ONLY KINDNESS MAKES SENSE ANYMORE

 67 of #100daychallenge

Here we are again. Has it been 24 hours already? I do think so. "It was a day much like any other day." (Only a couple of people will get that reference.)

Satan called home his son Donald Rumsfeld. I hope Ol' Nick has McConnell on speed dial. There would be some scion of heinousosity to replace him, but maybe the his successor wouldn't be QUITE so odious in such innumerable ways. 

But Cosby was set free so that is a disgusting downer.

I can't really focus on either one of these events.

I am still skirting some anxiety and low grade depression. It is nothing debilitating, just rather dragging myself around. Janet got a cortisone shot on her shoulder; I went to see the surgeon about my second hernia. Tomorrow, I get the temporary crown replaced. Not even the bliss of needlepoint is really helping right now. 

I am dreading July 4th as I always do. There have been a few explosions and some loud fireworks, enough to startle the kitties but not send them under the bed. Fireworks just went on sale today so the siege will gain in intensity as the days go on and likely last through Labor Day.

The New York Times released a 40-minute documentary about the January 6th insurrection. I watched it and nearly cried. Still a traumatic memory, watching that go down and bringing into sharp and concomitantly painful focus how very fucked and far from any kind of "home" we are in this country. Here's a link if you want to try to see it.

I've been listening to Lawrence Wright"s God Save Texas: A Journey Into the Soul of the Lone Star State, and it is, as NPR said, essential reading for everyone.It is by turns maddening, saddening, and generally entertaining. I've never really had much of a hankering to visit places like Houston, Dallas (been there once), or San Antonio, but now I am interested in checking it out, plus I hear they have some good art here and there.

Maybe I am just getting tired and burnt out. I will have some kind of vacation, or time out, in late August when I head up to Oakland for my step-nephew's wedding. I am looking forward to it. I even began a sewing project with my cousin Christina (ace seamstress) to make a dress to wear to one of the events. But it is a long haul until then and I need to shake out of this shallow morass. 

I just went to the kitchen to find my 'phone and get some chocolate ... could help my mood, right? I recalled that for dinner I made sandwiches with some deli turkey that Jimmy gave us out of the food bank he goes to. I had to the give it to the cats as it had the consistency and taste of extruded mucus. Very disgusting. The cats, especially McCoy, were very cool with it, though. Glad to oblige them.

KINDNESS

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to gaze at bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

— Naomi Shabib Nye, Words Under the Words: Selected Poems, The Eighth Mountain Press,1994

KINDNESS

Your kindness is no kindness now;

It is unkindness to allow

My unkind heart so to reveal

The difference that it would conceal.

If I were, as I used to be,

As kind to you as you to me,

Or if I could but teach you how

To be unkind, as I am now,

That would be a kindness of a kind—

To be again of a like mind.

— Catherine Davis, The New Yorker Book of Poems, Viking Press, New York, 1969

THE HAND OF KINDNESS

Well i wove the rope and i picked the spot

Well i struck out my neck and i tightened the knot

O stranger, stranger, i'm near out of time

You stretch out your hand, i stretched out mine

O maybe just the hand of kindness

Maybe just the hand of kindness

Maybe just a hand, stranger

Will you reach me in time in time

Well i scuppered the ship and i bent the rail

Well, i cut the brakes and i ripped the sail

And they called me a jonah, it's a sin i survived

Well, you stretched out your hand, i stretched out mine

Maybe just the handof kindness

Well, maybe just the hand of kindness

O maybe just a hand, stranger

Will you reach me in time in time

O shoot that old horse and break in the new

O the hung are many and the living are few

I see your intention, here's my neck on the line

You stretch out your hand i stretched out mine

Well, maybe just the hand of kindness

O maybe just the hand of kindness

Well, maybe just a hand, stranger

Will you reach me in time in time

O maybe just the hand of kindness

Well, maybe just the hand of kindness

Well, maybe just a hand, stranger

Will you reach me in time in time

— Richard Thompson, Hand of Kindness, Hannibal Records, 1983

BY ONE SLOW WHEEL WORN DOWN

 66 of #100daychallenge

Seriously, who really wants to get up to vacuum? Or bring in the trash barrels? I don't even want to grind the coffee that may lead to less aversion to life. On the other hand, I am up and I did bring in the trash barrels and make my bed, so creeping towards that housework that needs be done in the next two hours.

In other news, my temporary crown fell out again.

Well, we decided to move yoga class back to Joseph's as we forgot to move the props. I am relieved as I don't have to rush around to clean the house and can continue (or not) in a less frantic affect.

Later that same day.

Yoga was good, particularly because more than one of us was out of sorts, tired, and/or grumpy. That had us in accord without having to do any chanting or anything. I wonder if I could get these folks to do an "om" ... I will have to listen harder to their "namaste." I think they all say it.

I have been slightly depressed, sort of moving through not-quite-solidified jello. Spacier and less alert than I should be for some tasks. I treated myself to a big poke salad and then took a long nap with McCoy and Vera. I am not sure that I ever woke up again.

However, I did stumble out to water the plants. Having just put the fig tree into the ground (or the pool as the case may be), I want to make sure it gets acclimated. There are now four figs "under construction" and I am pretty psyched about it. While watering I found that my wisteria, long thought to be dead, but now thriving, is about to bloom! This late in the season as I think they tend to be spring bloomers in this area.

Then I headed out to the front to dead head, the cosmos and the zinnias mostly. I wish I could as easily dead head my belongings. Dead head my dread. I feel a lot of dread and weariness. I should work up some song lyrics to Al Green's Love and Happiness with "dread and weariness." But there is something to the dead head process: making room for the new. Seeing what is there and healthy. I am just not in the mood to coax myself to optimism.

INSTEAD OF A JOURNEY

Turn like a top, spin on your dusty axis

Till the bright metal shines again, your head

Hums, and the earth accelerates,

Dizzy, you drop

Into this easy chair you drowse in daily,

Sit there and watch the walls assume their meaning,

The Chinese plate assert its blue design,

The room renew itself as you grow still.

Then, after your flight and fall, walk to the garden

Or at the open window, taste return:

Weather and season, clouds at your vision’s rim,

Love’s whims, love’s habitation, and the heart

By one slow wheel worn down, whetted to gladness.

— Michael Hamburger, Collected Poems, 1941-1994, Anvil Poetry Press, London, 1995

RANDOM SCRAPS OF INFINITY

65 of #100daychallenge

McCoy, Nina, and Idrisse staying cool in the bathtub.

While in the depths of sweet morning sleep, Sebastian, my yardman, sent me an early text to tell me he is on his way. I staggered up and made coffee (which reminds me that my mom's coffee water is probably boiling away in the kitchen), but there is no alertness engaged anywhere. Even keeping open my eyes is a struggle. No news there.

The day flew by with no reading and no gardening besides what Sebastian did (plant the fig tree and trim the orange bougainvillea outside my studio window) and water, but I suppose that counts. I need to bear down and straighten up the house as the Domineers are coming here tomorrow for some yoga as well as playing and I haven't been doing a very good job of straightening up. After I post this, I can do a little housework after I take my meds and try to get up early tomorrow (we know how that goes).

The fireworks and strife in some of those near and dear to me continue. A significant portion of my non-Janet time was spent trying to get a helpful handle on these situations and provide help or just the counsel of listening. My niece in Utah who almost died last year and who has more health problems than are truly bearable (lupus, diabetes, prolapses uterus, cataracts, some heart condition, significant depression, and more), who cannot walk and must wear a diaper is now about to be evicted and possibly made homeless. She spent all her money on home health care and now can't pay her rent. Can you blame her for choosing clean diapers over paying rent? I am not sure how things got to such a dire place, but she wasn't speaking to me for a while.

I was able to speak to her Adult Protective Services case worker today, so perhaps working in tandem along with some other professionals and at least get her settled. A moved to Utah because as an LDS member, she thought she would have that community to fall back on and to support her. Didn't happen. Because of all her illnesses, she is reliant on pain killers (and who wouldn't be) and they seem to frown upon that  ... or at least that is what I think is going on.

So that was a large part of my day. I did have a great yoga class with H which certainly helped. I didn't even have much time to avoid life doing needlework and/or watching some series (catching up on Watchmen on HBO and not really getting it yet, although I like the steampunkiness of it.)

HYPOTHESIS

A long time ago, I think,

God scribbled this universe

Across a random scrap of infinity;

Paused midway for lack of ink,

And in the slovenly way of Divinity,

Let it go for better or worse.

Now and then

God picks it up again.

(Earth, I think, is a period

Or a semicolon’s half, or the dot

On an i. Not that it matters.)

And God

Pores for a minute or two at best

Over the dog-eared palimpsest,

And muses: “I wrote this, I know, but what

I meant it to be I’ve quite forgot.

“I’ll have to get rid of this rubbish soon.

It will make a bonfire some afternoon.”

— Ted Olson,  A Stranger and Afraid, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1928

BREAKING THROUGH THE CLOUDS

 64 of #100daychallenge

Wow did I fight getting up this morning. I am not sure how I got this far, but it gives me pause about getting in the car and driving twelve miles on the freeway. That first sip of coffee helps with the grounding however. And why did Janet get up? I generally get to enjoy a bit of quiet privacy before the Liberty Mutual (and others) ads taunt me. I need to go finish making her coffee.

The next day.

I couldn't stay awake long enough to finish the post. This morning we are getting ready for a heat wave. All is quiet out in the yard. 

Six minutes until the day after that.

I am not doing too well on this 100 days in a row challenge right now. I generally write SOMETHING every day, even if I don't post, so I guess I can lighten up on myself on that technicality.

'Twas a quiet weekend, really. As per usual, less was accomplished than my imagination led me to expect, but small, almost infinitesimal progress was made. Needlework and series bingeing was accomplished, of course. The needlework is helping to keep the black puppies of depression or at least uneasily napping.

The fun parts, besides needlework, were yoga and hanging out with KH. When she is up from Palm Springs, I do tend to visit with her. As noted here before, the mom care is a bit isolating. KH is close enough in Seal Beach, only 20 minutes away, for me to cruise down there for a few hours. She just picked up her new Tesla today so I had to go sit in it.

Again, with the black puppies around, there isn't much thinking or contemplation to be reporting on. I am a bit distracted by one friend's upcoming heart surgery, another's relationship storms, and always by taking care of Janet and kitties. There are three nearby as I write. McCoy has been making overtures, which is great because I worry that he is not attached to me and therefore more easily ignores me when I call. Tonight, he wanted petting and is now sleeping in the chair I am sitting on the edge of.

The weather has been hot and muggy. It's lovely outside now, but I am not of a mind to go sit out anywhere. Having accomplished even some writing, I will to bed and hope for a more energetic and light-hearted tomorrow.

Doesn't McCoy look a lot like Luke Wilson? They have the same nose.

GIRANDOLE

In the dark at first, we see things in their sleep,

like seeds locked up in pods, cocoons, and burs,

each with its sphinx’s face persuading us,

“Our looks are black, but we’re really beauties. Wait

and see.” And we do till, one day, some dove of a dawn

comes in on a pink wing, singing “Wake up!”

Then there’s a stir—an unfolding, unfurling, undoing

of knots, shaking off of shells, as infants outgrow

their eggs, the roe spills over in silver, and out

of each buried bean a green head butts itself free,

and the rose goes, or the snail, on its way, unrolling

to its roundest corolla. Oh, the view opens up to our eye!

And see what baroque embellishments ensue

as throngs of things take shape and place in space:

the fantail vine hung with the golden horde

of its hundred gourds, and, bright in its broken shell,

a pomegranate’s swarm of garnets; moonshine,

pine-tree waves, and skies all mackerel scallops.

Once a fortunate friction ignites the fuse—presto!

Chrysalids burst into blue, the firework flowers

go up in sparks, the fountain towers, and the story’s told.

Breaking through the clouds, the sun leaps forth and we see

for ourselves: the blackbird’s gold, and the world—what a sight!—

is a girandole, a ring of things—all lights.

— Dorothy Donnelly, The New Yorker, May 17, 1958 issue

HOW SLOWLY DARK COMES DOWN

 63 of #100daychallenge

Fox looks like a mad dog. He was just chillaxin' in the shade of the cosmos and the Hong Kong tulip tree when I walked over. He then proceeded to roll over on this back and wriggle like a happy puppy. If the Cat League catches on to him, he may lose his membership. 

The day was pretty quiet. The weather was grand. Janet had an eye injection appointment, so we drove the 20 miles to her eye doctor. Thanks to Covid, I no longer have to wait with her as accompaniers are frowned up. I scooted over to the local Savers although I was not much in a shopping mood (yes, I found a few cool things), but I did not longer nor do I load up with books and/or cds. I did find some cool lps, if that's what they are

There were more of this kind, but I only indulged myself a little. I don't go through all the records in the bins, but just lightly peruse. These were right on the end and with those graphics I couldn't pass them up.

There's not really much to report on and as I am not thinking, there isn't much to say there, either. The quotidienne day of cat wrangling, bed making, garden watering, car washing, intense telephone conversation, and some needlework. That pretty much covers it. As tomorrow morning is early yoga, I needs get to sleep again and I am thinking I might watch the first episode of the new season of Bosch.

My first sunflower in many years.

IN THE EVENING AIR

I

A dark theme keeps me here,

Though summer blazes in the vireo’s eye.

Who would be half possessed

By his own nakedness?

Waking’s my care—

I’ll make a broken music, or I’ll die.

II

Ye littles, lie more close!

Make me, O Lord, a last, a simple thing

Time cannot overwhelm.

Once I transcended time

A bud broke to rose,

And I rose from a last diminishing.

III

I look down the far light

And I behold the dark side of a tree

Far down a billowing plain,

And when I look again

It’s lost upon the night—

Night I embrace, a dear proximity.

IV

I stand by a low fire

Counting the wisps of flame and I watch how

Light shifts upon the wall.

I bid stillness be still.

I see, in the evening air,

How slowly dark comes down on what we do.

— Theodore Roethke, The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke, Anchor, New York 2011

I just stumbled across this poem whilst perusing. Turns out it is rather famous and that Aaron Copland was inspired to write a piano piece on the last two lines. You are welcome for the trivia.