Sun,re-heating the accumulated harvests of summer juices, that the body will preserve and store in deep recesses, pantries, and holds of the extraordinary vessel of the human body, getting ready to sail the long journey on the dark, cold abysses of the vast winter ocean.
Breeze, messing up my hair, turning it into tortured sagebrush, strong, gnarled, but flexible bushes, that bend wherever the wind goes.
Salt,in the marine air,bringing over to your face, your nostrils,and then your brain,
all the tales of all the purposeful migrations of salmon,geese,swans,fishermen,
refugees,
all for one single purpose, survival.
Humans thought it fit to invent the concept of purposeless,leisure migration,"voyage".
If we combine both, we get the ideal chemical reaction:
A quest with a purpose, that we enjoy like a leisurely cruise.
One day at a time.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Under the village tree II
Inside the village tree
Now remember what happens under the village tree? Well that was on warm days. Now that the soggy season is here, our characters had to find shelter for the winter. Which they did. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere, that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, produced one of his tricks from under his sleeve: He slowly pulled out a packet of his favorite tobacco, which he gets preferably at our local Ish tribe’s trading post, then took a paper that he placed in a perilous situation between his moustaches, and patiently started rolling the tobacco in a dollar bill – I tried this method, thinking that might be the secret to rolling cigarettes that don’t end up looking like a bazooka, to no avail – I suspect that either he has a secret ingredient or hidden device between his fingers, or I have a missing bolt, since I have not, so far, despite numerous attempts, been able to produce anything even remotely looking like a cigarette. However, so with the paper stuck between his lips, and his beret tilted on his head, making him look like a Basque shepherd, he patiently rolled that very special cigarette, then got up with that slow, retired Basque pace, knelt at the foot of the tree and lit the cigarette.
Then he stated blowing the smoke in a little opening in the tree trunk, which caused the village tree to start expanding. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, kept blowing the smoke inside the trunk, till it grew into a hobbit coffeehouse.
Then each of the regulars that used to hang out under the village tree contributed something to make it cozy for the winter for humans and animals alike: Charity, the creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, brought a couple of lamps; Christa, the other barista, a twiggy creature with doe-like eyes whose long tentacles are forever glued on her cell phone screen, somebody please come and rescue her from this annoying situation, I mean, it’s kind of hard to make coffee with your fingers glued on a cell phone, just try it, that’s a real challenge, man, so Christa brought a few more cushions so we’d feel nice and comfy;
Michelle, the wizard whose house is built around a huge tree, brought some dreams woven with butterflies and hung them inside the village tree; There are also three couches now inside, for the numerous dogs that hang out at the now re-baptized Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree; There is endless supply of dog treats naturally -one has to live up to their standards- , and power cords to plug in the machines that spit out songs and poems, for the barista with a sense of atmosphere has such a daily output now, that one machine isn’t enough to chew, process and regurgitate those poems and songs, especially as Troy the druid also has his own machine that produces songs in Druidic language, which conflicts with the barista with a sense of atmosphere’s machine, that produces songs preferably in the language of Cervantes. So some days you’ll hear, inside Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree, you’ll hear a strange cacophony, that will be the Titans combat, the Celt druids against the Don Quijotes.
Troy the Celt druid will turn his bean roasting machine on, which in turn will, by means of an intricate system of pulleys, trigger the Celt song machine full blast. Needless to say that against that, the barista with a sense of atmosphere, who starts his song machine by turning a handle manually, and has to keep turning it, has no chance in this quixotic pursuit. Especially as he needs to keep serving the precious dark potion with the other hand, and keep blowing the smoke inside the tree, which otherwise would shrink back to its original size.
Where was I? Ah, somebody even brought a giraffe inside the tree. That, I guess, might be a useful means of transportation if the recession isn’t fixed soon, or when the deluge comes.
The great improvement too is the sign; Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree now has several certified bona fide signs, to make sure the hobbits don’t get lost and find their way to their regenerative dark nectar. The installation of those signs hasn’t been a small business, believe me. First there was the positioning, which had to be at a certain precise distance from the village hobbit coffeehouse, to be precise 10.50 mètres. This first odd demand alone gave the druid quite a headache, as he wandered why the code had to use a foreign language. Then the color, shape, size, took months to determine so as to conform to the code. But the worst is yet to come, as the bloody sign tends to have a life of its own and to flip over to “closed” position when it’s supposed to be “open” and vice-versa. Morality, DO NOT trust what you read.
Now remember what happens under the village tree? Well that was on warm days. Now that the soggy season is here, our characters had to find shelter for the winter. Which they did. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere, that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, produced one of his tricks from under his sleeve: He slowly pulled out a packet of his favorite tobacco, which he gets preferably at our local Ish tribe’s trading post, then took a paper that he placed in a perilous situation between his moustaches, and patiently started rolling the tobacco in a dollar bill – I tried this method, thinking that might be the secret to rolling cigarettes that don’t end up looking like a bazooka, to no avail – I suspect that either he has a secret ingredient or hidden device between his fingers, or I have a missing bolt, since I have not, so far, despite numerous attempts, been able to produce anything even remotely looking like a cigarette. However, so with the paper stuck between his lips, and his beret tilted on his head, making him look like a Basque shepherd, he patiently rolled that very special cigarette, then got up with that slow, retired Basque pace, knelt at the foot of the tree and lit the cigarette.
Then he stated blowing the smoke in a little opening in the tree trunk, which caused the village tree to start expanding. Our barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, kept blowing the smoke inside the trunk, till it grew into a hobbit coffeehouse.
Then each of the regulars that used to hang out under the village tree contributed something to make it cozy for the winter for humans and animals alike: Charity, the creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, brought a couple of lamps; Christa, the other barista, a twiggy creature with doe-like eyes whose long tentacles are forever glued on her cell phone screen, somebody please come and rescue her from this annoying situation, I mean, it’s kind of hard to make coffee with your fingers glued on a cell phone, just try it, that’s a real challenge, man, so Christa brought a few more cushions so we’d feel nice and comfy;
Michelle, the wizard whose house is built around a huge tree, brought some dreams woven with butterflies and hung them inside the village tree; There are also three couches now inside, for the numerous dogs that hang out at the now re-baptized Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree; There is endless supply of dog treats naturally -one has to live up to their standards- , and power cords to plug in the machines that spit out songs and poems, for the barista with a sense of atmosphere has such a daily output now, that one machine isn’t enough to chew, process and regurgitate those poems and songs, especially as Troy the druid also has his own machine that produces songs in Druidic language, which conflicts with the barista with a sense of atmosphere’s machine, that produces songs preferably in the language of Cervantes. So some days you’ll hear, inside Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree, you’ll hear a strange cacophony, that will be the Titans combat, the Celt druids against the Don Quijotes.
Troy the Celt druid will turn his bean roasting machine on, which in turn will, by means of an intricate system of pulleys, trigger the Celt song machine full blast. Needless to say that against that, the barista with a sense of atmosphere, who starts his song machine by turning a handle manually, and has to keep turning it, has no chance in this quixotic pursuit. Especially as he needs to keep serving the precious dark potion with the other hand, and keep blowing the smoke inside the tree, which otherwise would shrink back to its original size.
Where was I? Ah, somebody even brought a giraffe inside the tree. That, I guess, might be a useful means of transportation if the recession isn’t fixed soon, or when the deluge comes.
The great improvement too is the sign; Troy the druid’s hobbit coffeehouse inside the village tree now has several certified bona fide signs, to make sure the hobbits don’t get lost and find their way to their regenerative dark nectar. The installation of those signs hasn’t been a small business, believe me. First there was the positioning, which had to be at a certain precise distance from the village hobbit coffeehouse, to be precise 10.50 mètres. This first odd demand alone gave the druid quite a headache, as he wandered why the code had to use a foreign language. Then the color, shape, size, took months to determine so as to conform to the code. But the worst is yet to come, as the bloody sign tends to have a life of its own and to flip over to “closed” position when it’s supposed to be “open” and vice-versa. Morality, DO NOT trust what you read.
Fall is finally spreading its wide wings,
multimorphic clouds in all possible shades of grey
looming over the teal channel pregnant with last night's pouring rain,
reflecting the pearl color of September skies,
a fast current streaming hundreds of diamond necklaces,
iridescent bounty the occasional seagull loops over to gather.
This, today, reconciled me with the Fall.
multimorphic clouds in all possible shades of grey
looming over the teal channel pregnant with last night's pouring rain,
reflecting the pearl color of September skies,
a fast current streaming hundreds of diamond necklaces,
iridescent bounty the occasional seagull loops over to gather.
This, today, reconciled me with the Fall.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Acknowledgement
When the mud starts settling
When the clear water surfaces
When you can see the polished pebbles
And grab them with care,
When you think you can follow the water
To see where the creek goes, and do so without fear,
Then the healing is ahead.
To the Bear, and to the Raven, who showed me the way.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Under the village tree
Under the village tree on certain warm days, the barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, will pull out his writing and music machine that spurts tropical songs in the language of Cervantes, and if you give him two words will sprout rosaries of two minutes poems for you.
-Under the village tree at the round table you will also find Bill the turtle who, carrying his house on his back, was trying to grow a transmission tree out of it, to finally find out that if he wanted the transmission tree to grow in his house, he had to set it down by the Skagit river, for there, and there only, lies the fertile silt that allows Transmission trees to grow and thrive. Transmission trees are a delicate, demanding species to grow, but if you are patient enough and obstinate enough, and God knows Bill the turtle is, then when the Transmission tree finally grows and blooms, it can take you to remote lands planted with guitar trees and song trees, watered daily by children and gypsies.
-Under the village tree you’ll also see Jim and his time machine, a memory box located in a membrane inside his skull, which keeps memories of times gone, the way our grandfathers used to do. If you are there on a good day, Jim will cough up bits of these and make you travel back in time. Jim sometimes brings with him his dog Quila, that has a map of the US on her flanks, which is in a pretty advanced state of decomposition, and stands as a gloomy prophecy.
-Under the village tree, you will find the patron, Troy the druid, who amorously roasts rosaries of dark beads brought by mule from Costa Rica or Brazil, and will tell you of the wizard talents it takes to make the precious beads reach the perfect shade, and how then they turn into a magic nectar. Troy the Druid goes in pair with Charity, a creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, information yet to be verified. You can recognize Charity as she is usually diving into the bamboo forest with a machete, with a slow, patient determination, and every now and then will too, release a sigh of contentment after each battalion of bamboo is topped down.
-Under the village tree you may also encounter Bob the inspired carpenter, who has been busy for ages building the perfect woodshed, a lifetime project requiring lots of thoughtful meditation, patiently gathering and harvesting the materials. Maybe a little Jesus will end up in that woodshed.
-Under the village tree you’ll see John the Greek mariner, who after drinking the dark roast concocted by Troy the druid and artfully served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere who knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, will be transported on a flying carpet to the islands of Greece and Crete, under another village tree with a shot of ouzo, and release a sigh of contentment.
-Under the village tree you’ll also meet Mary-Lou the fairy queen, discreetly elegant, a diaphanous creature with rainbow crystals growing out of her ears and blue sapphire eyes.
-Under the village tree you’ll encounter Fred, the obstinate dazibao writer, who will hand deliver his pages to Troy’s roastery, to be read while sipping the sacred dark nectar made by troy the druid and served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside.
-Under the village tree you will see Pat the tree dweller, who moulds out of his tree gnarled gnome benches that at night will speak all of the forest’s voices and change shapes for the true believers.
-Under the village tree on some days you’ll also see George the gladiator, who never departs of his helmet, even indoors, for whom we should build an arena so he can finally be at peace, maybe on the site of the defunct fishery.
-Under the village tree you’ll meet Janet skullbone,usually arriving there on her silver high horse, an artist who squirts strange iridescent flowers and magic creatures that she brings back from her night dreams, by which means? I have yet to discover.
- Under the village tree, you may, if you're lucky, also see a white haired, white bearded character, Mikie,who's usually either sleepwalking across town or deeply asleep under the tree. But he has a very good reason for that, for he is, - and that's a scoop- a reincarnation of Noah. I know that for a fact since he's just dormant,and otherwise taking care of people's pets, getting them ready for the next deluge.
- Under the village tree you'll often see The Tasmanian devil and his chauffeur, Rick, who has long ago abandoned the idea of wearing his uniform and is easily recognizable by a looong, expandable haircut, -you know, like those Barbie dolls, you pull, and the hair grows- so an expandable haircut, and each week Rick cuts a few of the longest to serve as guitar strings, for as a genuine Gypsie, he posesses a guitar that, equipped with Rick's hair, whines endless ribbons of highly addictive Blues songs. Beware of The Tasmanian Devil though, as while his chauffeur distracts you with his songs, the beast usually sneaks out your bread to bring it home on the deck of his boat, where he started growing a bread tree a few years ago after sneaking out bread from my place, the problem is the bread tree has now grown quite a bit and demands loaves of bread to be fed with, otherwise it threatens to shave Rick's hair, which is his breadwinner. So Rick is condemned to slave labor, nourishing his guitar with his silver hair so it can sing the ribbons of Blues songs, and he has to employ his beast to steal bread to feed the bread tree, otherwise the tree...Life is a vicious circle.
-Under the village tree at the round table you will also find Bill the turtle who, carrying his house on his back, was trying to grow a transmission tree out of it, to finally find out that if he wanted the transmission tree to grow in his house, he had to set it down by the Skagit river, for there, and there only, lies the fertile silt that allows Transmission trees to grow and thrive. Transmission trees are a delicate, demanding species to grow, but if you are patient enough and obstinate enough, and God knows Bill the turtle is, then when the Transmission tree finally grows and blooms, it can take you to remote lands planted with guitar trees and song trees, watered daily by children and gypsies.
-Under the village tree you’ll also see Jim and his time machine, a memory box located in a membrane inside his skull, which keeps memories of times gone, the way our grandfathers used to do. If you are there on a good day, Jim will cough up bits of these and make you travel back in time. Jim sometimes brings with him his dog Quila, that has a map of the US on her flanks, which is in a pretty advanced state of decomposition, and stands as a gloomy prophecy.
-Under the village tree, you will find the patron, Troy the druid, who amorously roasts rosaries of dark beads brought by mule from Costa Rica or Brazil, and will tell you of the wizard talents it takes to make the precious beads reach the perfect shade, and how then they turn into a magic nectar. Troy the Druid goes in pair with Charity, a creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, information yet to be verified. You can recognize Charity as she is usually diving into the bamboo forest with a machete, with a slow, patient determination, and every now and then will too, release a sigh of contentment after each battalion of bamboo is topped down.
-Under the village tree you may also encounter Bob the inspired carpenter, who has been busy for ages building the perfect woodshed, a lifetime project requiring lots of thoughtful meditation, patiently gathering and harvesting the materials. Maybe a little Jesus will end up in that woodshed.
-Under the village tree you’ll see John the Greek mariner, who after drinking the dark roast concocted by Troy the druid and artfully served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere who knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, will be transported on a flying carpet to the islands of Greece and Crete, under another village tree with a shot of ouzo, and release a sigh of contentment.
-Under the village tree you’ll also meet Mary-Lou the fairy queen, discreetly elegant, a diaphanous creature with rainbow crystals growing out of her ears and blue sapphire eyes.
-Under the village tree you’ll encounter Fred, the obstinate dazibao writer, who will hand deliver his pages to Troy’s roastery, to be read while sipping the sacred dark nectar made by troy the druid and served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside.
-Under the village tree you will see Pat the tree dweller, who moulds out of his tree gnarled gnome benches that at night will speak all of the forest’s voices and change shapes for the true believers.
-Under the village tree on some days you’ll also see George the gladiator, who never departs of his helmet, even indoors, for whom we should build an arena so he can finally be at peace, maybe on the site of the defunct fishery.
-Under the village tree you’ll meet Janet skullbone,usually arriving there on her silver high horse, an artist who squirts strange iridescent flowers and magic creatures that she brings back from her night dreams, by which means? I have yet to discover.
- Under the village tree, you may, if you're lucky, also see a white haired, white bearded character, Mikie,who's usually either sleepwalking across town or deeply asleep under the tree. But he has a very good reason for that, for he is, - and that's a scoop- a reincarnation of Noah. I know that for a fact since he's just dormant,and otherwise taking care of people's pets, getting them ready for the next deluge.
- Under the village tree you'll often see The Tasmanian devil and his chauffeur, Rick, who has long ago abandoned the idea of wearing his uniform and is easily recognizable by a looong, expandable haircut, -you know, like those Barbie dolls, you pull, and the hair grows- so an expandable haircut, and each week Rick cuts a few of the longest to serve as guitar strings, for as a genuine Gypsie, he posesses a guitar that, equipped with Rick's hair, whines endless ribbons of highly addictive Blues songs. Beware of The Tasmanian Devil though, as while his chauffeur distracts you with his songs, the beast usually sneaks out your bread to bring it home on the deck of his boat, where he started growing a bread tree a few years ago after sneaking out bread from my place, the problem is the bread tree has now grown quite a bit and demands loaves of bread to be fed with, otherwise it threatens to shave Rick's hair, which is his breadwinner. So Rick is condemned to slave labor, nourishing his guitar with his silver hair so it can sing the ribbons of Blues songs, and he has to employ his beast to steal bread to feed the bread tree, otherwise the tree...Life is a vicious circle.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Friday, August 07, 2009
August kicking in
I stepped out on my porch tonight
The breeze was agitating the tall poplar
And the curly willow
Dark night,
Cool air,
Still summer,
So gentle breeze,
I want to camp out.
The breeze was agitating the tall poplar
And the curly willow
Dark night,
Cool air,
Still summer,
So gentle breeze,
I want to camp out.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Open No Mike at La Conner La Crema!
Yesterday was another magic one, I have to say, at Troy's La Crema Coffee Company.
13 people were present, with new blood also, the variety was welcome. We held Open no Mike on the front garden of the cafe, and a wonderful evening it was. We welcomed 3 new people, David, Steven, and Dave. 3 good musicians, and in different styles, David and Steven both have wonderful singing, and Steven plays his guitar upside down, with a great, deep raspy voice. Bill surpassed himself singing from his heart. Kevin Paul came over with his drum, and in spite of his recent surgery, honored us with great drumming and signing and joke and laughter. Roberto was the Barrista in charge and served us excellent coffee. And of course our 2 mascot dogs, Tug and Toolie, participated their share of running around and barking.
And thanks to Troy, the spirit of the place, who made this possible :)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Iodine
Tonight as I stepped on my porch I smelled iodine coming from the channel. A powerful smell it is for me. Associated with my childhood in Tunisia by the Mediterranean sea, and all the summers I've spent there in the subsequent years after we moved back to France.
I'd spend all my days in the water, I'd come down the hill from the family beach home to the beach around 9 or 10am, and wouldn't come back up till after 5pm. I'd end up with a dark skin and sun burnt fair hair.
We had an uncle, uncle Mohsen, then about 80 years of age, who'd do his daily lap swim in the sea no matter what the weather or season. Nobody could persuade him not to do so, even in the winter time.
Me and my cousins would occasionally follow him in his long, slow lap swim from Marsa Cubes to the Gammarth beach, coming back on foot hiking along the beach.
It was a long, slow swim, several miles long, but we were trained to do so, we were "Bent El Bhar" as we say in Arabic, which means "daughter of the sea"
Uncle Mohsen, in spite of his age, was a very healthy, lean, muscular man. The sea was his lover, he couldn't live without it. It runs in the family blood, my dad was a very good swimmer too, and nothing would make him happier than eating fresh seafood on the beach or on a boat.
My childhood and teenage memories are peopled with the taste of salt,cold showers to cool off from the heat, eating fresh urchins and octopus, watching the sea drinking mint tea, and large family gatherings, hence, I guess, my taste for large gatherings and cookout parties.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Fireworks and Earth essences
On this summer evening in La Conner,WA, I hear the fireworks from the Swinomish reservation loud tonight, and I step out on my porch and I am overwhelmed with the smells and essences of the earth. I worked my garden today for four hours, and I guess it is thanking me for it, sending back to me a strong smell of soil, BBQ and nightly summer parties.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
The visit
Somewhere in the heart of beloved Dinetah
In the midst of sagebrush and junipers
There she lies, the friend,
In the most peaceful place where she belongs
A simple mound of soil
A name, surrounded with faded desert flowers
There I deposited two tears with my own hands
For the friend, lost to an addiction
Poisoned gift of our ancestors
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Nambe
Rugged mountains and rusty canyons of Nambe,
Disheveled sage brush, blue-grey,
Cactus bloom, cyan,
Purple clouds pregnant of the coming rain,
Last light of the day, stroking the mountain slopes,
Pinion pines and junipers incensing the air,
The numbing song of the creek,
Then the fire crackling,
And you’re all mellowed out,
Sleep…
Wake up in the middle of the night,
Watching the stars till you get dizzy,
Sleep… Sleep…
Dream, of the Land of Enchantment.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Kaleidoscope prayers
In the middle of the desert and mountains of New Mexico
hides a tiny valley and the village of Chimayo,
that shelters the sanctuary of all hopes.
It is a very green valley with a creek running through it,
and trees whose blossoms are prayers,
deposited there by invalids, pilgrims, lovers, and families.
Candles, icons, and crosses, O! the crosses of Chimayo!
From the most artfully crafted
to the modest ones improvised with sticks and twigs,
tied with ribbons, yarn or reeds.
Walking through Chimayo is walking through a rosary of prayers,
seeing in the hearts of all these people through a kaleidoscope.
Prayers of many colors and shapes like many voices
whispering their desperation and their hopes twisted together,
almost tangible in the air.
At Chimayo I saw, heaven on earth.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
UNM wifi stop
After completing my contract at WWU I decided to take a semi vacation, semi work break and go to my other favorite area in this country, and flew to Albuquerque, NM, with my laptop.
I am now having a wifi stop at the University of New Mexico campus main library. This campus rivals the one of Western Washington in beauty. I always stop here when I come to Albuquerque. Now in the summer the campus is very quiet, outside a flawless blue sky, 84 degrees, and the gorgeous Adobe buildings, landscaping and Art displayed make my day.
Next as my stomach is claiming its due,I'm gonna have a bite across the street from campus at the Mexicans. The food will be good.
Friday, June 12, 2009
First Open No Mike of the summer
Well, technically we're not in the summer, but we've been blessed with summer weather for quite a while now.
So today we gathered our scattered group of friends at Troy's La Crema Coffee Company next door to my place. It is a perfect venue for Open no mike/Gypsy caravan. It was good to be all together again.
Troy made excellent coffee, and we had munchies. Were present Troy and Charity, and Charity's friends; Bob, Cath and Jan, Gary, Toolie managed to drag Roberto behind the bicycle, and Tug the Tasmanian devil brought Rick, his chauffeur :); Michelle came along with Kevin, Tammy and her husband, and "B" our new character in town came on his Pedicab, and my Flamenco dress dragged me along as well as she was itching for some cockroach stomping.
Tonight was one of those magic Open no Mikes, the dogs behaved, Bob and Rick played their best, soon joined by "B", who has quite a voice of his own, very moving.
Gary treated us with storytelling and hilarious campfire songs old and new, Jan was doing her crochet on a deep armchair and obviously had a good time. I did a bedeviled Flamenco fire dance, accompanied by Bob, and that was lots of fun.
Community at its best, lots of music and laughter.
We decided to have our next at Gary's place on June 27.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Paint Squirt
My first off campus day, my first real summer off day. Been seeing my friends at the La Crema coffee next door, been receiving friends visits at my place, been working, housecleaning, and now painting, forgetting EVERYTHING, having a blast with my favorite music full blast and squirting paint. Re connecting with my north African roots, the most inspirational for my Artwork. It's a good day and a loooong early summer day, plenty of light late. Happy.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
When real life takes over
Late at night today, I heard a single frog singing out loud very close,
I heard a dog's distant barking,
I heard some hauling,
and the occasional distant noise of a motor.
The stars were were listening too.
I heard a dog's distant barking,
I heard some hauling,
and the occasional distant noise of a motor.
The stars were were listening too.
Night awakening
Sometimes at night when it's bedtime for most people I awaken. Tonight as I stepped out on the porch overlooking my backyard, I awoke to the poplar across the street with its theatrical shape and magnificence, dancing under the summer like breeze, looking like a giant sponge absorbing the water. That was tonight's regenerating comfort.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Sun and Dirt
Today I had breakfast in bed, and went back to sleep...
When I finally got up I decided against having a shower and went wild,- No grooming today, just the gypsy way - so instead I dived into my backyard, that needed tender love and care. Due to the pouring rain we had earlier this week, it's starting to look lush and fluffy, the way I like it. Some of the stuff I planted last year that never made it is sprouting right now, many surprises. I wanted it fluffy so I went crazy sowing and planting all over the place, so it's heading for being even more crowded than last summer. I like THIS way of capitalizing: Planting stuff that may show up some time later. As the day was moving forward, the sun got warmer and warmer and I peeled off layers till I found myself in shorts and tank top in my garden. In the veggie lot, the mustard greens are out. I gave them as neighbors lettuce, salad mix, arugula, spinach, radish, and Swiss chard. As I was digging in, I didn't see the hours pass, engrossed in the pleasure of handling the seeds and the dirt. I also put in plenty of lemon Balm, and more nasturtiums, cosmos, marigold. The red nasturtiums I sowed earlier are out, all over the place. I took my seedlings that I started a few weeks ago on my kitchen window sill out on my porch. There I have thyme, Chinese forget-me-not, Papaver, garlic chives, Salvia. I bought a grown Asian eggplant at the Food Coop for which I'm still looking for the right spot, probably upstairs on my porch where it's very sunny. I also started a vine from seed that I hope to place at different locations upstairs as well as in the backyard. By mid afternoon the apotheosis came with the watering, which took me about half an hour. I love it, it's so refreshing and relaxing, and you can almost hear the plants sighing "thank you, thank you!". A day like this one is better than any therapy or fancy relaxation class you'll ever take. I finally stopped mid afternoon, as it was time for a coffee break. Muddy and happy and all mellowed out, I slipped into a pair of jeans and went next door to Troy's for a good coffee and a cigarette in the Japanese garden. I played lizard there for a long moment, baking in the sun. So mellowed that even the hords of the Vroum-vroum tribe - understand the Harleys - passing by didn't disturb me:)
When I finally got up I decided against having a shower and went wild,- No grooming today, just the gypsy way - so instead I dived into my backyard, that needed tender love and care. Due to the pouring rain we had earlier this week, it's starting to look lush and fluffy, the way I like it. Some of the stuff I planted last year that never made it is sprouting right now, many surprises. I wanted it fluffy so I went crazy sowing and planting all over the place, so it's heading for being even more crowded than last summer. I like THIS way of capitalizing: Planting stuff that may show up some time later. As the day was moving forward, the sun got warmer and warmer and I peeled off layers till I found myself in shorts and tank top in my garden. In the veggie lot, the mustard greens are out. I gave them as neighbors lettuce, salad mix, arugula, spinach, radish, and Swiss chard. As I was digging in, I didn't see the hours pass, engrossed in the pleasure of handling the seeds and the dirt. I also put in plenty of lemon Balm, and more nasturtiums, cosmos, marigold. The red nasturtiums I sowed earlier are out, all over the place. I took my seedlings that I started a few weeks ago on my kitchen window sill out on my porch. There I have thyme, Chinese forget-me-not, Papaver, garlic chives, Salvia. I bought a grown Asian eggplant at the Food Coop for which I'm still looking for the right spot, probably upstairs on my porch where it's very sunny. I also started a vine from seed that I hope to place at different locations upstairs as well as in the backyard. By mid afternoon the apotheosis came with the watering, which took me about half an hour. I love it, it's so refreshing and relaxing, and you can almost hear the plants sighing "thank you, thank you!". A day like this one is better than any therapy or fancy relaxation class you'll ever take. I finally stopped mid afternoon, as it was time for a coffee break. Muddy and happy and all mellowed out, I slipped into a pair of jeans and went next door to Troy's for a good coffee and a cigarette in the Japanese garden. I played lizard there for a long moment, baking in the sun. So mellowed that even the hords of the Vroum-vroum tribe - understand the Harleys - passing by didn't disturb me:)
Friday, May 08, 2009
Reclaiming time...
... Well that's a project... Since I am bound to once more take a drastic turn in my professional life, a few weeks from now, it s also a great opportunity to reclaim my time. I had a foretaste of it today. Having worked like a maniac all week I found myself relatively light this friday evening, and actually "entitled" to have fun without feeling guilty about it :)
Went to an Art opening, met friends and unknown people, live music, good food and good wine, saw a few pieces of nice Art... made my day.
Countdown on reclaiming my time started...
Went to an Art opening, met friends and unknown people, live music, good food and good wine, saw a few pieces of nice Art... made my day.
Countdown on reclaiming my time started...
To the light
Today it was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous on my way to Mount Vernon where I was to attend an Art opening. Ahead of me were the hills behind Mt Vernon, crowned with all shades of purple, blues, greys and whites, huge cloud formations looking like they were trying hard to fake the winter's last show. But the Light was there, obliquely peering through, staging a magnificent light gently stroking the fields. The accumulated moisture of the last few days, married to the streaks of golden light, produced this strangest, exhilarating shower of golden nuggets.
Coming back from the Art opening this evening I took my favorite way back, the slow way, through Skagit valley's country roads. No yahoo in a hurry to bug you, plenty of potholes to slow you down,Oh I LOVE those potholes on Calhoun! No radio hammering bad news, a good CD on,and nothing but the horizon and the tulip fields, now whacked off, leaving behind only the bulbs leaves,what a beautiful texture of a bluish green, and iris fields soon to bloom - I can't wait to see those and pastel them - and the immensity of the farmland, only interrupted here and there by what I call "the islands": The sea must have been here some time, it's obvious, geology coming up to the surface. For who knows how to look, there for you is the history of this valley. I sometimes fancy those fields were the sea, and those islands would look down at orcas - or their ancestors - swimming down below. No wonder farmers and fishermen are so associated with this valley.
Each time I drive through, coming back from work, I think of how fortunate I am to live here, and of how glad I am I left my used-to-be hometown of Paris...
Coming back from the Art opening this evening I took my favorite way back, the slow way, through Skagit valley's country roads. No yahoo in a hurry to bug you, plenty of potholes to slow you down,Oh I LOVE those potholes on Calhoun! No radio hammering bad news, a good CD on,and nothing but the horizon and the tulip fields, now whacked off, leaving behind only the bulbs leaves,what a beautiful texture of a bluish green, and iris fields soon to bloom - I can't wait to see those and pastel them - and the immensity of the farmland, only interrupted here and there by what I call "the islands": The sea must have been here some time, it's obvious, geology coming up to the surface. For who knows how to look, there for you is the history of this valley. I sometimes fancy those fields were the sea, and those islands would look down at orcas - or their ancestors - swimming down below. No wonder farmers and fishermen are so associated with this valley.
Each time I drive through, coming back from work, I think of how fortunate I am to live here, and of how glad I am I left my used-to-be hometown of Paris...
Thursday, April 09, 2009
April on Swinomish channel
The sun we've been longing for finally granted us its warm blanket of light
that over the channel married the water,
casting a parcel of light on each wavelet,
a blanket of millions of sparkling diamonds
floating on the surface,
like millions of silver fishes moving in the gentle current.
You almost expect the siren to emerge out of the melted lead,
but instead the metallic wire dinosaur sculpture encaging the gangway
looks like it's floating above the waters.
that over the channel married the water,
casting a parcel of light on each wavelet,
a blanket of millions of sparkling diamonds
floating on the surface,
like millions of silver fishes moving in the gentle current.
You almost expect the siren to emerge out of the melted lead,
but instead the metallic wire dinosaur sculpture encaging the gangway
looks like it's floating above the waters.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Early spring night
Sitting on my porch tonight I've been savouring my first spring night:
A flock of trumpeter swans flying above quacking,
the crescent moonlight casting its diaphanous glow
on the stretched fingers of white muslin clouds,
a baritone dog barking in the neighborhood,
a few gem stars sparkling,
and a mild temperature.
A flock of trumpeter swans flying above quacking,
the crescent moonlight casting its diaphanous glow
on the stretched fingers of white muslin clouds,
a baritone dog barking in the neighborhood,
a few gem stars sparkling,
and a mild temperature.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
I5 Snow brides
Driving Northbound on I5, an impromptu last show (?) of the winter
made me feel I was traveling across a fairy winter wonderland.
I crossed a sumptuous wedding parade,
a bridal party of firs dressed up in white satin wedding gowns,
embroidered with white iridescent pearls,
veiled of the most delicate, sparkling crochet lace,
each pearl reflecting a million times,
the single touch of a parcel of sun.
made me feel I was traveling across a fairy winter wonderland.
I crossed a sumptuous wedding parade,
a bridal party of firs dressed up in white satin wedding gowns,
embroidered with white iridescent pearls,
veiled of the most delicate, sparkling crochet lace,
each pearl reflecting a million times,
the single touch of a parcel of sun.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Waiting
Every single day lately brings one more inch of light. We’re on the right side of the year, the one of the long months of growing anticipation of spring. February's knocking at our door, bringing its dramatic, high contrast scene, its impromptu changes of costume, a grand production staged by a whimsical director gone crazy over the assigned budget.
The cast is an impressive one, the creme of the creme of actors, dancers and musicians, singers, acting solos, dialogues, and epic scenes, with the indispensable extras in the background.
In the morning the a capella song of the fog and sun courting each other opens the show. Every single day, they rehearse their part, every single day it gets better and better.
By noon time today it was April, warm enough to toss the coat away and go out with a light jacket or just a tee shirt. A radiant sun was up, penetrating the walls, warming our rooms and bodies, making heating a waste.
The late afternoon brings about a peplum movie, biblical sunset that stretches time till it’s suspended over our heads, a Michelangelo cupola that makes me crane my neck and leaves me speechless at the master’s work.
The cast is an impressive one, the creme of the creme of actors, dancers and musicians, singers, acting solos, dialogues, and epic scenes, with the indispensable extras in the background.
In the morning the a capella song of the fog and sun courting each other opens the show. Every single day, they rehearse their part, every single day it gets better and better.
By noon time today it was April, warm enough to toss the coat away and go out with a light jacket or just a tee shirt. A radiant sun was up, penetrating the walls, warming our rooms and bodies, making heating a waste.
The late afternoon brings about a peplum movie, biblical sunset that stretches time till it’s suspended over our heads, a Michelangelo cupola that makes me crane my neck and leaves me speechless at the master’s work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)