Neighborhood Watch

We are to write about our neighborhood, for the poetry class I’m taking from Continuing Studies.  What comes to mind immediately is

. the escaped Egyptian Cranes

. Wallace Stegner writing about oaks and Eucalyptus and Denmark, nearby (before he died in the hospital where I was born, two states away)

. the quails

. song coming from the synagogue at dusk

. the vineyard bare in winter, like the crosses (I imagine) on the Somme, the other battlefields in France

. the green meteor that landed one December in the neighbors’ pasture back beyond the little fruit trees—apple, pear

. the horses up on Deer Creek Road, next to the software companies, Tesla

. the name of our lane, from the Algonquin

. the owls in the darkness that we never see but are somehow profoundly comforting

image:   Amateur Traveler

Rambles

My day off did end at Shoreline, in this irresistible January warmth.  (Many years it’s heartbreaking, sure to be nothing but false promises before winter swoops down again and closes us tightly inside for gray and dismal months.)  I had it mostly to myself:  sailboards stacked along the winter lake, and kayaks overturned in even rows on the dry grass.

I watched a young man under blue umbrellas at the lakeside café with a pile of books, studying somehow intently with the lake sparkle beyond him.  Erasing, correcting, studying algebra or whatever.  I remember puzzling out the equations, and studying the French chateaux—Amboise, Chenonceaux, Cheverny; the only geography that interested me in school.  I was envious that he was so lost in his learning, yet sitting in that perfect locale.

And envious too of the delighted absorption of a pair of two-year-old twins chasing after Canada geese.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Shorebird and Foam

Indecision

A precious day off to myself after losing the weekend—and month—to work.  But as usual I’m besotted by choices, and will probably lose the day trying to decide.  Stay in under the covers and reread The Name of the Rose, or Possession?  Work on one of my short-stories?  (But then which?) Take advantage of the gorgeous January weather, before it’s gone, and take a walk at the bird sanctuary further up Arastradero, or on the water at Shoreline?  Have a bite of lunch at the café there?  Take a sandwich to the beach; wander with my camera?  Walk up to the horses, or buy cracked crab?  Or clean out my writing room (a task for Hercules that leaves me in despair) and enjoy in stillness the late afternoon sun that comes in hazy stripes through its window, writing a letter, drinking some of my new sweet-scented tea from the apple-green teapot?  That way lies daydreaming—hibiscus petals blended with dried cherries and vanilla, from Argo tea; the name reminding me of the argonauts and their journeys (so enchantingly recreated by Mary Zimmerman in Argonautika).

There are no wrong choices, of course, but I am so afraid of missing any of the possibilities, of finding myself out of time without having given my all to this day that has given itself to me.  So toss a whole handful of coins?  I’ll just take my notebook and sandwich and camera and see where I am led, what serendipity lies in wait.  Time enough for reading, I suppose, when the sun has gone down and my turkey and herbs, slow-cooking, is steaming the windows.  I’ve found the walking shoes I wore for archaeology at Hadrian’s Wall, with their amiable green laces, so am off—with only half the day gone in waffling.  Anticipation is a happy pastime too, after all.

image:  Coins of the World, Art Print by John K. Nakata 

Friendly Creatures

An amiable Getty Villa rooster, with inscriptions.  I am captivated by its plucky (or is that clucky?) charm.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Getty rooster

Days Away

I'm maybe diametrically opposed to Santa Monica on this trip to Chicago, but I remain grounded, centered, by tangerine trees through window screens, as by city lights through uncurtained hotel windows.  

I always want my windows open to the possibilities outside.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Tangerines 2 

Classical Art

I went to the Field Museum specifically to find a Roman mosaic , which was magical and composed of so many interesting images.

And I was charmed at the Getty Villa in Malibu by the amazing collection of classical pieces from favorite parts of the world.

But it was a revelation at the Field to find things I don't usually seek out—from dinosaurs to chocolate to the ancient peoples of the Americas to whales to tiny birds to brightly colored bird-feather headpieces.  I'm a culture snob, I admit, and though it gave me immense satisfaction at the Getty to see so many Greek, Roman, and Etruscan masterworks, it gave me joy at the Field to connect with the world on a more visceral level.

I am, after all, Gemini, and split in two.  (Or, rather, doubled.)

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Greek women, Getty Villa

Tiffany Window

It made me so happy to find this lovely window today.  I almost missed it, in the Field Museum Hall of Gems, since my attention was at eye level, with the precious stones.  Among those, I was most taken by the Bixbite and Red Spinel , for their colors.  And I'm presently looking for crystals (which I used to love as a child) to ward off negative energy.  I bought some amethyst and quartz in the shop, along with chocolate from the chocolate exhibition.




image:  Tiffany window 

Bodies of Water

I realize it makes me uneasy getting too far from the ocean—perhaps because I grew up in so dry an inland place, or because I feel better breathing those negative ions.  I'm always happiest on islands (including Manhattan)—Mallorca, Crete, Santorini, Hawaii, Key West, the big virtual island that is England, little pine-scented Angel Island in the San Francisco Bay.

But hung suspended between lake and cloud yesterday evening at sunset, coming into Chicago to land, I decided that massive lakes welcome me too, and make me feel at home.  So I'm happily situated on the water here, on the river where it flows into Lake Michigan, and have the best of both worlds—my essential big body of water, and the enchanting lights of the big cities which also draw me.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Ventura at dusk  

Days Away

About to take off on another trip, I'll record some favorite images and moments from the trip I've just returned from.

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Ventura fountain

January 2012

The reflections of a ship, for sailing those uncharted seas, inner and otherwise.

A ship because we've been along the ocean this past week, as often in my past over the changing year.

A ship because I always have the urge to reinvent myself around this time, while I have the necessary leisure to look out and back and to reflect.  And as André Gide said, "One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time."

image:  Christie B. Cochrell, Monterey Ship