Turning Chaos into Action - one thing at a time
The only hope is to get back into the regular routine, right? Somehow keep an even keel (whatever that is, I’ve never steered a boat. Hmm. Do you “steer” a boat or is there a more nautical term for that process?) As you can tell from this brief introduction, I am in a dither here at Action Central HQ of my own life, in a living room piled with boxes, as the smoke from the fires south of us fills the city. First we were bathing in the golden light and it could have been beautiful if it weren’t so very sad with so much loss, and yesterday the air turned from gold to cold. Someone said it was like a preview for nuclear winter. (Of course without the radioactivity.) Geezuz - sorry to repeat that.
Why the boxes? We’re in the throes: purging, keeping, packing, folding. The preparing for our move is always happening and will be going on for weeks and weeks. I’ll try not to bore you with updates. I’ll just tell you this place is squeaky cleaner-than-ever, and nearing closer to Marie Condo status every day. No unfilled cracks or weird smells, less and less evidence of personal life. I do like it here, more open and zen each day, amid the hard-working urban street trees, crows and gulls, cranes (construction, not the birds).
Oh my, is that Michael Anthony at the door?
Remember that old tv show, The Millionaire, in which John Beresford-Tipton Jr. would randomly hand out million-dollar cheques to unsuspecting regular folks? Where are you now, Michael Anthony, assistant to John Beresford-Tipton Jr.?
Michael Anthony (Marvin Miller) hands check to Betty Perkins (Inger Stevens) in a 1956 episode (from Wikipedia)
Which way is up?
When the world feels upside down, how can you tell which way is up? Doesn’t it seem the insanity is spreading like wildfire - or is it the other way around? The activity of the earth today mirrors the wilderness of mind that has been released. The unexpected makes us more hyper-alert. The smell of smoke is always a deep warning to the brain. So this is where we have to work. The smoke will clear, the rain will come, and if the seasons’ cycle may get a little loopy I pray it can settle itself, and I hope I can somehow help.
Which way is up? Photo from James K-M, last week, before the fire smoke
A visit with my brother and nephew!
My teen granddaughter and I had fun together crafting a mythic statement. We compressed our combination of circumstances into a poetic account.
Those who stayed in looked through the opening and saw winged beings that came from the offering ground of the fir and cedar.
We called the sites of the fires offering grounds, and the smoke is from fir and cedar. The winged beings are the moths that have been all over Vancouver these days - either part of a cycle or somehow related to the fires. Those who stay in - that’s all of us in our homes because of the pandemic.
This sort of word-play is something my mum started me with when I was really little. It’s still a great imagination-spark in my life.
Did I tell you how the little boy discovered he could read his name everywhere he looked? He was 5, bored at James’ art opening. So I asked him if he could spell his own name. He could! The game began. I sent him looking for the first letter, “E”. He found it easily. Then the second, third, and so on. His name was dispersed and deconstructed, but he found it. We looked for it on a flyer. Sure enough: his name was there. Soon he was spotting it himself, on the back of cardboard, inside an ad, everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw it on the side of a bus. The city is now holding his name in all the places he looks, wherever there is type, the alphabet.
Back to school? Here’s what I wrote last year around this time about love and learning: Accellerated
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