Oct 2, 2015 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

So, after a long, long spell of dryness and crackling heat and dust, we’ve had a spell of three rainy days.

And it’s darker and darker earlier and earlier outside.

Usually, I have ambivalent feelings about autumn because of that, but I love that frisson in the air when it’s colder, and the leaves get golden and red (as they’re starting to do, finally).

This fall, I’m thinking of planting ginger and curry leaves indoors, in our downstairs bathtub-converted-into-a-grow-space-with-grow-lights-and-planting-containers.  I hasten to assure you that I didn’t convert the bathtub into a grow-space, lest you gasp at my imagined multitude of skills — it was my husband, the amazing handyman at home, who did that.  And outside, in our various beds in the front yard, I plan to plant the following fall crops:

• Beets
• Garlic
• Turnips
• Radishes
• Carrots
• Spinach
• Lettuce
• Kale
• Mustard greens
• Swiss chard
• Cabbage

We’ve grown so much this summer already — heaps and heaps of tomatoes (which are still growing, but not as lushly as half a month ago), heaps and heaps of green beans (and those are still growing), broccoli, cabbage, some not-as-prolific green peppers and eggplants, and lots of green and chillies!  We do not really want to spend grocery money on store-bought veggies, which cost more for less.  We like our food fresh from the vine or bush or plant.  It tastes like one’s own heaven on earth.  Our front yard, and garage-top container vegetable garden (also created by my beloved) is tight in terms of space, and our home is on a small, small plot of land in an semi-urban setting, but this garden does its job with pride and purpose.

I also want to plant bulbs before October goes — daffodil and tulip, crocuses, iris, narcissus.  This weather is helpful.  I neglected the fall flower-planting aspect of the garden for the past few years, and when spring came, our garden looked sad, with a few straggly tulips and daffodils here and there.  The summer was much better, and things looked prettier.  Vegetables always do well, but flowers?  They require a lot of care and thought, and I hadn’t had the time for that.  Now, I shall.

Fall is here, and it’s filled with hope: I shall plant, and I shall sing, I shall write, play music, and cook delicious food, and I shall learn to bake nice things for my family.

I thank the forces in this universe that aligned just right to make this time of freedom open its doors for me.  From having lived long enough and seen some poverty and sadness, I know that things can change rapidly, that times can be replaced with bad in the blink of an eye, and one cannot rest too easy on one’s happiness, and yet … I am happy.  If things go bad, I will remember the good times, and when things are good, I’ll focus on keeping them so, and sharing them.

Thanks for reading!
~Dreamer of Dreams

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One of my favorite poems of all time by John Keats:

Tags: #Autumn, #Contentment, Beauty, fall, Family time, flower and vegetable garden, memories to store, season of mists, time of happiness, time of plenty

Oct 2, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 101

Image by Cheri Lucas Rowlands

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Journey to the Heart of the Web
(In the Future — My Day 20 Post)
©October 1st, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

The future is now.  And now.  And now!
Half-way towards my Death, I lurch.
I see her lurking in the shadows.  Her breath
So cold, her eyes so gray, her face silver
Like stars stretched across space.

She is patient, so patient!  Spinning,
Spanning time, hanging beads of questions
On her web, and oh! how big those questions:
Who are you?
Where are you headed?
Why toil so much?

I am silent, thinking.
I am one among many
Unique to those I love,
And to those who love me,
Forgotten by the rest.
I have poems to write,
Songs to sing, a daughter to cherish
A husband to love, a dog to adore.
I have a garden and a novel waiting
For me to nurture them into life.
I have books to read, things to put away,
Flowers to inhale, birds to feed,
Snow to play in, a planet to explore.
This is not toil, though it is work.
And it is joy.

I say to her:
I am not ready for you.  Hang back,
Step away from me!

And her voice, cold as glass, says:
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you.

Not yet, I say, calmly, hold back.
I have plans.  I do not fear you,
But I have a life to build,
I’ll create a tower,
With storeys* made of story.
In the future, just before you entwine me in silk,
In my future, I will write,
And sing, and teach my child.
I will love my husband and child,
And take them with me on
A story-journey.  We will travel
Through my stories, and theirs,
Sing our songs, grow our minds,
Forget our fears, drop our bags,
And run through the fields.

And Death is silent.  Then, she says:
I shall be waiting.
Her voice is like a desert.

I think: My stories will come to me
From the spring of stories
That encircles the world,
And brings life to parched places,
And I want to dip my cup
In that water, and drink deep.
So, I face my future,
Setting my face against that quiet
Shadowed form, that voice
That rustles, my Death so elegant,
So ice-quiet.

But her voice, cold as glass, says,
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you.

Yes, wait, keep waiting, I say.

I think:  In my future, I will learn better
How to tell those stories,
And sing songs, and write poems,
I will strip ego, and listen, listen
To all the people I meet,
Sans judgement, sans fear,
Sans ready response.  For, in their
Voices, stories live, and in their
Hearts, grow dreams and love.
I will see their hearts, and sing those songs.

And I turn to her, and say:
When you come, O Death,
I shall sing you my song,
And tell you my story,
And we will journey together
To the heart of your web.
And we will be as one.
But not yet, not yet,
I have plans, and
There is much to learn.

And Death pauses, sighs,
Rustles her robe, turns away.
And her voice, cold as glass, whispers:
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you,
And you shall tell me your story.

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*In the US, the word storey is not much used.  But those from other English-speaking countries will know what I mean.

Tags: #Death, #Journey, #Learning, #Life, #Love, Family time, fear, poems, songs, stories

Sep 28, 2015 Ramblings and Musings

Blood-Dark and Bright Night — The Night of the Supermoon Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse

©September 28th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

W (my husband), S (our daughter), Holly (our dog) and I were together in the hour when the moon went from half-lit to completely blood-dark — and the dog went slightly nuts.

It was a beautiful eclipse.  Alas, we didn’t see the first forty-two minutes of it, but were there for the beautiful glowing white-giving-way-to-blood-red period.

We were at the Sheepfold a couple of miles from our house.  It was dark, surrounded by woods, and we thought there would be no one else there, but there was a silent couple who suddenly loomed into our vision.   Later, our dog went a little grrr-crazy, when some lights came swinging in through the darkness, and a man (dressed in kilts, I think), and a woman dressed equally colorfully, and rather “pagan”istically came through with flashlights, and smoke issued from a swinging censer — as they left with cheerful greetings, we smelled sage in the air around us.  It was rather nice.  Some ritual, I imagine.

It was mysterious and lovely being out there.  Our dog was anxious, though, but cheered up when all three of us hugged her, and soothed her.  We’ve never done anything like this before with her — all three of us with her out in the darkness in a place she’s visited only during the daytime.  Dogs must have a strange understanding of us humans, and our seemingly illogical impulses.

I don’t know whether our dog will remember this night, unless it’s in a lunar dream, where she’s frantically chasing night creatures on a blood-red-mood-dark nightmare in the safety of our bedroom.

But when we are all older, and our daughter looks back on this night, I hope she will remember with a little shiver of pleasure and nostalgia.  I know that I will remember, and so will my husband.

For we humans are nothing if not our memories.  We are entire edifices built from memory upon memory laid brick by brick by us, for us, on us, about us.

And a family is cemented by such memories.

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Please note:  The Blood Moon Supermoon image I used in “Featured Image” is copyright free from photobucket:

[http://media.photobucket.com/user/Peacefulrain09/media/Thorn%20Acanthus%20s%20%20Album/red1.gif.html?filters[term]=blood%20moon&filters[primary]=images&filters[secondary]=videos&sort=1&o=28]

Tags: #Musings, Bloodmoon Super moon Eclipse, Family time, Memories of a rare eclipse

Sep 24, 2015 Daily Life, Writing 101

Sorry, I had no time to re-create a day today — so I cheated (sorry!) and am re-posting an old “day-in-the-life” post of mine) for this assignment

Meditations Upon Walking on Solid Water

(Reposted an earlier post from my other blog, which is now private)

©By Vijaya Sundaram

January 25, 2014

 I had never walked on water in my entire life.  Today, with quaking heart, I did.

It wasn’t too bad.  It was lovely, in fact.

To think that there was a pond filled with water which teemed with possible life, which would, in springtime and summertime, have ducks and geese, and frogs and fish, which now supported my weight, and sang it’s safe, it’s safe to my internally trembling self!

(I was fine on the outside, although I wanted to get on it, go across and back as quickly as possible.  For, despite all the assurances and reassurances by my husband, who said, “I grew up near a lake, don’t worry, this pond is frozen solid, look!” and jumped on it, all my cells shrieked, No!  It isn’t.  Don’t!)

My daughter, intrepid and impatient with me, said, “Come on, Mom!  It’s great!  See?  And she walked on ahead of me, following my husband.

I knew that she was anxious for me to enjoy it like she did.  So, I put on my brave face, and squared my timid shoulders, and did.

Something interesting happened then.  I wasn’t afraid, anymore.  I put my trust in my husband and my child, and walked on solid water.  Ice is interesting.  It has personality.  It has stillness.  It is mysterious, a presence that could be either kind or cruel.  It was kind to us today.  No betrayals lurked beneath its opacity.

Then, we went back to the main trails in the woods where we were walking.  We walked in companionable silence punctured by occasional inconsequential chatter in the dark stillness of the night-time woods, lit by snow.  We heard the creaking of an occasional tree, as we wound our way up to the very top of the hill in the woods.

There we stood on snow-covered rocks, and looked down on the intermittent shoals of cars, exotic fish of gold and red streaming towards us and shimmering away from us on the highways far below.  The lights of the city gleamed jewelline in the winter night.  A faraway airplane took off, glittering into the sky, from the distant airport.

Our daughter is a child of winter, and a child of these woods.  The woods are hers, that hilltop and its tower belong to her alone (also to us, by extension), and that pond we walked on has been part of her consciousness since she was about twenty-two months.  She gazed around and exclaimed over and over, “It’s so beautiful here, isn’t it?”  And she sighed and sat on a snow-covered rock, gazing into the night.  My husband and I murmured in agreement, as we stood and gazed out, eyes saturated with the lights of the night.

Permanence is an illusion, I know, but I like to think that these words and that pond are part of the permanence of her memories.  I want for us to build a universe of memories.  These will sustain her (and us) through what is sure to come in the future, because the future is always jealous of the present.

And the present is our gift from the Lords of Time.

____________________________The End___________________________________

Tags: A Day in the life of ..., Family time, walking in the woods in the winter, Walking on ice

Jan 28, 2015 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes, Teaching and Learning

The First Big Snow Day — 2015

(What I posted on Facebook, and didn’t want to forget about)

©Jan. 27th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

January 27th, 2015:
A lovely morning. Slow wake up. Black coffee, and fantastic pancakes made by my husband, who used candied lemon peel, apple, granola, blueberry pancake mix from Stonewall Kitchen, and maple syrup. Took Holly out to the backyard, where she went crazy.  There is nothing more satisfying and joyful than a standard poodle in the snow. She leaped around, rushed up and down, dug joyously, ate snow (not yellow!), and reminded me yet again that life is simply to be lived and enjoyed as long and as well as possible. Sat with S and did, of all things, geography. Capitals, states, facts, including Motor City and Motown music, which led us to listen to Al Green, Ann Peebles and Stevie Wonder. Diana Ross is next, plus a whole bunch of others. She now knows many capitals and all the states, and other related facts — all of which she soaks up at an astonishing rate. I LOVE being with my kid!
Now, it’s gnocchi time with delish sauce.
Bye, all! Stay safe and out of the snow, unless you’re enjoying it!

Later, that day:
After we studied geography together, S said to me, “I love it,” (referring to my teaching her), and added, “You’re a natural-born teacher.”
Feeling grateful that my child doesn’t mind her mother being her teacher.

Still later:
Inspired by a Facebook friend of mine, who said she made chai inspired by me, I am now going to make some chai too, before I go out and join my family on the snow-covered hill opposite our house.
If you’d like some chai, just sniff the aroma I’ll waft to all of you via FB. You can have some virtual chai, OR make your own: For four people, brew a thumb’s length of fresh ginger, six cardamom pods (crushed), cloves (three or four), black pepper (four whole peppers), a dash of cinnamon powder, or a stick of cinnamon together with two cups of water. When it comes to a boil, add black tea leaves or four black tea bags (take care to remove the tags), add two cups of milk and brown sugar or honey (two sugars for one cup, yes, that sweet), and boil the lot together for a minute. Strain it into four mugs. Voilà!

Still later:
Sledding, warm bath for frozen dog (who didn’t want to come in from being outside, but I forced her), hot chocolate with chillies and cinnamon made by hero husband (I idn’t make chai, after all — too late for that — will make it tomorrow), followed by cleanup of living room and kitchen, followed by guitar and singing in front of fire, followed by pizza with veggies, then ice cream, then several games of Set and Quirkle.
Feeling terribly fortunate and rather lazy now.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to feeling guilty about the state of the world.

End of the day:
Can I say now (since I’m being so very public today about my happy day) that I love my family? And I love my husband, who has been loyal, supportive and loving to me all through our ups and downs in life together (even when I really didn’t deserve it), who has made us a lovely home, who is a beautiful father to our beloved daughter and also to our dog-ter, and who is a great musician, teacher and creative spirit, all at the same time. I remind myself of these things whenever I feel a passing grumpitude about silly things that pass me by like “an idle wind which I respect not.” Thank you, W!

Tags: Family time, Jan. 2015, Making Indian chai my way, music-making with family, Pancakes and gnocchi, Quirkle and Set, Sledding, Snow Day, Standard poodles and hot chocolate, Teaching and learning geography with my ten-year old