stormy day

At night, there was lightening. Heavy fog at dawn. And then, it simply rained.

Storms either clear the air, or they leave you frazzled and distressed.

So what was today like? Recovery? Cleared air? What?

In the early evening, I took a wet walk through the Arboretum.































Afterwards? I cooked and contemplated storms.

comments on comments

Here’s the thing: I rarely respond to comments. It’s a sense of my own smallness that leads me to stay quiet. Why would anyone click on the comments twice (on the chance that there may be a response)? I know very important to me people who never click on comments, on Ocean or elsewhere. Twice would be over the top.

Still, it feels rude. And inaccurate. In my head, I always have a response.

Then along comes a low news day, where the only events had to do with work and where the weather outside continues to be absolutely despicable: something to endure, without pause or feeling.





…and I’m thinking: let’s turn to the comments and forget about any other reference to April 10th.

So, pulling out these from the last few days, here are a few thoughts:

Lili wrote:
My mother once said 'I love the ocean! It's always going somewhere....'

If my house had been by the sea, I may have never sold it. I write this having never lived by the sea. But looking out at it makes the mess in my head seem tiny. In a good way. (By comparison, looking out at the cosmos makes me feel too tiny.)


Lee I. wrote:
I'll be on Air France in May and again in June/July. Hmmmm. Wonder if we'll cross paths.

There is much dispute as to how far and how frequently I’ll be crossing the ocean this spring. One thing is certain – if you’re on the Chicago – Paris flight on May 15th, do wave: I'll be sitting next to the guy with the feet that stick out into the aisle.


Superdad asks:
Am I a terrible person if I never turn off my Blackberry simply because I know that nothing bad is going to happen [in flight]?

No you are not. But I have to say that I am greatly influenced by an NPR story of some years back where a reporter investigated the possible hazards of using cellular technology in the air and found none. Of course, that was then and perhaps things have changed. Still, I would bet that of the, say, 300 passengers crammed into 280 seats, barely half turn off all their technologies. And yet, judging from the news, if we’re going to crash, it’ll be because the airlines (and not the passengers) are not attending to their wiring.


NonVoxPop writes:
Isn't it awesome how they do that decorative stuff with the foam? This one [referencing the coffee mug below] looks like a dancer or dervish.

You too? I always look at patterns and give them human form. I have some scary stuff on my shower wall. Hollow eyes of very tormented persons. (I blame it on the long winter.)


Dande writes [also about the photo of the coffee mug]:
It is as stylish as a 1930s era poster by the brilliant designer A. M. Cassandre

That’s supremely nice. And it conjures up my own associations with Cassandre: a triplet of posters in the Paris Metro many decades ago, advertising that lovely, slightly bitter aperitif: Du… (clatter clatter, next poster:) Dubon… (clatter clatter and finally:) Dubonnet. Oh, could I go for a Dubonnet at the end of this cold, miserably cold and wet day! (With a twist, on ice.)

distracted

Why are you taking a photo of my coffee?
Is it your coffee?
Yes…
So sorry. My mind was elsewhere. Thought it was mine…

rain

Outside my home – rain. You’re thinking – big deal. April showers. Be happy it’s not snow.

I’ll listen and then respond: not showers. Heavy, steady, unforgiving rain.

flying home

The news programs are full of stories about horrendous airline performance in the year 2007.

I could add to those stories, including one based on yesterday’s flights. But I can’t say that I really blame the airlines. It’s how it all works, isn’t it? Airlines try to make a buck (or stay afloat) and passengers have no loyalty – they reach for the cheapest, as they must, because it’s just so damn expensive.

People like me (who fly constantly) know how to hedge their bets and even so, we get days (like yesterday) that make us wonder why we even try.

And still, I just can’t see why I should choose to be surprised. It’s how I approach everything. Perhaps my Polish (under communism) suspicious-toward-market-forces nature clicks in: they’re out to get me and I must defend myself and if I’m really smart, I’ll occasionally score my own small successes.

So, in spite of the difficulties experienced yesterday in my travels home from Boston to Madison, I’d say it was a good day. I got home, didn’t I?

And the flight attendant who told me I should put away my camera because it was an electronic device (forbidden under 10,000 miles)? The other attendant was so incensed on my behalf that she asked the captain for clarification.

For future reference: you can take pictures. Anytime.




P.S. I’m really loyal to my airlines. I have not flown anything that’s not Air France, Northwest, KLM or Delta (all one happy family) for years. Indeed, if ever anyone invites me to New Zealand, I’ll panic. None of those fly there.

from Cape Cod: leaving

I have an afternoon flight home.

Cape Cod… It was just a taste, really. Oh, but what a taste! You can do an intense amount of sampling in a short spell.

Barnstable oysters, Chatham scallops…









Salt on your face.

Chocolate in your room, a cookie with nanna’s home made raspberry jam. (Our Brewster Inn by the Sea hosts worry about this amount of detail. It feels heavenly to be attended to so well… Because really, in the course of the everyday, you can only slug through the hours and hope that you’ll have the time to do a load of laundry.)

A morning of drizzle and cool mists. It was supposed to be the reverse – a bleak Saturday and a better Sunday. We won in the switch.

A quick run over to the marshes. Wet shoes now and hair that’s starting to clamp down. Misty, salty dampness. Just one more look at the sea, there, beyond the still bare brambles.





At the Inn though, I see that the forsythia is popping shoots of yellow. And the double daffodils are full of lemon yellow ruffles.









We sit down to breakfast. Fruits, juices, scones, a frittata and for me – scrambled eggs with fresh herbs – dill, parsley, chives, along with granola.





I’m restless. I pick up a paper, a book, I put them both down. My tolerant breakfast buddy watches me with amusement.

It’s the departure that weighs on me. I’ll never get used to this part of being a far-away parent.

We talk about our forthcoming vacations, our week ahead. In the car, we play music that was so often my Sunday morning routine, even as the daughters were very young. Nessun dorma, nessun dorma…






In Cambridge, she turns toward her home and I catch the T to the airport.

from Cape Cod: the draw of the ocean

Lake views? Boring. Buggy. Yawn.

Ocean fronts? They ease life’s angst. For a Pole, that’s huge. (We have a disproportionate hold on angst.)

I wake up and ask my daughter – so, shall we drive out to the Cape? And because we’re in Boston, we can. And we do.

I’d never really been to Cape Cod proper. Martha’s Vineyard ? Yes, I got hooked on that place years back, until it got to be too expensive to take seriously. But now, in the low low season (and as compared to, say, France, with its godawful for the American Euro), the region seems a bargain.

And it is quiet.

We stop in Brewster (just where the Cape bends and flexes its arm up northwards). We hike across the salt marshes toward the sea.



sea hawk




low tide





snails





gulls


It’s just so peaceful! And stunning.



daughter, sea grasses, inlet





sea catch







We get in the car and make our way up one Cape coast than down the other. Villages, not entirely shuttered, but not in full swing either. Without question, it is the best way to see it.





The weather stations say rain, but it’s hardly even gray. And by the end of the day, it is clear and blue, and then dark, and star-filled.


sun goeas down over the salt marsh


Sea or mountains? Where’s your heart?

Love those jagged peaks and alpine meadows. Still, nothing calms the spirit as much as an ocean view.

from Cambridge: spring East

A seasonal (spring) visit to a daughter. I pick a time that’s perhaps a touch close to winter, but the other months of spring are not good visiting months for either of us. Besides, this is April – an enduring favorite month of mine.

Spring, of course, is a social construct. Forget calendar dates and such markers as length of daylight or appearance of migratory birds. That’s all too encyclopedic. And misleading. For example, Wikipedia would probably argue that April 1st belongs to spring. We know better, back in Madison. April 1st had a solid winter stink to it (to put it bluntly). But April 2nd – springtime! Giddy, effervescent, crocus-spotted spring.


My flight takes off and I look down. Brown, with specs of white. Well, it’s early in the season.





In Boston, too, I’m reminded of just how early. It’s raining. It’s foggy. It’s, well, cool.

And yet… ahhhh! No doubt. Spring.

the interesting world of the red-winged blackbird

I read on Wikipedia that this bird is migratory, traveling north in good times. And that he comes here to stake out turf for his sweetie-tweetie. Actually for a bunch of them. He likes to populate his turf with a selection of sweetie-tweeties. But then she comes and messes with him. She hooks up with other males, producing a hatch of eggs of mixed paternity.

I watched birds up close and personal today on my ride back from work. It wasn’t especially a comfortable ride since the temps had dropped from yesterdays pleasantries.

Still, the birds made me slow down and take note.

For instance, this duck. So beautiful in his solitary stance. I mean, it gives hope, no?





Then, there are the gulls. I don’t really understand why we have gulls in Madison, since I associate gulls with, well, oceans, but we do have gulls. And they appear to stand on water.





But I digress. Further down the path I encountered the red-wing blackbird. I looked him in the eye and he seemed to be saying – the hell with you, I know what I’m doing. And yet, he was such a sweet little thing. Huggable almost…






Life. Birds, humans – we’re all part of this great big planet, aren’t we?

it’s time

I’m thinking – let’s not get soft here. Time to ditch the bus and start biking to work. My bicycle is refreshed, ready.

I bundle up. I understand my limitations. Wind blows and I get cold.

I set out. I am so bundled that I can hardly turn to spot the traffic. Still, I zip through Shorewood, across the field and onto the lake path. Ah, the lake path. So romantic.

















So muddy.

I am covered with dreadful yellow grit. My bike has a case of yellow speckled fever. It’s all rather disgusting. The handbrakes sound grimy and unpleasant.

I’m not complaining really. I am hot from the four mile ride. But it’s a splendid ride. Good bye buses. See you next November.

(On the way home, I avoid the lake path. To be rewarded with this..





…and this…)

forgiving

Who in your life does not elicit a surge of charitable feeling? (In your life. Not at large, out there. There are plenty of people out there who do terrible deeds that are, in my mind indefensible.)

Over time, I even thought that the boy I had a crush on throughout highschool was pretty tame in his mishandling of my affection. After all, what does a teen age boy know about the strength and devotion of a somewhat younger teen age girl passionately in love with him? (Or so she thought then.) Surely there's room for missteps.

Still, I think we are not a generous species. An ant tramples over another ant and they wink at each other and march on in perfect formation. Oops, sorry! No, not even that. Ants don't speak.

People? My God. First misstep and they're semi okay with it. Second? Well... Third? Forget you. Unforgivable. Even if you can demonstrate that the misstep was really the result of your having plugged the wrong information into mapquest. I made a mistake! Kill me for it!

Okay. Poof!


Something to mull over on yet another Tuesday where I cannot deliver much of anything specific here on Ocean. Too much work, too much worry.

For today: a photo shot from my evening walk to the local election polling place. There's a lot to be said for that walk. It didn't accomplish much, substantively speaking. Results are coming in and it looks as if my candidate isn't doing too well... But the weather was gorgeous! 7 pm and still light outside. Sun dappled trees. If you forget about all evil thoughts you harbor about anyone(or, if you have none), you can indeed call it a perfect moment. So for me, it was a perfect moment.

wet

If I’m to live up to my self-ascribed trait of being adaptable, then I must be willing to adjust to anything thrown my way, right?

So, love that cold drizzle!

nesting and lambing

To me, nesting is about setting up a home and attending to it. To Ed, nesting is about wanting to have chickens running around his farmette.

My enthusiasm for chickens is low. When I lived with my grandparents in the deep countryside of Poland, the neighbor’s chickens depleted the meadowland of grass and left a trail of droppings so fierce that you could not side step it. Not good news for a little kid who liked to run around barefoot.

Today, the chicken issue came up again. We never set out to look at chickens. They just sort of presented themselves.





We were at a nearby farm (A-Z Farm) that opened its doors to the public today to show off its incredible haul of little lambs: 62 moms gave birth so far this season, 53 still waiting to deliver.




It was a wonderful, wonderful sight. Two day old lambs? Your heart wouldn’t melt? Your fingers wouldn’t reach for the fuzzy little head?










And the sight of the lambs chasing their mommies for a sip of milk! It brought back memories of feeding the very young…








come on, mom! get up and play!


What I could not tear myself away from was the pen with the pregnant moms. Their discomfort became my discomfort. Some looked like they were on the brink (as indeed they were) and I thought it worth my time to stand, watch and wait.





…until a woman came up to me and whispered. Listen, I’ve been coming here for four years and I have yet to see one born when I’m here.

I’m so transparent.

There were other farm animals. Baby calves (2 days old), baby goats, pigs and chicks. A farmer shows us this one:





...yes, sure. Cute.

In the way that my heart and soul goes out to the sheep mamas and their babies, Ed’s attention is on the chickens. I expect he’ll be carting a few home soon. I’m hoping to fall in love with them. I mean, they’re not quite like the lambs, but still… fresh eggs, daily, a sweet little hen in my lap… there are some good images out there. The man could have wanted to raise pigeons. Chickens are tons better than pigeons.



FOOTNOTE: I am no longer publishing unsigned comments.

sometimes

…you feel an upsurge of optimism when none is warranted. I’m writing about weather, but I’m thinking of non-weather episodes. The yes! moment, when you break through a thick fog and surge forward.

And then, next morning, visibility is down to near zero again. If you pardon the weather analogue.

Okay, no more about fog.

I cleaned my red Mr. Giant today. Ed, the bike expert, lubricated the chain and gave me appropriate rags and twigs to wipe out five months’ worth of grime and dust on the body. And we set out to do a small ride. Country road, take me home...




I got cold. In Paoli, I sought refuge in an art gallery, just to take the red out of my nose.





On the ride back, the chill in my face and limbs receded a little. But really, it was not a warm and sunny time.