I got four quarters

Did you ever look up and realize that you’re suddenly attending a wake? Last night it happened to me. I was out at my favorite open mic reading, a gathering named Last Wednesday. This one occurs once a month at the Elliott Bay Book Company, and I’ve been attending as time allows ever since I moved to Seattle. Last Wednesday is everything an open mic should be—supportive, diverse, unusual. The skill level of the writers varies, but the enthusiasm is always high. A fun time is had by all—or was.

 

Last night our fearless leader, Paul Constant, announced that he is leaving the bookstore to become books editor of The Stranger, our local alternative weekly. The bookstore doesn’t plan to continue the open mic. We were sad for our loss—no more haikus to write! One less place to share in the fellowship of the written word! Those who struggle to corral the language into meaning like to herd our masterpieces together, admiring the skill of the other verbiage ranchers. Alas! Still, the mood was festive—this was an Irish wake. We celebrated Paul, who is leading by example. He’s starting a paid job writing. Yay Paul!

One of the things I’ll miss the most about Last Wednesdays is Haiku-rama, Paul’s monthly game. At the start of every open mic, Paul would post a haiku of his own creation, underlining one of the atypical haiku words therein. He’d challenge us to create a haiku by the end of the evening, using that word. It always amazed me what people created in a short period of time, and besides, it was fun. It even paid! There was a small bounty of five dollars in change. Those who managed to produce on deadline—any haiku, no matter the quality, as long as it had the word—would receive their share of the spoils. Our phrase last night was Last Wednesdays. I share my last haiku as a tribute to Paul and all the writers who shared the stage at the open mic over the years. Let’s all keep writing, and find new places to share.

In Requiem:

Adrift, no reading,

poets stranded on their chairs,

mourning Last Wednesdays.

 

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it:
12. Find a place in your community to meet others who share in your own interests, and check it out. We learn so much from each other!

I stepped on “I Love You”

There were a few tablespoons of almost-decorative snow placed around Capitol Hill this evening, accents of white beside the damp gray asphalt. As I walked towards espresso, I saw random conversation hearts that had fallen from a fractured box. Heat Wave was lying in my path. Call Me nestled amidst the grass. I laughed.

The universe is sending me messages again. I’d been trying to psych myself up to make a difficult phone call. The pursuit of joy involves some leaps into the void, and like the Fool, I’ve been leaping. This weekend I landed in two very lovely dates. We dined. We laughed. We kissed. We enjoyed each other’s company, but it was obvious we were quickly heading down two different paths in our own personal motor cars. I did not want a third date, and I had to call it off. I would have rather built a skyscraper out of toothpicks.

I was so worried about hurting feelings! I didn’t know what to say! It was not a joyful feeling at all, until I talked with a few people who had all faced this. I realized that everyone survives these conversations. Joy came trickling back. I made the call, as gently as I could. I caused disappointment, but I don’t think I caused harm. Success!

I used to avoid conflict of any sort. When I was younger I would stop setting foot into entire neighborhoods because I did not want to run into troublesome acquaintances. I went to movies I did not want to see, I kept friendships that were harming me, all because I did not want any confrontation in my life. I was constantly throwing invisible walls up into my own path. That hurt! It is no fun living in a maze of your own creation.

Tonight I feel very joyful. I can face difficult conversations. I value my own feelings as well as those of others. Most importantly, I no longer have this phone call hanging over my head. So, Universe, I got the message. You can stop littering the streets with candy.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
11. Do something you have been avoiding because you think it will be hard, and then pat yourself on the back. Yay you! Do you feel relieved?

The number 8 will be on time and serving free coffee

I cannot control the Metro Bus. I know this, but sometimes I forget, particularly on a blustery morning when it is raining sideways. I usually use this time to blow bubbles, or wake up, or watch the universe unfold around me. On sideways rain days, however, I sometimes try to puppeteer the bus by chanting inside my head. Come now. Okay, now. You will come around the corner, and the heat will be on. Now! This minute! I mean it!

It doesn’t work. I just don’t have the power. I know this deep inside my bones, and so I only try this when I am very distracted. How do I know?

You’ve heard of trial and error? Trial by fire? I used the trial by cushion method. I’m a Zen girl, and I’ve spent a lot of time at silent meditation retreats. The schedule of these sesshins is fairly predictable—you sit still for 35 minutes, you get up and do a little walking meditation, and then you sit back down. Up down, up down, all day long. It can be intense, particularly when you are new to it. During these silent times you are supposed to be focused inward, not thinking about not thinking. One person monitors the time, and she gets up and strikes a bell when the sitting is over.

At my first retreat I spent every single sitting period thinking about the girl who was going to ring the bell. Get up, Suzy! Get up! Get up! Now! Go! Go! When I would hear her start to stretch and walk towards the wall, it would start again: Move faster. Hurry. Hurry! I spent three whole days in focused meditative silence trying to puppeteer that other Zen girl and it never worked once. What chance do I have out in the real world when I’m not so focused? None.

Why am I telling you this in a blog about joy? Isn’t a lack of control a cause for sorrow? Au contraire. When you know you cannot do something, you don’t have to waste your time trying. I find it a relief. I delegate control of the bus to Metro now. Then I sit back and I enjoy the ride.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
10. Sit quietly for a while, and try to control someone using your thoughts. When you get tired of that, delegate control back to the universe.

The underside of shiny

I have seen paradise—or, at least, pieces of paradise—and I didn’t even have to leave Seattle. Seattle and I love each other, so that’s actually not uncommon. I find paradise in the blues of the bay, in the grays of the rain, in the multi-hued pigeons in the plazas. Yesterday’s pieces of the promised land were gilded bronze panels from Florence, portions of didactic cathedral doors. These doors are known as The Gates of Paradise, and the Seattle Art Museum is one of the few places to see these restored panels before they go home to live in situ.

I would love to travel more, so I revel in the opportunity to have new art come to me. Not only are the gilded panels pretty, but each one tells a whole Old Testament story in a space slightly smaller than one yard square. It’s a visual storytelling technique that would transfer well to graphic novels, and I’m itching to design my own panel. I’d probably veer away from the Bible, but each artist picks his own subject. Macbeth, anyone? Or should I illustrate one of my own poems?

I could give you all the details here—the fresh uses of perspective; the life of the artist, Lorenzo Ghiberti; the amazing depths and shallows in the carving. I think I’ll send you to the references for that. I write to tease—I want to entice you to explore.

I waited on line for an hour to see the exhibit—so many dedicated art lovers in one place! It was inspiring. Also inspiring—the panels are showcased in clear boxes, and you can see the back, with the traces of construction still visible. There are channels where the metal flowed. It isn’t as pretty as the front—but one could not exist without the other. We forget the underneath when we can only see the good side, and I need that reminder. I’m glad I got a deeper view into the work. It makes me wish the museum would display all the paintings backwards for a few days. I want to know what’s back there, so I can appreciate it all.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
9. Go out and find your own piece of paradise. Appreciate the good side, but think about what’s underneath. Appreciate that too. If you are in Seattle, might I suggest The Gates of Paradise?

And yes, it can be addictive

A little pigeon tells me that I may have been irresponsible. I speak to the birds all the time, and to the trees, and to the flowers. I believe that the divine is present in all things. That’s just the kind of girl I am. On this azure bright Seattle day, this particular pigeon feels that I am being unfair. I have not, after all, issued a disclaimer for all of the activities that I am urging you to do. You have not been warned, and therefore you do not know the risks, of blowing bubbles, of writing, of making art. I listen to the pigeons, so I’ve decided to take her advice and give you the straight skinny.

WARNING: Joy (of any kind, and at any dosage) may cause the following side effects: uncontrollable giggling, increased energy, and an excess of intriguing ideas. The muse may keep you awake, and you may smile at moments when others feel it is inappropriate. You may even say something silly. There are documented instances of spontaneous brainstorms. Furthermore, once you have a steady dose of joy in your system you may no longer be able to sustain an extended cynical conversation. You may decide to stop attending boring parties. You may even get distracted by your new perspective on the universe.

I will share a cautionary story from my own experience: Thursday night I saw the movie Sons and Lovers (Jack Cardiff, 1960). If you read my blog last week, you’ll know that I wasn’t sure I would like it. I loved it, but partly because art has warped my brain. It won an Oscar for cinematography, but I didn’t know that before I saw it. I did know that almost every frame of the movie was a photograph I’d like to have in my living room. The film was in black and white, and I’ve been doing a lot of sketching in pen, so I was noticing the contrasts, thinking how I would draw them. My writer’s brain picked out the quotable lines, and the part of me that used to act was blown away by Trevor Howard’s performance. Was I still able to follow the plot? Yes, because when I’m hopped up on joy my brain can be a multi-tasking little art machine, and when it isn’t, I find I enjoy the distractions.

I would tell the pigeon that I took her advice and gave you a disclaimer, but she’s busy splashing in a puddle. She must be on some joy herself. You have been warned.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
8. Indulge in an experimental dose of something creative today. Note the side effects.

 

Last time I got a rubber duck and Pop Rocks

How long has it been since you went to your local toy store? I hope it was yesterday, because that’s the best place I know of to find bubbles, and I really do hope you accepted your last assignment. If you didn’t go yesterday, when was the last time? Going to buy toys for your children or other small assorted beasties doesn’t count. When was the last time you shopped at a toy store? Just for yourself?

I go all the time. You may have guessed this already, but I am really in tune with my inner child. I let her out to play with finger paints and yo-yos. She touches the fabrics on the brightly colored sweaters when we shop, just to see how soft they are. She even gets treated to pineapple gelato. I suppose I spoil her, but she deserves it. She’s a good kid.

I don’t know who got the idea that adults should be serious all the time. We’re supposed to play with martinis and loud music. We like dark colors and intellectual pursuits. We’ve put all that kid stuff behind us. Bah Humbug. Martini glasses are cool, and I love to dance, but I am not willing to limit my fun to certain sanctioned activities. Adults need games. We need bright colors. Sometimes we even need kits with sequins and sparkles and stray bits of yarn. At least I do. So I buy them.

What else do I get at the toy store? I get things that make my heart sing. It really is that simple. If I can afford it, and it makes me smile, I bring it home. If I can’t afford it, I save up. I don’t want my inner child to run away. She might get lost and scared.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
7. Take yourself on an outing to your local toy store and buy something nifty. If you are in Seattle, I highly recommend The Magic Mouse in Pioneer Square. This is something you must do in person, so that you can shop like a kid. Touch all the marbles, test out all the sock puppets. When you find the thing that truly delights you, take it home and play with it.

Just purse your lips and blow

What if I told you that you could keep hundreds of pieces of art in your jacket pocket? That in the same little container you would hold a substance that could make grumpy people smile? That this very same bottle could be an instantaneous source of personal amusement without any batteries?

How much would you pay for something like that? What if I told you that your masterpieces could fly? How much would you pay now?

You’d probably pay less than two dollars, because this little cylinder of magic is inexpensive and available nearby. Don’t send money, don’t order anything online! What is this elixir of joy? Bubbles! Pustefix is my very favorite brand, but any kind will do, and I carry them all the time. I love Pustefix because the solution comes in a brightly-colored vial and the lid has a wand attached right to the top. No more fishing in the soap, no spilling in your pocket. And they make the most glorious globes of rainbow-hued glass, floating orbs that last a long time before they burst. All these things are important, my friends.

I carry bubbles for many reasons. They give me joy, and they help me spread joy to others. I’ve heard many a “right-on” and a giggle as I blow them amongst the skyscrapers or out into the streets. (For those who do not live in the Pacific Northwest, “right-on” is the local patois of approval.) I love to watch the fluid colors move on something that seems solid, and I find that when I slowly blow out a stream of bubbles I relax without effort. I’ve never smoked, but I imagine that the slow breathing is part of the thrill. Sometimes when I need to escape a hot nightclub for some air I even stand and blow bubbles with the smokers. At those times I’ll often pick one bubble to watch as it floats up into the streetlights. I watch that very same bubble until it suddenly dissolves into the air or disappears in the wind. Voila, meditation without cushions. No stiff knees, no Zen center required. Look—up in the sky—is it a bird? Is it a plane? No—it’s bubbles! Right-on.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
6. Find some bubbles of your very own—doesn’t matter what brand—and try it out for yourself.

Splashing in lemon yellow and turquoise blue

It all started in the back of a puke-green mid-seventies model Pontiac Catalina. I remember the lone swing set, its iron chain creaking back and forth under an ashen sky. We could see it out the rear-view window. The motel had bad pancakes for breakfast and I wanted to be outside playing. Instead, I was trapped next to my brothers and my sister in the car. We had a shared 64-pack of Crayolas, our favorite colors worn down to stubs. The coloring books were disappointing. The downpour was keeping me prisoner. I was not happy.

Many years later I moved to Seattle for that same weather, for the rain that blesses our flowers and grasses with a healing baptism. The rain keeps things green all year round and leaves dew that hangs like small crystal beads off the succulents in the morning. I love our showers, the symphony of each drop hitting disparate surfaces around the city, a metal overhang giving a different timbre than a plastic bucket. I like to watch the droplets dance in the puddles or ping off the taxicabs. Steadier rains roll languidly off designer umbrellas, their colorful awnings like native Seattle wildflowers that only spring up during a good drenching to disappear hours later. In short, I am in love with the ongoing sprinkle that is our city. I only wish that it rained more.

How did my viewpoint change so radically? The mind is a strange beast, but I have my theories. I’m no longer trapped in the car, so I can make the rain my playmate. I dance with the rain, smell it, hear it, taste it. And when we drove out of that drizzly parking lot all those years ago, the sun came out. We forgot the crayons in the back window, and they melted into one glorious rainbow block. I remember it like a primitive piece of stained glass on the warm vinyl. So now the rain makes me think of crayons. And who doesn’t love crayons?

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:

5. Dance with the weather in your own environment and explore the strange beast that is your mind. What memories come up for you? What path does snow or sleet lead you down?

Priest held for questioning with a side of buzz bombs

Yesterday I promised to give you some teasers about the first two films I saw in The Best of Britain series currently running at the Seattle Art Museum. Don’t be expecting a full review, now! I could do that, but I’m more interested in dropping some virtual breadcrumbs that will make you seek out the actual films. I do hope these are available on DVD so you can hunt them down once I’ve awakened your curiosity.

One of the reasons I worship any metropolitan center is the movie houses. I’ve seen lots of films since I moved here that are not available on DVD. I’ve also gotten to see a lot of old favorites on the big screen—nothing compares to seeing The Wizard of Oz at a midnight screening at the Egyptian in Capitol Hill, sitting amidst a crowd of drag queens. And you haven’t truly learned to fear the flying monkeys until you see them soaring above your head. Now we shall go on to the British films. This would be an appropriate moment to put on the kettle.

The first film in the series, Father Brown, Detective (Robert Hamer, 1954), is a tasty little morsel which stars Alec Guinness in the days long before his lauded career got overshadowed by the specter of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Guinness plays a priest who is seeking to save the soul of an art thief. The movie is based on a series of novels by G.K. Chesterton. I enjoyed the books, but the movie really brought the comic bits to the fore. I loved it, and fans of the Pink Panther series will note an interesting antecedent to the Cato character. Don’t know what I’m talking about? See both movies!

The second film, Green for Danger (Sidney Gilliat, 1946), is based on a novel by Christianna Brand. Now I want to read the novel. This is stylish noir set during WWII. I never realized how terrifying buzz bombs could be. The film raised some history questions I can’t answer, so it left me seeking info on a topic I usually avoid—ah serendipity! Most of all, it introduced me to Alastair Sim, an actor I had never heard of but will now seek out. How can a dark mystery set during war be so funny? Go find out!

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:

4. See a movie that intrigues you and investigate any curiosity that it awakens. The universe if full of stepping stones from one fun thing to another—splash your feet in the cosmic stream!

But I hate the rodeo!

Movies. The very word makes my pleasure circuits light up and ping ping ping like a winning carnival game. I’ve recently signed up for a film series being presented at the Seattle Art Museum–more pings, I love museums!–and so far I have been thrilled with the films. This series is called The Best of Britain, and you get a much better rate if you sign up for the whole shebang in one go. I did.

One of the advantages of the whole-shebang approach is that it forces me to go outside my favorite genres and experience films I might otherwise have turned down. The first two films were mysteries, and I most certainly would have attended those, but this week we’re seeing Sons and Lovers, a 1960 adaptation of the D.H. Lawrence novel. It sounds heartwarming, possibly heartbreaking. In other words, something I’d normally run away from as if escaping the Nazis with an ex-nun and her identically-dressed children. I’ve found, however, that confronting my biases has led to some amazing discoveries. Just as art can be found on the sidewalk, so too can joy be found where you know it is not going to be. My good friend Laurie, for example, reintroduced me to country music. Once I got done telling her all the reasons I couldn’t possibly like it, I actually started listening and fell in love with Alan Jackson’s silly side. I don’t like all country music, but the artists I do like have an embraceable effervescence that adds a lot to the quality of my days. I never would have experienced that if Laurie didn’t nudge me out of my self-imposed box.

It’s okay to seek out the predictable delights, too. After all, I believe in pursuing joy! The first two films in the series did not disappoint, and tomorrow I’m going to give you just a few little tastes of each to intrigue you. Because, perhaps, just perhaps, you are a person who knows you hate mysteries.

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it:
(By the way, I’m quoting the TV series Mission Impossible, another delight of mine!)

3. Break out of your cozy little box–perhaps it’s jewel-encrusted with silk cushions, like some of mine–and go to a film or a concert you would normally avoid. Pay attention, and decide whether you enjoyed yourself based on that one experience. You might be surprised.