Early morning, late June, northern Vermont -- a celestial body burns through the mist:
Discovered hours later out behind the house -- a celestial body of a different, more delicate kind comes to rest:
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 3:29 PM [+]
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Sunday, June 26, 2005 Another hot one, the third day of big heat/humidity in a row. Thank god for some cloud cover and the occasional user-friendly breeze is all I can say. Dragged my carcass out of bed at an excessively reasonable hour, got my sleepy butt out of the house soon after, made the hot drive into town for a bout of self-punishment at the gym. Drove home via back roads, passing groups of cyclists doing a bike tour on this warm, sticky Sunday. While I admire their energy and drive, there is no way in hell I'd be doing that to myself in this heat, at least not without some sort of serious compensation above and beyond a sense of hard-earned virtue. Better a trip to a swimming hole or an afternoon holed up here in my hilltop fiefdom tossing down cold liquids. But that's just me, what do I know? And now if you'll excuse me, I hear a glass of something cold calling. Tour route markers -- E. Montpelier, VT:  ************* Part of an email received earlier from one of the individuals who recently adopted a praying mantis egg cluster [see entry of June 19]: "Ms. E. M. would like to announce the birth of approximately one billion praying mantises, yesterday, sometime between 9:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. Mother and babies are healthy and happy. "Holy shit! That was amazing. I was really starting to think I'd gotten a dud when I woke up [yesterday] to find them still not born. Went out for a bike ride w/my brother, came back, sat down to lunch, and suddenly saw this EXPLOSION inside the jar. Such beautiful, perfect little buggers! "So cool." Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 12:42 PM [+] |
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Saturday, June 25, 2005 Hot. For northern Vermont? Way hot. Temperature close to 90 in the shade and climbing, the air thick and hazy with high humidity. A breeze finds its way in the windows now and then, friendly like, and thank god for that. I had plans to take a drive south of Montpelier, but have decided to stay at home and flop instead. Read, write, drink cool liquids. Continue a campaign of drowning a certain kind of brown beetle that has shown up here in huge, hungry numbers this summer, defoliating certain bushes and flowers around the house. I got the picture yesterday when I discovered several giant marigold plants -- often considered a deterrent to hungry, plant-scarfing bugs -- had been stripped clean of leaves and were rapidly losing their blossoms. Then noticed the beetles were all over a couple of high-bush cranberry plants near the back stoop, well on the way toward picking them clean as well. I remembered an elderly woman I knew in my young years who used to eliminate japanese beetles from her blueberry bushes by brushing them off leaves into a container of water, drowning them. That sent me into the house to grab a large cookpot, half-fill it with water. An hour of beetle hunting later, I had the plants mostly binge-eating-bug-free. I'm not a big one for killing critters. Long as they're not trying to sting, bite or siphon away my precious bodily fluids, I figure they have as much right to be here as I do. There are times of imbalance, though, that require steps be taken. (And where, I ask myself, have all the natural checks and balances been? Like the hordes of hungry birds who wake me up far too early every morning shouting back and forth in obnoxious joy at the start of another day (probably busy hoovering down the baby praying mantises I released this last week). The spiders are a lost cause -- they're all too busy trying to get into the house, find a quiet corner and build a comfy web to hang out on, waiting for the early hours when they can get their kicks walking across my face, make me wake up thrashing about like a gibbering speedfreak holding a high-voltage line.) The strangest development of the last week: me signing up for satellite radio. Can't really explain why I did it -- apart from the little I've heard internet, which left me underwhelmed, most of what I've heard has been at the local gym, where they mainline a channel of classic rock/big-hair rock. I am not big into pining for the past -- my general feeling is I've heard enough rock/pop from the 60s, 70s, 80s, etc. to last me the rest of this lifetime and beyond. I like exposure to new stuff, I like variety. But I'm also not big into commercial radio. I tend to stick to the bottom end of the dial, where most college stations live, where I can pick up NPR or the CBC when the mood strikes. The problem: out here in the middle of nowhere, ain't much radio to be found in that part of the FM band. (Yet another thing to love about Madrid: the national stations, especially Radio 3, tend to keep me happy.) Suddenly, last weekend, I found myself seized by the urge to sign up for Sirius, try it out for a while. Checked out their webpage, they had a rebate going, I found myself ordering (part of me watching me do it, going Huh? the whole time). Mid-week the equipment arrived, I threw it all together, activated the account, began listening. And found myself enjoying it way more than I'd expected. Way, way more. So far sticking mostly with two techno channels (trance/progressive house, chill) and the garage rock channel, all of it turning out be to be tons more addictive than I'd ever expected. And then I find myself seized with the desire for peace, turning off radio, music. Listening to the breeze, the birds, to the sounds of the house. You got your yin, you got your yang, I guess. So there you are. Right. Well. Hot. Must go drink cold liquids. Later. Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 1:34 PM [+] |
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Thursday, June 23, 2005 Woke up last night around 1:30, the moon shining in the bedroom window, so large and brilliant that the curtains, already sheer, appeared transparent, the room flooded with soft light. Got up, stood at the window for a few minutes, the world outside appearing eerily day-like, moonlight casting long shadows, the scene looking ghostly. For reasons I could not possibly explain, my teeny little half-awake brain got thinking about karaoke, it occurred to me that the only occasion when that strange pasttime has ever appealed to me in any way was Bill Murray's stab at it in Lost In Translation. Back in bed, my thoughts drifting from one thing to another, I found myself remembering -- don't ask me why -- a couple of the more embarrassing moments from this lifetime's earlier years. The first, extremely public: third grade -- in the auditorium with my class, everyone getting ready to give a pseudo-gymnastics demonstration for the rest of the school in a program across the hall in the gym. I'd worn my shorts and t-shirt beneath my street clothes so that all I had to do was peel off the outer layer and I'd be ready to go. Noise, commotion, me lost in thought, completely distracted as I took off shirt, pants. A moment later, Scott, one of my so-called best friends, shouts out, "Blahblahblah, your underwear!" On automatic pilot, I'd pulled off pants, then shorts, leaving me in my white, white, white Fruit-of-the-Looms. My friend's shout alerted everyone, every third-grade female in the place began screaming in titillated horror, every third-grade male guffawing loudly, until Miss Vince commanded some boys to stand around me, providing cover so I could pull shorts back on. The second, not so public: me at the start of my second semester in college. A difficult time, my little brain less than clear, addled from a regular diet of, er, drinkable and smokeable substances. I'd moved from a crowded three-person dorm room into a roomier two-person deal with someone I didn't know, who had initially seemed friendly, affable. Within days, that affability began to slip, replaced by something nastier, less civilized, friendliness morphing into a surly, threatening Mr. Hydeish thing right before my eyes. Well-intentioned attempts to talk things out had no effect, the situation worsened with each passing day, me feeling increasingly stunned, desperate. In the middle of it all, the phone on my night table rang early one morning. Far, far too early, jerking me up out of deep sleep into a barely conscious state. An older phone, it was, with an actual bell, its clanging so loud, so insistent that it felt like a jolt of electricity to my panicky bod. One hand shot out, fastening frantically on the first thing it encountered -- a Kleenex box, it turned out, that I pressed to my ear, calling out, "HELLO? HELLO?" Not understanding why the ringing continued, every nerve in my body quivering, until I finally got what I'd done, dropped box, picked up phone, the horrible fucking noise stopped. Provided Mr. Hyde with quite a show. He went away the following weekend. During those 48 hours, I found a room across campus, packed up, moved out. And this is one of the things I love about life: even the strangest moments pass, leaving us with great stories to tell. Returned to bed, could feel I wouldn't be getting back to sleep right away, turned on the light, read a little. Came across a less than enthusiastic New Yorker review of a television show I've never seen, probably never will see -- "Medium," on NBC, with Patricia Arquette -- in which the writer says, "...the show gets to have it both ways, establishing that Allison is only human and that she's essentially right." I thought about that, couldn't find the problem in being only human and being essentially right about something. (Still can't find it.) Felt my eyelids trying to close, gave in and turned out the light, the room once again flooded with moonlight, the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling shining brightly. Next thing I knew, it was morning, I could hear birds loudly discussing their plans for the day. It's good to be here, the world around us doing its thing. Later. ************* Socks: helping make orgasms attainable. Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 8:03 PM [+] |
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Tuesday, June 21, 2005 Ebay: enriching our lives with peerless entertainment. (See entry of June 20.) *********** Further bliss: a sweetly cheesy (and in this case, I think homemade) lawn display. East Montpelier, VT:  Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 1:39 PM [+] |
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Sunday, June 12, 2005 Yesterday: Opening my eyes before 7 a.m., slowly coming to. Realizing a '60s pop song had taken root in my teeny little brain during the night. Fog turning the world outside white, leaving vague outlines of barn, trees, hillside. Crickets singing in early morning grass. Sunlight burning through, temperature sliding up toward 90. Birdsong drifting through open doors and windows. Saturday a.m. radio during a leisurely breakfast. Pushing the mower through lawn growing thick with clover, dandelions, wild daisies, while crickets scramble madly to get out of the way of loud, motorized insect death. Haze, humidity turning blue sky gray, indistinct. Light showers dampening everything, moisture burning quickly off in the heat. Calling a friend in Québec, hearing her laughter for the first time since last autumn. Turning over brown earth, tomato plants going into the ground, branches spreading to soak up June light. Grass edged with gold from the lowering sun, long shadows gradually extending across lawn and fields. Driving dirt roads, passing the remains of many trees brought down in the storm of two or three days back. Sitting in a parish house with a room full of Vermonters, watching slides of a long journey through Patagonia down to the Shetland Islands, the Antarctic Peninsula and back, one image after another of enormous glaciers, mountains thrusting skyward, and penguins, penguins, penguins. Seeing the season's first fireflies. Drifting off to sleep in a house warm from the day's heat, crickets still singing outside. Another day gone, packed with moments that have stayed with me. Replaced by yet another day, today, the hours flickering past at unbelievable speed. Fleeting, transitory, all that. Time to go to live it. ************* Currently in the CD player: Pafuera Telerañas -- Bebe J.S. Bach Orchestral Suites 1 & 2 -- The Academy of Ancient Music Donde Más Duele (Canta Por Sabina) -- María Jimenez Odelay -- Beck Death Via Satellite -- The Start ************* Northern Vermont, twilight:  Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 2:26 PM [+] |
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Tuesday, June 07, 2005 [continued from previous entry] That happened a while back, maybe ten years ago, when my mother was beyond elderly, the curtain slowly, gradually coming down on her final act. I lived in Cambridge, Mass. then, had been living as a single for a while and was coming to realize two things: (1) somewhere along the line I'd developed a distinct preference for a clean living space, and (2) I was real damn tired of doing all the cleaning myself. Something about my mother's turn toward greater chaos in her living space clarified things for me, and that in combo with cleaning fatigue got me considering paying someone to come in every couple of weeks and whip the place into shape. There are folks for whom that decision might center on money issues. Turned out to be more about identity for me. Both sides of the family had come from humble keltic roots. Not wealthy, with more likelihood that they might work cleaning for someone than hire someone to clean for them. Before considering this simple step, I'd had no idea that I'd absorbed so much of that family self-image, had no idea it would be an area so powerful, so seriously in need of untangling. Working my way through it brought fresh air to parts of my inner workings in desperate need of clearing out. Blah blah blah. When I finally pulled the trigger and hired someone to come clean, I discovered I liked it. In a major way. And became serious about living in a neat place. Shoes got taken off on entering the flat (mine and everyone else's). I grew increasingly aware of how I liked things to be, began noticing me working to find a balance between maintaining a comfy tidiness and allowing visiting friends to carry on as they wanted, short of smearing food on the walls. [Two day pause as life takes over.] Er, oops. It's not that I'm trying to avoid finishing this -- life, at times, overrides my good intentions. In this case, it means mowing big expanses of fast-growing lawn (between showers) until the mower breaks down, pulling the bugger apart, finding replacement parts, putting it back together, all the time trying to keep the rest of life afloat. One of these days a great woman will take up residence in my existence and I'll have someone to share some of the daily running around and energy expenditures with. (And won't that fun for her!) So. What's gotten me thinking about lessons learned from parents, etc.? Answer: the experience of returning from overseas after months away. It's happened twice during recent months, first in February (a bizarre experience, that return, given the person who had been here taking care of the place), then about two and a half weeks back. An entirely different experience in many ways, the second arrival, the person taking care of the place being far more capable and aware. Even so, it had its surprises. He hadn't been around much during the two weeks before I got back, in some ways it was apparent. (There is nothing like getting home after nearly 20 or so ours of traveling, walking into the kitchen and finding the floor so dirty that your socks stick to it, finding sunflower seeds and popcorn all over the place.) Nothing major, though, nothing worth detailing. The most interesting part was watching my reactions to it all, reflecting on what they mean about me, about which ones I feel fine about and which I might want to consider adjusting. [this entry in progress] ************* Cellphone talker, overheard in Montpelier: "Janie told me she stopped takin' her meds 'cause they were makin' her crazy." ************* Northern Vermont, hazy and warm:  Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 6:12 PM [+] |
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Saturday, June 04, 2005 This morning, through thinning fog:  Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 8:00 AM [+] |
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Wednesday, June 01, 2005 Slow collapse/dandelion hillside -- Calais, Vermont:  Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 5:10 PM [+] |
