Words, Wind, Beads
This is a picture of wind. Although it’s impossible to show motion with a still shot, you can see how the mountain ashes are moving, you can see whitecaps on the ocean below. Believe me, our cabin is shaking, and we’re this close to the edge.
Sometimes what can’t be seen is the prime mover. What can’t be seen, what happens behind the scene…
First, though: my gratitude for your comments on my previous post is deep-unto-the-heart. That feeling of connection through words is meaningful sustenance. That, and my own joyful and intimate resumed connection to pen and paper. The dusting isn’t yet done; there are still objects that have not found their proper spots in this small place; but most of the framework is unearthed and dusted, and now that there are scraps and fragments of semi-membered poems like lego pieces all over my notebooks, I feel arrived.
Another piece of inspiration I must share is this collection I’m reading for my first packet of my second year in the MFA program: Alice Fulton’s Felt.
I confess I hadn’t even heard of Fulton before my mentor and I discussed what I might read. And I’m blown away like the wind. The writing is forceful, beautiful, vulnerable–and the voice is so strong. She engages with some quite intellectual questions, as I often tend to in my writing, but she never descends to dryness, as I struggle not to do: the engagement and emotional intensity is always there. I don’t want to write what she writes–no one should want to carbon copy another, but I wish I could write like that.
Go read her!
As for my own writing, and what I choose to put down here, I’m working to find the balance between sharing what I wish to share and avoiding that sharing give a message other than intended.
For example, I had a big food-fixing day on Saturday, where I made, among others, these energy bars, and these, and these; and baked beans somewhat like these; and a big Thai curry for Phil made up out of my head, and pickled beets from our garden…and I got a whole lot else done that day too!
Now to me, the fact that I made those energy bars pretty much per the recipes, rather than basically removing all the fat and sweetener like I used to, and that I have the honest intention of eating them, is offered as a good sign of healthy behaviors. But apparently, especially if I talk about it at all, it can be taken as evidence of obsession with food. As I learn to navigate these waters, I’ll start posting recipes again sometimes.
Believe me, much continues to happen behind the scenes.
In my next post, I’ll explore some more of the contrasts between being away and being here. For starters, two:
It’s that time of year again. The potato people are here!
My point is the importance of found objects in our life here.
Second: everyone who knows me is uncomfortably aware of my nervous habits, like pulling the skin off my fingers, which can intensify when I’m focusing and writing a lot.
While I was at the treatment center in Bellevue, I made worry beads to fiddle with; an idea I picked up in Greece, although my appropriation is kind of like a woman smoking in the 1920s: every man I saw had a set of worry beads that he twirled around, but no woman did. My set from Greece are probably in a box at my parents’ somewhere. The set I made in Bellevue was beautiful and delicate, with beads of glass and filigree; metallic accents.
I used them a lot; they were more effective than my other hand-distractors…until the string broke and they exploded all over the stone floor of the little market at PLU during the MFA residency.
My hideously scabbed fingers sent me to the bead store in Homer–yes, there is one! I asked for some strong cord, which, of course, required beads with bigger holes. The copper and small goldish ones from my old string fit, so my new string has some continuity with the former one.
Maybe it’s not quite so beautiful; maybe beautiful in a different way. It feels good in my hands in a different way. Stronger than skin.
Perhaps if I jump on the rebounder awhile, it won’t feel like this whole cabin is about to be blown away.