Well - I'm back. Sorry it's been a while since I've showed up in this place. When I was wondering what I could say about the quickly-vanished summer, it felt as though there wasn't much there that I could even remember, and I haven't laid down much of a bread-crumb trail of photos. Lots of fun with our curly, snuggly dog, certainly. A couple days of vacation here and there, mostly used in sleeping. Reading/listening to some cool books (the star event was The Yiddish Policemen's Union - now, that was amazing).
The main event has been another in the long repeated-earthquake-series changes in my workplace, but they say that's the new normal. I have a new boss and a new office (which has, however, the same view over the playground across the street).
My colleagues are mostly the same. My duties haven't changed much (some responsibilities gone, some added).
I've been wondering if external change is so exhausting because there's so much internal change that I'm not quite conscious of, in this year-I'm-pushing-60. Sounds - and feels - so old, right now. (No offense meant to those of you comfortably past that benchmark.)
I just did a google image search on the phrase, and the slogan below popped up several times. I guess that's the next stage to contemplate.
Same as it ever was . . .
Same as it ever was . . .
I had one of those poor-pitiful-me spates of feeling the time was just flipping by too dang fast today, so turned to trusty ol' Google to try to find what my memory wouldn't cough up in a hurry, that Talking Heads video about the futility of our Western way of life, or whatever it was about, that's haunted (and amused) me for some years. But I couldn't remember the name of the group or the song, or any of the lyrics. Putting in "Eighties Rock Music," and checking down the list of the first site I came to, I quickly found Talking Heads and equally quickly found a copy of the video.
What always worked for me with this song was the undercurrent of the water running underground - from archetypal/Jungian work, it's been my image of the Unconscious, which is the source of being/consciousness itself, as well as the source of all creativity.
This is a concert version rather than the original music video - I've enabled the privacy setting.
This evening's hour of journal writing - which is always good for me - and also finding, through a link to the first T.H. video, a blog by a young woman who writes against violence (and just today linked to a disturbing, recently-released MIA video imagining a fascist state rounding up and killing red-headed young men) - I'm feeling somewhat better about life, the universe, and everything. Pushing 60 doesn't need to mean, as it did for my very much loved grandmother, giving up on everything I've ever dreamed about and imploding to late-in-life cancer. There are spiritual and intellectual and imaginative adventures (and works) still before me.
But it's also the case that hanging onto any fantasy of Making A Big Difference in the world is increasingly obvious as a big waste of time.
The Shaker hymn has it right: by turning, turning, we come round right.
Back to where we began, to know it truly for the first time. Which is in my case, an arid land of mountains and sagebrush. (A big contrast to this rainy, rainy Minnesota green dripping place these past weeks.)
When the rain started (again) tonight, I had a series of quick memories of rainstorms coming through my mountain city in my girlhood, which was often a blessing - the drama of the building stormclouds, the echoes rocking back and forth, and lashing rain, and the cleansed, sparkling, cooled-down freshness after the storm had blown itself out. These could come and go in an hour's time. It always made me feel excited and secure, at the same time, summer storms. None of the endless stickiness of this high humidity.
Perhaps I need to do some digging back and find the day-dreaming, hopeful girl I was (and still am), so I can ask the question: where do I want to go, with the arc of years ahead of me?
I'm still experimenting with my blog layout and have picked one of my May Day parade photos for now behind the title.
Breathe: a good reminder for the end of an unusually hectic week, no?
Yesterday, which was chilly and rainy, my colleagues and I were helpers at our college Commencement ceremony. Because of the rain, we were forced to line students up along the basement corridors of Northrup Auditorium, using some ancient practice rooms to get people to fill out their name cards and put on their robes and (for the masters-level grads) their hoods, an archaic bit of velvet and silk that is a bit tricky to get on right (it needs to be pinned in the front if you aren't a male graduate, in which case the loop for your shirt button works; and it needs to be draped right, with the silk side pulled out at the bottom, but not too much). Helping with the hoods allowed us to give people a bit of a reassuring pat, as they nervously fumbled with their caps and tassels and bobby pins and such.
These adult masters-level graduates were, it seemed, suddenly very young and shaky. Starting something new, something unknown. The energy is always amazing at these events. Something about ceremony touches us deeply.
One young graduate, rushing through at the very last minute, left something precious on the table - a plastic bag with a certificate of cremation and a clay paw print of her recently deceased dog. We could only speculate that she was bringing the spirit of a beloved long-time companion animal with her through this transition in her life. Fortunately, the student's name and address was on the package, so I went back to my office after the graduates were safely delivered to the auditorium and hunted down her phone number and e-mail address. Early today, I got a response - she had gone back hunting for this lost memento, and was pleased that I had kept it safe for her.
I had the sense that there was a story to be told about this beloved pet, but can only speculate about the loss coming right at the point of completing this difficult task of a masters' degree.
I've chosen a new template - I will do some customization of it, but I'm wondering how you like it so far. The main difference is that the main column isn't a fixed width, which allows for bigger photos / slide shows to be embedded.
I think the text font and size are pretty much the same as my old format. Is the text readable enough?
Do I need a photo or design behind the title?
Here's the slide show I couldn't figure out for last year's fourth of July photos (refresh the page to restart the slide show):
I love my city, though I don't always remember this. Last weekend was the annual MayDay Parade and Pageant, orchestrated by the Powderhorn Heart of the Beast Puppet Theater. A community-based event, this is 1970s hippydom come mature, embracing the diversity of the core city. It is also a renaissance of ancient, earth-based celebrations such as Beltane - modernized to take in contemporary issues and visions.
I'm trying an experiment with putting in a slide show of the parade and the later Powderhorn Park pageant and festival.
Parade first (refresh the page to start the slide show):
Cool! That seems to work!
In the park, it was a festive atmosphere as I threaded my way through the throngs of people, and found a spot on the hillside to watch the pageant. The best view was from high in the tree ahead of us, but I could see what was happening. The drama was more mythic than some years, and less political: the burdened people (coming in with huge rocks on their backs, while the narrators shouted out in Spanish and English all of the negativity that we carry in our heads) were transformed/released by some bird-headed figures, then the forces of nature (river, woods, plains, and sky) along with the Tree of Life, welcomed back the sun - which arrived in a red canoe, paddling to the drumbeats. Before the sun's return, the Tree of Life did a lovely pavane with the figure of death, gave herself in to dying - then was raised anew in her summer splendor.
The rest of the photos are the festival after the pageant, as I moved back through the happy folks, looking at food booths and cause booths and displays on the grass and many, many people. (Again, refresh the page to restart.)
At the end, I walked many blocks to my car (past the flowering yards of the Powderhorn neighborhood) and did a photo of my shadow.
I have had a very reflective weekend (in addition to getting some quality-length naps). On Thursday, on the way to work, I found a new crop of flowering trees - crab apples, I guess, with a rich, deep color and very sweet smell. They must have just popped out in bloom.
Lilacs are starting up too - it's been slow and easy in the past couple of cooler, rainy days.
None of this has happened before in April here in the north-lands, in my recollection. But even though it raises fears of global warming, this mild month of early, slow, exquisite spring has been a blessing. Previous springs have seemed to flash by in a week's time.
Now - what will it take for us to bloom? For me to bloom?
I wrote a little post this morning in my pocket-sized notebook as I rode on the bus - but left it at work. (I'll try to retrieve it tomorrow and add it below.) The first shot (from my phone camera) was out the window of the bus, as I watched in amazement all of the blossoming trees lining the city streets. It seems this just happened overnight! Or I haven't been paying attention.
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The morning post: The trees have been leafing out and budding for two weeks - many still half-emerged, as cool nights have slowed what in "normal" May springs seems to take about three days in total. This slower pace allows me to notice and marvel at each new manifestation - yesterday, a swath of royal red tulips along the sidewalk on the way to the student health center, where I do yoga on Mondays. They were glowing with life's intensity, each quite perfect and fresh, no sagging yet of any petaled cup. I longed for my camera, but didn't have it. (See camera photo below taken the next day.)
Internal weather: not as spring-y. I attended a talk by two university V.P.s on the attitudes and approaches we need for the "new normal" of unending fiscal emergency. We're not alone, they assured us. We need to reinvent the university continually by unleasing creativity, by constantly asking we we do things as we do. But - this group was the choir they were preaching to - a joint meeting of grass-roots profssionals (communicators and project managers) who are working for personal and institutional improvement - and none of us has tenure. Academic culture is hard to change, and our employment class (neither faculty nor unionized civil service) makes us the most vulnerable to cutbacks. Still, a historic first: the faculty voted for a 1.3 percent cutback of their salaries (and ours too) for the year to avoid deeper staff cuts.
The trees dopwntown as I ride an extra-early bus to work, are flowering everywhere - a promise of the abundance and power of planetary life. May your spring days bring renewal and hope, energy and strength, gladness and peace.
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More from the day: on my walk to the office, I got up close to some blossoming trees. They smell wonderful.
In the afternoon, on the way back from a meeting, I took a side trip to revisit the tulips I had seen the day before. They are still close to perfect.
I had to take this picture too, because daffodils last so short a time.
In the evening, we visited the wildflower garden - this time, I had my camera, which allowed me to take some lovely close-up pictures. Some day, I will learn how to embed a slide show of a series of photos into the blog. (Reya does this from time to time, most recently here, and I've always admired it. It appears to be a PhotoBucket thing.)
Click on these - what are they? marsh-marigolds? - and see them shine.
Spring is an amazing season here in the City of Lakes, in the State of 10,000 lakes. In recent years, I haven't spent much time doing what a large percentage of the population is doing every weekend, which is to stroll around one or another of our lovely lakes. Back in the day, a very left-leaning governor (Floyd B. Olson, I believe) was instrumental in keeping the lakeside and riverside properties within the Minneapolis city limits as public parklands. It certainly has made our city liveable.
So today, we visited for the first time one of the city parks off-leash areas, where dogs can be dogs and people can enjoy them. We have been going to an indoor dog-play hour each week, so that Charlie can become socialized. Today, in the dog park, he was more active and social than he's been in that indoor setting, so we'll certainly return. (He had particular fun with a young and speedy dachshund, racing around the park.)
So - two photos taken afterward, as we joined our fellow Minneapolitans on a Saturday early evening stroll along the Lake of the Isles shore:
The first is looking across to one of the little islands nestled in this lake.
Next, a view of Charlie (that's Peter on the other end of the leash) - Charlie still pulls ahead on the leash despite being in Level Three dog training. He'll walk by my side if I have treats in my hand, but we haven't gotten it to a point of doing so when out on a walk. Nor have I gotten him to stop jumping up on people (including a very tiny but intrepid little girl this evening).
Catching up to the rest of the country - happy vernal days!
Our transition from winter to early spring happened rather abruptly, over just a few days. We went from this...
to this...
in the space of four or five days. The melting ice and snow sent a steady stream down the gutters all week. Temperatures rose above freezing - then into the 40s - then 50s - then 60s, just for a couple of days.
It's much cooler now, but still more like April than March.
In Minnesota, weather is a never-failing subject for conversation. Perhaps it is everywhere, but it seems especially so here. What if the global warming means we aren't subject to the same degree of suffering? Would that weaken our character, make us less prepared for stark, life-threatening emergencies?
But I love the sun and cool-touched warmth anyway. It lifts my spirits, gives me energy enough to work without flagging through the days, takes me outside with the dog for longer and longer walks. Happy spring to you all.
Well, what you see is what you get. I'm at a point in life where it's not worth the energy to try to maintain illusions - for others or for myself. It looks like some of the some-day-I-will-accomplish-that sorts of things may not come to fruition, but I'm still busy doing work that seems useful, enjoying colleagues and friends, and learning how to do new things with computers. I love it when you comment and introduce yourselves!
