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    i cut it short last eve…there was lightning so i shut stuff down.  But what had got me thinking was when i moved the dog crate and the wood box,  i could see further how things are more and more coming apart.  This year,  tiles are loosening,  coming up,  corners getting caught on things and breaking loose.

    The pic is the other corner,  under where the rocking chair sits.  the South side.  I'd gotten to remembering when i put this tile down.   It was during Katrina.  2005.  August.  Summer.  Heat.

    I have visceral memory of ripping up all of the horrible shag like carpet,  all dog peed on from the little dogs,  all so full of dust.  I had NPR on pretty much constantly and listened to New Orleans as i worked.  Tears.  Sweat.  and i got a case of pink eye from rubbing them away so i could see what i was doing.  So that tile was from the Dollar Store.  That it has lasted 10 years is something.  But it's become brittle.  So,  i was considering this.  The real question is,  Do i Care?   

    Do i care enough to get out the putty knife kinds of tools and sit on the floor,  scraping up the parts that are still afixed?  Then sanding,  roughing up and smoothing after prying out all the nails that are also rising loose,  prepping the floor enough to put down new tile?    taking out all the furniture, book shelves.   and the truth is,  i don't.  I care maybe 5% of the time.  Otherwise,  it's the floor.   It's solid. It's enough.  The two oriental rugs…i will at some point haul them in to Albuquerque and get them cleaned at the oriental rug place.  I care about the rugs.  Maybe at the end of the summer.  Or…..  But i am in love now with that concept of Fugitive.  

    ok.  so,  a decision is documented.  

     

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    these two pieces of muslin were in that same copper pot of onion skins.  the one on the left was bundled with the shreds of steel wool and the I Ching coins…only two…one fell out…

    the one on the right,  just its self,  folded rolled and tied with string.  Who could guess they are related??????

     

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    this is really the only intimation of onion skin coloring…on the top and the bottom

     

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    i have to put some Tick killing medicine on Tay.  She doesn't want me to do that.  Escapes out the dog door.  So…to make it OK for her,  i put a line of peanut butter on a dish towel and hang it over the cabinet door.  While she is licking off the peanut butter,  she ignores me putting the tick medicine along her spine.  We work stuff out.

     

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    Shade.  That word implies something different than this for me.  It implies leafy boughs of trees.  But shade is shade.   Goats are good with that.

     

     

     

     

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    it's 94 degrees.  Hot.   The cooler isn't working yet,  but  the beloved Fan,  the oscillating fan Owen is.  And how it is for me,  days, weeks,  months even can go by and i do nothing…then suddenly i DO…

    the dog crate,  Tay's "house" gets collapsed and it is OutSide,  leaning on the porch.  it's heavy.  so will get slowly moved to the Albatros and leaned somewhere in there.  For now…this Space, inside.    And anything it might have meant now will mean negotiation.  Her.  Me.  Negotiation.  

    and the wood box gets overturned to become a kind of end table ……maybe

    no one i know would live here.  It's such an ify place.  It's coming apart at the seams.  So i watch.

  • i wasn't sad about the maybe fugitive colour of the cloth yesterday,  not yet,  because it might NOT be fugitive but maybe i was something like sad for other things?  

     

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    this morning box/table is kind of like how my mind feels.  There is stuff but it's not energized.

     

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    and i remembered waking to the "information" that the day is how it is because you Choose it.  It is your Choice….how it goes.  So i put the onion skins into the copper pot

     

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    I dreamed about the Old Cowboy last night.  He wasn't dead anymore,  but he was also uhhhh,  different.   Maybe we could say he was just "back".  His being Back was the center point of the dream but as it always is,  there were a lot of sub plots.  Lots of people.  Lots of just goings.  But at one point i watched him RUN down a long stairway of the place we were,  like the house,  a long stairway that was almost something like an escalator ,  he was RUNNING  and i noticed how Strong his legs were,  his thighs in particular but when he got to the bottom he just crashed.  Fell flat.  Though his legs were strong,  he didn't have any idea how to coordinate things and he just smashed down and in the next scene,  he was "upstairs" again and in a hospital bed just against the wall by the window and it was raining in on him,  i had to move him and dry him off and all the people were suddenly there and i looked over and saw that there was a long counter with SO MUCH FOOD…so much and like large hams and maybe like Prime Rib things and trays of stuff that he,  the OCB had brought out from the freezer and put there and i was trying to tell all the people to eat as much as they possibly could because otherwise we would need to just throw it out and i was also thinking at the time how could i possibly explain to him that none of his Stuff was there anymore…how could i explain to him where his table went,  his belt buckle…it was all just Gone  and really, it was hard for me to think where it went,  but i also knew it wouldn't really matter,  that he was only kind of there but also kind of not at all

    His birthday is coming soon.  He was alive on this day,  last year.

     

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    here it is again and i got it wet and finger pulled it kind of flat…i won't iron it….and it IS a kind of vague blue

     

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    Wind

    almost done.

     

     

     

     

     

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    late yesterday,  i put some twigs of Russian Sage,  3 I Ching  coins,  a small rectangle of copper and some wisps of steel wool on this cloth.  then…i tied it.  bundled it.  Didn't stuff it because there was nothing to stuff it into…just water in the copper pot.   Heated it on the stove for about 15 min and then took it Out Side.   When i got back today it looked a little different so i unbundled  knowing it was too soon…wasn't much hot today.

     

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    i like the color a lot.  A vague greybluesagegreen  vague,  depending on what other things it's near and then some marks.   What i don't know is how much any of this response had to do with the Russian Sage.  Maybe just the copper pot and steel wool?  See….i am not a dyer.  I never know.  And also i don't know if any of this is fugitive.  I'll let it hang on the cloth line in SUN for some days…

     

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    Russian Sage,  just beginning to bloom.  There are bees.

     

    Peggy,  of  Woman With Wings  has a Post yesterday that i love.   She is telling her seeds….

    I will take Care of you

    i loved this.  She's in Colorado.  Just the state north of me.  Where my son lives.   I think of her there this evening,  as i am giving water,  think of her there,  whispering to her seeds

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    the Mallow came of it's own accord.   Some places it is in clusters,  like this and like by the Raft.  Not any reason that i can understand,  as in more or less water,  really,  in these two places there's pretty much NO consistent water given.  Just what the Sky gives.   And then there are individual plants all over, here and there.  Same mystery.  

     

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    a totally and completely Perfect wild sunflower.  Volunteer.  Any day now the little black bristly caterpillars will appear and the leaves will be consumed.  It will continue to grow and produce it's blooms.   I forgot to plant Sunflowers again….the pretty kind from the seed packets.  I wonder why i forget?  Maybe it's still not too late?

    it continues to be an issue for me.  What do i PLANT here,  as in promise to care for by giving water.  This year the food plants are many and doing very well.  Better than in a long time.  Because of my being constant.   

    i think back to the garden at the house in Michigan.  There was almost no watering there.  There was Rain.  I think about that,  about what i Ask of this Place,  how  i  use water.  And i scrubbed the buck tubs with vinegar tonight…squeaky clean and their water clear and perfect for the night and until Wind blows debris.   

    it was work away first and then when i was back home,  the day was many things with Wind from the North East,  like it was that day last year when there was the Micro Burst and the fence went down and my shoulder got smashed and the shoulder is still never again how it was before that.  Thinking about how it is here.  Home.

  • "  I was born the summer the Berlin Wall went up,  into a world shadowed by the Cold War between the United States and the USSR.  Many people then expected a nuclear war was imminent and that such a war could mean the end of the world.  People have always been good at imagining the end of the world,  which is much easier to picture than the strange sidelong paths of change in a world without end.  In the early sixties,  international politics seemed deadlocked,  but elsewhere things were stirring.  The civil rights movement had already transformed the status quo into a crisis,  not only for the officials dealing with demonstrators but for Americans whose conscience had woken up or whose patience had worn out.

    That year Women's Strike for Peace was founded when a hundred thousand women in a hundred communities across the country staged a simultaneous one day strike,  launching an antinuclear peace movement that also prefigured the women's movement soon to be born.  That year, Cesar Chavez was considering leaving his community organizer job to try to unionize California's farm workers, and the science writer Rachael Carson was finishing Silent Spring,  her landmark denunciation of pesticides published in 1962.  Just as the civil rights movement achieved not only  specific gains but a change in the imagination of race and justice,  so Carson's book was instrumental not only in getting DDT banned in the United States, which reversed the die offs of many species of bird   but also in popularizing a worldview in which nature was made up not of inert objects but of interactive, interconnected systems, a worldview that would come to be called ecological.  Step by step, ecological ideas have entered the mainstream to transform the imagination of the earth and its processes, of fire, water, air , soil, species, interdependences, biodiversities, watersheds, food chains (the latter words also entered the common vocabulary in recent times).  In 1962 Students for a Democratic Society,  the key organization for the student movement in the United States , was founded, and the environmental movement began to matter in public imagination and public discourse.

    I was born into a world in which there was little or no recourse and often not even words for racial profiling, hate crimes, domestic violence, sexual harassment, homophobia, and other forms of exclusion and oppression.  In my own country, which considered itself then as now a bastion of democracy,  some of the Ivy League universities did not admit women,  many of the Southern colleges and universities only admitted whites, and quite a few elite institutions still banned Jews.  It was a world where the scope for decisions about religion, sexuality, living arrangements, food and consumption patterns was far narrower, though there were also many old ways of life disappearing.  Pristine wildernesses, family farms, small businesses, independent media, local customs, and indigenous practices were under siege by the homogenizations, consolidations and commercializations that  would super nova into corporate globalizations and the very premises from which to resist these eradications were still mostly embryonic.  This is the way the word changes,  as Dickens understood when he opened his most political novel with  "It was the best of times,  it was the worst of times."   It usually is."

    Rebecca Solnit.  pgs 35 and 36.

    RS is a little younger than i am but here on these pages and the more to follow,  she tells me in black and white what my world was.  History.  She tells me my history.  All these things,  every single one i can give examples of in my own experience.  I know these things.  But i have never seen them written as one thing,  as the history of my own time,  the history of me.

    so i will continue to read.  After all,  this is only pages 35  and 36.  There's a lot more.  But to learn to look at what is happening in terms of seeds planted,  seeds sitting in the dark and then seeds splitting and opening OUT at some particular moment in Time

    and i will let my Original Thought just sit for now.  I am OutSide here and it means Everything to me.  I don't want to be IN side,  thinking and writing things down just so i can feel like i am participating in some way….i will participate by being Out Side.  Giving Water.  Stinking of Goat.  

    But there is an Opinion on Salon  5-29-2016  Carol Anderson    Donald Trump exposes the GOP's dirty secret.  They build everything by nurturing white rage.  

    this is the bottom line.  From there,  i am guessing that it has become time for there to be a Radical Change in the two party system,  a radical change in Campaign Finance.  The Electorate of this United States of America is changing face and hesitantly becoming Confident.  More and more people feel like they are Americans.   Mr. Yellow Hair is shoving this into our faces and we can't breathe.  If it weren't for the dire straights of the Planet,  i would look forward to what will come of this.  

    But, for the Planet,  there is no time to waste.

     

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    the Golden Current  which has been there,  planted,  for i don't know how many years…but this year is STRONG and has

    3 currents.   How can it BE?  I'd given up on currents thinking it would be necessary for another bush for cross pollenation….that would explain it.  But…………………………….  Three.  Three pea sized fruits.

     

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    the Shelling Peas have many blossoms and this One Pod….a shelling pea….in the desert….a shelling pea,  in the desert

     

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    looking Through,  the chairs and the bench are on the West side of the Old Woman Apricot and that's the side that insects damaged two of her strong boughs.  They are dead now and offer no shade.  But because the chairs and bench have "always" been there,  they are in SUN,  offer no relief in any day.  Today i squat and look…What if i moved the chairs and the bench?  over here to the East side of Old Woman?  Where there is ample shade?

     

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    Dog.  Beauty FULL dog.  Friend.  Partner.  SisterDog.  This Dog.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

      

  • the content of the last couple days…i am   "cooking" it….letting it stew,  adding ingredients,  watching, smelling,  getting ready to taste it

    and i had an Original Thought….in the middle of the night and then again,  even more clear, upon waking.

    an Original Thought.   But i need to let it dry out a little.  It's still wet.

    "Stories move in from the shadows to the limelight.  and though the stage presents the drama of our powerlessness,  the shadows offer the secret of our power.  This book is a history of the shadows,  of the darkness in which hope lies.  I want to start the history of this present moment over again,  not with the election or the war but with a series of surprises from the shadows that ushered in this millenium."

    Rebecca Solnit   Hope in the Dark   pg. 34

     

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    Waiting for Jackie and Philip to deliver that half ton bale of alfalfa,  i was pitch forking off the cover of the north side of the long compost bed,  up by where Chinche is buried now.   Clearing it so i can plant 80 onions there.   Some large Kochia along the edge and i'm pulling it,  not really mindfully,  and i pulled this,  but Brain said…HEY, grace!,  just a little too late,  but it's a volunteer potato from the actual compost area…see at about 6 oclock…a very small but real potato….i should have checked the pic first and got a clearer one,  but i was so Excited that i  ATE it…just after this pic….so Crunchy and Juicy even having had virtually NO water since the last rain…and very little even then,  but a POTATO.

     

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    tomorrow,  when i put in those onions,  i'll replant it.  Potatoes are tough.  I think it might be ok.

     

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    you can barely see it.  Wind.  To the eye,  it's there,  but lightly so,  even to the eye,  but that is good.

     

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    the closest i could get to how it is this afternoon…close,  but a little more distinct

     

    G

    a distortion,  but i like looking at it this way

     

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    the very just so good HP print out  with pencil.   How distinct do i really want it to be??????

    and just now i put my right hand to my face to scratch my upper lip and

    Aroma Therapy

    i'd been caressing Nogal as i waited for their Water Bowl to fill,  he was in the mood and so still and i touched him all over his beauty FULL face,  under his chin,  his beard,  up and around his ears and then all around his scur horns,  around and around and he was so still and i loved him so much for being exactly as he is,  and here,  typing this,  my hand is full of his scent  and i won't wash it off,  but leave it and hope to dream something from it

     

  • all the water was dried up in the pot and i took out the crisping leaves for some reason,  not sure what i had in mind but there among them was a piece of muslin

     

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    i remembered stuffing it in at the end of the bundling effort…just wadding it up and stuffing it under all the rest.  

    So this is wadding and stuffing.  I like it.  I like it as well as the bundled.   I am not much of a dyer.  Some of you are.

     

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    this,  for instance,  from Maria.   THIS is what i would like to be able to make.   I don't know how.

     

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    First Desert Willow Bloom

     

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    Chatalpa.   a cross of Desert Willow and Catalpa.    Why would someone want to do this?,  cross them?  i have no idea.  But i planted it here.   That year,  maybe 4 years ago when it  got so so Cold,  it looked totally dead.   But then,  it began again,  the following spring.  I don't ask it to be a tree,  but let it be a bush instead and today it's covered with potential blooms.  Tomorrow i will give it a long long looong slow slow slow slooooow drip of water.  Deep drip.  Slow.  Long.

    I continue to think about the post of yesterday.   I feel inept at even speaking about it all,  and i feel too that i need to say something.  To say nothing isn't right.

    I read a lot today including a Newsweek opinion entitled:  Why Republicans will Hold Their  Noses and Vote Trump

    Did i learn anything?  i don't know.

    I talked to my daughter.  She was on her phone at the baby resale shop buying a Wet Suit for Fate because they are going to the River tomorrow and the water,  which is run off from the mountains there is very cold.  It's very CLEAN but it's very cold and he's still little,  but they want him in the River.   And i think as i do,  my most uhhhh,  most……well,  uhhh,  my most

    constant

    question,

    why don't i just GO there?    It's where everyone else is.   Is it not the Place i might be of Use?

     

     

  • "Joy doesn't betray but sustains activism.  And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated, and isolated,  joy is a fine initial act of insurrection"

    Rebecca Solnit

    Well…i have to watch.  I feel like i need to understand anything that i can about how all this came about.  I am a spawn of the 60's.  If you told me anywhere along that this could be happening,  i would not have believed it.  But it is happening.  And a vast number of my fellow citizens are thrilled.  I want to understand why.  What makes them feel so needy of this puppetmaster?    What part of them does he represent,  vindicate,  set free?    But it's a fine line…learning and becoming so sad.  

    So i look for kinds of joy.   There are kinds of joy that are so Bright and Sharp they pierce the Heart and fill beyond the brim.  There are kinds of joy,  more frequent that are soft,  quiet,  …. just a touch,  just for a single second.  

     

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    this girl.  From National Geographic,  how long ago?,  i don't know,  but from a National Geographic article on the children of Darfur.   Look at her.  her dress.

    the chair.  the chairmother.  the chair,  giving comfort in its worn ness.  This girl,  being photographed and keeping turned away,  protecting the sense of safe haven,  after walking and walking.  See her foot.

    a kind of joy for me.  not seeming so much so,  but for me…she made it.  Through whatEver she did.  To rest on this chair.  There is a very certain kind of joy to me in this photograph.  It is with me every day through years.  today.

    Look  it all says.  This is humanity.

     

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    making marks on cloth.  another kind of joy.

     

  • there is Something, everyday

     

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    Mexican Elderberry in aluminum pot

     

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    Rice Grass hiding in Lambs Quarters.   First persons here used to harvest,   grind,  for flour. 

    Double Click.  Think about that.   Harvest,  grind,  for flour.

     

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    the Beauty of the Feather Grass,  the Sea of Green of May is beginning to change…seeds tangle in the clumps at the ends,  Trillions of seeds tangle and turn gold.

     

    Tay is hunting something in the Giant Secaton Grasses,  the Wood Pile.  She can't resist,  but it also scares her.  She came slamming in through the screen door dog door and hid in the bathroom for about an hour.  I am hoping it's a new Bull Snake.  Most likely i'll never know.  They live very private lives.

    To All.  I apologize for whatever is happening in this country where i live…for this ugly confusion that seems to prevail.  For all of my fellow citizens who cheer on the insane yellow haired man.   It is breaking my heart.

    On Being.  Tippett interviews Rebecca Solnit who surprised me by her voice…like a very young girl.