SMELL SOME COFFEE

 13 of 100

March 23

We were hoping it was just allergies, but I have a cold. 

Janet has a blood test appointment in a few minutes. She can't drink or eat anything right now. She generally doesn't like to get out of bed if she can't smell some coffee. I can relate. When I lived in Brewster, it was the smell of Martha's first cup wafting up the stairs that got me moving. 

My songs this morning toggled between Sweet Soul Music (Arthur Conley), Caravan (Van Morrison) and What A Little Moonlight Can Do (can't tell what the version is in my head but Nancy Wilson will do fine).

Vera is crouched next to me on the small footstool, probably waiting for me to feed her some more. 

I heard myself "ummming" quite a bit in class last night. Then again, sometimes I think I am fortunate that I can put any thoughts together. Writing is much easier than thinking on your feet.

Later

Today would have been a fine day to make some inroads into the many paths of activity that are my constant. However, once I got back from taking Janet to her appointment and then to today's dominoes location, I couldn't really do much save for eat lunch and try to rest. It's only 9:00 now, but I am feeling a bit feverish, just slightly hot, and if I want to beat this cold, I should just brush my teeth and get into bed.

I have been listening to Madam: The Biography of Polly Adler, Icon of the Jazz Age. Children, I am here to tell you that it is a very long book. Debby Applegate, the author, does such a stellar job of being thorough and interesting, that one finds oneself not thinking about the actual lives lived here, the working girls, the corruption all around, the disgustingness of degradation and men paying for and getting what they want without much to answer for. I am only halfway through at 8 hours. 

At any rate, to bed with my slightly feverish self. Hopefully, I will feel better in the morning and not have to cancel my class.

TELEPHONE CALL AND MAKING BREAKFAST

12 of 100

22 March 2020

As you will see, I started this post back in January and couldn't really get it finished. Nonetheless, it stays relevant (as if any of this is relevant) so a real time me will join you again subsequently.

January 20, 11:50pm

Recently, the question "What do I think I am doing?" has been on mental rotation. I am not sure I asked myself that at more appropriate moments or phases in my life when I could have maybe turned the tide towards a more successful and secure life path. Still, it does obtain as I move through the days of caregiving and unburdening myself of a life's worth of gathering burdens. I will return to this question as we all proceed.

"Did his soul change every time it achieved a new insight? The very definition of a soul was immutability. Perhaps the root of his confusion was the conflation of soul and knowledge. Perhaps the soul was one of those tools built to do exactly one specific task, to know that I am I, and was mutable with respect to all other forms of knowledge?"

— Jonathan Franzen, Crossroads, Farrar, Strauss, and Giraud, New York, 2021

"Today, urbanites must feverishly maximize their economic potential just to maintain a small flat in Hoboken, Somerville, Hackney, Korea Town or Belleville. The economy of the sixties cut us a lot of slack, leaving time to travel, take drugs, write songs and rethink the universe. There was a feeling that nothing was nailed down, that an assumption held was one worth challenging. The meek regularly took on the mighty and often won — or at least drew. Debt-free students with time on their hands forced the Pentagon to stop using drafted American kids as cannon fodder and altered the political landscape of France.

The tightening of fiscal screws that began with the 1973 oil crisis may not have been a conspiracy to rein in this dangerous laxness, but it has certainly worked out to the advantage of the powerful. Ever since, prices have ratcheted upward in relation to hours worked and the results of this squeeze can be seen everywhere. Protesters today seem like peasants outside the castle gates compared to the fiercely determined and unified crowds I joined in the sixties. Our confidence grew out of a feeling that large sections of the population — and the media — were with us and from what we saw as the inexorable power of our music and our convictions. In our glorious optimism, we believed that 'when the mode of music changes, the walls of the city shakes.'. And we achieved a great deal before the authorities figured out how to capitalized on our self-destructiveness. Right-wing commentators still spit with anger when they contemplate how fundamentally the sixties altered society. The environmental and human rights movements and the theoretical equality of the races and sexes are only the tip of a huge iceberg. Ideals that remain our source of hope for the future took root in the sixties."

— Joe Boyd, White Bicycles: Making Music in the Sixties, Serpent's Tail Press, London, 2006

14 February

Finding the mental and physical space for writing has been a bit of a challenge these last weeks. The mood has been up and down, but not terrible for any length of time. The longer days and beautiful, warm weather help quite a bit. My insomnia has abated so I am waking up at an earlier time, even if I do just stay in bed to listen to an audiobook and Nina's purring by my head.

And now we return to our regularly scheduled musings and meanderings. DId. you know that there is a Meander River? One in Alberta, Canada, too.

Lordy. I have the Carpenter's version of Superstar floating around in my head. 

This was the first comment: 

Karen was the best of all time. Pure vocal talent. No auto tune, no stage show or dancers needed to make a show. She reaches inside you and grabs your heart ❤. We need the 70s again !

As if. Vietnam! Nixon! Bad haircuts! Cocaine culture which still haunts us to this day! And worst of all, the groundwork for Reagan. (That said, the early to mid-70s had great music. Best era for the Grateful Dead.)

The butterflies are feeding on the Meyer lemon blossoms. McCoy is bug hunting.

This is a far superior version of Superstar. Leon Russell, Eric Clapton, Bonnie Bramlett. And for those of you who want to waste more time, here's an article about the song.

Wherever my train of thought was going, it has been utterly derailed by a telephone call and making breakfast. I will to my writing of my yoga class and leave you to ponder.

And just for the record, I thought Crossroads was a piece of garbage. I found it so infuriating and will never pick up another Franzen book unless I am stuck on a desert isle or an emergency room.

THIS FOR THAT

What will I have for breakfast?

I wish I had some plums

like the ones in Williams's poem.

He apologized to his wife

for eating them

but what he did not

do was apologize to those

who would read his poem

and also not be able to eat them.

This is why I like his poem

when I am not hungry.

Right now I do not like him

or his poem. This is just

to say that.

— Ron Padgett, How to Be Perfect, Coffee House Press, Minneapolis, 2007

ALARM FOR CHANGE

11 of 100

I set my alarm for a change, giving myself some sleeping in and cuddling Nina time. As I might have remarked on before, it is rather amazing what you can get done if you start a bit earlier. I managed to get Janet showered (she does that on her own really), fed, dressed, and our usual walk taken and still get her to play dominoes somewhere near the appointed time. I was in a hurry to get over to Christina's so that I could finish my shift dress to wear to Palm Springs this weekend. I also managed to pull weeds and do some watering.

Tomorrow is my second-to-last yoga class for this session. I like to have an idea of where I might be going before I sit down to work on my class, but so far, I haven't come up with much. This is where I miss my studio terrifically. Were I still taking several classes a week, I am sure I would be bursting with ideas and new tips from other teachers. 

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned to Cindy, my training instructor, that I sometimes doubt myself when there are pupils are are not following my instructions. Cindy replied that I should just do me and if students didn't like it, they could leave. This was great advice and has also pulled me down the rabbit-hole of what is "doing me" ... This is not a bad thing, but not something that can be answered quickly. And given that I am historically loathe to even be "seen," brings up a number of worthwhile issues. For instance, how much bliss-ninnyism or poetry do I want to share? How much and what do I believe or experience? If I were being all me, I'd probably ask them to pray for Ukraine every practice. I know I don't need to rush this, yet it does creep across the mental activity laundry list.

Writing about Ukraine is still beyond me. My dear friends Eric and Kate have been visiting Ukraine for years, documenting the stem cell research and therapy at EmCell. They have many close relationships there. Here's a podcast about the last American to get treated at EmCell and get out of the country.

I need to sleep so I can get up and do it again. (Also forgot to take out the trash.)

OF SPRING AND YOGA

Richard Scarry, dontcha know ...

 

10 of 100

March 20th, Vernal Equinox

Today is the birthday of one of the very best friends of my life. She is not interested in me anymore, hasn't been for decades, but I think about her so often. J is a bit older than I am and I learned so much from her. We were very close for very many years. In my immaturity, clumsiness, and pig-headedness, I lost her as a friend. This is a major regret of my life. 

My Saturday morning yoga class was extra good yesterday. It's always good. This particular class just spoke to my condition a bit better. I don't know that I have ever mentioned it before. In response to the covid shut downs and the closure of our beloved Kava Yoga, one of my fellow pupils in teacher training offered to have class for the other pupils and teachers to have a practice in his large garage. That was almost two years ago. Now it is six of us. I have been less reliable as an attendee, but now that I am teaching again, the Saturday morning class is necessary to help me have some kind of practice as I am not good about a personal practice of my own. Plus, the group has grown very tight and I have some new friends. 

The practice is usually very challenging as I have lost much strength without a regular practice and everyone else, even Cindy's daughter Ashtynn who joins us, is much more flexible and a more experienced yogi. (We seriously wonder if she has any bones.) I do the best that I can. There's also the factor that I am very overweight and 13 years older than the next oldest person. Sonia and Steven rotate as teachers. Their classes are interesting as they were both dancers, but never easy for me. I am working up the mentality to teach a relaxation class.

My own yoga class, taught at the Town City Hall, the very room where I received my best Thespian award in high school, is going well. I cannot schedule anything on Tuesday and Thursdays which are the days I teach. It takes me a good three or four hours to write up a class. I have a small group of students who seem quite dedicated to my class. Some of them were quite dismayed that I am going to be gone the entire month of May. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it, given how little money I make.   

That's it for today. I am heading to my cousin Christina's to have our Sunday sewing afternoon. Janet is not yet out of bed. I need to make breakfast (at 11:52) before I go. I slept in this morning, but with a purring cat on your head and one curled next to your legs, one wants to enjoy that.

IF I CAN GET BACK

9 of 100 (lots of catching up to do)

March 8

March 19

My Meyer lemon tree is so happy to have more room (took out a rosemary bush) and fed to boot!

These dates do not reflect the number of times I have sat down to write and didn't even get as far as the date.

That said, at least three people this week have said they missed reading my blog. Here I am making an effort, notwithstanding Fox's attempts to put the kibosh on my endeavors by encroaching on the keyboard with his tail. Admittedly, he does have a difficult time managing his tail. Both Janet and I step on it regularly. He and I got in a tangle yesterday when I stepped on his tail and he tried to get away, nearly tripping me. He could be a health hazard. 

My desk is not that big. There is barely room for a paper processing pile, a lamp, and a book pile. Fox finds it necessary to sleep near me, making one area or another quite crowded. 

 

I was pleasantly greeted with a gentle admonition from Sonia this morning that I should at least give some gardening updates. Honestly, I haven't really been serious about gardening for almost two years, since Oona's remains were left on the neighbor's yard, courtesy of coyotes. Fuck you. I hate them. I was very much into my garden at the point and was cheerily on my way to get some evening work in when I was informed by the poor kids nextdoor about my most beloved and still much missed kitty. I think about her every day, even though I love the ones I have now. Some level of my ambition was punctured. I think of it every time I walk out the front door and across to the larger flower bed.

However, as I alluded, I did have the trees dug out from the grass, fed them, and am trying to water them more often. The backyard smells so good, it is probably illegal in many places. After a large crop of tangelos, I will have an even larger crop come autumn or so. The pomegranate has yet to flower, nor has the brown tiger fig, but they both look good. 

The wisteria was quite beautiful this year. I do need to get it trained upon the wall.

I am trying to do a bit of gardening every day, even if it is just watering or weeding a bit. Perhaps I should revisit my writing in this way and see if I can get back into the groove. 

I could write more but it is almost midnight and I don't want to sleep too late. Besides, Vera is sleeping somewhat uncomfortably on the footstool, waiting for me to get into my proper bed so she can get down to her serious night's sleep.