General musings

In the garden

Art without a pre-sketch or reference (dream art).


This week’s Weekword is “frolic” and is being hosted by Mary at No Polar Coordinates.

Mary Stebbins Taitt is hosting the WeekWord at No Polar Coordinates and on Cowbird.

This is an old post that never got posted:

The Devil and King George

Protecting the bird, Cranbrook

Picnic Table Leg Lifts

UGH–first of all, I do NOT like memes of any kind.

This is the Stuart Smalley Meme, whoever he is. If you want to play, name ten things you like about yourself. Leave me a comment and tell me you did it.

* * *

1)I like my smile.

2)I like my feet. They are strong, relatively attractive, and carry me where I want to go.

3)I like my hands. They are good for loving and touching.

4)I like my eyes: they help me see and appreciate, pretty scenery, art and dance. They help me read. I like to read. I’m glad I do.

5)I like my tongue, it really enjoys tasting food.

6)I like my ears–they love good music and loving words.

7)I like my nose–it likes the smell of fresh bread.

8)I like my body–I like to hold my loved ones close.

9)I like my mind–it helps me think, work things out, and learn.

10)I like my soul or dream body–it likes to soar.

I tag YOU if you’re reading this.

It’s not a very well-kept secret, but in case you haven’t yet noticed, I am emotionally very sensitive. I laugh easily, cry easily, anger easily. But when I am sobbing over asparagus in Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, even the most sympathetic reader probably turns away in disgust.

There are good reasons to sob over asparagus. OK, this will sound weird, but those reasons in part relate to Mary’s goldfish story. It all has to do with her and my deep beliefs in being honorable and doing the right thing. Or my desire to believe that, perhaps. I want to do the right thing, but doing the right thing is always hard; it’s never easy. If it was easy, we’d all do it, and maybe we’d all be in heaven. Here on earth, being good is hard work. Maybe impossible.

I have personal reasons to sob over asparagus. I used to grow them. I had a huge garden. I have NO garden now. That’s partly because I now live in a big city with a small lot. My whole lot is smaller than my garden used to be. But it’s more than that. I don’t have the energy or time I used to have—or the will, perhaps. I have to divide my time; I have to make choices. Hard choices.

SO OK, if for now at least, I am not going to grow asparagus, then where will I get it? At the grocery store, or at the farmer’s market? Well, at the Farmer’s market would be the correct choice, if that were reasonably possible. But here, the farmer’s market is far away and the farmers even farther away. And the farmer’s market here has food from everywhere. It’s not a real farmer’s market with locally grown produce; it’s just people who buy up the same stuff the grocery store has and resells it. All very fake. There may be a few real farmers, but not many.

The problem as Barbara Kingsolver puts it, is “oily food.” We’re paying for transportation; the transportation uses nonrenewable resources. And quality is lost in the process. I want to support local farmers, cut down on the oil my food, and eat fresher healthier food. I’ve always wanted that, even before Barbara Kingsolver. That’s a cause for tears when it’s so difficult to achieve. I have a lot more to say about this, but not a lot of time. I hope to return to the topic later.

Farm with clouds

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