Search for sustenance
Not in the wide world outside
But from the Mother
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
04 December 2018
15 May 2017
on the logic of cleaning dishes
When I was a teenager, in 1991 or ‘92, my parents had my siblings and me do the dishes each night after dinner. Two of us three kids would wash and dry everything by hand then put it all neatly away. Just before my sister and I had finishing the chore one night, our mother came in and spoke to us, pointing out that water had collected on the counter and in the sink. “When you’re finished,” she said, “leave so few traces that that not even Sherlock Holmes could figure out what had occurred here.” We wiped away the clues, leaving the area sparkling, and spotless.
Now, nearly thirty years later, I still do my best to stick by the logic related above. When I dirty a dish or pot, I clean it up immediately. When the dishes are dry, I put them away. Used laundry goes in one place, clean clothes in another. If something is out of place or damaged, it gets fixed or discarded. In this way, my work gets done while it is still small - before it becomes a burden.
With a glance at my living quarters, a trained detective could gather lots of information about my habits and proclivities. What he would not find, however, is that I am a messy person.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
Now, nearly thirty years later, I still do my best to stick by the logic related above. When I dirty a dish or pot, I clean it up immediately. When the dishes are dry, I put them away. Used laundry goes in one place, clean clothes in another. If something is out of place or damaged, it gets fixed or discarded. In this way, my work gets done while it is still small - before it becomes a burden.
With a glance at my living quarters, a trained detective could gather lots of information about my habits and proclivities. What he would not find, however, is that I am a messy person.
americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥
26 June 2013
on spider–mothers
For years, I have welcomed any spider into my house who could make her way inside. Instead of killing them or sucking them into my vacuum cleaner, I dust around them and apologize to them if I should disturb their webbing or jostle their young. I fear some of the spiders who live here, as I suspect them of being black widows, but now that I know which boxes they live in, I avoid those boxes. Some of the spiders are jumping spiders, who are harder to track and to appFor years, I have welcomed any spider into my house who could make her way inside. Instead of killing them or sucking them into my vacuum cleaner, I dust around them and apologize to them if I should disturb their webbing or jostle their young. I fear some of the spiders who live here, as I suspect them of being black widows, but now that I know which boxes they live in, I avoid those boxes. Some of the spiders are jumping spiders, who are harder to track and to appreciate because they tend to move around a lot, eschewing the building of webs; others are grand and spindly things who vibrate on their webs upon being disturbed.
I welcome these spiders because they embody Iktomi (see drawing), a First People god who created the Earth by flinging his web over its entire surface. Iktomi also taught humankind about technology; the Internet is one of his greatest gifts. I welcome them also because I gain joy from discovering these my little house-guests sitting patiently in dusty and forgotten corners, and because they catch and eat common houseflies (which I then do not have to chase down with a flyswatter and kill myself). My spider-mothers seem to like it here; they stick around and keep recruiting more of their kin in from the outside. Whereas some people collect cats, I collect spiders, a simpler house-pet that needs neither food nor drink nor rabies-shots. Aho.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
I welcome these spiders because they embody Iktomi (see drawing), a First People god who created the Earth by flinging his web over its entire surface. Iktomi also taught humankind about technology; the Internet is one of his greatest gifts. I welcome them also because I gain joy from discovering these my little house-guests sitting patiently in dusty and forgotten corners, and because they catch and eat common houseflies (which I then do not have to chase down with a flyswatter and kill myself). My spider-mothers seem to like it here; they stick around and keep recruiting more of their kin in from the outside. Whereas some people collect cats, I collect spiders, a simpler house-pet that needs neither food nor drink nor rabies-shots. Aho.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
29 June 2012
on gardening as a slacker
Every morning, at 0530A, an alarm sounds, triggering my body into wakefulness. Being a spoiled, snot-nosed American brat and a generally worthless individual, and seeing as how I endeavor to shrink my bad and to grow my good characteristics, I have taken on the awesome responsibility of gardening. That row cover of tulle draped tightly over spans of freshly-split bamboo? Installed yesterday. That Third-World-style drip irrigation unit my missionary uncle sent me via insured mail five weeks ago? Installed last weekend. Yes, though I sometimes take a bit longer to get things done than I might ought to, I am learning a lot from the three separate gardens growing on this dacha's property, among them one that was donated, one that I am growing for a silent partner, and one that I grew from seed. Add to these two fledgling blueberry bushes (which are stuck in a sort of limbo) and one string-bean plant peeking from beneath an upside-down planter hanging on the back patio, and the opportunities for work become endless.
Every morning, as rosy-fingered Dawn is caressing the world with the promise of day but before the chariot of the sun-god has crested the horizon, I haul water up from the stream to moisten the earth within the various plots. And again in the evening, when Helios begins to dip toward the horizon and the birds start flocking home to roost, the soil drinks deeply of the cool running brook. To my great fortune, a good friend gave me a stack of Mother Earth News magazines, and, while foxing around in the barn, I found a trove of Organic Gardening magazines from the 1970s and '80s that I have been reading and studying, and from which I have gleaned much valuable knowledge. What, you ask, is the most useful bit of advice I have come across? Beyond the row-covers of tulle and the genius of drip irrigation, the most useful advice has been to never leave ground uncovered, i.e. that one should always cover one's soil with at least some form of mulch (grass clippings, leaves, layers of cardboard) so that it does not bake too badly in the sun and so that it is always gaining some sort of nutrients as things above it decompose.
I think back often to the lessons my parents once taught me, long ago, before they died, and I am tempted to chide myself for not remembering them, for not having paid better attention to what they said, and for not heeding their advice, but, instead, I bask happily in the memories and try to learn as much as I can from the soil sitting in my hands, from the plants growing in the ground, from the wind, from the rain, and from the subtle interplay that occurs when all of these elements conspire together, somehow, to make life. Among the most enduring lessons I am learning is this: no matter how barren soil may seem, it has the seemingly endless capacity to bounce back. This is but my first time doing this sort of work, but, by Liberty, I like it.
場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit
Every morning, as rosy-fingered Dawn is caressing the world with the promise of day but before the chariot of the sun-god has crested the horizon, I haul water up from the stream to moisten the earth within the various plots. And again in the evening, when Helios begins to dip toward the horizon and the birds start flocking home to roost, the soil drinks deeply of the cool running brook. To my great fortune, a good friend gave me a stack of Mother Earth News magazines, and, while foxing around in the barn, I found a trove of Organic Gardening magazines from the 1970s and '80s that I have been reading and studying, and from which I have gleaned much valuable knowledge. What, you ask, is the most useful bit of advice I have come across? Beyond the row-covers of tulle and the genius of drip irrigation, the most useful advice has been to never leave ground uncovered, i.e. that one should always cover one's soil with at least some form of mulch (grass clippings, leaves, layers of cardboard) so that it does not bake too badly in the sun and so that it is always gaining some sort of nutrients as things above it decompose.
I think back often to the lessons my parents once taught me, long ago, before they died, and I am tempted to chide myself for not remembering them, for not having paid better attention to what they said, and for not heeding their advice, but, instead, I bask happily in the memories and try to learn as much as I can from the soil sitting in my hands, from the plants growing in the ground, from the wind, from the rain, and from the subtle interplay that occurs when all of these elements conspire together, somehow, to make life. Among the most enduring lessons I am learning is this: no matter how barren soil may seem, it has the seemingly endless capacity to bounce back. This is but my first time doing this sort of work, but, by Liberty, I like it.
場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit
15 June 2012
on fighting fear
I am stumbled into the viper's pit, into a home suffused with Fear. That force against which all upstanding and self-respecting persons fight diligently and with indomitable passion reigns here nearly supreme; its stifling cloak has settled over most aspects of life within this home; its sinister influence has calcified upon the brains of this home's mother, poisoning nearly every thought that sparks within her mind and every tone that sounds within her mouth. The father – the SAR of whom was written just this week, on the moon's day – he contends with this his most deadly foe, but he fights it head-on rather than by the round-about, directly rather than sneakily, with thinly-veiled contempt rather than with clandestine, consummate compassion.
Our wartime President Roosevelt said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” These words ring true now more than they ever have; America is being pulled under by the slowly sinking wreck of consumption-driven capitalism, downspiraling into ignorance and small-mindedness by the hollow promise of convenience, brainwashed by the 24-hour news cycle as it drowns slowly in the brackish and sugary waters that seep from our society's crumbling foundations. As with everything else, however, as with obesity and sloth and the loss of independent thought, as with all the other ills that plague this once-fine land, fear's stranglehold is rooted in the propensity of humankind to take the path of least resistance, or what appears to be the Easy Way Out. Especially for a person whose daily activities revolve around the twin pillars of watching television and eating, it is easier to fear that to trust, easier to hate than to love, easier to despise than to praise. Especially for someone whose parents never modeled for her that love and compassion spring only from hard work and patience, dedication and sacrifice, who rather than teaching her that life is neither fair nor easy complained constantly of what they did not have while cursing other persons who appeared to have more, especially for a woman such as this – even though she is not fully to blame for her pitiable state of mind, since she has during her life neither known, nor thought to search for, a different path – fear comes easily, and it comes quickly.
It would be fine if the aforementioned woman kept her fear to herself, but, being a person averse to physical exertion and one addicted to such soothing, creeping soul-death as is addiction to television (and playing the lottery, buying name-brand foodstuffs, being driven around to nail and hair salons, and always looking for something to complain about), she talks about her problems over and over and over again instead of doing something about them. Fear has suffused her life to the point that it – rather than inherent rationality or latent compassion – is the first thing that springs from her lips; fear, which quickly becomes mistrust, which quickly becomes malcontent, which quickly becomes hatred, fear is her baseline mode of operation, the jumping-off-point from which she plans the steps of her life. How does one combat fear? By slowly and gradually showing it that it has no power, that it has no business lurking in the hearts of this nation's more gullible persons. Better this way that the other – to combat fear directly, with spiteful and equal malice – because combating fear with anger serves only to fuel fear, to make it grow and blossom so that it sinks its roots deep into the psyche. Just listen to the tone of this article: it is suffused with fear, as I have allowed evil into my heart. Oh, brother. Mahalo.
場黑麥 menterefecterem fecit
Our wartime President Roosevelt said, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” These words ring true now more than they ever have; America is being pulled under by the slowly sinking wreck of consumption-driven capitalism, downspiraling into ignorance and small-mindedness by the hollow promise of convenience, brainwashed by the 24-hour news cycle as it drowns slowly in the brackish and sugary waters that seep from our society's crumbling foundations. As with everything else, however, as with obesity and sloth and the loss of independent thought, as with all the other ills that plague this once-fine land, fear's stranglehold is rooted in the propensity of humankind to take the path of least resistance, or what appears to be the Easy Way Out. Especially for a person whose daily activities revolve around the twin pillars of watching television and eating, it is easier to fear that to trust, easier to hate than to love, easier to despise than to praise. Especially for someone whose parents never modeled for her that love and compassion spring only from hard work and patience, dedication and sacrifice, who rather than teaching her that life is neither fair nor easy complained constantly of what they did not have while cursing other persons who appeared to have more, especially for a woman such as this – even though she is not fully to blame for her pitiable state of mind, since she has during her life neither known, nor thought to search for, a different path – fear comes easily, and it comes quickly.
It would be fine if the aforementioned woman kept her fear to herself, but, being a person averse to physical exertion and one addicted to such soothing, creeping soul-death as is addiction to television (and playing the lottery, buying name-brand foodstuffs, being driven around to nail and hair salons, and always looking for something to complain about), she talks about her problems over and over and over again instead of doing something about them. Fear has suffused her life to the point that it – rather than inherent rationality or latent compassion – is the first thing that springs from her lips; fear, which quickly becomes mistrust, which quickly becomes malcontent, which quickly becomes hatred, fear is her baseline mode of operation, the jumping-off-point from which she plans the steps of her life. How does one combat fear? By slowly and gradually showing it that it has no power, that it has no business lurking in the hearts of this nation's more gullible persons. Better this way that the other – to combat fear directly, with spiteful and equal malice – because combating fear with anger serves only to fuel fear, to make it grow and blossom so that it sinks its roots deep into the psyche. Just listen to the tone of this article: it is suffused with fear, as I have allowed evil into my heart. Oh, brother. Mahalo.
場黑麥 menterefecterem fecit
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