Blackberries and Forgiveness

Here is a Study of Blackberries, by the wonderful Jonathan Koch. Today, the heat broke--came down from 105 to 85--and while it did not rain here, there was distant thunder, and the sky was dark in the south, so it probably rained somewhere. I bought a birdbath at the arts fair for the poor, hot birds, watered things in the shade, and I think we'll all be fine.

Church made me happy, full of peace, thanks to the topic of "The Sacred Self," or realizing one's "sacred potential." Oddly enough, this tied in with a novel I just read, The Art of Fielding, and three time-loop films my husband and I watched over the last three days, exploring the paradox of freewill and destiny. In all of these works of art, people do or don't realize their [sacred] potential, and I can study them to try to figure out how, or why, or why not.

I was a bit surprised to encounter the phrase "television shows" in Matthew 6:1-6, but I suppose this is one of those modern translations. Anyhoo, I still got the message that when I do good or give to charity, I should not do it publicly or to get admiration; instead, "don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing." Ah, I seldom know what my other hand is doing, so I'm OK, I think! Likewise, re: translation, I still hear "pray in your closet" when Matthew advises me to "go into your room and shut the door, and pray to the sacred one who resides in mystery..." and I see that, at this very moment, the closet door is ajar, so what the heck does that mean? Ah, I should not have announced the birdbath--a charitable act toward the birds!?--but it made me so darn happy. It's beautiful, and I bought something from an artist, which is the way I practice what I preach.

Oh, forgive me. Also, the new issue of Hobble Creek Review is up here. I have not had a chance to peruse it yet, but I will! I am glad to be in it, and glad of the fine company. Here is my poem, "Forgiveness in Lafayette."

Danger, Will Robinson

There's an "excessive heat warning" out there, so I am not...out there. I was, though, earlier! To see Sarah's Garden at the David Davis Mansion, a local historic site, with information provided by local master gardeners. When I got there, though, a perfectly reasonable handwritten sign said that no master gardeners would be on hand, due to the excessive heat.

I was free to wander the grounds alone, the sign indicated, and the gate was open. But a master gardener appeared! Thank you, Kay! And we looked at what was blooming, stood in the shade that existed, and then sat in the shade of some trees to look at a book of photos of the gardens, laid out as Sarah Davis (a contemporary of Abraham Lincoln) had arranged them, and containing original and heirloom plants: many perennials, some annuals. The gardeners who maintain Sarah's Garden harvest seeds or take cuttings--say, of scarlet geraniums--just like little old me. Or Emily Dickinson!

In Sarah's Garden, as in mine, the balsam* is compromised this year, due to the excessive heat and lack of rain. It has begun to bloom but is shorter and sparser than last year. I am hoping it will recover by next year.

Meanwhile, the crops are also suffering, and so are the people--for instance, those at the Sugar Creek Arts Festival, which I will put off visiting until tomorrow, on the strength of a hint that it might be a weensy bit cooler tomorrow.

At the moment it is 101, but it feels like 110 in the shade (also a musical, based on the play, The Rainmaker). And I was surprised to learn--from Wikipedia, of course--that "Danger, Will Robinson" was actually uttered only once during the television series Lost in Space, because I have uttered it numerous times since, and so have many others, including celebrities and characters in films.

*aka touch-me-not (as the seedpods will explode!)

("Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!")

Holy moly! Dick Tufeld, the actor who played the Robot in Lost in Space, died earlier this year! RIP, Robot.

Thistles

Last night, as we sat in the dusky glow before the sun sets, watching the first fireflies, instead of fireworks, appear, I mentioned that, due to the recent visit by goldfinches to the catmint, I was thinking of letting thistle go ahead and bloom instead of digging it up as usual, as goldfinches love thistle seed, too.

"It's illegal to grow thistle in Illinois," said my dad. "Thistle is strong enough to break a combine."

So, early this morning, still in my swimsuit from lap swimming, as I let the hose soak the flowerbeds in the shade, I dug up the thistles about to bloom, and the little ones along my side of the fence, the ones I could budge with a pitchfork and uproot.

Then it occurred to me to doublecheck the law. Indeed, a certain kind of thistle, Canada thistle, is illegal in Illinois. So is purple loosestrife, a beautiful but invasive plant that made its way into one of my poems, along with the legal wildflower yellow loosestrife. (Pretty much any and everything makes its way into my poems. And, hey, thistles made their way into the work of Robert Burns and Edna St. Vincent Millay, too!)

The thistles in my own back yard were about to bloom yellow, not lavender, as pictured here, in the beautiful photo by Richard Bartz. So, alas, I may have removed a perfectly innocuous, legal thistle, but they are prickly and could easily do harm to my husband's ankles, if not the lawnmower. Anyhoo, they are gone, and in the bin awaiting compost/yard waste pickup by our lovely town, which now also picks up recycling at the curb. Wooee!

And here is the globe thistle, also called Russian thistle in this area, that grows in the ditches beside the cornfields. Russian thistle made its way into one of my first short stories. I used to ride my bike out to the Russian thistles gone to seed, spray them with hairspray to fix them, and bring them home for use in dried flower arrangements--for home use or the county 4-H fair. Mabel, married to the farmer next door, told me how to do this. Mabel is buried up the road in Hudson, Illinois, and I will never forget her--her warmth, her jet black hair.

Who knew today would bring Mabel back to me so dearly?

America, America

Happy 4th of July!

It's a day to ponder our American identity and be glad of our independence but also, for me, to take a good hard look at our behavior and responsibility as a member of the world community, too. Starting with how we treat each other as American citizens and residents of this wonderful country.

So I'm going to keep thinking about all that while I gather with family in some "traditional" American ways--cookout, game playing, maybe a flea market, maybe not, because it's so hot, and maybe no fireworks, also because of the heat. The fires in the West make me not want to participate in "recreational fires," as our town put it, that might lead to dangerous situations. The cookout will be monitored and self-contained, and no doubt the town fireworks, if they have them, will be extra-supervised, but still....

Meanwhile, a new poetry feature is up today at Escape Into Life! It has the work of Bethany Reid, of the American Northwest, a hotbed of poetry, along with rich, provocative collage art by Dave Barnes, starting with a Wild West theme and ending with what I like to call the "Once upon a time bear."

Bethany's first poem, "America, America," helps us look back at 9/11, contemplate issues of gun control, and consider the state of American education, all at once! She encourages us to look at things in a context, and to have compassion for one another, even if we don't absolutely agree. Sigh...  I wish we did more of that.

Many thanks to EIL, Reid, and Barnes for this meditative morning. I close with another image by Dave Barnes that I fondly call the "I miss you wolf." Faced with my technology challenge, I was not able to crop it successfully enough to use in the EIL feature (see how it has a little of the jump-roping girl's understory?), so I offer my imperfection and his marvelous image here.

Menacing Hedge

I'm so honored and glad to be in the new issue of Menacing Hedge, an amazing online magazine with cool content and wonderfully disturbing cover images. This summer issue has a scary-looking Ferris wheel scene that totally twists my memories of the county 4-H fair.

My poems in this issue are scary, too, coinciding with weather and events around here.* One contains the sentence, "It's so Shakespearean, / summer in the Midwest," and our Illinois Shakespeare Festival has just opened in the broiling heat. Likewise, "August has a torque of its own, / roiling toward a storm." I'm sure that particular weather is coming soon.

You can read/hear my poems here, and see the whole table of contents here!--where you can click on anything you like.

On the header of any page, or here, you can also click on Scary Bush, to see what poets find scary, their juvenilia or wacky drafts or attempted poems that just didn't quite work.

I hope to be brave enough someday to submit to this section, too! Even the title of this section scares me, not to mention the (hilarious) banner image.

I love Menacing Hedge and hope to read the entire contents of this summer issue tomorrow morning, probably instead of lap swimming. Alas! Today and tomorrow, I could not swim laps, nor drive a car, due to an annoying routine midlife medical procedure. A somewhat "menacing hedge," so to speak. But all is well as long as I don't operate any large machinery in the next 24 hours.

And probably I shouldn't be writing this blog.**

Thanks to Wikipedia and Steffen Heinz for the huge hedge!

*And also coinciding with nothing around here--instead, going back in history to outlaws on the Natchez Trace and, alas, briefly visiting the Holocaust and suicidal depression. Just a little warning....

**For instance, in a draft of this, I spelled "hear" as "here" and I see a lot of other "here"s here, too. Hear, hear! (Makes no sense. Hey, it's a Random Coinciday. Plus, I think computers are large machinery. I believe I am driving mine...crazy right now.)