The Rose

I can see desire in your eyes-
For a white rose
With its unfurled petals
Gently reaching for you.

This flower's fragrance
Is a wandering agent of seduction
And its stem
Thrusts life toward you.
Your hand reaches,
Not with grace, but desperation,
As if you fear it will soon disappear.

Your fingers blindly dance around its thorns
Pulling the bloom close to you.
Suddenly ecstasy fades and disappointment rages.
The blossom is not really white, not pure,
But yellow and imperfect.
Your heart sinks. How can this be?
Fantasy is pruned by reality.

No longer do you find life in its stem,
Beauty in its petals,
Safety in its wholeness.
Your warm breath of passion
Has turned to a cold wind of death.

The rose withers and dies,
But only in your mind.


KME

What Do You Remember?

This is the last week of school. Because I teach sophomores at the junior college level, most of them have applied to four year colleges and will move on at the end of this week. Music theory is a core course for all music majors. The skills and information that I have given them will be the backbone of all of their upper level courses. As I grade final exams, panic sometimes overcomes me. Did I teach them all that they need to know? Will they remember what we did long enough to pass a placement test in another school? Did we cover the "right" pieces? Will they thank me or curse me a few years down the road? Who knows?

Sometimes I wonder for what I will be remembered. What will my students remember about me? What will my kids remember about me? What will my friends remember? There are those who want finite answers to these questions so they write their own memoirs. Though they may be interesting, are personal memoir and autobiographies really the most accurate representations of ourselves? Wouldn't it be nice if we could all leave an autobiography. Only those things we want to be remembered would be included. We would have the freedom to "edit" our stories, even fictionalize our lives. Maybe something along the lines of an historical novel.

Most of us will not leave behind a great work of art, or literature, or music. Nothing that will forever have our name on it. Maybe there will be photographs-unless you are like me and are always the one behind the camera. I am willing to bet that the photographer, in the majority of cases, is not remembered by the photos he takes. Only the subjects on the printed page are preserved.

Maybe I will live on in something I have knit - an afghan, a sweater, a stuffed animal. Although, the thrift stores are laden with such handmade items. Stacks and stacks of knitted and crocheted baby blankets. It is obvious to me that these were hand-made. As they wait to be bought for a dollar or two, another person is forgotten. The mother, or aunt, or grandmother who lovingly made these blankets no longer has a name or a face. The new owner can only wonder, at best, who stitched the work and for whom it might have been made.

Just as I believe that autobiography may lead to unauthentic memories, so can living our lives trying to force who we are and for what we will be remembered. If every moment of our life is spent trying to "make a mark" through which we will reign eternal, rather than living the life to which we are truly called, we are again met with a false picture of who we are. Why are so many of us afraid to be who we really are? Whose judgement do we fear?

As I ponder these questions for myself, I come to the realization that I would be happy if I were remembered for nothing other than being one who lived truthfully, authentically, simply - where what you see is truly what you get. Can I do this? I don't know. I guess that trying honestly may be as close as I can come.

If The Shoe Fits . . .

Details are peculiar things; and, my relationship with them goes far beyond the peculiar. Details can be defined as an individual part of an item, particulars considered individually and in relation to a whole, and as a minor or inconsequential item or aspect. People who are detail oriented, which I am sometimes and only with regard to some things, are considered anal, obsessive-compulsive, perfectionists, and all-together pains in the ass. Yep, if the shoe fits . . .

Seriously, sometimes details are important and sometimes they are not. If you are making cookies and you miss one little detail like the baking soda, it is a big deal. If, on the other hand, the recipe calls for walnuts and you use pecans, probably not a big deal. If Friday is laundry day and you wait until Saturday to finish it, probably not a big deal- unless you have to wear red underwear under white pants or, no underwear at all. Then, the details surrounding laundry day are important.

Today has been a day of details for me. I have been finishing the last bit of editing on this issue of Spirit of Knitting. This is the kind of day where my penchant for being anal, obsessive, a perfectionist, and a pain in the ass definitely has its pluses. In SOK it is most important that all the pattern instructions be clear and correct. (I would prefer to say perfect, but I will settle for correct.) We don't want letters from readers that say, "Why does my sweater only have one sleeve? " Oh, did we leave out the part that says, Make 2? Sorry! Or," I tried to make that felted purse but for some reason it did not work with my Red Heart yarn!" Wool, did we forget to mention wool? You see, details are important here.

Then there are cases where I am not so sure that the details matter one iota. Yesterday Erin came home from school saying that one of the teachers who is a mover and shaker with the high school graduation exercises is terrified that Brooke is going to wear hi-top converse tennis shoes with her cap and gown to graduation. The horror! She probably will - unless someone tells her this is not acceptable. If the seniors are given a specific dress code, she will follow the rules; if left to her own devices, she will wear the red and black hi-tops with "veritas" embroidered down the back. Maybe they think that is a dirty word.

Their concern arises from the fact that she is graduating in the top twelve in her class and will have to sit on stage during the commencement exercises. As far as I know, she is number three and will not have to give a speech. (she has worked very hard not to graduate as valedictorian or salutatorian for this very reason.) But, she (and her feet) will be visible to everybody present. I am fairly convinced that footwear is not the true indicator of one's talents and abilities. Okay, maybe those people, women or men, who wear six inch stilettos are stupid! But Converse? Come on! I am fairly sure that she wore those hi-tops when she took her SAT's and scored a perfect score, when she went to class and earned her ranking in the top twelve, when she took the PSAT and scored well enough to be named a National Merit Scholar, and when she wrote her admissions essay to the University of Chicago. They seemed to have served her well in each of these instances. I don't think that wearing converse to commencement will deem her unfit to graduate. If shoes are the most significant attribute that teachers can see in their students, it becomes obvious why our education system is in so much trouble.

The thing that makes this all so funny to me is that the school does not seem to pay attention to some important details - like the correct spelling of students' names. She received several awards, with accompanying certificates, at the academic banquet earlier this week. Her name (Elliott with one "t" instead of two) was spelled incorrectly in every case. You would think after four years they could get her name right. I am sure that it will be misspelled in the graduation program and on her diploma. I guess that is OK. I picked up her graduation announcements with their calling cards and they too had her name wrong. In this case, I filled out the original order form and know that her name was spelled properly. The error can not even be blamed on illegible teen-aged penmanship.

I do believe that spelling one's name correctly is a more important detail than what shoes a person wears. Perhaps I will wear my black hi-top converse with "Peace"written all over them in different languages to graduation. Brooke gave them to me for my birthday last year. Or, maybe my lavender ones would go better with my outfit . . .

I'm A Big Dog Now!

Harley was primed and ready to pose for the camera today. She was outside chasing bugs and butterflies in the grass (that needs to be mowed) this afternoon. She did not catch a butterfly, but she had a tasty cricket as an after school snack.


She loves to sunbathe. She's got that long, lean bikini body.

"You said lift your chin a little!"

"Take the picture already. I have other things to do this afternoon. I am expecting a call from my agent."

Actually, I was taking more pictures for Spirit of Knitting. Watch for Harley's debut as a model in the upcoming issue!

Harley is doing really well. She probably weighs about 10lbs. now though she thinks she is at least as big as Adidas' 70lbs. She loves to be out and about - as long as she is carried. She might get her paws dirty, you know. Harley went to Jazz Fest with us last weekend. She started to build quite a fan base. She had complete strangers stopping to share their chicken on a stick with her!

She's a fun little pup. We are blessed to have found her.

It's All In The Hands

We are in the final stages of editing the about to be current issue of Spirit of Knitting. All of the patterns are written and the samples knit. Today was the day for pictures. We have two baby items - an infant girl's sundress and a toddler boy's cardigan. We headed for a local pre-school. (We have connections; we don't stalk appropriately sized children.)

I do not claim to be "a photographer". I simply enjoy taking pictures. I especially like to take candid shots. Even though we need to portray certain aspects of the knitted garments, babies and toddlers do not understand posed pictures. So, you get what you get. For me, that is the fun part. I just pray we get what we need.

I did get some good shots of a 7 month old little girl in the sundress. The pictures of the sweater are probably not as good; however, I was struck by some of the pictures of the little boy. He is a precious little thing with a sweet face but, it was not his facial expression but the animation in his hands that really grabbed my attention. He was saying so much with his tiny hands.

In this first pictures, it looks like he playing an "air guitar." I don't know what song he is playing; it looks to be something on the serious side.

Here he is working a complex mathematical equation - one of those where each finger is not simply "one." There is no doubt that his little fingers will serve him better than any fancy calculator.

After the stress of higher math, it is time for a round of "Eensy Weensy Spider."

This is my favorite. His hands seemed to be posed as if they were about to receive communion. This is not really a position that our hands naturally find themselves. Yet, his look so comfortable. I do wonder what he is thinking about.

As a knitter and musician, I am fascinated by what can be made with our hands - beautiful music and sweaters as a start. But in these cases, our hands are simply a tool, a means to an end. In these pictures, his hands need be accompanied by nothing else. They are the beginning, the middle, and the end of the story. The movement and expression present draw me in. I am not even sure why.

I have a T-shirt with a picture of one of those spiral hands. (I think it may be a Reiki symbol.) The picture is accompanied by the following:

HANDS

TO SAY HI,

TO SAY BYE:

A SIMPLE

GESTURE!

TO MEET,

TO PART;

AN OPPOSITE

DIRECTION.

TO CREATE,

TO DESTRY:

THE BIG

DIFFERENCE.

IT'S ALL

IN YOUR

HANDS.

What Page Was I On?

One of my favorite movies is 84 Charing Cross Road. It is the story of a transatlantic friendship that is begun over books. Helene Hanff (played by Ann Bancroft) and Frank Dole (played by Anthony Hopkins) carry on a twenty-some year correspondence revolving around books that Helene Hanff wants from Frank Dole's bookshop in London. Every facet of this movie interests me but I am particularly struck by how each book that Helene Hanff receives makes reference to or inspires her to read another. There is an interesting exercise for all of us in following the progression of our related reading materials.

I have been reading John Lane's The Spirit of Silence. Several posts back, I made reference to the Zen poet Ryokan (April 10, 3007, "Don't Worry, Be Happy"). Lane had a brief discussion of Taigu Ryokan in which he quoted the poem that I included in my previous post. The words of this poet resonate deep within me. So much, that I felt called to read more about the life and works of this man. I ordered Great Fool: Zen Master Ryokan, Poems, Letters, and Other Writings. I think that part of the reason that I am so drawn to him is that in my mind he embodies much of the same spirit that I see in St. Francis. Thus far I have only flipped through the book. I know that I have barely touched the surface of the great wisdom that lies in these pages of Taigu Ryokan. How do I know this? Because the following leaped to me from the midst of this text's 300 pages.

This poem is from the collection, Butterfly Dreams

What was right yesterday
Is wrong today
How do you know what's right today
Wasn't wrong the day before?
Right and wrong aren't something fixed
You can't tell in advance the pros and cons
The foolish are stuck on a single note
So wherever they go, they're out of tune
The wise penetrate to the source of things
And pass their time roaming free and at ease
Forget about knowledge and ignorance both
And you can call yourself one who has the Way

In a nutshell, I believe that the message here is that living in black and white makes one "foolish" and "out of tune." Most of life is lived in they grey area - some days it leans more towards white and is lighter; other days it's cast is dark as it moves more towards black. The good news is that it never remains in one place. Life, we, are in a state of constant flux. This is a good thing. Change is always available to us if we are willing to be open to the present.

This one if from Dream Dialogue

People's minds aren't all the same
Any more than people's faces
Everyone clings to his own point of view
Incessantly arguing over right and wrong
"If you think like me, you're right
even if you're wrong"
"If you don't think like me, you're wrong
even if you're right"
Whatever is right to you is right
Can't you see that's wrong?
From the start, right and wrong are both in you
But the Way itself isn't like this at all
Only a fool would ever attempt
To fathom the ocean with so clumsy a pole

Here too, Ryokan urges that we not fixate on right and wrong. I think he is asking us again to be open to all that is around us. If we form an opinion and then cease to have dialogue around that topic, personal growth stops. We must be willing to always be open and flexible. Judgement, either right or wrong, affords us nothing.

Just as Helene Hanff made her way through books, always being open to the gift that each one brought to her, I too make my way - not worrying too much about whether what I am reading is "right" or "wrong". Obviously I have formed opinions. They may not be right tomorrow but, for me, today, they are. What you discern from the words of Ryokan today is yours. Read today. And, read tomorrow remebering that it is a new day.

Maybe I should put down this book and again watch 84 Charing Cross Road? Will its message to me still be the same? Does it really matter? I don't think so. If the message changes, I needed to hear/see/read something different.

An interesting aside to this idea of change - When I was in London, I wanted to see 84 Charing Cross Road. I wanted to see the shop. I knew THE shop was not still there but the building must be. So, down the street we strolled to discover that what I thought would be a quaint English shop had been consumed by American commercialism. 84 Charing Cross Road was the address for Pizza Hut.

"What was right yesterday is wrong today . . ."

Stop And Hear The Music

Today's "To Do List" had many things on it. I am proud to say that they are all still there. Though there were many things that I could have, maybe even should have, done, there was nothing that I had to do. I slept late - 9 is late for me - and then spent the afternoon at the Denton Arts and Jazz Festival before going to school at 8 to hear my students present their sophomore recital.

It was a beautiful day for an outside festival. The Civic Center Park was filled with music, artists, crafters, food, and people. It was a center of creative energy. Energy suggests motion, maybe even agitation. Creative energy often has the opposite effect. Listening to all the different music going on today had a soothing effect on me. The sounds varied; I heard everything from middle school choirs to bagpipes to show tunes to jazz. No matter the genre, I felt that I was being pulled to just sit and listen. To sit and listen, what a treat. Life today does not afford us as many opportunities to do this as we'd like or, more importantly, as we need. To be creative beings we need periods of calm and stillness. Listening to music is a great way to achieve this - especially when the music is live. My day of listening concluded in the concert hall by hearing my students perform some classical, some jazz, and some show tunes. Today was a nearly perfect aural experience!

I thought that it was interesting that the festival divided the "artists" and the "crafters". The artists were in the building and the crafters were outside in tents. Best I could tell, the artists were the ones who charged a bunch for their wares; they were the ones who try to make a living doing what they do. The crafters were the ones who seemed to be having fun, but not becoming rich doing their thing. Frankly, I would rather be a crafter - outside and having fun. Don't get me wrong, there was some beautiful "art" but, I enjoyed strolling through the crafter's tents. To me, their goods seemed more creative. I saw ceramic ocarinas shaped like all kinds of animals, beautiful handmade furniture, jewelry, pottery, and copperwork. It was a feast for the eyes.

Then there was the feast for the stomach. Nothing, except maybe the roasted corn on the cob on a stick, was even remotely healthy. To enjoy the taste sensations you had to abandon any notion of Weight Watchers or Atkins. You could have any kind of meat on a stick, popcorn, corny dogs, and anything, from rice to Snickers, fried. I could not pass up an unhealthy dose of fried food; I just had to decide what to put on the inside of my batter. I narrowed the choices to pickles, potatoes, and Snickers. I have had my share of both fried potatoes and fried pickles in my life so I decided to try something new - I got the Snickers. Snickers are my favorite candy bar so I had high hopes for this. It was served on a stick, coated with batter and drenched with powdered sugar. You probably do not have enough fingers and toes to count the calories even if you count by tens. BK and I did share it so I was only half bad! I must say that though I laud the creativity exhibited by frying a Snickers bar, it was not good. When the woman at the counter handed it to us, she said, "Wait at least two minutes before you bite in to it." Even after two minutes it was still mushy in the middle. It was the same disappointment experienced when your scoop of ice cream becomes a melted memory of its former self. I am glad that I tried it. Now I know - order the pickles!

So tomorrow comes with today's chores still to do, as well as a few more. That's OK. I had a great day today. The calm, the music, and my full tummy should carry me through tomorrow with no problems.