Alexandersmap

    Category: seasons

    • Between There’s

      When we travel frequently, our sense of place is slightly askew. At the moment, fresh off a trip out west, I’m trying hard to immerse myself in the glorious spring days of home while focusing more and more attention to another big trip to come soon. It’s akin to waves rolling onto the beach: each worth of consideration on their own merit, each pulling at our feet as they recede away from us on their return to the sea. If we are to be present between there and there, we must naturally be here. Easier said than done sometimes.

      No matter how busy I feel myself to be, I stop and smell the roses. Alas, it’s not the season for roses just yet in New Hampshire, so I delight in the daffodils and purple hyacinth. My daughter used that expression when we were together on Sunday smelling roses in Los Angeles, and I thought of her as I stepped outside to smell the daffodils and hyacinth on a sunny Tuesday morning back at home. The expression fit both moments; locking in a memory of each place.

      One of the gifts to ourselves in gardening is to plant perennials that come back year-after-year. I planted those daffodils and hyacinth years ago, when the kids were home and life felt very different. Each spring I spend a few moments with each, a reunion of sorts, before moving on to the obligations of the day. Nothing is more “here” than a flower in bloom. They are forever grounded, often long after we ourselves move on to other things. We could learn a few things from them, I suppose, about the essential nature of here, and we scurry between there’s.

    • A Visit to the Getty Center’s Gardens

      “Always changing, never twice the same,” — Robert Irwin

      A day at the Getty must include a visit to the extensive collections exhibited in the museum buildings. Included in the collection are famous works like Vincent van Gogh’s “Irises” and Rembrandt’s self-portrait “Rembrandt Laughing“, along with significant works by Cézanne, Monet, Claudel and many more. One needs a full day at the Getty to see everything, and even then you feel compelled to return again as soon as possible.

      The gardens at the Getty Center are equally impressive and a must-see destination of their own. Robert Irwin’s Central Garden is a marvel in any season, and as with any magnificent garden, he practically demands that you see it in every season. In all honesty, I’d been wanting to see the museum for some time, but it was the gardens that really called to me. They don’t disappoint.

      Robert Irwin’s Central Garden is the star, with a stunning water feature, iron rod tree sculptures with bougainvillea rising through them, and an ever-changing flower-lined meandering path that leads you down to a central pond. It’s simply a must-see. Not to be undone, the Cactus Garden reaches out towards Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean in a dramatic balcony seen from different levels. Other gardens fill the Getty as well: sculpture gardens, fountains and large rock gardens make wandering outside the museum as desirable as your time spent indoors.

      For me personally, it was time with my daughter in a magical place. She shares my love of art and the artistic process, and is pursuing her own dream to have a creative, expressive career. To share the Getty experience with her made the moment. For we too are always changing and never the same twice. And isn’t that also quite beautiful?

    • Still to Be Ours

      Last night
      the rain
      spoke to me
      slowly, saying,
      what joy
      to come falling
      out of the brisk cloud,
      to be happy again
      in a new way
      on the earth!
      That’s what it said
      as it dropped,
      smelling of iron,
      and vanished
      like a dream of the ocean
      into the branches
      and the grass below.
      Then it was over.
      The sky cleared.
      I was standing
      under a tree.
      The tree was a tree
      with happy leaves,
      and I was myself,
      and there were stars in the sky
      that were also themselves
      at the moment
      at which moment
      my right hand
      was holding my left hand
      which was holding the tree
      which was filled with stars
      and the soft rain –
      imagine! imagine!
      the long and wondrous journeys
      still to be ours.
      — Mary Oliver, Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

      It seems to rain all the time now. Is that a function of climate change or spring in New England? If winter was a forever mud season, what are we to make of the regularly-scheduled mud season? Control what we can, let go of what we cannot, and celebrate the moments rain or shine; that’s what. The silver lining was that the rain that greeted me this morning inspired me to seek out an old friend.

      It’s been a while since Mary Oliver graced the blog, and honestly, I felt the void. If our quest is greater awareness of the moment we’re in, the whisper of a poet in our ear is as good a place to start as any. But then you read a poem like this one, with a look ahead to what’s still to be ours, and it’s easier to see the way. A great poet looks at who we are becoming as much as who we are. Poetry is life, after all.

      I’m not much for resolutions, but I love a great routine. Each day should include a bit of self-maintenance, a bit of movement, some honest effort applied to work that matters to us, a conversation with someone as deeply invested in us as we are in them, the pursuit of deeper knowledge and experience, and yes, a wee bit of poetry and song to complete the soundtrack. That to me is a successful day, and if we may string together enough of them in a row, one heck of a life.

      If I dwell too often in what’s to come, it’s merely a sense of hope and purpose betraying my intentions. Our present is built from the momentum of the past carrying us to this place, where we linger for a beat to feel the rain on our face before we turn again to what’s next. Our lives are forever lived with an eye on the path ahead, lest we stumble. To imagine what’s possible for ourselves and have the boldness to step towards it. This is the momentum for our tomorrow, greeting us today.

    • The Gift of a Lifetime

      “Just living is not enough,” said the butterfly, “one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.” ― Hans Christian Anderson

      Spring for me begins when the crocuses bloom. Well, they’ve bloomed and continue to dance in the crisp air even as the season tries to figure out who it wants to be. As usually happens in March, we had a taste of spring weather in New England before things got chilly again. This is normal, though winter was anything but normal. The climate has changed, we all feel it, and perhaps we’ll act upon it one day too late.

      I was texting with a business associate yesterday, responding to his complaints about product and service and the miserable state of affairs that is the world we live in. I politely steered him to the bright side of the road, which he found unsatisfying. There is no room for joie de vivre in his life. He’s been this way since his son passed away years ago, leaving him forever hollowed out. Who am I to tell him there’s a bright side to anything? All we can do is show that life may still be beautiful even with shadows.

      The question of a lifetime is always what to do with it. We may roam like a caribou, straying far from home through places fraught with danger. We may root ourselves firmly in place, like a mighty oak that keeps the young saplings from getting ahead of themselves in their rush to find their own light. Life is never perfect and sometimes it’s downright unfair, but we yet exist for more than to be a placeholder for carbon.

      The art of living well is to savor our experiences while we’re dancing with them. Tomorrow may bring a cold front to our doorstep, but today the sun is shining and we would be ungrateful to let it slip away uncelebrated. Each moment has it’s time, and so to do we. To elevate our experiences with our awareness is the ultimate gift we may give to ourselves. It’s the gift of a lifetime, isn’t it?

    • On the Tail End

      I was thinking about my adult children through the lens of Tim Urban’s famous blog post, The Tail End. It reminded me that I’m on the flip side of his statement about his parents. Now I’m the parent with kids that live away from home. In many ways I’m on the tail end of my relationship with them (having already spent 90% of the time I’ll have with them in our lifetimes together). Nothing focuses the mind on the most important things in life than realizing you’re in the waning moments of any one of those important things. Sure, we may have another 40 years or more together, or we may have run our course already, we’re never really sure are we? So embrace it, and them, when you’re together.

      That got me thinking about some close friends. A couple of them will be sailing away again later this year for an extended adventure to faraway places. Sure, we’ll visit them in a few of those places, but it’s not like we’ll be seeing them every weekend then. Another couple of friends hike every weekend and invite me to tag along, which I rarely do nowadays. This has led to an absence similar to if they’d sailed away like those other friends. Life calls us where it will and perhaps we’ll see them again one day, but that tail end seems apparent.

      When you build a career in one industry, you build a network of people whom you come to rely on to always have your back, to always be present. Change industries and see how quickly those relationships disappear. It’s a lot like college or growing up in a certain neighborhood. Most relationships are built on convenience. Few survive the removal of that convenience of proximity when it’s gone. Sure, there may be a Christmas card every year, or a social media “like” as we keep track each other, but are these the same?

      The point of all this, as Urban himself suggested, is to be fully present in those moments together, for we never really know how many we’ll have. To be aware is the greatest gift we can give to those we care about, whether we’re at the start of something beautiful or in the waning moments of our time together. Put the phone down. Listen and speak with the perspective of having heard. Be here, now. For it’s all we really have together.

    • A Walk on Plum Island Beach

      There are different ways to walk a beach. Some walks are meditative, some are merely workouts, and some are clearly meant for people-watching. The reasons why we walk lead us eventually to where and when. Each beach offers a new lens through which we may see the world and ourselves.

      My bride is a beach bunny at heart, and it turns out our pup is too. We’ve been taking her to a local New Hampshire beach for long walks and she’s grown more courageous with each bold step. She’s no water dog and won’t plunge in like our Labrador retriever would, but she’ll delightfully chase waves and bite at the sea foam. Her joy is ours, and walks on the beach have become a more frequent way of getting her away from the permanent mud season of never-winter-as-it-once-was that is our new reality.

      If Hampton Beach is a long, flat walk on firm sand, Plum Island Beach offers an experience more like Cape Cod National Seashore: soft dune sand plunging steeply in places to the ocean breakers. The dunes aren’t nearly as tall as Cape Cod, but the walk can be just as wonderful. On one end is the turbulent mouth of the Merrimack River, on the other are the dunes and swirling sandbars of Plum Island State Park reaching out into Ipswich Bay. In between are rows of homes ranging from beach shacks to McMansion: beach edition luxury homes. As with everywhere exclusive, money determines the future state of the real estate here. But Mother Nature has a say too.

      Plum Island is not an easy place to walk nor an easy place to live compared to other beaches in the area. Just as wealthy homeowners in the Hamptons on Long Island struggle with beach erosion and the fickle protectiveness of sand dunes, the people who dare to build homes on Plum Island face the same challenges. One day you’re living in paradise, the next you’re living through a nightmare of storm surge and wave action. It’s an audacious act to live in such places, emphasized with insurance rates that discourage the casual investor. It takes disposable income to have such homes in such places as this.

      Plum Island State Park prohibits dogs, so a walk to the end with the pup was out of the question, but there was plenty of beach available for our power trio. Walking towards the Merrimack River, we met a couple walking three dogs of their own. As soon as they said their dog’s name I knew it was a locally-famous author but kept it to myself. We all seek out the beach for our own reasons, and often it’s to get away from who we are further inland. We had a small reunion on the return and went our separate ways.

      Every beach has its own story to tell, just as each beach walker does. I wonder sometimes why we aren’t walking more beaches, and promised myself to add beaches to the collection of mountain summits, waterfalls and historic sites I’m collecting on my life experience list. The time bucket for such activity is now, isn’t it? We must venture out while we’re blessed with good health and a desire to do something with it. Perhaps we’ll see you out there too?

    • Keeping the Old at Bay

      And I knew all of my life
      That someday it would end
      Get up and go outside
      Don’t let the old man in
      Many moons I have lived
      My body’s weathered and worn
      Ask yourself how would you be
      If you didn’t know the day you were born
      Try to love on your wife
      And stay close to your friends
      Toast each sundown with wine
      Don’t let the old man in
      — Toby Keith, Don’t Let the Old Man In

      I haven’t been a skating exhibition in years. Why would I? I didn’t know any active figure skaters, or at least I didn’t know I knew any active figure skaters. It turns out I did know one, and so we went to watch her skate last night. What I saw was women and men of all ages skating in synchronized acts of skill and grace. No Olympic-style jumps at this event, just large groups of people gliding across the ice not hitting each other. I was likely the person in the arena with the least knowledge of the sport and found it enjoyably unique. It turns out you don’t have to travel to faraway places to place yourself in an environment foreign to you—just step into someone else’s world for a few hours.

      We’re all getting older, friend. Given that reality, we must keep the old at bay. Do things that challenge the mind and body and spirit. Stretch in new directions while we’re limber enough to reach without injuring ourselves. Take Thoreau’s advice and rise free from care before the dawn and seek adventure. We aren’t getting any younger than this. Toby Keith, whispers his lyrics from the grave: Someday it will end. Memento mori. So don’t let the old man in.

      You can laugh when your dreams
      Fall apart at the seams
      And life gets more exciting
      With each passing day
      And love is either in your heart
      Or on it’s way
      — Frank Sinatra (Carolyn Leigh/Johnny Richards), Young at Heart

      They say that people who retire early age quicker than those who work well into their senior years. I say it’s not about the work, it’s about having a reason to get out of bed in the morning. What stirs the imagination? We ought to be leaping out of bed to go do that. Stack new experiences one atop the other and see where it takes us. Get off the phone, step away from the computer screen and dance with the world.

      Sure, we all have obligations and responsibilities. We have deadlines and commitments. Just now I got a notification to check in for a business flight. The work seemingly never stops, but if we aren’t careful we won’t notice our best years have slipped away without doing those things we most want to do. Watching those people skate around on the ice, some of them old enough to be the grandparents of some skaters who preceded them, was a great reminder to get up and get out there. Carpe diem.

    • Processing Time

      “Wash the dishes relaxingly, as though each bowl is an object of contemplation. Consider each bowl as sacred. Follow your breath to prevent your mind from straying. Do not try to hurry to get the job over with. Consider washing the dishes the most important thing in life. Washing the dishes is meditation. If you cannot wash the dishes in mindfulness, neither can you meditate while sitting in silence.” — Thich Nhat Hanh, The Miracle of Mindfulness: A Manual on Meditation

      The writing of the blog post started late this morning, with fresh snow to clear from the driveway a priority, and a relatively subdued morning to follow. The words will come, as they always do, and they’re often better for having changed up the routine. I know I was the better for having done a small bit of exercise in the cold air with a pink and orange kaleidoscope of dancing clouds greeting me through the bare trees.

      The driveway and I have an understanding. If the snow is heavy and wet and more than two inches, I use the snowblower. If light and fluffy and less than four inches, I alway shovel. All other conditions fall somewhere in between, but I default to the shovel when it’s a reasonable ask of myself. I do this because so little in our lives is analog or manual anymore. We’ve got engines and batteries and computers for everything nowadays. These things do the work for us, but rob us of time to process anything in our minds. How many drive to the gym to walk on a treadmill, watching the screen in front of them take them to another place? How does that stir the imagination? I have a friend who walks through the woods to work every day and consider him the luckiest commuter I know.

      We must design a lifestyle that allows us to contemplate things, and to dream and discover things about the world and ourselves. There must be time in our daily lives for us to reflect on the world and our place in it, or we will remain nothing but distracted souls like all the rest. That’s not us, friend. Carve out and protect that processing time. As a bonus, we’ll be greeted with a job well done and a wee bit more clarity.

    • Stars and Snowflakes and Would-Be Poets

      Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
      That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
      But on earth indifference is the least
      We have to dread from man or beast.

      How should we like it were stars to burn
      With a passion for us we could not return?
      If equal affection cannot be,
      Let the more loving one be me.

      Admirer as I think I am
      Of stars that do not give a damn,
      I cannot, now I see them, say
      I missed one terribly all day.

      Were all stars to disappear or die,
      I should learn to look at an empty sky
      And feel its total dark sublime,
      Though this might take me a little time.
      — W. H. Auden, The More Loving One

      The indifference of the universe to our lives offers lessons. It’s seen characters like us before and will again. Sure, like snowflakes there may never be another just like us in all of time, but how many snowflakes stand out? I cast them aside by the shovelful. Yet every now and then one shows up that delights. The first and last of a season, surely, but also that rare character who sticks to a cold windshield at just the right moment to make a lasting impression. Blogging isn’t so very much different than the life of that one snowflake, is it? So it goes.

      I don’t write all that much poetry, but I aspire to write like a poet. My writing isn’t so different from Thoreau’s, in that I ramble on for a spell before getting to the point. With Thoreau we can forgive the technique as he casts insights about like grass seed in his best work. My own technique is to keep my blog posts to a few paragraphs lest I lose you forever.

      The last two nights I’ve been up late, crossing the midnight hour with a walk outside to give the pup some relief before bedtime. The ritual is always the same: flip on the spotlight, look for skunks or other critters that would ruin a perfectly good bedtime ritual, then walk out into the starry dome to let the pup do her business. My own business at such a time is simply to wonder at the stars as Auden did in his day.

      What will come of all this? There’s no doubt that the would-be poet is the more loving one in their time, aware of so very much in an indifferent universe. To be more than a snowflake on the windshield of time is too bold an aspiration. Isn’t it simply enough to be aware and celebrate the miracle of reaching one more night? Words may live on or simply melt away, but they’ve been released to dance with the universe nonetheless.

    • A Moment with Eugene’s Birds

      Nay, I will; that’s flat:
      He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
      Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 555
      But I will find him when he lies asleep,
      And in his ear I’ll holla ‘Mortimer!’
      Nay,
      I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak
      Nothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him 560
      To keep his anger still in motion.
      — William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part 1

      In 1890, a man named Eugene Schieffelin brought European starlings to the United States. According to The New York Times, his motive apparently was to have all the bird species mentioned by William Shakespeare in America. So I have Eugene and a single name drop by Shakespeare in Henry IV to thank for the mess that starlings leave in their wake when they come to the bird feeders in my backyard. We ought to be more careful introducing invasive species to places where they never existed, but when has common sense ever directed anything that humans do?

      You learn a lot about the local bird population when you put the right variety of food out for them. I lived in my home for almost twenty years before I saw bluebirds visit the feeders, largely inspired by putting food they’d actually eat in the feeders. From that point on I’ve had an abundance of bluebirds. The starlings were never invited to the party, but they’re masters at crashing it anyway. Perhaps that’s why they call them invasive.

      This winter I brought the feeders back close the house, that we may enjoy the view of wild birds just outside the window. I forget sometimes the mess that comes with feeders in the form of bird droppings and seed shells, but it’s the uninvited guests like starlings, squirrels and rodents that make me question my sanity. But the birds are worth it. Even the squirrels are entertaining, and I give them just enough of a head start before I let the dog out that they stand a chance of escaping (there are some messes I don’t want to deal with).

      Winter isn’t what it once was, but we do have snow again. The bird feeders become very popular when the ground is coated in snow. The buffet is open for business, and as the movie line goes, build it and they will come. And really, that’s the point. When I go into the kitchen for a cup of coffee or tea, I look out in the yard and see life. Life in turns inspires me to be more lively myself, and the work benefits from my time with the birds. I suppose that’s worth a bit of mess from a couple of uninvited guests.