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7 of #100daychallenge

12:06 p.m.

I have the window over the desk open so Fox is walking in and out. The White Stripes are rocking Rag and Bone. I can't help it: I like it. Icky Thump indeed.

I thought perhaps I was going to get those many bulbs (ranunculus and freesia, two of my favorites) into the ground and long last and wish for the best. Given the gloominess, I decided to work on and in the library, to see if I could make room for cats on my desk (not). But now it is sunny again. See, commitment issues.

I have ripped a bunch of cds and downloaded (uploaded? loaded them?) onto my new iPhone so the. new shuffle is full of surprises. Bob Dylan and the Band circa 1966 are a great follow on to The White Stripes and some My Morning Jacket sounds great after that.

11:58 p.m.

I spent the day ripping music to my iPhone, and working on the library. Rather, the plan is this for to be a library/craft studio/yoga practice room. I have worked non-stop pretty much, save to get more cds to rip or refill my gin and lime. I had a very intense text conversation with my niece. She revealed aspects of her childhood as well as some perspective (not a good one) on my half-sister's mom, etc. Nothing terribly heinous except for the ways that fucked-up families often result in sadly damaged children. And the beat goes on.

And for some reason, the topic of "nice" versus "kind" came up. I know someone who is beyond beyond nice, but I am not sure they are generally kind. Here's a post about it. 

I worked very diligently and with great focus, to my amazement. But now I am exhausted and rather at a loss for words. 'Scuse me while I kiss some pillows. I deserve them.

CHESHIRE

It’s not the cat,

it’s the smile that

lasts, toothy

and ruthless.

It’s facts like this

we like to resist—

how our parts

may lack allegiance

to the whole;

how the bonds

may be more casual

than we know; how 

much of us

might vanish

and how well

some separate part

might manage.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010

I PLAN TO TRY

 6 of #100

Another June Gloom day in April. Fortunately, I am not particularly gloomy. I found a brown turkey fig tree to buy and it won't even break the budget so I will be moseying over the nursery in a bit. I don't normally like to go to the nursery on Saturday and Sunday but I don't want to miss this. And then I will have only two trees on my list, a bergamot (sour) orange tree, and a kaffir lime. But they can wait for next year.

11:46 p.m.

Listening to music, uploading music to my new iPhone, sipping gin and lime juice. Considering that the partying neighbors are, indeed, partying, it is remarkably quiet. The cats were fed a second dinner a little bit ago, so they are settling into their sleep. Dishes are done. A post to write and post and I can go to bed. 

I very much wanted to throw myself onto the bed or wherever and binge tv, but needing to write keeps me from zoning out. Kinda.

Weekends are tough on Janet. She really needs the comradeship and conversation of The Domineers. She can't get comfortable with anything on television, she doesn't like to move much (and in any case, she shouldn't go out without someone), and I think she has a pervasive sadness that she is going to die. I was out for several hours, what with tree (and other plant) purchases, yard sales, and visiting my pal Patty's new house. Janet was playing solitaire when I got home, which meant she had to find the cards and do some thinking for herself. I wish I could think of some way to get her entertained on the weekend that did not involve me.

Spacing out to gin, music, and music is lovely, but I should to bed so that I can get my plants into the ground and maybe work on this disaster (library). Amanda Anne Platt is having an on-line concert at 2:00 PDT, so I would like to tune into that.

Meanwhile, I heard this John Gorka song for the first time today (I have a lot of music on my iPhone) and found it so beautiful it will stand in for Kay Ryan today.

LOVE IS OUR CROSS TO BEAR

I didn't know where to look for you last night
I didn't know where to find you
I didn't know how I could touch that light
That's always gathering behind you

I didn't know that I would find a way
To find you in the morning
But love can pull you out of yesterday
As it takes you without warning

I want to be a long time friend to you
I want to be a long time known
Not one of your memory's used-to-bes
A summer's fading song

It's from me, it's to you
For your eyes
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise
I am here, you are there
Love is our cross to bear

I know I'll think of us upon that hill
With the golden moon arising
And the stars will fall around us still
While the love is realizing

And so it is until we meet again
And I throw my arms around you
You can count the gray hairs in my head
I'll still be thankful that I found you

It's from me, it's to you
For your eyes
It's a weight, a wonder that is wise
I am here, you are there
Love is our cross to bear

I find this particularly poignant as folks begin to see friends and loved ones they have missed during the quarantine. There is a bit of media floating around about this topic, which friends to keep, which to maybe let go. My life has been fairly contained since I left New York so in some ways, it didn't change ALL that much, at least until the yoga studio closed. I do miss that. I was just moving in to some real friendships, on beyond nodding acquaintances, with some very interesting folks. I am not sure I will be able to rekindle that interest, but I plan to try.

PRODUCTIVE-LIKE-A-NORMAL-PERSON DAY

 5 of 100

Art by Lucy BC, quote from Estelle Frankl.

11:07 p.m.

Late start today and all I really want to do is sit and binge watch something until the early hours of the morning. That generally results in regret, like so many things that are fun when they are happening.

I had rather a busy or is that just productive-like-a-normal-person day? Going from thing to thing without too much stress or worry, just getting down to the task. Of course, there is a ridunkculous amount of gardening to be done. I have some iris roots that I have waited so long to plant that they might not make it. There are weeds fighting with legitimate plants everywhere. And the grass. Always the grass. Had I not so many flowers, I would probably let the dandelions remain, but there is plenty for the bees and butterflies to feed on. Given the early June gloom, it is a good time to get out there and garden before it gets any hotter. There will be plenty of weeds to pull as the summer goes on. I had really wanted to plant one of these, a Brown Turkey fig, this year, but I think I missed my window. I will call the nursery tomorrow.

The possible downside to having a fig tree in the backyard is the critters. While pulling out some dry clothes the other night, I spied a critter out of the corner of my eye, only to find a small dog-sized raccoon sitting in the doorway, pretty as you please. I screamed to get it to leave, but it was a bit non-plussed and seemed confused as to why I was behaving so barbarically. I understand raccoons are fond of figs. That sounds like a children's book. Can't you see a fatcat raccoon lazing around asking for figs to be peeled for it. This guy grooved on as if he had bidness to see to, which just might be beating up a cat. We hear fights in the yard from time to time and all of our constituents are inside.

Anyway, it is always some kind of accomplishment when I get Janet to her monthly eye doctor appointment that is 19 miles away somewhat on time, and without any yelling on my part. I think the new med I am on is making me more chill. I hiked over the local Costco while Janet was having her treatment and bought two more pairs of frames to get made into glasses. I am very excited about that. As I may have said, I am getting reading glasses as well as distance glasses as I hate those progressive bifocals. It's terrible that seeing a privilege for the upper classes.

And here I am having worked on and in the library. I definitely have to make room for the cats on the desk. Fox is large and takes up room accordingly. When I got up to check the laundry, Nina was sleeping at my feet.They seem to have left so they are probably cooking up something. Here comes Fox sharing my chair. I must have some kind of cat pheromone I don't know about.

And on the lugubrious Grateful Dead autistically shuffling through a terrible version of St. Stephen and with a fantastic Kay Ryan poem, I bid you goodnight.

BLUNT

If we could love

the blunt

and not

the point

we would

almost constantly

have what we want.

What is the 

blunt of this

I would ask you

our conversation

weeding up

like the Sargasso.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York, 2010.

WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH

 (4 of #100)

9:08 p.m.

It was overcast again today, so Fox spent the greater part of the day like this. As always, a paragon and picture of grace.

I started the day late, sleeping in as I could today. Janet did not have to get to The Domineers (her crony group of domino players) and I had no appointments. I had an intention to make coffee and then spend a concentrated hour of reading but somehow that never materialized. I did spend some time reading Deborah Madison's Local Flavors. I love her approach and clear recipes. As usual, I marked some recipes that I will likely never get around to making.

Janet hit the hay about an hour ago. This concerns me as she didn't do anything all day, mostly resting. She has a hard time getting absorbed by anything on tv. It all dismays and disgusts her. I forced her to watch some of the first episode of The Handmaid's Tale as I am considering watching the whole thing from the beginning. I think there is a new season starting soon and I find I forget quite a bit between seasons.

There are five essential Domineers. E&D are a younger married couple who met the oldsters at the Senior Center. I don't have their whole story but for some reason E can't work. They are practicing Roman Catholics and often bring their lunch in a Ronald Reagan Library bag. Shocking, I know, that I have come to like these people although I would probably be infuriated should I know the depths of their conservatism. But they are very nice to my mom. They sort of act as sheep dogs for the older Domineers who can be like a bunch of cats in a bag. 

JR lost his wife around 2008 and met JC at another Senior Center lunch. JC had also lost his wife recently, so they became buddies. JR might be the most irascible human I currently know. JC loves to make puns, give out his business card, and pretend he is Superman. He tells the same bad jokes every time I see him. Is that an old coot thing, the need for repetitive,[did you ever notice that "repetitive" has a kind of repetitive spelling?] predictable answers to questions? I have another dear friend who invariably cites "It will be in the last place you look" at any time you cannot immediately put your hands on something. Old coots of my dear acquaintance, look deep into your hearts.

JR is smitten with Janet. A couple of years ago she drawled, "It's a good thing I am not a gold digger. I could get JR to marry me in a minute." And their flirtatious dance continues. He asked he to go to Vegas with him and E&D. I am all for octagenarian/nonagerian romance (I have hopes, not optimism, to take part in that myself). But JR is not in good health himself and Janet needs more care and support than her participation in dominoes might show. I am pretty sure JR is drawn to her still bodacious body (if you really really like tits) as well as her lifelong ingrained need to flirt. (More on that another time.) 

E&D, and JC have been after me to teach yoga to them so we had our first "meeting" yesterday. JR is vehemently against this. Now that Maison d'ete is presentable and there is actually room for some chairs, we set a date for next Tuesday. And, I finally get my cortisone shot for my bad knee so that exercise will be possible again. The heat is on for me to design my first class.

Blossom from my new Black Tulip Magnolia. Blooming season is pretty much over, but it is growing like crazy.

THE PIECES THAT FALL TO EARTH

One could

almost wish

they wouldn’t;

they are so

far apart, 

so random.

One cannot

wait, cannot

abandon waiting.

The three or

four occasions

of their landing

never fade.

Should there

be more, there

will never be

enough to make

a pattern

that can equal

the commanding

way they matter.

DON’T LOOK BACK

This is not

a problem

for the neckless.

Fish cannot

recklessly

swivel their heads

to check

on their fry;

no one expects

this. They are

torpedoes of

disinterest,

compact capsules

that rely

on the odds

for survival,

unfollowed by

the exact and modest

number of goslings

the S-necked

goose is—

who if she

looks back

acknowledges losses

and if she does not

also loses.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York 2010

If you don't hear from me for a few days, make someone come and check. I think the cats are planning an assassination attempt soon. They are swarming me, knocking things over, and Nina is currently hung around my neck. I am going to have to make more desk space for them to oversee me and get some supervisory input.

Lots of Allman Brothers and Etta James coming up on the shuffle tonight.

 

ONE CANNOT GO FORWARD SOMETIMES

 3 of  #100

9:59 a.m. 

Start with Boz Scaggs singing Skylark. A good place to start or end at any time.

Nina is still trying to get through the barely-cracked-open window. Once they have been fed, I have brewed my espresso, and sat down at the desk, they are all trying to get in a pretty small space. Having thrown Fox down a bit ago, he is behind me on the floor making the occasional mournful miao, As usual, McCoy is late to the party and has just arrived to see if he can't succeed where Nina failed.

When I got these kitties, I was very stressed about the Floyd murder and everything else going on. I listened to a lot of Nina Simone, particularly Young, Gifted, and Black, and Mississippi Goddamn. Nina is named for Nina Simone. She certainly shares that "don't mess with me" vibe. McCoy is named for McCoy Tyner, pianist with the John Coltrane Quintet as well as his solo work. I likes me some mid-60s jazz piano. Could have named him for Wynton Kelly, but as Tyner had recently died I went that way. Also, given my ridiculous and somewhat regrettable penchant for pottery, it had the secondary meaning of McCoy pottery.

Fox was named so because of his fluffy coloring as well as being the first male to be inducted into the household, thus Fox in the Henhouse.

It's an overcast and lightly windy day (is there a word for between breezy and windy?). Here's what I look at. Another mess. That bougainvillea is planning to take over the world. You can't really see the many artichokes as they are blocked by the tangelo tree that is competing with the bougainvillea and the damned passion fruit. I think of that conglomerated tangle as the green monster. Getting a good trim on that is high on the priority list, however, I am still paying off the work I had done on the library (electrical and the beautiful bookcases).

THE PASS

Even in climes

without snow

one cannot go

forward sometimes

Things test you.

You are part of

the Donners or

part of the rescue:

a muleteer in

earflaps; a

formerly hearty

Midwestern farmer

Perhaps. Both

parties trapped

within sight

of the pass.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, New York, Grove Press, 2010

8:44 p.m.

I have to take a bunch of books I haven't finished back to the library, but I had to dip in here to note that McCoy has the bladder of a human. I don't think of him as a large kitty, but maybe I am still seeing him through Baby Mama eyes. Rather impressive if you don't have to clean up after him.

11:42 p.m.

Books returned. There were many I had not even cracked. I did start Race and Reunion: The Civil War in American Memory, Kent State: Four Dead in Ohio,  A Square Meal: A Culinary History of the Great Depression, and Higher Ground: Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Curtis Mayfield, and the Rise and Fall of American Soul, but did not get too much reading traction in any of them. Race and Reunion is fascinating but a hard read. A Square Meal is quite interesting. I will likely go back to a few of them.

Not much of a day for meditating and contemplating. I woke up on the late side. Janet's friends came over to play dominoes. Three of them are eager to have me teach them yoga, so, as they were here early, we had an impromtu meeting about it. I agreed to start next Tuesday, which gives me ample time to prepare a 30-minute class and have my first cortisone shot in the crappy knee. 

I finally got around to having an eye examination and ordering new glasses as I broke the last good pair. I find it unjust that those of us who have terrible version and require complicated prescriptions have to pay so much. Even with a discount afforded by my health insurance, my new pair cost me $320. I still need a pair of reading glasses to the tune of $380 and my cool sunglasses need new lenses that will be another $350. Just wrong.

I think sleep is in order. I often say that. Maybe the elusive Idrisse will sleep with me again. 

STILL NO SUBSTITUTE

(2 of #100)

8:45 a.m.

Much to my surprise, the tortoise shell kitty is still around. Her folks or nearby folks built a shed in the corner of their backyard so there she crouches, closer to the birds than my kitties are. The window near the desk is open a crack. Nina is digging through the pile of papers in the hopes that she can get far enough to get out. Guess I should just get to cleaning the desk.

My first Itoh peony. Not like the peonies back home but still ...

8:18 p.m.

HELP

Imagine help

as a syllable

awkward but utterable.

How would it work

and in which distress?

How would one gauge

the level of duress

at which to pitch

the plea? How bad

would something

have to be?

It's hard

coming from a planet

where if we needed something

we had it.

— Kay Ryan, The Best of It: New and Selected Poems, Grove Press, New York 2010

I found my Kay Ryan volume, so looks as if things are moving more into place. I never did get my desk all that organized today, but I did get some gardening done, so I feel as if progress were made. Those weeds and gophers do not quit, damn it. And then there is my problem of getting high on the pretty colors of flowers and end up overbuying plants, particularly bulbs, which I don't get around to planting in a timely way.

McCoy and Fox are taking up valuable surface area as they hunt the moths pounding against the window. McCoy is the more serious hunter, Fox just never wants to be left out of the action. 

McCoy, beaming with apparent normalness.

I woke up this morning with Heart's Barracuda slamming an earworm. Not the most pleasant wake-up music in your head. 

11:33 p.m.

Had to take a bath and then answer some emails. I know many of you will find that rare of late, but now that I have "a room of my own" or at least a place to sit and think, keeping up in a timely matter should be an easier matter. Who knows? Perhaps I will even send cards and greetings on time as well. 

I returned to Off the Record: An Oral History of Popular Music for part of my bathtime reading. Although I am nearing the end, it is due tomorrow with no more renewals, so I will just have to go through the dance again. The Brooklyn Public Library would let you check out books and renew up to 99 times unless someone requested it. I miss walking the stacks, but I could just as well walk the stacks in my house. 

Anywho, Ry Cooder (Yahweh) was interviewed for this book and, no surprise, is as insightful and amusing as his guitar work. 

"I mean, if anybody at Santa Monica High School even thought about music, they probably thought about surf music and the Beach Boys because that was the music that was happening then. We were the Pepsi Generation. We had surfing and records and dances and a certain style of clothes. Kids were acknowledging that music existed, but I could see it was a low grade experience for them.

I really knew something about music. I could play it, I had seen other people play it. It was very real for me. To them, it was accompaniment, something you listened to while you ate lunch."

I second that. Sometimes I feel like a dog, just picking up on frequencies that must folks either don't hear nor care to listen for. 

He snores, too.

My mind has always remained on the music and on the development of music. It's like Dizzy Gillespie said, "You don't learn your instrument. You advance on it, but you never finish." Great players develop, they're not hatched. The idea that I'm some guitar hero who looks a certain way, plays a certain way, and is a certain way has very little to do with the people who seriously pursue music and their instruments.

I think we've come around now to a point where the reaction to what I call "haircut music" has to take place. I mean, how much of it can you stand? Teenagers will virtually anything you throw at them. If you promote it right, they'll go for it.

There are very few of us dinosaurs that can get up on stage and, by God, "play" it. These "haircut" guys just can't play it. They need their cartridges and programs and tape to make their shit work.

So, there's still no substitute for a guy who can get up and really play. That's the one thing people will always respond to.

— Ry Cooder, Off the Record: An Oral History of Popular Music

Interesting, for the likes of me to think about. I have never really responded to electronica much (like Elastica though and Stereolab?), but will walk across hot coals and spend my last dollar for music that is real. 

I need to sleep. I got so wired last night that I was up until 2 and then work up before 8. I did get in an awesome and rare 3-hour nap today. Thank you for your encouraging comments. I will get my groove back. I leave you with McCoy's soft, spotted belly.

THE MYSTERY DOORS HAVE BEEN OPENED (1 of #100)

6/8/20

I’d worked for years and had managed to get by on my salary. I’d tried to save a little, and paid for what I bought in installments. You get used to living at a certain standard, and your whole life is spent struggling to maintain that standard. You’ve already eaten into your future salary with your credit card and installment plans. Once you got caught in that trap, it became almost impossible to change your life.

—Zulufu Livaneli, Serenade for Nadia

And then came the coronavirus.

And then came the Depression of 2020.

And then came the BLM protests.

Things looked a bit different.

4/19/21

Indeed, things are different.

My pal Debee H and I decided to do the #100 challenge, she for art, me for writing. I didn't even know that I could still sign in to this blog. So, things will be rusty.

I stopped writing the day that my beloved kitty, Oona Minnie Pearl Moonlight, was eaten by coyotes. I found her head and her tail. I stopped gardening that day as well. I grieve her to this minute.

In my ill-considered grief and my despair at the political world, particularly BLM, I got THREE NEW CATS. As I said, ill-advised. But with everything askew in the world, I was desperate for distraction and comfort. 

Finding a cat to adopt during the Covid pandemic was quite competitive. I spent a lot of time on Petfinder even trying ot get on lists for particular kitties. I have tried over the years to find kitties to bond with my mother, to try to replace her much-beloved Ariel, but none of the cats has shown particular preference to her. 

I guess there is no reason to natter on about cat adoptions. Now we have five as Emmylou, my bestest New York kitty, was euthanized in January due to congestive heart failure. Last summer, when the young ones arrived, I euthanized Butterscotch who far outlived her cancer prognosis. Four cats within twelve months were gone.

Later onto the next morning.

This feeble attempt at writing counts for my first day. I've been having all sorts of trouble figuring out how to sign in again. 

I haven't been reading so much, although I am (finally) almost finished with Frida in America which I have greatly enjoyed. I always like to have a book about music going that I dip into. The current read is Joe Smith's Off the Record: An Oral History of Popular Music. (You can listen to some of these interviews here.)

"By the time you're forty or fifty, your life is largely what it is going to be, and I think that is a crushing blow to a lot of people once they find that out. Your job is what it is, your kids are who they are, your home is where you made it, you have a mortgage, and you became what you were going to be. Physically you may be losing your hair, slowing down a bit, and in need of some major dentistry, but basically a lot of the mystery doors have been opened and the contents are clearly there. Unfortunately, a lot of people look at that and fold up."

— James Taylor, Off the Record

I know. Who would imagine that I would quote James Taylor as I largely eschew him, but here he makes some interesting points. I struggle with this being the end of my life constantly. That I am out of the job market, that I was never very successful ... yada yada yada. I'm still trying to find some ... optimism? Optimism is less Romantic than Hope.

 

No Kay Ryan tonight as I can barely keep my eyes open.

See ya real soon.