Mosaic

It's difficult to settle down and write an extended posting, when life is so interesting. So here are a few bits and pieces, shiny thoughts that distracted me today while I skimmed and skittered through my various social networking sites.

Dance (from Facebook)

A high school classmate quoted William Butler Yeats: "Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!" which, in turn, reminded me of the Celtic variation on a 19th century Shaker tune, Simple Gifts,

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!

I love the idea of the deity as a dancer, joyous and brimming with vitality.


Conferences (from a librarian ListServ)
An academic library assistant wrote:

I am in the process of applying for scholarship funds to attend the ALA conference in Chicago from little old New Zealand.  I need to justify why I should go, the benefits of attending for myself and others in libraries as well as education in general and what I'm likely to get out of it.

My response was:

I would say the number one benefit for me is the face-to-face networking. That helps me to deepen understanding of, and forge new collaborations with, professional colleagues from around the world. Sessions can be viewed virtually, but nothing compares to being able to carry on an extended conversation with someone whose ideas help expand your thinking. Social networking helps me to maintain relationships, but meeting f2f is what expands them, turning acquaintances into friends and learning partners.

How would you have replied?

Grandparenting (inspired by various blog postings and articles shared online)
One of my chief "distractions" these days is my new granddaughter. She is surrounded by books and toys and boasts an extensive wardrobe. But, more importantly, her world is filled with people who love and cherish her. Morgan will always have literature, and technology will be part of her life; her digital footprint began when she was a tiny entity, months before her birth day. Our baby will have what she needs to survive and thrive, physically and mentally. It makes me even more aware that this is not universally the case.


Embedded Librarianship (from Facebook, Twitter, Plurk, Flickr, email)
Opportunities abound for "retired" folks like me to remain active and involved in library pursuits, both formally (collaborating on a White Paper for AASL, helping to plan Fall Forum) and informally (gathering, creating, and sharing resources for friends and colleagues on a variety of topics). I have the gift of time now, and still enjoy a reference challenge. Being a librarian is a lifetime job, and I love it!


Photography (from Flickr, Twitter, Facebook, Skype)

 Part of the aforementioned embedding is sharing my passion for photography. I've Skyped into classrooms to answer students' questions about taking, editing, and sharing photos. My Flickr tagging sometimes results in interesting interactions. I've been contacted about locating headstones in area cemeteries for amateur genealogists; fielded requests for permission to use my shots on various websites (most of my photos are Creative Commons licensed); received inquiries about my availability as a wedding photographer (that was a "no" - too much responsibility!) and a free-lance operative (maybe). Most fun of all has been hearing from "long lost" cousins on Facebook. We initially connected on the Troy, NY Memories page and have since shared information and images of our common ancestors.


Quotations (from social networking sites and Google searches)
I love a good quote, frequently pairing them with my 366 photos. So I will leave you with some thoughts about "journeys"

"It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end." -Ursula K. Le Guin

"We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls." -Anais Nin

"One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things." -Henry Miller

"Not all those who wander are lost." -J. R. R. Tolkien

"Twirling Princess" by dmcordell
"Heaven: Morgan and Grandma" by dmcordell
"The Balthazard Family" by dmcordell
"Walk in the woods" by dmcordell

A Portion of Thyself

"Box with Gift" by Robo Android

It's that time of year when many people are searching for that perfect gift for someone special. Why not take the opportunity to do more than exchange "stuff;" why not exchange - and create - memories?

Here are some suggestions that will help you tap into the power of storytelling:

Charms and Jewelry
Among my mother's bits of jewelry was a charm bracelet, which my daughter now wears with an extender, as a necklace. Each tiny gold object represents a person, place or event. I enjoyed sharing the history of this heirloom with her as we remembered a dearly loved relative.

There are a number of popular charm bracelet options available, so if you haven't inherited such a piece, you can begin creating one now.


Lockets and Ornaments
Personalizing objects with images is a lovely way to remember special occasions and share family portraits with future generations. Either purchase a frame and insert your own photo, or visit a site like Zazzle to design and order customized items.


Audio Recordings, Books and Albums
Why not interview a grandparent, or just capture random musings about your childhood and days gone by? You can purchase picture books that will "record a story" in your own voice; fotobabble, where users create "talking photos," provides a free alternative.

There are dozens of sites where it is possible to write a book or collect photographs for private publication. It might be fun to include family members in the creation process rather than just present them with a finished product. Photos can also be share in a physical album, on a CD or archived in a website or wiki. Please remember to label and tag as much as you can!


Artifacts
When the urge to declutter hits (maybe a New Year's resolution?), select and share both objects and their stories with others. My family has had fun reminiscing about clothing, toys, household items, and, of course, books and photos. I treasure my mother's WAC dog tags and her apron.....the tiny bib overalls that both my children wore as babies... some of my father's WWII aviation instruments and one of the soft and snowy handkerchiefs he always carried with him. Sometimes the plainest, most ordinary things trigger the dearest memories.


The Gift of Time
American essayist and poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, said that “The greatest gift is a portion of thyself.” Although presents add to holiday merriment, making a conscious effort to spend time with those you love is the greatest gift of all.

Share your stories, help others create their own stories.

“You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.” -Kahlil Gibran

Aerial Dead Reckoning: E 6-B

It all started with the snow storm...

Since I've been posting 365 Project photos of ice and snow for the past few days, I decided to look for something from inside our home to feature today, for a change of pace.

When my siblings and I cleaned out our parents' home this fall, I ended up with an assortment of mementos. I've begun scanning pictures, starting with my father's WWII album. In addition to the photographs, I saved some other artifacts.

Today, my attention was caught by a gadget in a leather case, a U.S. Army Air Force "Computer: Aerial, Dead Reckoning" tool. A little research yielded a huge amount of information.

My initial keywords were "Aerial Dead Reckoning;" then I zeroed in on "E-6B."

I learned that this pocket computer is actually a circular slide rule:

"These flight computers are used during flight planning (on the ground before takeoff) to aid in calculating fuel burn, wind correction, time en route, and other items. In the air, the flight computer can be used to calculate ground speed as well. The back is designed for wind correction calculations, i.e., determining how much the wind is affecting one's speed and course." -Wikipedia

Included in the results, I found a forum discussion, an instruction manual, and an aviation blog with a photo of Dr. Spock using an E 6-B! There's a YouTube how-to clip, and a book that serves as both a history and a tutorial. Modern versions of the E6-B are still being sold to pilots, although the case is now vinyl, not leather.

After his discharge from service, my father studied engineering, graduated from RPI, and became a metallurgist (how I loved to fill that in on school forms asking for your parents' occupations!) for the General Electric Company. I'd like to think that this fascinating little metal "whiz wheel" contributed to his survival during wartime, and fueled his lifelong interest in science and mathematics.

A snowy day treasure hunt yielded a sweet little reminder of my family history.



"My eyes are dim I cannot see, I have not got my E-6B with me, over the Valley of the Ruhr." (World War II USAAC ditty)

"His computer is the instrument on which he stakes his life ... Don’t ask for his computer, for he’d sooner lend his wife." (Navigator's Song, 1943)


Related posts:
The Navigator's Daughter

"Computer: Aerial Dead Reckoning" by dmcordell
"Over the Atlantic" by dmcordell

Holiday Greetings

Christmas Past...




Christmas Present...




I don't know what Christmas Future will hold, except that it will be infinitely better for your presence in it.

To Family and Friends, both near and far: Have a Merry Christmas and a Joyous New Year!

Magic Mirrors

History can be defined as "the aggregate of past events," but also as "the discipline that records and interprets past events involving human beings."

It's the human element which sometimes gets lost.

I've recently come across two options for exploring family histories, one digital, the other, at least in its initial stages, very low tech.

Our local newspaper shared a project called "the memory jar." According to blogger Carol McDowell, of Burlington, Vermont, "the best Christmas gift" she ever received started with a jar full of questions and a journal in which to record the answers. McDowell placed 52 slips of paper, each with its own question, in a decorated Mason jar and asked 89-year-old Ruth McDowell to answer one each week, then return the completed journal to her granddaughter for a Christmas gift.

"My grandmother loves to tell stories, so she not only did the questions, she pasted in old pictures and newspaper bits that she had saved. I ended up with a most cherished piece of her that I probably would never had known and she enjoyed every minute of doing it."

While McDowell's project involved paper and pen, a new website, Proust, offers the opportunity to digitally archive the same sort of information.





Still in beta, Proust aims to help people "discover stories you never knew about your family and friends, gain insights you'll long cherish, and enjoy sharing your own memories." A few of the sample questions might seem a bit trite: What did your mom always pack in your lunch? but such details make up the fabric of a person's life and may, in fact, serve as the key to unlock deeper truths.

Proust is a free service; information is kept private, only shared with chosen family members and friends. Individuals can use questions from the site or substitute their own queries, with the option of adding images or video clips.


The Memory Jar project and Proust share a common goal: to capture and preserve personal history. Imagine the power of combining the two! Ms. McDowell could record reminiscences in her grandmother's own voice, scan the fragile clippings and photos, and preserve them all on Proust. Not only would they then be accessible to other family members, but there would be less danger that these artifacts might be lost or destroyed.

As the holidays approach, why not plan to initiate a Family History project, whether on Proust, Voicethread, Flickr or elsewhere? Create a gift that will have value long after the ornaments and tinsel have been packed away.



"Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present and future." -Gail Lumet Buckley


"If one could make alive again for other people some cobwebbed skein of old dead intrigues and breathe breath and character into dead names and stiff portraits. That is history to me!" -George Macaulay Trevelyan








"23 Reasons" by ShawnMichael
"Mom, WWII" by dianecordell

In My Grandfather's Voice: Found Poetry

A few weeks ago, I saw a comment on Twitter from Mary J. Johnson, The Primary Source Librarian:



I visited the Library of Congress Primary Source Set that Mary had recommended, then did some background research.

By definition, a "found poem" is a composition made by combining fragments of such printed material as newspapers, signs, or menus, and rearranging them into the form of a poem. Found poetry is fancifully described as the literary equivalent of a collage. In its purest form, found poetry uses only the original text, without alterations or deletions.

There are a number of lesson plans available online that focus on creating found poetry, including

• Creating Found Poetry from Picture Books
• Student Challenge: Create a New York Times 'Found Poem'
• Recasting Language Through Found Poetry
• Enhancing a Poetry Unit with American Memory (LOC)

My own foray into found poetry was inspired by some papers I found in my late father's office. Dad's parents, my grandparents, were Italian immigrants. They worked hard, found their version of the American Dream, and proudly became U.S. citizens.

Just prior to the outbreak of WWI, my grandfather had to return to Italy to settle an estate. Unable to leave the country once war was declared, Grandpa was given a choice: enlist in the Italian army, or be shot as a spy! He opted for the former, and served his time, while Grandma managed the family and their businesses. While far from home and loved ones, he kept a journal.

At some point, a photocopy of this document came into my father's possession, along with a translation of a few of the entries from their original Italian. On these pages, I see my grandfather's beautiful script and hear the loneliness and longing in his words.

Here are a selection of "found poems" in my grandfather's voice:

I. Malachin

Last night
at the usual hour
we had a roll call
of the 13th squad
and everybody was present
except for one soldier,
Malachin.
He is a country boy
and he likes to drink wine.
This evening
he is still missing
and nobody knows
where he is
or if anything happened to him.
The Commandant of the platoon
ordered us
to look for him
for some time
and at 11 pm
he was declared a deserter.
Pity for him.

II. Mail Call

The mail came this morning,
but for me, nothing.
I write almost every day,
but for me always nothing.
Word goes around
that in a few days
we have to advance,
and we hope
that God will keep us
in good health and safe,
so we can be together and
I think about my loved ones a lot...a lot.

III. Cold

The icy air really
cuts your face
and freezes your feet.
Just in a few minutes,
your feet
are not just frozen
but like marble.
The night is beautiful,
with so many stars,
a night for lovers!
The stars shine so
brilliantly
in the sky.
If a poet were here,
he would write
some beautiful
poetic words.
I look at my watch
and the time is 2 am.
We have to stay up
for another 3 hours
with this
tremendous cold air
and we feel
the nervousness
of the time.

IV. Battle

We hear the sound
of battle
gunfire,
machine gun fire
and even the air
smells of
gun powder.
We also hear soldiers calling for help
and, to top it all off,
is the feeling
of insecurity,
the end of this
messy and gory raid.
The potent
machine gun light
sweeps across the land
and everything is dead silent.
But this time
the light has a
companion
from the other side,
and it seems that
it is a duel
between the
two giant lights.
Our light is
searching
and the enemy light
tries to confuse us.
After a while,
the lights from both sides
go off.
No winners.



"Grandpa's Journal" by dmcordell

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Mom & Me 1948

Some things never change, especially a mother's love.

Ellen, Mom, and Me 2007

Merry Christmas!

Holiday greetings from our family to you and your loved ones!

Adventures in Art

Original sculpture "Politeness Counts" by Jonathan Seliger. 2004 (Auto body enamel on aluminum)

Last April, I featured a guest posting, Fly on Your Heavy Feet. The author, my older child and only daughter, does not have a public blog but continues to entertain and enlighten family and friends via her private Flickr account. She and I periodically share adventures, and this weekend we spent some time at the Tang, on the Skidmore College campus. With permission, I'm sharing her description of our visit to this gallery.


We were greeted outside the entryway by an enormous paper bag! ("Politeness Counts" by Jonathan Seliger) The draw for me and Mom had been William Blake's illustrations, on loan from the Special Collections of the library, but along our way to Blake we were knocked out/intrigued by Oliver Herring's Me Us Them exhibit and the Tim Rollins and KOS retrospective.

The first works we encountered in Oliver Herring's exhibit were knitted sculptures ("Queensize Bed with Coat") and wall hangings (“An Age for Hands”) made of shiny mylar. My eyes feasted, mom's fingers itched to touch - she being an accomplished knitter, me being a crow who likes shiny things, we had an equal, but right differently informed, appreciation of the art! There was a video piece on multiple TVs ("Little Dances of Misfortunes") - I saw passing moments of abstract art, wild shapes created from the play of green light on people moving and at rest - but liked the tinkling music best of all.

The rest of Herring's works sprung from photography. Me and Mom are both compulsive picture takers so we loved this. Herring made still images live, to me, by rearranging, embellishing and, most revelatory for me and Ladybird, bringing photos to the third dimension. So there were pictures painted over with vines, leaves and flowers; sets where a photo has an absence, like a cut-out eye, the eye reappearing pasted-over a different picture; photos where the careful use of cutting created designs from the absence, around the pic's subject.

But it was the photo sculptures which were undeniably our favorites. Taking untold amounts of cut-up photos, crafted onto a frame and sheets of styrofoam, Herring made life-size sculptures of a woman (”Gloria”), an eagle, and a naked man (made twice, facing himself). I have no idea how much planning and work this must be, because they were all wonderfully proportionate, and grew more beautiful under a hard stare, when you'd think they'd get more eerie and disjointed. Little details, like bits of picture of hair actually curling out from the head, or a necklace flat on the neck in one section of photo cut out and drawn from the body at another angle- done so seamlessly I didn't notice till Diane pointed it out - just filled me with a quiet amazement. I looked into the naked man's eyes for a while. I always think, when seeing figurative sculpture, that the people are a moment away from drawing in a breath - I guess a lot like thinking your dolls walk and talk when you're not looking, in childhood - so this combination of photography and sculpture was fascinating to take in.

Looking for Blake, we stumbled (down the rabbit hole) into the Tim Rollins and KOS (Kids of Survival) retrospective. Passing a table scattered with tasty books- Alice in Wonderland, Dracula, Kafka - seeing paintings of Frankenstein and Moby Dick, we quickly realized that all of the works were inspired by classic lit, and most used actual book pages as their canvas.

"In August 1981, Tim Rollins, then twenty-six years old, was recruited by George Gallego, principal of Intermediate School 52 in the South Bronx, to develop a curriculum that incorporated art-making with reading and writing lessons for students who had been classified as academically or emotionally 'at risk.' Together, Rollins and his students developed a collaborative strategy that combined lessons in reading and writing with the production of works of art. In a process they call 'jammin,' Rollins or one of the students reads aloud from the selected text while the other members draw and relate the stories to their own experiences. Their signature style was born as Rollins and K.O.S. began producing works of art on the pages of these books cut out and laid in a grid on canvas. Rollins and K.O.S. have produced paintings, prints, photographs, and sculpture based on literary texts such as Franz Kafka’s Amerika, Harriet Jacob's Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and musical scores, including The Creation by Franz Joseph Haydn. In 1985, they adopted the name 'Tim Rollins and Kids of Survival.'' -Tang calendar

In a little offshoot of a room, I was faced with a blank canvas and logs scattered on the floor. Just when my mind was about to shut itself against the impenetrability of this, I looked down at a log near my foot and saw eyes staring up at me. I was in love. While I read the sign and realized I'd just met Pinocchio, my mother walked towards the big blank canvas and told me I should, too. A few steps closer... and there was Alice! Somewhere, somehow, between the pages of Alice in Wonderland forming the background, and the gleaming white paint of the foreground, the artist had hidden Carrol's sketch of Alice, from the handwritten version of the story he first gave to Alice Pleasance Liddell. And I almost missed it by not seeking, by being closed minded!

Other then those two, which I loved with the religious-zest that sometimes comes upon me, there was a piece with ribbons, based on "Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl" I liked. I would've looked at that and others, like Midsummer Night's Dream, the Holy Bible tower and works sprung from Homer, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, if there hadn't been a particularly enthusiastic student docent expounding on everything to a tour group, at a volume so high I couldn't think straight to experience anything!

Me and Mom found quiet, and Blake, finally, in a little side hallway near the entrance, representing the Marriage of Heaven and Hell exhibition. I can't look at anything Blake without thinking of two things: the tree of angels he saw when he was a young boy,

"bright angelic wings bespangling every bough like stars"

and lines from Mary Oliver's poem The Swan,

"…Said Mrs Blake of the poet: /I miss my husband’s company/ He is so often in paradise."

Mom, while a student in London, saw the originals of Blake's art at the Tate. In the Tang we viewed prints from rare books, as opposed to actual woodcuts or sketches. The KOS take on Blake's poem The Sick Rose, from Songs of Experience, lined a wall facing a small book of his poems in a case. The KOS paintings were all little watercolors, reminding me of the insides of geodes Mom and I saw at Natural Stone Bridge and Caves last summer. We both enjoyed the way Blake made his Satan snake (just like Indiana, Mom, usually, hates snakes); thought the D'aulaires must have been very inspired by him, as his God and Job look a lot like their Zeus; saw illustrations from Night Thoughts, a book I'd just seen mentioned as reading material of Emily Dickinson's father, in the bio of her (My Wars are Laid Away in Books by Alfred Habegger) I began after me and Mom saw Belle of Amherst a few weeks ago, at the Charles R Wood Theater of Downtown GF, motherland!

On our way out we stopped to see if they had a catalog of Oliver Herring's exhibit; they didn't, but the lady told us that next week he was staging a participatory work of art in Saratoga, which we could sign up for if we wanted: TASK, an improv piece. The artist has said in an interview that TASK pieces, are

"...almost a game—a reality game. I set up basic rules, such as 'don't leave the parameters of the stage.' I provide a bunch of props. In the case of TASK, I write a bunch of simple tasks in order to get the performance going. Each one goes in an envelope and is put in a task pool, and the performance starts with each participant taking an envelope, opening it, and trying to fulfill that task. Once they’re done, they each write a new task, put it back in the task pool, grab a new task, and go on with business. After the first five or ten minutes, the performance is entirely self-perpetuating. You don’t know what’s going to happen. The rules that I start with are not binding. Anybody could just walk out, or break the rules. But that never really happens. I’m always surprised that there’s no real anarchy—only staged anarchy."

I was intrigued, but since it's an investment of at least 8 hour's time decided not to apply! On the way to the car I had that fun perception of everything as art - garbage on the melting snow, puddles, shouting rugby players. Art, art that engages, art that turns you off, what is it all really but looking and seeing whatever is appearing before you? And by seeing it from the eyes of your own little world, making it something more - art?

Looking Back

It was a very good year.

In case you're wondering:

January: New MacBook
February: Daughter & her husband with their new Scion xB
March: Elementary students enjoy books in the LMC
April: Forsythia in bloom
May: Tim & I at a wedding on Dunham's Bay, Lake George, NY
June: En plein air painting in our backyard
July: Tim's pictures on display at the Remington Museum, Odgensburg, NY
August: Morning workout at Saratoga Racetrack
September: The family (except for SIL, who had to work) enjoys Tim's retirement cruise
October: View of Lake George from Prospect Mountain
November: Riding a school bus on a field trip to Warrensburg, NY
December: Mom and her new afghan
Center: NECC Librarians' Panel, San Antonio

Christmas Celebration 2008

It's a mixed bag of photos, from Scott's TV appearance to Mom's afghan to Sean's Slinky. A patchwork of memories, fun and good cheer, the best kind of holiday celebration.

Promises to Keep

While visiting my Dad during his last illness, I happened to mention that one of my favorite desserts was "invented" in a local hotel but I had not yet gotten there to sample their version. He made me promise that I'd visit the establishment and indulge in a special treat. "Don't miss opportunities," he said, "or you'll regret it."

That was five years ago.

Last year, my daughter got married and asked me to stand beside her, as her "Mom of Honor." As a thank you gift, she presented me with a beautifully decorated box containing a hand-made (by her) necklace, a book of wildflowers, and a gift certificate to the Cambridge Hotel.

On Saturday, my husband and I traveled to Cambridge for lunch. I enjoyed my apple pie a la mode, and as I ate it, I remembered my father's advice and my daughter's love.

Sweet, indeed.

Kaleidoscope

"I feel a need to pull back from the tools, and gravitate more toward meaning when I write." -Clay Burell, Web Legacies Wrap-Up, 9 Aug 2008


I began my blog in June, 2007, intending it to serve primarily as an online professional journal. Since that tentative and hopeful beginning, I've evolved, and so has Journeys.

While educational issues, like filtering, student blogging, and cyber safety still occupy my thoughts, my writing now is more likely to reflect the life I've lived and the person I'm becoming.

Technology is no longer an add-on. Social networking and other connective tools have helped to forge ties that defy categories: in many cases, my virtual colleagues have become true friends. Tools are...tools. Not the focus but the facilitators.

Both my husband and I are moving towards retirement. All the polished pieces and jagged shards of our experiences are shifting into new patterns, presenting us with choices that we never could have anticipated even a few years ago.

The world is changing, we are changing. The past will continue to influence but not dictate our futures. Hippies and cowboys, poetry and paintings, family and friends will all contribute to our kaleidoscope's colorful compositions.

Visit to Yaddo: A Different Perspective

Today, I'm concluding my mini-series on the Gardens of Yaddo, that I began here, and continued here. My daughter, who accompanies me on many of my local Journeys, has agreed to let me include some of the commentary and photos from her private Flickr set.

Where I tend to focus on "pretty" pictures, she looks for the odd angle or the imperfect but interesting detail. Her narrative contains many imaginative elements:

"One purple flower made me think of Queen Elizabeth I; the blossom grew out from its leaf in a way that reminded me of Gloriana's crowned head framed by a ruff."

"There's lots in literature about magic doors and gardens- in Alice, in the Secret Garden- so we took our time admiring the Gate and ironwork before passing through to the Garden."

While I spent a considerable amount of time trying to capture the beauty of the roses, my daughter turned her artist's sensibilities towards the sculptures:

"I was more excited to visit the statuary than the roses. Brookgreen Gardens...and the Nina Winkel Gallery, hidden away in the Arts building at Plattsburgh, are two of my favorite places in the world. At Brookgreen, especially, my eyes refocused permanently, and now, when I see a figurative sculpture, especially one that has been placed outside, I like to look at it till it's alive. For me, Outside is the only gallery that can truly complement sculpture, or at least in the way I appreciate it."

And when I was patiently waiting for the "perfect shot" of the marble figures, she happily incorporated nature into her compositions:

"Autumn had a bug on her foot and a spider nestled into her sheaves of wheat. Winter, who carried pinecones, had a complex look on her face- hidden thoughts, sleeping dreams. Spring was my favorite, with cheeks that looked rosy despite being marble, and flowers spilling all around. Summer had a mischievous grin and carried grapes."

We did agree in our preference for the informal,
less constrained aspects of the gardens:

"I'm not one much for roses, or formal gardens in general. The arranged flowers were pretty, but I found myself more interested in the beetles and bugs and koi fish then the roses. Those poor koi fish- they live in a fountain in the center of the garden, and got so excited when they saw my shadow that I apologized for not having any food. At one point the biggest milky fish and the biggest red fish hopped up at the same time and kissed on the lips. My first ever pets were two goldfish; they were named Diana and Charles, because they looked like they were kissing sometimes, and the big fairytale royal wedding of their namesakes had just taken place, in 1981."

Her description of "nature's barflies" make me laugh, though I don't
share her enthusiasm for photographing tiny "beasties":

"I spent a lot of time looking at the rugarosa roses- they were crawling with beetles and bees, inchworms and other beasties. The roses almost seemed treacherous, as though the insects couldn't unstick themselves- or maybe they didn't want to. Nature's barflies, closing time at dusk instead of dawn. One big bumblebee in a rose was buzzing loud and frantic; I couldn't figure if it was anger or pollen euphoria."

In the end, we both agreed that the Rock Garden was our favorite:

"Of course I liked this sort of garden more, less obvious artifice to the art. Me and Diane looked at the fountain shooting from a dome of rocks in a pool. She saw a stump that could serve as a fairy house, which made me think of the terrain in little-folk terms: valleys and desserts and forests, the fountain an impossible mountain in a lake. I liked the fuzzy purple flowers that grew with the ferns around the pool."

I've enjoyed reading her commentary, seeing the gardens with other
eyes.

Her vision in not my vision, but that's why our shared expeditions are
so special.


Visit to Yaddo: A Different Perspective

view presentation (tags: saratoga yaddo)

Father's Day 2008

To Tim...

Happy Father's Day!

In Memoriam

He served his country in war...


Completed his own education and encouraged his children to be lifelong learners...


Was a loving husband, father and grandfather...


He has been gone for almost five years now, but he lives as a bright memory in our hearts. I love you, Dad.

She Never Existed Before: Mother's Day 2008

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." -Rajneesh



"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." -Elizabeth Stone

"Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee

Calls back the lovely April of her prime."
-William Shakespeare

Happy Birthday to Me!

Tomorrow, May 6, is my birthday. In lieu of gifts, please share a birthday memory.

Here's mine:

For a party in the 1950s, little girls donned fancy dresses, buckled their patent leather Mary Janes, and played games like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Drop the Clothespin in the Bottle, and Musical Chairs. Gifts might include Colorforms, paper dolls, a Slinky, or a board game like Uncle Wiggily. A lucky girl like me, who had a spring birth date, might receive a shiny new bike or wagon to enjoy as the weather got warmer and we headed outdoors for long afternoons of play.

As a special treat, I was allowed to eat cake for breakfast the next morning, quite a concession for my loving but strict parents to make.

These days, my birthday parties more often take the form of dinner with my husband, two children, and their spouses [my dear son-in-law had to work and missed this outing]. This year's gifts included a gift certificate and a Pilates mat.

My birthdays roll merrily along and each year brings new experiences. This is the first year I've had a blog to celebrate on and Twitter friends to celebrate with.

Isn't life grand!

Fly on Your Heavy Feet

I've never had a guest blogger before, but I felt that this lyrical comment from a very gifted writer - my daughter - deserved to stand alone. [She doesn't have her own blog yet, but I'm trying to remedy that!]


Why would I want to ride my bike?

Most everyone I know had a bicycle at some point in their childhood. Your bike summed up freedom and adventure. Once you had learned to ride it- an accomplishment in and of itself- it was you and you alone who made it move, and you who chose where to go. On your bike, (individualized, most times, with a name, or a basket or streamers or horn or bell or plastic bits on the spokes to click or refract the sunshine), the wide world was even more open to exploration, in a mob or by yourself, with purpose or just fancy free. Being a child of the 80s- and a something of a grup - even now, when I throw a pack on my back and set off on some errand, I can’t help but think of the Goonies, racing away on their bikes to find the Rich Stuff. While we never found quite that much glory (not that we didn’t look), we did discover all sorts of nature’s treasures in odd nooks and wayside puddles; found ruins of the past that made us curious about our world; rode smack into unexpected moments, and love for our community. Chasing the silent magic of hot air balloons overhead. Bones in the gravel, abandoned houses, buying a May basket at the mom and pop down the road, reading in the park. Independence grew from the ground, sparked in the friction of your whirling wheels against the pavement, transferred up from your pedaling feet to your child heart- anything you wished to do, you could do. The simple self-sufficiency of riding to the store with loose change from the sidewalk to get yourself some candy, picking dandelions from cracks in the pavement, returning home sunburnt for dinner.

And someone, probably, and probably someone you loved, gave you that bike, and taught you to ride, releasing this taste of freedom in you, and allowing you to chase it. And, probably, that’s the someone who you returned home to, in the gloaming.

And the feeling of riding your bike. The melding of machines, your body and your bike working in harmony to go go go. Fast or slow, forgetting that you’re riding at all and you feel like you’re floating, or remembering and doing cool jumps, graceful swoops. The burning in your legs up the hill, the exhilaration of coasting down, your lungs filled with rushing wind and your skin tingling with the sensation of soaring. Alert and dreaming, in sunny skies or gray, racing by the houses and trees or stopping to search out a singing bird in the branches. Your back hot and sweaty with lunch in a pack on your back, and a good book, looking for a sunny spot to think, or on your way to work, or to name the wildflowers to yourself, or to see a friend, smelling the clean breeze and the spicy weeds and the sweet lake water, hearing the insects buzz as the sun blazed down, feeling the wind of cars rushing past, dinosaur growls from their fossil fueled engines.

Last spring my (now) husband bought me a bike.

I began taking little rides in the morning, getting up early to birdsong, finding the flowering trees of the neighborhood, seeing deer in the park, buying groceries for dinner. I picked up a free bike trail map. On the weekends I’d plan little adventures, everything I needed in a snail shell on my back: book, phone, scraps of paper and pen, lunch and my camera. Keep your overhead low, as Kerouac said. Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but tire marks. Spring, Summer, Autumn, I rode every extremity of the trail, which spans seven towns. Three I’ve lived in, one I work in, one I was married in, one I hike in, and all I got to know better.

It’s a funny thing, to find yourself living in the same town that you were born and raised in. Everywhere you go your memories wave at you. And sometimes you’ve grown so accustomed to what surrounds you that you’ve become blind to its delights. On my bike, I made friends with home.

Saturday mornings I had a little routine around town. Farmer’s market, starting first with the coffee man, who’d hand me a little cup black and sell me another sack of coffee, so good that I went through it in exactly one week. Then veggies galore by the season, and maybe a sunflower from the flower lady, who provided the bouquets for our wedding, and wildflowers at the tables. Then the bookstore, the library; maybe a museum exhibit, peach champagne from the new wine store, grocery shopping, a yard sale around the corner. I’d run into people, meet people, come across little shops tucked onto streets I’d never been down. Read the historical markers that blur from the car. Asked a farmer how to prepare a beet, discussed violence in the schools at the thrift store, heard about a good book I’d like.

I began to search out local events, find places I’d like to visit, things I’d like to try. I started thinking of the local spots and people as friends, no need for reciprocation. I saw garbage on the trails and grew my own sense of conservationism, weaned myself off plastic bags and unnecessary waste. I grew some pride in my community. I learned that I had stamina. Off my bike, I started hiking with my sister (in law) and loved it; we’ve joined a mountain club and are off on all sorts of adventures now! Assumptions about my own limitations fell off, not to make too cute an analogy, like training wheels. I lost a little shyness, and I learned to love feeling like a creature, dirty and sweaty and wheeling my way down an old canal towline, taking lots of pictures, looking up the history online when I returned home, checking out books from the library about our little patch of world.

When Husband wasn’t working we’d sometimes take bike rides together. We’d explore dirt paths, and find new launch sites to try in our canoe, and fly his toy helicopter, or swim in the public pool. Last autumn we rode our bikes to the little airport to see the hot air balloons going up. Down a big hill, in twilight, suddenly there was a strawberry floating by overhead.

Last summer I often rode my bike to some quiet spot, to think, and work on wedding planning- or, better, to not think or wedding plan at all. On a solo journey to a new avenue of the bike trail that Husband had told me about, I suddenly recognized where I was: riding past the backyard of the house I’d grown up in. The past and present seemed to hum in alignment- here I was, on my bike, and twenty years ago here I was, on my bike. The intervening years flashed by, I saw all sorts of interweavings and funny coincidi, which brought me to the conclusion that, simply, in a nutshell, being grown up is the bee’s knees. And life’s been very good to me.

A few weekends ago Husband and I rode our bikes down that path together, to a big park that is my favorite destination, a beautiful place with a fascinating history. We sat on the benches and shared a sandwich and I mentioned to him that there was a cleanup of the bike trail scheduled, and asked if he’d volunteer with me. Afterwards we went and visited the letterbox hidden in the park. I updated my last entry- which I’d made one week before our wedding.

This weekend, in honor of Earth Day, me and Husband got up bright and early and registered to help with the trail cleanup. It just so happened that we were assigned to that park- and began our work at the benches we’d been sitting on when I mentioned the idea. 6 hours and 16 bags of leaves latter, we’d grown blisters, sunburns, new friends, new plans, and came home feeling good and filthy dirty. I’m pretty sure that I have the best husband in the world.

All this and more came from the bike my husband bought me, that my parents taught me to ride way back.

Why would I want to ride my bike? Hop on one and you’ll know!!

“…Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then - open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.”

-Mary Oliver, ‘Such Singing in the Wild Branches’, from Owl and Other Fantasies


Photo of Bike and guest posting by Daughter of Diane

The Greatest Refreshment in Life

"Love is the greatest refreshment in life." ~Pablo Picasso

According to the Greeting Card Association, an estimated one billion valentine cards are sent each year, making Valentine's Day the second largest card-sending holiday of the year. Here, in words and images, is my Valentine...

to all my real life and online friends...

"The world is round so that friendship may encircle it." -Pierre Teilhard De Chardin

to my children...

"So much of what is best in us is bound up in our love of family." -Haniel Long

and, of course, to my husband...


" Loving is not just looking at each other, it's looking in the same direction." -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

"The most beautiful view is the one I share with you." -Author Unknown

"Many are the starrs I see, but in my eye no starr like thee." -English saying used on poesy rings