Monthly Archives: May 2010

Monday Meditation

Posted on May 31, 2010 | 1 Comment

From Annie Dillard’s For the Time Being:

You cannot mend the chromosome, quell the earthquake, or stanch the flood. You cannot atone for dead tyrants’ murders, and you alone cannot stop living tyrants.

As Martin Buber saw it–writing at his best near the turn of the last century–the world of ordinary days “affords” us that precise association with God that redeems both us and our speck of world. God entrusts and allots to everyone an area to redeem: this creased and feeble life, “the world in which you live, just as it is and not otherwise.” A farmer can unfetter souls and free divine sparks in “his beasts and his houses, his garden and his meadow, his tools and his food.” Here and now, presumably, an ordinary person would approach with a holy and compassionate intention the bank and post office, the car pool, the God-help-us television, the retirement account, the car, desk phone, and keys. “Insofar as he cultivate and enjoys them in holiness, he frees their souls… He who prays and sings in holiness, eats and speaks in holiness, in holiness performs the appointed ablutions, and in holiness reflects upon his business, through him the sparks which have fallen will be uplifted, and the worlds which have fallen will be delivered and renewed.”

“It is given to men to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world.”

The work is not yours to finish, Rabbi Tarfon said, but neither are you free to take no part in it.

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Posted in Monday Meditation

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Napping

Posted on May 30, 2010 | 5 Comments

I.
eyes heavy, the
sand of fatigue grits
the lids the body
poised
between fight and melt
in one moment
silently sighs
bends upon itself like a bow
and sends the mind
an arrow
into the dark

II.
sleep crumples the flat plane of time
into a tight ball made of
sharp corners and straight lines
this point and that now
so close the mind
(a mote, a flea)
leaps the chasm in an instant
and on the other side
an instant, an eternity
your eyes open

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Posted in My Poetry

Art │Genius

Posted on May 29, 2010 | Leave a comment

Local folk, get yourselves over to the Turner to Cézanne exhibit. I’m a big fan of our museum, and they’ve done a nice job with this one (not to mention, what a coup to be only one of five US cities to host this collection!).

I’m not a very educated art appreciator, and Turner was a new one for me. His work is a revelation, quite unlike anything I’ve seen done with watercolors.

JMW Turner - The Storm

I’m a new fan of Daumier, Carrière, and Millet, and kept coming back to a little painting by Alfred Stevens, Seated Girl:

How brushstrokes of paint can capture light and shape and be subtle and vague or photographically realistic… it overwhelms me. I am in awe of artists such as these, who can take something I might use to change the color of my bathroom and create such moving images. What a treat to see these works up close, to study their lines and form, to witness this genius.

Speaking of which, the current issue of Lapham’s is Arts & Letters. From it, this:

Genius (philosophy and literature). Range of mind, power of imagination, and responsiveness of soul: this is genius. The man of genius has a soul with greater range, can therefore be struck by the feelings of all beings, is concerned with everything in nature, and never receives an idea that does not evoke a feeling. Everything stirs him and everything is retained within him.

When the soul has been moved by an object itself, it is even more affected by the memory of the object. But in a man of genius imagination goes further: it recalls ideas with a more vivid feeling than it received them, because to these ideas are connected a thousand others more appropriate to arouse the feeling.

The genius surrounded with objects that preoccupy him does not remember: he sees but does not restrict himself to seeing: he is moved; in the silence and obscurity of his room he enjoys the smiling and fertile countryside; he is chilled by the whistling of the winds; he is burned by the sun; he is frightened of storms. The soul often takes pleasure in these momentary affections; they give him enjoyment that is precious to him. The soul gives itself to everything that can increase its scope; with true colors and indelible strokes it would like to give body to the phantasms that are its work, that transport or amuse it.

When he wishes to paint a few objects that excite him, things and people sometimes shed their imperfections. Only what is sublime or pleasant finds its way into his paintings; then genius paints the bright side of everything—sometimes he sees in the most tragic events only the most terrible of circumstances, and in this moment genius spreads the most somber colors, powerful expressions of lament and sorrow; he animates matter, colors thought. In the heat of enthusiasm he neither orders nature nor arranges the sequence of his ideas; he is transported into the situation of the personages he invents; he has taken on their character: if he feels heroic passions to the highest degree, such as the confidence of a noble soul in full possession of its power rising above all danger, such as love of country carried to the point of forgetting oneself, then he produces the sublime.

Fitting.

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You are my sunshine

Posted on May 28, 2010 | Leave a comment

Yesterday, we talked about summertime food. Today, another summertime concern: protecting your skin. (Yes, this is truly a year-round concern, particularly if you engage in snow sports, but most folks really start thinking about it ’round about this time of year.)

This is a holiday weekend for all you folks who have normal jobs, and I daresay many of you will celebrate with more time outside than you usually spend–whether at the lake or over the grill in the backyard, you’ll need to give some thought to what the sun is doing to your skin.

The Environmental Working Group’s 2010 sunscreen guide was an eye-opening read for me this morning. Although their findings are disputed, I’ll give a little more credence to the alarmists than to the industry’s reps any day. I think it’s fair to give a poor rating to a product that uses chemicals with unknown health effects–you know, since consumers have been so well treated by “unknowns” before (thalidomide, anyone?). Call me crazy, but I don’t really want to put “eh, it’ll probably be alright” into my body.

I’ve never been a fan of sunscreen. I don’t like the way it feels on my skin, and I can’t stand the smell of even the “unscented” brands (some chemical in there, I think–it’s very distinctive, and won’t wash out of my clothes if I get any on them). I’ve learned to use long sleeves and long pants and hats to protect myself from the burn, but, on the other hand, I’ve also been one of the millions of folks with severely low vitamin D levels. Sunshine is what I need, but sunshine can also be very bad for me. Mindful sun exposure is the name of the game (and, for the D problem, more oily fish, eggs, and mushrooms–now that’s a prescription I can live with!)

Educate yourself, know your risks, and plan accordingly. Play outside as much as you can, and protect yourself so you can keep doing it for a long time to come. Those are this non-doctor’s orders. Now, go have a happy holiday weekend.

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Posted in The Good Life

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Summertime eating, part 2

Posted on May 27, 2010 | 2 Comments

Behold:

click for maximum visual deliciousness

And, as if on cue, the shuffle spit this one out, a fine match to my mood:

Let’s eat.

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Posted in My Belly

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Summertime eating, part 1

Posted on May 27, 2010 | Leave a comment

As my more dour side predicted, the wind gave way directly to the heat and rain, without any Nice Spring at all. “Nice Spring,” you ask? Allow me to explain: We have more than four seasons here in the high desert–where you simply have Spring, we have Yes It’s Still Snowing Spring, followed by Windy Spring (or Dust Hurricane Season, if you prefer), which overlaps with Pollen Cloud Spring, and then, lastly (if we’re lucky), we get Nice Spring. Nice Spring is a short period of glorious weather, in which the air is still and clear, the sun shines but the pavement isn’t yet hot enough to melt your tires, and every living thing stretches and smiles and never wants to go back indoors.

I miss Nice Spring.

Yesterday was another of the dregs of Windy Spring (with a lingering hint of Pollen Cloud Spring to wreak further havoc with my sinuses), and today slipped straight into Gearing Up For Monsoon Summer. The sun was hot early, and afternoon showers mixed with the driven dust to form a windborne kind of glue. I drove the car to the food co-op, thankful for the windshield.

Nice Spring may have forsaken us this year, but one consolation of summer’s arrival (for this heat-averse gal, anyhow) is summer eating. I don’t know about you, but for most of the summer I feel like I could live off crisp lettuces, juicy fruits, and iced tea. The food I crave in the long, sweltering days is cool and full of moisture and doesn’t require standing over a hot stove to make.

Case in point, today’s grocery haul:

But you can only eat so many salads. For the coming hot months, ceviche just might become my go-to. I only recently ate it for the first time (I know, I know… how this three-decade-long oversight happened, I’m not sure), but I’m ready to make up for lost time. Full of protein and fresh produce, it’s easily a meal unto itself (though a side of greens never hurt any dish, I say). It’s simple, healthy, and versatile–and, to prepare it, nary a stove burner must light.

My first foray into ceviche-making is underway as we speak. A little while ago, the rain moved off east and the sun dropped west, the iPod shuffle made its way from Whiskeytown to Bill Withers to The Gourds, and I sliced fish and juiced limes:

The fish will marinate while I soak the day’s dust and sweat off my skin, and relax in the rain-softened breeze coming through the windows. Then, a quick stir with some olive oil and cilantro and tomato, a sliced avocado to top, and–ta da!–a cool meal for a cool, early-summer night.

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My musical hinterlands

Posted on May 26, 2010 | Leave a comment

Classical music has always had some small but persistent place in my life, though mostly on the periphery. My mother played Pachelbel’s Canon on some quiet Sunday mornings. NPR was a permanent setting on my grandfather’s radio, and our local station at the time filled the space between Morning Edition and All Things Considered with nothing else. I took flute and piano lessons as a child, picking my way through Für Elise and other classics that have been flogged to death by music students. Later, I danced to Saint-Saëns in ballet recitals. In college, Music Appreciation was an easy and fun extra four credits, though I’ve retained only the faintest memory of the periods and styles of classical music. At work, or when I’m writing, the local classical station is frequently the only one I can stand to listen to.

The point is, it’s always been there, and it’s music I value for its beauty and history and intelligence and complexity. But I’ve never been an afficionado by any means, and I get a bit lost when I try to buy any. I’ve never put my energy toward learning or retaining the trivia of even the music I’m truly passionate about–I couldn’t tell you the names of each member of Uncle Tupelo; I don’t know what label is putting out Ralph Stanley records these days; Howlin’ Wolf’s real name is of no interest to me. I know what I like when I hear it, and, if I’m lucky, I get my hands on a copy of the album. And, in this age of the liner-notes-less iPod experience, half the time I don’t even know the name of the songs I dig.

And so buying classical music is even more daunting–not only are there so many composers to learn, there are different musicians and ensembles and orchestras and conductors, each with their own interpretation of the notes on the page.

I heard a piece from Zoltán Kodály on KHFM some weeks back, and had to pull the car over to write down the composer’s name (or, honestly, I got the closest phonetic approximation, and hoped that Google could fill in the rest–which it did). Happenstance and car radios–this is how I learn, oh so slowly, classical music.

How do I cultivate this inattentive but sincere appreciation? Studying the composers is too far down on my list of priorities, and classical music doesn’t come with the same word-of-mouth recommendations that the latest hipster phenoms rely on.

I’m fascinated by the oboe, moved by the cello, impressed by all the things I never knew a clarinet could do. I want more of this in my life, but don’t really know how best to go about making that happen.

Of course, this same predicament applies to other genres–I love the one Rahim Al Haj disc I own, and I’d love to get some more Middle Eastern music to go with it–but I don’t know where to start. Ditto Indian and Chinese and Eastern European folk music. But the World Music aisle just makes me think of I. Raymond types, and Putmayo annoys me for reasons I can’t quite explain.

So thank the stars for the mighty interwebs–I don’t know where to start, and I won’t remember the particulars of what I hear, but so many sites will walk me through places I wouldn’t likely have found on my own. And that sounds great.

Now listen to this:

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Outbox: Models

Posted on May 25, 2010 | 2 Comments

Dear Models,

I don’t know how you do it. No, I’m not talking about the being skeletally thin and teeter-tottering around in those ridiculous shoes. I’m talking about the fortitude it requires to pose, to confidently stand in front of a lens and arrange your limbs and your expression and your hair like you were composing a still life.

Give me a bowl of fruit and a rustic farm table any day… Yesterday I worked a thirteen-hour shift, then went to a three-hour-long management meeting, and then had to have photos taken. That last bit? Hardest part of my day.

I’ve reached the point in my life when I’m mostly comfortable in my own skin. I know my own attractiveness, and I’m comfortable being seen. What I am not comfortable with is being photographed. It’s maybe a capability issue (and you know how highly I value skill and capability): if my body, being photographed, is a tool that must be properly wielded for best effect (and I’ve been exposed to enough Top Model to know that most folks who do this professionally would say that it is), then I feel completely incompetent wielding that tool in that particular way. And incompetence is not a feeling I enjoy.

Last night, I had to simply put on a clean shirt, smile, and trust the photographer to do what she does best. Which felt like handing the reins over instead of stepping up and mastering the thing myself, but hey–sometimes you have to let someone else take point.

But that whole moving your head around in small increments to get different “looks” thing? Yeah, the photographer was right–it feels silly.

So, models, I’m happy to let you have the vogue-ing. It’s a talent I do not possess, but having been oh-so-briefly under those lights, I can tip my hat to you and say what so many people say to me on a regular basis: I so could never do your job.

Air kisses,
js

PS
Cheeseburgers are delicious, and collarbones shouldn’t look like knives.

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Posted in Outbox

Monday Meditation

Posted on May 24, 2010 | Leave a comment

Until man duplicates a blade of grass, nature can laugh at his so-called scientific knowledge. Remedies from chemicals will never stand in favorable comparison with the products of nature, the living cell of the plant, the final result of the rays of the sun, the mother of all life. ~Edison again

We can do so much, and so little. We are so wise, and yet we’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of what this existence has to offer–to say nothing of all those other existences that surely are out there, waiting for us.

The day has been long. I’m going to go let the breeze caress me to sleep.

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Posted in Monday Meditation, Wise Words

White Dots

Posted on May 23, 2010 | Leave a comment

The waxing moon dabs at the western horizon
and I am reminded of the way the candles
scattered little pearls of themselves
around our apartment

Whether because of the crazy tilt of our
second-hand thrift store furniture
or because of our own turbulence
keeping the room from ever being still

Flames burned
wax dripped
and everything that survived that time
still bears the marks.

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Posted in My Poetry