-9, with some morning classes on April 10.

I signed up for two swaps; the first time I have participated in a swap.  Today I mailed them off express mail.  It was tough letting go of the package.  Should I have glued rhinestones on the backs of the tags? In a perfect world, yes, but I was already late sending the swaps out, so I grit my teeth, taped up the cat food box turned inside out so I could use it for mailing, and set off for the small post office in the next town.  I had a lot of fun making the items, and now that I have done it once, I know how many things there are involved that I might never have thought of when I am in a creative frenzy, like having mailing materials on hand!

Here are pictures of the swaps - the first is a charm for a charm bracelet, and the second is decorated match boxes with surprises inside.

I had some tiny doll heads I had made for a project some years ago which I decided would look cool decorated with ribbon, trims, and rhinestones.  Because the theme of Art Opera this year is flappers, the sea, Coney Island, etc., I decided to name each one after a Greek ocean nymph, and I pasted the names on the back.

I couldn't find my stash of matchboxes, natch (GOT to get organized!) but I found a template for making them, so I used old postcards of 20s bathing beauties and a traditional Japanese wave pattern to make the decoration for the outsides.  I used snippets of ribbon and rhinestones for a little extra sparkle.  On the inside, I put little ocean shells, many of which had rhinestones or tiny, tiny shells glued on.  To me it looked a bit like a mermaid's treasure trove.

I just can't wait for April 7 to meet everyone and get started!

Understanding Alice in Underland

Twin and I went to see Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, which I have been looking forward to for lo! these several months (unusual for me unless it is a Jane Austen movie!) because of the promise of phenomenal weirdo visuals.  And because of the prospect of Johnny Depp in a moldy top hat, frizzy red wig, and rainbow-hued makeup, too, I admit.

Well.  Twin loved it, which made me happy.  He tried to read Alice in Wonderland for the first time just a few weeks ago, and shall we say he was less than entranced.  I read both Alice books as a child, and I didn't think about whether I liked them or disliked them; I was fascinated by the characters, the images, the slightly skewed ideas and topsy turvy logic.


One set of my family's nicknames was taken from Jabberwocky, as a matter of fact.  My mother was Mimsy (close enough to Mommy, or Mumsy, which people in England actually sometimes use); and since "all mimsy were the borogroves" and I was so like my mother, I was Borogrove.    The Alice books were a part of our family life, and references to them, their world, their vocabulary, and their logic (my father was a logician, and I adored logic problems) were rife.

I loved some of the effects and colors and ideas in the movie - I want  to shake myself up a little.  Why not do a portrait with violently red or blue or purple hair and lime green skin with magenta highlights?  I definitely have my favorite, "safe" color combinations.  I will always love them and gravitate toward them, but I think a little  conscious rocking of the boat would be a good idea for me.

Valentine's Day Dazzle

I usually view the onset of Valentine's Day with mistrust and considerable qualms.  This year was no exception.  I fully expected it to be okay, but no more.  I must report though, that it was a fabulous Valentine's Day, wonderful and satisfying and fun.  Thank you, Twin!

First of all, to my delight, I received not only red roses, but also a heart-shaped box of chocolates.  For some reason, the heart shape doubled the impact.  It is Valentine's Day, after all!  Then beautiful earrings with iridescent montana blue beads, and, la piece de resistance (sorry, don't know how to do accents on the computer) a hand-made card!!!!!

But I am not a complete traditionalist.  When Twin suggested taking me to a fancy restaurant for dinner, I confessed that my preference was a bowl of oatmeal with hot milk at the neighborhood diner.  We finished the day at Barnes and Noble, browsing and, as always, talking.

What a wonderful day, most importantly because everything was evidence of Twin's thoughtfulness and wish to please.  Nothing could make a person feel more loved - and that should be the point of Valentine's Day - showing each other love.

Snow Bound

At left, a rather cheerful snowperson Twin and I made a few days ago.  Sure she's cheerful - she doesn't have to shovel!

I was delighted when the weather forecast called for a snow storm of blizzard-like proportions, and awed by the beauty the snowfall bestowed on the quotidian outlines of my house and yard.

I was less thrilled when I had to go out and shovel to get to work.  Much less thrilled.  The snow is up to my knees, and is over an old layer of snow which has been compacted.  It took me an hour to do less than half the job, an hour during which, to my chagrin, I felt so miserable I finally told myself, "No negative thinking about how you can't do this, but you're allowed to cry if you want to."  And I wanted to.  Memories of past winters, past snowstorms, different circumstances.  Tears ran down my cheeks as I shovelled on, nearly falling several times because of the sleety, icy layer exposed underneath. 

As my alarm struck twelve, I knew I couldn't get to my job teaching, and called the principal,  who was matter-of-fact and understanding, and probably mystified by my tearful tone.

I took a break for a couple of mugs of hot water and some raisin biscuits, read a couple of old, old, old (mainly depressing, unfortunately) stories from a collection of stories from The New Yorker published at the end of the 1940s, and now I have re-girded my loins and am heading out to do battle with the Snow Beaste once again.  I remember decades ago, the excitement when a children's book was published where the princess, instead of being saved by her prince or a knight in shining armor, saved herself (gag me with a spoon).  My further thoughts are best left unwritten.  In the meantime, this peasant girl has to finish saving her crumbling hovel.  (I wonder if I need to shovel the flat roof?  I know some people have done that - and several years ago I did when it was mentioned on the news.)

"Be careful what you wish for; you may get it."  That certainly applies here, but despite the consequences, my heart will always long for the magic of snow in winter.  Beauty has its price, and if I must pay for it myself, I will.

Valentines

Dum da dum dum DUM . . . It's that time of year again, Valentine's Day.  I am ambivalent about this holiday.  It seems a tad meaningless even when I am dating someone.  (When I am not, like New Year's Eve,  it is a trial and something to be endured in silent suffering.) 

The traditional gifts are flowers (good) and chocolate (a mixed blessing).  I remember one year Lorenzo the Magnificent and I went to a craft store and bought bunches of bits and we each retired to our own corner and made valentines for each other.  Lorenzo is not an artist, not a crafter, but darned if he didn't make the niftiest valentine using using large ribbon roses  he had purchased in different colors.  The one I made was nice, but I loved the tactile, three dimensionality of his.  It was lush.  I still have it somewhere . . . I bet it wouldn't take me more than two hours to find it, if I didn't get distracted.

Well, now I am distracted.  I am remembering other handmade cards I have received.  None other than Twin once made a card for me, with elaborate hand-drawn spirals, very horror vacuii and decorative, which I treasure along with the other cards he has given me, some with very meaningful messages.

Nosson,  my X (he deserves a better designation than that!) made me several cards, including a President's Birthday card (we went out for the first time on George Washington's birthday, and he gave me chocolate covered cherries - pretty clever) and a snazzy Purim card card which featured a slightly inebriated Nosson (one is commanded to get drunk on Purim, believe it or not) saying "hic .... brucha Ester .....hic ..... brucha Toby ....."  a play on the Purim phrase, blessed be (Queen ) Esther.

I wouldn't mind spending time on Valentine's Day with some art supplies (stickers, stencils, glue-on rhinestones and fabric flowers, and facy papers) and Twin  making each other cards, but something tells me that strychnine might be a preferable alternative as far as he is concerned!

But returning to Valentine's Day, I have been looking through a book of  mine about the history of valentines, and salivating over some early, hand-drawn and written examples.  They are so charming and such a treat for the eye, the faded sepia copperplate and naive watercolors . . . I lust after them.

Of course, greeting cards are available in such a dazzling and inexhaustible variety nowadays, that purchased valentines can be drool-worthy as well.  Amidst the dross and the mediocre are some phenomenally-designed cards which are either so charmingly designed, or so mechanically clever (elaborate pop-up cards are now sold even at bookstores) that only those who are dissatisfied out of principle could fail to be delighted to find them in the mail.

I guess there is no point to this post - just an acknowledgement of the fast-approaching day which brings with it such exalted expectations - and such hyped suggestions for romance on the television news etc. - that some letdown is almost inevitable.  I said almost. 

AAAArrrgggghhhh!

Alas,  Mehrlicht is over (spent blissfully with Twin), and real life resumes.  Today was one of  THOSE days.  Actually, there are many different types of THOSE days, so let me be more specific.  This was one of  THOSE difficult, dragging, sagging, tear-streaked, occasionally downright bawling, desperately miserable and miserably desperate, what's the point, I just want to go home and go to bed and sleep for the next three to four hundred years days.

And unfortunately, that's a litote (Greek for understatement.  Okay, here comes an impromptu major tangent:  How well I remember learning the word litote.  I had been dating my ex, Nosson, for a little while, and met him in a classroom at Yeshiva University, where he was studying for the Rabbinate.  In one of his classes that day, the Greek antonyms, litote and hyperbole had come up.  Hyperbole I knew - I think quite a few people know it - but litote??  Totally cool, dude!  Nosson  - that's my ex - called me many things - all of them nice, by the way - but one of them was Hyperbole Hempel, in honor of my sometimes burbling enthusiasm.  Another was Hoover Hempel, a reference to the way I seemed to inhale any food I particularly enjoyed.  Actually, Nosson proposed to me in that same classroom, giving me his grandmother's engagement ring.  When we divorced, I wanted to give it back to him, because of its associations for him, but he insisted I keep it.  I still have it, of course.  I would never sell it, and I am reluctant to wear it.  It doesn't look like today's engagement rings, but I still know its provenance.)

Okay - let's return from memory lane.  I hope my spirits pick up, but I have a feeling it might be several days.  Of course, I can be a master of (benign) mendacity.  When I have to put a good face on things, I can.  I'll just have to wait for the "winter of my discontent" to be "made glorious by the sun of  . .  . "   ---- who knows?

Post-holiday blues got you down? Cheer up! Mehrlicht is coming!

After the excitement (and to be fair, stress of the holiday season) the next month or two of the winter can be pretty much of a downer.  No special days to look forward to, no festivities, no decorations, cards, presents, special foods - just cold, and above all, DARK.  The short days are enough to make anyone glum.  For confirmation, just check out the suicide rates in countries like Sweden and Norway where for much of the year, the country is sunk in almost perpetual night.

That's why, to paraphrase and canibalize a popular song, what the world needs now is Mehrlicht, sweet Mehrlicht.

What, you may ask, is Mehrlicht, and why do we need it?  It is an obscure German/Scandinavian folk holiday, still practiced today in some small communities, but dating back some five or six hundred years.  (The illustration above is from the late 1500s and shows the sun pushing back the night, symbolized by the stars.  The seven candles represent the growing light of the days of the week.) 

Observed on January 21, Mehrlicht celebrates the day when the growing light becomes truly noticeable.  The days grow longer from the Winter Equinox on, but at first the progress is so miniscule, it is a fact acknowledged with the intellect, but not felt with the heart.  It is at the end of January that suddenly the lingering sunlight and longer days become truly noticeable, and relief and joy at turning the corner toward Spring and Summer are felt.

Traditional observances include children in the family, and sometimes even the adults (!)wearing homemade crowns ranging from simple to elaborate proclaiming Mehrlicht; lighting seven candles in the evening, with an eighth, taller candle used to light them which is then displayed as well; Mehrlicht processions, where children and adults wearing their crowns and holding lit tapers walk seven times around the town square (if there still is one!) and formally announce light's victory over darkness; and a light but festive meal featuring eggs, whose bright yellow center is seen as the sun and increasing light of day.There are other observances and customs, of course, and for those people who still observe Mehrlicht who live in a city or non-traditional town, the procession is hardly practical! 

My father, who was born in a very small town in Germany in 1905, told me some wonderful stories about Mehrlicht in his childhood, mostly featuring wonderful confections given to him by visiting relatives (maple sugar sweets and also rock crystal candies).  Each January 21, we would all sit down together and make crowns out of construction paper, glitter, and anything else we could put our hands on, and had a special meal lit by the eight candles.  We sang some simple German songs, too, but I can't quite recall them - they teeter on the edge of my memory - tantalizingly close, but just out of reach.

Below:  a Mehlicht pantomime from about 1910.

At any rate, this year I am striking a blow for the observance of Mehrlicht.  I am going to make a crown, have an egg-rich meal, and light the candles.  I have one of those nifty German contraptions where the heat from the candles make a paddle above them move, and a charming vignette thus revolves while the candles are burning, and I think that will be perfect.  I will wish my friends a joyous Mehrlicht, and give them egg-rich pastries for a holiday treat.

After all, we always need more light in our lives, and Mehrlicht brings it to us when we are weary of the dark and longing for the new growth and hop of spring.  I reluctantly remind my self, though, that darkness is important, too, alas; balance, always balance.  Without the dark night of introspection, rest, and restoration, we would all sputter and burn out, like a candle.  To everything there is a season.  Mehrlicht celebrates the season of light.
                      *           *          *         *         *          *
(By the way, for a related post, see 1/6/09.  Above I quoted Ecclesiastices (in the original Hebrew, Koheles) when  I wrote "to everything there is a season."  This post of almost exactly a year ago shows that "There is nothing new under the sun," the word sun being especially appropriate for a discussion of Mehrlicht.  Party on, dudes!)

Without Love, Nothing

I am always on the lookout on Ebay and vintage jewelry sites for old lockets which happen to bear my initials, even if it requires imagination and willful misreading to make them come out right.  I have several MHs, a ring with MTH, and quite a few lockets with other initials that with artistic license I can imagine have, in varying order, MTAH.  In the course of this quest, I often come across jewelry with touching inscriptions, which I also like to collect, if the price is right.  Since most people prefer uninscribed vintage jewelry, and since I don't care if it is 14K or not, the price often is right.

Just now, though, I came across a truly old tiny glass locket, from the 1700s.  Inside, the dust of an old flower.  And at the top, in partially broken lettering, the inscription:  Sans Amour, Rien.  Without Love, Nothing.  Tears sprang to my eyes as I read it, and are clouding them still as I write this. I think of that couple more than 200 years ago, and the love that united them which this locket symbolized. I think of my life and my longing.  Don't we all want love?  And without it, what avails us?  Nothing.

It's snowing!

"It's snowing!"  The excitement of those words is almost electric -"it's snowing!"

 I part the curtains and look outside.  The air is filled with whirling, twirling white flakes, falling miraculously silently on the white carpet forming on the ground beneath them.  Visions of snow men, snow forts, snowball fights, and snow angels dance before my eyes - along with the thought of the warming hot chocolate in front of a wood-burning stove afterwards.

Can anything be more exciting than the alchemy of snow?  My backyard, dreary in winter: blasted pots of dead or dormant summer flowers, an empty swing, fallen leaves that escaped the last raking - suddenly frosted with glittering white snow, sparkling like diamond dust in the sun.   The snow-disguised outdoors becomes a new, unknown world to be explored: part ice palace, part primeval icescape.  The shrubs and trees are ice palaces, beckoning me to enter and look up at their frosty ceilings, with crystal icicle chandeliers and patches of blue sky showing through.  Everything is purified and transformed; the everyday becomes magical.

That's why I love walking in the woods in the winter.  Peace and solitude surround me, and the skeletal majesty of the trees and shrubs outlined in white makes me feel as though I am on holy ground, connected to the eternal beauty and good of the world.  Last week, Twin and I hiked through woods in Mapleton to see two waterfalls.  It was all so beautiful, I impulsively said we should come back every week.  Twin upped it to every five minutes.  The cascading water, bordered on either side with frozen rills, was unearthly in its beauty.  The rocks and boulders, the trees' naked branches - I sigh as I remember it.

The real world is always waiting, though.  Twin and I can't really go back every five minutes, or even every week, to those woods.  Back home, after a snowfall, eventually the snow starts to melt and get drab and dirty and reality seeps through.  That is why it is so important not to let these moments and days go unmarked, unexperienced.  Build a snow person, throw a snowball at someone you love, stand and look, really look at the trees and rooftops and branches and snowflakes.  Their half-remembered magic can carry you through some of reality's tougher times.

But there's plenty of time for reality later - right now: it's snowing!