I'm home and a bit under the weather, although I suspect it is just a combination of trip-fatigue and allergies. There are a couple of blog posts floating around in some part of my brain, but the key to opening them does not seem to be available this particular morning.
Instead we have rain and grass, offering a short respite from ongoing work.
Hello from San Antonio! I'm off on one of my quick-trips, around 56 hours this time. Although it might seem that a 2-3 day trip would be exhausting, I am actually finding them to be more of a mini-vacation. There is a thrill to hoping on a plane, going somewhere, and being home again before I start to miss my own bed, my cats, and my normal routine. The short trip is exhilirating and refreshing whereas the thought of a long trip just overwhelms. At this moment in my life these short jaunts are just perfect.
It is hot here in San Antonio though and I have not yet become enough of a southerner that I embrace the idea of temperatures in the 80s in late October. Goodness, I don't embrace temperatures in the upper 80s in the summer even though I grew up in Texas. All of this is just a meandering way of saying that, mentally, I am in fall mode, not summer mode, and keeping to the minimalist theme of a 56 hour jaunt, I was not particularly inspired, packing-wise.
I don't think I did badly however, and, inspired by the fact that there are mirrors in my hotel room (but not really at home, one of many things that needs to be addressed in good time) it seemed to be as good a time as any to brea k down any walls I had been building around avoiding self-portraits. You can't see what I know, which is that I am standing straight for probably the first time in years, and really there is no reason for anyone to know that, except me, but it thrills me nonetheless. Just being able to stand and to move is a gift. Although it may not be evident, I see a portrait of a woman who is confident and comfortable in her own skin. And although it is really not about clothes, and it isn't, except that we all need to wear clothes and the clothes we wear should suit our lives and our choices, I see a woman who is comfortable with the choices she has made.
Progress in the garden has been slow.
This was mostly due to rain which complicated the coordination of various schedules. But progress is once again being made. Beds have been dug. Plants are going in. Stones are being selected and laid out in pleasing patterns. I am told that the sod will go in next week. Although I have grown accustomed to the smooth expanse of dirt and its promise, I welcome having a yard that looks like a yard once again.
In some ways though the unfinished landscapong has reminded me of my own unfinished work of settling into whatever and whoever I want to be in this stage of my life, although I suspect that process of settling, and growing, that process of becomiing is actually a lifelong process. But then a garden is also constantly evolving as well, and although there may be periods of great upheaval and improvement, there are also constant evolutions of a more subtle nature.
My life at the moment feels to me more like this flower pot. There are the establish plants, and then various blossoms things that have been added here and there with no real plan or thought. Now they all grow together willy nilly, each claiming their own place. I am still trying to find balance between interior and exterior spaces, and I suspect that there really is no balance, at least not in an organized sense, but there is harmony if one allows it to exist, and allows each little bit to flower in its own good time. What I am learning is that it is better to take time when time needs to be taken, rather than to shove things back. Surprsingly to me, acknowledging that need for time is more freeing than hampering, and more efficient-making in its own way.
We went through a period of Indian Summer, which I will admit was nice even though I really am ready for fall. I like the cool nights and the touch of chill in the morning air, when walking outside feels like taking a bite from a crisp fall apple.
But among the gifts brought by the warmer temperatures were tomatoes. I picked up a bag of tomatoes in my CSA share yesterday evening. I had one for breakfast this morning, drizzled with a little balsamic vinegar and a sprinking of fleur de sel. Even though we are well into fall, they tasted of summer. The eggs are also local, scrambled with local shiitake mushrooms and a lonely slice of serrano ham that had been languishing in my refrigerator. It was a sumptuous kick-off to what is usually the busiest day of my week.
It's still Monday, although barely as far as I am concerned.
1. We've had some stunning sunsets lately. Driving home from a meeting this evening I thought the colors of the sky echoed the oranges of the leaves, but by the time I got to the house and managed to take a photo it was too dark to see anything but the colors in the sky.
2. I was about to donate, or more likely discard, this nifty little tool because I had never figured out how to use it. However, I mastered it this weekend, using it to open a bottle of Sauternes that had otherwise proved immune to the efforts of any corkscrew or fancy wine opening device. Now, I love this little thing.
3. I've resumed work on that summer sweater. I never intended to abandon it, I just somehow stopped knitting. Unpacking knitting patterns has inspired me to pick it up again. In fact I'd rather be knitting right now.
I'm going to cut back on the writing, but not stop. There will be at least three posts a week, but I'm not quite sure what the schedule will be, if there will be a schedule. I know now that I will keep writing, but I need to find time to knit and explore other parts of this quieter side of myself. I know I've been ignoring it. Now the goal is to find the write balance, which is probably more a cyclical thing with ebbs and flows, than it is a regular clockwork mechanism.
Oops. I got busy arranging and sorting yesterday and lost track of time. Really, arranging and sorting and cataloging things puts me in my happy place. So instead of writing yesterday. I get to post today.
Today today would have been our 28th anniversary. I plan to spend the day puttering. I had other options, but I am also behind on too many things, behind enough that I would rather spend the day catching-up, with brief putter-breaks. That thought makes me happy.
But perhaps I am also happy because I went to the symphony last night. It was a fabulous performance. Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique seemed to me to be almost magically realized. In fact the entire concert was excellent, both in the combination of works presented (the Berlioz followed Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain" and Dukas' "The Sorcerer's Apprentice") and in the performance itself. This was by far the best performance I have heard the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra perform, the dynamics, the timing, the interplay between the musicians, everything flowed beautifully. I don't know how much of this was due to the guest conductor, Sameer Patel, and how much to some other mystical confluence of events, but the music was enchanting and it still echoes in my thoughts. I can only wish that performances like this could become the norm.
Remember the shelving cubbies I was putting up in my sewing room in June? The project stalled, which was good, because I revised my plan.
Today I reconfigured the system, and added an additional 6 cubes for storage of books and patterns. I also got most of the boxes of books and patterns unpacked, although they are not all on the shelves yet. I made a few minor miscalculations and need to do a little shifting before I can finish.
Oddly, in June I was missing two pieces to complete the bookcase. I ordered a kit and ended up adding the aforementioned 6 sections to the overall bookcase. In the end I am still short 2 pieces, so I will have to order again.
But the room is finally beginning to look like a place I want to spend time in.
I float
Caressed on Gentle Waves
Solitary
But not alone.
Lighter now than once I was
Yet stronger and more buoyant.
Gentle wings seeking respite
Alight
While the water ripples around me
Bubbling with joyous life.
Yet I float
Caressed on gentle waves
Solitary
But not alone.
Yellow now,
Thin-skinned, fading,
I am becoming one with the water
Supported
While water ripples around me,
holding me close, comforted.
And I float
Caressed on gentle waves
Solitary
But not alone;
Stronger now than once I was.
Then, one among many,
I beleived there was strength in numbers,
Until, cast assumder
I was lost in the maelstrom
And I foud respite in the waves.
So I float
Caressed on gentle waves
Solitary
But not alone.
Water can draw us together,
We fallen leaves,
To become something greater than ourselves,
Something greater than we ever imagined:
A shelter from the sun
A resting place.
I float
Caressed on gentle waves
Solitary
But not alone.
Fading…
I am fading…
I am the waters;
In my arms
You may float
Caressed with my gentle waves
And never be alone.
photo: "yellow leaf on water" by Laura Pontiggia on Flickr (here).
I made a pot of coffee this morning.
Of course, there is nothing really remarkable about making a pot of coffee except that I haven't actually made a pot, even a small, half-pot, in a long time. I drink coffee. I like drinking coffee. But for a long time I would make a half-pot or so, and usually end up throwing part of it away. Then I realized, that I actually missed having someone to talk to while I drank my coffee. When I visit my mom, we will sit and drink coffee and chat. Even when George and I were both working, we would take the time to share a cup of coffee and a brief conversation about the day ahead before heading out into the hectic world.
So I stopped making a pot of coffee and started having espresso in the morning. I have one of those Nespresso pod espresso machines, and have been enjoying an afternoon espresso or two for years. An espresso in the morning with breakfast, while reading the papers, even when I am at my desk, is fine, and I'll often have several cups. And yet, if I made a pot, it would be thrown away.
So I wondered if it was just a question of volume, if a whole pot seemed daunting, but the idea of making a cup was easier. It does take me longer to go through a couple of cups of coffee, and even in an insulated carafe, the coffee gets stale and is not as enjoyable. So I tried a couple of those smaller coffee makers, the ones that make 4-6 cups, but none of them make coffee as good as my Technivorm does, and they all were purchased, used a couple of times, and donated. I'll drink less than stellar coffee when I am out, but don't want to make it at home.
So, on mornings I had to be out early, I would have an espresso at home, and pick up a cup of coffee at class, or wherever I was. And this almost worked except that I discovered, over time, that most other coffee didn't really sit well. It isn't that I buy particularly good or fancy coffee, but I do drink, almost exclusively, dark roast coffees at home. The only non-dark roast coffee in my house is decaf. I don't drink decaf and I don't drink light to medium roasts, so if you want one or the other, that is what you get.
Dark roast coffees are lower in caffeine than lighter roasts, but it is not the caffeine that bothers me; I drink enough of it I should know, and I can drink a lot of caffeine in other forms without getting either jittery or staying awake at night. Dark roast coffee is also far lower in acid than lighter roasts however, and there is evidence that lighter roast coffees cause more stomach-acid issues than darker roasts, which is a shame, considering how trendy light roasts are at the moment. There is also some thought, not rigorously confirmed, that the actual roasting process may also produce some stomach-calming chemicals, and that the darker the roast, the more of these chemicals are present, although the decaffination process removes them again. In my personal experience, it really has nothing to do with the caffeine, but the roast. I do know that when I drink lighter roast coffee I have more acid-stomach issues, and I am growing tired of it. An occasional cup of coffee is one thing, but I can't make grabbing a cup of coffee on the road a daily habit unless I go to one of the coffee shops that makes a good cup of dark roast.
Which led me to start thinking about one of those single-cup brewing systems. They make pods for dark roast coffees, even pods for some of my favorites. Perhaps I should invest in one of those and put the drip pot away and bring out only when I have company. But I question whether the coffee is as good as what I can already make, and single-cup system are more expensive mistakes than simple drip coffee makers. I also realized that a single-cup system would be good if I was out early every morning and I wanted a cup before leaving, or a mug for the road. But I am not out early every morning and I would just make multiple single-cup servings. Why not make a pot?
So today seemed like a good time to start; as it is raining and expected to rain most of they day. It is a good coffee day. So I made a half-pot which is about 2 large mugs. I am just finishing the second mug and I think I will make another pot. Maybe I'll start making a pot of coffee more often; I think I am ready for that. Perhaps I should dig out my old travel mug while I'm puttering about the house today.
Perhaps I just needed time to settle into my new life.
I was lucky enough last week to attend two concerts. Both offered hard-won moments of renewal in a week that was already too busy and too hectic. It was a week that left me exhausted, the culmination of a month of intense and often exhausting events and activities, and yet I would not change a thing. Everything that was done needed doing, and the ability to do it is a gift.
Tuesday night the Knoxville Jazz Orchestra opened their season with guest Monty Alexander. Monty Alexander's joy at playing, his deft way of working with straight jazz and Jamaican sounds, of finding and expanding on the jazz roots of reggae, were joyful and profoundly powerful. The energy on the stage flowed into the audience, and for long stretches of the 3-hour concert, it felt like the entire audience in the Bijou Theater was actively smiling, if not dancing in their hearts. The energy in the hall was quieter toward the end, not due to a loss of interest but simply because the price of a three-hour concert in the middle of the week is high for many; the mostly 20-somethings around me in the balcony started seriously peeling out around 10:30. Mr. Alexander did apologize, at the end of the intermission, for getting carried away with the music, and for playing too long.
Did I regret staying? No. Was I tired on Wednesday? yes. But I got to hear Alexander's surprisingly moving rendition of Bob Marley's "No Woman No Cry". And I continue to think that if we could all have something in our lives that we loved so much that we got carried away to a place outside of time and obligation, and even age, the world would be an entirely different place.
There was a brief moment on Wednesday, when, tired from the previous day's excess and flustered by a last minute addition to my calendar, I considered not going to the Wednesday night opening of the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra's Concertmaster Series. I did go however and I was happy to have done so. The music offered a sense of calm, and revitalization, that although completely different than quiet time at home, was just as effective and necessary. It did not hurt that two of the pieces being performed were particular favorites.
The concert was held in the great hall of the Knoxville Museum of Art, which proved to be a perfect venue. The presence of the art, the excellent acoustics, and the sense of the place, simultaneously intimate and expansive, enhanced the performance, which was also thrilling in its own right. Concertmaster Gabriel Lefkowitz opened the program with Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances, which were excellent, and an added bonus was being treated to an encore performance of the powerful 3rd dance: Topogó / Pe loc.
One of the things that struck me about the concert, was in fact, that all three of the works presented contained within them a particularly powerful intropective and contemplative movement, and yet the theme of the concert was neither contemplative nor melancholy. The Bartok contains within it this introspective moment, but generally the dances are more vibrant. This was followed by the Brahms' Horn Trio in E-flat Major, a work which simulates the stages of of mourning, and which sat at the center of the concert. The 3rd movement, the Adagio, is particularly contemplative and the performance here was heartfelt and introspective. But the Brahms work is deft, and generally light-handed in its handling of grief, and the final moment is filled with the joy of acceptance.
The concert ended with Cesar Franck's Sonata in A major for Violin and Piano, one of my favorite works. It was written as a wedding present and it is, in fact anything but melancholy, although it is not romantic in the grand scale. It is an incredibly personal and powerful, work, and to me it seems to be more about the transcendent power of love rather than more immediate, romantic, love. I find Franck's music to be filled with a kind of breathless joy, a joy that we, in this modern age, tend to allow ourselves to experience far too rarely. Once again, it is the 3rd movement that is the more introspective one, improvisatory in nature, with beautifully yearning contemplative solo passages, which Lefkowitz expressed beautifully.
The conclusion of the work was a trifle less ecstatic and soaring than I would have preferred, but still beautiful. But then again, I have been spoiled by being able to hear a few truly great artists perform this piece; my complaints may be uniquely my own, and not really related to the performance at hand. These niggling thoughts, arising as they do out of a cultural bias which aims more toward striving and criticism than acceptance, did not lessen my enjoyment of the concert however. The performances were very good and the ensemble played very well together. The piano passages in the Franck, in particular, are notably difficult.
It was a joy to be able to attend and in many ways a very personal experience of the music. But music always has that potential, if we let it. George and I listened to Bartok's Romanian Dances, arranged for violin and piano, on our first date. (Our second date was to see the German Film Das Boot, go figure.) And as I said, the Franck is a favorite for its transcendence, for the way Franck has of combining the intellectual with the purely physical response in a way that seems to lead toward something greater. This concert, in particular, seemed to fill some inner resource that needed filling, and I am grateful.