Pears in the rain

If photos appear pixelated, simply click on image for a better view.

(I'm experimenting with photo size. I'm happy to have the larger format. But I'm unhappy with the pixelation. Hmm, back to the drawing board. Update: After some feedback and more experimenting, it doesn't seem to matter with what tool I load the photos, on some people's computers the photos are pixelated; on some they are not.

Don canned spiced pears from those that had fallen to the ground. Cinnamon stick, cloves and ginger (and a little cognac to make them more interesting).

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Dean Johnson's farm

If you don't have animals on your little 5 acre farm (except for our elegant barn cat Bishop, above), then you have to visit your neighbors' animals if you want to rub shoulders with kashmir goats, Texas longhorns and a llama.



This mama, below, wouldn't leave me. I thought I was going to hurt myself on the electric fence.



The photo scavenger hunt blog I used to post on went defunct, and now is back, and the theme this week is "an animal." So I have to get busy. Unlike my blog friend Rauf who must have thousands of exotic animal photos, I'm challenged in this department. Plus, we're supposed to take the pics the week of the hunt, and not cheat using old photos.

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New Paris post

There is a new post on my Paris Deconstructed blog. Check out a church you probably never heard of.

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Happy me, to birthday . . .

No, it’s not a typo (it’s not supposed to read “Happy birthday to me”). It’s sort of like an Emily Dickinson line with a strange verb: to birthday.

It’s just my way of saying that on this, my 50th birthday, I have as much happiness as anyone can stand, and “to birthday” in this life is a gift I deeply appreciate.

• I am happy to be half a century old and be healthy and of sound mind (mostly).
• I am happy to have a smart, handsome, handy, faithful, funny, healthy husband of 28 years who treats me like a (Leo) queen.
• I am happy to be mother of a woman and a man who make me proudest for who they are, not what they have accomplished (which is a lot).
• I am happy to be part of an extended family that is incredibly loving and supportive, and crazy when necessary.
• I am happy to have friends who love me very well. Yes you. (Family included.)
• I am happy to live on a splendid little farm with animals, birds, trees, stones, buildings, paths, chairs and a nature spirit that has bid me welcome from the moment we first met.
• I am happy to work at a job I love (mostly).
• I am deeply, intensely happy, even without all these things, at least I believe that I am. If I was like Job, and all this was taken from me, would I still be full of joy?
• I am happy to be connected to Life.

I could make a list of 50,000 things I am happy for. The point is, I share my happiness with you today. Happy (my) birthday – to YOU! AND, thank you for the gift of you.

(Can you guess why I chose the photo, above? Hint: there is more than one reason. First, do you know what it is?)

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Friday night concert

Our son Peter, a recent graduate of MSU in psychology, is in an alternative pop/blues/rock band with a bit of country mixed in (more lately than before). Pete is 23 and has been playing guitar since he was 12. I don't think I'd be exaggerating if I said he's played the guitar every day for 11 years. And man, has his practice paid off.

Pete's influences are Stevie Ray Vaughn, Jimi Hendrix and John Mayer. (He might add more.) I also would not be exaggerating to say that Peter's the best guitarist I've ever heard. Thankfully, he teaches guitar, and are his students fortunate!



Brian, the singer in the band, has a unique, gorgeous voice, and last night in downtown East Lansing in their Friday night concert series they rocked and rocked for an hour and a half. Mark at drums and Mike on bass are gifted as well, and combined, they have a smooth, tight, sweet sound. Give them a listen at their myspace site.


Pete, Brian and Mark (Mike isn't in the shot -- sorry, Mike!)

I'll post about Peter in another month when they play a concert in the park in Plymouth, MI. They have one CD (you can order it from their web site) and another coming out in the next couple of months. Peter's my favorite musician. Can you blame me? He's good, he's cute, he's smart and he calls his mother "bo."

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Going direct

Warning: I'm going to rant philosophically.

Osho said “the sunrise is not a word.” In other words, the word is not the thing itself. When we know the name of something, do we then know anything about it?

What is the moon in this photo? Its light is not the moon, is it? The light is reflected from the sun.

Have you ever looked at an apple (or anything) for 15 minutes straight? Without judgment or description, like “Oh, that’s a beautiful apple, so shiny and a great shade of red, and I'm sure it will be crispy and delicious”? Just look at it and see it for what it is?

To come directly into contact with what is – what does that mean?

How can an old chair worth just a few dollars in Arles, France, be transformed into a chair worth millions of dollars when painted by Van Gogh? (idea from Eckhart Tolle’s book A New Earth) What is the chair’s essence? What is there beyond the chair that gives it meaning? Or maybe, within the chair?

What do I take time to meditate upon and contemplate, for greater understanding? Anything?

I find these questions compelling, because I am overwhelmed by the barrage of information I encounter every day. There is so much I want to give my attention to, but haven’t the time. I don’t really know anything that I do not know directly.

Knowing something or someone, without separation, is that possible?


Van Gogh's "Chair with Pipe"

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What do you do with rudeness?

my painting, a "copy" of Paul Klee's Senecio

Yesterday a man called my office. I’d say he was in his 20s and is brother to an incoming freshman woman who will attend MSU this fall. Her academic orientation is next week, when she will enroll for classes (that begin in 2 weeks).

He was angry and rude. For fifteen minutes he ranted about how late his sister’s orientation is and how all the classes will be filled. I reassured him that we have been doing this for years, that we reserve seats for students such as his sister, etc., but he kept on ranting and spewing his diatribe that we would “screw up” his sister’s first year in college. Nothing I said could appease him. He had no respect for me as a person or a professional. At the end of the call, I fed back to him my concern that he is undermining his sister’s chances for trusting her adviser. He denied this.

For the rest of the day, I stewed about it. It was painful to think about, but I kept it there, ready to share it with our department secretary or my husband.

This morning, in meditation, I tried letting it go. I have a helpful meditation taught me by a friend where I visualize my green heart chakra creating an opening from my head down through my toes for the Divine Intelligence Formerly Known as God (Rob Brezsny’s title) to flow like a river. Then I place all my worries or uglies in the river, letting them flow to the earth. Then the earth transforms them, filters them, and sends back energy into my 7 chakras, and I do a balancing meditation.

But it wouldn’t work this morning. I didn’t want to let that man’s rude behavior go.

So I followed Krishnamurti’s advice and acknowledged that I AM the emotion I was feeling. What was it? What was I feeling?

“He can’t do that to me! He can’t talk to me like that!”

As soon as I said those words in my head, recognized them, I realized:

He CAN do that. He gets to do what he wants. He is free.

And “whooooosh” it slipped away.

By resisting the man’s behavior, I kept it inside ME. Is there any possible way that could be good?

A smart person said, “when someone throws you a ball, you don’t have to catch it.”

It’s my response that matters. I don’t have to receive it. I don’t have to “accept” it in the sense of approval. I CAN let it go right through me, without “catching” it, without letting his mean spirit stay in me.

Freedom.


Amedeo M0digliani's Jeanne Hébuterne with Yellow Sweater, 1918–1919 (in the Guggenheim)

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