poemetry

Meeting Leonard...

2009-11-07T16:28:00.005-09:00

It was a warm, sunny day in beautiful Nashville. I left my hotel, passing by the venue where Leonard Cohen would be playing that night and crossed the street to where there were two fountains I had grown fond of since I arrived in town the previous day. The fountains flanked a massive, column-intensive state building. There is a War Memorial there if you keep walking left in the large, open courtyard with the bookend fountains--a single, lacey-white bubbling cascade of water sung in the middle of large square pools of water.

Sitting on a marble bench that lined a planter for about twenty feet, while facing the sun and fountain, I took off my jacket and lit a cigarette. It was like a summer day in Juneau, this glorious fall day in Nashville. I had a notebook with me and was about to dig it out of my purse along with a black gel pen that makes my uber sloppy handwriting a little less indecipherable when I noticed a slight man approaching. He was wearing a beret and a light, waist-length jacket. I'd taken a long walk to Broadway that morning and had my sandals off to cool my feet on the smooth stone. The man continued on towards the fountain I had staked claim to and I hoped he continued on down towards the center of the long seating so I could still feel alone with my thoughts and not worry about bothering a stranger with cigarette smoke. When he got almost to the corner section where I was I paused and looked harder. Was that Leonard? A shift in profile pretty much confirmed it was him.

Should I say something? I didn't want to be 'bugged' so why should he? But then again, it was an opportunity I would probably end up regretting if I didn't say something, so I surreptitiously slipped my watch off and asked if he knew what time it is. He said he did not.
So I said, "Okay, thanks."
And he said, "Nice day, isn't it?"
And I said, "Yes, beautiful."
And he continued on down the path that surrounded the fountain and I swear out of the corner of my eye, I saw him skipping.

None of this is true. Well, none of the parts involving Leonard are true. I never saw him...but I did have a nice conversation with that fountain and my notebook.

Nothing is simple. Everything is simple.

2009-11-07T07:59:00.010-09:00

I have been on a few of what amount to 'musical pilgrimmages.'
Starting with Bocelli and that first (ever) opera in Detroit where I had the pleasure of meeting him for the first time on the street in front of the MOT, to my recent first rock concert(s) in Vancouver, BC to see a musician I have admired for years (Jack White!) and his newest band, the hard-rocking, Dead Weather.*

Now, there is Leonard Cohen in Nashville. In what would have been one of the biggest mistakes of my Life, I almost didn't go, twice. For a long time I considered whether or not I was up for seeing Leonard Live. What if his age made those beautiful songs of his sound below his usual standard? What if it seemed like he was only there because it was a 'job' he needed to do because of circumstance? And then there is the personal baggage I have related to discovering this amazing musician/poet nearly a decade ago, that might make a live-listen just too fucking intense. I have issues and on the list is over-thinking stuff. Also on the list is being hyper-self-aware (thank you ADD!) and if any of the above ponderings were a reality, it could have been a disaster. Okay, maybe that is hyperbole, but just maybe. And it turned out all my ponderings were completely without merit.

It started a couple of months ago. I set a high-bar to help me make the decision, placing the burden of this coin flip on the Universe. IF I could find a perfect front-row-center seat at a fall tour venue, I would go. Had to pay a ridiculous VIP package price, but there it was, my dream seat and a dreamy venue. And it turned out to be in a city that had peripheral benefits.**

Then, mid-September I decided my job was no longer an option. It felt somewhat like a life or death decision. I chose Life. So that leads to the second "almost not going." I seriously considered (for a whole day!), cancelling this Nashville/Cohen trip (eating the expensive concert tik) to save a few bucks, since Job was going to be an X in a few months. Fortunately, I came to my senses and merely 'down-graded' my hotel to a Doubletree from the sublime looking Hermitage. Ah, sacrifices! But it was still ON.

I have to mention just how much I liked (like, liked!) Nashville. The weather Gods were very kind and it was sunny and warm--not too hot--just right. The architecture there is an anachronistic mix of eras and styles that some how 'works.' The streets are clean and the atmosphere laid-back. Even the traffic didn't seem daunting. My small town tendency to get over-whelmed by the hustle/bustle of a large town, never kicked in. And there are a couple of fountains there that provided a serene reprieve from the city 'noise' along with beautiful marble benches to chill (haha) on whilst being washed by the watery lullaby that fountains around the world sing. Nashville was an unexpected bonus on a trip that was turned out to be filled with 'all good things.'

Back to Leonard...My seat was intimate, being literally a few feet from the stage. Leonard has perfected the art of transformation. If you took a picture, an unmoving snap, what you would see is an old man, in a hat. It's an illusion. I believe he is aware of the inital perception vs. the reality and guides his audience away from anything that defines him by first impressions . It's only a guess, but hopefully not too far-fetched. His playful moves and humorous self-deprecating lyrics/comments--his kneeling to the floor and rising back up, like an athlete, to standing--to his energetic side-skips off the stage all send a message of who and what he is. This is not simply some 'old man' on the stage singing songs from the past. He is vibrant and giving and ageless. Shit, his new song, "The Darkness" is my current 'fave' song.

A genuine humbleness permeates everything. From his obvious appreciate of his audience to his obvious respect and admiration for those who have come along with him on this journey/tour. There are no slackers or inflated egos present up there on stage. I've never seen anything like the 'mutual admiration' society that is his band and backup singers...and no hyperbole, they are all deserving of the highest accolades for their musicianship. You can TELL there is a concerted effort to be completely there in the Now. Every damn one of them. At one point, Leonard stands in the back, in the near dark, hat in hand, eyes closed, listening, really listening, while Sharon Robinson solos, "Boogie Street." Nothing and no one came across as 'going through the motions' of another concert. And they all without a doubt love and respect Leonard and his music.

Hell, yeah. The concert was wonderful. The music and lyrics written by Leonard Cohen are long beloved and it would take a lot to screw them up. His lyrics which are so intriguing and well-written, I think end up leaving what is some of the most beautiful 'music' ever written over-shadowed. Music vs. Lyrics. Lyrics win, but Music comes in a close second. Can you imagine "Hallelujah" set to any other music? Or "Anthem"?*** Or "Dance Me To The End of Love"? It's just impossible. I don't think there is any other artist who has so successfully melded the theme of the lyrics with music, like Leonard Cohen has.

I didn't want to do a typical, Concert Report. It's so status quo. Of course I loved everything about the concert and the music needs not be mentioned--it is legendary for a reason.
Thank you Leonard!!

* Since then have seen the Dead Weather in New Orleans and Dallas.
**Third Man Records (and very nice co. :o)
***I fucking hate to cry in public and knew this would be the one that would possibly take me into that territory--being my intro to LC and the song that sort of saved what's left of me...Thankfully, I had to pee like a race horse for most of the first half of the concert and that little problem was enough to distract me.
Bladder 1. Kleenex 0.

Wet vase from iphone (experimental)

2009-11-01T21:39:00.002-09:00

Trying this to see if it can be expanded when clicked.

Pottery stuff catchup....

2009-10-25T07:13:00.012-08:00

It always seems like a minor miracle when I can actually get my camera out, suffer through the squirrely download/edit process and get this stuff posted. I still can't figure out an efficient way to get the pics to line up nicely on the screen. The options are: left. right. center. none. They need a 'dummy' option that says, 'Would you like us to figure this out for you? If Yes, click here.'

My false-hellebore vase is not here. It suffered a problem in the kiln. Literally, two of the leaves wilted.

Here is the Raven teapot I threw together here at home last summer on a whim. The glaze colours came out pretty nice. The 'black' is a matte black glaze I purchased and expected it to be much more 'matte.' But I'll take the semi-gloss it turned out to be and am delighted this thing survived intact. I was still very new to working with clay when I made this and in hindsight can't believe I attempted something so ambitious. It is not 'functional' as a teapot and was never intended to be. I don't put bottoms on my vases because that would make them too 'functional.' I'm trying to make Art here. The rectangular gray spot on the cheek (below) is a camera angle problem that is looking into the 'inside' of the cheek on the other side. The beak area had minimal space to get glaze inside and that was a spot I could not reach. It doesn't 'read' like this in person.

Below is my Tab vase. It was one of the first things I glazed with some of the glazes I bought from Seattle Pottery Supply--as opposed to just using what the studio had. This is a 'milk glass' glaze with 'licorice speck' over that. It is the first item that came out looking like something *I* might buy. Meaning it doesn't scream "Amateur!!" and there are no glaze mishaps. And I figured out how much you need to smoothsmoothsmooth before bisquing if you want it to look decent. That smooth finish did not happen on its own! It's all in the details.

There are three windows cut out in the back. You can see one in the photo below.

Sigh. The vase below has another personal glaze, Burnished Steel and would have been really nice had it not stuck to the kiln shelf because the glaze ran too much. I LOVE this glaze. It is very metallic and suits my style really well. I made this and the Tab vase about the same time. I really like the design and will try it again...

Below is a piece that is sitting on my work desk in my garage and is still 'wet.' It is sort of a crazy ambitious thing. I've put lots and LOTS of time into smoothing it. Each of the 'fins' were placed in the body by me cutting a slice out of the vase (x8) and placing the fins in using a 'slip n score' process that hopefully will make them stay put. For a while I never thought I'd be able to get the thing to look like a single piece. I should have shot it when the slimy wet slip was oozing out of both sides of the fins and on the inside of the vase and was leaning all over the place. It was a hot mess that I thought I'd never be able to fix.

Another view of my WIP.

If you didn't believe Ravens are really smart...

2009-10-24T08:14:00.003-08:00

One of the pair of 'my' ravens hangs out on top my car's luggage rack, using it as a perch. The other raven usually hangs out in one of the tall pines in my back yard as watch out (I suppose).

Raven-on-car will start vocalizing if I don't notice if soon enough and give it food. Their usual breakfast is a hot dog. When I toss out one dog, car-raven hops down and grabs it, bites it in half and then proceeds with delay tactics. At this point tree-raven is starting his dramatic swoop down--he always does a lovely spiral-down instead of a perfectly acceptable straight down approach. Car-raven will still be in delay tactic mode waiting to see if I will lose patience waiting for it to take off with the dog, because IF I toss out the second hot dog she always beats the tree-raven to it. Sometimes I will have to stand there on the deck for several minutes, a cold, dripping hot dog in my hand while she plays a game of picking up and putting down her hot dog pieces.

So a few days ago, I tossed out the second hot dog to the left of car-raven, far as I could to try and speed things up and get TR his dog. I watched CR fly/dive over to the new dog and the TR (now sitting on the mailbox post across the street) dove for CR's original dog. Win Win. I didn't have to stand there in the cold waiting for CR to fly off and they both got one hot dog.

The next day ditto. I was able to do a bait-and-switch with them and get outta the cold promptly.

This morning CR did not bite the dog in half. I didn't think too much of it. TR had done his swirl down and was sitting on the mailboxes...and note WHO is the smartest one here:
I tossed the second dog to the left, expecting another baitnswitch scenario. CR immediately made the short fly to the left for the second dog. TR flew off the mailboxes and headed straight for the area in the driveway where the usually abandoned (original) dog would be. He landed perfectly in the right spot and I was suprised to see he did not have the dog in his beak in a matter of seconds. I looked left. CR had two hot dogs in her beak. CR had taken her original dog (not bitten in half) with her on the fly to get the second dog, too, instead of leaving it as had happened two days in a row. She learned within two experiences the routine and thought ahead as to not have to deal with two pieces of hot dog, keeping it whole, knowing she would be doing this.

It's not the first time I've had to dole out three hot dogs (CR is good and I am sometimes impatient) but the thought process here was pretty amazing.

Plath Profiles. Indiana University

2009-09-07T09:04:00.005-08:00

http://www.iun.edu/~plath/vol2/index.shtml

I had a Plath inspired poem published at Indiana University's online publication, "Plath Profiles" whose 2009 (Vol. 2) issue went online in August.

I was so busy with work at the time, other than reading the index and my poem (of course!) I'd not had a chance to read anything else. This morning I read Peter Steinberg/Gail Crowther's piece about dealing with the archives of Plath which are literally scattered in places known and unknown around the planet. Excellent read and in parts the tangible minutia made me want to cry. It is afterall a sad story. Even if I'd read it before: "...in the end, she dies."

It was about twenty years ago I first read Plath's poetry, when I was taking my first college English course in my late twenties. Since then I've been a 'fan' (not scholar) immersed in the beginning by reading the bios available at that time and the highly edited Journal--which is now available in its original version. You start out getting angry, because there was so much blame to be laid on Hughes' shoulders, you do so with vigor, because someone has to take the fall for this brilliant poet's decision to kill herself. It was easy at the start to simplify and point a finger and unrealistically wish that you could change history. But then, more info becomes available and time gives way to a more complex reflection of life not being black or white. Ted&Sylvia become more human and less characters in a dramatic play we've watched over and over again.

I'm thankful there are "scholars" out there making this all 'right.' Correcting any errors, weaving together the pieces of what really did or didn't happen. The plain, 'hair washing' details and the important facts of when/where/how something was written. It is a labour of love interspersed with the intellect and care required to fill in the dots when it comes to the life and art of Plath.

What happens in Canada, stays in Canada...

2009-09-05T13:07:00.004-08:00

Went to Vancouver, BC on August 20th to attend two concerts by The Dead Weather, Jack White's newest band.

It's been difficult to assimilate that something as simple as a rock concert (or two) could end up seeming life transforming. That sounds like hyperbole and I suppose in the big picture of life it is. But to wait until fifty to experience something like this was pivotal on the leaning-down end of the seesaw of my life. I have a fucking AARP card. The concerts cancelled out the implications far as I'm concerned. I mean, I'm still fifty, but it is less of a burden because the things that ended up annoying me (rude peeps who cut in front of me on the dance floor while the band was playing and the Major Asshole who was literally screaming as loud as he could directly into my right ear) were the same things what would have annoyed the shit outta me twenty years ago, too. I guess I was fearing some sort of disconnect with a majority youthful event (although my friend and I were def not the oldest folks there) that would make it seem like I was an old fogey playing with the kids and it wasn't like that in the least. I know. I know. It was just a couple of rock concerts, but I was dubious about how it was going to be, aside from the music, just being in a club setting--being 'olde' and never having had done anything like this before. It fucking rocked!

I had 'early entry' so we didn't have to queue up in line before the concert(s) and got in five minutes before everyone else. It was great to go in the dark club with a small group of folks (ten) and scope the place out a bit before the masses poured in. First night, we chose a table right next to the wooden dance floor that is right in front of the stage. You could tell even when the place was empty we'd have to squeeze into the dance floor crowd when the DW started...and we did. After a couple of failed attempts to get a good view my friend and I separated and didn't see each other again till it was over. I ended up compressed between bods, up pretty close but still with too many tall heads and raised-hand-cameras to have an excellent view. No matter. Soon as the lights went down the pot lit up and the floor was sort of bouncing as if you were on a boat and there were strobe lights here and there and the whole thing was like being in an alternate reality. Part of that shift was the sheer loudness of the band; you could feel it in your bones. The band was amazing. The highlight being when Jack comes out from behind the drums to play guitar and duet with Allison on, "Will there be enough water." It's a bluesy-sexy piece that improves exponentially Live vs. the album version. Every song was a huge improvement from the studio version, which doesn't suck or anything, but this stuff needs to be heard live...from a rolling dance floor with pot wafting freely and your bones echoing back the beats. Good times.

My ears rang loudly for nearly two days afterwards. The next day, I wasn't sure if I'd make it to the second concert I was so dizzy from my ears being a mess and stayed in bed most the day (something that 'might' have been an age related phenom...or not).

The second night, again early entry, I grabbed a table on the one balcony, near the middle and had a fantastic view of everything this time. Had my earplugs and a lovely glass of merlot that I was warned beforehand came from a Can. It was actually okay. This time, I was more a spectator than participant and knew I was in for another fantastic concert experience. And it was.

So, I'm hooked. I came back to Juneau and the next morning looked for another concert I might be able to attend. Turned out that New Orleans fit my work schedule just swell. Then, that same morning a Dallas concert was announced, so I'm going there too.

A month after that, I have a front row ticket to see Leonard Cohen in Nashville. I love travelling for music. In the past, it's always been for classical/opera. It's unusual that I am travelling so much these last few months of the year...But it's all for a good cause...no make that Great Cause.

I'm thinking maybe it's time for a new tattoo.......

pottery. blahblahblah. pottery

2009-08-01T19:42:00.014-08:00

I'm too tired to do dishes...so my only other choice in life is to post pics I took the other day of some of my other pottery outputs. Okay. I could read a book. Crochet a doily. Watch tv. Vacuum (but, why start now!!??). Learn a new language...But the pics are already on my computer and so am I, soooo, this is it.

This guy started out as an exercise in doing 'relief'. I liked the bubbles a lot so I ended up doing a couple of pieces and joining them together. I think it looks sort of organic. Kinda like a frog. Or a fish. Or a seashell even.

I'm learning that the lease bit of non-perfection in glazing really stands out in the end.

The base of the raven was supposed to look like stone. I think I came pretty close. Made this for a friend's birthday, who happens to be of the Raven-clan. Coincidence? I think not. I had to hollow out (somewhat) the head when the clay was still damp, because solid masses of clay won't fire well in the kiln. And enclosed airspaces won't work in the kiln either (I think they tend to explode from pressure), so he had to be glued onto the base in the end.

The ''highlights" in the pic don't exist in real life. He is a high-gloss black that wanted to reflect Everything once I turned on my camera.

This is the very first item I made back at the start of June when I began. The glaze is a random dabble of three different colours. I didn't glaze the eggs, which are about the size of two olive pits (for size perspective). Glued in a few feathers (raven and blue jay) after all was done being fired.

A gondola hook on a moderne art background. Satifies my Venice-fetish.

I had a hard time trying to capture the way the thin wires near the face, curve towards the front. He's actually Waaay cuter in person.

His 'Yeah, I'm cute, but don't touch me' pose.

Pine-less porcy.

More pine-less porc. Before glazing him, I had to fill every one of the pre-poked holes with toothpicks to keep the glaze from filling them in. He looks pretty rustic, but it was a time consuming project. Each of the wires were basically custom cut by trial-and-error, placed in the body then taken back out, one-at-a-time to be dipped in glue and replaced. AND some of the holes I poked all the way through the body when it was soft clay, so some wires would fall through. So, I ended up buying some mole-skin and gluing it on the inside to support the 'pines.' I guess he is actually a Molkypine.

My first pottery class results...

2009-06-24T08:23:00.010-08:00

I've been taking a clay hand-building course this month. It is a looong wait before anything goes from start to completion. First the clay piece has to sit and dry on its own. Then it has to wait for the next 'bisque' firing in the kiln. Then you have to figure out how you want to glaze it. Then you have to glaze it (my goofy black bird took about 3 hours to glaze, believe it or not). Then you have to wait for the next 'glaze' firing in the kiln. Then, voila, you get to see wait sort of damage you have done in the world of art.

The really nice raven piece I did on week two is still waiting to get bisqued, so the schedule depends on have fast (or not) your piece dries on its own. If the raven piece turns out as planned it is going to be really nice. (You heard it here first!)

The two completed pieces I picked up last night were both just thrown together. The Craggy piece was an end-of-class slap together during my first session. And the goofy bird was a random thing from left over 'tile' clay I had taken home to impress my "Two Ravens, Five Ways" poem onto tiles. It wanted to be a bird. It wasn't my decision.

"Craggy" is quite small (thank gawd) about 5" at its longest. The Goofy Bird is 7" long.

In the Craggy thing, there is a pile of 'rocks' (bisqued pieces I broke up). It has been my plan since the beginning to glue into the pile a stark looking wire tree I formed. Now that I have it, I'm not sure. I wanted it to look really 'bleak' and think it worked. The sharp points are really sharp...a look but don't touch sort of thing.

The light areas on the bird are simply clear glaze over bisqued clay. In hindsight, I wish I'd just done clear and not the black...because it seems a tad bit evil with its Darth Vader-esque coat.

I repeat, these were both Slapped together. I've got a small army of more purposeful stuff waiting to get fired: The ravens I mentioned. A porcupine that is going to get wire quills. A mushroom. A monster of a vase with false-hellebore leaves (hand formed and carved) that I assembled last night. My poem tiles. A nest (my actual first piece) with three small eggs. A gondola hook plaque...stay tuned. It could easily be a month (or more) before these go through all the steps it takes to completion.

My Backyard Today

2009-05-10T11:05:00.009-08:00

Leaves still are not out on trees, but stuff is springing up after a long and very snowy winter. Having the sun be out today was a total suprise (rain predicted) and it is quite lovely out there. This is my back and side yard where I have a small creek. As always, you can click on a picture to see enlarge for a better view.

Above: Ribbon grass by creek (varigated white/green stripes) Blueberry bushes off to the side (top pic) and pink pulmonaria in bloom. Salmon berry bush is the branchy thing on the second pic.

Below: Skunk cabbage is coming up behind the chair. My planter Needs some annuals.

Sarah's poem....a Rerun

2009-05-01T08:29:00.001-08:00

Sarah wrote this several years ago and it was previously posted quite awhile back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sarah Writes a Poem
(or Boof)

Boof.
My favorite word.
It means sooo much-
"Let's go car"
"Where's my bone?"
"My ass itches"
Boof, covers it all.
While calculating the
hypotenuse of door knob
mysteries and the zen of "out"
A dog, blackly clad
tortured my senses by
existing in the same
neighborhood as Sarah.
Sarah, queen of all that
can be seen, heard or smelled
is assaulted by a tennis ball slave,
A sight unbearable
I -
- must - shout - - -
Boof! boof, Boof!
My queendom
tolerates no trespassers
In the cage beyond my windows.

My dog poem...

2009-05-01T08:20:00.002-08:00

I had the first ten lines the other night. I didn't know it would turn into a death poem, impending death, yes, but death itself was not my intention. I suspect it is pure maudlin; I'm incapable of any sort of intellectual perspective at the moment. And why? Writing for me, for some reason is a respite, however temporary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Dog is the Bravest Soul I've Met

I wake in the dark scrambling
to hear her breath--
the soft snore or elongated
sighs telling me she is still
sharing life
with me. Sleep equals peace
in my human equation. Sign
language, made important
by deaf ears, broken ear drums
and polyps blocking any hope
of a cure is our new trick.
Her world spinning
a tilt so grave four paws
can't navigate gravity
with any surety. A sneeze
or head shake sends her tumbling
to the floor onto her side, ribs
absorbing the surprise and pain
without a cry. Her tail incapable
of lies, always swiping a wag
with a passing touch or simple
eye contact speaks of love, love,
love. And her tail never lied
when tucked between her back legs
by distress, confused by a world
become silent, spinning, painful
with no respite but sleep. But always
there was the love, and oh, so bravely
she guided me through her death.

Sarah's last day

2009-04-30T13:47:00.002-08:00

For those who have watched this from afar and/or have listened to me talk about Sarah doggy in emails and have been so supportive...She is going to be put down this evening here at home. I've no doubt it is the best thing for her.

Lady Lazurus, for the moment

2009-04-28T19:06:00.003-08:00

What a damned day. My eyeballs are hot and scratchy from crying so much. I found a vet in town with a website that specifically cites doing home euthanizing and they are the same folks who have the only pet crematorium too (yeah, I know, convenient). I sent off an email and thought I'd not hear from them till tomorrow because of their office hours, but got a call almost right away, asking if it was a good time to talk. I had to say, yes. I have not come to the final decision, but want to have things in place for when it comes. Sarah has been incontinent the last couple of nights, which is another bad sign and is still just as crazy dizzy as can be. I cried and cried on the phone, while doing my best to keep it together and listening to the fella on the other end be understanding and telling me anecdotes about pets and then praising me for being diligent for Sarah dog for when the time comes. I thought I had a better handle on this, but was a puddle of salty water long after the phone call ended.

A couple of times this afternoon I ended up in the front yard dealing with folks about issues with a gravel problem I have...reason I bring this up is while out there, through an open living room window I could hear Sarah crying and crying for me, not barking but a sad whine. She doesn't cry when in pain or when she suddenly falls, but couldn't take me being away from her. This is new since she's been sick.

Now, I'm sitting here typing while Sarah doggy is going at a big ole rawhide bone like the beast woman she has always been. It has been WEEKS since she was able or up to chew on a bone. Last week, she tried once and was so unsteady she couldn't even grip it or get her mouth around it...now I'd not know she is sick from the teeth grinding sound effects and vigor that she is showing.

Maybe my phone conversation with the pet assassin has got her thinking about a come back? It was worth the stress if that's the case. Heck, I'll start fake calling vets and having one-sided conversation with them about maybe putting my dog down. Yeah, that's the ticket...Of course, she is deaf, but that is beside the point.

The Complaint Department and Playing with fire

2009-04-27T12:36:00.004-08:00

My dog has been really sick. A couple of weeks ago, after the first dosage of pills didn't work I was given the option of some really expensive antibiotics that may, if they seem to make a difference, may need to be given for three months. No problem. Short of the horrid 3k operation that I'd not do even if it was 20 bucks and short of Sarah doggy not being overly stressed, I'm all for giving it a go. But, the odds aren't real good and I asked the vet that had been treating Sarah that IF she doesn't get better or is too miserable if she could come to our home and do the deed. Sarah is extraordinarily terrified of the vets and making that trauma be her last moments just isn't an option. The vet said that she didn't see why she couldn't come and do that; she's witnessed Sarah's distress at the clinic. It was a HUGE relief for me to hear those words, that if I had to make that decision, at least I knew that option was open for a peaceful home ending. Fast-forward to Thursday when Sarah was doing real bad. Her steroids had run out and I suspected that is why she was having a big relapse, so I called the vet and this time she said she would have to ask her superiors about coming to the house to euthanize Sarah if needed after saying it would be okay. I asked her to please ask and also told her if she could not come to the house, I'd start making phone calls and find someone who would. The next day the person at the clinic who gave me Sarah's steroids said the owners of the clinic 'would prefer I tranquilize Sarah and bring her in to be put down' if it comes to That. I repeated that I would not. And even though he said the owners would give me a call (this was Friday morning) I've not heard from them.

I'm resolved to not get another dog. I can't take another loss...but if I was so inclined I sure as hell would never take it to this clinic.

So, I get to call around town, yellow-pages in front of me open to Veterinarians and look for someone who would be willing to come to my house and assassinate my dog if the situation comes to that. Fuck.

My nerves are completely shot. Sarah is a brave soldier and I am a total, bawling wimp. August 1988, I quit smoking. I was a two packaday fiend. The last couple of years, I've considered trying it again--crazy I know, I hate the smell, but liked the sensation. In a desperate move to find an outlet to calm down and also as an excuse to give it a shot, I've have six cigs in the past five days. They smell awful, but still taste good and there is nothing else like the focused, relaxing sensation of having a few puffs. I get dizzy, just like I did when I was thirteen and started up. I really don't want to have that monkey on my back...but I am counting on for now that one cig a day won't result in a habit. It has been a small, but welcome respite. Did I mention I am a wimp?

Theme of the day:

2009-04-21T12:59:00.001-08:00

Better watch what you ask for, because you just might get it.

Raven and Moon by Terry Isaac

2009-04-19T10:24:00.008-08:00

click picture to enlarge **

Here is the canvas I picked up yesterday (see Hamburg post). The raven is a bit bigger than life-sized. The canvas is about 12x17, an unusual, longish size that seems perfect. When I said it was simple, I meant it. The painting of the raven is so precise, I think you can see why I couldn't initially tell if it was a photo or from a painting. It is printed onto canvas that is then stapled to a frame, so it does have the appearance of an original painting. It is limited to 99 pieces along with 9 artist proofs, which didn't show up on a quick online search. I imagine they (the A/P's) are terribly expensive since this puppy wasn't exactly cheap.

The one thing about this raven that isn't accurate (far as I can tell) is that they actually have a small 'barb' at the end of their beak; just a small faintly hooked thing. Because I am up close and personal with my pair of ravens I know about this...but I can see why it was not painted. I think it would compete with the diminutive crescent moon with its similar curve. It was a disposable attribute.

** I'm seeing that the raven seems a bit 'foggy' on screen. The black of the picture itself is a saturated black and quite clear, just as if it as a photo. With texture of the canvas, I don't know how to capture the true colours. It still looks awesome (I think!) In life, there is a a 3D quality to the raven, almost like it is coming off the canvas...it's hard to explain.

Netflix U

2009-04-18T16:54:00.002-08:00

I joined Netflix about a year ago when my nextdoorneighbor had a free month invite. Initially I slopped up movies but then quickly realized there was so much learning material to be had and have been enjoying brushing up on stuff that not attending high school probably left off my plate.
Things like:

Napoleon. I watched a wonderful two disc PBS production that told me everything I didn't know about Napoleon and so much of European history at that time.

The Impressionists, a BBC mini-series about the French impressionists. I was hoping that somewhere in there they'd mention Signac, an artist I fell in awe with several years ago when there was a large showing of his work at NYC's Met Museum. It was eye opening to see how revolutionary these artists had to be to uncurl the steely grasp of the olde guarde.

Mary Cassatt. Although I admire her art, it is not my cup of tea. But she too was revolutionary in her lifestyle as an artist and against the old school in her treatment of her subjects.

The Life and Times of Frida Kahlo. A documentary. What a life this woman lead. With so much pain but so much vitality and talent. She dressed as a male at one point during her adolescence; truly a woman with no regard for the status quo. We really need to hear more about folks who dare to go against the tide of conformity, under any guise.

Bukowski: Born into This. What a character. Another rebel. I'm detecting a theme at this point. You don't always like him, but are always interested.

Frank Lloyd Wright--a Ken Burns film. If Falling Water doesn't bring tears to your eyes, then I feel sorry for you! His was a long and eventful life. A big character and big talent.

and last night I finished watching:
Howard Zinn: You Can't Be Neutral. Damn. This guy is a national treasure. He easily flips what you take for granted into a focus of clarity, of reality that has been shaded by propoganda by politicians and our government. I don't even think "they" realize what a crock our actions and policies are when it comes to our status as a world power and how WE decide who to impose or engage in w.a.r. The sixties, it seems fixed very little afterall--at least when it comes to war.

Well, it's not a complete list of stuff, but a sampling...and maybe you'll be inspired to opt for something cerebral along with the movie you've been waiting to see...

My White Stripes Hamburg silkscreen poster

2009-04-18T16:16:00.003-08:00

I had a couple of White Stripes posters professionally framed and picked them up this morning. The Hamburg poster turned out especially nice with a red mat and black frame. While I was there at the art gallery, I happened upon a really amazing canvas print (giclee) of a Raven. I had to ask if it was a photo or painting. The giclee canvas is mounted on a wood frame like an original painting might be. I left it there and came home with my two framed posters and about five hours later went back for my raven. I really shouldn't be buying art right now, but this thing practically followed me home. It's got a crescent moon and a raven and is absolutey simple and perfect. AND it is 33/99. Which in White-Stripe-Speak is really special (you'll have to take my word for it). I'll shoot my raven and post it soon. Till then, I've got Hamburg already on file--

Raven stuff

2009-04-17T09:59:00.002-08:00

I scribble notes on my calendar about the ravens when out-of-the-ordinary behavior occurs. Because a significant thing happened this morning, I'm going to document the last month or so here, to get it all tied together. This will probably be extremely boring to anyone but myself.

February 19. Raven sex, a few feet away from my window.
It's been a long and very snowy winter and this seems too early given the several feet of snow out there. I am pretty sure that my feeding these birds really well, year-round, has messed with their biological clocks, since a similar thing happened last year.

Next note is:
March 9. Raven sex, again.

Then:
3/19, 20 & 21 no Raven showed up.
Highly unusual. I am their regular diner: breakfast, lunch and dinner.
3/22 One raven, 8:30a, total of two quick stops, then no more.
3/23 No Raven.
3/24 7:30a, One raven. Several trips for chicken, then gone for the whole day.
3/25 & 26 No Raven.
3/27 One raven a couple times in the morn, then gone.
3/28 & 29 No Raven.
3/30 One stop, one raven in the afternoon
Since April 1, One Raven has been showing up, pretty regular, but not nearly as much as the usual pair hanging around my yard. When it flies away with food, it almost always heads directly in the into the woods where its nest has been the last few years.

Then this morning, I waited and waited for a raven to show up. Finally, at 9:30a to my great surprise, TWO Ravens arrived for the first time since March 18. One day short of an entire month. I think maybe there was a failed nest. I suspected the same thing last year, and also know a 'successful' nesting did take place because they brought their three offspring to my yard...I wrote about this ordeal with their young earlier this year.
Maybe, if the nest was successful the young are old enough to be left alone for sometime? It is still quite cold (20's overnight and stays in the 30's much of the day) and still Lots of snow up here in this neighborhood, although not so much in sunnier, and lower altitude spots around town.
As I type this, a little less than hour after the pair showed up, they are both still out there, sitting on snowbanks. I think the nest failed.

Homage to a signature...

2009-04-06T16:28:00.004-08:00

I've been steeped in Plath/Hughes stuff lately, shooting pics of some of my collection for my new blog and some of that has bled through to this blog too. I shot my Moon and Yew piece (and posted it) simply because I was in the room with my camera shooting books, etc. And when taking a picture of my bit of paper that has Sylvia's hand writ name on it, it reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago, trying to project how special I thought it was to have something in my hand that she had in hers. Posting the poem at my 'sylviaandtedcollection' blog is too much of a tangent to what I'm doing over there...so, I'll clutter up this blog with my poem.

....... .
Her Autograph

Spelled 40 years plus unknown more
No lapis sphinx or colossal marble arm-
Diamonds can dull and crumble,
Stars collapse into black
This tattooed bit of aged page,
Wears the crown; is the crown.

Touched, considered
Scrawled at her pace, with
Ink lassoed in flat, drab black-
On paper her hands casually clasped.
Curves, loops and that hung ahead dot,
Hovers over the empty spot.

Tangling myth with revered fact,
A prism of impressions dwell.
With séance glance i sense the strokes
As echoes from the past still ring
From her simple autograph,
Just a simple autograph.

Moon and Yew painting...

2009-04-04T13:45:00.004-08:00

Yes, it is crooked, do not adjust your set...

I painted this little canvas a few years ago, trying to capture something that would sit nicely with Plath's poem, "The Moon and the Yew Tree." Thinking back, I have no idea what prompted me to try this. It turned out okay. I think I spent more time trying to pick a font type to print up the poem than I did painting the picture. As with all my paintings, it is extraordinarily amatuer...but was fun to do. Since the painting is on a (thin) canvas I used rolled paper to raise the printed poem up to the same height as the surface of the painting, then matted and framed the works. I used silver paint for the stars, so if the light hits them just right, they twinkle. If you click on the picture (as with all pics on this blog) it will expand the size.

Hal-e-effing-lu-yah

2009-04-01T18:19:00.002-08:00

...my dog, she can hear some stuff. When I ask loudly, "Do you want it??!!?" rather loudly and referring to the fork full of pasta I am holding she says, BOOF!...which is business as usual in her fully hearing days. It's not a 'recovery' but I think she is hearing some stuff...and yes, she can eat off a fork, thanks for asking.

Please let my dog's deafness be temporary...

2009-03-30T17:23:00.003-08:00

Poor Sarah-dog. She had to be sedated last week and have her ears cleared out where they discovered one of her ear drums had busted. Her equilibrium had been off for a week or so after an ongoing problem that seemed to be nothing more than a runofthemill ear infection that cropped up just like she'd had last year. I got the same drops a month ago from the vet that she'd had last year and it seemed to get better...till she started getting dizzy sometimes when she got up and would tilt her head awkwardly.

Getting her into the vet was an ordeal in itself. She cannot get into my Explorer on her own because her joints just can't do it anymore and she is too heavy for me to pickup. Plus, I usually get a sedative from the vet to give her before taking her in because it terrifies her so much. This time, because they knew they'd have to sedate/anesthetize her, having her be on an oral tranq was piling it on...so she had to go in horrified with no little white pill buffer. And that goes for two of us...

I borrowed piece of plywood to get her into the car last Thursday morn and it actually worked like a gem. She soon figured out it was not going to be a happy ending. I wasn't sure if I'd even be bringing her home. We both ended up in tears, her staying behind at the vets squealing and being dragged into the back to be sedated and me driving home lumpy throated and crying every mile or so, recovering and crying again.

It wasn't till late in the afternoon I heard from the vet's and heard about the terrible state of her ears which they discovered was due to polyps in both of them; the worse being in the ear with the busted drum. They can't naturally clean themselves because of the polyps blocking the canal.

I know she could hear before I took her in. She would still react to dogs causing a ruckus outside and me. Since Friday, the only thing I am sure she heard was when I had a sneezing fit with one particularly loud sneeze. Other than than, I can't seem to get her to hear anything. We have so many verbal cues. So many words she understands and reacts to. Losing this communication is a small thing compared to the possiblity of not having her at all...but it is a loss that I can see she is navigating with an awareness something is wrong. I am doing what I can to approach her now so it does not startle her. I turn on light switches to get her attention and try to walk heavy, but she is still ends up getting surprised by my presence next to her in a world that is no longer supplying her with audio clues. She is on antibiotics and drops so hopefully whatever is going on will clear up. There must be swelling still going on from the cleaning. Short of a very expensive and very invasive operation that ends with them sewing shut her ears, the polyp problem is there to stay...and I can't even think about the tests I'm waiting on to see if they're benign or....what...

Matting Examples w/couple of Plath posters

2009-03-25T11:18:00.005-08:00

Did this last weekend. The blue mat colour is 'off' on screen, it is actually close to the dark purple lettering of the poster.

The above was done a couple years ago and I think really enhances the smallish poster.

Nicholas Hughes couldn't keep living

2009-03-23T07:55:00.004-08:00

Shit, it's not like I KNOW these people, but the Plath/Hughes legacy and poetry has been an major interest for me much of my adult life, so hearing Nicholas killed himself was like a small tsunami. Just recently, I've been re-reading Birthday Letters and planned on writing something about that journey, which in reruns is still devastating. But this morning, before I'd had a gulp of coffee my local news station starting talking about Nicholas Hughes. He'd died. Hung himself. Frieda...Depression...Oh fuck.

Frieda is now the sole living legacy of that story, sort of like Caroline Kennedy, but without the offspring. The end. Hughes had fallen off the professor list at UAF, so I had thought maybe he left the state. I read this morning after a quick google that he'd quit his job as professor a couple years ago to commit more time to pottery and other interests but stayed in the Fairbanks area. Pottery. Those wet circles that require all your attention, a respite from yourself. Art is like that, a respite and meaning when you feel like an empty glass, or worse. I too suffer (can't emphasize that word enough) from demon depression and can relate. Not to suicide itself, but pursuing something that you discover brings some relief; I imagine the pottery must have been like that for him. I'm completely projecting, but it could be true. It's so sad to think the of pain that lead to the final act, a sort of legacy via a propensity for depression, family ties, so says science and observation.

Depression is a wound that will not heal. Or it heals, but breaks again, and again. It's easy to understand those who tire of the routine of crawling out of those pits or pretending to have done so. What a sad turn of events for all who knew and loved Nicholas. Peace.

Dear diary...

2009-03-21T12:39:00.003-08:00

Oy. I heard this morning that the DVD set that the Obama's gifted PM Brown was incompatible with England's system. This was my first thought when the story originally came out about the gift: Whether is was UK compatible. Now I know. It seemed sooo obvious from the items the Obama's had for Brown and his family were last minute grabs from their own shelf and the White House gift shop. It was sad. Who the hell is supposed to be informing him about the diplomatic protocol of these sort of things??!?? If Obama never bothered to investigate or ask what sort of preparaton would be needed for such a meeting between two world leaders who are our strong allies, what the hell could happen with some visitors from less friendly lands?? I was a staunch Obama supporter (after losing Hillary) and some of this stuff is making me cringe. Like the bar room type joke about Special Olympics. You leave that shit at home amongst friends. The guy needs to pull back and remember we are not his friends; we are looking to him for leadership and maturity in these really trying times. Get your shit together Mr. President!

In other news, the sun is shining...

Me and digital camera are finally getting along...

2009-03-20T17:35:00.003-08:00

This is a picture I did a few years ago. It's not wonderful, but it does make me smile because I put in a little bit o'mystery. Also I framed it in a frame with glass and painted the gold paint (extending some branches, just a few) outside the perimeter of the canvas on the frame's glass.

There is a reflection on the glass on the lower corner that I couldn't figure out how to avoid.

A re-run picture...

2009-03-13T16:42:00.004-08:00

I was looking around Olympus world for a picture of my hot tub deck/roof, pre-disaster (found one!) for my insurance guy and came across the pics of my blue winter tree painting. The colours have always seemed 'off' in digital world, so I tried the 'insta fix' edit on one of the frames and it looks some better...I also discovered that I took NO digital pics in 2008. Even when I worked like a bastard to get my yard in tiptop shape for last year's garden tour. I would have swore I took pics. But they are not there and pixels don't lie....

And now that the picture has downloaded here onto blogger I can see the colour is still off. It is a much more lovely colour of blue all around in real life.

The stock market is not the only thing collapsing...

2009-03-12T22:26:00.010-08:00

We've gotten an insane amount of snow again this year, which makes it three years in a row now. This morning while listening to the the creaks and groans of my roof at the front of the house as ice and deep, heavy (it started raining) snow were forming a new glacier, I heard a cacophonous crash and discovered the roof over the deck my hot tub sits on had completely collapsed. You can see a bit inside the mess of twisted metal roof and splintered wood that the tub seems to be unscathed at the moment. (UPDATE: hottub Not unscathed, looks to be cleaved in the back by a gigantic beam) But, I've got to get someone out here to try and move some of the snow to see if the tub can be saved or it could be too dangerous to even try and move the snow at this point. In the least, I have three feet of snow staring at me when I open my back garage door that used to lead to the tub that needs to get moved before flooding occurs. Crazy, long fucking winter. I'm sooo over it.

These pics are opening the back door. The snow is up against the door and house and you can see the disaster a couple feet away from the killer snow berm. It looks like a bomb went off. I'm tired of ths place...

Oh wall

2009-03-07T20:41:00.002-09:00

Here is my new half a wall. There was a cheesy piece of wood veneer on the back of my kitchen cabinets on the other side previous to the upper wall's existence. Now that it is there, it looks like it should have been there the whole time. It was put up for a practical purpose: so I could hang a new microwave over my stove on the other side. My olde (25+ years) micro was suspended from the upper crawl space with long threaded bolts...a set up I found out was completely unorthodox when I tried two years ago to replace it and was told I NEEDED a wall. A friend had her master carpenter husband take a look to see if a wall could be squeezed in behind the cabinets and tied in with the lower wall. It was possible and I am eternally grateful to them for the help! It looks great and the new micro is wonderful.

peekturapalooza

2009-03-02T17:36:00.010-09:00

There is something terribly wrong with my ability to understand and maneuver through digitalcameraville...very, very wrong....I can't figure this shit out so that it is streamlined. Instructions? I don't read no stinkin instructions...

There should appear (in reverse order):

Art

a) moderne design nesting dolls

b) branches design nesting dolls

c) a little painted round box

Fruit

marble fruit I bought in Florence, Italy that is really awesome.

Ravens

2009-02-19T15:55:00.003-09:00

It seems I never came back and wrote anything about my ravens when I had a scare (one disappeared) last spring. The pair did show up and they had 3 rambunctious offspring. I think of this mainly because this morning the ravens had sex about ten feet from my window on a giant snow bank in my yard. It is a privilege to witness this stuff, seriously. I knew something seemed different from their demeanor; they both fluffed out their head feathers so it appeared to be standing straight out. It gives them a decidedly different profile. I see them create this 'big hair' expression sometimes, but never in tandem like they were and then they did a wing dance where it looked like they were pushing out elbows--it was not a wing flapping ordeal, just the small elbow movements. This all made them look very angular and festive with their big fluffy heads. He literally stood on her back (these are large, hefty birds) as she hunkered down in the snow. And then it was over. I took another sip of coffee and went back to work after writing "raven sex" on my daily calendar.

This past summer I made the mistake of interacting with their fledglings they brought to my yard daily to be fed. The past few years I just fed them and did not get involved. This time I ended up spending time letting them get used to me and one got brave enough to take stuff from my hand. They were hilarious to watch as they picked up EVERYTHING with their beaks and tasted it to see if it was food. They kept shredding the plants I had in a hanging planter and I had to keep stopping them from digging up my perennials in my garden just for fun (their fun, not mine). They were pretty destructive...but funny. I had read in Heinrich's, "Mind of the Raven" that they do not like the taste of bees and I got to witness this in action one day when I was sitting in the yard with the three young ravens all quite close to me--a bee buzzed by and to my surprise one of the raven's snapped at it and actually caught it...it was luck, not skill...anyways, I kept watching to see what would happen. He spit the bee out onto the grass, tried tasting it one more time and walked away from it. It's strange that they really "taste" their food but don't seem to have much of a sense of smell. It must be a different way of tasting than what we are familiar with.

They played like puppies. I watched them fight over a stick and one of the ravens ended up standing on the stick taking a ride while another one pulled it trying to get it for itself. They were VERY noisy, especially before their voices changed. I began to realize I had created a problem when they would stay at my place all day long and their parents would be off, probably dining on spawning salmon in the creek a couple of miles away. The three babies even ended up getting so bold as to coming on my deck rail--their parents would never dare to get that close. The male regularly perches on my car's luggage rack, that's as personal as they get. Anyways, I ended up with these three huge, immature birds standing on my deck rail a couple of feet from my living room window and basically Screaming!!! for food. I ended up having to apply tough love and put up with their very sad begging for about a week before they would leave and stop the painful (audible and heart-string) begging. I learned my lesson not to insert myself into the grand scheme of things. Each year the parents kick their fledglings to the curb and stop allowing them to come to my yard to feed. I hope my interference didn't preclude them from learning to fend for themselves. By fall, it is back to just my pair of ravens till early summer comes around and more mouths to feed, for a while.

testing testing onetwothree

2009-02-17T16:27:00.005-09:00

Dear diary, I've not posted in almost a year, so I am just clearing off the cyber-dust (spring cleaning??) and thinking about maybe writing something other than what you are reading, which as you have figured out by now is quite boring...I didn't enter any poems for consideration in the publication I had poems printed in the last couple of years, so I don't have the suspense of that to fret about. I just couldn't get excited about any of the poems I had on hand. I do miss that 'feeling' of being entranced with a particular poem du jour--O' the masochistic joy of poetry!

I have built a wall (well half a wall). No. It's not a metaphor. Actually my friend's carpenter husband put in the wall and I textured and painted it to match the pre-existing bottom of the wall with a peek through section between my kitchen and dining room-slash-office. Turned out not bad. "Orange Peel" was the name of the canned texture I used and it pretty much looks the same except for one part where it got kind of drippy, which is now the bane of my existence each time I look at that little part of supporting column that has the 4"x16" dripperiffic faux pas.

Also I stained and poly-ed a piece of pine that serves as a shelf on the look-through between the two rooms. It turned out REALLY nice. Used an ebony stain initially and them mixed in a ground aluminum silver paint with some of the ebony stain so it looks kind of like gunmetal, but with the wood grain still visible and used a high gloss polyurethane. It looks really moderne and fits well with my black and red kitchen.

Did a little bit of painting on mamushka blanks last month. I bought the blanks years ago and finally got around to being inspired. One set of five is various modern designs that turned out pretty groovy. And the other set of five I painted bare tree branches with five different backgrounds: the largest has a clear blue sky and a few white clouds and the branches have sprinkles of snow on them. Next smaller is a dark blue night with silver stars. Next smaller is a colourful sunrise. Next smaller (about an inch and half high) is an all grey cloudy thing and the tiniest I painted black with a white branch design. The branches on all the others are black/brown. Come to think of it, I could just take a picture...but am still not on good terms with my digital camera...We'll see. Haha.

It has snowed like a bastard again this year--that's three years in a row now. I've heard global warming should actually be called global weirding, because it doesn't define mere 'warming' but more acurately causes anomolies all around. I concur. Messed up my already messed up back moving piles of snow around. Good times. Good times.

Well, I guess I've kicked up enough dust for now...ciao

One Raven Down

2008-04-13T12:05:00.003-08:00

I just got back from driving the road down the hill from me to see if by some chance I could discover what happened to the male raven. The weather is wet and windy, otherwise I would have walked it. I'm writing this, hoping by some magic (like thinking I didn't get any poems chosen for publication then finding out I did) he returns.

The pair have been nesting, so I have only been seeing the male raven for weeks. With one short exception the other morning when they both came by first thing in the morning and she quickly left.

You can tell them apart by personality: His being much bolder and hers a more nervous, jerky demeanor. She approaches food very cautiously and then give these little jumps once she gets to the food. If he was nervous, he hid it well. I could get within a couple of feet of him if I turned my back. He was definately the most interesting to interact with.

Last time I saw him was Friday evening. I can't remember if it was an egg or raw beef strips I'd given him as the final feeding of the night. Sometimes he'd take what I'd given him and stash it and come right back for more and take that and fly into the woods where She and the nest are. Sometimes he'd fly in the opposite direction, like some diversionary tactic (from what I could figure out).

Since Saturday morning only she has come by. At first she was going back to the nest. Now, I think she has abandoned it from the times I am seeing her come by for food and her just eating it (or stashing it) instead of flying off to feed the nestling. So not only has He disappeared, I think it means the end the their nestlings too.

For at least a couple of years, these two birds have been a part of my daily life, you can't help but get attached. They've brought their nestlings, once fledged, to my yard in mid-summer so I could see their efforts (and my small part of feeding) in the flesh.

Sad. I'm really sad and hope by some miracle he shows back up. But, it is so completely out of character for him to have disappeared under these circumstances.

When I went out to get in the car to drive and look for him, she was sitting in the rain in a leafless tree next to my driveway, instead under the shelter of a pine. I think she is looking for him too.

sigh.

Ummm. Nevermind (March 25 post)

2008-03-28T08:30:00.005-08:00

Well.
So much for pouting and feeling sorry for myself. (Shit, I was sooo enjoying it!!)
I woke up this morning to an email telling me that not one, not two, not Three, but FOUR of my five poems submitted would be published. It's pretty incomprehensible. I really thought the deadline for finding out had passed--because.........I'd been told if I was to be included I would have heard the previous week. It's not like I made up the timeline; I had it on good authority.

Maybe spring-break pushed it to later. Who knows??! But I am dumbstruck that 4 of these are getting published. The fifth poem happens to have alread been published in a magazine: "Alaska Women Speak." But they print just about anything. This university publication is done through 'blind-judging,' so there is an element of merit.

I'm pretty stoked.
I also haven't written a poem in about a year. I always get to a point where I think that anything and everything I have ever written is crap! Maybe this will resurrect my muse from her puddle of muck...

I think I am pouting...

2008-03-25T14:24:00.003-08:00

Well, this is totally damned random, but if I was going to get another poem published like last year, I should have heard by now. I have not. Sigh. Sometimes it helps to punch out of a pout by doing something physical. So I am typing up my poem that got published last year in hopes of it giving me a placebo effect. Maybe I can convince myself I Really Didn't Want to have another poem chosen for publication. It is greedy to hope for two years in a row. Sigh. I'm a greedy girl. So here goes:

Sunday Afternoon 3:30 to 3:31

A tumbleweed Coke can clunks down the street
while bus-stop tired eyes gaze to
the water-spotted sidewalk, grey
and darker grey, just like the sky.
The red neon SUSHI sign
Flashes
in a dark window opposite
the direction the bus is to come.
The church on the corner
wears yellow caution tape
around its fire scorched entrance and
a three-legged dog, ignoring the warning
relieves himself there, while his man
with a red vinyl shopping bag and
black umbrella waits, his head bowed.
A skateboard riding youth
Ssssssizzles
past the SUSHI shop and
the bus-stop tired eyes follow his
silhoutte......Till a diesel rumble
set them to shuffling towards the curb
One
behind
the
other.
Cigarettes tossed,
their red embers
fade in the rain
as the bus pulls away.

(the end)

I realized while typing this (decided not to do a cut/paste) that my purposeful use of colour sort of mirrors a band I would come to adore years after writing this piece: The White Stripes. When I wrote the piece I wanted to only have: Red. Black. Grey (white/black). Yellow. as snapshots for the reader. I totally understand the concept of painting yourself into a corner; simplifying and creating 'rules' in which to expand creatively. It is the reason I used to like working with formula poetry. Strict syllable counts and such. The rules act as a trampoline and are the opposite of restrictive....Hey, I almost forgot I was pouting just now....It's working!!!

Dear diary....ravens....

2008-03-09T17:37:00.006-08:00

Well, I just want to put this down before I forget...and this is one place I know I won't lose it...and besides, no one reads this but me....

So about the pair of ravens I have been feeding for a couple of years...
Last spring I caught them doin' it in the road (just like the Beatles' song) in the spring, but I'm not sure which month it was (dammit). Edit: Feb 26 last year is when I witness the notsohot raven sex...Don't know the gestation time for the laying of eggs, though...

A short while ago I looked out the window and there was one of the ravens waiting patiently for me to notice it was there and toss is some vittles. Sometimes the other raven is waiting in a huge pine in my backyard and comes swooping dramatically down after her mate has sealed the deal (for some food); sometimes she's off doing other stuff (whatever ravens do in their spare time). So, I toss out a handful of heart-shaped dog biscuits to the one raven in the yard and start to head back in, when I see her landing across the street on the long arm of a 2x4 holding my mailbox...not so unusual Except that she has in her beak a couple of foot-long sticks with little twigs here and there. She sees her partner is getting some food and shakes the sticks, looks at her partner, bobs her head up and down and makes a decision to put them down on the board, breaks off a twig that was sticking out of the works, picks them back up again (now I'm wondering if she is going to choose nest building or dinner) then she flies the short distance across the street depositing her nest sticks on their usual hangout: a berm of snow at the end of my driveway. She leaves them there on the berm and goes to get a dog cookie. I see she thinks about trying to manage a cookie and the sticks and to my dismay, she opts for cookie only and flies away. Her partner (I'm pretty sure it is the male who is left) finishes his cookie, picks a couple of them up and tamps them into the snow hiding them for later...climbs up the berm and picks up the sticks his wife left. He did this weird shaking of them, backandforth, like he was measuring something, then he took off with them in his beak....so he did pick up where she left off...and I stopped feeling guilty about interrupting nest building with a tasty snack.
I find them endlessly fascinating.

One of my poems is getting published!!

2007-02-28T14:45:00.000-09:00

Yippeee. I sent in a handful of poems last November to my local university after they put out word of solicating poems/short stories from the public. They were blind judged. I found out a couple of days ago they chose one of my poems to be included in the publication. It's funny, of the five I sent in, I would have ranked the one chosen about my fourth fave.

It's an odd snapshot of time. I wrote it years ago and it's gone through many changes. At one point, I really loved it, then something happened and I decided it wasn't so great after all. So now, I am trying to 'bond' with it again, since it has gone out and done what no other of my poems has done: gotten itself published :o) I suppose I should buy it a drink or some flowers or something, to show my appreciation. I'll think about it...

What? You think I'm gonna print it here? Sorry chumps. You'll have to buy the book. Hahaha
Just kidding. I'll post it here eventually. It might even be here already, I'll have to take a look.

Egads! A Bit of Eagle Excitement!!

2007-02-16T10:35:00.000-09:00

Holy crap!! I've been feeding this pair of ravens that lives in my neighborhood for a little over a year now. This winter, I mostly have been walking the 20' or so from my house to the end of my drive way where there is a hulking snow bank and putting food out there. The 'ususal' are these all natural dog bisquits shaped like a heart, old bread and I indulge them almost daily with a raw egg for each. The ravens take turns sitting out on that bank looking at me through my front window where I am ususally at work (or playing on this computer) and basically reminding me that they are there and would like, "more food please." No matter how much I have already put out for them. When they are sitting there in a pouring rain or thick snow shoulders hunched up, they are at their most pathetic and I think they know it.

So, this morning I remembered I had a chicken carcass from a rotisserie chicken I bought last week. Yesterday, I gave the ravens and my dog Sarah most of the easily accesssible meat from the bones. This morning I figured they would most likely grab the bones and fly off with them, so I didn't worry about them leaving a mess of bones at the end of my drive.

Well, it can't take more than 20 seconds or so to walk from my door straight out to the end of the drive. One raven was there, on snow bank doing his begging/lookout. I walked out there tossed the carcass onto the snowbank about three feet from the raven and I was about three feet from the carcass. I noted Thing 2 (the other raven) start down right away on its usual spiral to join its mate. But then at the same time I heard them give out an alarming cry, different from their usual vocalizing. I looked up and saw the reason why. A bald eagle (and yes, they are quite large) was about ten feet above the carcass, its knobby orange claws set out for a quick grab and run. It all happened so fast and right in front of me. It was awesome!!

We have had a pair of eagle that lives in the neighborhood and has been here for at least 20 years. So it is not unusual to see an eagle. It is unusual for them to swoop down and grab raven food. The thing that is really so remarkable is the short amount of time between me leaving the house with the tasty treat and the time it took the eagle to see what it was and intercept it. It somehow KNEW there was a Chicken carcass for lunch and not the raven cookies. And bam! There it was. Afterall they are predators with great eye sight and probably a keen sense of smell. If they were slow at getting the job done, I suppose they would have died out with the dinosaurs. WoW.

Common Redpolls (Mr. & Mrs.)

2007-01-13T14:50:00.000-09:00

I lightened up this image from what originally showed on my digital camera. Considering all the still existing irreconcilable differences, I still want a divorce!!

Earthquakes are almost as scary as going back to school...

2007-01-09T12:04:00.001-09:00

Got rudely woke up this morning by an earthquake. 5.7 is what they are saying. All my paintings and glass objects were rattling and there is always that deep throated rumbling hum that accompanies these things. It is a most insecure feeling. I stayed in bed hoping my overhead light didn't shake loose. Common objects become potential trajectory devices. A reminder that we are vulnerable and at the mercy and whim of Mothernature and that anytime, anywhere disaster can strike. Dontcha love it!!

Even scarier is next week I am going to be taking a couple of classes here at my local university. It has been 10 years since I last took a class. When I do the math, I see that I was still in my 30's when this happened. I feel like such a different person now. So much has happened since then...

So, I am taking a creative writing course that will most likely put me smack in the middle of a bunch of much younger folk. Which I suppose is okay, but knowing that they, in their youth, are going to be more talented than me is a painful notion.

I've never really done any creative writing other than poetry, so this will mostly be all new. Story? Maybe I will come here and beg others to help me with my homework? What if I don't get an "A"? That will be devastating. I am trying to prep myself for that in advance. It is the most likely outcome.

Flipping through my main textbook, I see it caters to youth, trying to relate to their particular lifestyles. When I previously attended classes here and there over several years, I never considered age like I am now. It is difficult to come to terms with a number that defines you when you don't feel it fits. I find myself saying things like, "I am almost 50." Trying on that number as if speaking it will make it less daunting once it reaches down and snatches up me up into that decade. The one that makes me do math and consider with no doubts that I am more than half way through my life...

Blue Tree painting close up

2007-01-06T22:46:00.000-09:00

My digital camera and I are having problems on the level of, irreconcilable differences. My Olympus program makes me do handstands to get a pic out of their program's environment and into one that will open as a 'browse-able' file....Arrgghhh. It's really a pain in the ass and really inefficient. I want a divorce!!

Blue Tree painting full view

2007-01-06T22:35:00.000-09:00

Painted like two pictures last year....now two pics in a week...

It took me about 15 years to figure out how to get this off my camera and onto Blog. My 12/31 painting...

2007-01-02T21:32:00.000-09:00

Parting with parts...

2006-04-27T20:47:00.000-08:00

Ouch.
That is the theme of what happens when it turns out your gallbladder has hundreds of tiny and several large stones mining themselves inside that little bile producing sac.

Last Friday, I woke up early and thought I had the sudden onset of flu. Barfbarfbarfbarfbarf, for about 15 hours with terrible muscle aching in my back and abdomen. The most relevant event at the time was my new, close relationship with my dark green plastic wastepaper basket that allowed me to stay miserably in bed and puke as opposed to staying miserably attached to the commode from 5 in the morning till after 9 that night. Then, it stopped. Every sip of water stopped revealing itself once again. It was then I was left with the major symptom of an angry, twisting pain in my upper right stomach area. I could tell it was not my stomach. I suspected maybe my liver was over thar, but didn't know for sure. I still thought maybe it was the flu, but it was unlike any flu I'd had before. Although, fever and chills were part of the recipe, so there I was. Saturday, the pain was worse and still isolated in the one area. I stayed in bed all day, took a Vicodin I had on hand in case of severe back pain, but it did not do much good. By Saturday evening, I knew something wasn't right so I crawled outta bed and googled a couple of words of my symptoms. Up at the top came "gallbladder." I looked at two sites and was a classic case of having an inflammed and probably stoned gb. I made a silent deal with the god of gallbladders, basically vowing to go to the e.r. in the morning if I wasn't any better.

I arrived at the e.r. which is about 5 minutes away from my home at about 6:30am in a lot of pain. Within four hours, I had been poked, prodded, ultrasounded and told I needed to be admitted and hooked up to an I.V. I was also given the good news about being able to receive pain meds (turned out to be morphine) via the IV in the process. The ultrasound guy, who they had to drag out of bed on a Sunday morning, pointed out my goldmine of stones on the screen a short while earlier...so I knew they were there, but was a bit surprised that I would be admitted so quickly. And never do you want a sip of water more than when you are told you cannot.

So my surgery was scheduled for Monday afternoon. They were able to do it laproscopically, so the incisions are just five small scratches. The discomfort is a world better than having to be sliced open. I was released Tuesday morn and today, Thursday, got my staples removed. It was a breeze.

Of course it was shocking and a bit traumatizing and quite painful, but mostly I am just grateful at the timing of it all. Obviously those stones had been there awhile. I could have had the attack in Italy just a few weeks ago. Or a bit later in May and I would have been drowning in work. But no, the timing was quite perfect and for that I thank the gods for scheduling my gallbladder attack just right. Seriously.

I am however now officially out of (easily) expendable, internal body parts.
So, there is my tale of having a gallbladder and then not having a gallbladder, that I barely even knew existed. Took it for granted I did. And knew even less about its role in my digestive system that is of course till it was too late and we had irreconcilable differences.

Amazingly just about everyone I have come across in the medical community (aka nurses) has an Xgallbladder in their past. It is like I have joined some secret cult. They all told me how much better I'd feel with it being gone. They are right. It becomes easy to hold a major grudge against a body part that can and will cause you so much pain. Who needs em??!!!

Italy trip. Part THREE

2006-04-14T08:26:00.000-08:00

Italy trip. Part THREE

My getting around to writing has been a major hurdle. Of course I could quit my job and live on the streets and have much more time on my hands, but I'd rather not….

So my first taste of Roma is TRAFFIC, much, much evening traffic with horns blasting and maneuvering into moving spaces that we couldn't possibly fit into, but do. Just 'regular' city traffic is a bit overwhelming to me, being from a small (30k) town with a closed road system. We can only go about 40 miles before reaching "the end" and then having to turn around. We have nowhere to go and we go there pretty slow. So I am tired, not having slept for 24 hours and my nerves are already strumming discordantly. The (perceived) killer traffic did not ease the situation. Finally we get off the express and down into the city. Our driver points out random, huge bits of architecture that also serves as art along with statues that also pose as art. Everything in Italy is ART, from the most humble shutter to the grandest arch. In Rome, I was finding I had to try and filter out the frenzy of it all. Traffic, noise, people, traffic, vespas and motorcycles driving up onto sidewalks to get around the jumbled train of cars that we were part of and then, Oh! here is The Colosseum…more jilting traffic and then Oh! some other massive, ancient work of art. Silent and solid white marble, like an anchor, were a visual calm for the passing moment then back to the buzzing of hive-like busyness in the dark that was my introduction to Rome.

Finally, a winding alleyway, well I guess it is a street, but oh, so narrow, we arrive at our hotel: Albergo dei Borgognoni. Please, do not ask me to pronounce it. "gn" as in LasaGNa. I know, it doesn't help. So we arrive at our hotel. The lobby has a lovely, huge floor to ceiling 'terrarium' with live plants that it turned out our room's terrace (yes! Terrace!) overlooked, along with a big chunk of Roman sky. Actually: TERRACE is unofficially the theme of our entire trip. We wanted views and we wanted those views to have a terrace if at all possible. This was the defining reason we picked this hotel, being able to get a terrace.

Our room (delightfully) looked just like the picture on the website: The double-doors that opened onto the tiled terrace with the round table and chairs. There were planters with lattice and vines and pansies and geraniums that defined our square of outside property for the next couple of days. A surprising part of having this 'outdoors' experience from our hotel room was the Roman seagulls (terns?) that we could not see but could hear "chuckling" early in the morning and late into the night. I heard the same unique laughter of these birds on our one last night in Rome we had before catching our flights home.

So we meet our room and most importantly, our bathroom. Need I mention? Marble. All bathrooms in Italian hotels are marble-intensive. We are hungry and want to walk. We go downstairs and ask for a good place to eat and are given a map and simple instructions. We got lost for the next three hours.

Besides the terrace, we also chose this hotel because of its close proximity to the Spanish Steps, Trevi fountain, Triton fountain, etc, etc. We exited the narrow street of our hotel and turned left and then right and then straight and then left again and five minutes after leaving, could not find our hotel again. In our defense, (hehe) literally the 'street' our hotel was located on had TWO different names bookending the name of the 'street' our hotel was on which was Via Bufalo. It was only Bufalo in the middle (I think for the span of the doorway of the Borgognoni) then it was two different names on either end. We even asked a (local) police officer, "Dove via Bufalo?" and he did not know. This was ironically comforting at the time, since we were not only lost, but feeling quite stupid. I know that eventually Beckee will read this, so I am obligated to mention that I became obnoxiously uncomfortable that night about being lost, hungry and tired in a strange city with a strange language. My usual ability to assimilate and go with the flow was just plain broken that night for all the reasons mentioned above. Also, in my defense :o) I was perfectly happy to get lost again, the next night after sundown and even was able to do a little bit of rational navigating with a map by that time. Becs and I both blamed 'exhaustion' for our inability to figure out something as simple as which way to hold 'the map.' We also blamed exhaustion for in our inability to figure out, once we got back to our hotel room whether or not the major (tourista-intensive) fountain we wandered onto was the Trevi? Or the Titon? If this was a class, we both would have had a D-. Neither of us did our homework. We were blank slates (with blank stares at times) sucking up all this Roman, this uh, Roman….stuff….

Italy trip. Part TWO (please read in numerical order)

2006-04-09T06:48:00.000-08:00

….so I am ironically waxing on paper about wishing to have MORE moments ripe with the possibility for being "pretentious" while in the midst of Pretentious Centrale (as a bit player, but a player nonetheless). I trusted what they told me was correct, about coming to tell me when we could board the plane. No waiting with 'the little peoples!" It was as if we were 'cordially invited' to now partake in their little journey across the globe: "Please, kind people, may we now interest you in a trip to London? This way please…." Okay, that is not what they said, but it might as well have been.

I should mention that I am pretty sure there was actually a 'club room' even more exquisite than the one I was in. I think there was a First Class only room. Bastards! Also, the restrooms for this oasis (public restrooms, things that are near and dear to my heart when I travel) were of the ilk seen only in two other place in my travels:1) The Four Seasons in Vegas and 2) Harrod's department store in London. They had the tall, to the floor doors. So discreet!! Their paper towels felt like cloth. No Kidding!! :o) Sigh.

My seat was in the Upstairs of the plane. My carryon luggage was quite heavy as was my "purse" so I was dreading the trek up. Thankfully a steward at the top helped me get them up and then into the overhead. Then, the enormity of my naivety sunk in like an umbrella collapsed over me, almost taking my breath away. I supposed the thing that looked much like a sarcophagus was my seat (?) Yes. Okay, I sit. But what was all that stuff on the panel to my left!??! I tried looking around to observe and learn with not much luck. The seats are staggered so you are not directly across from anyone. I tried hanging onto my "purse" but discovered after fumbling around for several minutes and then asking, that when you are in an aisle seat, you have no storage space. I was offered champagne and accepted. Magically, the steward flipped a little toggle and down popped a tiny triangle shaped cup table from my mysterious left-side panel. It is no bigger than the palm of my hand, but quite functional. On the very busy L-SP there is a diagram of the seat, showing how if you press various of maybe 10 buttons what your seat is expected to do, including lumbar support options. There is also a personal screen that swings out on an arm in front of you, just missing the tiny cup table. Great design! More than a legs length away, near the back of the seat in front of me is the clipped up thing that will become my leg rest after we have taken off. I fret about not looking like an ass while trying to figure out how to unbuckle and adjust it (with good reason). I almost wished I was in my familiar place: Coach. They passed out menus that had options such as: "black truffle oil salad with grilled prawns" and a wine and dessert list. Last time I traveled, I was still a vegetarian, so I was enjoying the diversity of my eating options this time around. I was too nervous to hardly eat a thing, delic as it was. So back to my ineptitude; I did figure out how to unbuckle the footrest, but did not figure out how to actually lift it till I saw a seat neighbor raise his. It took me way too long to figure out where to find the place to plug in my earphones to listen to tv and just as long to figure out how to get the remote control out of its nesting place in the armrest. So much for my ambiance of pretentiousness that I was enjoying in the clubroom, I was now clever as a monkey in a chess game and just as clumsy.

It's about a 10 hour flight from Seattle to London's Heathrow. All in all, my trip was a full 24 hour ordeal from Juneau to landing in Rome. I suppose I am trying to justify writing nothing but airport/airplane stuff for two whole chapters…but it was all part of the bigger picture of the trip. I should wrap it up though. Let's see, when you fly Business on BA, you get to go through something called "Fasttrack" at the security points, of which I had to pass through about 3 between getting off at Heathrow and catching the bus between terminals. My friend Beckee, who I met up with at Heathrow, was thankfully able to tag along with me through these 'fast' lines. I am now so spoiled by Fasttrack, in reality I would have been better off never having seen this aspect of travel. What you don't know…you know?

I had been telling Beckee for a couple of months that there was a surprise in Rome. The surprise was that I had booked a car to pick us up at the airport. They called it a limo, but it really was 'just' :o) a Mercedes with a driver that meets you at the exit with a sign with your name. It was less than 15 euro more than grabbing a taxi, so what the heck!?! It was almost dark and raining when we arrived in Rome…

Italy trip. Part ONE

2006-04-08T06:25:00.000-08:00

I bought a writing tablet at Seattle's airport and that is the only place I used it. In fact I just realized that I may have lost it, because I can't recall seeing it ever again. Some poor soul who may have found it is probably in a coma from boredom. Nervous, pre-flight ramblings are never worth the paper used and may even shorten the readers' life by hours when it comes down to it.

All through my trip, I would randomly ("random" my 'Word of the Trip', by the way) consider how "this present moment" would end up in my blog, or at least on paper. I would think of clever lines, full of description or humor and then, seconds later everything I just contemplated had fallen out, leaving only a ghost of memory that something was lost. I eventually made an effort to not do this, since I figured I was losing all my best material. But now, in hindsight, there are few small, reflective moments to speak of when it comes down to the black and white of writing. I am left with two weeks worth of small pulses and large jumps, stops and slowing down, of here and there. I decided a few days before leaving Firenze that:
I am only a bit player in the story of my life.
It is hard to explain, but things that happen, mostly the things that seem like a gift I am not worthy of overwhelm me at times and I feel the need to hide behind the persona of the person who is on the receiving end of these wonderful experiences. I know. This is not sounding like a typical travelogue and more like scraping the plaque of my brain cells in public. Yikes. I suppose Here, is where I should apologize to my readers who have stuck around this long.

So, I guess the only way to do this is to start at the start. If I try to do a highlights/mundane ('mundane' in Europe is still roller coaster exciting from my perspective) format, I will get hopelessly lost, which was a constant state of being in Roma. See! In a flash I could easily begin to tell you about getting and staying lost in Rome. But I won't, it is not the beginning…

I left Juneau early morning Tuesday, March 21. Sitting on the plane at the gate, in my comfy First Class seat (please note: I flew on a Free mileage ticket that bumped me up to flying in luxury on both Alaska Air and British Air. I considered (and still do) I will never be able to fly in such comfort ever again. So in my 'coach class' brain, this was a Big deal :o) so, we are sitting at the gate ready to take off a few minutes early according to the pilot's voice when the next message we get is saying, "Sorry folks, but some fog has rolled in and we don't have our needed quarter mile visibility. We will have to sit and wait." I got to sit and fret for nearly an hour before the fog cleared up enough for us to take off. I'm quite sure, I single handedly Wished the fog off the runway.

Fast forward to Seattle's airport, British Air's terminal is at a satellite wing that requires taking an underground tram. Even though I had over a six hour layover, I decided to hang out at the wing instead of staying in the main terminal with main things to occupy one's mind and wallet. In other words, the satellite is a very boring place. No one showed up at British Air's desk for the first couple of hours (that is three days in airport time) and I was a little concerned about not having a boarding pass yet. I was assured that going directly to the satellite was no problem, but in the past, I had always gone out of security and picked up my BP at the main terminal. "Fretting" is one of my main hobbies when traveling; especially at airports. So, finally a body shows up at the desk. Then, the miracle happened. I was given a boarding pass (NOT the miracle) and then informed I should go up the (grand) staircase to my right, and wait in the World Traveler Boardroom. I was also told, "They will come up and let you know when your flight is ready for boarding." It had started, the part about me being in a place where I don't belong. I said thanks and wandered off pulling my suitcase and suitcase sized "purse" and went to the loo to consider actually entering this rarified space. With still three or so hours to wait, and feeling this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, I decided to take those stairs…

There was a high countered desk, with a man sitting (yes, sitting, not standing) behind it. He needed to see my ticket to be sure that I was 'qualified' to enter this space, this space of which I could already hear the FOUNTAIN beyond the large double-doorway. Yes folks (those of you who know not of this stuff) upstairs in a normal looking airport wing was a paradise of a waiting room. It was shaped like a large semi-circle with towering windows shaded in a woven type material that let just enough light in (not too much, not too little). There were tables set up that had umbrellas, like the kind you have outdoors. There are teak lounge chairs place randomly here and there, couches, love seats, benches (all with their own little tables and such). There was a snack bar area with glasses, coffee cups and huge coffee/espresso machine, water-con and sans gasse, fresh juices, a basket full of granola bars and other snacky foods. I tried taking all this in, included the lovely fountain without too much of a look of utter amazement. I'm pretty sure I failed. I quickly claim the uber-moderne couch in the far right corner with the undulating back and its own green glass table, next to the settled in couple in a pair of teak loungers. They were my mentors and never, ever knew it. I sat back and had to observe what was going on. Did you need to pay for the water/snacks? Help yourself? Wasn't all this Too Good to be True!!?! Well, yes. And it was all free. I sipped on sparkling water with fresh lime most that afternoon. I watched people coming in envying their casual knowledge of this special chunk of paradise in the middle of a hectic downstairs airport. They (most everyone) ordered drinks of all types: wine/mixed liquor from the black and white uniformed folks who hovered around. All free. After awhile, they brought out huge trays of small sandwiches that drew small flocks of folks to the snack counter. I sat back and watched and was astounded (hopefully this not registering too loudly on my face) and wrote in green ink in my just bought tablet about how I would like to get to know the act of being "pretentious" a lot more intimately. All the while with my legs propped up on the clean, beautiful couch and a glass of lime tinted sparkling at my side.

Pre-Flight Ramblings

2006-03-20T07:00:00.000-09:00

Well, I have neglected this poor, starving blog. Even this entry will be nothing more meaty than 'giving a dog a bone.' :o)

It is Monday morning, 7am. This time tomorrow I will be sitting in a First Class seat on Alaska Airlines, waiting to taxi off the runway. Yes, FC. My many miles accumulated from my travels 4/5 years ago merited me enough miles to trade miles for a ticket to Europe, for free. Btwn Juneau and Seattle it got me on FC. On British Airways, it got me a Business Class flight that would have cost me over (this is no exaggeration) $10,000 btwn Seattle and Rome. So, I will be flying in luxury for the first (and most likely the last) time ever. No being packed in like a pickle in a jar for 11+ hours on the flight to London. I plan on actually getting some sleep. I plan on trying not to look or act too much like I "don't belong" in that part o'the plane. If there is a "Which fork is this?" test, I will fail miserably.

This past weekend, we had a very late season snow storm. I was in major fret mode for 2 whole days, wondering if it would end up cancelling flights. It did not. Beckee and I did during the Fret make contingency plans for me arriving 24 hours later than planned. It really was awful to contemplate, but ya gotta look at all those 'what ifs' if the situation calls for it. I would have missed going to the Colosseum, but would have been there in time to catch our 11am train (I bought the tiks online already :o) to Venice on Friday.

I counted on my fingers the other day and realized it is taking me literally 24 hours to get from Juneau to Rome.

PLEASE, let me be able to sleep, this time. amen.

Arrividerci....Hopefully I will have some interesting things to say when I get back (for a change :o)

Ciao and Salute!
Laurie

Pure, Nonsensical, Work Avoiding Ramblings....

2006-02-06T14:53:00.000-09:00

I'm in working 7daysaweekmode for this entire month (workapalooza). I probably won't be adding much to blogsville. And really having nothing significant (yeah, right, like what I say IS usually 'significant' hehe) to add now. Just taking a breaking between ending one Batch and starting another. In other words, I am being an opportunist by avoiding going back to work at this moment. Good thing I am the boss :o) Such behavior would not be tolerated in others…

While drinking half a bottle of wine last night (one glass at a time) and watching The Lord of the Ring's second installment, I realized that amongst all those adjectives used to describe a wine (FF Coppola's Merlot in this case) that 'grapes' never seems to be amongst the list. You got your currants, blueberries, vanilla, mushrooms, sandalwood, cabbage, patchouli, etc…but never grapes. Ironic :o)

I had a second nightmare last night that I forgot to bring my passport for my trip to Italy. Oh! What a disaster that would be!! I obviously have deep seated fears about it. I actually saw it happen a few years ago while at the British Air terminal in Seattle. A group of kids on a school trip were flying with a couple of chaperones to London. One of the kids had forgotten their passport at home, so they ended up having to leave with one less chaperone and one less kid so they could retrieve the passport and catch up the next day. Oy. I think this was the same time we flew out of Seattle to London and it turned out our State's governor was on our flight…which is not so incredibly outside the odds of happening…What was beyond weird was that we ended up checking into the same hotel (which was how I knew we shared the flight) at the same time and that my niece (travel companion) had babysat for his press secretary so there was a real hometown connection there in a hotel across the street from Hyde Park in London. Too weird. Did I write about this already on my blog? Maybe so. It got uber-weird when a couple of nights later my niece and I were collecting our Lion King tickets at the will-call window and the lady we knew passed us on the stairs, noticed us and gave a "Hey Juneau!" shout out. Along the same lines of small world phenoms…I met a lady in Verona who was from Seattle who actually knew my dentist in Juneau who had retired and moved to the Seattle area. And a little less personal but weird just the same was standing outside the opera house in Detroit, I struck up conversation with someone who was from Washington DC who, when she learned I was from Juneau, dropped the name of our local theater's director who had just recently moved from Juneau to DC. Small world. Oh yeah, one other…I walked into my lower Manhattan hotel a few days before Bocelli's 'Statue of Liberty' concert and hear someone call my name. I look up and there is a lady I had met in Detroit (who lived in Manhattan) who just happened to have stopped in our hotel's lobby for a break.

Trip update! Beckee and I are going to stay in Venice a 4th night instead of spending one day/night in Verona. I realized about a month ago that being in Verona would end up being just one giant nostalgia-fest for me. My friend Mickie who died this summer and I (and Astrid) spent nearly 2 weeks there in 2001. It would just be a sad trip down memory lane. It would be okay, if it was more than one day, but if that is all it was, that is all it would end up being-a sniff-fest. So Beckee and I will spend the extra day in our Grande Canal view room, next to the Rialto Bridge. Even better than that!! Is that our friend Astrid from Vienna will drive down and spend the last day/night in Venice with us and then we'll all drive down in Astrid's car to Florence. It's going to be lots of fun. Road Trip :o))

And last but not least, on January 11, the Teatro del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino tickets for this spring's season went on sale, both online and via the phone. I stayed up late on the 10th, which was early morning in Italy to get some of the first released tickets. I was buying tickets for each of the 3 nights performances. The best I did was 2nd row and got 4th row for another night. The opening night performance had only 'cheap' seats available from the onset, so we are up in a right side box for that night. It was disappointing, because they show a 'chart' online of exactly what seats are available and which ones have been sold over the internet. They were NOT releasing any of the front row seats. Very frustrating. The next day, I checked out the 'charts' and saw that on one night they had finally released a few front row seats (and sold out the other!). I was pissed off for about 2 minutes, then had an epiphany. I came up with a scheme to 'beat the computer system' that if it worked would get me some front row seats, too. I realized by looking at the chart of available seats that by choosing the maximum amount of seats, which was 4, that as long as I typed fast (and I do) that even if it (the system) offered me 4 less desirable seats, that I could type fast enough (they ask for your life history each time you look for seats!) so that if they offered me four seats I did NOT want, that the 'system' would still hold those for me for 2 minutes. This meant I had those 2 minutes to ask again for 4 seats, type in my life history (name address passport place of birth, etc) and it would HAVE to offer me 4 other seats. Those four other seats, according to my calculations would HAVE to be front row :o) It worked. Hehe. It will go down in history as one of the highlights of my life. It was brilliant and satisfying and geez, how I love Front Row seats. Astrid and another friend will take the 2 extra tiks. Cha ching.

Well this is a crazy, dis-jointed, all over the place bit of rambling. I stop now. Hiho Hiho

Guilty Pleasure #6, Stealing other bloggers topics of discussion

2006-01-30T18:02:00.000-09:00

I owe Wil a big thanks for explaining to me (again) how to get a Link. I have yet to try again, but will, Wil. :o) As for the below, I saw this afternoon on Gerrit's blog this topic of '5 Guilty Pleasures.' It seemed like a fun thing to occupy my mind (and was!) so I stole the idea. Apologies all around, and thanks for the idea.

1) Peter Sarsgaard. Guilty. I watch his movies now just to see him, and not to appreciate the movie as a whole. Of course on the first few viewings I am enjoying the movie. After that, I am just being Pathetic. I might even be able to confess to one steamy dream. Sigh. Yes, dammit, just one. :o)

2) My hot tub. I adore everything about it. The relaxing, buoyant hot water, the turquoise blue light, the effervescence of the water when the jets are on, the muscle pummeling jets and the emancipating feeling of being topless in the great outdoors. It is private enough to do this without much fear, but that little bit of fear of being caught top down is a good thing, too :o). (cheap thrills) Hmmm, maybe I should blame this list on my evil twin…and there is nothing better to go along with this than a glass of chilled, champagne and a compilation CD custom made for just this sort of thing…

3) Talking to my dog, Sarah, and sometimes, lying to her. Yes. I sometimes lie to my dog. It is all in the name of adding a little excitement to her 'lady of leisure' life and to humor my self. Sometimes I tell her, "There are Meows Out There!" and maybe on occasion I might mention that, " and they want your bone." Same goes for the "perty birds" which now includes not just the stellar jays, but also the dark eyed juncos that come for sunflower seeds and the pair of ravens I have been feeding (gasp) her crunchy dog snacks. So I talk to her about stuff and set her off into grabbing her bones every once in a while and running to the window, looking for thieves….

4) Soap and lotion. I have 5 years worth of shower soap in my bathroom. Mostly by Philosphy and The Body Shop. From Philosphy you have your food groups, Key Lime Pie, Hot Chocolate, Melon Daiquiri, Hazelnut White Chocolate, Cinnamon Buns, Coconut Cream Pie, Candy Cane, Egg Nog, Café au Lait, Pumpkin Pie, Vanilla Cupcake, Apple Cider…okay, maybe 10 years worth. The Body Shop has more earthy delights: Peppermint, Sugar n Spice, Bergamot, Chocolate Orange, Pink Grapefruit (okay, I guess we have some food groups here too…) Some of these flavors also have matching lotions. I am terribly addicted to this stuff. Somebody stop me!!!!!

5) Past transgressions: I used to bite my nails. I am down to biting only one. I used to polish off a bag of Ruffles barbeque potato chips in an evening. I no longer eat chips or drink Coke and don't even miss the stuff. I used to beat my dog…Just Kidding!! Somebody else used to beat my dog but thankfully gave her up for adoption. I used to use credit cards like they were growing on trees till reality kicked in and gave them up for a debt free lifestyle. I am however Still paying for THAT past transgression. And then there is always Venice. I guess that place really is my guiltiest of pleasures...

Tending elephants, especially in the snow is tough...

2006-01-27T22:04:00.000-09:00

Dear diary,

I have realized this week that there is much sadness associated with snow. As much as I have enjoyed being out in the pristine white stuff and crispy blue skies, shoveling or walking, there was a shadow that kept nudging me until I recognized what it was and then I could not leave its edges of darkness, which is where I am still as I type in the white, reflective northern daylight. It is the first time in over 3 months that I am really struggling with the loss and struggling with making wise choices about living when it has felt like I too died nearly six years ago. The memories of snow as a child's playground, the sledding, the snowsuits, the wet, frozen mittens that need drying for the next day, the snowmen, snow-caves, angels…later the skier who needed rides up to the ski slopes, who was committed enough to the sport to join the ski club. Those blue eyes that mirrored mine sparkled above chill-chafed red cheeks and knit hat pressed blonde hair. The thermos full of hot chocolate was as important as the skis in my mind. Those minor details of life's happenings are just 'things' compared to the loss of the person. But you can't untangle the tapestry of complexities that make for a life. As a parent, everything is naturally deferred to making things well and good for your child, which includes the tangible and intangible, so you can't strip away the 'things.' So I am realizing that outside the loss of my son, I miss on a much less profound level, being his mom, being a mom. It really is trivial in the big scheme of things, my loss of a 'role.' But it was my main identity for all my adult life. I was a mother before I was 20. I matured into adulthood with that fate already part of who I was. So the more I allow myself to feel, the more complex the root of loss becomes. No longer able to continue barely living, the finality of never, ever being who I once was makes me realize I have to find a new identity and continue to 'survive' the loss of my only child. It is like an engineering feat with myself being the project. A project that I am ambivalent about at best under these circumstances, so therein lies the catch. It is no wonder I have been self destructive and/or shut down as much as possible from life, from living in general. When the machinery is so damaged, you wonder if it is worth it to try and patch things up enough to continue. Just what is the fucking point? But then the heat that fuels the soul percolates and your lungs continue to fill with air and your heart goes on beating and you never for a moment would exchange never having known this indescribable pain of loss because it means that you loved someone so utterly and completely and that they were a gift in your life worth any hell you are living with. Loving a child is a category of its own. No spouse or sibling or parent or friend approaches being close to the connect you have with your child, it is physical and emotional at the same time, so the damage of loss is like invisible scar tissue, a stigmata that only someone who has experienced the same thing can truly understand. You don't want to meet people who 'understand.' That means they too are living with an inconsolable pain. There is no comfort in numbers, just an exponential sense of tragedy and recognition that has no redemptive qualities, just recognition. Nothing good comes of that commonality. Not for me, at least.
So I am sad in the snow. I am shoveling in the daylight and trying and not trying to keep from crying. I'm sure that is a big part of my problem or solution (solution, as in a momentary sense of peace)…allowing myself to cry, no matter how self indulgent and futile it seems and is. Because maybe opening myself up more to the pain, will also allow more good things in too. I have the volume on life set so low. No, not volume, it is an alarm, that's it. At the slightest hint of sadness seeping in the cracks (which can be several times a minute) I have installed reactors to shut the alarms down, which shuts me down…which has seemed like a very good, self preservation notion for these past few years, but in the end, has turned me into a barely living entity as a whole. A patch here a band aide there a few tears and of course good red wine is a start, or maybe a damned conclusion for all I know.

A new, little black toy....

2005-12-25T19:23:00.000-09:00

Well, I did it. I invited an ipod Nano into my life. It has a shiny black coat and tiny as the runt of a litter. It eats very little and sings whenever I request. All my faves too!! If Sarah-dog knew how smitten I have become with my newest pet, she'd be very jealous. So we won't tell her, will we?!?

I tend to go kicking and screaming into new technology. But, I also have learned from experience some (not all) things are just worth the effort and change it takes to incorporate tangible, new fangled items along with a new way of doing things.

The itunes software itself if a dream come true. My olde computer with its retro-fitted cd burner used to takes about a half hour to burn a compilation cd. Even then it only did it successfully about 60% of the time. Tonight, not without some idiotic moments of trying to figure out how to move songs into a burn-list, I got a list together, clicked "burn" and turned aside to get something pressing done. Not 5 minutes later, I turned back and there was my play list on the screen and my cd drive was dormant. I figured I screwed something up badly. To be sure, I closed itunes out, took the disc I tried to copy to out and put it back in. Up came the burn-list again. I still figured it was there on screen from my previous attempt. Even when it started playing song One, I dismissed it as playing it from my hard-drive. There was no way, a cd could have been burned in less than 5 minutes. Before throwing it away, I decided to try sticking it into my Bose for a quick check. There it was! Song one, "Charlemagne's Hometown" by James McMurtry filled the air. Then the White Stripes, "Truth Doesn't Make a Noise" poured out. It was nearly a religious experience, to have such great and sure doubt, then to be reversed to faith.

Last night while staring at an empty music library file, I had to decide what song I would inaugurate 'itunes' with. Just like when I picked Elgar's 'Concerto for Cello' to be my Bose player's first sounds. I picked Tracy Chapman's, "Change." About the next thing I did was purchase Joan Osborne's, "One of Us" and the Trogg's, "Love is All Around." It was so lovely to be thinking about favorite music. Not just favorite cd's, but down to the very best songs. The ones that make me feel energized, or thoughtful, or soothed, or even sad. Cause and effect. I am delighted with this 'favorite' aspect of my Nano along with the size, the shiny-ness and simplicity. It is inviting the very best of something into my life. Something I did not consider till it was in front of me.

When ordering one of these things from Apple, they give you the option of having a 2-line engraving put on the stainless steel-looking back. I paraphrased the last 2 lines of one of my all time favorite poems, William Ernest Henley's, "Invictus." To fit into Apple's limited space, I had to drop the "I am"(s) at the front of each line. This is what is engraved on my new musical toy:

Master of my fate
Captain of my soul

It is impossibly small to contain 1000 songs. I have decided there is some element of magic involved in all this...the same magic that allows jets to get off the ground and light bulbs to turn on :o) There is only so much I am willing to give of myself to technology. The rest will remain wonderous and awe inspiring for me.

2005-12-22T16:07:00.000-09:00

I am gobsmacked! Took this picture and Many more equally oooh-inspiring photos on the cold but sunrise intensive weekend morns. I just picked up my 2 rolls of film and am doing a Happy Dance at what I got. p.s. NOT digital. NO enhancements or adjustments made to this photo. Will post more later

If ya like Opera....

2005-12-09T20:05:00.000-09:00

Oh, my goodness! First things first. This is the first time I have figured out how to insert a picture into the text portion of my blog. I still have not figured out how to post a link. Win some. Lose some.

Okay, now for what I really came here for. Last week or so I got an email from the Met highlighting a couple of newly released cd's. The cd to the left (gawd, I hope it is still there when I publish!) was one they were highlighting. I am going to take a leap here and recommend this cd before it ever shows up on my doorstep. Such is my confidence in Ana Maria Martinez and Steven Mercurio to put together a winner. Ana Maria, I believe is now a regular at the Houston Opera. Before that beside starring in operas around the country and Europe, she traveled extensively with Andrea Bocelli as his soprano sidekick. She has a rich and beautiful voice. Not grating like some sopranos can be (to my ears). Steven Mercurio consistenly brings out the best in orchestras and musical arrangements. And he tossed me flowers at Hyde Park, but I digress (hahaha). Given the great talent involved, there is no way this cd could be anything but Very Good. Check it out!

Boldly going where....

2005-12-09T16:25:00.000-09:00

Boldly going where this woman has never gone before: I am (sweaty palms and all) going to be switching over from this here original Dell computer of mine from 1998, to my new puter tonight or tomorrow. I've acutally got the new Dell plugged in and fired up (sans internet connect). I am fretting that the set-up internet stuff that I had to SKIP will cause me grief in the future. How will this all turn out? I dunno. I am a genius :o) but not a computer genius. This may be the last anyone hears from me. Ever.

I have software that will take the thoughts of my old friend and put them into my new friend. I will then abandon my old friend like used tissue...not really, it is going to my sister and her family's place. They smoke. Maybe then it will wish it treated me better lately....

I've Got A Hot Date...

2005-12-08T15:00:00.000-09:00

I've Got a Hot Date…

on Saturday night. After a couple of months being apart, we have decided to get back together again. I just been too busy to arrange an outing, even though I know it would have been, well, hot. Thing is, if I forget to chlorinate it for a couple of weeks, I start thinking about cooties that might be in there now escaping the dose of chlorine I finally get around to tossing in the water. So that makes me a little reluctant to want to jump in and it becomes even easier to forget about chlorinating because it starts sinking into the background of my 'things to do.' And then so much time goes by, I become sure that there are very angry cooties in there by now. So then changing the water is the priority. But if I am too busy with work, that gets put on hold. We have this vicious circle of a relationship. But, gawd, when it's good, it's very good. When I don't have so much work that decadent, leisurely activities can be part of my life, we sometimes go out 7 days a week. Champagne! Merlot! Sliced oranges!Perrier! and a dreamy blue light that creates an ethereal ambiance on these cold, black winter nights in Alaska. I already know exactly what I am going to wear. The fresh, cold water in there now, will be perfect by 7pm, Saturday. Don't call. I'll be busy! :o)

Work fades into freedom....

2005-12-03T12:11:00.000-09:00

I feel like a freed prisoner. The surroundings are identical (I work at home) but the ambiance is another planet. The choice between focusing on a page of numbers and letters and relaying that information from my eyes to my fingers in speeds only humanly possible and now the choice to choose what to look at and do and think and feel with unencumbered parameters. There is always a neutral zone in the shift between being exhausted from weeks of working non-stop (meaning working and going to bed, working and going to bed…) and the stunning change of atmosphere that freedom brings. It is almost like a confusion, an awakening, for so much has to be suppressed during these marathon work sessions in order to turn off the place my thoughts want to fly and where they must stay to get the task done. It is confining, like a prison of the mind along with the prison of being tethered to the computer where I work. But that is the nature of any job that is indeed, a j.o.b.
My mantra is:
"At least I get to work at home and am my own boss."
The other stuff is just details.

I was in the midst of work-a-palooza when the trip to Italy came to fruition. Now, it has floated to the top of my agenda, even sidelining a new computer which sits to my left collecting dust, its mind empty of any of my thoughts of Me, for now. March is just around the corner. And February, I will be palooza-ing with work, yet again.

The plan is to spend the two weeks in Italy with only a carry-on bag, for easy toting on and off trains we are taking to Rome: Venice: Verona: Florence. I have in the past, always packed for about 3 trips for every one trip. It is going to take all of three months to wean myself off that over-packing mindset. Yesterday I bought a super-lightweight, rolling bag. It's burnt-orange. IF I were to buy a groovy Honda Element, it would be this color…Anyways, I am planning my packing way ahead of time. I just ordered some packing helpers from Magellan's; packing cubes I can stuff and then place into my super-light, burnt-orange, roller-bag.

I also got a sturdier new camera bag. Peer pressure and memories of a sore shoulder had me actually considering purchasing a d.i.g.i.t.a.l. camera for this trip. Mine weight about 5lbs. That weight triples after an hour of toting it around. I just can't do it. I can't go digital. I should fill the camera bag with 10lb.weights and start carrying it around with me everywhere I go…

I have dug out my Italian language cd's and travel books. So far I have read that in Florence, the audiences are very vocal, with self-appointed ring leaders of discourse or jubilance expected to be present at various operas and such. We are going to see Bocelli in Puccini's Messa di Gloria for all 3 performances. This is going to be interesting for the audience reaction alone.

Also, it looks like Becs and I are going to be able to attend an opera in Venice's renowned, "La Fenice Teatro." There is a rare (I read online it has never been staged in modern times) Meyerbeer opera happening while we are there.

So, I need to learn Italian, learn to pack light, learn about Meyerbeer's opera, learn more about Florence, Venice (her museums and Murano in particular, for a more enlightened visit this time) and Rome. Verona is olde hat for me :o). I could use the whole 3 months just on the packing thing, so I better get started…

Peter Sarsgaard and Other Good Things...

2005-11-29T16:38:00.000-09:00

Peter Sarsgaard and Other Good Things…

I am taking the 'high road' for a change; the road less followed for me, when saying that I have the UTMOST respect and awe for Peter Sarsgaard's acting ability and his choice of roles. And I swear, the movie-guy-crush came MUCH later, after I had put him on a pedestal for his acting skills. I discovered ('things' tend to not exist till I "discover" them :o) this guy a couple of months ago after adding HBO to my cable system. One random day, at one random moment, the movie "Shattered Glass" came on. I remember hearing about it. A true story about a political magazine writer's downfall due to fabricating stories and presenting them as fact. I settled in to watch the movie and learn more about what happened…So I am watching this movie and it strikes me that the guy playing the editor is lighting up the screen each time he is on it with understated intensity. I am not one to notice 'good acting.' Usually I chalk up the accolades for single actors as really being attributed to the myriad of things that make a movie: script, lighting, director, story, yaddayadda. I'm not good at picking out good acting…BUT, not in this case. He was mesmerizing in his performance. And I still swear, I hadn't noticed he is a cutie till after watching the movie a random second time.

Then comes "Garden State" a few weeks later. I'd heard the title but knew nothing about the movie. I did however note that Peter Sarsgaard, that intriguing actor, was in this movie too. This guy is a chameleon. His characters and looks were infinitely different. Both stellar performances and Garden State is one helluva movie.

After learning this guy's name of course I am seeing it all around. Most recently: Kinsey. Skeleton Key. Flightplan (w/Jodie Foster). Jarhead. The Dying-Gaul…Anyways, nevermind this guy is c.u.t.e. (note to self: nevermind this guy is cute!) he is an amazing actor. I predict an Oscar within 2 years. I'd like to be the presenter if any Hollywood types are out there reading my blog. (hehe)

Other good things? I don't have skin cancer. My doctor told me this afternoon the random lump on my arm that's been there a couple of years and that started changing shape this month is some sort of scar tissue event. Maybe from a mosquito or noseeum bite. Just when I would have been perfectly ambivalent about having a life threatening illness, the potential for one comes up when I have a damned trip to Italy planned. But, all is okey doke afterall. I think I'll finish my glass of Merlot and stick 'Garden State' in my dvd player…and internalize the notion that I do value my life, at least a bit.

Neglect...

2005-11-25T17:14:00.000-09:00

If you think this blog seems neglected, you should see my carpet. My vaccuum needs to be dusted. My bathroom is a Darwinian petrie dish with primitive language the next step on the life-form progress scale. My dog has learned I am just no fun lately. My job is a mountain range. I have, after a month, reached the summit and am now on the easier downhill side of efforts equaling results. I am writing this. I survived another quarterly hell. Yet, I still embrace what I do. The freedom of working at home and being in charge of this enterprise that is so closely intertwined with my Life for so many years, that untangling Myself from what I do, when the time comes will be an adventure in itself. I am beyond tired and rambling and will now post this nonsense. Me and my cup of peppermint tea wish you all a Goodnight or Goodday. Laurie

2005-11-15T20:47:00.000-09:00

I'm almost positive this is Verona, Piazza Erbe. I'll verify this when sipping an espresso next to the fountain in the piazza come end of March. If it's NOT there, so what!?!

2005-11-08T17:49:00.000-09:00

Picture taken through a short outdoor corridor in Verona. The character of the far wall was created by age. When I entered this passage to look at the broken column, I detected the strong smell of livestock and expected to see a horses or horse signs when I got there. There was nothing of the sort. I have concluded it was a ghost scent from centuries past.

Vegas?? Fuggedaboudit

2005-11-08T13:53:00.000-09:00

What a difference a day makes....Yesterday afternoon I looked at Bocelli's schedule and saw that he and Steven are going to be in Florence, Italy for 3 concerts of Puccini's, Messa di Gloria at the Teatro Communale. Cha-ching. Who needs Vegas??!! It is tied with Detroit as my least favorite city to travel to.

A mere 90,000 miles from my Alaska Airlines mileage plan got me a free ticket from Juneau to Rome (Thank You ~ British Air!!) Two weeks in Italy in March.
Hello Venice!
Hello Verona!
Hello Rome!
Hello Florence!
Hello marble muscles (and other interesting body parts!)
Hello Beckee!

I love having months in advance to plan trips like this. I get to dust off my Italian travel books, my Italian cheat-sheets, my Italian furs....Just kidding!!

THIS is gonna be a Trip. :o)

2005-11-06T09:45:00.000-09:00

Ana Maria, Andrea & Steven

Bocelli musings...

2005-11-06T00:44:00.000-09:00

A couple of weeks ago, my good friend, Becs, emailed me a picture of her and a few other friends standing around a cluster of empty theater seats upon which the back of one, Andrea Bocelli's casually clad bottom rested as he stood and conversed with them. They looked very happy. I wished I was there. I miss those days of close encounters of the Bocelli-kind, the excitement of travelling, of seeing old friends and acquaintances. I suddenly missed it all or at least missed the feeling. The feeling of being special, of doing something 'special.'

It has caused me to daydream recently about the 'good ole days' when I was globe trotting to concerts and operas. Becoming fiscally responsible caused me to stop my travels about 3 years ago. Remaining fiscally responsible is preventing me from doing it again. Gawd it was fun!!

I am however trying right now to get 'Invite Only' tickets for a special concert planned for Las Vegas, December 9 & 10. It is a long shot, but not impossible. I'll find out Monday if my one (so far) email gets me anywhere. I am accepting any and all wishes of Good Luck on this task :o)

So back to my travels….One of the most special events was the outdoor concert in Hyde Park. It was special even before it turned out me and Beckee ended up in Bocelli's, 'Tuscan Skies' dvd from footage of this concert.

It started out with me learning there were tickets available that included dinner and dessert, on-site tents, special reserved bathroom facilities AND something called Pims. There was a package deal for all this and what was supposed to be the best concert tickets available. I jumped at the opportunity, emailing the company that was in charge of the dinner/tickets experience. The gal at this company assured me that we had very good seats. It was like a leap of faith to go this route since we would not know exactly where we were sitting till the night of the concert.

This trip was my first trip to London and I fell in love with the city and Hyde Park. We stayed at the Hilton where a short walk through the underground tunnel connected us with the park. On the day of the concert we headed over there hours early to scope the place out and to finally see where our seats actually were. It was a warm, but overcast summer day. We meandered further and further toward the stage. We knew it was Front Row, but it could have been off to an extreme side for all we could tell from the ticket. We were as close to front row, center as you can get. Needless to say, we were very happy campers. It would make for some great photos. And of course the view just doesn't get any better than this.

It was still pretty early, even for the dinner, so we walked around, chatted with some of the guys who were Security. One of them did a killer Kermit the Frog impression. Then we found where the entrance for the 'backstage' and hung around there, lounging in the grass, waiting to see if we recognized anyone going in. After a while Steven Mercurio showed up. We first met him in Detroit a couple of years earlier. He is a frequent conductor for Andrea's operas and concerts and a down-to-earth friendly guy. Beckee had brought a gift for Andrea and Steven agreed to take it and pass it on for her.

It was time to eat and discover what these mysterious "Pims" were. In a word: Yum. It is a delicious champagney-fruity thing. Yum. The tent set-ups were pristine white things with table and chairs both inside and out and faux windows. The mostly all British crowd was a subdued hush of quiet voices that we had become accustomed the last few days that seemed to exaggerate our naturally loud American voices. It was lovely and quaint. And we had good seats. And it got better.

We were just a few feet from the stage. When Steven came out, he gave a wave to me and Becs, then on with the 'William Tell Overture' to warm the crowd and orchestra up! Then Bocelli, and the crowd goes wild…As the concert went on the sun started to go down. At the end, it was dark out with only the stage lit up and the first few rows of seats. When the women with the bouquets of flowers for Andrea, Ana Maria Martinez (the soprano) and for Steven came onto the stage, we were all on our feet clapping. To my great surprise, came one of the highlights of my life. Steven cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, "Laurie!" to get my attention and threw me his bouquet. Camera in one hand, I did a one handed swoop and caught them and got a few chuckles from folks close enough to see what happened. It was just a sweet, simple gesture on his part. I was tickled beyond words. We were leaving the next day for Dublin for another outdoor concert the very next night, so I took some pictures back at the hotel of my bouquet, pressed a few into my book, and had to leave them. Such a sweet memory….

2005-10-27T07:13:00.000-08:00

A vertical view of this haunted castle.

2005-10-26T10:03:00.000-08:00

Munich, looking decidedly creeeepy...I'm sure the bats are there, swirling around the gothic tower...Boo!

2005-10-26T09:35:00.000-08:00

Mastino Park, sunset, Verona (think: Halloween, plz)

Hey You, it's a perfect day for Pink Floyd...

2005-10-22T13:30:00.000-08:00

Blustery winds, bongo rains and working the weekend. What a perfect day for Pink Floyd. I'm practically comfortably numb.....

2005-10-22T09:33:00.000-08:00

Re-post of my painting along with poem (see below)...

Poem from a fellow Blogger on the above painting

2005-10-22T09:14:00.000-08:00

as if
the red shining
through the silver
and the words
shining through the mist
of tears and sweat
mingling together
create the very stream
of blood and power
that bind us
to one

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The above poem was written in comments by Gerrit Bosman after seeing my painting. A fellow blogger in Holland, it was a lovely gesture and even lovlier poem. I am re-printing it here with his permission. The painting somehow disappeared from picasa and this site, so I am re-posting it with the poem. Fate must have stepped in, because if the painting did not disappear, Gerrit's poem would have remained behind the curtains in 'comments'. Thanks Gerrit!
His blog site address is below. (I've tried 16 ways to get a Link to work but failed. You'll need to Copy & Paste):

http://www.gabosman.blogspot.com/

2005-10-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

Dwarf Weeping Purple Beech. Had it for over a dozen years and it is still only about a foot tall. Its branches spread out dense and long. It is a blackish purple at the height of summer

2005-10-15T18:21:00.000-08:00

Lea in Oregon! This is your begonia yesterday (10-14). Sweeeet.

2005-10-15T18:17:00.000-08:00

Lea! Still your begonia...

2005-10-15T18:10:00.000-08:00

One of my customers...(they all look alike)

James McMurtry...

2005-10-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

I have added an artist to my profile's Musical Interest category.

James McMurtry.

He has a new CD out titled: Childish Things
It is wonderful.
The song on this cd, "We Can't Make it Here Anymore" is what I heard on my local public radio station (KTOO) that got me introduced to his music.

My usual method of getting cd's is through amazon.com. There you can hear snippets and get a feel for his style.

For the 10's of friends and strangers who read this, Check It Out!~

2005-10-13T17:46:00.000-08:00

rather bad painting from a few years ago...

A Problem of Stellar Proportions...

2005-10-12T21:48:00.000-08:00

It happens every late-summer. The well-dressed beatniks in black and blue drop off their offspring on my deck rail. Well not exactly drop off, they bring these kids to the rail, with their black beaks still hinged by the bright pink skin of a fledgling and their mouths still 'feed me' red inside. Besides the tell-tale signs around their beaks, the youngster's feathers have a matte finish to them with bits of gray baby-down poking out of places that should be solid and smooth. The adult's feather suits nearly shine, from the top of their black crests to their brilliant blue bottoms. Even though fledged, they still wail in the face of their parents, flapping their wings in flightless activity and flash their gaping red mouths, begging to be fed. The parents do a good job of ignoring them by this time, even when it means flying away from the squawking, flapping kids in quick, tree to tree chases, like a game of tag. The parents bring these needy beggers to my deck rail where they know peanuts will served by a human. It is like their local diner.

The human, the adults Stellar's jays have figured out, will respond to their loud squawks or their getting up on the gutter and looking down into the window where they can make eye contact with her while she works. When the human goes to her bedroom at the back of the house, they detect this activity and spy on her from the pine trees in the back yard. They fly near the bedroom window, getting on the hot-tub deck roof and pull out their bag of attention grabbing tricks: squawking, jay-mumbling, whistling like a hawk and rapping their beaks on the metal, to get her attention. They have her trained well. Sometimes they bump lightly up against a window if she is not paying close enough attention.

There is also the dog factor. The human's dog, Sarah, believes the jays are her rivals. She is jealous of any attention her human pays to them, inadvertently helping them by alerting the human to their presence by jumping up and going to the front window, growling or barking and then going and grabbing her bone before they do (Sarah doesn't have the concept of "glass" fully developed, yet). When the human talks to Sarah, specifically about the jays, Sarah understands completely the term, "perty birds" and will run to the front window or go get a toy to divert attention away from her enemies, the 'perty birds'. Sarah also know it is time to be hatin' when the word, "Rainbow" is mentioned (the designer dog across the street) and knows to be on full alert when "meow" is discussed with her. Sarah hates meows, most of all. Point is she has a vocabulary. That vocabulary also includes knowing the specific names of certain plush toys and of course the requisite "bone" is recognizable to her as is, "go car." Sarah-dog suffers the presence of the jays and laments any bit of time her human spends on them. Her human, even sometimes goes so far as to say: "perty birds" when in another room, and Sarah will not come when her name is called. "Hello! Perty birds!" will bring Sarah running into the room to defend her space. Her human thinks this is pretty funny.

So what happens late summer is, a pair of Stellar's jays bring their two or so young to the deck, letting them get used to the idea of peanuts. Showing them how to put one down their throat pocket and another in their beak. They demonstrate how to crack them open. And show them how to pick them up and weigh them in their beaks, looking for the heaviest shells. Then they teach them to hide them in the nearby garden dirt, under some tangled grass or under a leaf. Then they leave. Just leave not taking the kids. Maybe they take off quietly, in the middle of the night? I don't know. And it is not just one pair of jays dropping their kids off at the diner. It is usually several pairs, over a period of a few weeks. This year is seemed that the number of customers was going to cap off at 6, peanut-eating jays. That number lasted about a month. Then there were eight, then ten, now a dozen. Twelve obnoxious, loud, hungry, smart, beautiful jays.

They sit on the deck rail, hunched down in their feather jackets looking in the big living room window till the human comes out with peanuts. When she leaves the house to walk across the street to get the mail, they flock seemingly out of nowhere and follow her back to the house, resting in the lilac tree, the nearby beech, the gutter and the deck rail. I'm convinced they work in shifts keeping an eye on the house and 'human.' When the peanuts come out, the few visible jays scream their loudest 'Peanuts!!' screeech and the flock congregates quickly from the surrounding trees. They are a big responsibility and they are big eaters. Next year, they will be dropping off their kids at the diner and then taking off…

***Stellar's jays are in the 'corvid' family. Same as ravens and magpies. They are considered the smartest of bird species. Recommned reading: "Bird Brains" A book with lovely photos and interesting facts about corvids.

2005-09-14T16:00:00.000-08:00

Hmmm. My picture seems to have disappeared from here (and Picasa). I guess my original statement with the words "lost in cyberdom" was a bit of fortune telling. I'll repost it later.(original message follows:) My latest paint. The shiny silver paint is lost in cyberdom.
It is: Fundamental.

2005-09-10T15:23:00.000-08:00

July 2000. Taken from Liberty State Park. Towers framed by a temporary concert stage.

Pure Silliness...OR...I amuse myself, therefore I am...

2005-08-04T17:34:00.000-08:00

So, I have been (desperately?) looking for and finding ways to amuse myself the past few weeks. Well, moreso than usual. Below is the latest example of chuckle inducing, time wasting stuff. It was inspired by a sentence I read on a Leonard Cohen fansite that ended with the words: "...kittens of destiny." That line struck me as VERY funny and opened up the concept that you see below, I then got a bit silly with...
______________________________________________

The carpet of their lives was soiled by the puppies of broken dreams....
~~~~~~~~~~

The ice field of their existence was shattered by the penguins of fate...
~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean of their changing relationship was snagged by the fingerlings of romance...
~~~~~~~~~~

The wooded lot, that had become their daily lives, harbored racoons of sweet revenge.
~~~~~~~~~~

Their cave of dead end relationships, was occupied by the bear of great remorse.

OR

Within their cave of dead end relationships, slept the bear of great remorse.
~~~~~~~~~

The upstream-spawn, that was their morning ritual, was slapped awake by the salmon of self-awareness.
~~~~~~~~~~

Like the mossy bed of a forest floor, their sheltered lives were dampened by the hoary marmot of hopelessness.
~~~~~~~~~~

With life mirroring the sunken feeling of a hunting seal, the seagull of hope saved the day.
~~~~~~~~~~

Discouraged by the silence of averted eyes, the maxim writer looked to tree tops, for help from the eagle of inspiration.
~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, I probably could go on and on and on....So, I am applying the brakes on this chapter of my life, missing the porcupine of kismet by mere inches....

2005-07-31T16:45:00.000-08:00

Found my 'first meeting' picture. Here is Mickie greeting Andrea moments before I had my first introduction to the Guy. Detroit, October, 1999.

Memorial...

2005-07-29T12:22:00.000-08:00

Below is the letter I wrote for my friend's sons and family. She died last week. Mickie & I had some great times together around the globe. She came into my life because of our common interest of Andrea Bocelli. What ensued was a nearly unbelievable set of events that this anonymous Alaskan could not have imagined would ever take place. Last summer we were supposed to travel to Torre del Lago together for another adventure. I had to cancel because of a family matter and missed out on my last chance to meet up with her. Our last meeting was in Phoenix. After the concert we sat at our hotel's bar and had a couple of beers and nachos, still wearing our backstage passes....

************************

It has taken nearly a week of bumpy starts and tearful stops to write this small bit of my history with Mickie. And it kept sounding like a story about ME, which is not my intention. I hope you can, in places where is sounds like a "Laurie" story, read between the lines and know that what I am telling you is taking place for the most part Because Mickie was my friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was an honor to be a friend of Mickie's. At least, that is how if felt for me. We met (online) in 1999 shortly after the Hollywood Bowl concert. I had flown to California from Alaska in a singular pilgrimage to see the man whose voice I had fallen in love with the previous year. I was pretty new to the internet and had never heard of Bocelli.net/Bocelli.de when I flew down for the concert. In hindsight, our paths unknowingly crossed there on that warm L.A. night at The Bowl. When I returned to Juneau, having fulfilled my then 'life's goal' to see Bocelli live I got on the internet and discovered there were others out there just like me, under the spell of a Tuscan singer, whose voice changed the path of our lives, forever.

It became clear right away, through correspondence that Mickie was someone special. Her dedication and admiration for Andrea went beyond going along for the ride like most of us out there. She had been there since the beginning of his U.S. debut. She did not merely float along, she dove in with an intelligence, dedication and respect that never wavered. She was already a couple of years into learning Italian (if I remember right) by the time I met her. She was smart, caring, wickedly funny and did not suffer fools. She always spoke her mind and could be as exasperating as me. I adored her. She suffered through my initial over-enthusiasm of entering the Bocelli-world she had occupied for so long with class and patience. She shared close encounters she had with Andrea with her friends, but never flaunted them on discussion forums. We (her group of cyber-buds) lived vicariously through her and her generosity to let us in on those special moments.

In October 1999 was Werther, in Detroit. Mickie had an entourage of friends who were all going to be staying at the same hotel near the venue. Most of us had never met, even through cyber-means. And some (such as myself) had never met her in person. I walked into her hotel room after midnight, after having missed a connection in Seattle and was finally face-to-face with the Mickie I had grown to care for and idolize (to be frank) over the past few months. There in her room, was a group of friends all settled into couches, chairs and the floor, all strangers to me, but there was an instant bond. We were all there for the same thing and because of one person and I don't mean Andrea. If it were not for Mickie, I believe many of would not have been there. An unlikely group of mostly middle-aged gals who were stepping outside their comfort zone, many travelling thousands of miles, all of us more than a bit silly over that Andrea Bocelli. Mickie was not the cheerleader type, she just exuded a confidence and focus for making things happen, including dreams coming true. She made me believe by example I too could meet Andrea. A feat that would have been nothing but a ridiculous notion if not for Mickie. My trip to Detroit was only my second trip out of Juneau in over 10 years (the first being my trek to the Bowl that spring), so I was not a seasoned traveler. I was barely one year into even being able to 'tolerate' opera. I suppose it was the equivalent of a 'middle-aged women's road trip.' We were there for a good time together and to hopefully get a chance to meet Bocelli while there.

Before going to Detroit, Mickie and I had secured tickets for everyone in the group for the special dinner being held at the opera house right after the opening night's performance. Andrea was supposed to be there along with his co-star, Denyce Graves. So besides being excited about the opera, we had that Dinner to look forward to on our first full day in Detroit. Our hotel was near the venue, so that first afternoon we (at least 8 of us) ended up loitering outside the opera house in hopes of a 'casual' meeting of you know who. We hung around talking and laughing (trying to be casual) for a couple of hours. Folks from our group started trickling back to the hotel to get ready for the opera. Three of us vowed to stay 5 more minutes and then we'd head back too. It was me, Mickie and Rosalee. So, when three minutes later, we saw the tall Tuscan, dressed in a long black coat, flanked by his musical assistant (Carlo Bernini) and the opera's conductor (Steven Mercurio) crossing the wide street towards the opera house, it was just us three there and not what would have been a mob a half hour earlier. I had my camera and managed to shoot a few pics while Mickie approached Andrea and crew. They all knew her and greeted her warmly. Mickie has a picture I took that afternoon, a blow-up if I remember right, with her back to me and the smiling Andrea standing in front of her. Rosalee, who had also met him before, was next to approach and say, hello. Then in a moment I will cherish always, I was introduced, "Laurie from Alaska." I did have the memorable luck of being from a rather obscure point on the planet. So in future encounters it became a small bit of 'distinction' (being from Alaska). We 'floated' back to the hotel to get ready for the opera and to tell our tale to those who did not wait. That was my first encounter with Bocelli and it most definitely never would have happened if it were not for Mickie and her tenacity and for her allowing me into her circle of friends. It was one of the most memorable moments in my life. I think everyone in our group ended up meeting Andrea, either for the first time or again, by the end of that evening. But that 'three-some' meeting topped them all.

In January of 2001, I flew to Verona, Italy, my first trip outside the U.S. I was meeting up with Mickie and Astrid (and Renate would arrive later) so we could see Andrea in the opera, "L'Amico Fritz" and to enjoy Italy. We also had plans to take a train up to Munich after Fritz was over to see Andrea in his two performances of Verdi's REQUIEM at Munich's beautiful opera house. One day during our stay in Verona, Mickie, Astrid and I grabbed a train to Venice, just a short ride away. Astrid had been to Venice several times before and was able to guide us through the winding alleys and bridges that maze through that inscrutable city. I know Mickie and I were both awestruck by the place on that cold, some times foggy January afternoon. Somewhere amongst her things she will have copies of some pictures I took that day. I remember she purchased an exquisite vignette of Venice; it was like a shadow-box of memorabilia. I ended up wishing I had gotten one too, so a year later when I returned to Venice with my niece, I made sure I found one for myself. Also on this day, the three of us happened upon the idea of getting some Murano glass cherries for Andrea. In L'Amico Fritz, there is an aria called, "The Cherry Duet." They looked exactly like Real cherries and better yet, since they were for Andrea, they would feel like them too. We kept a couple of cherries for ourselves as mementos and gave Andrea a special box we purchased in Verona with the cherries inside after opening night.

In a twist of events that only Mickie could have made happen, we (me, Mickie, Astrid & Renate) ended up that night in a 'ristorante' that had been closed down for an after performance, private dinner. Friends and family from Andrea's village in Tuscany had taken a train to Verona for the performance and dinner. In fact that evening before the opera, Mickie introduced me to Andrea's mother, who of course knew Mickie by sight and had greeted her openly. Mickie was well known and respected by those close to Andrea. Being at the dinner (it was truly an impromptu event for us to be there) was a surreal experience. All the performers from the opera were there along with Mercurio, the conductor (and a friend of Andrea's) who was also in Detroit. I ate squid for the first time in my life that night, not wanting to waste an opportunity to make what was surreal even more memorable. This night was another highlight of my life. Again, thanks to Mickie.

It was Astrid, Mickie and myself who left a snowy Verona and took the train up to Munich. A beautiful trip whose architecture took a definitive turn towards the Bavarian part way through the ride. Being my first trip to Europe, I was amazed at the distinctiveness each country held; unlike the homogeneity of travelling the States. After arriving in Munich, Astrid took over things in the cab when the driver spoke only German on our way to our hotels. I had made reservations for myself months previous at the Kempinski, merely for the fact that I could see online that it was within walking distance of the opera house. It had another name, in German that I did not understand till months later. I came to find out it translated to: Four Seasons. I had gotten a great deal online for the room, so I had no idea it was so 'elite,' although Renate had heard of it and said it was "good," the full story eluded me till much later. Also, while in Verona, after chatting with Andrea's assistant I found out Andrea and his crew were staying at the same hotel. Anyway, I digress. I had a room for myself and Mickie drove off in the cab with Astrid for their hotel. I was in my room for about 20 minutes when the phone rang. It was Mickie. Her room was up several flights of stairs, no elevator. I knew she had a painful condition involving her feet and had to carefully limit her walking distances. "Could she room with me…?" was the question on the other end of the line. I was thrilled to have her there. We spent countless hours lounging in the huge Kempinski lobby, with its large stained glass dome in the center. Coffee, wine, little butter cookies served by quiets waiters (and of course her requisite cigs) while lounging on leather or tapestry sofas and chairs. It was sooo European and fun. We also had the added bonus of Andrea and his entourage passing through occasionally. I even had an extra ticket for the Requiem that I was able to give Andrea's assistant Carlo on the second night's performance. That evening when we returned to our hotel we did the usual "lounging" and "sipping". We could hear that there were a couple of American women talking at the table next to us. Eventually we stopped to talk with them and they were thrilled to discover it was 'the' Mickie Morgan (of bocelli.de fame) they were meeting. That night we waited in the lobby for Andrea to come back (we hoped we had not missed him) to the hotel. He finally arrived with Carlo (who I had sat with that night, having given him my extra ticket). We started chatting and I realized my book (Andrea's autobiography) I had been hoping to get signed was in my room and it was all ours last night in Munich. Carlo heard my tale of woe and agreed to wait there with Andrea while I ran (and boy did I run!) to our room to get my book to bring back down to the lobby to get signed. They waited and I have the signed book and the pen he used on a shelf near this computer.

Also in Munich, we were fortunate enough during this time to get backstage during one of the Requiem's rehearsals. The three of us had been to a performance of Aida at this venue the night before and the round, gold flakes of "rain" they had used during the performance still littered the stage. I got some great backstage shots of Andrea that day, and quickly ran them to the 1-hour photo nearby. (If you haven't noticed by now, I take my camera everywhere). Mickie has copies of those too. At least one of them from that day also includes conductor Zubin Mehta as he was talking with Andrea.

We parted ways in the Munich train station. Mickie and Astrid took off for Vienna if I remember right and I had to go back to Verona to catch a flight home the next day. Between Verona and Munich, it was nearly a three-week trip. We had a great time.

After Verona, there was at least one trip we shared to Las Vegas; Bocelli related of course. And then there was Phoenix a couple of years ago. We roomed together there too. Somehow (but typical of Mickie) she had a couple of full-access backstage stick-on patches from a previous concert. We dropped our luggage off at our hotel, dressed in casual business wear and with pre-determined airs of authority, stuck those passes on our jackets and waltzed straight into the rehearsal going on in that huge sports arena in Phoenix. Again, if it weren't for Mickie and her great capacity to make these sort of things happen…I would have never been there.

Mickie also introduced me to folks that first night in Detroit, who would become bosom buddies of mine, too. She had a natural affinity for choosing friends that held more interest than the singular focus of Bocelli. It would be easy to imagine maybe a one-dimensional shallowness to what we found in each other, but that was not the case. I will always miss her. And will always cherish our experiences. I hope you have found some comfort and maybe a smile or two in my small story about Mickie and me.

With Love and remembrance always,

Iron Gardener!! (think Iron Chef)...Battle: MINT!!

2005-04-24T17:41:00.000-08:00

Iron Gardener!! Battle: MINT!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note to self:
Do not plant mint in your garden.
Do not plant mint in your garden.
Do not plant mint in your garden.

Years ago when I was younger and naiver, I did not see the harm in planting the very fragrant Mint in amongst my perennials.
Now, I am doing battle with the insidious creeper. All the while as I am pulling and cursing, it mocks me (mocks me!) still with its enticing scent.
End of last summer, I did major battle with it. I pulled up most all my perennials in the infested garden. And dug and plucked and pulled and cursed and thought I had at last out witted my delicious smelling enemy. Now it is spring and my Lady's Mantle and Pulmonaria are rife with circular green buds of intoxicatingly scented Mint. Its white, underground tentacles are webbing their way through this patch of garden still, interlocking their roots with the roots of friendlier plants. Hiding amongst them, as if it Knows it needs to hide.

It is hard to completely hate something that smells so good. Sprigs of it bruised and dropped into iced tea during the summer makes a very refreshing drink....But I digress!! It is too pushy. Too invasive and should never have been put there in the first place. I have only myself, my younger self, to blame. My well behaved, and nicely flowering plants must now suffer the injustice of mint creeping around their bottoms and feeling up their stems. Its perfume may be fooling the younger plants for all I know. The older ones, I know are relying on me to save them from being strangled by this minty breathed creature. Till then, where's my iced tea...?

Bose Prose and Other Woes (But Mostly Bose :o)

2005-04-22T10:48:00.000-08:00

Bose Prose and Other Woes….

Friday morning, been up since 5 and already feel the drag of lost sleep tugging at my thoughts. I am steeping as I type, my second (rare) cuppa french-pressed coffee (black, no sugar).

I spent half an hour or so this morn critting someone's poem at an online poetry workshop site. It is a function of writing poetry that is oddly rewarding. Especially when you believe the poet is really interested in what will improve their writing. My ability to do this is limited (as are my writing skills) but I can offer suggestions up to the level of what I know…or think I know. I am not above fooling myself!

A fucked up thing happened this morning too. My squirrely email program ATE every, EVERY email I had in my In Box. Totally wiped out. Zero. It did this last year. At that time, it ate the previous 5 years or so of Every email I had ever received. I guess having gone through that trauma, I am a less devastated at this annihilation on a smaller scale. Perspective, it's a bitch and a savior.

I know this should have been an upbeat, YAY! it's here post about my Bose. Well, it's not. Well not entirely. But I will say, yay, it's here, for the record.

My getting a Bose was the result of considering (for all of three days) becoming MP3 capable and portable. After some research (and some help from my cyberbud Tom!) I discovered that my Windows 98 would need to be upgraded (coupla hundred bucks). Then I'd need to upgrade my UBS ports (cost Plus installation) and probably would need something called a Firewire installed (more $$) and then there was the high cost of getting an MP3 player. I was specifically looking at Apple's ipod. So with the hoops, hoopla and bucks I was faced with, I decided that for much cheaper, I should finally just get myself a decent stereo…

It arrived last night 3 hours after expected. 6pm rolled around and I thought something must have happened to it and they were going to inform me: 'Sorry, but we accidentally drove over your Bose.' I mean, I knew it was on the truck, because my tracking number and the internet told me so. But alas, the UPS truck stopped by my house and the Upsman delivered my Bose-box. The box itself advertises what it is instead of being generic box-brown. Personally, I don't think that it is a good idea to basically cover the box of an expensive, portable item with the message: "Steal me!! I am easy to pickup and run with!! I am a B.O.S.E stereo for Gawd's sake! Look! I am a BOSE. Take me Please, if you happened upon me before its true owner arrives." (end quote) What the hell are they thinking?!? It is the equivalent of leaving the keys in the ignition of say, a BMW or Mini-Coop.

How does it sound? Thanks for asking! It's okay. What? You want more? Okay, here is how it happened. It was already after 6pm when I got the sucker opened and plugged in. I ordered the larger sized remote (there are NO buttons on the player) and boy am I glad I did. The remote that comes with it is literally the size of a credit card. I'm not sure WHY!?! I mean the stereo is not battery operated and portable, so why have a wallet-friendly-remote? Do they assume their consumers have ONLY enough space in their homes to place the 16" wide player on a shelf and then not another iota of free space to lay the remote? I really don't get "it." Maybe they are rocket scientists (or some such) but they are not especially practical. Wait, on second thought, they DID charge me an extra 10 bucks for the larger remote (a humongous, 2 credit cards big) so maaaaybe they aren't so slow after all…Hmmmm….

So it is Thursday night after 6pm and at 7, 'Survivor' starts, then 'The Apprentice,' this means I have less than an hour to play with my new toy. Fortunately there was no learning curve to figuring out how to operate it. With NO buttons, only the remote, it has been dummied down to my level of comprehension. It took only a few minutes to figure out that the cd-sized slot in the front, was where to insert the disc.

Earlier, when I had woke up Thursday morning, knowing my Bose was arriving that afternoon, I pondered what song/piece to inaugurate it with. Pretty much immediately, I decided to give the honor to that double-crescendo, cello-intensive piece by Sir Elgar: Concerto for Cello, played by the late great Jacqueline Du Pre.

The slot in the front sucked in the disc and I quickly searched for the Track changer on the remote in my hand. This concerto was number 3 on the cd. It started playing number 1. I nearly panicked! Then I found the arrow to move the track to 3 and it started. Like the accelerator of a fine sports car, I rode the button that increased the volume, cranking it higher and higher still, listening to the heavenly sounds I imagined it should possess. But almost right away, I noticed a bit of a sizzle in the background. My previous stereo, a cheap thing , actually had a small fan running constantly and noisily, in order to cool the groovy blue light it eminated, but it screwed the sound up something terrible. So here, I am listening to this odd background noise in Du Pre's performance and thinking, 'What the…??!!?" Then I heard it, the cough. I have a couple of versions of this concerto. This one was a Live version. That explained the background noise I was hearing. And boy, did I NEED that explanation and Fast. My brief disappointment fell and I listened in anticipation for that first crescendo, then the second. And I was happy.

The next piece in my pre-arranged line up was La Boheme, with Bocelli at the helm. "O suave fanciulla" was second; then "Che gelida manina" from the same cd. I switched the cd to hear the soprano intensive piece,"Un bel di" from Madame Butterfly. It always makes me wanna tear up.

I haven't even been listening to opera much lately, but this occasion cried for the dramatics only opera could fulfill.

Next in my preordained pile was Turandot's, "Signore, ascolta" followed immediately by "Non piangere, Liu" with Corelli and Nilsson. Then back to Bocelli singing, "Nessum dorma" (also from Turandot). These 'non-live' versions were playing absolutely distortion free. There is a balance of all the sounds that made listening to these pieces a new and improved experience.

I still had a little time before my obligations to "Survivor" would draw me away. I scrounged around looking in both spots in my house where I keep cd's, finding what I was looking for in the first place 'scrounged.' It was my favorite opera, Rigoletto, with my favorite soprano, Edita Gruberova. I have a vhs tape of her playing the role of Gilda. Five years ago or so, it was my first real connection to the art of opera on stage, having only listened to cd's to that point. So I fell in love with Rigoletto and found a greater understanding of what 'this' was all about.

One of my favorite parts of Rigoletto is towards the end. The Duke is at the assassin's home along with the assassin's sister. The Duke sings the well-known, "La donna mobile." Meanwhile, Gilda and her father are outside listening. A quartet ensues and is one of the most beautiful, sublime pieces written for voice I have ever heard. So this is what I chose from a list of faves from Rigoletto. I get chills again, just writing about listening to this last night, in pure, undistorted beauty.

I think I'll keep it….

it's coming tomorrow...

2005-04-20T18:23:00.000-08:00

my Bose is coming .~.~.~.~(me skipping).~.~.__o (i fell).~.~.~(me skipping)=======(me going back to work)====sigh.

Lance Armstrong RETIRING....

2005-04-18T12:18:00.000-08:00

Ohhhh crumbs. Gotta love the guy. He will retire. Lance (The Man) Armstrong has just announced the 2005 Tour de France will be his last professional race.

I have been familiar with him for years, but last summer was my first 'fanatic' watching of The Tour. I'd get up in the middle of the night to see the action in Europe "live" instead of edited versions for viewing later in the evening.

My desktop screen saver is still the picture of him taken at one of the finish lines and posted for downloading at the official team site (thepaceline.com) last July. I stayed up all night one night during the Tour reading his book, "It's Not About The Bike." Bought "Livestrong" wrist bands and purchased the great picture book, "images of a champion" with photos by Graham Watson and a foreword by one of Lance's biggest fans, Robin Williams. It was a Lance-intenstive July last year. My favorite acquisition is a Tour Du Pont poster from 1996 signed by Lance and all his team members at the time. It hangs on the dark green wall of my 'very groovy room' I created at the back of my garage.

I will miss him. Millions will miss him. I'll enjoy the hell out of the TdF this July, whether he wins it or not. And wish him all the best and more in what ever he chooses to do with his future. Really great people are rare nowadays. He rises to the level of greatness in his field of biking and in his humanitarian endeavors.

Sigh.

Yards and Yards of Yard...

2005-04-08T08:57:00.000-08:00

Note: This part 2 of my Anticipation post. The post poo cleaning trauma revealed, etc…

Cleaned up the old flesh and bones off my gardens. Also swam in dog shit and raked/thatched till I got a keeper of a cramp in my left hand. The sun gave off not only light, but some pittance of warmth, too. We still have a whole of month of potentially killer frost, so it is a gamble. When I pulled up the rags of last year's thyme, the ghost of its scent came to life; same goes with the bee balm, the distinct odor is still haunting their stems.

Blueberry bushes report: Red stems and pink cupping buds, but no leaves.

Saw a sap-sucker zipping around the skies (can't miss that Bright red) along with the usual soaring and perching of eagles. Even robins are here. Also the 'hooters' (ptarmigan) have started their hollow, drumming call. I never have seen them, but enjoy their conversation very much.

Got my first bug bite!! (The only one I celebrate). They're heeeeerrre.

Changed the water in my hot tub yesterday. The water is still not hot enough. Gawd I could sure use a cramp reducing soak right now! And when filling it up, I noticed that the water line on the tiles on the right side was Not even with the water line on the tiles on the left side. To be sure, I went and got a level. Bad news, it is off about an inch. Which means the 12-year old deck it sits on has leaned a bit. I am not so concerned about the floor (it sits directly on the ground) as I am the roof over it. Note to self: Get the damned deck situation checked out!!
My obit will read:
"…sadly, she was crushed by the roof of her deck while soaking in the hot tub, sipping champagne and listening to The White Stripes." There are worse ways to go.

Anticipation. It's all relative...

2005-04-07T09:47:00.000-08:00

Dear Bloggery~

Can't tell you how much I am looking forward to finishing up work within an hour this morning and going out to clean up dog shit out of my yard on this sunny-frost-melting-spring-morning.

Shelf Life

2005-03-30T15:30:00.000-09:00

Shelf Life

Last Friday I adopted two new bookshelves. One is tall-ish and lean, the other is shorter and on the wide side. They single handedly, well double-shelfedly took care of the mind wrenching clutter that occupied two opposite corners of my bedroom.

It is said your house/home is a reflection of your inner self. My home consists of areas of great beauty (meaning: beautiful things I treasure), orderly placed furniture and quirky props, like the rhinestone brooches I hang on the walls like art. And then there are piles of crap, with corners so neglected and passed over it is as if they do not even exist on my plane of reality.

Sometimes, I make the mistake of noticing things. This time, I noticed the brown shelf I bought at a garage sales some years ago and the white shelf (with the brown one on top) were looking less than neat and organized. Actually, the brown shelf was nicely decorated with my Noritake "gondola/Venice" painted china that I have been collecting piece by piece from ebay the last couple of years. However, the white shelf, with 3 square openings that I so cleverly laid on its side and propped the brown shelf on, held a mishmash of books and paraphernalia. Most were travel books, but it also had my black Birkenstocks and my brown leather sandals, a 5-pound hand weight and handfuls of dust with essence of dog fur.

The opposite corner to the left of my bed consisted of an avalanche of books that drifted on the floor halfway down the length of my bed along the wall with the window (overlooking the blueberry bushes and creek). It was a path just wide enough for easy walking. But that ease was hampered by the jumble of books which ended where the small nightstand (also piled with books) cowered in a dark, under used corner.

This is what I unfortunately noticed the other day. Once I happen upon a mess (although it could have been that way for years, as is this case) a cure becomes essential or obsessive, take your pick. Maybe it was the happy addition of the light green ottoman on wheels, with the storage space inside. This piece did 'neaten' up the rest of the room quite a bit. It must have been the contrast that caused the problem corners to scream loud enough for me to finally notice.

So now in the under used corner, the tall-ish, lean bookshelf now smugly holds books and pretty things (including a fleet of various colored ceramic gondolas on top). I also moved a wall lamp over there to light brighten the works. This meant I had to move up some of my ceramic duck wall pockets. They now fly a little higher than before, but with more light. My Signac print of Venice from NYC's Met had to move. But then I was able to import a few highly decorated silver spoons with enameled pictures of Venice in the bowls and sporting on top either a gondola or the 'Lion of Venice'; hanging them on the wall, below the ducks, with tiny nails.

My details are not so much an attempt to give somebody a list of 'my stuff.' It is a symptom of showing that nothing is simple. I could not 'simply' install even one shelf. It turns into a major procession of shifting, viewing and shifting again. Although I can live with invisible messes for years at a time, I can also be extremely particular as to whether something belongs, Here, an inch to the left? to the right? or maybe on another shelf?...(you get the picture).

This is how I spent most of my weekend: Rearranging shelves, books, pictures, spoons, lamps, candles, shoes, books, pictures, dust bunnies and did I mention books? The results did make it all worth it. My bruised knee and cranky lower back will recover. My room no longer has any hideous, screaming, neglected corners. That translates back to my brain as a whisper of calm.

Anybody need a brown bookshelf? My brown garage sale beauty is now cluttering my life in a new way as I type; sitting awkwardly next to my printer, in a spot where no piece of furniture should ever reside….

My ottoman empire....

2005-03-23T13:58:00.000-09:00

My Ottoman Empire Is Complete....

So yesterday I went out shopping for batteries. My 'walkwoman' CD player, was telling me it could not go another step:
"No ennn -- errr---ggggyyy..."
It's digitally breathless, voiceless message was deathbed serious. It was Violeta in LaTraviata, Gilda in Rigoletto, Mimi in LaBoheme. I cannot blame a device, which lives only to sing and play music for falling into a dramatic interlude. After all, it knows not that it will be reincarnated, yet again, when the "Goddess of batteries" resuscitates it.

Besides needing the life resuscitating batteries, I also wanted to check on my black and white film (see 'Walk Noir'). It had been a whole week since I turned it in for processing. Usually I have my film developed on a same-day-basis. But, because it was b&w, they could not develop it on site. So with the fresh batteries, two new throw rugs and a DVD in hand, I hopefully inquired about my film: Nope, not there. I was told it could be as long as 2 weeks for B&W film. Great, another whole week of fretting, anticipating and angsting about the potential disasters that could befall my two rolls of film; lost and alone in some unknown photo lab thousands of miles from home. My cheery new rugs and the dvd could not pacify my disappointment, hard as they tried. I paid for my loot and left the store. Even the happy-to-see-what-I-might-have-gotten-her, Sarah dog, waiting in the car could not lift me out of my grey fog of pining (or is it whining?!?) for my pictures. I knew something drastic had to be done!

I drove straight to a furniture store. Not the one that I buy my hot tub supplies from. This one is closer to my home. Last year, in a moment of near crisis (such as this) it saved me, by having an attractive sage green, softly upholstered chair that was perfect for my bedroom. And this day's impromptu (but justified) trip was related to this chair. I have been struggling with trying to find a perfect ottoman to be used with my cozy, sage chair. I tried using a beige leather ottoman that belonged to another chair. It is neo-modern in design with an open, round wooden pedestal supporting the light beige leather pillow on top. The chair it really belonged to missed it terribly. And it really did not fit into the corner where my sage chair resides.

The solid, rectangular black ottoman I bought a few weeks ago to go with the couch in the room I created at the back of my garage slept in my bedroom the first week after I brought it home. It was way too big and way too black, but it was a comfortable entity to prop my feet on while slowly but surely working toward the finish of my crocheted afghan. I got tired of tripping over it and tired of looking at it and took it where it belonged. This left an empty space which I welcomed, but missed the prop when in the chair.

This year has been the most ottoman-intensive of my life. And as I write this, it is also the end of my ottoman empire explorations, too. After all I have no more chairs or couches or corners lacking the privilege of an ottoman.

I entered the furniture store with the notion of maybe having to replace my soft-sage chair with an ugly little recliner type. But, as fate has steered me this year, a small square-ish, suede-like, light green ottoman pressed its wet nose up against the glass and stole my heart. That puppy even has wheels for easy shifting and, AND the top comes off; flipping over to a hard plastic drink holder and within its belly, I can load it with yarn, etc. It was love at first sight. Well, as much in love with an ottoman as one depressed, b&w film waiting, afghan crocheting woman could be.

2005-03-22T10:29:00.000-09:00

A couple years ago, I drew illustrations for some of my silly, children's genre poems. Here is the camel poem's artwork (i use that term loosely).

2005-03-17T20:02:00.000-09:00

Owlette (Northern Pygmy-Owl)

Owl be seeing you....

2005-03-17T19:52:00.000-09:00

When looking for wild rose pictures the other day, I came across my photo of a Pygmy Owl.

It was mid-October 1999 when I heard a strange thunk up against one of my large front windows. It was beyond the regular season of having birds flying full force into windows as if they were part of the scenery as they reflected the brightly lit days of summer. I jumped up to see what had happened, truly puzzled. To my great surprise there was a tiny owl sitting on my deck looking stunned.

Forty years here in Alaska and I had never seen an owl. There they were in my book, "Guide to the Birds of Alaska," saying some of them are pretty common to here in the southeast, but I never had the pleasure of seeing one in the wild. Now I was a couple of feet away from a tiny owl, which at the time I mistook for a baby. It was only later I found in my book that it is a 'Northern Pygmy-Owl' (Glaucidium gnoma). It is even listed as 'Uncommon' in the book's rating of potential sightings.

It is extra special to see a bird rated anything other than 'Common' for those of us who get thrill out of viewing birds. I am a total amateur at it; not knowing how to organize a mental picture of key, identifying marks on generic little brown birds. Typically I end up in a mad rush to my bird book while my pixels of memory start disintegrating by the second as I try to hang onto the image of the size, color and general silhouette of the bird I just saw in my yard. After flipping through several pages, it ends up being one of about 6 or so possibilities. I write of sightings in my scrappy, paperback bird-book and it is full of many question marks along with dates and places. In the page- flipping aftermath of the event, this owlette was definitely a Northern Pygmy…AND "Uncommon."

So after running to the window and seeing this quizzical looking little thing and uttering, shit, I dashed to get my camera. At the same time I was horrified that it might have gotten injured. Regardless, it wouldn't hurt to take a picture and then attend to it if needed. I practically floated down the hall to where my camera was and tore it out of its bag. Fortunately it was loaded and ready to shoot-I dashed back to the window and peered down; it was still there.

It was facing right when I got to back but had not moved. I was in awe to see the smooth, perfectly designed mechanism that was its neck as it turned back around to face the window. It did not move like the little brown somethings I am used to seeing. This was a predator. Its head/neck seemed to float as it turned with near endless peripheral capabilities. The eyes were enormous in proportion to the head: all the better to see you with my dear…And huge wrinkled yellow talons, so big they looked like something that belonged on a larger bird: all the better to catch you with my dear…This was a scaled down version of a perfect hunting machine.

From the "thunk" to me standing there with my camera in hand staring at this little owlette, maybe a total of 20 seconds had passed. I quickly zoomed in on it through the window and focused. In a divine moment of perfect timing, the little fella gazed directly up at me and my camera; Click. One click and it took off never to be seen by me again.

Walk Noir.....

2005-03-16T16:09:00.000-09:00

The weather here in Juneau the last couple of days has been vast blue skies, fluffy white clouds and sunshine beaming yellow, but basically non-warming rays. In other words, boring.

Yesterday I remembered that I still had about 20 shots of Tmax-400, Black & White film waiting in my camera. I had purchased 2 rolls of it back in January when the world around me was buried in over a foot of snow. Making the scenery even more 'picturesque' during this time, was lack of winds. The snow was piling up in sculptural finery on branches of all kinds. Everything was in mumbling shades of grey, black and white. At times, January-grey sky sifted down with chunky white flakes. Other times it was a still palette of grey with no discernible beginning or end, leaving no depth of field to focus on while staring up. Color was of no consequence. This was a world of contrasts. The shades between black and white.

So yesterday, I remembered about the B&W film and decided to head out into the color-intensive world and take a walk down the hill from my house on the path next to a lake. I stuck my CD player in the outside pocket of my camera bag, positioned the earplugs and turned on Leonard Cohen as I set out on the paved pathway.

The film in my camera did not stop talking or pointing the whole time. It forced me to look at shapes. "Ignore the colors, dammit!" it screamed, as the dark blue lake bumped diamonds of light on its surface. When the lipstick red, twiggy branches tried to grab my attention with their bold, naked spring color, my film grabbed me by my shoulders in overly dramatic fashion and whispered in my ear,

"Silhouettes. Shadows. Look for the outline. Those colors mean nothing in our world, babe."

I was irritated at being called 'babe' but had to admit it was right. I ignored the greens, the reds, the yellows. I turned away from mallards. And snubbed the white mountain tops carving the crisp blue sky.

It was a black and white world for this dame, till the film ran out. My walk noir then ended as if it never happened at all. The end.

2005-03-16T11:02:00.000-09:00

Wild (rugosa) roses in my yard...

2005-03-16T10:42:00.000-09:00

Beautiful and vicious. My snagged finger still hurts. You should see her now, nothing but a mass of barbarous, mistrusting twigs.

2005-03-13T13:20:00.000-09:00

Himalayan blue poppies (in my garden)

Gardens: Dead Birds: Ravens

2005-03-13T13:13:00.000-09:00

I went out this morning and started facing the ravages of winter on my yard and garden. The snow is all but melted. We are all a year older.

Perennial intensive, my method of gardening is 'tough love.' While my neighbors cut back all the spent plants, go out and collect seaweed and pine branches to protect the roots from winter kill; I watch my astilbe, tiger lilies, bee balm and all the others die upright. Depending on the plant either their once green stems keep standing all winter, turning brown or bone beige and hollow; or they slumped limp in October's monsoons. I force them by my lack of action to draw from what nature gave them as a source of food and protection, themselves. It makes for an ugly brown mess in the spring. What once was individual leaves is now a solid mass of decomposing sludge with a dry crust on top. Some plants leave long blackened fronds of last summer tangled up like a nest. The weave of the tapestry of death is a little different for each plant, but it is all shades of brown to the extreme black.

When looking closely this morning, but not disturbing the crusts or nests (we still have over a month of killer frost lurking) I could see tiny fingers of succulent green flesh squeezing out of the cold black dirt. A few of the plants at this embryonic state are pinkish and white, instead of green. They all look like plants that you might see underwater and never know the name of.

I clipped the molding, spongy rose hips from my wild white rose bush. Its thorns snagged me again. I cannot understand why after so many years it does not trust me.

Also, I found the feathery remains of a dead bird laying on one of the rocks bordering a garden area. The placement of the bird I found today told me it hit one of my windows. Usually during the summer they fly unawares into one my front windows. Sometimes I can go out and hold them while they recover the shock. Usually I can tell by the sound of how hard they hit whether it was a fatal blow.

Last summer, I only had one fatality that I knew of, it was a little pine siskin. Also last summer, we had a pair of ravens build a nest in the back yard. It is not a typical 'back yard' it is a small spot of old growth forest. The tree they built their nest in is a large old pine. So I got to watch this pair of ravens work in tandem taking care of the nest and going out for food. Their work seemed endless. Back to the siskin, it hit the window and death was instant. I got a piece of cardboard to carry it on and took it to the end of my driveway, hoping one of the raven's would spot it and have an easy meal. Within a few minutes one of the large black birds landed in the road and surveyed the scene before hopping over to the bird. I expected it to just pick it up and fly off. Instead, holding the tiny body down with its feet it meticulously plucked the bird. I can still picture the tiny feathers drifting down the road in small wisps pushed by a light breeze.