It's Been a Long Time Coming

I used to blog quite a bit. I’d write about music, travel, guitars, weather, education, and my cats. There came a point when I realized that I was writing more and more about the death of my parents. It was cathartic for me, somewhat interesting to my close friends and family, but in general, not the stuff of which blogs are made. So I stopped blogging.

So, what’s new in my world since I stopped?

Hmm….. my old Compaq laptop (my first laptop) that I bought in 2004 finally made it obvious that it was not going to last much longer. I wanted to buy a MacBook Pro, but could not justify the price tag. Oh, Consumer Reports loves them, and I usually go along with what Consumer Reports says…. But…. I just couldn’t. So, I bought a nicely rated Dell. Disaster. Hard drive was bad almost from the start. Took it back (past its exchange date) and they wanted to repair it. Fuck that, the computer was new and I wanted a replacement. So I chose another well rated PC, a Toshiba. The Toshiba was nice enough, but the Apple kept calling to me. Finally, I decided that I had to. I went down to the Apple store and left with a computer that cost about the same as my first new Toyota Corolla in 1974. I expect it to match that amazing Toyota in service and longevity. So far, so good. I have a lot to learn and need a pair of good reading glasses for the small icon labels.

I went to a pottery show yesterday. I had gone to this studio show/sale two years ago (blew my mind when I realized it had been TWO years) and bought two very different pieces by the same artist. I liken them to siblings, sharing genetics but so very different. Perhaps I’ll take some pictures and post them. I’d hoped that artist would be there again, but he wasn’t. I wrote to the link on his website and found that he’d moved back to his home place of Indonesia.

Then there’s Facebook. Enough said, eh? Many of my friends who used to blog have given it up because of Facebook. Now we’re all in touch, we can share links, pictures, thoughts, all in small, easily digested packages. I love it. I can see what my children are doing, I can check in on my favourite music, I can search for old friends. I have reached the 200 friend mark, and did go in and take off a few that I never communicate with. It’s an interesting social medium, but makes me wonder what the next big thing will be and what it will be like.

Coffee. Have all but stopped drinking it. I save it for times when I need to get a million things done and know I won’t have the energy at the end of a long day. Otherwise I drink one cup of PJ Tips tea through the morning…

Fall in Southern California. Hot one day, cool the next, wonderful evenings.

Holidays. Last year I was so excited to be going back to NC for the holidays. I hadn’t seen my dad in a year and was so looking forward to spending some good time with him. It wasn’t to be. Two days after I arrived, he went into the hospital, six days later he died. I got to say goodbye, but I wasn’t ready to. This year has been about trying to get my head around the reality of both of my parents being dead. So this year I am again traveling back in hopes of spending some good time with my family…. This year it will happen.

Zevon, Browne, Lindley, oh my...

Jerry Macky

July 4, 1930 - December 28, 2008

Dad at the beach:

A dear friend once told me that she only wrote in her journal when she was sad, when something bad had happened, or when she was upset. She said that if somebody read her journal, they'd think she was always like that. Truth was that when she was happy and busy and productive, she didn't feel the need for catharsis through writing.

In some ways I think I'm the same. Though I have posted on this blog about things that make me happy (music, storms, education, my cats, architecture), I am more likely to write when something is weighing on me and I have the need to put my feelings into words and pictures.

In the past three years or so I've written about the death of my mother, my trip across the country leaving her perfume bottles along the way, our celebration of her first birthday after she died... I wrote about my dad and how the knowledge that he wasn't going to be around for long made him seem all the more special to me. I wrote that I mourned the opportunities I've missed to spend more time with him and that I wished we lived closer to each other.

I didn't make it home this summer. An unexpected job change, a change of living arrangement, the lack of a chunk of time to visit... So, I planned a nice, long visit over the Christmas break from school. I arrived in North Carolina very late in the evening on the 20th of December. On the morning of the 21st I went to my dad's home to see him. Though my beloved sister in law, Laurie, had let me know that dad would look much older, I was surprised at how unwell he looked that day. She had seen him perhaps a week before and he had seemed OK, but when she arrived that day she knew something was wrong. She told him that if he wasn't much better by morning, he needed to go to the emergency room.

He was trying to wait until his doctor appointment a few days away, but the next morning, she insisted. My dear brother, Greg, met him there. We all assumed that we'd all be home together in a day or so. Well, that night daddy laughed and joked with the doctors and nurses. They tweaked his medications (don't get me started on the state of pharmacological health "care"), shook their heads, admitted him to the hospital, shook their heads some more, added more and more medications, and on the night of the 7th day he was there, he died.

I'm so thankful that had the honor of being his daughter. He was an amazing man. I never knew anyone else like him. He was kind and gentle. He was strong and striking. He was a loyal and helpful friend more people than anybody could ever count.

The parts of me that I am most proud of are the parts of me that are like him. He will live on in his children and grandchildren. He will live on through all who knew him.

I was humbled to be there as he took his last peaceful sigh of a breath. He and I had stood by my mom, his wife, three years ago as she did the same. Death is a passage, for certain, I am awed by its power and its pain.

I love you daddy.

Dad and my brother Greg:

Lightning and Thunder

I got home around midnight tonight and was unloading the groceries from my car when I saw it. Flash! I thought it must have been a car rounding the corner on the road above me. I brought in my grocery bags (yes, my reusable ones) and then saw it again. Wow, it's a thunderstorm!

I put things away and then went to the back deck to see where it was coming from. My camera wouldn't even begin to capture how cool the sky looked. There's an almost full moon high in the sky, and an bank of orangy clouds in the northwest ~ with lightning flashes in them. Cool. Especially cool seeing all that and the twinkly skyline of Los Angeles at the same time. It makes me want to see a REAL thunderstorm (like the ones back east) rage through. What a sight that would be through the picture window! It's about an hour later and it's still flashing, the clouds have moved closer, and the moon is behind them.

Ok, it's late, gotta get to bed, friends coming over in the morning. I'll find a good picture to put on this tomorrow.

Goodnight!

In the Blink of an Eye

"Life runs," my friend Peter used to tell me. Today I was looking through some of the pictures on my computer and was blown away that it had been more than a year since the above picture was taken. If I had been asked yesterday when that trip to Morro Bay happened, I would have sworn it was no more than 6 months ago.

It has been a month and a half since I last posted here. I've been busy. I've changed schools and moved to a new place. The changes are good ~ the path is intriguing ~ but life runs way too fast...

The Gong Show

Today was my last day at The Garden School... Tomorrow is graduation for the children who will be attending kindergarten next year. It is a fun and fantasy-rich celebration.

One day this year I took my gong for show and tell. The dad who is coordinating the graduation ceremony asked if I would like to share it as part of the ceremony. I thought quite a while about it and decided that it might be just the right touch for a meaningful departure.

There was a show on TV back in the 70's called The Gong Show. It was a talent show and the contestants would be "gonged" in the midst of their performance ~ their sign that their performance was over.

So at graduation we will use my gong to signal the graduates' passage out of The Garden. The difference is, *they* will sound the gong ~ they will make the transition.

I will sound the gong for myself... I will make the passage too.

I will bring my gong home and hang it from my trellis.

It will be imbued with a spirit of transcendence and good karma.

Love Through Action

As somebody who spends her life immersed in the world of young children, this touches my heart deeply. Please click here and read this blog.

Let's all create love by being love to others.

Joan Baez Endorses Obama

I've written about Joan Baez here before. She's has been a beacon and inspiration for me since I was a teenager. She has now, for the first time in her life, endorsed a political candidate. Here is the endorsement:

I have attempted throughout my life to give a voice to the voiceless, hope to the hopeless, encouragement to the discouraged, and options to the cynical and complacent. My weapons have been a singing voice and a commitment to nonviolence in both word and action. From Northern Ireland to Sarajevo to Latin America, I have sung and marched, engaged in civil disobedience, visited war zones, and broken bread with those who had little bread to break - for all of which I am richer in spirit. The experience dearest to my heart was marching with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as he led the movement to end racism, bigotry, misuse of power, and poverty. Those were times when sacrifice was an accepted and meaningful concept, before greed had swelled to the proportions it has today.

Through all those years, I chose not to engage in party politics. Though I was asked many times to endorse candidates at every level, I was never comfortable doing so. At this time, however, changing that posture feels like the responsible thing to do.

I am endorsing a candidate for the office of President of the United States. If anyone can navigate the contaminated waters of Washington, lift up the poor, and appeal to the rich to share their wealth, it is Barack Obama. If anyone can bring light to the darkened corners of this nation and restore our positive influence in world affairs, it is Barack Obama. If anyone can begin the process of healing and bring unity to a country that has been divided for too long, it is Barack Obama.

It is time to begin a new journey.

Joan Baez

Jackson Browne and David Lindley

To see the video large on YouTube click on "Jackson Browne and David Lindley."

Too Much and Nothing

If I look at a friend's blog and there are no new posts for a few weeks, I wonder what is happening with them. I wonder if life has become too rich or busy for them to spend time at the computer, I wonder if they have grown bored with the medium or if no one has told them in a while how much they enjoy reading their posts...

I look at my blog and see one from January 10th ~ from just after I came back to Los Angeles from visiting with family in North Carolina for a few weeks. I put up a picture of my dear brother Greg and a tiny bit of a very big story about us. There's a fascinating story there, damn, there's a BOOK there that is just waiting to be written. My other brother, the youngest of we three, gave the yet unwritten book the title The Flower Child, The Redneck, and the Fag. Oh, but I digress.

Posting. I have a link on my task bar that says "Friend's Blogs" and I check it 'most every evening before I go to bed. I peek in on Hannah (my former student and dear friend's daughter). I am always surprised and delighted by Gracie's blog . I can hear JJ's voice in hers (Apparently Los Angeles is "too small," for some folks, so JJ took hers down.) Diane has a wonderful gardening blog. My friend Kim has a great Daily Photo page (and yes she posts every day!) Through Kim's, I found another Daily Photo site that I love. It is so well written and it is based where my youngest son Eli lives, New York City. It's called New York Daily Photo. I enjoy reading posts from Montessori teachers who are creative and who deeply understand the peace curriculum inherent in Montessori education. I always look at the Montessori Mama blog each night. My hometown guy D.R. Adams has a great little personal blog that I love seeing. He chronicles his daily life in New York City, alludes to his growing up in Jacksonville and Raleigh, North Carolina, and gives a glimpse of how somebody pulls out of the "get famous and then (possibly try not to) crash and burn" scenario. (Ryan decided that the public chronicle of his breakdown was too much, and took his down.)

My dearest friend Randall has a blog that is wonderful to read.... hey Randall, post something new!

Ah... I so appreciate these glimpses into other lives, other worlds, other passions. But I haven't posted since January 10th! Why? I feel so neglectful!

Busy? Heaven's yes. I am teaching and directing at a dynamic and complex parent cooperative school. I work an average of about 50 hours per week for the school. I am a half-time student at UCLA Extension. I have family on the east coast and friends on the west coast and .... and .... and ....

Usually my *muse* grabs me and says "write about this!" but lately that hasn't happened. What have I been thinking about? I've been watching the HBO miniseries "John Adams" with great enjoyment. (Strange, because I don't have a TV, eh?) I find myself lamenting my history classes that never let history come alive. It's so incredibly amazing to see, in retrospect, what happened in our past. I've always had a strange and ethereal connection to Thomas Jefferson (without knowing an enormous amount about him). Watching his character in this series has reignited that interest.

My friend Hayes Carll gave me an advance copy of his new CD, and though it sounds great, I simply haven't been able to get into it. Very little new music has grabbed me in quite a few months.

Other friends I See Hawks in LA have a new album coming out on May 20th. I've heard about seventy percent of the new songs and they are amazing, so it is something I'm looking forward to. I'm sure it will inspire me to gush.

Perhaps posts are brewing.

Don't give up on me.

My Brother

 

Mack. Macky. Greg. What can I say? He's an amazing character. The story behind the red cardinal I gave him for Christmas is a long-won one. Greg, I love you with all my heart!

My Dad

My dad is an intriguing person. He grew up in upper Michigan. His passion was the outdoors. He loved camping, fishing, and hunting. He had two sisters, one older, one much younger. He spent his life outside. One of my favourite pictures of him is one where he is feeding a deer out in the woods. He and his friends had built a log cabin and there were many deer around. It took me a long time to understand how he could hunt *and* love animals.

He joined the United States Marine Corps right out of high school. He was sent to Korea.

He was in the Battle of Chosin Reservoir and almost lost his feet and his life. He was told in an evacuation hospital that they were going to amputate both of his feet because of how they had frozen. He told a Corpsman nearby that he was holding him personally responsible for making sure they did NOT do that and that there would be "hell to pay" if it happened. The Corpsman held his promise, dad kept his feet.

He came back to the USA and became a recruiter for the USMC in Morgantown, West Virginia. He met and married my mom and then a few years later had me. They were a happy young couple, but my Dad's career in the Marine Corps was not a simple one.

He was telling me a story a few years ago about how he'd recruit young men into the Corps. Many of them were sent overseas to fight. Many did not come back alive. As one of the few Marine Corps personnel in Morgantown, he'd be called upon to attend the funerals. He said it was quite emotional realizing that he'd recruited these young men (who were just about his age) and then would attend their funerals within the year. It was one of the first times that his emotions about things he saw and did in the military showed. I started to see my dad differently than I ever had.

He didn't talk much about his military life while I was growing up. He retired when he was 40 (and I was 15), and started a second life as a civilian. I got to know both men. One was a Marine Captain who rose through the ranks as an enlisted man. The other was as a mellowing southern gentleman with a past that he only rarely spoke of.

Now he occasionally tells stories. Some are about his two tours in Vietnam (where I thought he was just an engineer building bridges), his life in Michigan as a child, his many friendships and joys. I'm always struck with how glad I am to still have him in my life, realizing how often he was in danger.

Right now he's fighting another kind of battle. His body, which has carried him through enormous turmoil and unfathomable joys, is aging. Over the past 5 months he has had radiation treatment for cancer and major heart surgery. He is recovering, but I know that he won't be around forever.

We're close but I wish I knew him better. I wish there was unlimited time. I wish we were not so much closer to the end. I wish I had understood these things when I was younger and had him nearby.

A Full Circle

Watching your children unfold into the adults they will become is an amazing journey. They absorb and integrate everything and every person they encounter. They (as we) are always in a state of "becoming."

One of my earliest Montessori students, Hannah, has come a full circle, and is now a teacher in a Montessori school. She wrote to me a few days ago telling me about her new life adventure and sharing the blog she and her boyfriend are keeping.

This young woman is the daughter of a very, very dear friend and has herself become one of my friends.

The picture above was of our Kindergarten class when Hannah was a student. Hannah's mom Roberta drew the picture. It was so much fun figuring out who was who. What cherished memories it unearths!

I thought you might enjoy reading about her adventures.

Here's a link to her blog.

Autumnal Equinox <~ click here to see today's sun clock

Flash, Boom, Wet

I've been traversing back and forth from middle to eastern North Carolina for the last two weeks. There have been a few thunderstorms since I arrived. One blew by as I was sitting alongside a pond at my brother Greg's hunt club, but it was just a teaser ~ just a bit of far away lightening, some soft rumbles of thunder and a tiny bit of rain. I stood in my brother's yard later that day as the sun was about to set. I had my back to the sun as a light rain fell on me... in front of me was the full arch of a rainbow. Ah... the wonder of rain, sun, and country acreage.

Yesterday though.... as I was driving towards "down east" the leaves began to fly. As I drove past the Pamlico River, there were waves and whitecaps. The sky was darkening as the 100 degree heat of the day was fueling the storm. There were white puffy clouds under the dark storm clouds; they seemed to be running for cover ~ blown by the wind. Ionization shifts, the temperature drops, big raindrops begin to fall...

This was not an "isolated thunderstorm," the kind that pops up here and there every afternoon. This was a biggie and it lasted into the night. (See the picture ~ right in the middle of the red ~ the tip of the middle "finger" into the NC coast is where I was last night.)

As the lightening flashed and the thunder boomed and the neighbors came out on their porches to watch, the rain soaked into the parched grass. North Carolina, like California, is in the midst of a pretty serious drought. The mosquitoes also took shelter under the porch, sending most of us inside fairly quickly.

The welcome rain continued into the night. The lightening faded into the distance and the thunder became imperceptible other than to the cats hiding under the tables.

This morning everything is clean and green. The mosquitoes are happy, the tomatoes have some hope of finally ripening, and the humidity is back up around 100 percent. Woo hoooo.... more thunderstorms predicted tonight!

Peace. Mona

The Library of Dust

In the late 1970's my amazing friend and soulmate Keith Bowden left North Carolina on a continent-crossing adventure. He landed for a few years in Salem, Oregon where he worked as a night attendant at a mental institution. He'd call me late at night and we'd talk about the people he had befriended there, the occasionally deplorable conditions, and the deep connection he had with the humanity of insanity.

Keith loved people. He "drank in" people, absorbing all about them into his own being. You could feel that when you were with him. I felt honored to be his friend and knew that the people who encountered him at the hospital were as fortunate.

Today I stumbled upon a photography project of a man named David Maisel. He was photographing the asylum where Keith worked. During the photo shoot, he discovered a great many copper cans of human ashes that had been stored at the asylum. He became fascinated with the aliveness of the decomposition of the canisters. He writes about it here:

The Library of Dust

What happens to our bodies when we die? Inside a dusty room in a decaying outbuilding on the grounds of a state-run psychiatric hospital are simple pine shelves lined three-deep with thousands of copper canisters. The canisters hold the cremated remains of mental patients who died at the hospital from 1883 (the year the hospital was opened, when it was known as the Oregon State Insane Asylum) to the 1970’s, and whose bodies remained unclaimed by their families. The copper canisters have a handmade quality; they are at turns burnished or dull; corrosion blooms wildly from the seams of many of the cans. Numbers are stamped into each lid; the lowest number is 01, and the highest is 5,118.

The intensely hued colors of the blooming minerals, the etching of the surface of the copper, the denting of the metal, and in some cases, the vestiges of paper labels with the names of the dead, all combine to individuate the canisters, and to imbue each with a remarkable singularity. Simultaneously, the etching, the mineral blooms and the deformations of the canisters evoke the celestial- the Northern Lights, the moons of some alien planet, or constellations in the night sky. Heavenly bodies are referenced in the surface of these containers of the dead and the forgotten. Surely there are physical and chemical reasons for the ways these canisters have transformed over time; but perhaps there are other interpretations which offer a more open-ended sense of what it means to live and to die in a secret place, forgotten or abandoned by one's family. Matter lives on even when the body vanishes, even when it has been destroyed by an institutionalized methodology of incinerating the body to ash and categorizing it by a number stamped into the lid of the ashes' metal housing. Does some form of spirit live on as well?

The project's title is "The Library of Dust". As I was setting up to photograph in a storage building that houses the cremated remains, prisoners from the local penitentiary were called in to clean up some of the mess in the adjacent hallway, crematorium, and autopsy room. A young male prisoner leaned into the room lined with the copper cans, scanned the room, and said in a low tone, "The library of dust.”

-David Maisel

Keith would have loved the "death into art" aspect of Maisel's work. Keith lived his life as art. He would have loved seeing the people whose ashes are in the canisters memorialized this way.

Here's to corrosion of conformity!

Tree Spirit

I love trees... I bought my house in North Carolina partly because I fell in love with the two trees in the front yard. They weren't perfectly beautiful, but they were haggardly majestic pecan trees. I'd touch them when I'd come home, I hugged them goodbye when I moved away.

There have been other trees I've loved too. Dogwood, live oak, cedar, maple, ginkgo, pecan, pine, palm. I remember the houses I've lived in, but I even more remember the trees surrounding them. I remember my yard blanketed with yellow maple leaves. I remember with incredible pain losing all but one of my dogwood trees to hurricane flooding and disease. I remember the first year the pecan trees blessed us with an overwhelming number of nuts. Trees have always been central to my life.

The Tree Spirit Project is... well.... I'll let you decide.

The artist who created the project lent his support to a group of people in Berkeley, California who were trying to save a grove of live oak trees (I have the hardest time not capitalizing the names of trees ~ I think of them as proper nouns).

He knew that his "people get naked with trees" would attract the media . Here's a video of the photo shoot.

Mom's Birthday

A lot has changed in my life since last March 19th. My mom was born on March 19, 1930. Last year, a little more than three months after her death, our family got together to celebrate her birthday. I wrote about it on this blog. Two years ago, she celebrated her last birthday, her 75th.

Our family isn't together this year. I have moved across the continent, my dad has a new love, my children are deeply immersed in their lives, and my brothers' in theirs. Mom's book has closed and the print of her life is fading. It is such a strange feeling. It will happen to all of us eventually. It is a lot to think about.

Again, happy birthday Mom. I can still see you.

I see Hawks In LA "Motorcycle Mama"

I See Hawks in LA "Humboldt"

Whiskeytown * Gram Parsons

Desert sun, frozen plants, the Inn, RIP Sneaky Pete, big pots shining in rows and villages, The Institute for Mental Physics, not psychics, Joshua trees and more Joshua trees, Hawks up high in the air on a cold, desert, winter, night... everybody dance.

To every guitar there is a purpose...

Many times over the past few months I've found myself wanting a small guitar to play at The Garden School. I have several at home ~ one of those is even a small Martin that travels well. When I would leave for work in the morning, with all intentions of taking it with me, I would fill my hands with other things and then decide that the guitar was too much to carry. So, in the three months I've been at the school, I have not once played a guitar with the kids.

So... I started looking around for one to keep at school. I love the shape of the Tacoma parlor guitars, and had seen an Olympia 3/4 parlor-style guitar at Harry's Guitar Shop in Raleigh, NC that had a similar look and feel. Of course it didn't sound like the $1200 Tacoma I'd been looking at, but it sounded much better than I expected. I didn't buy one then, but recently decided to look around and see if I'd have any luck on Ebay.

I found one right away... with a gig bag... for a total price of $39.99!

It arrived a couple days ago. I have enjoyed playing it at home ~ and am having twinges of hearing it (I haven't figured out if it is a girl or boy guitar yet) ask me to keep it here and not send it to school...

But... it starts to school on January 2nd. I think it is going to have a great time.

If a spirit is going to visit me......

...it would make sense for it to come in a book. When I moved to Los Angeles, about half of the weight of my move was books. I left more than 80 percent of my books back in North Carolina and my heart yearns for each of them. Books have always embodied the very spirit of my life. If I was interested in something, I'd buy a book about it and read it cover to cover. If I wanted to share something important with somebody, I'd lend or give them a book. I've been like this since I was a very young adolescent. My books are part of me, I am part of them. Each one is special, not a single one is unimportant.

Over the years, other than children's books, my mom gave me a couple of dozen books that she felt I'd like, or could use, or needed to have. I brought many of them with me when I moved to Los Angeles. One book she gave to me that I hadn't seen in years is called The Complete Book of Sewing.

When I was a teenager, I made almost all my clothes. The style of clothing of the day just wasn't what I liked to wear and she'd taught me to sew years before. She bought the book for me so I could refine my sewing skills. I left it at my parent's home when I got married in 1974.

I'd personally packed all my things from my apartment when I left North Carolina. I packed each book. I had three bookcases that I brought with me. All the boxes and furniture were taken from my apartment on a small truck. Then they'd been moved to the warehouse and a week or so later all the furniture was re-wrapped in blankets and put on the big moving van to come across the country.

So... the moving van arrives in South Pasadena. One by one the pieces of furniture come off and the boxes come off and everything gets checked off the inventory sheet. One bookcase is unwrapped and there, on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, lying flat in the middle of the shelf, is my sewing book. The driver unloading the truck was absolutely amazed that it was there. He said that it couldn't have been there when they re-wrapped the bookcase. He had wrapped them himself and he'd have noticed and secured the book elsewhere if it had been there. He was dumbfounded.

My younger brother (15 years younger) had gone to design camp when he was in high school. When I opened the book, there were certificates of his from when he'd gone to camp. He'd taken it to camp, and then brought it back to my mom and dad's house.

Somehow, the book followed me to California. It did so in dramatic fashion (not just showing up in a box or on the bookcase).

Mom, I'm glad you know where I am. I suppose my trail of scents worked...

Peace. Mona

The Fastest Year

Thanksgiving came and went last year. I hadn't been in my parent's home for Thanksgiving for several years, so it was ironic that I was there, cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family, while my mom was in the hospital. There was wariness that she'd die on Thanksgiving or on my brother's birthday, which was several days later. Her death would be sad enough without connecting it with ritual celebrations.

I spent Thanksgiving cooking in her kitchen instead of going back and forth to the hospital as I had for most of the week. She lived for another eight days, dying on Friday, December 2nd, 2005, one year from tomorrow.

Tonight marks a year since the last night I spent with her. That night, my dad went home to sleep, so mom and I were there alone together from around 11 PM on Thursday night until around 5:30 on Friday morning when Dad came back. I spent a lifetime in those in-between hours. I cried, I held onto mom's hands, I summoned nurses as her oxygen levels dropped, I turned out the lights and put my head down on her bed, the staff adjusted the monitors so they would no longer alert us of her slipping away.

Dad and I were there together when she took her last breath. We held her hands as her breath grew shallow, and then ceased all together. The last monitor, which couldn't be set low enough to not go off, signaled a heart rate that soared and then steadily dropped... 260, 220, 180, 130, 60, 20, 0....

I'd never before witnessed death of a human being. I felt it somehow right that I was there with both her and my dad as she slipped away. It was a time of silent sadness.

I'd taken pictures as the sun rose that morning. Her last sunrise. My last sunrise with a mom. My dad's last sunrise with his love. The room was bathed in an orange and red light for a few minutes that morning, then it lifted. The sun shown bright and it was a new day.

I miss you Mom.

Arizona ~ California Ecotonic Journey

Interstate 40 slashes through the country, in some places putting fast-traveling cargo and humans through completely wild land. In other areas it's more like a many-miles-long strip mall. Most days of my trip across the country were a mix of the two, yesterday was a day of feeling dwarfed and awed by "wild."

I love the desert. I grew up on the Atlantic Ocean, so my thoughts of "desert" were the beach without water. The first time I saw one I was astounded by the amazing abundance and diversity of plants. I couldn't see the animals and insects, but I knew that the desert was teeming with life. The first time I saw a Joshua Tree, it was midnight at the Joshua Tree National Park, by headlights! I felt like I'd landed on another planet.

I spent lots of time in the desert yesterday. I drove west until suddenly I wasn't in the wild anymore. I was in one of the most populous and vibrant cities in the country. What an amazing ecotonic shift.

Hello Los Angeles....

Tucumcari to Flagstaff

Not the best day..... but the architecture in the bathroom at the Arizona Welcome Center was interesting.

Three out of four nights of hotel satisfaction is doing well, I suppose. Tonight's is horrid.

LA tomorrow!

This Land is Your Land << click

The first time I drove across the country almost every place I stopped had music connections. I went to Nashville, Sun Studios in Memphis, Okemah, Oklahoma, and Joshua Tree National Park in California. This trip is being made quite a bit faster, so I'm not making as many stops, but have still not strayed far from music.

I visited a music friend in Nashville, and today went to Okemah (Woody Guthrie's childhood hometown). Today I went by the place where his home stood and spent some time in the wonderful little Okemah Public Library.

These water towers always tickle me though... I've always meant to try to find out if the town actually did provide hot water at one time. In case you can't make it out, the one on the left says "hot." Hmmmm.... I should have asked while I was at the library!

I'm in Tucumcari tonight, will probably make Flagstaff, Arizona tomorrow night.

Holly

Several years ago when I was living in Los Angeles, I had the sweetest "roommate." Her name was Holly. She loved to sit on the headboard of the bed and purr. I'd wake up to her soothing sound and sweet blue eyes.

One time while I was there I was quite sick. Instead of sleeping in my bedroom, I stayed on the sofa in the living room. Holly was seldom more than a few feet from me the whole time. She was a comforting, kind, and knowing friend.

Holly died today. I can't even fathom how much I'm going to miss her. She was always watchful, always warm and peaceful. Holly walked in measured steps, carefully and gracefully. She moves into the ether with a beautiful grace.

Holly, your footsteps on my bed will always make me smile.

Here is Randall's post about Holly.

Industrial Strength

Waffle House coffee saved the day.... (Thanks Paul!) I was about to run out of steam around 4 o'clock this afternoon. I'd had a great visit with an old friend in Nashville, Tennessee, but needed to get to Oklahoma before stopping for the night.

Both the coffee and the barstools were industrial strength.

Between the coffee and the Bruce Cockburn show Ramcey gave me (THANKS!!) I arrived in Van Buren, Arkansas (which is right on the Oklahoma line) in time to get a good night's sleep before heading to Tucumcari tomorrow.

A Day of Flowers and Scents

Today was a day of flowers and beautiful scents. I took the picture today along a roadside in western North Carolina. The field was glowing from the sun low in an early fall sky.

I have a tradition when I go on a trip. I always pick a flower or herb and put it in my car as I leave. Having a good place to put them was actually one of the deciding factors in buying my Toyota Matrix. I have dried flowers from more than three years worth of trips on my dashboard.

On this very special trip as move from Raleigh to Los Angeles the flowers would be just as special and meaningful.

As I left Sterling Montessori on Friday, I picked a bloom from the Rose of Sharon in our class garden. I added a gardenia (blooming out of season!) from my Dad's house in Rocky Mount, NC. I took a small yellow rosebud from my daughter's wedding bouquet as I left my apartment in Raleigh. I picked a dandelion and a sprig of rosemary from her yard in Greensboro, NC.

Another "beautiful scent" experience isn't tradition ~ and won't become one I'm sure, but it is meaningful to me.

My mom loved perfumes. When she died in December she left behind probably 50 different kinds. I told dad I'd take them and sort through them and do something with the rest. They sat in a paper bag in my bedroom for 9 months.

As I was packing to move, I knew I couldn't just throw them away. I had tried to go through them before, but wouldn't get far. I'd open one that would remind me so much of her that I'd start remembering things connected with that scent...

Well, the time had come that I had to decide what to do. So... I went through them and took out a few that contained my strongest memories. There were ones that she wore often, ones I remember seeing on her dresser since I was very small, ones that were special evening scents. I kept those. I threw a few away that seemed to have never been used (she must not have liked them). I put the rest in a basket and put them in my car.

My mom had been almost housebound for the last ten years of her life. She would go out only on rare occasions. She had always wanted to travel, but by the time she and my dad were at the time in their life when they could, she was too ill. So, she's traveling with me on this trip.

Every time I stop at a nice place, I take out one of the bottles, spray a bit into the air and then leave the bottle in a only slightly inconspicuous spot for somebody to find. Today I left three.

It has what feels like two main purposes. One, to travel with her... to take her along the ride across the country with me. Another is to sort of leave a "trail of crumbs" so she can find me.

It's been a powerful day.... and my car smells REALLY good.

International Day of Peace

The International Day of Peace will be celebrated on September 21, 2006. Visit the website to learn what you can do "in your own backyard" to create a more peaceful world.

Here are a few of the people who have contributed in their own ways to creating peace through education:

MARIA MONTESSORI



I've been immersed in peace education for my entire career. As a Montessori teacher, my main focus has always been on creating an environment for my students that honors each child's need for an emotionally, spiritually, and physically rich, peaceful, and nurturing environment. Peace education begins at home, as parents interact with their children in peaceful and respectful ways. It continues as children progressively move outside the direct sphere of their parents and home.

As the children grow into awareness of the larger world around them, peace education seems like it would become more abstract, but it does not. Peace, like love, is not something that is, it's something we do, every day, in every way. It's woven through the curriculum. It's in every word we speak and in every deed.

RUDOLPH STEINER



I've also studied the work of Rudolph Steiner and have been fascinated with the correlations between his Anthroposophical Studies and Waldorf Education in relation to teaching peace. Here is an amazing article about the "reverse symmetries" of Montessori and Steiner's philosophies.

JOHN DEWEY



John Dewey's Constructivist learning is, like Steiner's work, thought to be very different from Montessori's, but a deep and real look at all three philosophies show that they not only share common threads, but that they are woven from the same cloth. That cloth includes understanding that children have to be active participants in their own learning, that they must have choices, and that it is the adult's responsibility to expose them to an environment that is rich in opportunities for growth and understanding.

Dewey is well described in this poem:

A Philosopher's Faith ~ by John Shook
Inspired by John Dewey

My person returns to unwind all its threads,
Woven by language into the habits of heads;
An old wearied head must bow down one final eve,
But my lively thought shines in cloth I helped to weave.

Your gift by my leave is but some seeds yet to grow,
Whose value was found in times of need long ago;
Sow all of these seeds in our vast garden with care,
Protect and defend the greater harvest to share.

To view such swift change, see truths melt under new suns,
To watch how scared souls kept on refining their guns;
My nation was home despite such strife with no cease,
My freedom was here while humbly searching for peace.

By trial did I live, by more trial find my thought’s worth,
My death you will get if you conceive no new birth;
No life without doubt, for the best fail now and then,
No rest for my faith, that each new day tests again.

The pictures on this post are from a website called Better World Heros. It is empowering to think of the mass of positive energy that has been created by these people. What is even more empowering is thinking of the difference each one of us can make.....

Yes, in our own backyards.

Kris Kristofferson "In the News"

I saw this video a few days ago and was reminded of what a powerful artist Kris Kristofferson is.

I think many of you will agree.

Art, Soul, Humanity, History

Why do we build memorials? What is their purpose? How does their design influence our experience not only of the memorial itself, but also our understanding of the significance, both historical and human, of the event or person being memorialized?

When I first visited Maya Lin's Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Washington, DC, I was unexpectedly struck. I was awed by the power of the emotions that were elicited as I traveled down the walk, essentially underground, along with the people whose names were carved into the hard stone. Even though my father was a Vietnam veteran, I had never truly experienced the depth of the human cost of the war. After all, he'd come back, twice, physically unscathed. During the walk down the wall, there was a silence, even in the noisy crowd ~ a silence so loud, of voices gone forever.


I feel that the purpose of memorials should be more than to simply elicit remembrance and emotions, or to impart knowledge. The vision of a memorial is best served by weaving the past to the present to the future. We should come away from a memorial changed. Our hearts and souls can drink in the passion of the ideals that fueled the greatness of the person or event being memorialized.

At the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial in Washington DC, I was again in awe of the power of art to shake my soul. As I walked along the path through the four terms of his presidency, I already knew the facts. The genius of the art showered light on the history and the connections between what happened then and who we are as a country now.

In no place is this more evident to me than the last view we have of FDR at the memorial. He is sitting in his wheelchair, circled by his great cape, his Scottish Terrier, Fala, by his side. Unlike the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorial statues, he is not enormously more than life size. He is accessible. He is literally within our reach.

The art..... oh, how amazing the art is. He is reachable and touchable, and he is changed by our touch. Just about everybody who goes to the memorial touches FDR's outstretched finger, puts their hand on his knee, and pets Fala. Our touch leaves a gleam ~ a collective gleam on the statues just as our touch as citizens, as humans, leaves a gleam on our world.

Few understood that more deeply than FDR.

Cowboys vs. Indians?

Save The Southwest Museum

Gene Autry's Legacy and
an Indian Museum Merge (and Collide)
By EDWARD WYATT

LOS ANGELES, June 22 — When one of the country's premier collections of American Indian artifacts joined forces three years ago with the collectibles of the Singing Cowboy, Gene Autry, the move was officially billed as a merger of equals.

This being Hollywood, however, the storyline was reduced to something simpler: the cowboys were once again battling the Indians.

Guess which side won.

Instead of celebrating the 100th anniversary of its founding next year, the Southwest Museum of the American Indian will lock its doors here on June 30. Over the next three years, the 240,000 objects in its collection, many of which have not been out of storage for decades, will be cleaned, cataloged and prepared for a move to a proposed new building next to Autry's Museum of the American West, in Griffith Park.

That is where the Autry National Center, as the merged museum complexes are now known, will celebrate another 100th anniversary next year: the Gene Autry Centennial, a birthday exhibition that, according to the museum, will explore "the Singing Cowboy's influence on myth and history in the American West."

For many residents of the neighborhoods surrounding the Southwest Museum, the museum's plans to move its collection smack of a bait-and-switch. From the time the merger was first discussed in 2001, both sides stressed that the Southwest Museum — whose identity is embedded in the landmark white adobe building that towers over the Arroyo Seco northeast of downtown — would remain separate and apart from the Autry.

"I grew up visiting the museum," said Ed P. Reyes, a Los Angeles city councilman whose district contains part of the Southwest Museum's grounds. "I don't want us to lose a cultural landmark that has had a tremendous impact on our community in terms of education and culture. I was always under the impression that they were not going to close it down."

Autry officials say there is no alternative. "We looked for a way to resurrect this campus as a museum," John L. Gray, the president and chief executive of the Autry National Center, said of the Southwest's location. "We couldn't figure out a way to make it work."

The dispute illustrates a continuing issue in the museum world. When cash-poor but collection-rich institutions are forced into partnerships with their opposites, often no one is left happy.

The Autry museum, opened in 1988 by the Autry family, was backed by a large fortune but had a collection that tended toward movie memorabilia and less distinguished Western paintings.

The Southwest, by contrast, suffered from a small endowment and declines in membership and visitors. But since its founding by Charles Lummis, an explorer and collector, it had built an extensive collection of Indian artifacts, including 13,500 Indian baskets, perhaps the largest such holding in existence, as well as thousands of objects, ranging from the sacred — including human remains — to the mundane.

Most of that collection is now being put into storage as the Southwest strives to deal with long-festering problems. Severe damage from the 1994 Northridge earthquake, which caused the partial separation of the Southwest's tower from the main building, has never been repaired. Heavy rains last year resulted in extensive leaks, with water pouring into some of the museum's cramped storage spaces and damaging some displays. Insect infestations have threatened some artifacts, Southwest curators say.

To remedy the problems, all of the building's exhibition space must be given over to storage and restoration work, Autry officials say. They expect the work to take three years.

Mr. Gray stressed that the historic Southwest site, built by Mr. Lummis in 1914, was not being abandoned. A small, rotating exhibition featuring artifacts from the museum's collection is likely to be put in place once the conservation work is finished. But he said that the location must add other uses, both educational and commercial, to remain viable.

During the restoration, the building's gift shop and a lobby display about the project will be open on weekends. No artifacts from the collection will be on display, although tours of the conservation work will be available to museum members, and the museum's scholarly library will remain open by appointment.

Some neighborhood leaders say that plans to transfer the collection are unacceptable. "It needs some work, but everything is in place for the museum to be successful where it is," said Nicole Possert, co-chairwoman of the Friends of the Southwest Museum coalition, which characterizes itself as an IMBY group — one that wants new development "in my back yard."

"Look at the Disney Concert Hall," Ms. Possert said. "It changed how people viewed downtown and the communities near it. We're open to expansion of the Southwest Museum, as long as it is creatively done and looks good. We would trade that off in return for being able to have a real destination here."

Not everyone is opposed to the Autry's plans to move. Kathleen Whitaker, a former chief curator at the Southwest Museum who is now director of the Indian Arts Research Center at the School of American Research in Santa Fe, N.M., applauds the Autry's efforts.

"For those of us who grew up in Los Angeles, it's very disappointing that this very historic institution has suffered so much," Dr. Whitaker said. "But the Autry has in essence rescued a collection of national importance. The people in the neighborhood and the city of Los Angeles haven't offered any real viable support for keeping the museum open."

To build the new museum that it hopes will house the Southwest collection, the Autry National Center must get city approval to expand.

Councilman José Huizar, whose district includes the Southwest's main building, noted that the city had made accommodations to serve the Southwest Museum at its current site. For example, the city built a stop on the Gold Line light-rail service at the museum, partly because the hilltop site lacks enough parking.

"You don't abandon a site like this just because of parking issues," Mr. Huizar said.

The city has organized a series of public hearings on the museum's future. While Mayor Antonio R. Villaraigosa said during his election campaign last year that he wanted the Southwest to stay where it is, more recently he has not sided either way. The mayor's press office did not return four phone calls seeking comment on the issue.

Mr. Gray, a former banker who, with his cropped hair, rimless glasses and white shirt, could have played an Old West banker in one of Autry's cowboy films, admits that while he is a museum executive, he is not a curator or an expert on American Indian cultures.

"I'm a total dilettante," he said. "But when we came in, the museum didn't have enough money to pay its bills. It didn't have security guards. It didn't have conservators. It never had the public support that the collection warranted."

The Hawks Leave Their Nest

My friends I See Hawks in L.A. have packed the Yukon and headed east out of Los Angeles. They're trekking through the desert heat, blowing into the coolest clubs of Texas, slippin' down to the Louisiana bayou then making the requisite stop in "Music City," Nashville, Tennessee. (May the force be with you, friends.) They'll be baptizing the city of Athens, Georgia with Hawk song, then drifting into the mystic of the North Carolina humidity.

They'll play three dates here in the state where Senator Robert C. Byrd was born, and where you can meet the family at a truck stop diner during a long, strange trip from Minnesota to California.

They'll be playing at the Evening Muse in Charlotte on June 16th, The Garage in Winston Salem on the 17th, and the Pour House Music Hall in Raleigh on June 18th.

Not ones to travel without soaking in the local culture, they are adventurously eating their way across the country, heeding recommendations of friends, family, and kind strangers ~ then sharing the juicy details on their Hawkslog page.

Here's a link to the rest of their schedule. This band is so unique and extraordinarily literate. I promise you'll leave the show with at least one of their songs running around your brain...

Hayes Carll

Cat's Cradle, March 31, 2005

Several years ago a dear friend heard a song on the Americana channel on Music Choice TV. He immediately ordered the CD it was from and had it sent to me. He knew that I'd love it. I received the CD, put it on and did something I don't usually do the first time I listen to an album ~ I listened all the way through. I was blown away. The CD was Hayes Carll's Flowers and Liquor.

There was so much about it that I liked, from Hayes' beautiful twang to the mood that shifted between reverence and incoherence.

It was several years before I had a chance to see Hayes live and by then we'd crafted somewhat of a friendship as I tried valiantly to get him to travel to Los Angeles to play at Cole's with I See Hawks in L.A. That hasn't come to pass yet, but I'm still holding out hope.

Hayes will be here, in Raleigh, on Sunday May 14th. He's going to be playing at the Pour House on Blount Street at 7:00 pm. The Pour House is a great little music club. Come see and hear for yourself just how special he is.

Here are some more dates:

Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Eddie's Attic
Decatur, GA TBA

Thursday, May 11, 2006
The European Street Listening Room
Jacksonville, FL 8:00 PM
Solo

Friday, May 12, 2006
The American Theater
Charleston , SC 8:00 PM
Solo

Saturday, May 13, 2006
Myrtle Beach Train Depot
Myrtle Beach, SC 8:00 PM
Solo

Sunday, May 14, 2006
The Pour House Music Hall
Raleigh , NC 7:00 PM
Solo

Monday, May 15, 2006
The Evening Muse
Charlotte, NC

Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Jammin Java
Vienna , VA
Solo

Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Joe's Pub
New York, NY 7:30 PM
Solo

Friday, May 19, 2006
Cafe 9
New Haven, CT TBA
Solo

Saturday, May 20, 2006
Silo Ridge Country Club
Amenia, NY TBA
Solo

Sunday, May 21, 2006
Gruene Hall
New Braunfels, TX TBA
KNBT American Jam
w/ band

Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Hughes Room
Toronto, ON 8:00 PM
Solo

Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Creole Gallery
Lansing, MI 7:30 AM
Solo

Thursday, May 25, 2006
Schubas
Chicago, IL TBA
Solo

Friday, June 02, 2006
Floores Country Store
Helotes, TX 10:30 PM
Band Show

El Alisal

For many years I've been enchanted with early 20th century Los Angeles, California. The art and architecture of this time resonates in my soul in a way that I've never completely understood. When I first visited Southern California in 2001 I knew that the connections I felt were not just ones of academic curosity or art appreciation. It was something deeper. Like the Craftsman and Arroyo stone architecture, it seems almost organic, rising from the earth and taking form.

Today I visited a house that I'd wanted to see for several years. It is in the same general area as my beloved Abbey San Encino. El Alisal was the home of Charles Lummis. He was certainly acquainted with Clyde Browne who built the Abbey. Today's visit will send me on a quest for all the information I can find about the connections both artistically and socially. I love exploring these connections and will share more here soon.

Mom

Joan Elizabeth Bare Macky
March 19, 1930 ~ December 2, 2005

I think saying "Happy Birthday" to people who have died is strange, but today is my mom's birthday so I'm thinking about her quite a bit. I'll be spending the day with part of my family, sort of a birthday party without the guest of honor. Strange day indeed.

I See Hawks In L.A.

“Twist through the high hills of bluegrass gospel, down into the deep valley of hillbilly rock then across a one lane bridge and into a meadow of surrealist country.”

That is how one reviewer describes the music of I See Hawks in L.A.

I saw them for the first time about four years ago. It was in a tiny basement listening room of a bar in downtown Los Angeles. Cole's is just off skid row (or maybe not off at all other than through its magical doors). I immediately knew that I'd stumbled upon something incredibly unique and wonderful.

The Hawks are Rob Waller (guitar, lead singer, songwriter), Paul Lacques (dobro, acoustic and electric lead guitar, lap steel, vocals, songwriter), Paul Marshall (acoustic and electric bass, vocals, songwriter), Shawn Nourse (drums, cardboard boxes and brushes), and Brantley Kearns (violin, mandolin, vocals, and a wickedly warped sense of humor).

Glenn Swan from All Music reviews the Hawk's eponymous first album:

I See Hawks in L.A. takes a slightly more cerebral approach to country music. This is not to say the genre is overrun with cavemen, but clipped onto the well-worn bootheels of this outfit is a spur of skewed wit, intelligence, and contemplation. The music itself is the very picture of congeniality — accomplished players strum languidly with reverence and grace, conjuring deep-seeded tradition rather than new country (aka, rock music from people in cowboy hats). There's a grass-roots essence running through the album, but the band sidesteps tradition in the lyrics with tracks like "Nicotine & Vitamin C," the lovely sunset lullaby of "The Beautiful Narcotic Place I Reside," and the saddle-shop quartet of "A Dog Can Break Your Heart Too." Furthermore, "The Mystery of Life" and "Duty to Our Pod" seem downright existentialist in their approach. The modest bari-twang vocals of Robert Rex Waller Jr. and the other contributing voices are all appropriately unpolished, and everything goes down as smooth as molasses. This self-titled debut album has too much grit and professionalism to be a novelty act, but I See Hawks in L.A. is, in fact, such a smart band that they practically alienate themselves from the genre they fit so well. Also, the fact that they received an award for Best Country Band in the city of Los Angeles only furthers the notion that the quintet is a little left of center. With a nod and a dry smirk, these boys are the best-kept secret in philosophical tongue-in-cheek Southern hospitality that California has to offer. Only you can decide how vital that is, but rest assured these boys can play.

Grapevine, their second album, continues the trip. The trip may be up the 5 north of Los Angeles ("Grapevine"), out to the high desert ("Wonder Valley Fight Song"), down to Mexico ("Libre Road"), from Minnesota to North Carolina to California in a Ford Taurus station wagon ("Texarkanada"), or up to the green fields of Humboldt County ("Humboldt"). Through their songs they took me along for the ride ("Hitchhiker"). I was a new resident of California when I first heard the songs on this album, so in very real ways, they served as my travel guide.

Their third album, California Country, will be released on May 9th. It was mixed at the Hyde Street Studios in San Francisco, California. The music is "woody" with an analog sound that is deep and real. The songs are just as real. (To read about the Hyde Street Studio adventure click here.) On the album there's a biography of Senator Robert C. Byrd from West Virginia "Byrd from West Virginia." "Raised by Hippies" is a story of a couple who move from San Francisco to the mountains of Tennessee and who discover along the way that "hippie" isn't about living in a school bus traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway, but it's something you're made of that doesn't fade away ~ even among the Izod's and argyle's of Chicago in the 80's. You can hear cuts from the new CD on the I See Hawks in LA My Space page.

The Hawks will be traveling down to Texas for South by Southwest (SXSW) next week. Be sure to check them out if you're down there:

TEXAS TOURETTE:

Wednesday, March 15th
Sig's Lagoon (In-Store), 3710 Main Street, Houston, TX. 8 PM
Continental Club, 3700 Main Street, Houston TX. 10:00 PM

Thursday, March 16th
Maria’s Taco Xpress 2529 S. Lamar, Austin, TX. 3:20 PM
Hole in the Wall, 2538 Guadalupe, Austin, TX. 7 PM

Friday, March 17th
Opal Divines Freehouse, 700 W. 6th Street, Austin, TX. 6 PM

Saturday, March 18th
BD Riely's 204 6th Street, Austin, TX early afternoon
Opal Divines Penn Field, 3601 S. Congress, Austin, TX. 8 PM

Oh... and the "CD cover" at the top of this post isn't the one that's on the album. "Raised By Hippies" isn't the name of the album. It's just a figment of my imagination. The official cover is from pictures that were taken on the Hawks tour this past summer. The feel it elicits of traveling, illustrated by the gas station in the dark, is such a powerful one. But... those hippie children were just too good to leave unseen!

A Warm Place

A beautiful, wise, and warm man's book has closed. His name was Tim Kimrey. Tim was warmth. Tim was welcome. Tim was a friend as soon as you crossed his threshold.

Many of us crossed his threshold over the years. Tim had a physically debilitating disease which made it difficult for him to go out. So... he created a house concert series at his home so the music and the friends came to him.

He still went out now and then though. The last show I watched alongside him was on June 18, 2005. Alejandro Escovedo, Caitlin Cary and Thad Cockrell were at the Cat's Cradle, just down the road from where Tim lived in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. We talked for a long time before the show, he sitting in his wheelchair, me scrunching down beside him, basking in his amazing spirit. We talked about birds and shrubbery and Los Angeles. The show was sublime, seeing it with Tim made it all the more special.

Here is a very nice photo essay about him by a UNC-Chapel Hill student.

Peter Blackstock, co-editor of No Depression magazine wrote this tribute to Tim on his blog, "Peter's Postscripts."

"Music Loses a Friend" was written by David Menconi for the (Raleigh, North Carolina) News and Observer.

Tim was a wellspring of love, passion, fascination and awe. He lived deeply and truly. Many will miss him ~ everyone whose life he touched was changed for the better by him.

Peace to you, my friend.

Remembering Malcolm X

Remembering Malcolm X "because he loved us so"
by Robert

"Today is the 41st anniversary of the murder and death of Bro. Min. Malcolm X.

"At a speaking engagement in the Manhattan's Audubon Ballroom on February 21, 1965, three gunmen rushed Bro. Min. Malcolm X onstage. They shot him 15 times at close range. The 39-year-old was pronounced dead on arrival at New York's Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. The world had lost a strong and valuable voice and man.

"This Eulogy by Ossie Davis is such a fitting tribute to such a man who did so much for so many. Read it, and please remember Malcolm X today – 'The Shining Prince' is gone but his memory and teachings live on. R.I.P. Bro. Min. Malcolm X and thank you."

Malcolm X’s eulogy delivered by Ossie Davis at the funeral of Malcolm X at Faith Temple Church Of God, February 27, 1965:

"Here - at this final hour, in this quiet place - Harlem has come to bid farewell to one of its brightest hopes - extinguished now, and gone from us forever. For Harlem is where he worked and where he struggled and fought - his home of homes, where his heart was, and where his people are - and it is, therefore, most fitting that we meet once again - in Harlem - to share these last moments with him. For Harlem has ever been gracious to those who have loved her, have fought her, and have defended her honor even to the death.”

“It is not in the memory of man that this beleaguered, unfortunate, but nonetheless proud community has found a braver, more gallant young champion than this Afro-American who lies before us - unconquered still. I say the word again, as he would want me to : Afro-American - Afro-American Malcolm, who was a master, was most meticulous in his use of words. Nobody knew better than he the power words have over minds of men. Malcolm had stopped being a 'Negro' years ago. It had become too small, too puny, too weak a word for him. Malcolm was bigger than that. Malcolm had become an Afro-American and he wanted - so desperately - that we, that all his people, would become Afro-Americans too.”

“There are those who will consider it their duty, as friends of the Negro people, to tell us to revile him, to flee, even from the presence of his memory, to save ourselves by writing him out of the history of our turbulent times. Many will ask what Harlem finds to honor in this stormy, controversial and bold young captain - and we will smile. Many will say turn away - away from this man, for he is not a man but a demon, a monster, a subverter and an enemy of the black man - and we will smile. They will say that he is of hate - a fanatic, a racist - who can only bring evil to the cause for which you struggle! And we will answer and say to them: Did you ever talk to Brother Malcolm? Did you ever touch him, or have him smile at you? Did you ever really listen to him? Did he ever do a mean thing? Was he ever himself associated with violence or any public disturbance? For if you did you would know him. And if you knew him you would know why we must honor him.”

“Malcolm was our manhood, our living, black manhood! This was his meaning to his people. And, in honoring him, we honor the best in ourselves. Last year, from Africa, he wrote these words to a friend: 'My journey', he says, 'is almost ended, and I have a much broader scope than when I started out, which I believe will add new life and dimension to our struggle for freedom and honor and dignity in the States. I am writing these things so that you will know for a fact the tremendous sympathy and support we have among the African States for our Human Rights struggle. The main thing is that we keep a United Front wherein our most valuable time and energy will not be wasted fighting each other.' However we may have differed with him - or with each other about him and his value as a man - let his going from us serve only to bring us together, now.”

“Consigning these mortal remains to earth, the common mother of all, secure in the knowledge that what we place in the ground is no more now a man - but a seed - which, after the winter of our discontent, will come forth again to meet us. And we will know him then for what he was and is - a Prince - our own black shining Prince! - who didn't hesitate to die, because he loved us so".

(End of quoted article)

Here is a great link to Malcolm's eulogy by Ossie Davis.

Here is a link to a speech by Malcolm X given on November 10, 1963 in Detroit, Michigan.

The movie "Malcolm X" is based on The Autobiography of Malcolm X: As Told to Alex Haley. Reading the book and watching the movie were both eye-opening experiences for me. I'd learned so little about his history in school and most of it was colored with negativity. We owe it to ourselves to look deeper.

Dedication of the Washington Monument

Today, February 21, 2006 marks the 121st anniversary of the dedication of the Washington Monument in Washington, DC.

Are You Ready For The Future?

Most of us are a bit wary when asked directly for personal information. We think twice before we share even our home phone number or address. Most of us have had the experience of being required to enter information into webpages or on forms for employers, schools, or other service providers. When the request is not face-to-face we are more likely to think of it as innocuous. But it is not. Everyday our personal information is compiled and entered into databases. We trust that these databases are being used to serve our needs. Nothing could be farther from the truth. These databases are marketing tools which segue seamlessly into sophisticated spying tools to serve the needs of governments and corporations.

Our doctors enter information about us into their records, but also share information with the CDC, local and state health agencies, and insurance companies. Our banking records are kept in exacting detail. Both our debit card and our credit card purchases are tracked and compiled. Even our tastes and preferences in music and books are tracked if we shop online or use VIP or member cards at stores. Our food purchases are tracked. It goes on and on...you get the idea.

This small movie from the ACLU page illustrates how this gathering of information might effect our lives in the not too distant future. There is a laugh, but the deeper reality is frightening. (Note from August 30, 2007, unfortunately this video has been removed from the server. If I can find it again, I'll change the link. Mona)

Thanks to my bud's great friend and cuz Freddie for sending this along!

*Be sure your sound is on when you open the movie.

Puzzling Along

Several years ago I created a page of puzzles from favourite pictures of mine. I'd completely forgotten about it until a few days ago when a friend sent me an online jigsaw puzzle. I looked around and to my surprise my page of puzzles was still where I'd left it! Enjoy.

Byrd from West Virginia

Senator Robert Byrd was a respected man in my parent's home. My mom was raised in the mountains of West Virginia and had always felt that Byrd was a man of integrity, passion and honesty. My uncle Tom (Dad's sister Ellen's husband) worked for the Senator in the 70's and 80's.

When my friends in the band I See Hawks in L.A. wrote a song about Senator Byrd, I was totally enchanted. Hawks songs are always amazingly literate and true, but this one was even more special. I wanted to share it with my mom.

Mom and I have passed in and out of closeness over the years, the past decade had been one more of distance than connection. When I heard this song and read the lyrics I knew that she'd love it. It became a link between us, a way to show her that I knew her heart and cared about what she believed in. It was an important link, one of our last.

She thanked the Hawks for their "lovely song" and read the lyrics lovingly transcribed for her by my friend Randall. She listened to it often. After she died in December, the Hawks helped "sing her back home" at their next show at Cole's in downtown L.A.

Senator Byrd has written a biography titled Robert C. Byrd: Child of the Appalachian Coalfields Another book is We Stand Passively Mute, which is a collection of his speeches. Here is one of his speeches.

Senator Byrd is a controversial figure in the United States Senate. His tale is one of passion and progression. I think you'll find him fascinating.

Impermanence

Thich Nhat Hanh
Everything is fluid. Nothing is every the same as it was the second before. We are all always changing. Everything around us is always changing. Being attached to the idea of permanance is what brings us such turmoil when things pass.

I've seen this strongly over the past month as I accompanied my mother towards her death. I was able to gain strength from her understanding of impermanence, and able to let go without the crushing sadness that I was expecting. The gift she gave to me was letting go of me, so I could let go of her.

Here is a article by Thich Nhat Hanh about the "Three Dharma Seals" of impermanence, non-self, and nirvana. Every authentic teaching of the Buddha must bear all three.

Enjoy.

Lives in the Balance

I have enormous respect for artists who have continued to speak truth to power throughout their careers. Jackson Browne, Bruce Cockburn, Billy Bragg, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Steve Earle, Joan Baez... These people often rally us, wake us from our day-to-day dream, help shake us into action. We wake to see what is happening in our own backyard. We open our eyes to what we can do.

Jackson Browne's new album Solo Acoustic, Volume 1 contains one of his most powerful songs ~ "Lives in the Balance." Click here to see an incredibly moving video of the song.

Joan Baez Sings Her Song

On Saturday, November 5th, Joan Baez played at the Carolina Theater in Durham, North Carolina. I've loved Joan's music since the early 70's, but this was only the second time I've seen her. The first was in September in Washington, DC at the "Operation Ceasefire" concert after the peace march.

After a wonderful opening set with two of her guitar players, Erik Della Penna and Graham Mabe, she sang this song acapella. It brought me to tears.

This is My Song

This is my song, Oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of peace for their land and for mine.

May truth and freedom come to every nation
May peace abound where strife has raged so long;
That each may seek to love and build together,
A world united, righting every wrong.
A world united in its love for freedom,
Proclaiming peace together in one song

Lloyd Stone, 1934

Here is an interview she did with David Menconi of the Raleigh, NC News and Observer.

Montessori and Steiner

Peace

As a Montessori teacher, I've often been asked questions about Rudolph Steiner and Waldorf schools. Though Montessori and Waldorf are both methods of education that are somewhat out of the mainstream, and very different from each other, this article illlustrates how they both grew out of the same deep human need for peace and security.

Montessori and Steiner: A Pattern of Reverse Symmetries
By Dee Joy Coulter

What a pleasure it was to read the open and tender dialogue between four wonderful Montessori and Waldorf educators (Holistic Education Review, Winter 1990). I have cherished both movements for years. I helped found the Shining Mountain Waldorf School in Boulder, Colorado, and have worked with the Montessori movement during the past five years as well. It has been a delicate business, straddling the fence with these two dear friends. Each kindly granted me an exemption, agreeing to overlook that I was also befriending the other in my spare time. Nonetheless, I rarely saw openings for sharing the wonders of one movement with the other.

For a long time I held each movement in separate compartments in my heart and my head, considering the paradox of how they could both be so sound, so "right" - and so different. Then, one day I was attending a lecture at the Naropa Institute, a Buddhist-inspired college in Boulder that is my third dear friend, and where I love most to teach. Dr. Jeremy Hayward commented that the Buddhists regard wisdom (basic goodness) and skillful means (right action) as the two wings of the dove. All of the Eastern parallels tumbled through my mind then - the feminine and masculine principles, the yin and the yang, and the way each contains the other in seed form.

Click here to read the rest of the article.

Bear Finds a Home

His foster mom named him Bear. The litter of five kittens had been found under an elderly woman's home in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. The mom cat was close to feral. There were five in the litter, three tabby boys (one bright orange, two light orange), and two gray girls. Ivan, William, Bear, Tess, and Lilly. Beth, who volunteers for the Greensboro Animal Rescue and Foster Program took the boys home until they were old enough to be adopted.

I happened to be at the ARFP house when these kittens were brought in on August 28th. They were then about 5 weeks old. They were heading to their foster home and wouldn't be ready to be adopted until they were spayed or neutered when they were approximately 3 months old. I fell in love with Ivan, the orange tabby who crawled up my arm and rested on my shoulder. My daughter Sarah was very partial to Bear.

I went back, talked with the foster mom and asked her which kitten of the litter would be best as a single cat. She said that Ivan had to have playmates or he'd probably create havoc day in and day out. She said that Bear had the kind of personality that would allow him to enjoy his solitude during the day and appreciate the company at night and on weekends. I visited again and made the big decision to adopt Bear.

So, on Sunday, October 23, I picked him up and brought him home. Sarah and her husband Brian even bought him a nice cushy carrier!

Beth was right. He's been fine during the day.... but....he decided that he really likes weekends. He woke up yesterday morning with a "you're going to be late for work" nibble on my nose. As the day went on and we watched a movie together, played with plants, did laundry..... he figured out that weekends are pretty cool. Then we got to do it again on Sunday.

Anyway, being a cat mom again is nice.

Meow...

I've been thinking about getting a cat. I've lived with cats my whole adult life, but I haven't shared my life with one for more than a year. The *thought* of having a cat is messy, noisy, inconvenient, and expensive.... but somewhere in the far reaches of my mind I remember the feeling...

I love this first quote:

If there were to be a universal sound depicting peace, I would surely vote for the purr. ~Barbara L. Diamond

Here are some more:

If cats could talk, they wouldn't. ~Nan Porter

There are two means of refuge from the misery of life - music and cats. ~Albert Schweitzer

If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much. ~Mark Twain

The cat could very well be man's best friend but would never stoop to admitting it. ~Doug Larson

There is something about the presence of a cat... that seems to take the bite out of being alone. ~Louis J. Camuti

As every cat owner knows, nobody owns a cat. ~Ellen Perry Berkeley

The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their face whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer. ~Paula Poundstone

Your cat will never threaten your popularity by barking at three in the morning. He won't attack the mailman or eat the drapes, although he may climb the drapes to see how the room looks from the ceiling. ~Helen Powers

I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days. ~Bill Dana

If there is one spot of sun spilling onto the floor, a cat will find it and soak it up. ~Jean Asper McIntosh

No amount of time can erase the memory of a good cat, and no amount of masking tape can ever totally remove his fur from your couch. ~Leo Dworken

A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem. ~Jean Burden

The cat is the only animal without visible means of support who still manages to find a living in the city. ~Carl van Vechten

A cat improves the garden wall in sunshine, and the hearth in foul weather. ~Judith Merkle Riley

I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat. ~Edgar Allan Poe

Dogs come when they're called; cats take a message and get back to you later. ~Mary Bly

In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this. ~Terry Pratchett

Purring would seem to be, in her case, an automatic safety valve device for dealing with happiness overflow. ~Monica Edwards

There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast. ~Author Unknown

Kittens can happen to anyone. ~Paul Gallico

The cat is the animal to whom the Creator gave the biggest eye, the softest fur, the most supremely delicate nostrils, a mobile ear, an unrivaled paw and a curved claw borrowed from the rose-tree. ~Colette

Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds. ~Jean Burden

I don't think it is so much the actual bath that most cats dislike; I think it's the fact that they have to spend a good part of the day putting their hair back in place. ~Debbie Peterson

To bathe a cat takes brute force, perseverance, courage of conviction - and a cat. The last ingredient is usually hardest to come by. ~Stephen Baker

Of all the toys available, none is better designed than the owner himself. A large multipurpose plaything, its parts can be made to move in almost any direction. It comes completely assembled, and it makes a sound when you jump on it. ~Stephen Baker

Ignorant people think it is the noise which fighting cats make that is so aggravating, but it ain't so; it is the sickening grammar that they use. ~Mark Twain

A cat is a puzzle for which there is no solution. ~Hazel Nicholson

Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet. ~Colette

Who among us hasn't envied a cat's ability to ignore the cares of daily life and to relax completely? ~Karen Brademeyer

A kitten is so flexible that she is almost double; the hind parts are equivalent to another kitten with which the forepart plays. She does not discover that her tail belongs to her until you tread on it. ~Henry David Thoreau

If a dog jumps into your lap, it is because he is fond of you; but if a cat does the same thing, it is because your lap is warmer. ~Alfred North Whitehead

Some people own cats and go on to lead normal lives. ~Author Unknown

If I called her she would pretend not to hear, but would come a few moments later when it could appear that she had thought of doing so first. ~Arthur Weigall

Cats are smarter than dogs. You can't get eight cats to pull a sled through snow. ~Jeff Valdez

If only cats grew into kittens. ~R. Stern

Peace Seeds in My Own Backyard

There are several reasons why "In My Own Backyard" is the title of my blog. One of them was inspired by a lyric in Steve Earle's song "The Revolution Starts Now" from the album of the same name.

"Yeah the revolution starts now
In your own backyard
In your own hometown
So what you doin’ standin’ around?
Just follow your heart
The revolution starts now"

~Steve Earle

One aspect of the Montessori method of education that initially attracted me was how the curriculum interweaves peace education with academics. Peace is not a separate subject we teach ~ it is part of everything we teach.

Montessori encompasses a large part of "my own backyard." Sowing seeds of peace, respect, and kindness in this "garden" is very central to why I became a teacher.

The AMS Peace Seed Connection is a wonderful resource for teachers, students, and parents. There you will articles such as:

Talking to Kids About World Natural Disasters
Anita Gurian, Ph.D.

Why Can't You Raise My Child's Test Score?
Sharon J. Damore, Ed.D.

Recognizing and Addressing Bullying Behavior
Nancy Hofer

Crime and Punishment
An editorial by Ruth Corey Selman, Ph. D.

It's my hope that what I do here in all areas of "my backyard" will make a positive difference in the world, little by little, step by step.

I close today with this quote from Margaret Mead. It's one of my favourites:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

I Have Arrived. I Am Home.

A dear friend of mine went to a peace walk in Los Angeles this past Saturday. It was lead by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk.

Afterwards, my friend met and talked with Cindy Sheehan and was very moved by her humanity and her openness to the unexpected changes that are happening her her life since her activism became front page news.

I have also been inspired by Cindy, a mom who "speaks truth to power" ~ from her heart. Here is a recent post written by her in respose to her experience at the peace walk:

I Have Arrived. I Am Home.
by Cindy Sheehan

I was honored and humbled to be in the presence of holy man Thich Nhat Hahn today at MacArthur Park in a very Hispanic neighborhood in Los Angeles.

Tha^y, (teacher) as he is known, is a Buddhist monk who was active during the Vietnam War years bringing peace and reconciliation to the countries of North and South Vietnam.

He was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King, Jr. He walks with an aura of peace and acceptance radiating from him.

Every day we do things, we are things that have to do with peace. If we are aware of our life..., our way of looking at things, we will know how to make peace right in the moment, we are alive. Thich Nhat Hahn.

In a speech I delivered at the Riverside Church in NYC on the one year anniversary of Casey's death, which was also the 37th anniversary of MLK, Jr's death, I said: We must all do one thing for peace each day. I now know that is not enough. We must live peace and embody peace if we want peace on earth. Our entire lives must be for peace. Not just one activity a day.

Every step is peace.

Click here for the rest of the post by Cindy Sheehan.

Oftentimes it's not about finding peace, it's about letting your voice be heard. Many thousands, me included, marched on Washington DC on September 24th, 2005. We were there to join our voices together to express outrage that our country has initiated a war without noble cause.

Sometimes I find peace in places that are far away, but still my "backyard." This is one of those places ~ under the Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena, California.