So in lately I’ve been enjoying the whole idea of “series”.

The “Big Question” for September and December kept me focused on central themes, which was a lot of fun and kept me coming back to the blog and getting connected again with some other amazing writers.

Even though my family keeps me really busy, I’m keeping up the momentum this month. But I’m publishing in a few other places.

You can see my January series over on my main webpage. This month I am participating in a beautiful series created by Fiona Robyn and Kaspalita called “The River of Stones.” I’ve given my own group of “small stones” a title: “What Details Know.”

Please come over and visit me there. I’d love to hear what you think.

Meanwhile, I’ve dusted off my journalism skills and I’m writing some regular feature posts for the Stratford Patch. It’s been lovely to get to meet and know some of my neighbors more closely this way. Thanks to my editor Jason Bagley for supporting me on this.

Oh, and by the by… there is one cool lady I’d like to mention.

Off the subject but definitely worth a look.

In our recently travels, our family met another very cool family, also with four kids. The lovely matriarch of this bunch is Alma Schneider. She’s a foodie, but her business is fascinating: she a counselour who helps people like you and me back from the brink of convenience food. “Take Back the Kitchen” is just one of her super-cool projects.

No related posts.

What is the rush, Rima asks?

What is the
haste to make waste of
Autumn?

–
Part of “If Only in My Dreams,” the December Series of The Big Question.

You might also like:

1. If Only in My Dreams: A Big Question Series
2. The End of Summer

Our house had so many little projects after we moved in. Not the least of those was the gardens. The previous owner had some kind of psychotic idea of planting… Which is to say, she is exactly like me.

So I really love to putter in the flower beds and took on the notion that planting perennials would solve all my problems.

You know… you only have to plant them once and water them a bit and Voila! Ignore the garden for forever.

Sigh.

Why the hell is life so damn hard??

You know we had all this cool and wet weather in April and May? Well that’s good, and makes things grow right?

The problem, however, was that LAST year we had all this SUPER HOT weather in our west-facing flower bed.

Combine that with the sun reflecting off of our white aluminum siding and you could basically convert our bed to a pizza oven.

The spring before that, I had dug up and split a few hostas… just to fill in some empty spaces in our bed.  They grew nicely last spring, but nearly bit the dust when the nuclear heat kicked in.

Well, now you can guess what has happened. Prehistoric isn’t the word for these plants. happy with the cool wet spring, they are crowding out EVERYTHING.

Sigh.

I dug one hosta up and divided it again… into FIVE medium plants. Planted them in some areas where it would genuinely be fine if they exploded.

Meanwhile, it rains on.

Oh, and please, don’t even get me started on the damn yuccas the previous owner planted. (was she planning on COOKING THE ROOT??!?)

ARGH.

You might also like:

1. A Weekend’s Work in Never Done
2. At Work again
3. A Reason to Work

To further remind me of the random wonderfulness of the universe, I ended up last night at a live “coffeehouse” performance of Cassandra Kubinski, a singer-songwriter I had never heard of previously.

Kubinski performed in the initimate and completed unplugged space of The Depot as part of the Milford Fine Arts Council’s 2011 Performance Coffeehouse.

Seeing Kubinski’s two-hour, voice-and-piano-only performance of original work added even more fuel to the fire of my belief that there are many very talented artists and musicians working and making great work.

But not necessarily at the level of so-called glamour and fame we see on “Idol.”

I sort of gathered that Kubinksi, like many gifted singer-songwriters — Lovett, Colvin, Emmylou —  has an intense and committed group of followers and fans.

But she isn’t famous and has no fear of the paparazzi catching her doing squats at the gym for “Stars, They’re Just Like Us!”.

Having browsed her MySpace site and listened to her CDs after the performance, I realize how fortunate I was to get to see her perform in this particular space. Without the aid of a microphone, this audience was able to really hear the true range of her voice– an occasionally tender and sometimes brutal mix of Aretha, Norah Jones, Elvis Costello.

Kubinksi, a pianst, is physically lovely, and brings a intimate sensuality to her interaction with her instrument. But that relationship goes beyond any pin-up girl sweetie pie image. Her music  – both lyrically and compositionally — travels rutted and unmarked roads. Like Colvin, Costello and greats like Springsteen, her songs tell stories in the marriage of lyric, voice, and music.

Songs like “Timeless” and “Cradle the Moon” wrench the heart and give you a place to wander in your own angst. Songs like “Textual Healing” “Literally” and “Just Being Myself” show her wit, and her ability to start with an idea of traditional melody and transform it.

I learned two things last night from Cassandra Kubinski: that trusting the universe is often a fine idea when it comes to experiencing art and music.

And that beautiful music and writing is alive and working — if even in cheerful obscurity– in New York City.

Next show? She’ll be at The Bitter End in NYC on April 7.

No related posts.

Greenwich Locksmith in the West Village

One of the great things about life, humanity, and America is INGEUNITY: the power of creative imagination.

On “Scouting New York” I found the most amazing post about the little locksmith shop, Greenwich Locksmiths. Be sure you click through and see all the photos.

I love small business like these. Shopkeepers who exude passion for their craft make me happy. This is the intersection of commerce and humanity that, to me, makes consumption palatable. I can ask a friendly, knowledgeable craftsman for a service and look forward to the work being done well, with pride and with beauty.

This is the experience of American life we lose when we shop at Wal-Mart like drones.

To me, lower prices are not worth the loss of our collective soul. A streetside shop, as Greenwich Locksmith demonstrates, is a place of real conversation– not just about the weather or the cut of the key, but about art, beauty, progress, the future, the past and their collision.

I just love this store… I want to run my hands over its facade and say thank you to the inspiration gods who helped the owner bring his vision to the Village.

“Every moment of your life is infinitely creative and the universe is endlessly bountiful. Just put forth a clear enough request, and everything your heart desires must come to you.” — Gandhi

You might also like:

1. The Opposite of Boredom
2. Diametric Adoration
3. Fighting Back Against Planned Obsolescence

Montrous
Snow peaks, huddled at
Road edges, yard edges
Crowd the winter in.
Barely room for me to slither by
In my repressed Town & Country.
I remember you,
snow, as
Individual, unique
Flakes, and I feel
The same lonely.

You might also like:

1. AROS #1
2. AROS #4
3. AROS #2

I’m on the train on the way to meet two old friends in New York. A part of me is terrified to put my foot on the platform at Grand Central.

I am a traveller. I don’t stay put. I go places.

Yet in the last 8 years I’ve mostly been with my travel companion, who has excellent sense of direction. He never once panics when he pops up out of the Tube in London, wondering which way to turn my face.

So I know I am not afraid of the city or getting lost.

I am suddenly aware that I love my husband a whole lot and depend on him. Even if I know I can get by for a day without him.

It’s a beautiful sunny day for meeting friends in the city…

No related posts.

On Day 27 of #reverb10, Brene Brown asked:

What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?

My moment was an accumulation of split-second realizations: each about the same and exquisitely lovely. They were those moments when you are looking into the eyes of someone and you suddenly see the glimmer of returned love and friendship.

Because we have passed mile marker “Year 3″ in Connecticut, it seemed logical that some of our friendships have started to stick. But logic has nothing to do with that vast expanse of loneliness that I always seem to forget about when I get all excited by the prospect of moving somewhere new. I was glad this year to start to feel that “safe” feeling with my friends: where you can begin the task of ordinary friendship and all its wonders.

It’s all well and good. After all it should take a LONG TIME to find “the people” again; you know the ones. The people who:

• get me
• forgive me and come back
• ignore me when I forget to flip the “tact” switch
• (Actually find my lack of tact sort of charming, and kind of a relief.. in that “She said that! Hah! WOW! I would never have said that. Hmmm, but it WAS what I was thinking….”)
• laugh AT me at at just the right moments
• laugh with me the rest of the time
• don’t act all that surprised if they find me blubbering over in a corner now and then
• wear their own skin like the most comfy fleece ever!– because those are the only kinds of people I seem to attract
• carry VIP membership to the Generosity Circle of the Universe.

So today, right now, I am thinking of the sweet friends I earned, gained, grabbed, nabbed, or just got lucky enough to nudge into with the minivan in 2010.

I often am unsure why they hang around me, (waiting for Colin to get home and make dinner?) but I am thrilled to have them for any reason.

You might also like:

1. Ordinary Rockstar
2. When Friends Disappear
3. No One is Looking: On Letting Go

Moral: Don’t Write Drunk.

Day 8, #reverb 10: The Beauty of Different (Thanks, Karen Walrond.)

I live on the East Coast, in the glowing gutters of the GOLD COAST.

I am not from here, however, and that makes me “different.”

That’s right. I’m not from these parts.

I’ve traveled and lived all over, but moving to “The Small State” was my biggest culture shock.

I came back to America after having lived in London for three years. DYING for a decent pizza and, finally, some warm-heartedness. Well, the pizza here just plain disappointed (no, I WON’T drive two hours just to eat) and the people, in general, were cold, cold, cold.

After all… I am from the Midwest. More specifically, from Iowa. This is home to the “State Fair” and Cloris Leachman: What could be more wholesome and sweet?

(I’ll pause here to let you Etch-a-Sketch me and Cloris  in your mind, wearing overalls, chomping hayseed, milking the butter cow.)

Iowa: You Make Me Smile (with Wonder).

Iowa is fly-over country and I like that. I can tell you, because I’m surrounded by old friends who are amazingly talented Iowans, like her and her and him, they aren’t a bunch of hayseeds and ignoramuses. The perception of the Midwest by East Coast is perfected into a hardened candy of despicable disdain: a combination of political angst and pure assumption. But it is wrong. Oh well.

So people evade the obvious and just ask about my years in London. No one ever asks what Iowa is like.

(Caveat: When I started hanging out in the Slow Food movement, I got a cache with the Iowa thing. When it comes to heritage pork, it’s hip to be corn fed. Ironically.)

I’ve been pretty defensive about it, all along. I am proud to be an Iowan (and a CYCLONE!… no stinking Hawkeyes!). But that is difficult to explain to the set of people who are busy training for the regatta and arguing over which Ivy covered institution should receive its half a million dollars and generally uninteresting 18-year-old. (Yes, I too have an Etch-a-Sketch!)

I don’t turn my nose down at this life and the people on the East Coast. It’s got its joys, especially the established towns and the history. Also, I’ve learned in living all over — from Long Island to London to Kissimmee to Waterloo: every place has its idiots and its beauty.

So yeah, I miss the simple joy of lounging in the garage with my brother-in-law, drinking beers while the kids ride their bikes, well, wherever.

But I wouldn’t trade all the things I have learned and earned along our journey.

(Here’s Where It Gets Random)

Like, did you know, for reals, you should not tip in British pub?

And that “all y’all” is plural for “ya’ll”?

And that a “patch” is a completely different drink request from  ”fresh ice?”

Because I am feeling generous, I’ll share with you a recipe for a popular drink drunk of the underaged, in England.

Snakebite

- Take one Imperial Pint Glass, mostly clean.

- Pour in 1-2 Tbs. of Black Currant syrup.

- Fill the glass to half with fermented Irish cider, such as Magners

- Top the pint with some kind of lager. Carling is fine, or Kroeneberg if you are feeling fancy.

- Serve by shoving across the table/bar and spilling/sloshing liberally. No bev nap should garnish (too de classe) .

– Slam entire pint immediately and leave without paying.

You might also like:

1. On the Meaning of Chex Mix…
2. Singapore Sweethearts
3. On Being Midwestern: Nice

#Reverb10, Day 4

Prompt: Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (by author Jeff Davis @JeffreyDavis108)

Wonder isn’t an experience: it is a spiritual geographical location, a destination I can choose to visit, or live in. It is exactly a “sense” — just like smell or sight. I live through it, as much I want to or need to.

The answer to this prompt is the answer to why I write here: which is to say that this year I continue my love affair with SMALL THINGS.

This is, and is not, the small things, you think.

Wonder, for me, is in the smallest bits of life.

As a human, who exists on these details… riboflavins and proteins that keep our bodies healthy.

As a local, who exists in the radius of home, which is to say in my house, with my neighbors, in my town.

As a lover, giving attention to minute corners of desire in my own life and in his.

As a mother, that 24-7 convenience human existence, living largely in the banal moments– interacting with lunch boxes and school papers that maintain them and reveal their evolving identities.

As a writer, making space to uncommon metaphorical relationships– inviting the HRH QE2 to sleep on the futon for the night, to have Cheez Balls and cocoa for supper.

As a photographer, desperate for the chance to show you the melancholy loveliness I see in each of these perfect existences.

Wonder is an essential for me. It is where the ideas come from, and also the ability to follow through on them.

You might also like:

1. On Finding a Voice
2. On Finding Things Lost…
3. A Long Way from Home