Saturday, July 29, 2006

July 29, 2006

060729 Walk in Kimbrook

                Saturday, July 29, 8:26 PM  Iam out walking.  It's been raining and it briefly cooled off,but it warmed upp again and is hot, steamy and huid,ugh, and getting dark already.  A man Iam passeing gives me a disgusted look because his dog is abrking and lunging at me as if I'm doing soemthing wrong bywalking here, but HEis on the wrong side of the street and has white hair,so he's old enough to know better.  A car goes by and nearly sideswipes me and I'm walking in thedaitch and theroad is wide enough for three or for cars to pass and no one is coming.  Aiee.  And not because hecan't see me, it's notthat dark.  He's got a stick up his butt or something.

                I hear a "bell song" but itis not the samebell song, but a different one.  I can see the birdplainly at the top of a dead tree but it is toosmall and dark tomakeout what it is.

                The cicadas are going nuts  

                After nearl6y beaing sideswiped, I run way up into the wet grass everytime a car comes which is surprisingly often.

                I wish I could walk somewhere else, but am trying to save time by not driving anywhere,sincetimeseems of anessence.

                I was recalling, in the grocery store, a funny and soemwhat poignant discussion,or series ofdiscussions with Grahamthat I thoughtmight make a good piece and also goodmaterial to put in one of thestories I'm theoretically working on.

                My son,Grahamand Iwere visiting my daughterErin, and Iwas making a big fuss over my grandpuppy, Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester, was,infact, nota puppy at all, but Ilike to referto him as mygrandpuppy, since he'smydaughter's dog andit's fun to be silly with him. 

                "Oh, Mr. Rochester," I cried, in a high-pitched silly voiice, "what a good dog you ar!"  The Itold him tosit.  "Goooood Boy,!" I squealed.

                Graham was eleven at the time,and very serious.  He wanted to be takenseriously, to be treated with repsct.  So Iwas suprised when he asked me, "How comeyounever ttell me I'ma good boy?"

                "Well," I stuttered, temporarily at aloss for words, "I do.  Ialways tell youwhen youdo agood job, and whenyou makemehappy."

                "Not like that!" Graham insisted.

                "Do you want meto talk to you like that?"  I asked.

                "Yes!" he said.

                For a while, I tried to enject a littlemore enthusiasmand gaity into my praising ofhim, but when wewere away from Mr. Rochester,hesoon forgot his jealosy and was aptly pleased with moreappropriate praise.

                A short timelater, Iwas leaning against Keith and telling him inmy silly romantic voicehow much Iloved him and how sweet and cute he was.  Graham came into the room andsaid,howcomeyounever talk to me likethat?"

                "Because," Iansweree, "You'remy son and the apple of my eye, you'remy little sweetei and Dad ismy big sweetie, and there'sa difference between the two.  I love you both,but I love you indifferent ways."

                This is the smae boy who goes off to school without even sayinggoodbyemost of the time.  If Iwant a goodbye hug, I have to grab himand give it to him.  At famnily gatherings,if there are nochildren, he wants to sit in my lap andbe my baby,butif there are children, I'm no different than a pieceoffurniture.

                When he asksme to make hima milkshakeandhe runsoff with it, without a thank you, I wantto say, "How come youdon't tell me I'ma good girl?" but I don't.  Whenhe says he'll run offandlive with Aunt Sandy if I'm mean to him, Iwant to say, "How come you don'tme the way you love her?" But Idon't.

                I know that loveis enduring.    And thatwelove each person differently. That thereareups and down in our feelings,and that our attention is sometimes diverted elsewhere, but the lovecontinuesunderneath. 

                I amblessed by the fact that Graham,now 12,is suprisingly affectionate still,that he is warm,and capableof actsof great kindness and love, and I can rmemeber this,usually, whenhe seems to be ignoring me.

                IfI seem to be ignoring him, I have to remember that heis still a child,and that it is hardforhim toremember the deep enduringnature oflove, howit runslike a riverunderneath everything.  If he's feeling ignored, orsecond best, I have to tell i love him  I have tolove himthe best I caninthe waysthat Ilove him, uniquely.

                ]]]]

                It's gotten very dark,andI didnotbring a headlamp. Sharon and Frankrode by on their bikesand Iwas wishingto ride mebike, but BOTH ofmy bikes are in Michigan because I thought Iwas moving there.

                It'shot and steamy andsummery, buttheearth has tippedawayfromthe sunand deasonsarechaging. Tuesday is Midsummer Day,and it is easy to see that we're progressing rapidly toward the equinox.  Dark drak dark, so soon,so early.

                The air is full of bats and I hope they eat of some of these mosqitoes!

                9:12 Iamhome,only walked 43minutes,but I tookMom for a walk and walked at Wegman'sso I hope that's good enough.  I need to get on=line wth Keith,even though he may not beback from Gails.

                Considering I wrote the above in complete darkness, it isnot as bad as itmight havebeen.

                9;15 PN,he'snot there yet,but healmostalways signsina fewminutes late according to my clock.  So,hemay be coming,or hemay be in Jackson or somehwere inbetween.  He never said.

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Sunday, July 16, 2006

First Draft of letter to Dr. Carter

Here's the first draft of the letter to Dr. Carter on behalf of Chapel house.  I had a little misadventure with it.  I wrote it while walking on my Psion and then when I got home, I tried to download it and got the message tat the file was corrupted.  Since it had taken me most of 45 minutes to write it, I was upset.  But by putting another flash card in, I was finally able to save it.  I hope that doesn't mean that the original flashcard and all the data on it is lost.

Here's the letter.  Let me know ASAP if there is anything I should change as I would like to get it sent because I have other things to attend to:

415 Moran Road

Gross Point Farms,

MI 48236-3212

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Dear Dr. Carter,

I am writing to express our deep appreciation for Chapel House. 

My husband, Keith, and I visited Chapel House recently.  We arrived On July 10th, which was the one-month anniversary of our marriage.  Because of circumstances in our lives at this time, we have been unable to take a honeymoon and have been strenuously busy attending necessary business.

It was truly wonderful to come to Chapel House and have a spiritual place of retreat and contemplation where it was calm and quiet.  We needed to renew ourselves, body and soul.  We made wonderful and delightful use of the library, loved the artwork, immersed ourselves in the silence, and generally were healed and made whole again.

It was Keith's first visit to Chapel House.  He was a little bit nervous about how it would work out, but I talked him into it. I had been before several times, and found it to be relaxing, healing and full of growth and wisdom.  And Keith loved it, as I knew he would.

Our first afternoon there, we took a quiet contemplative walk on the trails in the nearby woods, and saw two young deer, quite close.  What a thrill.  On our second night, we observed the blossoming of the resident night-blooming Cereus.  It was an incredible treat and truly a spiritual experience symbolic of the opening of our souls to the delights of silence and solitude.  Each day brought new treats. We enjoyed the well-prepared meals and the company of other retreaters at mealtimes.  We never went into town or left the retreat except to stroll on woodland trails.  We didn't want to break the delightful silence and contemplativeness.  In the woods, we loved the berries (and Susan made us a berry pie), the wildflowers, the rocky outcroppings, the little gorges and big cliffs.  In the Library, we read wide-ranging spiritual literature and studied over-sized books of great art.  For example, I spent a long time looking at the Chinese art.

I made a few sketches of the lily that our hostess Susan (she was charming and helpful) had placed on the table, of the night blooming Cereus, and of another plant in the breezeway, wrote a few meditative journal pieces and a little story, and sat and meditated, in addition to reading and walking.  It was a wonderful relaxing three nights and four days.  We were very sad to leave and hope to return again soon (and again, and again).

We wanted to write and let you know-how happy we were to visit Chapel House and how glad we are that Chapel House exists and offers refuge and solace.  We deeply hope that it will continue.

Sincerely yours,

 

Keith Taitt and Mary Stebbins Taitt

(Enclose pix?)



--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary

Dr. Carter letter and Psion Dump

unedited version:

Tuesday, 5-30-06 6:07 PM on Sylvanna P, (Sylvia seems to have suddenly died)  Tomorrow is my 60th birthday.  Tonight we are riding in the car with ML.  We are going to meet some of Keith's cousins.  Graham and I are in the back seat and it is hot. I am dressed in my new brown striped blouse that I got with my wedding clothes.  I am wearing a brown skirt of Susan's and I think it might be wool.  I'm sweating.  Profusely.

                Ruining my nice clothes.

                When I opened Sylvanna, there was a file that I thought was labeled "GOATS," but was in fact labeled "GOALS." When I thought it was labelled Goats, I thoughtit was about my goat novel andwas excited to see what I might have writtens, and was disappointed to see goals instead.

                I wanted to immediately write what I would have liked to have read, but it makes no sense to start working on another different novel.  I needto finish some of the one I am already working on.

                I wanted to work then instead, on The Herpetologist, or After the Party.  But all my work on that is located in diverse of ther places.  Including some I don't have at all any more, since it was stolen and never came back to me.

                If I could just think of some of the puzzles that need to be worked out, I could work on those.

                One thing about novels is there is so much stuff that needs to be held in themind and it is so hard to do.  Or, you have to have a marvelous filing system. 

                One problem is to decide who knows about Alicia and what Alcia knows, if anyone.  I'm inclined to say at this point that no one knows,but that Crogan is worried and reports his worries to Tony Baloney.

                I keep thinking I need to refer back to the manuscript, but of course, the manuscaript is gone.  For example, shelly.  Is everything I wrote about Shelly gone, or not?  What about Beardsley Beardsley?  How much is in the version I do have?  I need to reread it.  Really, I can't do this until I see what I have and what I need to reinvent.

                We are nearly at Applebee's anyway.  I've been participating in the conversation, anyway. 

                Sunday, July 16, 2006, 5 PM

                I am out walking alone and using Sylvanna Psion for the first time in along time. Both Sylvia and Sylvanna have been down for a while and now at least Sylvanna is working again.  The space bar on Sylvanna and most of the Psions is very poorly designed.  I have to work very hard and be attentive to make a space between the words and it's annoying and disruptive.

                Keith left this morning so I am alonefor the first time in two weeks, and a bit sad to be alone again and stuck here at the Kimbrook house with so much work to do.

                I am going to attempt to write a letter to Dr. Carter at Chapel House to express my appreciation for it.

                The heat is making the screen dark. I stop andtake a pictureof someroasideflwoers.  I'm sweating buckets and amalready thirsty, but didnot think to bring a water botttle as I strolled through the neighborhood.  The a's don't print well either.

* * *

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Dear Dr. Carter,

My husband Keith and I are writing to express ourdeep appreciation for Chapel House.  We arrived On July 10th, whichwas theonemonth anniversary of our marriage.  Because of certain circumstances in ourlives at this time, we havebeen unable to take a honeymoon and havebeen strenuously busy attending to affairs.

It ws truly wonderful to have a spiritual placeofretreat and contemplationwhere it was calmandquietto renew ourselves,body and soul.  We made wonderful anddelightful use of the library, loved the artwork, immersed ouselves in thesilence,andgenerally were heled and made whole again.

It was Keith's first visitto Chapel House,andhe wasa little bit nervous about how it would work out,but I talked himinto it. I had been before severaltimes,and found itto be relaxing, healing and full orgrowth and wisdom.  And Keith loved it, as I knewhe would.

Ourfirst afternoon there, we took a quiet contemplative wlk on thetrils in thenearby woods, and saw two young deer, quite close.  What a thrill.  On our second night there, we observed the blossoming of the residentnight-blooming Cereus.  An incredible treat and truly aspiritualexperiencesymbolic of the opening of our souls to the delights of silenceand solitude.  Each day brought new treats. Weenjoyed the well-prepaared meals andthecompnay of other retreateers at mealtimes.  We neverwent into town orleftthe retreatexcpetto stroll on woodland trails.  We didn't want to breakthedelightful silenceand contemplativeness.

((Iamsweating so much myeyes are burning andI had to stop and wipe the sweat from my eyes with a hankie))

I made a fewsketches of the lily that our charming hostess Susan hadplaced on the table, of the nightblooming Cereus, and anotherplant in the breezeway, wrote aa fewmeditative jornal pieces and a little story, and sat andmeditated, in additionto reading and wlking.  Itwas a wonderful relaxing three nights and fourdays.  We were very sad to leave and hope to return again soon, and again,and again.

We wanted to write and let you knowhow happy wewereto comeandhow glad we are that Chapel House exists andoffers refuge and solace.  We deeply hope that it will continue.

Sincerely yours,

 

Keith Taitt and Mary Stebbins Taitt

(enclose pix?)

* * *

                I wanted to write this while Iwas walking because now that myretret is over, it'sback to the oldgrand, nose to the grindstone work work workon the house.  And I was afraid I'dnever get it written.

                I am walking pretty slowly because it's so dang hot..  The sun is blaring and Imust be getting my quota of vitamin D today! I'm so thirsty.

                "Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in thenoonday sun."  Well,it's not exactly noonday, it's 5:30 PM, but it is HOT. Amazingtomethat there are people out mowing lawns and raking and doing yardwork.  Ican barely stagger along.  But, trthbe told, there aren't manypeopleout.  It'spretty quiet and still.

                My skinis slick and shining anddripping withsweat and suddenly, I think of the air-conditioned Grosse Pointe Farms  house.and wish I were headed back there instead of to the Kimbrookhouse.  Phew.

                Everyone in a while, there's the touch of a little breeze and it feels utterly heavenly.

                Or I pass under asmall patch ofshadefroma rare tree--they seem rarerthan usual today.  Or better yet, a patchofshade and I breeze!

                But then,back into the blinding sun.

                Aguy goes by on a Harley, revving theengine with megaphone pipesand generally acting anoying,but I think of my little BMW, Raven Fire, and I think how cool it would feel to ride along and let the wind blow on my face and body.

                6:03 PM  I come in and sit down and drink two large glasses of waterandsweat profusely.  Itry to downlod this file with the letter and it won't convert.  AK!  ;-(

 

 



--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary