new construction

new construction
Originally uploaded by chickenlilnm.

"So bleak is the picture...that the bulldozer and not the atomic bomb may turn out to be the most destructive invention of the twentieth century." Philip Shabecoff, from Sunbeams, The Sun magazine 6/06

Yes, they have started constructing four consecutive wallboard
palaces between us and the mountain - one is 5 feet from my
bathtub. Quite disheartening, and a lengthy lesson in tuning it out --everywhere I have gone in life, I am followed by bulldozers and thebeep beep beep that means they mean business.

full moon with cloud

full moon with cloud
Originally uploaded by chickenlilnm.

wild cloud with full moon june 06

View from terrace

View from terrace
Originally uploaded by chickenlilnm.

Hotel Bebek Istanbul, looking down from terrace to waterfront restaurant

Window in Side

Window in Side
Originally uploaded by chickenlilnm.

side, near antalya (sih-day) on the Turkish mediterranean

Cat on roof

Cat on roof
Originally uploaded by chickenlilnm.

March against War


An article today in the Albq Journal says -
If the Iraq War is so unpopular, where are all the protestors?

They're out there...Where is all the media coverage?

This from Truthout reminds us that March is the time for marching, according to David Swanson. The cherry buds and articles of impeachment will be emerging soon in Washington. On the Gulf Coast, Mardi Gras hangovers and media interest in hurricane victims are wearing off.

FOCUS | David Swanson: March
http://www.truthout.org/docs_2006/031106X.shtml

I am going to post a retrospective piece, from the first pages of my own blog, C. Little, no less - It was a brief description of a tiny peace protest, in Corrales NM, that took place in March 2003. I have been blogging for 3 years now.
Noah is 4-1/2 years old. Jody is in Qatar, again. Still. Ariana is completing her nursing degree. Robert heals the sick and raises the dead in Corrales. This morning, there was snow and today fierce winds rattle our windows. The Ides of March are upon us. Wars rage on.
___________________________________________

Rain is falling, after a long time of no rain, changing the world.
It is a sad day; a war is happening, undeclared but imminent.

We had some rain on Sunday, after we stood a little while out
by the road with a group of about sixty people from our small
community, holding candles in soda cups, trying to keep them
from flickering out in the wind.

It was not a spirited rally, and not enough people felt like singing
old protest songs--We Shall Overcome or Give Peace A Chance...
We know peace has no chance, that it is flickering out in the darkness.

Still, a memory of peace was among us, the old folks and little kids
that were there, standing there, for no reason but to do something,
feel something. Hoping that our fears will be unfounded, assuaged...

Two women were talking in the dark, I don't know if they knew each other...
I know them both. Once we were mothers at the family school, once we
were playing with new babies.

These women are married to men who have been wounded, though not by war.
One husband was paralyzed in a ski accident, and is still in a wheelchair.
The other has a degenerative brain disease, a frontal lobe mystery.

This quiet man told us that he took a sign "No War For Oil"
out to the intersection and stood there for a few hours, while
many cars drove by, and mostly everyone ignored him, would not
even look at him.

He came to the vigil with his candle, and his kids, and his
wife who says she hardly knows him anymore. He sang softly,
"This little light of mine...," pretty much by himself.

It began to rain, and the people ran to their cars and
went home, with melted candles and broken hearts
over a war we cannot stop but can only hold up a little light,
and hope it will be enough.

____________________________________________________________________

Lou Dobbs on CNN is actually attempting to bring up some of the connective
tissue underlying the US-Dubai ports problem. Namely, the Boosh family and
the bipartison across the board corporate corruption that has been going on
for a long time..but anyway-- this video is certainly surprising, coming from
CNN: check it out - Carlyle Group - Bush family ties to UAE

Here's the video:

Peanut Butter sandwich

Noah having a *smawich* - January 2006

UN Grabs Great Smokeys

This is the kind of story that really confuses me.
It sounds terrible - but then maybe it is good - but...
it sounds terrible!

I don't know what to think.

One thing for sure, it is important we know about these
kinds of things so we don't become too trusting of the
entities that purchase and control our wilderness.

Would it be better to use the land for... a weapons lab?
What are the alternatives? I do love the ideals of
the Earth Charter, which Lolly so loved. Is it really a
plot? Is it all a plot? Oh dear.


http://wnd.com/news/article.asp?ARTICLE_ID=49100

then there's this report from Michael Klare via TomPaine.com on Alternet -
http://www.alternet.org/envirohealth/33243/

The Coming Resource Wars
America's closest ally has announced that climate change has ushered in an era of violent conflict over energy, water and arable land.

It's official: the era of resource wars is upon us. In a major London address, British Defense Secretary John Reid warned that global climate change and dwindling natural resources are combining to increase the likelihood of violent conflict over land, water and energy. Climate change, he indicated, "will make scarce resources, clean water, viable agricultural land even scarcer" -- and this will "make the emergence of violent conflict more rather than less likely."

...Although speculative, these reports make one thing clear: when thinking about the calamitous effects of global climate change, we must emphasize its social and political consequences as much as its purely environmental effects. Drought, flooding and storms can kill us, and surely will -- but so will wars among the survivors of these catastrophes over what remains of food, water and shelter. As Reid's comments indicate, no society, however affluent, will escape involvement in these forms of conflict.

We can respond to these predictions in one of two ways: by relying on fortifications and military force to provide some degree of advantage in the global struggle over resources, or by taking meaningful steps to reduce the risk of cataclysmic climate change....

No Place for a Poet at a Banquet of Shame

( with thanks, from Catharine Wright / dis.course )

http://mt.middlebury.edu/mt/mt-tb.cgi/3818

I was just sent a copy of this letter by the poet Sharon Olds, whom I have long admired and whose poems I have shared with students for many years, in response to an invitation from Laura Bush to talk about reading and writing at the White House. The letter is so eloquent and moving, so exquisitely precise and honest, that I wanted to post it immediately to share it with others who will understand her sentiments about the current administration, the war in Iraq, and the power of poetry. The letter was sent to me by a newly made and dear friend with whom I had tea today at the Hungry Mind cafe in Middlebury, where the rain burst through cracks in the door in the back of the room, and the creek rushed by carrying armloads of branches in a storm. Here's the letter, and do share it with others:

No Place for a Poet at a Banquet of Shame
Sharon Olds
http://www.thenation.com/doc/20051010/olds

Laura Bush
First Lady
The White House

Dear Mrs. Bush,

I am writing to let you know why I am not able to accept your kind invitation to give a presentation at the National Book Festival on September 24, or to attend your dinner at the Library of Congress or the breakfast at the White House.

In one way, it's a very appealing invitation. The idea of speaking at a festival attended by 85,000 people is inspiring! The possibility of finding new readers is exciting for a poet in personal terms, and in terms of the desire that poetry serve its constituents--all of us who need the pleasure, and the inner and outer news, it! delivers.

And the concept of a community of readers and writers has long been dear to my heart. As a professor of creative writing in the graduate school of a major university, I have had the chance to be a part of some magnificent outreach writing workshops in which our students have become teachers. Over the years, they have taught in a variety of settings: a women's prison, several New York City public high schools, an oncology ward for children. Our initial program, at a 900-bed state hospital for the severely physically challenged, has been running now for twenty years, creating along the way lasting friendships between young MFA candidates and their students--long-term residents at the hospital who, in their humor, courage and wisdom, become our teachers.

When you have witnessed someone nonspeaking and almost nonmoving spell out, with a toe, on a big plastic alphabet chart, letter by letter, his new poem, you have experienced, close up, the passion and essentialness of writing. When you have held up a small cardboard alphabet card for a writer who is completely nonspeaking and nonmoving (except for the eyes), and pointed first to the A, then the B, then C, then D, until you get to the first letter of the first word of the first line of the poem she has been composing in her head all week, and she lifts her eyes when that letter is touched to say yes, you feel with a fresh immediacy the human drive for creation, self-expression, accuracy, honesty and wit--and the importance of writing, which celebrates the value of each person's unique story and song.

So the prospect of a festival of books seemed wonderful to me. I thought of the opportunity to talk about how to start up an outreach program. I thought of the chance to sell some books, sign some books and meet some of the citizens of Washington, DC. I thought that I could try to find a way, even as your guest, with respect, to speak about my deep feeling that we should not have invaded Iraq, and to declare my belief that the wish to invade another culture and another country--with the resultant loss of life and limb for our brave soldiers, and for the noncombatants in their home terrain--did not come out of our democracy but was instead a decision made "at the top" and forced on the people by distorted language, and by untruths. I hoped to express the fear that we have begun to live in the shadows of tyranny and religious chauvinism--the opposites of the liberty, tolerance and diversity our nation aspires to.

I tried to see my way clear to attend the festival in order to bear witness--as an American who loves her country and its principles and its writing--against this undeclared and devastating war.

But I could not face the idea of breaking bread with you. I knew that if I sat down to eat with you, it would feel to me as if I were condoning what I see to be the wild, high handed actions of the Bush Administration.

What kept coming to the fore of my mind was that I would be taking food from the hand of the First Lady who represents the Administration that unleashed this war and that wills its continuation, even to the extent of permitting "extraordinary rendition": flying people to other countries where they will be tortured for us.

So many Americans who had felt pride in our country now feel anguish and shame, for the current regime of blood, wounds and fire. I thought of the clean linens at your table, the shining knives and the flames of
the candles, and I could not stomach it.

Sincerely,

SHARON OLDS

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe





We went to Juliet, Georgia, a tiny town where the film was made - and we ate
those fried green tomatoes, too. It was New Year's Eve, 12/31/2005 -
celebrated while visiting Ariana, Jody and Noah in middle Georgia... that's me, in red.

November Retrospective

It's been a while, a pretty long while, since I updated this blog.
November came and went - and very pretty it was, but no
rain. No snow. None at all. As I write this now, months later,
I am reminded how long it has been. Today we got a couple of
snowflakes - tiny ones, whirling and dancing in the wind.






Along the main canal - my favorite cottonwood tree.

__________________________________________

Corrales Bosque - Halloween
Trail to the Rio Grande - through red willow

Halloween - Cottonwoods and tamarisk

UlerFest
Laury Alexander and Tony Byers threw a party November 4 - the annual homage to Uler - by burning a huge bonfire of old skis - supposedly to auger an excellent ski season.
But it seems like 'ol Uler got pretty angry this year, and did not bring snow to the high country.



Bonnie Gonzales at the Corrales Grower's Market

Bonnie's beautiful flowers are my favorite part. On this day, Corrales celebrated
Farmland Preservation efforts and it was a wonderful affirmation of the power of
the land. Thanks to all who helped.

CONTINUUM: A LOVE POEM

going for grapes with
ladder and pail in
the first slashing rain
of September rain
steeping the dust
in a joyous squelch the sky
standing up like steam
from a kettle of grapes
at the boil wild fox grapes
wickedly high tangled in must
of cobweb and bug spit
going for grapes year
after year we two with
ladder and pail stained
with the rain of grapes
our private language

Copyright © 1980 by Maxine Kumin.

The Apparition

True to his word, our vet

comes in late afternoon

and kneels in a slant of sun.

A pat, a needle stick

stills the failing heart.

We lower the ancient form

to the hemlock-shrouded grave

and before the hole is brimmed

set a layer of chicken wire

to guard against predators

so that the earth we broke

reforms, a mild mound.

The rock we place on top,

common glacial granite,

is mica-flecked and flat.

That night the old dog works

his way back up and out,

gasping, salted with dirt,

and barks his familiar bark

at the scribble-scratched back door.

I pull on shirt and pants,

a Pavlovian response,

and stumble half awake

downstairs to turn the knob

where something, some mortal stub

I swear I recognize,

some flap of ear or fur,

swims out of nothingness

and brushes past me

into its rightful house.

--Maxine Kumin

(Atlantic Monthly, December 2003)

I found this poem, and it reminded me that it was
this time of year - 2002 - when Marcus came, bringing the pink needle --
late Autumn afternoon light slanting in across the flagstone
to where she lay, her breath laboring, beautiful Sandy letting go, we say goodbye, those brown eyes trusting us.

For The Time Being: my poem from those days, Fall 2002

Andrew Joseph ~ b. 1946 - d. 11/1/2005 All Saint's Day
We've lost (another) Andrew - Cousin Andy Joseph has left us.
He was much loved, by many. So sorry for the suffering. So sorry, Terry.
Miss you, Andy. (click on ABOUT ANDY on the left sidebar)


In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Don't go anywhere without me.
Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon, be that with me.
Be the rose nearest to the thorn that I am. I
want to feel myself in you when you taste food,
in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go up on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street without you.
I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads, more than maps, more than love.

The Essential Rumi
Coleman Barks




Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I could do without the thing,
And not be the first.
Joy has gone the way it came.
That is nothing new;
I could get along the same,
-- Many people do.
Dig for me the narrow bed,
Now I am bereft.
All my pretty hates are dead,
And what have I left?

"Wail" -- 1925 By Dorothy Parker

Hopi Prophecy




When the Clock Strikes Midnight

"Many of you have come here for years now asking the
Hopi about the prophecies, and when the clock will
stop ticking. You have spoken with our elders, and
some came with good heart, and others with bad heart,
some left never knowing their own hearts and could not
hear from the heart of the Hopi.

You always left here always fed with something from
us, for your thirst for knowing, and always blessed
from our hearts.

Now the time together is short, shorter than you know,
and our hearts are heavy. You have been telling the
people that this is the Eleventh Hour. Now you must go
back and tell the people that this is the Hour.

And there things to be considered:

Where are you living?
What are you doing?
What are your relationships?
Are you in right relation?
Where is your water?
Know your garden.
It is time to speak your Truth.
Create your community.
Be good to each other.
Do not look outside yourself for the leader.

This could be a good time!
There is a river flowing now very fast.
It is so great and swift that there are those who will
be afraid.
They will try to hold on to the shore.
They will feel they are being torn apart, and they
will suffer greatly.
Know the river has its destination.
The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off
into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open and
our heads above the water.
See who is in there with you and celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing
personally. Least of all ourselves. For the moment
that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to
a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather
yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your
attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must
be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are
the ones we've been waiting for."
(http://www.wolflodge.org/hopi/hopi-old-oraibi.htm)
















Chile roasting - at Wagner Farms - Corrales
















Harvest Moon ~ Corrales - October 2005

Succulent Snapper

A delectable dinner may be as close as the nearest pond or stream!

LINDA WEISSINGER

One of my earliest little-girl memories is of going with my dad and brothers to catch snapping turtles in the muddy Auglaize River near Wapakoneta, Ohio. The rugged, hook-jawed beasts—once pulled ashore and cleaned—would be cooked into a big pot of turtle soup or fried to a golden brown in a sizzling hot skillet.

This abundant—and practically free—source of delicious protein can be found in almost any body of fresh water in eastern North America. And though snappers look mean, they're a cinch to catch and—if you know what you're doing—easy to handle....

http://www.motherearthnews.com/library/1980_July_August/Succulent_Snapper

LOL! I think this is hilarious - and kind of astonishing - I found this article on a google search, which was a referral to my blog, on the name "linda weissinger" - my maiden name. I did not write this piece for Mother Earth News - and I did not go snapper catching with my dad. This to me is like the Bizarro-World Linda Weissinger -...Child, I never knew ye!