Feelin' Groovy

How many types have I typed shut this or shut that only to look at the screen and read sh_t.  Like "Cathy" the cartoon character, I scream "Ack!"  Then attempt to laugh at my mistakes (yes, thankful for spell check not auto check), but some days I'm so frustrated with my brain/keyboard connections that I want to throw up the computer. 

From the decades of  motherhood to the present day the erratic search for methods and activities to slow me down has given me insights to: meditation  (no success); refreshing long walks (successful); Tai chi, too slow (no success) but might try it again someday: Yoga (helpful). Hen I realized that singing quietly in my head while playing golf helps me focus and relax outside, so who not use it on the computer. 

Relaxing and letting my mind search for music I began to hum-- 
  Slow down, you move too fast
  You got to make the morning last
  Just kicking down the cobblestones
  Looking for fun and feelin' groovy...

Savannah's cobblestones.

I'm no longer running down the cobblestones, but I am running and moving my fingers over the keys fart to quickly.

Long sigh!  

  


  Hello, lamppost, what'cha knowin?
  I've come to watch your flowers growin'
  Ain't' cha got no rhymes for me?
  Doot-in doo-doo, feelin' groovy

This is retirement, why am I not watching the flowers growing instead of rushing from one task to another?

But rhymes, yes rhymes do help in the form of poetry by Mary Oliver, Nathan Brown, or occasionally Ruth Zardo, a poet of Louise Penny's imagination. 


  I got no deeds to do
  No promises to keep
  I'm dapples and drowsy and ready to sleep
  Let the morning time drop all its petals on me
  Life, I love you
  All is groovy.
Feeling Groovy by Simon and Garfunkel

Bougainvillea leaves floating

Long sigh! Just sitting
Listening to my heart beat
Feeling groovy, smiling
Tapping to the beat.

Eureka! Finally, I've thought of my first "Try Something New for 30 Days" challenge (Try Something New) except mind will be for 28 days.  I will listen to music every day, perhaps a little Norah Jones, Enya, Wayman Tisdale, or simply ripples of musical blends to open my mind to new sounds. 

***All arrows are self-inflicted :):)

...and her monkey named "Woo"

Rickshaw driver in Victoria, BC

On a rickshaw ride through downtown Victoria, BC our runner stopped at the most curious places.  Twice he pointed out homes of the famous painter from Victoria named Emily Carr. I wrote a note on my phone, 'Who is Emily Carr?' (to see photos and learn more click on this link:Emily Carr's house

Then we passed an outside museum of Totem Poles where we stopped and took pictures. Little did I know that one of the reasons Emily Carr became a famous artist in Canada  was because at the age of 27 in 1899, Emily took herself to the islands off Vancouver and began to paint the life and richness of the West Coast native people and the totem poles they carved.  Sadly,many of these totem poles were destroyed by loggers in the decades to come, but Emily's paintings saved them for us to enjoy. 

Arriving back in Seattle I asked my sister-in-law if she had heard of Emily Carr.  Immediately, she went on line and began showing her artwork, so many of which were in the Seattle museums.  Her pictures were filled with life and adventure in the Canadian wilderness, and we had just returned from an Alaskan cruise that had given us the opportunity to see the lands, trees, and  shades of green that I'd never imagined.   Emily had loved and painted these places that gave her strength and energy. 

Squee Stah a Lo He...

Like Emily Carr, I'm never alone if there is a tree or trees nearly.  It is books and stories that create the art in my imagination and connect me to others who journey through life.  In Louise Penny's book The Brutal Telling I jumped up with energy and curiosity when I read these lines:

     In dowtown Montreal Inspector Gamache stood outside of Heffel's Art Gallery on Sherbrooke st. searching for an answer to a clue.  What was Woo and what did Woo mean?How can knowing Woo solve the mystery?  What he saw was an almost life-sized bronze of a frumpy middle-aged woman standing beside a horse, a dog at her side and a monkey on the horse's back. 
     "This is 'woo'?" he asked.
     "No, this is Emily Carr. It's by Joe Fafard and is called Emily and Friends." (to learn more click on these links: Images of Emily Carr    Joe Fafard's statues of Emily Carr

Emily Carr and her Monkey Woo in Montreal

     Gamache looked more closely at the bronze woman.  She was younger here than the images he'd seen...They almost always showed a masculine woman, alone. In a  forest. And not smiling, not happy.  This woman was happy.
     "Normally Emily Carr looks gruesome. I think it's brilliant to show her happy, as she apparently only was around her animals. It was people she hated." Supt. Brunel said. 

Emily moved to London and then Paris seeking experts to teach her about painting, but what she saw and painted was not in vogue, nor noticed. Her health began to fail in the confines of the cold wet cities.  Coming back to Victoria she gave up painting and lived off pennies selling pottery and other crafts and running a boarding house. In despair, she struggled to survive.

In 1927 a gallery owner, looking for art of the West Coast, heard of Emily's paintings and asked to see them.  Stored in a dusty attic she brought them down for him to see.  Her paintings were sent to the gallery and a show of her works introduced her to the art world. 

At the age of 56 she began to paint again. Buying an old trailer, she called The Elephant, she loaded her pets and began to travel into the deep green forest where she painted in solitude, surrounded by nature and her pets. When her curious monkey 'Woo' squirted the green oil paint, the deadliest of colors, into his mouth he nearly died. She nursed him with a hot water bottle and epsom salts. During the night she dreamed of a hillside covered in greens that began to move. She wrote in her journal,

     "The next morning, the light was so pure that I decided to go out and paint....I felt the nearness of God, the invisible spirit inhabiting he leaves of the trees, the rocks under my feet, the clouds in the sky..every scrap of the Universe seemed to advance and recede, to move, swirl and dance in a continuous celebration of joy...the full pure joy of life." 


As her health began to decline she continued to paint and also to write her memoir, in her journals, and stories. One book call Klee Wyck won the Governor General's Award in 1941. 

I was secretly excited to learn that I'm not the only American who knew nothing about Canada's most famous woman painter and writer. Susanne MacNeille from the NY Times writes with the same joy at having discovered Emily Carr and her works.Vancouver Island Through an Artist's eyes 

It is through life's journey that we discover writings, paintings, sculptures, history, and people across all continents...and the pure joy of life.   

August Heat

It was a hot and sweltering night when the winds shattered the

summer silence. The thrashing limbs battered the roof as I sat glued to my book, lost in the mystery of who murdered Julia.  

"Get away. I'll toss the kid over." Bean was suddenly thrust into space, and the murderer barely holding on. Even with the tape over the child's mouth Beauvoir could hear the scream.


Then lights flashed inside and out and our house went dark but not quiet.  Rain and winds pounded the roof while I searched for my cell phone. At last I felt my phone and flashed a glimmer of light into the air. The dog bounced and whined in fear of the storm. Finding flashlights, I placed them in various rooms. 

The book had dropped to the floor in the excitement. I really wanted to know the name of the murder. I'm not beyond cheating on a book to find out who done it.  Taking a deep breath in frustration and exhaustion, I declined to cheat and savour the moment the next morning.  I crawled into bed and said goodnight world. Nearly four hours later the lights awoke us, I stared at the book and wisely returned to bed. 

Telling Jack the story the next day made us both laugh.  Such timing for the plot and the real storm to come together. Yet, I discovered in life that things occur that you simply can't explain.

It's been a summer filled with opportunities to meet new friends, to travel, spend time with friends from years past, to find peace in my heart as we approach a date marking eighteen years since I last hugged my parents, and a time to inwardly touch my mother's heart and say thank you, Helen, for saving Katy's life when a car ran the intersection and T-boned her.  

Like a character in the book A Rule Against Murder, I've learned to count my blessings each day, and say Thank You. 

Readings and Greetings: Delightful, Delicious, and Dangerous

My husband and I both enjoy warm summer evening on the patio.  Fresh cheeses, berries, a variety of crackers, and a bottle of wine create a delightful summer atmosphere, even when the temperatures are soaring. Summer is our season, when we may ache from too much golf or gardening, but our muscles are not stiff, tight, or sore from the cold. 

Lately, I’ve been coming home from La Baquette with fresh light croissants filled with buttered calories that bring a smile to my lips or a fresh baguette.  Finally, my husband asked me, “Why the sudden interest in croissants and baguettes?”

Without a moment of reflection I laughed, “Hah! Blame it on Louise Penny and Inspector Gamache.”

“Oh, is this another French or Canadian mystery you’ve been devouring like chocolate mints?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Yes, the rich meals served by Gabri and Olivier at the Bistro in Three Pines are described like fresh honey from the hive. I can nearly taste the crisp baguette, smeared thickly with pate, as the characters indulge themselves in the foods.”

Later that evening I interrupted Jack’s television viewing to read from Louise Penny’s The Cruelest Month. Standing in the doorway to his computer room, I announced,  “Here is the type of description I’ve been reading for the last six months.”  Placing his computer on the floor and smiling at me, like do I have a choice, I began to read.

Just then Olivier appeared with their dinner…Gamache’s coq au vin filled the table with a rich, earthy aroma and an unexpected hint of maple. Delicate young beans and glazed baby carrots sat on their own white serving dish. A massive charbroiled steak smothered in pan-fried onions was placed in front of Beauvoir. A mound of frites sat on his serving dish.

Beauvoir could have died happily right there and then, but he’d have missed the crème brulee for dessert.

“Sounds rather heavy for a summer meal.”

“It’s not summer in this story it is during a blizzard in Three Pines, near Montreal, Canada.” I explained still standing in the doorway to his man cave.

“It does sound like a meal Pat French would prepare for us in her restaurant in Eau Claire."

"Yes, even the name of her restaurant, The French Press, is appropriate” The French Press

“Yes, it does. I think she’d like these books, too.”  I stepped back out of the doorway and reached for the phone to text her, but instead ended up on my computer writing about the foods and good reads.

Louise Penny touches our senses with emotions and teases our intellect, as we listen to Inspector Gamache question then listen as the characters share their stories. Always showing patience, always attentive Gamache listens for what others might miss. He gets to know each character surrounding the mystery, while the reader seems to be listening and looking over his shoulder. When he trips in the dark, the reader stumbles too. Just as the mystery begins to unfold for me, there’s another twist, and I’m sent back to rethink the clues over and over.    

I’ve skipped around reading Penny’s books, beginning with the A Great Reckoning. Each book is a standalone, but after reading several out of sequence I decided to go the beginning and start through the series correctly. I’m so glad I did because now I know more about the poet, Ruth Zardo, and her pet duck.  Her poetry is blunt, rough, and painful to read sometimes, but she is such a powerful character I can’t help but want to get to know her better.

Then last week I picked up a new book by mystery writer Donna Leon called Earthly Remains. It is book twenty-six in her mystery stories about Commissario Guido Brunetti set in Venice and the surrounding islands. As I’ve read today I felt myself carried to the luguna where Davide, a caretaker keeps his bees. Over a two week period, as Brunetti relaxes away from his demanding job as a detective, he and Davide row daily in the fresh air and waters around Venice.  Like Inspector Gamache, Brunetti is served fresh summer meals from the Mediterranean Sea. A platter of fresh shrimp, baby octopus, mussel, clam, canocchie (mantis shrimp), latticini de sepia (cuttlefish eggs) is served with olive oil, fresh baked breads and a bottle of wine.

Then Davide, who has become a friend to Brunetti goes missing, and the clues begin to fall in place, as the mystery unfolds.

Reading makes it so simple to escape my surroundings, and imagine another moment in time. After spending a day or two rowing near Venice on the Mediterranean, I plan to serve boiled shrimp, melted butter, fresh garden tomatoes, and a buttered croissant for dinner tonight.

I find that books are simply delightful, fresh foods delicious, and so much more fun when served with intrigue, danger, and mystery.


*Food for thought:  a Maple Bacon loaded scone with maple syrup, crispy bacon chunks and drizzled with maple frosting served with hot tea or coffee from The French Press

Among the Wolves

I read this gem, tucked among the words of Louise Penny in her novel The Beautiful Mystery which takes place in a monastery in the wilderness of  North Eastern Quebec, Canada:

“I hope we learn from it,” the abbot said turning to Inspector Gamache, after the Chief Inspector had solved the mystery of a recent murder in the monastery of the Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups. “What lesson will you learn?” Gamache inquired.

The abbot thought about it. “Do you know why our emblem is two wolves intertwined?” Gamache replied with his theory, only to be corrected by the abbot. “No, the emblem is from a native story of the Montagnais.”  

“Don Clement relates it in his diaries. One of the elders told him that when he was a boy his grandfather came to him one day and said he had two wolves fighting inside of him. One was gray, the other black. The gray one wanted his grandfather to be courageous, patient, and kind. The other, the black one, wanted his grandfather to be fearful and cruel. This upset the boy and he thought about it for a few days then returned to his grandfather. He asked, ‘Grandfather, which of the wolves will win?’ “

The Old Man in the Tree, Dodgeville, Wisc. 

The abbot smiled slightly. “Do you know what his grandfather said?” The Inspector shook his head. “The one I feed,” replied the abbot.

Gamache looked at the monastery; he’d mistranslated the emblem. Not Saint Gilbert among the wolves, but between them. In that place of perpetual choice. (chapter. 34)

Like Inspector Gamache, I pondered this story then smiled.  This is why I enjoy Louise Penny’s books so much. Many of her explanations are lines from poetry, mythology, Bible, folklore, and literature. She asks her readers to think about the problem, the mystery, or an aspect of life that the characters must also deal with.  As Inspector Gamache knows, each of us deals with perpetual choice. 

I found myself thinking ahead to choices I need to make and then smiled.  There’s something about giving a situation a story that makes it easier for me to solve and think through. I can see more clearly what I’m feeding and what I’m denying. 

Perspective and choice! So many ways to relate to this story.