“That's my goal: to take out everything that doesn't feel alive.” These are Jean Valentine’s words on editing her poetry. I’d rather keep reading her book, River at Wolf, than get up to pee. Her crystalline lines, offer murky dream fragments barely remembered but that return –intermittent radio signals— when you fall asleep again. Likewise it reminds me of a that quick shudder in the middle of the night, the knowledge that something important is all wrong, still beautiful, and within my power to change. The alive is dynamic, and her poetry, these condensed-less-than-a-page bits and pieces of living dynamite, cut into the mind with recognition, and then sometimes mend it.
“And the under voice said, Stars you are mine,
you have always been mine; I remember the minute on the birth table
when you were born, I riding with my feet up in the wide silver-blue stirrups,
I came and came and came, little baby and woman, where were you taking me?
Everyone else may leave you, I will never leave you, fugitive.”
http://www.alicejamesbooks.org/river_wolf.html.
How to take out everything that doesn’t feel alive? Is that only possible on the page…? Sarah, Leslie and I went to Indian Springs in Calistoga. www.indianspringscalistoga.com/ Like postulants (Sarah’s word) we walked in our white terry cloth robes to the Olympic-sized mineral pool. It was an alive night, moon-basked, cool and clear. We floated on foam mats, on large “noodles” talking and laughing, holding the corners of the mats so we wouldn’t drift away from each other. We must have made a funny triangle from the moon’s perspective.
Tourists have been ‘taking the waters’ here since the 1860’s and the Wapoo tribes, for generations before that. All that wasn’t alive melted away in the steam – and after some time there – we were too soothed to let anything unnecessary erode that calm. I could only feel love and gratitude. War, debt, loss, anger would reside in other moments.
Humans love rituals – collecting words to recite, soaking in so-called sacred waters, and the national anthem before a hockey game. Despite myself, I got chills when I heard the song before my first-ever hockey game. Not because the National Anthem means anything specific to me– but because its formal repetition binds a community: melts the furtive, restless, and chaotic individual selves into a crowd poised to enjoy something beautiful together. How appropriate to then to share the drama of a match. A ceremony with its own rules, rites, and liturgy. Its exciting to feel 17,453 people all clap in unison, to make the cave-man-like - shark jaw motion, – to yell “Charge!”
It might be a stretch, but I find hockey of all other sports to be well- edited. There’s no endless stop and start – it MOVES. It’s all you can do to keep watch on the puck. It almost hurts the eyes. And I don’t think it’s right but I LIKE the fights. I’m human and as one, I get mad. While I’d hopefully never act out violently – I do imagine it – and I did get some satisfaction when I saw the guys let it out on the ice. It’s safe. Contained. The penalties are clear, and at least in the game I saw, no one is seriously injured. Its just steam eking out of the earth, but cooled so we can take it, or the violence constrained in a poem that calls out human nature and underlines both its light and dark aspects. I’m grateful for all these expressions of the alive.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Three Things: The Constellation Orion, Mietz Cellars & “Everything You Know About Love and Sex Is Wrong” by Pepper Schwartz
In San Francisco, its unusual to get the chance to star gaze. There is the light pollution, and then the oh-so-romantic, aka frickin’-cold fog that hides the sky. Over the holiday break while visiting my folks in Cambria, CA, after family had all wandered off to bed, I spent some time with my old pal Orion. It’s the only constellation I can, without any hesitation, make out. I remember vividly my first visit to the planetarium. There, an illustration of the classical figure was superimposed on the domed ceiling’s facsimile of stars. He was easy to spot after that – I’d just look for the three points of his belt, then the triangle of his shoulders and head, and out he’d pop as if he’d stepped forward from a mythological line up.
From my parent’s hot tub, the surf below sounds vast enough, as the breakers succumb to the shore. But above me, when not obscured by fog, the immensity of –GULP— the heavens, offers an infinite quiet with no rival. What I mean is, this large silence of the night sky, silences me. I’m rendered humble, small, thankfully insignificant, but paradoxically part of the beauty that is everything. And also puzzling, I am both simultaneously responsible and of no consequence. I’m light. It’s great.
Or at least, that’s what I make of it all in hindsight, in/secure in the world of deadlines, bills, and social concerns. Of course, this isn’t all thought-out from the hot tub. When gazing at Orion and all that surrounds him – I just am – and nothing matters more than anything else– because everything just is. So quiet. So clear.
Then there is the vastness of the micro, or in the case of last weekend – the microbe. Something very critical to the making of wine. (Also, known to produce states of calm.) A small group of us spent a boisterous and cheerful day and a half sampling wines in Sonoma county. All told, I believe we hit a dozen different establishments. The names I remember: Prescott, Mill Creek, Vinasa, J; then there was the place with the persimmon tree, the place with the flocking on the still-up x-mas trees, the place with the wine bottles in miniature coffins, and the place named after the rock-paper-scissors game with the horde of plastic snowmen out the back door, all smiling manically post-holiday… I have a sneaking suspicion that after about 3 wineries one can’t really taste anything, least of all be expected to remember the names of each place. What was with those snowmen?
As wine tasters go, I don’t think I’m very good. I can pull off a colorful description of the subtleties present in a sip or a swill, but truth be told I’m not endlessly fascinated by it the way I might be a vista, or a collection of art work, or a garden. This doesn’t stop me from drinking wine, tho’. It could be, I just need more study.
Its also true, I have a snobbish aversion to anything “touristy.” Or as my grandmother would have phrased it - tacky. “Had, I known getting old was going to be this tacky, I might not have done it.” she said not long before she passed away. There is something about the golf shirts, the glazed knick-knacks, the what-wine-goes-with-what-cheese books (as if figuring it out for one’s self wasn’t FAR more fun) that just turns me off. Yes it is a celebrated ritual that I enjoy –and yes the wines can be extraordinary – but it shouldn’t feel like one is at Disneyland, or some pseudo-up-scale-ultra-chic version of said amusement park.
What a treat then, when my cousins Nancy & Keith Meitz took the time to give our posse a tour of their winery. http://www.mietzcellars.com/index.html. Located on Limerick Lane in the Russian River Valley just south of Healdsburg, CA, is the unassuming ivy- covered structure built by the Sandini family back in the days of Prohibition. The story goes that when Keith, a fire-fighter-artist left Oakland in the 70’s with a notion he could make wine, his elder Italian neighbors placed bets on how long he would last as a farmer. After observing his back-breaking labor for some months, they began to give him tips here and there, so he wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel. Because of the Mietz’s good nature and perseverance, the patriarch of the Sandinis eventually helped them into the winery’s current home. And lotsa bottles later, not to mention some awards (!), there they are today.
The bias of a familial relationship with this winery aside, the morning with Nancy & Keith was genuine and lovely. Everyone felt their warmth - even though it was 49 degrees in there! There was no schwag – just barrels both steel and oak, and lots of boxes full wine. We felt lucky to hear their perspectives as they’d watched the region transform over thirty years: the hardware store gave way to boutiques with $500 shoes, not the same place where they’d seen a knife fight in the square so many years before.
More than anything, it was wonderful to visit with friends who had built a life from the land with an unrelenting perseverance to hone their craft. Light hearted and generous, they dispelled any thoughts about it being a romantic or glamorous lifestyle –but clearly they demonstrated that it was a good one. Like anything, it had been hard work, and not without sacrifices. But above all, the wine was outstanding. Taste it! Its available online at the link above.
We could all use a dose of this formula – dogged perseverance and the desire to make something – our lives, our art, our meals, our political systems - authentic and with an eye towards excellence. This sentiment, is reflected in a book I picked up for $1.00, “Everything you know about Love and Sex is Wrong” by Dr. Pepper Schwartz. Who could pass up a title like that?
I LOVE this woman! A sociologist by training, she presents case study after case study debunking popular myths I didn’t necessarily believe in my twenties, but somehow-er-other, got convinced of by my thirties. Chapters include: “Myth: Your lover should be your best friend; Myth: You will know when you have met ‘the one’; Myth: Pick only someone you are madly in love with; Myth: Never have sex on the first date; Myth: When you want to get serious, date only people with marriage potential; Myth: Men are simply not monogamous by nature, Women are;” and my personal favorite – because I’ve often suspected as much: “Myth: Even if sex isn’t fantastic in the beginning, it can be fixed.” Not likely –according to the evidence.
Thank you Dr. Schwartz for offering ‘a fresh look at some of our sacred cows’– and TAKE THAT – you “Rules” women, and the “Men are from Mars”, followers. I’m not saying that everything she theorizes about is the right thing for everyone or even that the Rules/ Mars-Venus stuff is 100% bulls@*t – but I think if we’re to evolve at all, in our relationships, adherence to a fixed perspective of any kind isn’t gonna help. Like the stars and a good glass of wine – everything is dynamic. By watching and noting these curious alchemies, life just gets better.
From my parent’s hot tub, the surf below sounds vast enough, as the breakers succumb to the shore. But above me, when not obscured by fog, the immensity of –GULP— the heavens, offers an infinite quiet with no rival. What I mean is, this large silence of the night sky, silences me. I’m rendered humble, small, thankfully insignificant, but paradoxically part of the beauty that is everything. And also puzzling, I am both simultaneously responsible and of no consequence. I’m light. It’s great.
Or at least, that’s what I make of it all in hindsight, in/secure in the world of deadlines, bills, and social concerns. Of course, this isn’t all thought-out from the hot tub. When gazing at Orion and all that surrounds him – I just am – and nothing matters more than anything else– because everything just is. So quiet. So clear.
Then there is the vastness of the micro, or in the case of last weekend – the microbe. Something very critical to the making of wine. (Also, known to produce states of calm.) A small group of us spent a boisterous and cheerful day and a half sampling wines in Sonoma county. All told, I believe we hit a dozen different establishments. The names I remember: Prescott, Mill Creek, Vinasa, J; then there was the place with the persimmon tree, the place with the flocking on the still-up x-mas trees, the place with the wine bottles in miniature coffins, and the place named after the rock-paper-scissors game with the horde of plastic snowmen out the back door, all smiling manically post-holiday… I have a sneaking suspicion that after about 3 wineries one can’t really taste anything, least of all be expected to remember the names of each place. What was with those snowmen?
As wine tasters go, I don’t think I’m very good. I can pull off a colorful description of the subtleties present in a sip or a swill, but truth be told I’m not endlessly fascinated by it the way I might be a vista, or a collection of art work, or a garden. This doesn’t stop me from drinking wine, tho’. It could be, I just need more study.
Its also true, I have a snobbish aversion to anything “touristy.” Or as my grandmother would have phrased it - tacky. “Had, I known getting old was going to be this tacky, I might not have done it.” she said not long before she passed away. There is something about the golf shirts, the glazed knick-knacks, the what-wine-goes-with-what-cheese books (as if figuring it out for one’s self wasn’t FAR more fun) that just turns me off. Yes it is a celebrated ritual that I enjoy –and yes the wines can be extraordinary – but it shouldn’t feel like one is at Disneyland, or some pseudo-up-scale-ultra-chic version of said amusement park.
What a treat then, when my cousins Nancy & Keith Meitz took the time to give our posse a tour of their winery. http://www.mietzcellars.com/index.html. Located on Limerick Lane in the Russian River Valley just south of Healdsburg, CA, is the unassuming ivy- covered structure built by the Sandini family back in the days of Prohibition. The story goes that when Keith, a fire-fighter-artist left Oakland in the 70’s with a notion he could make wine, his elder Italian neighbors placed bets on how long he would last as a farmer. After observing his back-breaking labor for some months, they began to give him tips here and there, so he wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel. Because of the Mietz’s good nature and perseverance, the patriarch of the Sandinis eventually helped them into the winery’s current home. And lotsa bottles later, not to mention some awards (!), there they are today.
The bias of a familial relationship with this winery aside, the morning with Nancy & Keith was genuine and lovely. Everyone felt their warmth - even though it was 49 degrees in there! There was no schwag – just barrels both steel and oak, and lots of boxes full wine. We felt lucky to hear their perspectives as they’d watched the region transform over thirty years: the hardware store gave way to boutiques with $500 shoes, not the same place where they’d seen a knife fight in the square so many years before.
More than anything, it was wonderful to visit with friends who had built a life from the land with an unrelenting perseverance to hone their craft. Light hearted and generous, they dispelled any thoughts about it being a romantic or glamorous lifestyle –but clearly they demonstrated that it was a good one. Like anything, it had been hard work, and not without sacrifices. But above all, the wine was outstanding. Taste it! Its available online at the link above.
We could all use a dose of this formula – dogged perseverance and the desire to make something – our lives, our art, our meals, our political systems - authentic and with an eye towards excellence. This sentiment, is reflected in a book I picked up for $1.00, “Everything you know about Love and Sex is Wrong” by Dr. Pepper Schwartz. Who could pass up a title like that?
I LOVE this woman! A sociologist by training, she presents case study after case study debunking popular myths I didn’t necessarily believe in my twenties, but somehow-er-other, got convinced of by my thirties. Chapters include: “Myth: Your lover should be your best friend; Myth: You will know when you have met ‘the one’; Myth: Pick only someone you are madly in love with; Myth: Never have sex on the first date; Myth: When you want to get serious, date only people with marriage potential; Myth: Men are simply not monogamous by nature, Women are;” and my personal favorite – because I’ve often suspected as much: “Myth: Even if sex isn’t fantastic in the beginning, it can be fixed.” Not likely –according to the evidence.
Thank you Dr. Schwartz for offering ‘a fresh look at some of our sacred cows’– and TAKE THAT – you “Rules” women, and the “Men are from Mars”, followers. I’m not saying that everything she theorizes about is the right thing for everyone or even that the Rules/ Mars-Venus stuff is 100% bulls@*t – but I think if we’re to evolve at all, in our relationships, adherence to a fixed perspective of any kind isn’t gonna help. Like the stars and a good glass of wine – everything is dynamic. By watching and noting these curious alchemies, life just gets better.
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