All posts by Thomas

Art vs Suburbs – Peter Bruegel the Elder

On the way back from the art museum, from a day of vivid artistic expression in oil and ceramic and gold and ink and celluloid and marble and acrylic, I dream of a world of bright colored canvas scenes in Italian and Flemish and French.

As we drive, the streets tick by, with exquisite regularity. We could be going east or south or some direction just invented to allow identically trained developers to create neighborhoods named for trees, shopping centers named for woodland geography, and cul de sacs named after their children.
The lawns are manicured with micrometer precision and the pin oaks are aligned with an accuracy that would have made those who were first living on this continent retreat in fear from the dark magic of its symmetry.

There are two shades of each of the 4 primary colors of the houses. Taupe, flint, moss, and clay, each in light or dark and the yews and junipers in every yard flash by, like suburban camo, dotted by the occasional basketball hoop or bird feeder.

Rarely, there is a bright blue or pink house, that the neighborhood association is drawing up plans to protest. Other, less ambitious, neighbors discuss it, instead, over a gas grill barbecue On the wooden deck, while a ball game plays on the tv in the living room, and the kids are downstairs playing wii, except the two mismatched teenagers, trying to pick a Playstation game they can both agree on, and wondering if the other one is secretly gay, too.

Every six blocks, there is a church of no particular denomination, but with some redemptive description, and the name of a saint or Jesus, Himself, on the sign. Children are always welcome, and there is a family social on the calendar. Services are at 9.

Seven restaurant chains have alternating outlets in the shopping center lots, near the street, with plenty of parking, and weekday lunch specials. Gluten free options are available and there is a small fee for sharing plates, except with children under 3.

Long stretches of strip malls advertise fresh and savings-oriented franchise grocers, clip-snip-shears salons, painless, new-smile dental offices and happy, lucky and golden Chinese take outs, who use no msg, but ask that you report any allergies to the server, before ordering. Every third store front is “coming soon.”

Small clusters of single story executive/professional offices spill out around the major mile intersections with easy access, and well maintained hedges, and have names like Executive and Professional, and deliveries use the 109th street entrance, please.

Along the interstate, cubic mirrored buildings in bold, cubic geometric designs, with cryptic, modern logos stand side by side with chain hotels of similar design, distinguishable by the faint scent of chlorine from the properly treated, family friendly pool, with no lifeguard on duty, use at your own risk.

Next week, according to signs stuck into the ground at shopping mall entrances, there is a cultural festival that will highlight a well regarded minority of the community, were there actually one. Crafts will be sold, dances will be performed, children’s activities will be available and prizes will be awarded. Tickets are for sale at all Price Smasher discount food and liquor stores, 8 dollars in advance, 10 at the gate, no refunds, but tickets are transferrable. If you buy 5 tickets, you get a free family sized box of their very best chocolate chip cookies, made fresh, daily.

Just in case I need to get back to that bright and colorful place, I try to make sure I can retrace my steps, like rows and columns in a crossword, without a clue. Fifteenth century Flemish painter. Seventeen letters. Ends with ‘r’.

Rain in the tent

We spent some time together going camping on a hill
The birdsong sweet, the daytime warm, and evening crickets shrill.
We talked all day and walked the fields and drank wine from a box.
We shared our thoughts about the world and gathered flowers and rocks.
The sun was hot, that afternoon, and hazy clouds had formed.
The evening air grew chilly, then, the sky blustered and stormed.

At first we thought the rain would stay outside the tent all night.
But well before the break of day, something wasn’t right.
The sound of rain, when gently falls, is steady, smooth and sweet.
Instead, a heavy dripping calls, with a slower threatening beat.
And soon, the drops upon my face, no longer just cool breeze.
The fall of tears from icy space, has caused my heart to freeze.
The rivulets of trespassed rain went into bed and clothes.
The dams of towels could not restrain the multitudinous flows.
Finally we were conquered there, and sought some refuge fit.
So underneath the mattress where the raindrops could not hit.
Sadly, though the shallow flood and the deluge did not stop.
The standing water chilled our  blood, and made our beds a sop.
And there across the misty house, my fellow drowned soul
Was looking like a woodland mouse, just peeking from his hole.
His mood had never lost its cheer, not handsome face its smile.
And this is why I’ll keep this guy, my friend, for quite a while.

Super Moon

“Turn it down,” I shouted as I banged upon the sky.
“Can’t you see, I can not sleep, but really need to try?”

The moon’s enchanting laughter rained on downy forest bed.
I felt the weight of morning’s chores, an ice floe in my head.

She said, “tonight’s my special night, you can’t deny me this.
It’s many years before His plan returns me to such bliss.”

I peeked through curtained window pane, and out into the yard,
I figured just a little glance, it wouldn’t be that hard.

And then she called, “it’s early yet, I want to dance with you.”
The summer meadow whispered back in ivory, silver dew.

I looked upon the fairy field and could not stay my course.
I had to breathe the evening light and court its graceful source.

The night went long, we drank the scent of blossoms and of earth.
The gentle breeze made music sweet and we sang with joy and mirth.

The final dance with that sweet court, light feet upon the moss.
I felt the call of garish day, this magic, soon, my loss.

For with the waking to the sun, to ordinary day,
I barely, still, could hear her song, “tonight, come out and play.”

—-
Tonight she calls to dance again, but now I must say “no”.
The late night kept my day off keel and the hours ticked by slow.
So now, tonight, I climb to bed and wish that wraith adieu.
The moment passed, the glitter lost, the ghost of one I knew.

A grammar, interrupted

He kissed me in the linguistics section of the local used book store. The irony was not lost on me, because the gentle tapping of his tongue on my lips was a language, itself, full of meaning and intention, meant to make me lose, at least, my train of thought, and at most, my self control, which had been tugging at the leash all day, and trying to abandon me for easier work.

I was reading about an analysis of the Baltic languages through the lens of artificial semantics models, when he surprised me with that gift. The wave of feeling was immediate and overwhelming.  The page went blank, and the room grew so hot I almost fainted.

The first tear started in my left eye, and it was the kind of tear you get when you see something precious rescued from a fire, or a  predator mothering what would normally be prey. A glimpse of something bigger and more beautiful. The power of kindness and the stab of hope.

The other tear came with sadness. The loss of the moment only just begun. The realization that what I know this to be
is not what I feel it to be,
and not what I want it to be.  Too soon to grieve, but too late to fix the course.

The wave hit me, and quickly passed, but those two feelings, side-by-side, still lingered. I stood there in my moment of drama, shaking inside, and probably outside, to anyone who was closely watching.

He was closely watching..

I think it took him by surprise, because it was partly done in play, seeing what he could do in mischief, and fun. But a little bit, he was testing his power, seeing what he could get away with, seeing how far he could push me.

“What’s wrong,” he said?

“Give me a moment. I’m gonna finish looking at this section.”  But 100 book spines all spoke the same thing. Communication is hard. Words are insufficient. Understanding is incomplete. We can try, but it still doesn’t make sense.

I’ve been here before: the closeness, the drawing back, the flirting, the wait, the kiss, the wondering, the surrender, the fear, the sex, then the silence. I am not ready to do it again, and it seems both hopeless and inevitable.

As we stepped from the darkness of the store into the brilliance of the day, I led him out  to a wall where we could sit and watch the traffic.

“You used powerful magic, in there,” I said, in words I hoped would understand.  “It has a big impact on me.”  I thought it would be a smile, but instead a look of concern crossed his face. I needed to ask, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He stopped to ponder the question, which seemed to be a good sign. Then, he looked at me, the way he does. That way that makes me lose my words, and  fall deeper into his mischief.

“Yes,” he replied gently, but some part of me was not sure that he truly did, for his end game is different to mine. He is playing for sex, and I, foolishly, am falling in love.

As we started to walk again, two of the voices in my head spoke simultaneously.
“Yes, let him play.”
“Please. Don’t fuck me up.”
But neither one offered me words that would give me any real clarity. Meaning would have to wait.

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For love and staus updates

So here I am, in a bar near a tourist section of Boston. The upstairs is crowded, and people are dancing to the music some guy is playing in his Mac, over big speakers. There is a boy-girl couple on one side of the dance floor. A young attractive pair, jerking and twisting to the music that is blasting until my teeth hurt. Her body is swinging frenetically, swinging her hair and arching her back, her butt pressed against her partner’s front as she tosses her head back in an expression of disco ecstasy. Her boyfriend sways his body, more or less in the rhythm of the music, his face casting off an almost blue shine. Just out of her visual range, he is texting.

First Day – 4

(this was written there, and is just now getting posted) We have been very busy, and there has been little time to write, and even less time to type out entire papers on my cell phone’s virtual keyboard – let me say, that tapping out lots of text with my thumbs is slow and I lose my train of thought.
A few things I missed.
1) During the greeting ceremony, the local church members sang for us. The singing led to clapping, which led to foot tapping, which led to dancing and, ultimately to Bob, Nell, Eliot and I joining the dance and the chorus, which we later learned used the word “akbe” (spelling uncertain), which means “thank you.” it was a very joyous occasion all around.
2) during the ceremony, Nell (Sister Ama) got up to talk and was greeted with cheers and applause. Eric translated for her, as  she gave greetings and expressed her joy at being back to her second home, and she talked about the computers and the ongoing partnership between Ashfield and Mafi Dove. She also reminded he people of the shared commitment, a theme we will see so much of in the coming week, that it was an important lesson. She reiterated ground rules for the partnership that she had laid out in all here dealings with the development of Dove: we will help (computers, tools, expertise) , but the village has to do its part (teach with them, make them avail to the students, maintain a secure and clean environment). If the computers were locked up and not available, or if they were destroyed, we could not bring any computers back, next time. While it felt a little squirmy, I knew exactly why this is necessary, and how this was an integral part of her success with the earlier devlopment projects when she was living in the village as a peace corps volunteer.

(back at the school)
We had an opportunity to meet a number of important people in the village. Some are on the development committee, others are part of the school system ( the village provides the building and some funds for maintenance, and the government provides the teachers and some basic supplies), village elders, the retired regional education director, and other Dove ‘alumni’, many of whom are extremely excited to see their village’s education get a step forward. When I get settled back home with he list of names and roles, I will refresh my memory of who’s who.  We looked around the room, talked about the placement of the computers and issues of security and access and protection from dust and moisture.
After we had finished, we walked back to the chief’s palace to continue our discussion, meet with he chief and to have dinner.  We sat at our places on the couches surrounding the main room of the chief’s palace. In one corner was the chief’s chair. Nell sat next to  the chief on his left and we sat on his right side.

(PS, this is going more slowly than I hoped )

First day iii

Next, the 8 computers and 2 printers were brought into the church and they were placed on the table to be presented to the community. There was a loud cheer, and excited buzz and the computers were shown to the assembled party. Next, the village leaders presented to us some Batik cloth that they had purchased for us to make shirts from, and instructions that we should wear the shirts back to the village before we leave. Because they were not clear what our measurements would be, they were apologetic that they couldn’t make them into shirts already. The material is very beautiful, in shades of green, and we could find a tailor in an adjacent village to make them into local styled shirts. As the ceremony wound down, and we all made our thank you’s and welcomes, the computers were gathered up and taken to the Chief’s house to be kept there until the next day. We left the church and walked over the the school building to see where the computers would be placed and again, the whole way there we were surrounded by excited children.
The computer lab is an 8×12 room in back of the headmaster’s office. They had prepared a line of tables with a tablecloth along the center of the room, longways. the front wall of this room has a row of bookshelves with small stacks of educational books. The back wall of the room has louvered windows, the walls and floor are cement, and the roof is tin. The temperature here has been over ninety degrees, and if physics wasn’t your thing, the sun on tin on a 90 degree day is one way to make an EZ-bake oven, but the breeze through the windows kept the temperature inside down to just “hot” but not searing. One of the amazing things about the school – the whole building was one of Nell’s many projects there at Mafi Dove as a Peace Corps volunteer, there, 10 years ago. The project to build the school was part of what she did to encourage the village to invest in education.

First evening in the village II

We left the chiefs house and crossed the village on foot, again surrounded by a choir of dancing, excited children. We headed over to the church, a set of partial walls of cinder brick and some lumber frame, topped by a corrugated tin roof. There were approximately 200 people in lawn chairs and sitting on benches with all children in the back five or six rows. We were escorted to the front of the church to sit at a set of decorative chairs next to the table. A service had been prepared for us that was a combination of chuch service and a welcoming ceremony. Since we were late, we missed the regular church service and so the resulting ceremony was a bit of prayer and a bit of introduction and a but of pomp and a bit of Amen. We were introduced and our credentials and a greeting from Eliot were translated into Ewe, the native language. Instead of saying a few words of greetings to the village from Bob and me, I lead a round of “seek ye first” and “joy to the world” and Bob and Eliot joined in, and we sang them in round.
All the while, children were oozing into the space through windows, doorways, gaps in the wall, and rows of chairs. They constantly watched with wide eyes following every move we made, and trying always to catch our attention to smile at us or to make faces or to try to get us to take their pictures. The children are always trying to get their pictures taken and whenever my camera would aim in their direction, kids would all try to hustle to be front in line or to have the silliest face or to be shown carrying things on their heads.
So anyway, back to the service.

First evening in the village I

When we arrived in the village, there was a sound like the buzzing of bees in the distance, but it was much louder and growing. Children had heard that Nell “Sister Ama” was coming to town. As we crossed into the school yard, on the edge of town, crowds of children came rushing toward the car, and cheers rose up in the most heart lifting tone, with the children’s voices coming almost in chorus, as though the were singing. Now I know what throng means and I was amazed at the sound and the pure energy and joy as they greeted Sister Ama. I have never heard such an outpouring of adoration since I attended a rock concert. And the children ran along with the SUV all the way into the village Chief’s house, cheering and whooping and waving all the way.
The chief wasn’t there, so we sat at his palace, a two story semi modern SoCal / Spanish style house with a large first story room lined with couches where the village elders meet and spend time.