Vista Point
On Sunday I went hiking with Shelley. We scrambled up a mountain, through every kind of pokey plant, and over and around boulders until we were on the very top of the world. Just like that you can meet a wonderful person and stand by her side, looking out over the entire universe.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
19.
Contrast
“A woman once told me that colored flowers would seem more bright if you added a few white flowers to give the colors definition. Every petal of blue lupin is edged with white, so that a field of lupins is more blue than you could imagine” –John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Somewhere just beneath the surface I have been thinking about contrast. I’m not sure that I’ve had a complete thought about it, and I’m certain that I haven’t had any sort of epiphany, but images of stark contrast keep popping up in my life.
I can’t shake two images that appeared on the front page of the newspaper last week. I opened the paper and there was a white-washed Wisconsin contrasted with a Tucson Palo Verde tree in a storm of yellow flowers. Two places that are so different and so much a part of who I have become, bright white and burning yellow both stirring things deep within me.
Yesterday on my run I daydreamed about Tucson in the snow. Palm fronds cradling white flakes against green walls; Barrel and Cholla and Saguaro cacti smoothed over; orange trees in full bloom, each orange capped with snow. I walked out my front door one afternoon and the world was suddenly different. I watched the snow through my bedroom window and ran around in my backyard, but after a little while it faded into rain and I went back to work. Only it didn’t stop and when I went outside again the entire world seemed transformed.
And then today I read an essay with the following:
“In Sunday’s New York Times David Richards reviews a stage performance by George C. Scott. To encompass it he proposes what he calls a ‘theory of contradictory impulses.” Scott excels in a mediocre role, Richards says, because before giving the audience one emotion, he gives a hint of its opposite: laughter before tears, hate before love. This works because it reflects how life is, each emotion closer to its opposite than to anything like itself.”
and
“As a child in Eastern Europe, fiber artist Neda Al-Hilali knit a lot of gray socks for the family, always gray. She lusted for color and when she once managed to get some bright yarn, she hid it as an American boy might his copy of Playboy, looking at it, touching, working in secret ecstasy under her bedcovers. Now she is internationally known for her mastery of color. And personally known as a wonderful cook—her classes usually end with festive party meals. When asked how she gets her colors so vibrant, she replies that she always puts a dash of the opposite color dye in the pot. ‘You know,’ she says, as if everyone does, ‘just like you put in a bit of an opposite spice when you cook’” (both quotes from Mary Paumier Jones’s “The Opposite of Saffron”)
If I had to guess, I would say that everything in me is seeking some form of self-sustainable balance, trying to heal in lots of little ways, all the time. And I think that I am both failing and succeeding a lot.
“A woman once told me that colored flowers would seem more bright if you added a few white flowers to give the colors definition. Every petal of blue lupin is edged with white, so that a field of lupins is more blue than you could imagine” –John Steinbeck, East of Eden
Somewhere just beneath the surface I have been thinking about contrast. I’m not sure that I’ve had a complete thought about it, and I’m certain that I haven’t had any sort of epiphany, but images of stark contrast keep popping up in my life.
I can’t shake two images that appeared on the front page of the newspaper last week. I opened the paper and there was a white-washed Wisconsin contrasted with a Tucson Palo Verde tree in a storm of yellow flowers. Two places that are so different and so much a part of who I have become, bright white and burning yellow both stirring things deep within me.
Yesterday on my run I daydreamed about Tucson in the snow. Palm fronds cradling white flakes against green walls; Barrel and Cholla and Saguaro cacti smoothed over; orange trees in full bloom, each orange capped with snow. I walked out my front door one afternoon and the world was suddenly different. I watched the snow through my bedroom window and ran around in my backyard, but after a little while it faded into rain and I went back to work. Only it didn’t stop and when I went outside again the entire world seemed transformed.
And then today I read an essay with the following:
“In Sunday’s New York Times David Richards reviews a stage performance by George C. Scott. To encompass it he proposes what he calls a ‘theory of contradictory impulses.” Scott excels in a mediocre role, Richards says, because before giving the audience one emotion, he gives a hint of its opposite: laughter before tears, hate before love. This works because it reflects how life is, each emotion closer to its opposite than to anything like itself.”
and
“As a child in Eastern Europe, fiber artist Neda Al-Hilali knit a lot of gray socks for the family, always gray. She lusted for color and when she once managed to get some bright yarn, she hid it as an American boy might his copy of Playboy, looking at it, touching, working in secret ecstasy under her bedcovers. Now she is internationally known for her mastery of color. And personally known as a wonderful cook—her classes usually end with festive party meals. When asked how she gets her colors so vibrant, she replies that she always puts a dash of the opposite color dye in the pot. ‘You know,’ she says, as if everyone does, ‘just like you put in a bit of an opposite spice when you cook’” (both quotes from Mary Paumier Jones’s “The Opposite of Saffron”)
If I had to guess, I would say that everything in me is seeking some form of self-sustainable balance, trying to heal in lots of little ways, all the time. And I think that I am both failing and succeeding a lot.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
18.
Social
I was supposed to spring out of bed this morning and immediately start working. I was supposed to be instantly and completely overtaken by a dissertation-writing frenzy. Instead, I wasted the entire morning trying to pick a new hobby. I’m considering a yoga class with Katie’s friend James who she promises won’t make fun of the fact that I can’t bend. I was thinking pretty seriously about various forms of martial arts—don’t laugh, me and Tinka took kickboxing (“a new sport, but I think it's got a good future") and I was good. I took self-defense at St. Mary’s, with the fighting outfit and everything, and I had some pretty mean drop-roll moves. I’m going to take swimming lessons for sure over the summer and in June Milo starts therapy dog school (to cheer up people in hospitals – not Milo on the couch venting about how I won’t let him play with Flingshot)… but I need something that I can start right now. Even if I’m just telling Milo and Abe, I want to be able to do the whole “Well on Monday nights I have my ___________ and on Thursdays it’s ___________”. I'm really trying to be more social. Really trying. So far it's just happening in my head, but I have big plans for a real life social me.
I was supposed to spring out of bed this morning and immediately start working. I was supposed to be instantly and completely overtaken by a dissertation-writing frenzy. Instead, I wasted the entire morning trying to pick a new hobby. I’m considering a yoga class with Katie’s friend James who she promises won’t make fun of the fact that I can’t bend. I was thinking pretty seriously about various forms of martial arts—don’t laugh, me and Tinka took kickboxing (“a new sport, but I think it's got a good future") and I was good. I took self-defense at St. Mary’s, with the fighting outfit and everything, and I had some pretty mean drop-roll moves. I’m going to take swimming lessons for sure over the summer and in June Milo starts therapy dog school (to cheer up people in hospitals – not Milo on the couch venting about how I won’t let him play with Flingshot)… but I need something that I can start right now. Even if I’m just telling Milo and Abe, I want to be able to do the whole “Well on Monday nights I have my ___________ and on Thursdays it’s ___________”. I'm really trying to be more social. Really trying. So far it's just happening in my head, but I have big plans for a real life social me.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
17.
Parking Lot
Tonight, in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, a man ran over to me and said “What is that on your foot?” I had just come from running, so I was wearing my super-duper ankle brace, which I know is super-duper because it has velcro in three places, but I didn’t know it was run-across-the-parking-lot-to-comment-on-it exciting. His interest level was bizarre, but it was even more alarming when he asked if I had an artificial foot. Why would someone run across a parking lot to ask me if I had an artificial foot? WHAT IF I DID? What then? He didn’t seem to have any artificial limbs, so I don’t think he was looking to bond. After the artificial foot comment, he told me that it would be really intense if I had a brace on each foot (two artificial feet??). All I could come up with was, “Yah, cuz then double the awesome” and I jumped in my car and drove away.
(Side note: When he said "What is that on your foot," I did the Ab spider jump-back move: WHAT??, helicopter arms.)
Tonight, in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, a man ran over to me and said “What is that on your foot?” I had just come from running, so I was wearing my super-duper ankle brace, which I know is super-duper because it has velcro in three places, but I didn’t know it was run-across-the-parking-lot-to-comment-on-it exciting. His interest level was bizarre, but it was even more alarming when he asked if I had an artificial foot. Why would someone run across a parking lot to ask me if I had an artificial foot? WHAT IF I DID? What then? He didn’t seem to have any artificial limbs, so I don’t think he was looking to bond. After the artificial foot comment, he told me that it would be really intense if I had a brace on each foot (two artificial feet??). All I could come up with was, “Yah, cuz then double the awesome” and I jumped in my car and drove away.
(Side note: When he said "What is that on your foot," I did the Ab spider jump-back move: WHAT??, helicopter arms.)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
16.
Flingshot Through the Heart
Me and Milo are currently fighting over the Flingshot Flying Chicken that came in my Easter basket. First of all, it’s totally mine—because I’m the human and because he already has a chicken. But even if he didn’t already have his own chicken, there’s no way I’d give up Flingshot. The Flingshot Flying Chicken can soar over 50 feet, letting out a chickeny call-o-joy every time he takes flight. I just tested it make sure that the sound really is a “chickeny call-o-joy” (which it totally is) and Milo made a dive for it, forcing me to yell out, “No. It’s MY chicken.” And now we’re not talking again.
The trick to Flingshot’s flight is simple: “Insert finger into the pocket under the beak. Pull back on the feet and release.” However, it’s all fun and games until someone gets a chicken to the eye (“Caution: Chicken may fly at high speeds. Aim away from people, pet, or breakable furnishings”). So you know what Milo, I’m doing you a favor here. The thing is, you’d feel bad about yourself because you don’t have fingers. And, to be totally honest, I’m not sure you can handle Flingshot’s speed. And I’m the human, so It's totally my chicken.
In other news, I killed Danny Wood. One sad little twig remains, curled up and leaning a little. I just gave him some more plant food and moved him away from the window. "Please don’t go [Danny], you would ruin my whole world. Tell me you’ll stay never ever go a-wa-ay…" Also, I re-potted Jordan Knight and put him at the front of the room--in the spotlight where he has always belonged.
Monday, April 9, 2007
15.
Zen and the Art of Crazy Person
“In his teachings, Kenzo refers to ‘enlightenment’ in two ways. The first way is kensho, a Zen phrase that means ‘See your nature.’ It can also be translated as ‘Look into your nature,” or simply “Realization.” The second half of the phrase, commonly used as an inscription on the paintings of Daruma, the Grand Patriarch of Zen, is jobutsu, ‘Become Buddha.’ From the Zen standpoint, kensho is a profound experience of insight that transforms a person. (Whether this happens suddenly or gradually has been a matter of contention for centuries in Zen circles.) Kensho has the connotation of one being actively engaged in some discipline that fosters such insight—usually construed as zazen, formal meditation, but in Kenzo’s case he stated unequivocally, ‘With each shot see your nature’” (Zen Bow, Zen Arrow 33-4).
I think that Zen archery might somehow connect to my dissertation. I read an entire book on it today and even though I have yet to experience my dissertation kensho, I got to spend an entire day reading about Zen archery. That makes me feel sort of awesome.
(Hey Shelley - do you think this transformation stuff might sorta connect... or am I sailing full-force off the deep end here??)
“In his teachings, Kenzo refers to ‘enlightenment’ in two ways. The first way is kensho, a Zen phrase that means ‘See your nature.’ It can also be translated as ‘Look into your nature,” or simply “Realization.” The second half of the phrase, commonly used as an inscription on the paintings of Daruma, the Grand Patriarch of Zen, is jobutsu, ‘Become Buddha.’ From the Zen standpoint, kensho is a profound experience of insight that transforms a person. (Whether this happens suddenly or gradually has been a matter of contention for centuries in Zen circles.) Kensho has the connotation of one being actively engaged in some discipline that fosters such insight—usually construed as zazen, formal meditation, but in Kenzo’s case he stated unequivocally, ‘With each shot see your nature’” (Zen Bow, Zen Arrow 33-4).
I think that Zen archery might somehow connect to my dissertation. I read an entire book on it today and even though I have yet to experience my dissertation kensho, I got to spend an entire day reading about Zen archery. That makes me feel sort of awesome.
(Hey Shelley - do you think this transformation stuff might sorta connect... or am I sailing full-force off the deep end here??)
Sunday, April 8, 2007
14.
Feeling Full
I spent most of Easter Sunday in the wilderness with Katie, Matt, and two Russian strangers, Alina and Zeb. The moment Zeb opened his mouth it felt like Easter. He could be a Salsman, John Salsman in particular, from both the sound of his voice and the bizarre information that he is all the time inserting into conversations. All day, no matter where we were or what we were doing, I felt like I was sitting between John and Uncle Tommy at the dinner table.
Alina and Zeb are visiting from Chicago, so we all drove up Mt. Lemmon for a little Easter hike. I’m full of cuts and bruises (typing is excruciating with the thorn wound on my right index finger) from scrambling up rocks. Me and Matt were fighting about which of us would win the Rock Scrambling Olympics and I was sure that I was the clear winner, but then he did this flying leap from one rock to another that basically stopped time, thus sealing his victory.
On our hike I learned that Matt donated his plasma twice a week so that he could afford to visit Katie when they were separated during college.
For dinner we made pierogies from scratch—okay, Katie made pierogies from scratch. I tried to make a Betty Crocker strawberry cake with fun-fetti frosting, but it turned into a horrible pile of hot pink goo.
And now I’m stuffed, happily full of handcrafted pasta pockets and doomed cake. I missed my family every moment but was happy to be part of a group of people who were busily trying to create a sense of home.
I spent most of Easter Sunday in the wilderness with Katie, Matt, and two Russian strangers, Alina and Zeb. The moment Zeb opened his mouth it felt like Easter. He could be a Salsman, John Salsman in particular, from both the sound of his voice and the bizarre information that he is all the time inserting into conversations. All day, no matter where we were or what we were doing, I felt like I was sitting between John and Uncle Tommy at the dinner table.
Alina and Zeb are visiting from Chicago, so we all drove up Mt. Lemmon for a little Easter hike. I’m full of cuts and bruises (typing is excruciating with the thorn wound on my right index finger) from scrambling up rocks. Me and Matt were fighting about which of us would win the Rock Scrambling Olympics and I was sure that I was the clear winner, but then he did this flying leap from one rock to another that basically stopped time, thus sealing his victory.
On our hike I learned that Matt donated his plasma twice a week so that he could afford to visit Katie when they were separated during college.
For dinner we made pierogies from scratch—okay, Katie made pierogies from scratch. I tried to make a Betty Crocker strawberry cake with fun-fetti frosting, but it turned into a horrible pile of hot pink goo.
And now I’m stuffed, happily full of handcrafted pasta pockets and doomed cake. I missed my family every moment but was happy to be part of a group of people who were busily trying to create a sense of home.
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