Crabitat (15/365)

My little hermit crabs have been living in a 2.5 gallon plastic tub over the course of my move from Shrimp Town to the City of Blinding Lights.   I put them in the smaller tank because I knew that, over the course of my road trip, I'd need to sneak them into restaurants or cart them easily from my motel rooms to my car.  As fun as having contraband-ready crabs is, I wanted to get them back into their 10-gallon, glass-sided tank as quickly as I could once I was settled.   Today I finally got the requisite items from a variety of stores around my block.  They set out exploring and climbing as soon as I moved them back into their tank, which I affectionately call Ritz-Crableton, or Crabdorf Astoria.


Can you spot the crab in the picture above?

The Deep Heart's Core

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

and a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, and a hive for the honeybee,

       And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

       And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore.

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

      I hear it in the deep heart's core.




William Butler Yeats wrote "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" about a place that lived partly in memory and partly in imagination, an island he thought of as an idyll and a refuge.   This past week, I found myself  thinking about my own Innisfree and dreaming of planting my own bean-rows, of living very simply in a little cottage with some hens and lots of time to paint and write and play music, to be amongst the leaves and grasses and water.  The pictures are from two places, one of which I know better than the other, but both of which feel very much like home.


Where is your "Innisfree?"
What poem would you illustrate with your photos?

They're here!

My jasmine is finally blooming!
I've had it for almost a year, and last summer it offered just two blossoms.
This spring it's covered in buds and I've been watching and waiting,
looking at the buds each day, guessing which will open first
and trying to imagine their scent.

This morning I saw the first two,
ethereally beautiful and the soft and moist air.

By the time I came back out with my camera just before lunch,
the first blossom's petals were already tinged with rust.
Now that night has fallen, so have my two flowers,
but two more have opened to take their place.

Then I saw that the blue duranta was blooming, and that the bougainvillea had set out flowers as well.
They trembled in the breeze.
It's amazing how quickly flowers come and then fade.
I look away from my plants for a minute, and they change.

What pleasant surprises have you had lately?
What are you waiting and hoping for?

Flowerbudding

My garden has a lot of potential.

This strawberry will be ripe any day now. Maybe tomorrow? 

It'll be my first one, but I can't take too much credit for it: 

there were already unripe berries on the plant when I bought it.

Then there is another on the other side of the pot with just a tinge of pink. 

I'll take a little more credit for the second berry when it's ripe.

I don't want to jinx my plants by blogging about them,

but some are getting ready to flower.

I'm excited about the ones that have overwintered, 

like my blue duranta and jasmine.

I'm really excited about my hibiscus: it's come back from death's door

where it went after some spider mites found it.

My boss gave me some organic orange scented oil,

and that was the miracle cure. 

I have some new blooms, too.

Their buds are like little beach balls.

These fuzzy little leaves catch the dewdrops.

And these will be good with the tomatoes that will, if all goes well, grow.

I love this diaphanous flower, too,

and the twirling, unfurling leaf of my canna.

I'm feeling so excited and joyful when I look at my little garden.

Does spring make you hopeful?
Is there anything about nature that brings you joy?

Mud

Today was a hopeful day.  It feels like
the end of winter, not-quite-spring, cool enough
to raise goosebumps on sweaterless arms,
but warm enough to go without a sweater
- just.  The air is somehow bursting outwards;
the sky no longer pressing down heavily on us.
The dampness that fell as drizzle
during the night and lingers as puddles in the
morning is not the kind from which I recoil, but more like surf:
it carries me with it toward the sky
and makes my heart beat stronger.

This is the kind of day I remember so vividly and so fondly:
it makes me think of the kind of afternoons when
high school physics problems are pushed aside
until after the sun has fallen
because, today, it's warm enough for soccer.

All day today I remembered the happy anticipation I used to
feel during French conjugations, Chekhov plays or statistics
And then I remembered the laughter of my friends
the feeling of mud on the back of my legs
as we ran, falling in the mud
the pop of the ball against our cleats
playing keep away - my dark-haired friend always won,
never a contest at all;
the tightness in my chest and the sting of my bare legs
in the still just a little too cold air.

And then we would jog back to my house,
our cleats ringing against the pavement,
to have a snack before my friends collected
their school bags, home to physics problems

where our mothers would intercept us at our doors,
in disbelief at all the mud that coated us,
the mud a vehicle for our joy.

What signs of spring bring you joy?
Does weather ever bring back memories for you?

Comfort or, The First Steps of the Journey

Before you can set out on a journey, you need to be prepared and well-rested. It would be shortsighted to pack up one's yurt and set off across the Mongolian highlands without a giving a thought to provisions. (Yak's milk yogurt? Mutton jerky? Tea?) And you'd be sure to get a good night's sleep and fill up on Power Bars before stepping onto that marathon starting line.

I think the same is true of journeys in the metaphorical sense. You can't go out and search for fulfillment for your soul without knowing where you're starting from. So, since my redesigned blog is all about conversations on the journey, I thought I would start out the new year with a little taste of home. The photos I'm including are all evocative of comfort, taken over the just-ended year.

New Year's Day 2009, on the road to my best friend's house.

Baked goods are a no-brainer: always comforting. Whenever I come home for a stay, I stock up on hometown bagels; they just aren't the same in the state where I am in exile - er, currently living.

A trail marker on a cross-country course invited me to remember my own high school running days.

The cloves studded in the lemon twist really do make the hot toddy.

Is "a dusting of snow like powdered sugar" too cliché? In any case, the snow made my favorite park even sweeter on New Year's Eve, and companionship made the walk a little warmer for these friends. (One imagines, anyway. What might they have been talking about?)

What brings you comfort?

What sustains you on long journeys?

And if you were packing up your yurt, what essentials would you put in?

The Last Peace of Cheese (359/366)

In the solitary stillness before teeth rend it asunder...

(what an awful pun!)

Woodpile Warmth (357/366)

My dad likes to arrange greens from the Christmas tree around the wood that's stacked on the deck to give the neighborhood birds some places to nestle.  His home is full of warmth, inside and out!

Lift-off (356/366)

The view from an airplane is so captivating at night.  The lights spill out before you as you come closer - the streetlights in the developments form shapes like modern day constellations.  Then, coming closer, you see the dashes and numbers set along the runway, all a language you don't speak.  Unfortunately, my photo doesn't do justice to all the glitter.

Jumping for Joy (354/366)

I'll be home in 48 hours!!!  My joy can't be contained!

Dream Come True (348/366)

I'd been joking with my friends that my first Christmas tree in my own place would commemorate Mostest Favoritest of All Time Sports Team, and I did it!  I love it so much!

Crab Dinnertime (332/366)

Yum!  Wouldn't you love to have half a green bean, served on the finest sea shell?

Heat and Heater (324/366)

Bottled Imagination (321/366)

I would like to note that, although I have skipped more photos than I would have liked, I did NOT skip yesterday.  The photo I had planned would not upload!  Ah, well...

Rinse (319/366)

I moved from a place where six inches of snow is nothing to a place where my coworker brings in oranges from her garden to share.  I'm still amazed that these oranges grew in my neighborhood!

The Last Lonely Banana (315/366)

Lamplight (312/366)

Food From a Dream World (304/366)

Budget (301/366)

This is a poor substitute for the photo I wish I'd gotten:  my hermit crab crawling up my sleeve and snuggling against my wrist.  It was so cute, but I would have disturbed her if I'd gone to get my camera from the other room. 

Hooked Up (300/366)