Day # 212:Trying to stay focused

#212

It is Friday and beautiful out there.  I find myself dreaming of being on a boat more than writing a book, but I'm trying to stay focused.  The bay is full of sail boats and there is a tanker out in the ocean.  It is noon and hot and summery.

I just had a funny memory while listening to one of my interviews.  I remember lying in my hospital bed and someone from the hospital coming in and asking me if I wanted a picture of my daughter taken.  I remember thinking it was some kind of money scam or way for extra money to be made like aboard ships or entering the Boston Aquarium.  Anyway, I said, "no" because I didn't have any money.  But now that I've listened to enough of these stories, I realize the social workers were making sure moms went home with pictures of their newborns even if they were being relinquished.  Makes me sad, she was beautiful at birth.

Day # 211: Obsessed by the Marsh Hawk

# 211

I woke up at 5:30  this morning and the bay was socked in with fog, everything felt wet, but a lot cooler.  Now at 8:20 the fog is almost entirely burnt off, I can see Newport, but a breeze remains and I can hear the waves on the rocks remarkably well.  It is a lovely beginning to the day.  I wish I had binoculars with me.  

It is now 9:20 and I have begun my writing, the breeze is strong and right through the window I am sitting near, the sea is loud, and the hawk has returned to screech by my ear.  He is right outside my window, floating on the wind, hanging in mid air, occasionally flitting his wings, but not moving from the place he is watching.  I have not seen him with a catch, yet.  I think I will by the end of the week, though.  I do hope it is not one of those bunnies.  He's just hanging in mid air, talons hanging straight down .  Why is he warning his prey, though?

The ocean is choppy.

It's overcast, wind blowing 

through the yard with high humidity

but average summer temperatures.

I am damp, but not from sweat.

Observing the on-going behaviour 

of the Marsh Hawk couple

living amidst the rose hips.

They float on air

and screech their high pitched "kee"

Talons hang down, wing tips bent

A holding pattern in a high wind

The Red Tail's presence is always

a mystery to me.  Appearing

when unexpected - to leave

a message for my assurance,

life is abundant, life is strong.

But these hawks seem constant

their endless cries a language for each other

not for me

Yet as the wind picks up

the sky goes grey

I believe they are flying closer

swooping in front of a window

these are attempts at telling

me something, if not,

just warning of the impending

storm.  

Now as it approaches 8 p.m. the storm is here.  There are white caps and I can barely see across to lights on the other side of the bay.  The day has come full circle.  It feels as though we are at sea.  It will clear, but not before sunset.  We will photograph the blue moon at midnight.

Day # 210: Birds, birds and more birds

#210

I think I will list all of the birds I see during the week.  There is a bird sanctuary down the road, I may go visit it.  I would love to spend more time studying seabirds, however, I am quite aware that I am here with a focus and I don't want to get too distracted.  But birds call to me.  

I got up early to write this morning.  One forgets that familiar noises become backdrops to life in your own surroundings, but when you change locations you are mesmerized by the different sounds of everyday.  In this spot there are 3 major sources of sound.  The first is a construction site in the lot next door where it appears they are building a hotel.  The second is the loudspeaker from the beach down the street which carries on the water and sounds like it is right outside my window.  And the third, and the most compelling is the bird life.  It is almost as though different bird families claim Jean's lawn at different times.  I do not hear dozens of bird songs at once, but during the morning have heard many in clumps, like the hawks that live near, for a good twenty minutes they dominated.  They talked to each other screeching out information I could not translate.  And now the seagulls are telling each other something.  

This guy hovered over me when I walked out of the house this afternoon.  I stood and talked to him for 10 minutes.  Emma thinks he was telling me to leave his baby bunnies alone, they were his.  But I'm telling you there was an entire language being used that I was unable to understand.  

The ocean is my place of poetry.  It is what I conjure up when I think of scene.  The smells, the noise, the wet air, all of it is poetic to me. And of course, there is the lobster.   

Day # 209: Beauty Before Your Eyes

#209

It is much easier to write on paper.  But right now I am sitting in front of a large picture window with a fan on me looking out over a bay in Rhode Island.  I think a storm is on its way'; the haze is filling in all around.  When we first arrived there was no wind, it was absolutely still, but now we have a breeze.  I haven't gotten my bearings so I don't know from what direction it is coming from, but it is blowing the grasses and the rose hips.  Birds are really active at the moment.  I believe there is a hawk pair in the scrub and a dove pair sits on the lawn at the moment.  I saw a mockingbird earlier teasing the cat who sits on the sill of the window staring out at them, her own private view.  And of course there are gulls.  I am happy.

The thunder has begun.  I'm hoping the storm comes out over the bay and that there is lightning to photograph. 

New England is in itself made up of small microcosms.  I felt as though we drove through four of five different cultures today.  Worcester to Providence is its own world, but the minute you get to Providence the smell of ocean takes over.  And there are so many differences between Massachusetts shoreline and R.I. shoreline.  It made me want to know the history of Roger Williams.  How did this little piece of rocky, jetty coastline get made its own state?  It is tucked between Mass and Connecticut, a protected little piece of land. 

Day #208: Still Looking For a Couple of Original Mothers

#208

In May of 2014 I was asked what criteria I was using to chose original mothers and I said it was going to be an intuitive process, which it was in the beginning.  But now it is a logical process, because there are holes in the larger story that together these stories create.  I am looking to fill those holes.  One example is if you are a Native American who relinquished thirty to fifty years ago and are willing to participate, I would love to hear from you.  I would love to hear from an urban woman of color who relinquished before open adoption.  Please, if you have any interest in being interviewed for my book leave me a comment.  This week I am hoping to finalize who will make up the total.

7/2010

Eating Buddha's Dinner; Bich Minh Nguyen 2007
Told from girl's perspective about coming to USA from Vietnam with her grandmother, father and sister and wrestling with assimilation and not having her mother.   Worth the read.

Day 207: Construction in Rain

#207

The light tonight was curious.  A storm cell came flying through here, very little lightening, lots of rain, and then a pink clearing.  Everything was reflecting kind of a salmon pink.  I've photographed this door before, but tonight I found it especially intriguing.  

7/26/2010

Five years ago, how small the girls were; this is another image from that week they camped out in my yard.  

I'm trying to organize myself to be productive and write for a week.  It actually makes me nervous to commit to write for one week.  I am promising myself I will write Tuesday afternoon until the following Monday afternoon.  I'm scheduling in some photo time, too, but mainly I will write.  

 The amount of construction going on in this town is astounding, I'm floored by it.  Tonight's glow reflected off puddles in mud in a huge construction site.   The fact that I photographed ugliness over beauty is not symbolic of anything, it just is.  I ran uptown to pick up a little pizza and this is what I saw at 8 o'clock.

Day # 206: A Working Day

#206

In spite of the fact that I didn't make a penny today, it was a perfect day for Farmer's Market. I did buy produce, beautiful produce to take with me on my little adventure that I am taking this upcoming week.  I am taking food with me to eat while I stare at the ocean.

7/25/2010

That week I had a ton of nieces camped out in my yard.  It was so fun to be surrounded by smart fun girls/women.  I love this group.  We were waiting for Mom to pass, but we were enjoying each other, too.  I was lucky to have them around.

It really was the perfect day for a farmer's market.  The sun was out and there were few clouds, a small breeze, and the temperature did not climb, nor did the humidity arrive until after we had closed for the day.  A few more people came out.  But my attempts at creating activity near my tent have not succeeded thus far.  Anyone got any ideas?

Day #205: Good day for music

# 205

A good day afterall....

Believe it or not they are singing We're The Monkeys.  There are eight members of this band ranging from the ages of 12 to 17.  Emma wants to keep them going, find a garage and keep practicing.  Their band name is Tonquin.  Keep your ears open for them.  They could be hot.  3 female vocalists, keyboard, sax, 2 guitars and a drum.  

The end of a 7 month run of busy ness........  Sleep, here she comes.  

Definitely documented my day today, from seeing a garden snake to the moon this evening, but the majority of good shots were around camp.  Happy Friday everybody!!!!!!  Hello weekend.

Day # 204: Fertile Ground Photos

# 204

I have been walking around all day with the feeling that there was a hole in my heart.  Before 9 this morning I had heard from three people who were struggling.  I assumed my hole was from empathy.  But coming back from an event this evening in Deerfield I realized my hole was grief.  Why am I always so shocked when grief comes to visit?  So when I got back I read the same date from my 2010 blog and sure enough, 5 years ago today my mother went into hospice care never to come home again.  I had gone down to see her with Patrick.  It was an awful day.  My hole is stimulated by anniversary grief. I have to remember that that is ok.... emotions are good.   

I am a lucky person. I have this extremely close and extremely talented friend. He came with me yesterday and today stayed with me for part of the day so that I could be sad safely. He also shared with me 2 of his new projects. They are cool. 7/24/2010

Looking at these photos it is clear why people settled in the Deerfield Valley.  Too bad it was such a bloody experience.  

DAY # 203: Poem for the day

#203

Our Perfect Summer’s Evening

                              For Loren and Colette

We walked to a small lobster place

in the nock of a Martha‘s Vineyard harbor. 

We ate bowls of clams cooked

in their own sea water, white wine and lemon. 

Sometimes we dunked the clams

into butter, all the liquid rolled down our arms

off our elbows. unless we mopped

          it up quickly while the taste

          took over and satisfied us. 

Afterwards we ate bread and salad,

we washed our hands, arms and faces,

paid the bill and walked out on the long

pier to watch the sun finish its journey

below the horizon

          leaving the sky a bright red orange.

He took pictures of us

3 girls giggling, pleased

with ourselves, all red and dark,

a little burnt and squeaky clean,

our hair drying

          stripes of blond beginning

          to appear.

written a while ago on a night like tonight by the sea.

July 21, 2015  Flags at half mast

7/22/1010