spring greens

(Or, thoughts had while driving home at 11 pm on a foggy Sunday night, and written down and posted shortly thereafter.)

Spring is here. Leaves are out on the trees, and it's a relief. After fog and rain and cold, and feeling like our climate is changing, I'm so glad to see trees just bursting with new life, covered in lush greenness. A promise that there will be a summer, that there is some normalcy.

Well, I mean, OK, I'm not just feeling it, the climate is changing. We all know that by now, don't we? I mean, tornadoes, hurricanes, and scientific data that just won't quit? Can we all stop saying "well maybe it's something that is supposed to happen every 10,000 years by itself" - anyone who's ever had anything to do with alcoholism can tell you, that's denial, people.

I like a comic I saw recently somewhere online that was some scientists at a climate conference. There was a list on a whiteboard of "benefits of reducing our impact on the world" - things like "healthier kids" and "better food" and "stronger communities". One guy in the audience stood up and said "Yeah but what if it's all a hoax and we make a better world for NOTHING?"

That's pretty much how I feel.

Like, can't we stop arguing over whether or not it's a hoax, and just do the right thing already? Because even if somehow it is a big hoax, isn't reducing our voracious use of the planet's resources a really great thing?

Most of the time I feel like standing in the middle of a street, or a mall, or anywhere at all, and just yelling "Wake the fuck up everyone!" Just yelling it, over and over and over. Partly because I like saying the word "fuck". (If you thought I was only a "sweetheart" and that I never offend anyone, you were wrong. Sorry.) Partly because I want everyone to WAKE THE FUCK UP. And then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT ALREADY.

But doing that makes you a social pariah and people don't listen anyway.

And besides, people wake up individually and unfortunately we do not, as a world, collectively make decisions.

So what to do?

Hunker down. Shop at the farmer's market (and get asparagus and greens in season, and eat the earth's rhythms to instill them in yourself). Laugh and dance to make yourself feel less crazy, and let the real feelings OUT. Talk to like-minded people, like I do with my friend Kate, with whom I try and walk once a week. We talk about this feeling of living in two worlds. One is the world of cars and TV shows and getting your food at the supermarket, frozen, in pretty packages, and being "normal", ordering things and talking about next year like the world we live in is never going to change. Like "positive growth always" is actually possible, like we live on a magic planet with infinite resources and a reset button. The other is the world of fear, of who knows what might happen, of eating dandelion greens and scrounged beans and needing to know how to shoot a gun because everything has collapsed due to Peak Oil. And these days? It feels like those two worlds are starting to merge. Like I said, tornadoes and hurricanes. Scientific data that just will not quit. That just keeps coming.

I gotta admit some stuff. I like driving. No, scratch that, I love it. I do. I'm an environmentalist (and sometimes just a mentalist - ask my family) and I love driving. I'm not saying I love what it does to the planet. Nor what it has done to cities and communities. But I do love it. I love doing it. I love the freedom. I love the speed. I love pressing on the gas and feeling my car speed up, go faster. I am in control, my hands are on the wheel. I can take myself there.

Also, today I shopped at WalMart. Not that I do this all the time, but it was kind of nice. There was so much stuff. It was abundant, and shiny, and well-ordered and cheap. I watched people and sort of took in how they pushed their carts and the neat stories of each person I didn't know. I actually enjoyed myself.

I think it's important to recognize these things about myself. About ourselves. That I am so NOT perfect. That I do not stand apart from the world, that I am part of it.

The other day at work some men were talking about how they're going to travel, whether they're going back to the US by plane or by car. One said, "We're flying, so I'm not sure when we'll get back." "No, no," said the other one. "Remember, for that leg we're driving." Then, sardonically, sarcastically, but (I got the sense) not as aware as I was of the full meaning of what he said, "We're controlling our own destiny."

Man, have we ever fooled ourselves. But it feels good, doesn't it?

(She said ironically, but also earnestly. Sadly. And in some weird way, because she's a sensitive one, with joy.)

the merry, foggy month of may

The merry, foggy, busy month of May is almost over.

It saw me on the road a lot. I finished house-sitting for one friend and was home for a week (or maybe longer, but it flew by), then went off to another house-sit. Working every day, and so driving a lot. And my boyfriend lives an hour away, so no matter what, weekends involve some driving, either him or me. Sometimes both if we've got a lot planned.

Here are pictures gleaned from the last month. I made this bracelet that is DIY and pretty simple - it just requires cotton twine and #6 hex nuts. Animals from the house-sit - chickens, cat, dog. Old bracelets from a female relative on my Mum's side. Daffodils and hibiscus. Fog and more fog. (It's starting to get sunnier and warmer now, but for weeks there it was nothing but cold and rain. And the blessed fog.) Boyfriend's guitar case - I liked how the strings impressed into the soft material covering the inside of the case lid. New shoes - that I want to wear everywhere, sparkly little silver leather flats. And a sandwich I made somewhere in there at 6:30 am (an hour I've been seeing far too much of and don't plan to see at all this weekend, oh yeah), that featured fresh dandelion greens. YUM SPRING. Bring it on.

sunshine, you are my sunshine

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone..." has been stuck in my head lately. We've been covered in clouds and fog for at least two weeks now - although, today, almost as if Mama Nature heard me bitching mightily yesterday about how sick I am of the rain and cold, the sun is poking through. (I like to imagine the sun as a person who is up there actually poking her fingers through these obstinate clouds. Determined.)

"Only clouds when she's away..."

I read this article on Saturday (sitting in a cafe in Sydney, drinking and eating and taking an hour to myself, which was just lovely) and it really struck a chord with me. I haven't been getting enough sleep. Worse, I really undervalue my sleep. I know it's really important, but for some reason everything else always seems more important. And that's not right.

Because the other stuff - going on Facebook and reading what "everyone else" is up to, or going on Pinterest and zoning out while scanning interesting photos, or even doing the dishes - really isn't worth skipping out on sleep. Precious sleep that helps my brain repair itself, my body clean out toxins, my sense of balance return.

This week I've been inspired, therefore, to shut the computer down at 9 pm. To sit and stare off into space. To go to bed at an earlier time, and to not worry about the stuff that does not get done. It's like I've just had it with being stressed about anything, and I just don't want to give stress free rent in my head anymore.

Maybe that's how the sun feels about the clouds.

the value of poems isn't dollars

Life keeps on truckin. Like...

... a truck? One of those big noisy and powerful transfer trucks? (That I always call "transford trucks" in my head. Do you?)

I'm listening to hiphop in earphones, and rocking out in my desk chair, swaying at the hips. It's Acadian rap, too. I'm too lazy to link to it, so if your interest is piqued, get that old Google going and type in "Radio Radio". Two dudes - or maybe more dudes than that, I don't know - from somewhere in New Brunswick that make rad music, no pun intended. Danceable and groovy and well put together, and yet silly at the same time. The best kind of music if you ask me.

Spring comes to Cape Breton, again. And again and again. Little fluff balls on the ends of maple trees, fill with water droplets on yet another misty day. I drive by them and smile, and think of Dr. Seuss. People complain about the week's forecast of rain. I like the coolness of the air, and all the different tones of greys and blues. But, I do like sun too. I like all the weather. I'm pretty easy that way.

On the weekend I was part of a poetry workshop. From 10 am to 4:30, with a break for lunch and a few random breaks for coffee and tea and fresh air. In a small hall that used to be a schoolhouse, and still has that wavy glass for windows. A professor from the local university, and maybe six others. We sat around a table all day and talked about poetry. We read it aloud to each other. We showed each other poems we'd written, read them aloud too. Talked about the lines, the images, what worked, what didn't. Lines can work like people can work. In all those different ways.

Now, I'm thinking that I'm in the midst of a kind of coming out. I'm realizing that - despite what culture tells me, despite what my family might tell me about "earning a living", despite how I think I shouldn't feel the way I do - I'm really attracted to -- poems. I am a poet. I was born this way. This is how God made me. I can't help it. I read poems and my heart beats a little faster. My skin flushes. Words together, on top of each other and flirting with one another, well they make me want to be in a room alone with them. It's sexy. It makes me feel alive.

But it's scary to admit this to yourself. And to go sit for a whole day with other people who are the same way - to openly admit it's valid to love like this - well, it's a little overwhelming. It's a door opening and then going to look and see what's behind it. Wait, there was a door THERE?

Because culturally, poems might as well be pieces of paper plastered to the sidewalk and walked on. Rained on. Mudded on. But some of us stop and look down and read them and say "hey, this is a talent, this person had, in order to do that, put those words like she did."

For example: Mary Oliver. "Logos." From "Why I Wake Early" (part of my new and growing collection of poetry books. Oh, they're so slim, you hardly notice you're buying it, and they all look so nice on the shelf together.)

Here we go, here's her poem:

Why wonder about the loaves and the fishes?
If you say the right words, the wine expands.
If you say them with love
and the felt ferocity of that love,
the fish explode into many.
Imagine him, speaking,
and don't worry about what is reality,
or what is plain, or what is mysterious.
If you were there, it was all those things.
If you can imagine it, it is all those things.
Eat, drink, be happy.
Accept the miracle.
Accept, too, each spoken word
spoken with love.


***

OK, this is me again. Doesn't that just kill you? Or the opposite of kill you?

So the value of poems isn't dollars. It's love.

So it basically always comes back to this.

There is too much to do in life. But in a good way. Like, there are too many places in the world I want to visit - Tahiti, Antarctica, Sicily, Newfoundland - than I will ever have time for. (Although it's likely I can make Newfoundland again in this lifetime, since it's only a ferry ride away.)

There are too many books to read. Too many musicians to fall in love with and listen to and have their music imbue a part of my life. Too many recipes to cook, creative projects to start and follow through, too many blogs to read. (Oh, WAY too many blogs to read.)

(Too many carpets to vacuum, dishes to do, meals to cook, laundry loads to do, garden beds to ready, gas tanks to fill, errands to run, et cetera...)

Life has been stressful. At least, yesterday was. I found myself feeling really f-ing stressed at work, and really, over nothing. I mean, there were lots of somethings - lots of little somethings all coming at me at once - and that's what gets stressful, when you have to constantly be reorganizing your brain as to what's priority. When they ALL feel like they're the priority? Like, they ALL need to be done right-the-fuck-NOW? That's stressful.

I did my best. I don't think anyone there knew how stressed I was feeling, because I kept on smiling and giving out happiness to anyone who came through the door. Acting laid back and cool. Inside my head, though, it felt like my brain was going "OK hold the fuck on here people - how on earth do you expect me to remember ALL THIS?!? And do it RIGHT NOW?? I think I'm going to go on strike until you get things UNDER CONTROL." And then it started turning to mush.

I left work and wasn't sure if I needed to cry or stare into space for a full hour or WHAT. I drove to the Co-Op (my town's grocery store) and sat in the parking lot, waiting for my brother to be done work. I took off my sneakers and realized that that morning (which at that point felt like it might have been a few days ago) I had been smart and put my sandals in the car. The day had ended up warming up and so my now-bare feet had something to drive home in, something that wasn't sweaty sneakers. A bit of relief.

I ended up going to the pool. I went home to change clothes, drop off my brother, and get a bit of food, enough to tide me over. I didn't interact very much with either Mum or Mat, which might make them upset ("She's always so grumpy, she never interacts with us!") but oh well. My brain was in rapid shut-down mode. I needed to get the heck away from anything resembling responsibility.

So, the pool. It was everything I wanted it to be, and more. It was all-by-myself, floating, swimming, pushing and pushing at the water, doing laps and kind of not even realizing where I was until I forced myself to think, "Here I am, notice it." My body just wanting to move, move, move, move. Not stop, not stop. Push it all out. Go, go, swim, swim, SWIM. Be alone, process the day and all that happened, come to conclusions. Take all the pieces out, lay them on the mental "floor" and sort them.

TIME and SPACE to BREATHE.

Really, forgive the caps, but I'm taking a page out of Kal's book on this one. Sometimes words need to be emphasized.

Now here it is, the next day. Morning time. 7 am, and I'm about to go get ready and be off to work, to another work day. I've slept, a nice huge load of sleep. (I went to bed at - no kidding - 9:30. It felt really, really good.) I'm feeling - better. I've remembered that not everything has to get done. That yeah, there ARE more things to do in life than will ever, ever get done, so back off a little. Pull back in a little. Look at what is healthy for you, for your schedule. Cut out what you just plain old don't have time for. And realize, remember, put it in writing if you need to: THAT'S OK.

(Part of me feels like, "Man, all I ever write about these days on my blog is time management and stress." But that's what I'm thinking about these days, and since a blog really is just about the writer's head and heart and life, then that's what we get.)

Here's a random thought to end things with. Something I've been thinking lately. You know what's neat about spring? You don't have to do anything and it still happens. You really don't have to do a damn thing, and the trees will still come out of dead-mode and bear leaves. And then those leaves will grow, unfurling like miniature, damp-green sails from every point of what were just dead-looking sticks. It's truly amazing, and no photograph could capture this ever-startling CHANGE.

Oh and on the subject of photographs: I'm still waiting on my camera. That picture above is from May 9th of last year. Oh, well. Soon, soon. (OH God I miss my camera! It's like someone took away paper and pencil and I haven't been able to WRITE. Well, maybe not quite that bad. But close.)

egg-cellent

It's Easter this weekend, and it couldn't come at a better time. These past few days, and today in particular, really feel as though things are awakening. The snow cover is cracking open and receding on all sides. The ground is again visible, after months and months of snow, and everywhere in my neighbourhood living things are perking up.

In the ditches, there are small green leaves of water-plants beginning to poke up out of the mud. The tips of willow trees suddenly went "Phwoing!" and issued tiny white pussy-willow buds. In our garden beds, some of which are now out from under the sugary, granulated snow, green nubs of daylilies and daffodils are emerging. The seeds I've started indoors have germinated, and though they are fragile and tiny yet, they have the living force of a newborn baby; they are present, urgent, ALIVE.

I just went to dump the compost, both because the bucket was filling up and because I needed some fresh air after making some phone calls all afternoon. I needed to take my mind off lists and organizing, and bring it outdoors where the wind could blow through me.

I put on gumboots and walked across the muddy, squishy-wet lawn, and kicked through the vestiges of snow. I dumped the compost, then set the bucket down by the pile and went walking to the back garden, a section of garden that's a five-minute walk from the house. There I saw that the beehive is completely uncovered now, as the beekeeper has been by to take the winter wrapping off it. I knelt by it, and saw small piles of black bee bodies: the bees who died over the winter didn't go far from the hive to perish. There was a faint, but heady scent of honey coming from the blue stack of supers.

I walked through the garden, where only two weeks ago I was on snowshoes, on a two-foot layer of snow that covered everything. Now I could see some beds bare. In the last year and a half, I've become more of a gardener than I ever was; I've started plants and grown them from seed to fruit, and I've turned new beds and weeded the old ones. And I'm beginning to see how this is tying me to this land, which means that in spring, when things begin to waken, I waken with it. It's the beginning of the New Year, I realized this afternoon. Without the fanfare of January 1st, yes. But just as important.

Are things awakening where you are? Does it affect you? How do you feel about it?

Also, how do you celebrate Easter? Do you decorate eggs, hide chocolate around the house, go to church? What will be your ritual this weekend?

Whatever it is you will be doing, enjoy it.

i'm getting a tan ... what the ?!?

It's tempting to start this post with another one of my photographs, and this is certainly not a complete abstention today, merely a pause. It's especially tempting because of all the nice spring weather we've been having, and how I've got a few shots already of little yellowy-green shoots coming up out of the ground, but I think I'll save that perhaps for an Earth Day/birthday post. (Yes, my birthday, April 22, is the same as Earth Day. That dang Mother Earth is always upstaging me!)

It feels like winter was plodding on and on, refusing to disappear, and that somewhere in February or March we all sort of accepted that it was going to last forever, and then suddenly — we're in April, and the snow is melting! What?!? I'm not exaggerating this feeling; everyone I've talked to about this agrees, and while that "everyone" is, in reality, my mother, her boyfriend, and a few neighbours and friends, we all have the same feeling that a yoke we'd grown to accept was suddenly and swiftly slipped from our shoulders. There's an actual missing of winter, or if not that, then at least disbelief and shock. But it's true — the sun is shining longer and longer each day, the air is warm enough to sit outside in the morning for breakfast, and the birds! The birds are chirping up a bloody storm! It's so enlivening to hear all the "doodeledeedee! doodeledeedee!" variations as I eat my morning porridge.

Not to mention the fact that the snow is rapidly retreating back into the woods. There is actually lawn to see, and the garden beds are coming out from under the cold, slushy blanket they were under all winter.

Good ol' spring: a both literal and metaphorical return to the light, a re-generation. I couldn't be more grateful.

Do you eat porridge in the morning? Are you happy it's spring? Leave a comment to answer either of these pressing questions.

Oh and, there's still some salad talk going on, so scroll down to read the previous post.