S.B.T. 452

 

via GIFER

S.B.T. 451

 I’m taking a quiet walk through the afternoon shadows bending around the trees in the woods, leaves swishing and crunching, bird calls, seagulls laughing, the breeze circling through my hair cooling the tip of my ears, it’s a special autumn kind of golden sun, warming all the sounds I can hear. It's warm chicken soup for my ears to drink.
With an actual shudder and a straight-back startled jerk, I realize it seems hard to get to a place of peace, in my heart, that is, lately. I realize, out here in the woods, nature doesn’t care about the candidates, the elections, the inflation, the health crises, the wars, politics, other countries, other people, anybody actually, doesn't even care whether people are hungry sick damaged irate happy sad or whatever is happening in cities we live in or near by like New Bedford and Boston. It’s just that nature seems to have enough to do minding it’s own gentle and/or fierce businesses. It sometimes seems like nature  might be trying to ignore us right now because we’re so annoying, especially the ones who don't care what they do to her. Whew. I had to stop to take a breath. There’s actually NONE of the aforementioned preoccupations out here in the woods. I’d like to get a little cabin and live here, off the grid.

Not really, but imaginable.

It’s a clarifying moment that I wish I could make last through the next few weeks or maybe longer. If I had some inspiring music…maybe I could….here’s mine, inviting suggestions!

S.B.T. 450

 Today I saw a video by RFK, saying he and Cheryl are in Baja for a few days, that it’s the only time off he’s had in 17 months. He then introduced us to a small green lizard. He told us he had a pet like that when he was a kid and it grows to 4 feet long and turns grey, but right now, as a baby, it’s bright green, and look, isn’t it beautiful? Close-up on the green lizard’s face. Well, I can see that, yes, it does have a very nice sleek friendly-looking face. How nice to be introduced, it’s pretty, it looks like it is smiling. Maybe every kid who wants one should have one. I don’t want one though.

Thought about how everyone is saying he’s got some screws loose. It kind of looked that way with the lizard and sudden escape. He mentioned another unusual lizard pet he had, and said how everyone should have one. I thought, ”how odd.” I mean, really. Then I thought, in a Japanese Noh sort of way, that it’s a masked drama. On stage a green lizard at Baja. Blue water, palm trees. A baby lizard, right here clutched in my hand, who when grown will turn grey and 4-5 feet long. Entering left a kid who grew up knee deep in large lizards. Probably unusual for any kid in those days, probably unusual for any kid ever. To be all in with a not very cuddly almost alien pet. 

Clearly he’s earned Coexistence With Lizards credentials, let’s just say he’s CWL certified. There do not exist many such men. They are few and far between, and sport, all the while knowing their works can draw them toward a deadly fate, Steve Irwin for example, was CWL.

I confess, I may have some screws loose too, and whom among ye could reverently guiltlessly toss the 1st stone do so now or forever keep your peace. But there is one thing even the loosest of screws can never let go of even if they try, their family culture and history. His being there then, and now doing what looks like purposefully advancing the narrative about psychological instability, he may be screwy but he is not stupid. He is playing it, aiming for something other than what we may think. He’s in a perfect position to act crazy. To further that narrative until it hurts. It’s the least he can do. If only he could transplant William Shatner’s voice.

All songs should end happy. That could be a philosophy most blues singers wouldn’t want to be forced to follow.

S.B.T. 449

  So she was staring unblinking at the phone while it rang. 3 times it rang, before she picked it up. Her 2 office-mates were watching, one leaned over whispering politely, offering to take the call, but she silenced him and picked up.

   To describe her is to compare her face to that of Botticelli’s Venus. As if Venus came alive as Carol Kane. Their eyes are exactly the same, she and Venus, but her mouth is sadder. We're in New York, where her film industry position is lower office rung, but she does it with troubled tenderness, with care, far more than due diligence, and nothing escapes her always observant eyes.

   What she witnesses goes against the grain, she’s troubled. Her philandering boss, whose frustrated suspicious wife she has to deal with when he “can’t be found” which happens on a daily basis. Her 2 male office mates do less than half her workload. She tries a meeting with the company's HR “situation-handler", and it backfires - she’s accused of being jealous of the boss’s new victim, the young girl from Idaho she’s trying to protect. HR guy says she’s jealous because the boss put the girl up in a swanky hotel, and she lives frugally in ill-famed low caste Astoria. Then, as she’s leaving, he says “Don’t worry. You’re not his type.”

   HR informs her boss of the incident, of course, (it’s a club) even though she didn't raise a formal complaint, and she gets a furious call demanding an apology, or she’ll be fired. So she writes the apology, and it’s carefully well worded and businesslike, explaining how she would never interfere or question his directives again and emails it to him. He calls her back immediately, telling her she’s forgiven, and that he values her because she’s good, and he’s going to make her great. She still has that Venus faraway look in her eyes. She’s wondering what he means with “You’re good, I’m gonna make you great”, it's decidedly creepy, a kind of threat. But she keeps at her desk, working, and at 8 pm, he buzzes her and tells her she can go home.

  She collects her coat, scarf and briefcase, and walks toward the elevator. There’s the sound of him laughing and a woman giggling behind his closed office door. She stops for a minute, completely still, expressionless. Then she gets on the elevator and the door closes.

   Once out on the street, she stops at a deli on the corner of the next block, where she buys a carrot muffin with a frosting swirl at the top, unwraps the plastic around it, sits down at the counter facing out the window, and takes a bite. A chunk of the muffin falls on the counter and she cleans it up with a napkin. Then she leaves, and tosses the napkin and the broken muffin into the trash.

                                                                                      my review of "The Assistant"

S.B.T. 448

Yes, nature has a way of touching what lies beneath the surface. My inside edition of concerns, about important issues, challenging opinions, on this or that idea or strategy, the facts determining the weight of any situation — all seem small from a distance, like the moon - all kindred “beta” : the business, the busyness, the buzz, the agenda. What we do every day and night to thrive, survive, succeed and give back. Leaving us with little spare time for a deeper reflection. 

 It’s about knowing something, about our place. in relation to so many techno-bio-energetic and scientific breakthroughs. Who are we? Why wouldn’t we want to live with profoundly knowing, or be able to feel that part of identity beyond the surface, how does what looks like who we are, match up with who we really are? The miraculous quality of the experience of living, whether speaking to oneself in thought or looking at oneself from the inside/out, is true. Take a moment, write that down on a slip of paper, fold it and put it in your wallet. Make sure to unfold it and look at it every day, at least once. 

And in the dawn hour it began to snow — it’d been predicted to be a severe storm, up to a foot of snow, high winds. At first, the snow fell softly, daintily sparkling, a reverent peaceful scene. By ten in the morning, chunky snowflakes were coming down heavily, and by noon, the winds had kicked up. Internet fluttered off and on, a mild inconvenience, but soon the winds died down, and when not a flake was falling anywhere, all came to a quiet hush under heavy mounds of snow. We reached the late afternoon hours without losing power, and then came a rosy sunset. 

Fortified with soup and hot chocolate, we followed up, pulling on 5 layers of inner/outer gear, and went out to shovel. That was the best time to do it, the storm was over, all was calm, and it would turn into ice overnight, frozen and immovable by tomorrow. The shoveling actually went easily, during which I remembered scenes from “Alaskan Bush People” and realized this would be nothing but a powder-puff for Bird and Rain. Still, I was glad to have powered through it, making the entryways and driveway safer for all who come and go. Skoal! A nordic victory! The snowstorm had a way of making us stop. Growing up I never feared storms, in fact, losing electricity was wonderful – candles, flashlights, peanut butter sandwiches, and we’d eat all the ice cream in the freezer before it melted and sleep by the fireplace crackling with warmth and comfort.