October 22: Thoughts for the Day

Some days are gentler than others, the usually hard corners worn just soft enough to make them malleable.  Those are the days when, after hours of dappled brightness, night comes on slowly, as if the light in the sky were draining away the way water drains from a wet sponge left in the sink.  Orange skies become pink, then drift into cloudy purples and, finally, into dull grey blackness, with just enough light to see, but not enough to expose the jagged edges of the night.

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Incremental Aging

On occasion, I do what I say I will or, rather, what I say I want to do. I looked back this morning at my post from a year ago and saw that I spoke about my interest in welding and woodworking and art—activities whose practice results in something tangible, something of value.  I promised I would make decisions about what I would pursue.  I made the decisions, but like almost all, none of them were cast in stone.

Since moving to Hot Springs Village, I have begun pursuing art, pottery, and woodworking. All three activities produce tangible products; thus far, none of them produce attractive products, but they are tangible.  At least I am pursuing things I said I would.  I said I wanted to pursue welding, to continue something I started years ago; that, I have not done.  But maybe I will one day before long.

Today, though, I’ll celebrate my birthday and offer well-wishes to a couple of others who share today’s reason for celebration.  And I’ll finish a book I started reading on Sunday: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, by Haruki Murakami.  With just one hundred pages to go, I can offer the book up as truly engaging, though I have a few questions about the legitimacy of the translation from the original Japanese.

Tonight, we’ll go out to dinner to celebrate; I would prefer Bar-B-Q at a dive, but my wife seems to think birthdays should be a bit more upscale, so we may go to a more upscale place in Hot Springs.  I hope I am able to convince her to go to a place where shorts or jeans and flip-flops or sandals would be appropriate attire.

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October 21: Thoughts for the Day

If I could go back to my twentieth birthday, I would have a full-frontal photo(fully clothed) of me taken, along with a full-body profile.  Then, each year on the same day, I would repeat the process.  The photos would be put onto a large board that would be prominently displayed on my living room wall.  My rationale? Such photographic reminders would spur a more active, health-focused lifestyle. Maybe it would work, even now.

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Stress Washes Away in Water

Our next-door-neighbors took us out on their pontoon boat yesterday afternoon for three-plus hours of drifting along the shoreline of Lake Balboa, exploring little bays and coves, and looking at some spectacular lake-shore homes.

During the cruise, we talked about everything from the local newspaper to architecture to art. And we expressed appreciation that we shared the habit of doing something other than attending church on Sunday mornings. And we talked a little about politics, a subject I tend to avoid around here, for fear of meeting Tea Party sympathizers who hold concealed-carry handgun licenses. It was a delight to learn our neighbors are Democrats. I don’t necessarily identify as a Democrat (more independent), but certainly identify with most of the principles ostensibly supported by the Democratic Party. That commonality caused expressions of joy all the way around, as all of us tend to avoid revealing our political leanings hereabouts.  We are equally wary of being labeled targets by gun-toting cretins who loudly proclaim their loathing of Obama to the extent that they suggest they would happily exercise their Second Amendment rights in his presence and hope for a reason to test them.

I wasn’t intending to follow that rabbit hole. I intended to wax poetic about how the time on the lake yesterday washed away what little stress I was feeling. I am a proponent of slow-speed boat rides.  Especially on pontoon boats, on large lakes with next-to-no-boat-traffic.  I was amazed at how few boats there were on the water…yesterday was an ideal day to be out. The temperatures were in the upper sixties, the sun was shining, the skies were blue, and the breezes were light.  The lake was almost like glass.  What a truly glorious day!

 

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October 20: Thoughts for the Day

If your intended destination is Halifax, Nova Scotia, boarding a Laredo-bound bus in San Antonio is likely to put you on a deeply unpleasant and circuitous route. Check your intent, then check your ticket.

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Original Art

I am a sucker for starving artists, even those whose art is of a quality that can help explain their starvation. I feel for those artists who, quite obviously,  have never received any training yet still try. Their muddled attempts at creativity tell me there’s something inside them that warrants praise and appreciation, so I give it to them, trying not to go overboard with misleading praise.

Yesterday, we did an art tour in Clark County (around Arkadelphia), stopping at several studios to see paintings, sculpture, woodwork, glass work, felt painting (which I’d never heard of but found intriguing), photography, and the like.

The first place we stopped was one of those that pained me to see; the guy (Michael Uhl) obviously had not had a lot of traffic, nor had he had many buyers.  We bought one small piece and he threw in another one.  They were the two pieces I found interesting, except for some masks he wanted to sell, masks he had purchased during his travels in other countries; but he wanted more than I wanted to pay, and they were not his own art.  The point of the art to see the work of local artists.

The second place, just up the road from the first, was an absolutely beautiful setting; the artist’s studio overlooked a small lake and a fenced-in arena.  Her paintings were on display, as well as some metal and porcelein jewelry by E.T. Ludwig, who said she learned her craft in her native Germany.  All of it was exceptional; all of it was priced out of my league.  A painting the studio owner was working on…of the view outside her window…was remarkable; if I had the money, I would have bought it, contingent on its completion.  Alas, it was not for sale; it was to be a gift to her daughter to hang in her daughter’s new house. This lady, Rita Earles, was not a starving artist.

Afterward, we went into Arkadelphia, where we stopped by the studio of the woman who organized the event, Farrell Ford.  She is a leader in the Caddo River Art Guild and the Arkadelphia Arts and Humanities Council and obviously is consumed with supporting the local arts’ community. We enjoyed talking to her, seeing her fiber arts, and hearing her speak with devotion about the local arts community; the community is lucky to have someone like her as its advocate.

Then, after lunch as an odd little place in Arkadelphia (a surf-themed restaurant…in Arkansas), we saw the work of a number of other artists inside the Arkadelphia Arts Center. George Baker was displaying his “intentionally primitive” carved kitchen utensils, made of naturally-felled wood like osage orange and hickory. Evelyn Good, a very good-natured woman with a ready smile, was showing her art. James Langley and his mother (I assume) and wife (I assume) was showing some very nice pieces of work, including images of elephants and African scenes.

Next up, we stopped at the home studio of T.O. Duncan, a painter and photographer and wood carver. We bought a very small piece there, too, a very attractive little image of a tree that will go well someplace in our house, with its limited wallspace for art. Finally, we stopped at the home and studio of Samuel Blackmon, who is a painter and woodcarver. Another car stopped just in front of us as we arrived; he told us we were the only visitors on Saturday so far (we were there after lunch). I wondered whether the lack of a sign in front of his house was the reason; while the brochure gave directions (2nd house after the turn), somee folks might not have stopped and gone in. He told us the story of having had polio as a child; he walks with metal crutches that fit around his lower arms. His work had strong ties to his black community; the images seemed to be of people he knows, people with whom he interacts in his daily life. Very nice guy who has overcome challenges to create his own art.

This weekend’s event was billed as the Eighth Annual Round About Artists Studio Tours, so there must be a thriving, or a hopeful, arts community in and around Arkadelphia. I hope they got enough attention and traffic to warrant having a ninth next year.

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October 19: Thoughts for the Day

It is so easy to get discouraged by the behavior of dullards, witless thugs whose brains are incapable of anything but egotism and idiocy.  But I won’t let the cretins who disrupted the 24th Annual Pumpkin Festival in Keene, New Hampshire or the jerks in Congress calling for a travel ban to fight Ebola ruin my day.  They are just bumps in the road, targets for a steamroller I just know is heading in their direction.

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Library Surprise

Both of us got Garland County library cards yesterday. As I talked to the guy who handled the process of getting a card for me (a different person took care of JB), my appreciation for the library increased.  It is far more “service” oriented than I would have expected. There are more no-cost programs that are actually interesting than I would have thought there would be…and there are more than I  knew about in the branch library we frequented in Dallas.

I put my card to immediate use by requesting a hold on a book that I had wanted to check out (Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, by Haruki Murakami), but which I could not find on the shelf (and online I discovered it was due to be returned to the library tomorrow).  Less than an hour later, I got an email saying my book is available for pickup until October 24.

I learned that, after an initial 3-week limited-use period, my library card can be used to check out ebooks, books on tape, and that I can stream films on my iPad.  Hmm, this is more than I contemplated I’d get from a library in a town of only 35,000 residents.

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October 18: Thoughts for the Day

An interesting and informative exercise involves describing oneself from the perspective of someone else who’s just met you.  The description includes both one’s physical and personality attributes and characteristics.  There will be more on this later.  For now, this is enough.

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Busy

I like being busy.  That’s a good thing, lest I’d be overwhelmed, I suppose.  But there’s busy-busy and there’s productive-busy; my busy of late has been, mostly, busy-busy.  I prefer productive-busy.  Yet busy-busy is better than sedate and bored. I may have, or make, opportunities for productive-busy.

The agenda for today includes a visit to the recycling center (productive-busy), a visit to the Garland County Library to listen to a mystery author speak about his craft (combo-busy), and then attendance at the Woodlands Auditorium Concert Series this evening (busy-busy).

Tomorrow, we’ll spend part of the day…perhaps all day…on the Round About Artists’ Studio Tour (busy-busy).  Then, on Sunday, our next door neighbors are taking us out on their pontoon boat, followed by drinks at their place (busy-busy).

Sometime in the near-term I have to get productive-busy in the form of rewriting two chapters of two potential novels, both of which were castigated (rightly so) by members of my writing critique group yesterday afternoon.  And I have to plan for and practice my 20-minute poetry reading for next month (I consider this productive-busy).

In between all this I attend my pottery class (combo-busy) and my woodworking breakfast, followed by “making sawdust,” (combo-busy).

And, in between all of this busyness, the normal routines of life must be undertaken…cooking, cleaning, errands, mail, post office, new carpet for the covered porch, ad infinitum.

Amidst all these commitments, I not-so-occasionally want to have peaceful time to myself to do absolutely nothing.  That’s the time I write this blog.  It’s now 4:50 a.m.  I’ve been up since 3:50 a.m.  It would be nice to have that peaceful time, every so often, when there is sunlight outside.

I am not complaining; not in the least.  I am about as in-control of my time as I’ve ever been and I am enjoying that control immensely.  More than immensely. Vastly.  Even hugely.  Gigantically.  Enormously, as well.

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October 17: Thoughts for the Day

There is a poet inside us, scratching and clawing to escape the shell—the artificial prison we have constructed inside our minds—we created to keep the beast constrained within.

Let it out, else be content to see what we missed by viewing life from a cage, a place in which we confine ourselves in chains.

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October 16: Thoughts for the Day, 2

Poisons do not necessarily have physical properties.  They may be invisible, have no taste, and exist entirely in the mind of their user.  Their strength lies not in the user’s ability to deploy them, but in the victim’s willingness to let them be used.

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Poetry…Oh, Yes, Poetry!

Last night, the president of the writers’ club and I went to Maxine’s for the Wednesday night poetry reading, just to get the lay of the land before our 20-minute program, scheduled for November 19.  I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t what I experienced.  She was pleasantly surprised, too; I think she felt relieved by what she saw and heard last night.

The room was rather small and the crowd was suited to the space…maybe sixty seats or so, plus a fairly good sized stage.  The place was dimly lit, but had adequate light on stage for the poets and performers to read, etc.

After we sat down, an old guy who said his name is Charlie walked up and struck up a conversation.  Years and years of heavy beer drinking (and my guess is the drinking continued until just moments before we met), I guess, tends to make one gregarious.  It does not make one coherent, nor does it make one a musician, despite having a guitar. That’s OK; he was pleasant and extremely talkative. Later, when he got on stage, he forgot most of the songs he started to play and did a pretty horrible job of the ones he remembered, but the crowd allowed him his moments on stage and showed appreciation.  It was a good, supportive crowd.

A real mixed group of people took advantage of the open mike: Charles, two two-person rap artists, six or eight poets, and another guitarist/singer.  I was impressed by several of the poets; good stuff, read quite well…or, I should say, performed quite well.  This was not just a “reading.”  It was an emotional expression in the form of poetry.  I was delighted by it!

My idea of what and how I would do my twenty-minute feature next month changed radically while participating in last night’s program.  Now, I’m looking forward to reading several poems…no, I am looking forward to expressing several poems.  I need to practice my delivery, both voice and face/body expression.  I am confident it will be at least tolerated, if not well-received.

As of this moment, I’m looking forward to it.  This could be a hell of a lot of fun!  Anyone who wants to travel to Hot Springs on November 19 to witness history is welcome!

 

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October 16: Thoughts for the Day

If you allow an avocado to be an avocado, it will taste better than if you try to transform it into an apple.

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Huitlacoche

I had never even heard the word. But then I had the stuff for breakfast.  Huitlacoche, also spelled cuitlacoche.  Few people in the USA…at least few I’ve asked…know of huitlacoche.  When I tell people it’s called corn smut or corn fungus, they tend to recoil.  When I describe it, they recoil further.  When I show them photos online, they bolt.

But back to my introduction to huitlacoche.  My wife and I were visiting my brother and sister-in-law who live in Mexico when, one morning, we enjoyed a home-cooked breakfast that included huitlacoche served with scrambled eggs.  It was outstanding!  Since then, I’ve tried to find the stuff at stores in the US with no success.  The only time I’ve had it since eating it in Mexico was when I used ( from cans my brother and sister-in-law brought to us on a visit) it in dishes I made at home.  In Mexico, it is considered a delicacy, and well it should be.  Why not here? Why not with breakfast, this morning?

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October 15: Thoughts for the Day

Texture.

Food has it. Bed sheets have it. The pavement on the road has it. My skin has it.

I wondered whether water has texture. Based on my understanding of the term, and from my perspective, it seems that the surface of water might have texture. And water that has undergone freezing certainly has it.

Looking back at one’s life from the vantage point of experience and elapsed time, life has texture, too.  Looking ahead, one can imagine the texture of one’s future, one’s as-yet-unlived life. I can work toward the texture I want that to have.

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Things to Do

I’m posting two items early…Thoughts for the Day and this post…for October 14.  I have things to do and places to be in the morrow.  Though I expect to be up as early as usual, I may allow myself to sleep in.  So, in order to meet my self-imposed commitment, you may be reading these things early.

Here is a scene that I’ve just written for a story or novel or SOMETHING I have yet to conceive:

Sitting on a metal chair at an empty coffee table in a tiny, stark, white room, illuminated by a single incandescent bulb hanging from a cord in the ceiling.  The walls are scuffed and dirty. The paint on the chair is thin, and bare metal shows through where a thousand men have planted their butts over the past twenty years, trying hard not to answer questions delivered by men who won’t accept silence.

As for things to do: in addition to meeting my morning obligations, I must meet all the other obligations that I either have allowed or have sought out.

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October 14: Thoughts for the Day

The fact that our lives are subatomic in duration and scope in comparison to geologic time is immaterial.  Every life we touch during our short time on this planet is as important in our abbreviated time scale as is the creation of galaxies in a longer view.

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Bedazzlement-fatigue

Sometimes, I say I don’t really want answers.  Instead, I want to be awash in wonder at what I see before me.  I want the thrill of amazement, the exuberance of being bedazzled.

But, then, I realize I do want answers.  I want to know what caused my wonder.  I want to know why I was amazed, what triggered my bedazzlement.  Curiosity can ruin it all. Curiosity, as vital and informative and educational as it can be, tends to demand answers which, in turn, crush the euphoria of amazement.

I see signs of bedazzlement-fatigue in myself.  Though our house has a spectacular view, it’s no longer as much of a joy to see the view each morning as it was a few months ago. Instead of being stunned by the beauty outside my window, I’m beginning to question why the view is dazzling…why light refracts the way it does, causing trees below us to glisten in a certain way when the position of the sun is right.  I question why the sounds of the farm animals in the valley below are louder in the morning than in the evening.  I don’t tarry as long looking out the window at daybreak as I did just a month ago.

These little signs bother me. On the one hand, curiosity is good.  On the other, curiosity follows wonder, signaling the end of awe.

This makes me feel overwhelmingly disappointed.  Analysis requires one to keep one’s awe in check; I don’t want to keep my awe in check.  I want to feel like a child seeing the earth’s wonders for the first time, every day.  I am trying, but I can feel my failure build like a plague, consuming every cell in my brain.

Answers…just seeking answers…can quash awe.

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October 13: Thoughts for the Day

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

~Advice given by Polonius to Laertes in ‘Hamlet’
William Shakespeare

In the context of the play, the words were not pillars of nobility, but as used out of context today, they are words to live by.

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So Small

Several times during the last few days, I have gone back to a series of images posted by an “information/entertainment” site on the internet. The images show the scale of the earth to objects in our solar system, then in our galaxy, then to a spot in the night sky about one-tenth the size of our moon, which, to the naked eye, appears to be nothing but empty blackness.

That empty black spot in the night sky is the field on which the Hubble Space Telescope was trained for a period of ten years, beginning in 2003.  The light captured during that period revealed a view of a tiny piece of the universe, a view that captured light from 13.2 billion light years away.  It revealed enormous numbers of galaxies in that tiny spot of darkness, and each of those galaxies contain as many as one trillion stars. An interesting video about the images can be found at http://www.space.com/17755-farthest-universe-view-hubble-space-telescope.html

The scale is impossible for me to comprehend. One thing it does, though, is give me absolute certainty that, among the trillions upon trillions upon trillions of stars in the universe, there are others…and probably many…that host life in some form and probably many forms.

When I try to understand the scale of the images supplied by the Hubble, the best I can do is imagine earth as an atom in a universe the size of earth as we know it; and that may be making earth larger in the universe than it is.

“We” are so small.  But we think of ourselves as so important.  Perhaps we are, but importance is relative.

 

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October 12: Thoughts for the Day

Go far away from city lights and look at the dark sky on a clear night.   If you are not overwhelmed by it, you are not thinking deeply enough.  Try again.  And again.  And again. Eventually, the scale of the universe will exhilarate you with its sheer size.

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An Evening of Poetry

I received a forwarded email a few nights ago from the president of the writers’ club.  The forwarded message was an invitation for the winner of the club’s poetry contest (yours truly) and others to organize a twenty minute slot at an upcoming meeting of Wednesday Spa Poets, “an informal group that has met in Hot Springs every Wednesday evening for the past 25 years.”  The upshot: Wednesday evening, November 19, a few of us will read our poetry there.

It sounds like it could be a fun evening. According to the email invitation, “Our regulars include well published poets, rank amateurs up for the first time, doctors, college professors, street people and, right now, one of the country’s top rated female poets.”

The event will be held at Maxine’s, a popular live music/performance venue in the historic downtown section of Hot Springs.   I had no idea there was a weekly poetry reading venue in Hot Springs. And their live music history sounds very interesting.  And they serve craft beers.  I’m liking this area more every day.

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October 11: Thoughts for the Day

In my experience, kind and generous neighbors are rare.  I hate revealing that, but I think it’s true.  But when neighbors are kind and generous, they are the sort of rare neighbors who deserve accolades, appreciation, and acceptance.

We had neighbors over on Thursday evening for drinks and snacks and conversation on the deck.  We had a great time!  And we learned of their kindness and generosity the next morning, when we got a voice mail saying the guy had bought something for us that he had ballyhooed the night before.

It’s that kind of experience that almost makes me think their politics don’t matter…and we don’t know their politics.

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Asking Too Much

Next Thursday afternoon, the members of my writers’ club critique group will meet to discuss one anothers’ submissions for the month.  We meet each month to seek advice about and reactions to something we’ve written.  I would prefer a much more frequent meeting schedule, but have to be satisfied with once a month; it’s better than no meetings at all.

The parameters for each submission are flexible, but the idea is to submit something rather short; with an average of five or six in attendance, asking members to read very long submissions, and then comment on them, is a bit much.  That having been said, I am asking for more this month.

I submitted two pieces; one of them may become a chapter in a thriller, set to begin thirty years hence.  It is about the social and political and technological impacts of the sudden (to politicians) realization that a maximum of ten years remains on the availability of extractable petroleum reserves.  That’s the piece for which I’m asking for critique.

The other piece is the first or second chapter of a novel which explores the complex lives of several characters over the course of many years.  I’m seeking not a critique, so much, but a response to the approach I’ve taken to introduce the characters…primarily whether what I’ve written possesses enough of a hook to get readers’ attention.  It holds plenty of interest for me, but I know more about who the characters will be and how they will become entwined with one another than the reader does, at this point.

I’m asking too much of the group; in my request for response to the second piece, I acknowledge that they may not have time to give me their reaction and, if not, to ignore it. But just putting it in front of them puts a bit of pressure on them; I now wish I hadn’t done it…but the deed is done.  If I had a clearer idea of where I plan to take each of the pieces I write, I would not feel like I’m imposing on them unnecessarily; but I am writing several pieces at once and some of them may turn into nothing…maybe all of them will. Focus.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I need to focus.

One thing at a time.

 

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