Being Distracted by Life

Friday, May 22, 2009

Just down from a walk to the top of our hill accompanied all the way by Ginger and Mary Ann who plodded along steadily and uncomplaining right behind me. . I loved the whisper of their padded feet in the grass as they followed me, intermittently accented with a series of squeaks. The walk was at a slower, smoother pace and I would rest a couple of times for their sakes, at which time they would sit and nibble contentedly on grass and weeds and occasionally my shirt. They were my meditation this morning. I would watch them and a peace would descend. Their eyes are marvels, deep black, almost opaque, and probably simply what they are, devices to see where their “parents” are, to watch for predators, and to spot food. Still I project a docile kindness onto them, a curiosity. Ah well. My inner Disney at work It’s a beautiful day here, warm/cool, a touch of sun, then a passing grey cloud darkens the sky. Rain? Who knows. Inbetween weather, keeps you guessing. I love the variety.

We’ve been very busy here of late, puttering around with various jobs and clean up. We’ve fortified the chicken coop fence and goose shelter and plan to insulate and finish boarding up the interior. Also, the garden fence went up yesterday in pretty short, steady order. If all goes well, we’ll plant the rest of our garden this weekend and add to the already planted potatoes (sweet and russet) as well as beets (golden and red) and sugar snap peas. They’re already pipping up out of the ground. We’ll keep our fingers crossed that no late frosts come to visit us. We did have a few earlier this week and our neighbor Royce has told us that he’s known it to frost on the 4th of July. Now that’s crazy. I believe him, but it’s just not right. Also 2 days ago after putting a few finishing touches to it, we battened down a small pier that we’d built onto the shore of our pond. It fits perfectly into the scenery over there. Just right.

I find myself caught up in all the happenings here, most of the times happily so. There are things I’m writing, things I want to write, but I can easily get carried away by chores, by the things that “need to be done” especially with the multiple visits of friends and family that are being scheduled into the calendar. And many times the sheer beauty of this place - the sound of the geese squeaking or the feel of the wind through the window, the view out back, all of it sirens to me. Answering that call, letting myself be caught by it doesn’t shatter my ship against the rocks, but I’m very eager to impose rigid judgments that I’m getting slack, I’m not creating enough, I’m not using my gifts, I’m not sticking to my writing schedule. A knot of nots that does not entice me to write but sends me wandering off like Ginger and Mary Ann, up a hill for a fantastic view. Or I begin hanging lights in the entryway and suddenly the 4 hours I’d set aside for writing have vanished. I call that active procrastination. Should I follow the example of one famous author who also lived out in the country and chained himself to his desk to prevent himself from answering nature’s call to wander about and enjoy the beauty and wouldn’t unchain himself until the day’s writing was done? That imposed schedule sounds a bit extreme (even to me) even though in his case it seems to have been successful. I wonder though who had the key to unchain him after the work was done? Was it his wife? A servant? Or did he have the key to unchain himself all the time, the whole thing being a ruse to get him to work. Ah, the odd games we play with ourselves, the tricks we play to get the work done. I find it especially cunning and baffling when my schedule, as I may have mentioned before, is completely up to me. I have only myself to answer to. Maybe the theme of this whole thing is the same one that keeps creeping up throughout my blogs: What if there’s no problem here? What if there’s nothing wrong? What if it’s all unfolding exactly as it should? So interesting to revisit this theme again and again on the ferris wheel of fortune. The trick is being at the center and not on the outside constantly going up and down. Yes, but that would take some of the roller coaster fun out of life, wouldn’t it?

Monday, Memorial Day, May 25, 2009

The chicken coop has been insulated and boarded inside. We are planting some seeds today though the temperature is going down to 27!!!! this evening. Yeow! Well, good cuddle weather. We will have to cover the sweet potatoe sprouts with straw and be sure Ginger and Mary Ann, who are sleeping outside in their coop these days, are sufficiently swaddled round with nice warm hay. It’s glorious out today, shimmering blue. The wind is whipping through and there is a chill in the air.

A trip back in time is due.

30 years ago on the Ride I had just left Stratford, Ontario, where I had stopped for 2 days to see some Shakespeare: Henry IV: Part 1 and Richard II. Henry IV was my favorite of Shakespeare’s plays back then. Oh, how I yearned to play “Hotspur.” The production I saw in Stratford I HATED!! I thought it was stiff, fake, and passionless, not even close to what I pictured in my mind and heart. I’d built up the play to Chuck, an instructor accompanying a high school group of privileged students up from Rochester, Michigan, and felt embarrassed about what he had seen after my description. We were all staying in a hostel in Stratford and I had “splurged” on both tickets for the theatre and for room and board. ($7.00 for the 2 tickets and $9.00 for 2 nights at the hostel – my 1979 idea of splurging!) I’d made friends with others at the hostel and had watched the Stanley Cup Playoffs. And the production of Richard II was quite excellent which helped salve the the deeply felt creative wounds from having witnessed the Henry IV travesty.

Chuck offered me a place to stay in Michigan which was right near the route I was taking back into the US from Canada. I was not very adept at gauging distances and how long it would take to get to the next place on bike and thus I had set myself an overly ambitious day trek from Stratford to Chuck’s. I had crossed Lake St. Clair on a ferryboat which brought me into Michigan, a bit lost, at around 9 pm. I’ll pick up from my account on the 24th:

“A whirr of people and events to convey and document. Chronological order may be the best. Took off in the cold from the bar (which was right at the ferry crossing) which obviously was a mistake – odds, God, nature, and man against me – also a barwoman’s directions. Finally got to M-29 (back road) at 9 pm, tired, scared, weak, and despairing. Luck or predestination stepped in. I met 2 fishermen bringing a boat out of Lake St. Clair, shared my dilemma, asked for information and directions AND one of the men offered me a ride to Rochester. So we piled the bike in, conversed along the way, and he invited me over for tuna casserole and coffee. Bob Willette was his name – a Ford engineer, charismatic Christian (they briefly proselytized), static faced, kind, and generous human being. Called up Chuck’s, talked to EB (Chuck’s roommate), and got a ride to the house – a loooooong way. EB (reminded me of the junkie from “Midnight Run”) was paranoid, pensive, and pissed at Chuck for breaking a “house rule” and inviting a guest without getting in touch with him. We had a fairly good conversation nonetheless.”

Chuck came home eventually, the 2 of them had it out for a bit, and I ended up staying the night amid all the tension. The next day I visited the Roper School where Chuck was teaching “Martin Eden” in his English class. The class was lively with discussion, interjection, and passionate debate, something I had none of in high school. Here’s to the privileged. We dined on Mexican Food later - Chuck kindly treated – and that night, to mollify EB, I stayed in a vacant plush house up for sale in a ritzy neighborhood of Pontiac. This move was brought about by Chuck’s friend Holcomb who was in foreclosures and was taking care of his grandmother’s estate. I take it that this had been his grandmother’s house. I remember we all smoked a couple joints, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor. The house had no furniture but the carpeting still retained the indentations where all the ghost furniture once had been. It was a little strange sleeping there that night, the air felt unsettled. After a good breakfast I was off again on the bike and during the day I rode through Ann Arbor, a town for which I’ve always had a fond spot, and Saline, heading south, back home to Indiana.

Back here in the present, Richard has finished watering our plants and trees around the property and is off to the market. He was going by himself, but the journey sounds too fun, so I’m letting myself be caught up and go with him. It sounds too fun to let pass. Have a great day.