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.