Hissing tea pot

After the heron episode, as my tea pot is hissing, I turn around to see what it is like outside on the river, the night has come out,and there, is the moon, shining on the black river. Sometimes I can't believe all these blessing good things befalling on me. How can I give that back somehow? Maybe by taking even greater care of mother nature that is being so generous with me. My best friend ever, that gives without counting and without missing any appointment, always there, if you just know how to watch, and listen, and smell. I've always thought that nature is the most rewarding and faithful friend you can ever have. Nothing compares to that.

Impromptu Zen meditation on the river

On this sunday as I was getting ready to go to bed early with my book (Jean Luc Hees, La Saga de la Maison Blanche) and as I was preparing herbal tea from my garden, :) I saw this great blue heron flying over right in front of our boat. I fetched the binoculars and sat down on the dock, and spent half an hour watching that guy. Hadn't I seen him flying over the river, I wouldn't have noticed him, as once he settles somewhere, he blends in in such a way that you got to know he's there to see him. So the heron landed on the shore of the island facing our boat, on the grey sandy beach, and started pacing the beach back and forth, looking for his dinner. He had 3 fishes in less than 15 mns. The guy, as everybody knows here, has that ashy grey-blue hue, so that he can blend in almost any landscape. There you could hardly see him against the grey sand on shore. As I watched him patiently, very, very slowly pacing the shore for his meal, I was fascinated by the gracefulness of his quest, and the reason why it looked so graceful is because it was slow, very slow, and cautious. Fishermen should learn from this guy. There is a ballet called the Swan lake, there should be one about those blue herons, the most graceful creatures ever. The way he stretches his slender neck while very cautiously moving towards his prey is unbelievably beautiful. I think he's actually much more elegant than a swan. So he caught 3 fishes, and then flew over to another little nook on the river, O what a gracious flight, O those wide, heavy wings, O that slow flight that looks like a slow motion picture! and the discreet noise of the fluttering wings! Then he landed on a group of tress bending over the river, stayed there for a while, stretching his neck, turning his head right and left like a prima ballerina, as if trying to show his best profile, and then he cautiously, again with that very slow gait of his, receded into the woolands, gradually disappearing in the twilight zone. I don't need to meditate tonight.

Open letter to all the Mr.Z's in La Conner

I was reading the local paper of my neighboring little town of La Conner, where the cafe is, trying to catch up on an issue presently being debated in La Conner, the fact that 57 liveaboard families are currently threatened of eviction from the La Conner marina. I don't live in La Conner, but as a liveaboard myself, I was naturally interested in this issue. I found comfort in the mobilization of the population of La Conner regarding this matter, and also in the coverage by the local paper, that did its job by providing the public with detailed articles as well as letters from readers. In that section I read two letters, one from a lady taking sides for the liveaboards, and one from a certain Mr.Z, both citizen rightly exercizing their freedom of speech and thought. But my attention was more attracted to M.Z's letter, since he seemed to find it unfair that liveaboards don't pay property taxes since they live on water, while they voted on how the town spent HIS tax dollars. it's amazing to see that some people have nothing else to do than count what the neighbors pay or spend. I suggest M.Z to read the other letter on the same issue of the Channel Town Press to start with. And what about the freedom to live where you choose, which is one of the last bastions of freedom in this country? Shame on you, descendants of pioneers!
I also remind Mr.Z that the said liveaboards are nevertheless citizens of the town, who live, work, and consume in La Conner, therefore contributing to the local economy and to community life. But community might be a foreign word for all the Mr.Z's. Therefore we may excuse his not understanding, - or not willing to aknowledge- that those families, if evicted, will probably have to move out of town, if not of the county. But that is none of Mr.Z's business, in this case Mr.Z doesn't look too much at what his neighbor's next move is gonna be, in this case Mr.Z and all his peers will look the other way. Then when those 57 liveabord families will have left their home,town and jobs and lost everything, then the cute little town of La Conner will finally breathe, and move forward to its brilliant destiny as just another cute candy color Disneyworld coastal town, where everybody's nice and rich. Where everybody will lick the asses of the tourist hords to separate them from their money. (no offense meant to the merchants of La Conner, their commerce-and they do it well, and very nicely- does bring money to the town) And where anybody who can't afford a minimum of half a million dollar for a home is not welcome. Where anybody with original thought or lifestyle - so threatening - will not be welcome. Where anybody who doesn't participate in the galloping real estate massacre isn't welcome.
Watch out, people of La Conner! here is what is expecting you, "The village", like in the TV series "The Prisoner"with plenty of neat Mr.Z's in cute little cars, carts, motorcycles, all rutilant and brand new, and brand new brains with nothing in them. And anybody who wouldn't conform to THE lifestyle would immediately been taken charge of, and chased out of town by, the gigantic ball...

Color festival

I finally did it. Went to the tulip fields. To take pictures. To store sensorial experiences for my paintings. I walked there for an hour, looking at the flowers, the wooden crates, taking pictures of the flowers from above, looking at the crevices in the soil- what a beautiful artwork!- and was taken by surprise by the incredible fragrance. It was cold, but I didn't care, felt like the garden of Eden. When I came back home I turned into the squirting artist I wished I were a few weeks ago. I went loose. I reworked on my two landscapes that have given me such a hard time for months, and turned them into something else, I ran wild. I was liberated, using larger brushes, and operating with large brush strokes, fearless. Squirt!