Returning from Noir City Film Fest one midnight last week, we heard a who-who-who-ing on The Owl, our neighbor's houseboat, answered by a call coming from some bobbing mast in the channel. I put my hands together and responded with a whistle. Silence. I snapped a Hail Mary photo in the dark and sent it to Dennis B., a photo magician, to sort it all out. Who knew?? The iPhone wasn't talking. Neither was it's pocket pal, iFlask. And neither, was cagey Dennis B.
"Nature’s particular gift to the walker, through the semi-mechanical act of walking — a gift no other form of exercise seems to transmit in the same high degree — is to set the mind jogging, to make it garrulous, exalted, a little mad maybe — certainly creative and suprasensitive, until at last it really seems to be outside of you and as if it were talking to you whilst you are talking back to it." - Kenneth Grahame
Low tide reminds me of fiction, how things under the surface get revealed, and what may pass for unpleasant, ugly, or even disgusting by some, can be rather amazing upon closer consideration. Chekov said include everything in the stories, even stuff from the compost heap ~
After a cafe reading last week, having heard many fine stories and poems, and feeling juiced from the night, I walked to my car, looked up, and saw this on a wall. A graff writer, a sign of the times, a story I'll remember.
"Every human person is inevitably involved with two worlds: the world they carry within them and the world that is out there. All thinking, all writing, all action, all creation and all destruction is about that bridge between the two worlds. All thought is about putting a face on experience… One of the most exciting and energetic forms of thought is the question. I always think that the question is like a lantern. It illuminates new landscapes and new areas as it moves. Therefore, the question always assumes that there are many different dimensions to a thought that you are either blind to or that are not available to you. So a question is really one of the forms in which wonder expresses itself. One of the reasons that we wonder is because we are limited, and that limitation is one of the great gateways to wonder." - John O'Donohue
The narrow path of pine needles and smooth pebbles led to the shore of a green pond whose surface reflected the gently moving shapes of boats on the pier. Savoy walked carefully towards the water. An old man whom he had seen many times smoked near the water's edge. He wore a kerchief on his head, one hand tucked into the pocket of his denim jacket. Savoy thought of him as blue — his kerchief, his jacket, his jeans . . . the trail of smoke. For the first time ever, he said hello.
The blue man nodded, his smile kind, his eyes blue. Savoy walked along the shore respecting solitude. But also putting distance between himself and the smoke — unmistakably weed, which had once held a significant place in his life, some would say too significant, long ago.
A lone duck floated in the water. Savoy watched as the current moved it away. Ripples captured him and he knew he could watch water all day. Across the pond Blue Man vanished. ~
I love the in-between time between Christmas & New Years, out for a walk, tai chi & coffee, this time of reflection
I never see things straight on, as Emily Dickinson said, but at a slant. Or reflection. Which in my mind allows me to see what I see with space for imagination and perspective. I think it might be how we all pretty much see things anyway, and I love doing this while knowing I’m doing this. It’s an interesting way of looking at things but these days it’s the only way for me. Marvelous. I see no separation between art and life.
photo by Dennis Bayer
Every year our neighbor across the channel Blaze Nash lights up her tug Otto and serenades the docks with her friends who play lovely Christmas songs and sing so beautifully. Floating Carols. It's an extraordinary waterfront experience. Wondrous. ~
Apparently Santa fell into the drink shortly after this was taken. Ever cheerful, he laughed he climbed back aboard, tightened his belt, and Iaughed it off. I wondered what was in his flask ~
I'm delighted to discover the nautical origins of words and phrases we commonly use and rely on. 'To tide me over' is from the days when a sailor or fisherman ashore needed to borrow some money until the tide came in and his ship could go to sea and he could earn some posh. My friend Neil, Ordinary Seaman, sent me this:
"Don't know why but made a list of all the nautical words that I could think of that are preceded by an a.
Thought you might get something out of the muse.
If I could send along a smell to accompany these words it would be the unmistakable odor that exists in all bosun's lockers. I remember it as :
Marlin ( a tarry twine used for binding splices ) mixed with a hint of mold, and a dash of turpentine.
Like pine needles baking in the sun ...one whiff and I find it splits my consciousness ...I'm in the past and the present simultaneously.
Aweigh.... as in anchor.; Alow ...work on deck; Aloft ...working in the rigging; Ahead...;
Abeam....A line drawn perpendicular to the keel from midships; Abaft......anything aft of that line
Astern...; Aback ....sails blown back against the spars; Athwawrtship ...perpendicular to the line of the keel ; Alee ...anything not to windward; Avast ...stop what your doing ; Adrift; Aground; Ashore; Awash; Ahull....to take down all sails and drift with the prevailing winds; Aboard; About...to turn , as in come about; Rudder commands: Hard a-starboard, Hard a-port, Rudder a-midships."
~
To which I humbly added one of my favorites: Ahoy!
Just the other day the smell from someone’s fireplace, took me back to Peace Corps, Guatemala, Ciudad Vieja, black beans and scrambles eggs (beans with eggs??!) 1981. Aqua and Fuego— the hot volcano, loomed over the town. Ahoy, memory, long forgotten friend!
a
great blue heron
long
af
ter
I'm
not
still
- Chuck Brickley
My heavens to murgatroyd philosophy: If I were to exit stage left tomorrow would I want to be doing what I'm doing today?
painting by Andrew Biederman
"The minute you begin to do what you want, it's a different kind of life." Buckminster Fuller
This morning driving back to the docks from across the bridge I was thinking of that Mary Oliver line about her job in this life is to be dazzled. I love that.
I remember a friend visited and was blown away by our life on the water. She asked how I ever got any work done around here. I said, well I just make it my work.
Job requirement: ability to be dazzled. Love that. And it’s enough. Simple is usually best. Yesterday over coffee a friend said I was one of those people who writes everyday and I was thinking sometimes it’s because I have to write.
This morning I thought, actually, it’s because I get to write.
Cap'n Orange
a picture of hope
photo by Dennis Bayer
This morning I made the coffee, fed the cats, watered the plants
Went up to the roof, took 10 deep breaths, practiced qigong, tai chi
and watched the golden sunrise grow milky white.
Downstairs I read Mary Oliver with Capt. Orange purring in
my lap, with some Bukowski chaser, typed these words
sitting in the brown leather chair, the Mac balanced on
the leather arm because it’s the cat who's the laptop.
These mornings before 7:00 fill my day. They say
breakfast is the most important meal. I haven’t
had a bite, but I feel full.
Things I've Seen Float By
- A skiff with a man at the oars and a woman playing accordion
- A heart shaped rose petal
- My neighbor's houseboat being towed out for a bottom job
- A whiskery seal
- A man standing on a paddle board with a dog on the front
- Garden clippings
- A seagull
- A seaplane
- A beer can
- The month of October
Maybe our world will grow kinder eventually.
Maybe the desire to make something beautiful
is the piece of God that is inside each of us.
- Mary Oliver, Blue Horses
photo by Dennis Bayer
Peace Corps memory: a sunset on Lake Atitlan, people drawn towards the shore, alone and in pairs, silently sharing the beauty & wonder of light on the water & across the sky.
Early this morning as the sun rose across the bay I went to the roof and beheld the glow, saw neighbors on their decks, on their roofs sharing in the silent wonder of beauty, the golden joy of light ~
Ricardo & Peter
We lived on 2 acres with a pond. Pierre had the run of the apple orchard, quite the dainty killer back then. Now he's a houseboat kitty and prowls the roof and decks and rooms afloat. This morning a gull flew below the long window where Pierre relaxed in his favorite post following an exhaustive breakfast and instantly the old hunter went into his crouch. Old instincts never die. The gull perched on our piling, surveying the channel. I watched and wrote. Better for all that way.
Winning post by Linda Saldaña
Congratulations to Linda Saldana, winner of the "Six Word Story Contest" based on the above photograph. And thanks to everyone who participated. It was a pleasure to read your words and see where your imaginations took us. As my friend Ken Rodgers said, " Carumba!"
“I don’t use people I know at all. I really value the shorthand, the compression of suggesting a whole life while actually having to render up very little of it. I feel tired of exposition and backstory; the more you can suggest without spelling out, the more you can encompass in the same space. Fiction writing is always about compression and suggestion.” - Jennifer Egan, The Goon Squad
Walking the planks, shadows and light catch my eye and stop me in my tracks for a moment of wonder.
photo by Dennis Bayer
