The Romance of Fog

 

*💧🤍💧*

        I realize that not everyone loves fog. I am reminded of Huck Finn when he was rafting down the big river with Jim the slave saying, “durn fog!” Probably most drivers don’t like to be stuck in thick fog, especially on a dark night. Thank goodness for reflectors on the road and those bright white lines!
        Sailors don’t appreciate foggy times on the water. It has its hazards.
        I am also reminded of my mother’s impressions of the foggy, misty PNW when she was fresh from dry old southern Idaho. She said the fog hung in the tops of those tall firs like banners or curtains and it seemed so dreary to her she said.
        I, however, since they brought me here, have grown up in this place which is so misty on so many days, and I find it enchanting, even magical.

        Foggy days are soft. They’re quiet. All those tiny water droplets must muffle the sound somehow. It’s similar to the sound of a snowy day, but not so cold.
        Fog is white because of the size of the water droplets reflecting the light as they do. If the droplets reach too large of size they clump together and fall as rain.
        Interesting things happen in the fog. Of course, the Res was kind of out of the ordinary in some ways anyhow. But I remember a day when I had to drive the big GM van toward town, which was about 8 miles away. It was daylight, but a very foggy day. The air looked white and I couldn’t see very far down two lane Marine Drive. At a certain spot on the road a white horse stepped slowly across the road and headed into the deep forest. What? He looked like a hallucination. He was there and then he was gone. And where was he going? Horses don’t general frequent the thick forest. Do they?

        On another foggy day out there a white fox crossed the road in the same spot. Come on! Were they same creature wearing different clothes on different days or what? I started thinking that I might have seen a shapeshifter of some kind. I wasn’t really up on Squatches back then, but looking back I wonder. Who goes there?

        Then there are fog horns. If you have lived anywhere near the big water sometimes you can hear a fog horn, intermittently blowing its dull note. It’s an evocative sound. A marine sound.

        I love to see a train emerging from the fog. Reminds me of a Turner painting.

It seems to me to be a kind of magical matrix wherein you might expect to see or experience something beyond the normal events of a clear or sunny day. It looks like a fairy tale world. The eyes play tricks and perhaps the imagination also!

        I choose to remain charmed and delighted by that misty world.

An Equal and Opposite Reaction

 

            “Oh, thanks, sweetie,” said Ramona. “That makes life a lot easier all of a sudden!” She tossed the red Bic in her hand a couple of times.
            When she looked at her toe again, she decided that it wasn’t really broken, just bruised. This cheered her up quite a bit. She wiggled all ten toes around just to make sure and see that all ten worked. They did!
            So, though somewhat delayed, she set to building a new fire, which smelled like burning oatmeal for a while, not too bad of an odor and soon over. Once it had burnt down to coals some, she hung her pot of oats and raisins over the fire to cook. As she moved around the fire, she forgot about her toe, as it wasn’t bothering her at all.
            “What language do you suppose that big guy was speaking,” she asked Ralph.
            “I have no idea! I wonder where he came from and where he went, for a matter of fact,” said Ralph. “But wherever he came from, that must be the local human language, well, maybe. It might be an exotic Forest Keeper language from Somewhere else.  I guess we’ll never know.”
            She gave Ralph her long wooden spoon, saying, “you mind the oats, will you, and I’ll go tell the kids that the excitement is over.”
            When she got inside, she sat on the side of the bed. She saw that Cherry was under the quilt, so she peeled it back and said, “okay, you two, it’s safe to come out!  I don’t think that big one would have hurt you.  But I understand that having him appear suddenly was a bit of a shock. He even scared me a little. But,  he left us just as suddenly as he appeared.  He’s gone.”
            Cherry crawled into her mother’s lap and seemed perfectly happy.
            Twigg came out from under the bed, looking just a little bit sheepish after his rapid retreat. “He was so big, and I just didn’t know what to do, mommy,” he said. “I think I’m happy that he’s gone.”
            “Yes, I think it’s probably best, but he might have been perfectly friendly, we’ll never know,” said Ramona. “Help me for a minute Twigg. Will you take our bowls and spoons out?”
            Of course, he did, and they all went back out to where Ralph was stirring the oatmeal and raisins, so it didn’t stick to the bottom of the pot. “I think it’s just right!” he said.
            While Ramona was serving up the oatmeal, Berry came strolling back into the Home Clearing, looking very carefully casual, as if he had not run away like a baby kitten. Just like any other day, he settled down beside Twigg and did that cat thing where they rub the side of their muzzle on a person, and bunted him good and hard, puma style, several times.
            “Ow, Berry! Where’s Bob?  He ran away too,” said Twigg laughing. But Berry made no comment, because he didn’t like to talk. It was a personal choice of his.
            “When I saw Berry running to hide in the woods, I followed him to make sure that he was alright,” said Bob, who had suddenly appeared, even more casually than Berry.
            “Oh, yes,” said Ramona. “I believe you Bob! We all do!”
            Bob’s dignity was somewhat diminished by the laughter, but he stood it well, and they were all friends anyhow, so being laughed at a little was okay.
            “Say, Ralph,” said Ramona, “why did you say you blamed it all on the comet?” She put her spoon back down in the bowl and looked at him, eyebrows up.
            Looking a little surprised, because he had quite forgotten saying that, he said, “oh, Maeve said that comets are often omens of trouble and nervousness, causing strange things to happen and people to drop stuff and lose stuff and stub their toes!” He put his arm around her, squeezing her tightly.
            He looked around the fire and smiled at the happy group there, thinking things could hardly be sweeter.
            The last bit of ozone and Durian and skunk had blown completely away, leaving the forest air clear and clean and cool.
            By the way, pumas like oatmeal pretty well once it has cooled down.

It Had To Be The Comet

 

🌟🌲🌟

 

            Now, normally, as we all know, Ramona is the soul of competence. Like the sun, she is regular and dependable. Like the wife in the psalm she arises before dawn and lights that fire and starts her work. She attends to the needs of  her children, the cats, and most of all, to Ralph.
            Her temper is beyond smooth. Her laugh is sweet. She is called blessed.
            One morning, however, did not auger well. Poor Ramona!
            Her Bic lighter, one of the treasures of modern civ., ran out of fuel.
            The bail broke on her trusty large pot, dumping the oats and water she was going to cook into the coals of the last night’s fire. A bit of irritation tugged at the corners of her mind.
            Then when she was striding back to the cave to apply for assistance from Ralph himself, she stubbed her toe very firmly on a rock Twigg had rolled out of place at the fire circle.  Ramona didn't cuss. I’m not sure Forest Keepers cuss anyhow.  But she did cry a little.
            Ralph was still sleeping his monarchal sleep when she got to the bed. She sat down on the side examining her bloodied toe. It seemed like it might be broken.
            “I can’t cook, Ralph,” she said somewhat firmly. “And I have a busted toe.”
            He didn’t stir. She reached over and poked him in the ribs. She had never done this before.
            “Ralph, I can’t make breakfast,” louder.
            “What?  Why can’t you make breakfast?” He was awake at last, realizing that this was a serious matter.
            “My Bic is dead. The pot broken and I walked into a rock Twigg moved, I guess. Now my toe might be broken, and I can’t make breakfast!” Ramona reiterated.
            “Can you still walk?” said Ralph.
            “I think so,” said Ramona. “But my pot is broken, and I can’t make a fire!”
            Ralph sat up finally. “I have a Bic out by my log for cigars. I’ll go get it. Let me see the pot, if you can make it out there.”
            Leaving the children and the cats sleeping, they went outside to check on the pot and all. Ralph put the rock back into position. Then he discovered that the bail was not broken, it had just come loose, so he put it back into position also.
            Ramona limped back into the cave for another batch of oats and threw some raisins in for good measure with a little salt. Then she added water from a five gallon bucket of water she kept in the cave. Then she carried it back out to the fire circle.  Ralph had gone to fetch the other Bic, so she took a seat and waited for him as the sun came up and time stretched out some. It seemed to be taking him a long time to come back.

            So, then, while Ralph was rummaging in his collection of cool stuff in the shelter of his big cedar log, finally locating the red Bic lighter, he saw a flash of light and heard a loud popping sound. There was also a strong whiff of ozone in the general area.
            Well, when he looked up, Ralph couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Right on the back side of his log stood a Forest Brother twice his size. This fellow was very shaggy and had a sort of mossy color to his fur. He was bald on top and had a beard down to his belly.  The effect was striking, even for Ralph.
            The large Brother seemed to be equally amazed.  He looked all around as if  he had never seen trees before perhaps. He must have been frightened for his scent was hair raising, even for Ralph. It was like Durian and maybe skunk, with a lingering bit of ozone.
            “Howdy,” said Ralph.
            “Michinimayoimashita,” said the big guy. (I’m lost, in Japanese.)
            “Ah,” said Ralph, trying to think of what to do.
            “Why don’t you follow me back to the fire.  We’ll see how Ramona and the kids are, OK?”
            “Watashi wa anata ni shitagaimasu,” said the big green guy when Ralph started walking. (I’ll follow you, also in Japanese.)
            And he did follow Ralph, who was thinking as hard and fast as he could. He wasn’t sure how this visitation would go over with Ramona and her broken toe!
            Twigg and the puma bros had awakened and were out hanging around the cold dead fire circle with Ramona. Cherry was still asleep in the cave. It was quiet there, and they were all hungry waiting for Ralph to arrive with the lighter.
            However, when Ramona looked up and saw himself and someone else returning, she managed to say, “now what, Ralph?” very firmly indeed, perhaps even a bit stridently. She was thinking, “how the heck am I going to feed him?” She stared open mouthed.
            Berry and Bob ran off into the trees, temporarily. Twigg thought of following them, but decided to go hide in the cave instead, at the last instant. Cherry woke and started crying.
            Twigg went in under the bed. He had left the door open though, so Cherry floated out looking for her mother. Sizing up the scene she beheld, she yelled even louder and floated back into the cave, pulling the door shut behind herself. She got under the big quilt Thaga had given Ralph and Ramona and stayed there.
            “I found this guy out by my log,” said Ralph. “I can’t understand a thing he says.”
            “Kon'nichiwa, josei,” said Keiishi, since that was his name, even though none of them knew it. (hello lady, in Japanese.)
            “I see what you mean,” said Ramona, smiling weakly at the big guy, hoping that he was tame.
            At that very moment, there was a brilliant purplish flash of light. Keiishi wavered for a moment, looking as translucent as green glass, then he vanished. There was a sound like a thunder clap right near the ground where they stood. Only the scent of Durian, skunk and ozone remained to suggest that he had ever been there.  He was like, gone.
            “What in the world was that all about,” said Ramona, wonderingly.
            “I blame the comet,” said Ralph. “But look, baby, I found the red Bic! Now you can make breakfast!”

A Couple of Thoughts For Monday

 

💐🤍💐

    I ran out of time Sunday, but I wanted to take a minute to think about the word "praise."

    It seems to me that to praise someone or something is to speak of their value and attributes.

    I had been thinking about what it means to praise God.  How do we do that?  I am not churched, so I don't know the official teachings on any of this. 

    What I finally came up with is to verbally acknowledge the attributes, the character, acts, and nature of God. 

    I see it as an answer. We would be answering his loving invitation. Praise would become a person's side in a relationship.

    What do you think?  Does that seem accurate?

    praise (v.)

c. 1300, preisen, "to express admiration of, commend, adulate, flatter" (someone or something), from Old French preisier, variant of prisier "to praise, value," from Late Latin preciare, earlier pretiare "to price, value, prize," from Latin pretium "reward, prize, value, worth," from PIE *pret-yo-, suffixed form of *pret-, extended form of root *per- (5) "to traffic in, to sell."

Specifically with God as an object from late 14c. Related: Praised; praising. It replaced Old English lof, hreþ.

The earliest sense in English was the classical one, "to assess, set a price or value on" (mid-13c.); also "to prize, hold in high esteem" (late 13c.). Now a verb in most Germanic languages (German preis, Danish pris, etc.), but only in English is it differentiated in form from its doublets price (q.v.) and prize, which represent variants of the French word with the vowel leveled but are closer in sense to the Latin originals.

The Cats Puzzle It Out

 

*🐈🌞🐈*

        One very warm and sunny day Sammie and Toots were at their posts keeping a sharp eye open for trespassers and other riffraff. Their window gave them a good open view. But the trouble brewing was inside, not out there on the landscape.
        “Hey,” Toots said, “I hear a strange buzzing sound in my ears. Do you have a strange buzzing sound in your ears, sister?”
        “Now that you mention it, sister, I thought maybe I was imagining it,” said Sammie. “But it’s loud.”
        “I’ve been having strange dreams too,” said Toots.
Sammie laughed. “Stranger than the one with the big black bird named Maeve?”
        “I feel like everything has just slipped somehow. I can’t quite get my paw on it,” said Toots.
            “You hid from the hairbrush, sister. What in the world?” said Sammie.
        “He sneezed! It sounded like a crack in the world, Sammie! I was afraid for my life!”
        “Maybe you should get with that other jumpy cat you like to commune with, see if she knows anything. Maybe Suzy is having funny dreams and buzzing ears too, and maybe she has heard something,” said Sammie.
        So, Toots put her head down and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the buzzing in her ears. She sent out an inquiry as well as she could.

        “Suzy, are you there?” purred Toots.
        “I’m here, Toots. Same place I always am, though I almost slipped out today,” said Suzy regretfully. “How are you? Anything special to report?”
        “Me and Sammie were wondering if you had anything funny going on. Is today normal or not, at your house?”
        “Prrt! Hm. Funny you should ask. I am having trouble with my tail. It won’t mind me. Even when I am asleep, it keeps whipping back and forth. It’s embarrassing,” said Suzy. “And that’s not all, I hear a sound. It’s like an electric bell in my head.”
        “Now MY tail is starting up!” yelped Toots in alarm, but she didn’t run away.
        “I wondered if you had been dreaming about the sun,” asked Toots. “I keep dreaming that something like a ball of light with a tail is pulling on the sun. Does that make any sense to you? Every time I have that dream, I wake up all scared and I feel like hiding forever!”
        “Yes, but a different dream. I dreamed that the sun tried to reach down here with big long fiery arms!” said Suzy. “Then my tail started lashing around. All I could think about was running away!
        “Willie has lost his appetite! That might be the scariest thing of all! If only you knew. Willie being hungry is one of the eternal verities of life. Or it was. Now I don’t know what to think. I try to avoid him. He’s cranky.”
        “Poor Willie, Suzy. Imagine how he must feel! Lol! It’s probably scary to him also! It’s funny too!” said Toots.
        “What do you think we should do?” Suzy sent out to both Sammie and Toots.
        “I think we should purr on this together,” they both said at once.
        “This might be affecting the whole world, sisters,” said Suzy with her eyes wide open, ready to bolt. “We better call all the cats we can think of! Or, better, all the cats in the world!”
        So, while the world rolled on, with no one giving a thought to the cats of the world and their cosmic concerns, these same cats took on a situation in their own way, out a sense of responsibility. 

        All over earth cats who had been feeling just a bit off, or a lot, off, heard the call from Toots, Sammie and Suzy in America. Almost all of them, rich or poor, fat or thin, fancy or plain, agreed on a mighty world-wide purr.
        So, though it was various hours of daytime in America and evening or night in other parts of the world, it didn’t matter about the time. Cats operate on a 24 hour clock anyhow.
        All the kitties, who heeded the call, all over the world, put their heads down, wrapped their tails tightly around their feet and closed their eyes in purr. All asked the same questions in purr.
        And the great All Knowing, lent them a little bit of knowing, all of them at once.
        They began to understand a little bit about Signs in the Heavens. How the sun being perturbed by another body could affect them all in various odd ways. They began to know that even people felt it sometimes.
        Then they were given the strength to sing within their hearts. And sing they did. All the kitty-hearts sang in harmonious peace and praise of the All Knowing. The All Knowing heard them. Their alarm passed and they knew that all would be well. And it was well.
        “You know what, Suzy,” said Toots, “I don’t remember what I was so worried about. Do you?”
        “Not for sure,” said Suzy. “I’m very sleepy now. Let’s talk tomorrow, Toots!”
        “OK, now I’m sleepy too,” said Toots.
        So they both took a nice nap.

!Meow!

Right In My Wheelhouse

 

1878 Oyster Gatherers of Cancale, John Singer-Sargent

  John M’s photographs of the art show he participated in got me to thinking about art as I have known it, and what I believe to be true about making and assessing art pieces.

It also makes me think of Tom Petty’s song For Real. I’ll try to explain why it reminds me of that song. In the song Tom says he couldn’t help it, he had to do it, he was compelled. Not in those words. He was serious about his music and lyrics. He wasn’t kidding around, trying to crank out product. He was trying to touch the people emotionally and for real.

I think there might be two major groups of “artists.” Some of them I have met took art classes because they thought art sounded “easy” and that it might be a good way to turn out some paintings or something and make a few bucks or gain some notoriety or fame. You can see this stuff all over the world. It looks like it was “easy” and it’s boring because there is no application, no thought, it’s a fake.

Good art is hard. It might look easy in a way. Maybe the brushstrokes are loose and fluid. But by God those brushstrokes, those fluid brushstrokes have been earned by years of doing it wrong and then better and better, over and over until they are right. Think of Singer-Sargent.

It takes tears sometimes.

The trouble is, there are sliding scales. That’s why at the infamous occasion when I was asked a question in class I said, “it’s all relative.” It’s hard to explain taste, is it not?

The question of what is good art is subjective as hell. It depends on who is looking. But I think that if the observer is also a serious person they will respond to good work in a way that they will not to stuff that kind of looks like art, but is weak and derivative. It’s like “hey I saw a guy do this or that, I can do that too!” No ideas or thought of their own. Design is not a game!

When I was very young and very judgmental, I used to laugh at paintings in county fair displays and such. You know the stuff. Naive and clunky flower paintings or dog pictures or stiff and awkward landscapes.

I’m sorry now. It’s a good thing no one paid any attention to the rude girl at the show. I learned to shut up and let them alone. It was not good art, but it was OK that the people painted their paintings and were pleased with them. Taste isn’t the highest virtue on earth. Maybe kindness is more important.

So, where do I land at the end of this little observation?

I guess it depends on what the artist’s goals are. It depends on their heart too.

One painter, or sculptor, takes it as a serious avocation, another is just having fun maybe and that’s alright too.

But sometimes people are pretending to take it seriously and they are just cranking it out. It’s not easy like that. Maybe they should be laughed at instead of the little old ladies at the county fair!

A Tale Told By A Raven

 

          One night Suzy had a powerful dream. It left her feeling a little bemused and confused. She felt like sharing it with someone, but for some reason didn’t feel like explaining it to Willie. He had a male tendency to poopoo certain types of material.

            She would have told it to her lady, but there were translation problems. No matter how earnestly she looked into her lady's eyes, it came through garbled every time.
            She decided that Toots would probably listen. Toots had never let her down and was wise in the interpretation of dreams.
            Therefore, she settled herself down in a good position for the telling of tales way down under some stuff, where nobody would notice her. It was better for intense concentration when nobody was watching.
            She said, “Toots? Are you there? I had a strange dream. Would you like to talk this morning?”
            “Sure,” said Toots. “What’s up? You want to tell me a dream? I’d love that!”
            “It was like this,” said Suzy. A great huge black bird spoke to me, as real as I am talking to you right now Toots!”

*O*

            I was flying very high. I was enjoying the air currents lifting me and then letting me fall lower and then lifting me back up again. I was so high that even I with my sharp eyes couldn’t see anything but the tops of the fir trees. There was a light dusting of snow on them which made them very pretty in the late morning sunlight.
            I decided to drop down through the trees to Ralph’s spot on earth, where time doesn’t have much purchase, just to see if anyone was around and what they were doing this day.
            As I got low enough, I saw that Ramona had been preparing to cook something. She had gone back into the cave to fetch something else I suppose and had left a lot of onions, carrots, and a big piece of pork and this and that on one of those logs by her fire. I couldn’t see anyone around at all.
            But as I watched a wild pig with ten little striped oinkers ran into the clearing! It didn’t look good! They discovered her onions, etc, etc, and gobbled it all down! Oh my! Oh no! I was the only one who had seen the crime and I would have to be the one to tell the tale.
            I dropped down and settled on a lower branch to wait for Ramona to come back out.
            When she did, she just stood there looking all around, obviously wondering what had happened to her ingredients in such a short span of time. Well, I knew.
            “What in the world?” said Ramona to the air, or no one in particular.
I spoke. “I know. I saw it all! I know the crime and the criminals!”
            “Oh, Maeve. Tell me Raven. How could my onions and carrots and meat vanish in two shakes?” asked Ramona, with her eyebrows raised. “I was gone about long enough to turn around and come out with my big pot!” She stood there with her hands on her hips, as angry women do.
            “It was pigs Ramona! A dam and ten little squealers! They washed through like a wave on the sea and consumed it all in a moment! I saw them truly.” I did love being in the know.
            “Well! We’ve never been visited by pigs before,” said Ramona. “I wonder what to do now!”
            “I can think of one thing,” I said. “And only one thing. I will go tell Thaga and Ooog what happened and ask them to send you some more onions and carrots. Then Twigg and Berry and Bob could take a bag and go fetch them for you. How about that?”
            “I think that would be alright. He surely knows the way to Thaga’s house,” said Ramona. “But we’ve never let him go alone before. I’m not sure I should let him go.”
            At that very moment Ralph himself strode into the clearing. He had been hunting far and away.
            “I didn’t have a whole lot of success, Mona my sweet,” said Ralph, laughing a bit.
            So, I flew to his shoulder and told him the whole story right into his ear.
            Ramona said she didn’t know whether she should send Twigg and the bros to Thaga’s house for more onions and so forth since he had never gone there alone, even with the cats.
            At last Ralph said, “let’s do this. Maeve can you fly over to Thaga and Ooog’s place and ask them for a bag of onions and carrots to replace the lost ones? Tell them that Twigg and the cats will be walking right after you. It will be a good experience for Twigg. Maybe he can do it all the time and save some of us some steps!”
            “I’ll go,” I said, and took off.

*O*

            “Suzy, why did Ralph laugh about not very much success hunting? You didn’t tell me that part of the dream and I was wondering,” said Toots.
            “It was kind of funny. I got the feeling that stories about Ralph often end up funny,” returned Suzy.
            “How was it funny,” asked Toots.
            “Well, as it turns out, in the dream, he only got four little striped piglets in his whole day of hunting, piglets that were full of Ramona’s onions and carrots. So, in an odd way, the story comes around full circle,” said Suzy finally.

            “What a peculiar dream, Suzy,” said Toots. “I wonder if it is true?”
            “I think it must be. I don’t think that big black bird would lie to me,” said Suzy. “She said her name was Maeve.”
            “I never heard of a Maeve before,” Toots smiled a little at the funny name.
            They purred together for a while, then went on with their days.