zirconium

A couple of days ago, I went looking for photos of some of the Bikram postures, and came across a nifty guide (illustrated with colorful stick figures) produced by a NY studio.

(When I manage standing bow, it feels pretty cool. Then there's me getting water up my nose when I tried to sneak in a sip during savasana...)

I am taking a break from it today, though, because my body and brain both need a timeout -- a couple of old injuries have flared up, and I need a day where I don't have to be anywhere by x o'clock. (It's not really a day off -- I'm planning to divide 8-10 hours between lettering and copyediting -- but not having to stop to get myself ready to go somewhere else will make a difference. I'm such a housecat.)

Yesterday afternoon, I went to Rita Frizzell's memorial service. It included humor and drama and tears and quite a bit of music, including Sarah Dan Jones's "Meditation on Breathing" ("When I breathe in, I'll breathe in peace. When I breathe out, I'll breathe out love"). The humor included Dawn Thornton referring to herself as "Buddish" (referring to her sort-of practice of meditation); the drama included a theatre director reading aloud passages from Hamlet and coming up with a new collective noun ("an incandescence of Ritas") to encompass the different facets of she-who-was-called-Rita. There was chanting from the Tibetan Book of the Dead; there was a colorful portrait of an eight-limbed goddess hanging behind the pulpit. There was a reference to "Tibetan Buddhism's glass ceiling for women" (one of the situations leading Rita to Unitarian Universalism) but also glowing descriptions of the Friday night sangha she led, which will be continued by another member of FUUN.

The closing song was a group rendition of "You Are My Sunshine," a song Rita's mother had sung many times to her. We sang through it three times, twice with the words ("Please don't take my sunshine away...") and once simply humming. Afterward, at least two people said to me, "The humming, that's what got me." Music is such a physical act.

After the reception, I hopped into a friend's car and she steered it downtown toward sushi. Sarge talked about her plans to make blackberry wine; B. and I chatted about our connections to Texas. There was a lot of laughing with and at each other, including me at S. when she declared "I'm too old to be butch" (when B. declined her offer to pump gas) and both S. and B. at me when I waxed enthusiastic about fantasy tennis and horse handicapping. ("Look, I'm a nerd. Therefore I have nerd hobbies." "We're glad you know that.")

Speaking of which: Thanks to an $7K bet on Oxbow and a $10K bet on Mylute, I am currently leading the Smarty Jones Stakes (a Triple Crown predictions contest) over at TalkAboutTennis.com. My penchant for humoring my hunches seldom pays out two races in a row, however; moreover, I've noticed that it's always a longshot I don't pick that ends up second. Still, for the moment, peppermints all around! ;-)

New online: Remnant, at Escape Into Life (along with Luisa A. Igloria's "Gardenia," J. Bradley's "#safetytipsfordating - Flowers," and other pieces, illustrated with spectacular photos by Katinka Matson)

New in print: two haiga and a haiku in Lifting the Sky: Southwestern Haiga and Haiku, published by Dos Gatos Press (which is currently running a sale -- their catalog includes compilations of writing exercises and a cancer memoir.

Speaking of cancer: Rhonda Parrish is calling for SF/F fiction and poetry about cancer, for an anthology where at least 25% of the royalties will be donated to the American Cancer Society. the deadline is June 30.

Speaking of calls for submissions: Eye to the Telescope's next theme is bodies. Submissions due June 15.

The green hair continues to liven up my life -- the BYM was inordinately amused at the compliments I received a couple of nights ago from the young girls at Sweet CeCe's. The green bean plants are now between two and six inches tall, which I find oddly thrilling (it's only been a week since most of them poked through the soil).

Time to hit the easel (not literally, though some days I feel like it). Thinking loving thoughts toward y'all, even when I don't manage to send a direct note or comment.

Today, I went through some postcards I received during my last year of high school and first year of college:

( scans + comments under the cut )

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Rita Frizzell, a friend from church, died yesterday, of cancer. I was trying to describe her to another friend and eventually linked to her page at Luminous Mind, which happens to include my favorite Shaw quote. Her story about how meditation helped her help her family through the sudden death of her nephew is also striking.

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On a happier note, I went across town tonight to help my favorite almost-91-year-old celebrate his birthday a few days early. In addition to being fed champagne, meatloaf, pierogies, and strawberry cake, I got to chat with him and his family about yoga, ziplining, tornadoes ("grab the violin and the dogs!"), crazy cousins, gin-based drinks inspired by said cousins, gardening, legal citations, Delaware's legalization of same-sex marriage, sculptures made out of champagne foil and wire, and a host of other topics.

This, I do want to remember.

Since the start of the month:

five new poems completed; two accepted

three hot yoga classes attended, at a new studio in the 'hood. Conclusion: bikram, yes; vinyasa, no

one commission completed; another in progress. So, there's been a lot of measuring...



...and some warming up...



and soon there will be ink-grinding. But first, class #4...

It's been a couple of years -- maybe more -- since I last planted anything other than basil and chives in my backyard containers. This year, though, I'm giving in to impulse and optimism. At my church's herb fair, I picked up seedlings for two kinds of mint (Bowie's Apple and Kentucky Colonel), French thyme, Mexican tarragon, rosemary, and curly parsley. I've started a few pockets of beans, poppies, and tomatoes (the last very much an experiment -- the seeds are from 2006, so their viability is definitely in question). I've ordered seeds for French hollyhocks and evening primroses, and I will also be hoping for radishes, arugula, and zinnias.

But, there's a whole lot of lettering and writing to be done before I let myself buy more potting mix. In the meantime, there are things popping up that I didn't plant:

( little discoveries )

The difference between being a writer and being a person of talent is the discipline it takes to apply the seat of your pants to the seat of your chair and finish. Don't talk about doing it. Do it. Finish. - a quote from Houghton Mifflin's page about ELK

Julian Singh on "the holidays"

Another Julian Singh statement: "Chops is to magic what doing scales is to a chanteuse. Without it you cannot be a magician, with it alone you cannot be an artist."

The subject line's from Kate Barnes's "The Knife Edge," as is this:

When I woke up this morning
I found I was writing a poem in my dream
and the only line I could hold on to
was: take nothing for granted.

So I will write down that one line
and go looking for the rest;
I will take nothing for granted.

From October 2011:


Breakfast in Athens airport


Sunrise over Larnaca Bay


Larnaca at daybreak, looking out from the other side of our apartment

There are at least three recipes for salt-preserved lemons in my house. A week or so ago, I finally got around to two of them. One was a spicy Israeli riff that won't be ready until June; the other a simple Greek version with a fridge life of two months.

I fished two pieces of lemon out of the Greek jar yesterday. Mmmm.

Last summer, I went to a dinner where the appetizers included pickles from Pickle Me This, a new Nashville business. That business is moving to Brooklyn in May. Brooklyn is in for a treat.

Yesterday, Alimentum published a set of poems about great restaurants. The set includes my pieces about Sweet 16th (the icon on the DW version of this post is of their crackacino cupcake) and Novecento. Bon appetit!

Two days ago, snowflakes slowly drifted down all day. There weren't a lot of them, and they weren't sticking, but it was enough for me to rant to a friend, "It was snowing this morning here in Nashville. SNOWING. Big, fat flakes of SNOW. We are supposed to be able to plant things outside after Good Friday! This is not right!"

( But yesterday was so warm I sat outside to study )

...And there were snowflakes -- that is, Snowflake amarylli:



In other news, my poem "Schrodinger's Top Hat" has been chosen as a Goodreads finalist; voting is open to members until April 1. Wheeyay!

ETA 7:02 pm: A Geist newsletter just arrived in my in-box, with a link to David Albahari's essay on names, which includes a photograph of a snowdrop -- which is known in Serbian as a "hanging granny" (!).

I went to Cheekwood after church today. By the time I finished lunch, there were dozens of dogs lined up for a doggie-model contest...



...and some being fluffed and prepped in adjacent gardens and lots:



( more photos under the cut )

[There are a few more snapshots chez Flickr.]