FinnThunder play: Old Woman & the Barefoot Maiden

My sisters and I have been busy. Here's part three of our contribution to FinnThunder 2012, starting tomorrow. Our performance piece is a one act play. The characters are an Old Woman (Vanha Akka), Crow, a corpse, Spring Maiden, Suvi, Black Swan, Tuonen Tytti (Queen of Death/Tuonela), Spirit dancers, and a Narrator! Sat. July 28, 2 pm, Finlandia Club, Bay St. Thunder Bay. $10 or free with FinnThunder day pass or weekend pass.  

The inspiration for the Suvi summer woman who ends our play was this old book that I once found at a Finlandia Club rummage sale. It's a book of poetry from the 1940s in Finnish. The poems are wonderful old poems, all dedicated to nature, to the lakes, rivers, sky, clouds, flowers, fields, and cliffs. The book cost me either 10c or 25c. Suvi means summer, the heart of summer. I laid the book in my bed of thyme and doesn't she look pretty there!

the new plan for Spring

Lately, I've been thinking about turning my yard into a small urban forest.
I've been thinking about that for a number of reasons. One being that the flowers, shrubs, plants, trees, and weeds in my garden generally tend to have a mind of their own and no matter how much time I spend in the garden trying to keep them in check, trying to get them to look "civilized," they just riot on me, refusing to be Canadian Gardeningized.
I don't know why I torture myself by subscribing to Canadian Gardening. I guess I just like to look at unattainable fictions. Another impossible dream to tack onto my short yardstick of wouldn't-that-be-nice-if-you-had-the-time. There are places in my yard that are truly hopeless in being contained, directed, or coaxed into domesticity. Of course, I haven't taken pictures of the madness spots.
The flowers in my garden speak their own language and keep talking back to me. I know that their language is heard by the birds, dragonflies, butterflies, honey bees, wasps, moles, and strange flying things, like this Snowberry Clearwing, a type of Sphinx Moth, because they talk to the flowers all the time, especially when I'm not looking.
But the takeover of the plants' determination to spring up where they will and to take over large sections not assigned to them is not the main reason why I've been thinking of turning our yard into a small urban forest. Rather, it's that all over our city small lots and pieces of land that hold small stands of trees are now disappearing, being cut down for "development." Why not fill our yard with trees? Growing in our yard, there are already two birches, a tamarack, a balsam, two mountain ash trees, a juniper, a blue spruce, a Manitoba maple, an apple tree and two jack pines. Did I forget anyone?

stragglers in the garden of life

Today after I came back home from my morning walk with Tassu, I went to dig out the dahlia bulbs from my flower garden. While our autumn days have been pleasant, and it hasn't snowed yet, you never know what the next day will bring. So, I thought I'd better not let another day go by else I'll be digging through snow with frozen fingers looking for those dahlia bulbs. After lifting out the bulbs, hosing them down, and collecting them into a large red plastic pail, I picked up the two leftover dahlia blooms that I had snipped off the plant before cutting it down, and decided to walk around the yard and see if I could find any other stragglers still blooming.

Sure enough, here and there I found a splash of colour livening up the decay of dead leaves and plants, so I snipped Arabian Nights dahlia, geranium, chive flower, salvia, calendula, mustard flower, jemima-jump up, comfrey bells, white clips, pink mist, parsley spray, purple button, petunia, and summertime sunset. Gathering them up into a colorful spring-like bouquet that belies their falltime lateblooming, I brought them indoors and popped them into an old chipped Iittala glass that I could never bear to throw out, so I use it for this purpose--hosting small flower bunches.Playing with the light, I tried placing the bouquet by the old Singer sewing machine drawers lined with mirrors that I was given as a gift some years back. Looking at my two photos together calls to mind how context shapes how one sees something, at how different the same thing can look depending on what surrounds it, dark or light, or even perhaps how dark or light one's mood is shapes what one sees, or fails to see. We see different things in the dark and from the dark and we see differently in the light. And in the twilight and dawn? Isn't that the time our eyes and minds play tricks on us? Or is that when we see beyond our limitations?

Yesterday I went to a funeral for a friend of mine whom I haven't known for too many years, but who endeared herself to the people she met since moving to Thunder Bay five years ago; she was 94. One of her jobs before she retired was seamstress; she used to be a seamstress for the Singer Sewing Machine Company in Ottawa. The chaplain who led the internment at Mountainview Cemetery read a number of poems as well as verses from the Bible. He began with Gibran, an excerpt from The Prophet, On Joy and Sorrow. Surprisingly to me, it was one of the writings I had assigned for my students in my summer class on Arab literature of the diaspora. Standing in the shadow of the Norwester Mountains in the circle of friends gathered at the gravesite, I was moved to realize how much more emotionally profound the words were at a funeral rather than in a classroom.

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

my yard is whatcha call natural

horseradish gone wild

the part of my yard that I call "the jungle." Forget weeding; weeds always win.
columbines in pink

looking at the sky from beneath pink columbines

the transplant: a slip from the white rose bush from my mother's yard is enjoying the sun in my yard.

purple and yellow

I haven't got any fancy flowers to show you, nor a fancy camera to wow you, just some plain-Jane flowers starting to come to life in my yard. Nothing fancier than a purple periwinkle plodding along the ground and a row of daffodils faces to the sun. You might wonder what the fuss is about. It's a most sedate sort of showing. But, arresting to those of us in more northerly climes.

a purple question

I spontaneously bought a small pot of crocuses last Sunday at the grocery store. I was on my way back from my early a.m. walk and I needed to pick up some cream for my morning coffee. That's when the small crocus pot caught my eye. At that point, it was a small mass of green grass-like spikelets.

I hemmed and hawed over buying it, worrying that the leaves and corms would die by the time I walked the half k home in the -25c icebox. The dream of having the surprise of purple on my dining room table in the midst of winter, however, was simply impossible to resist. I bought it. To protect it from the cold, I wrapped the flower loosely in a few sheets of paper towelling and popped it in my cloth bag.

It didn't' seem to suffer as it rewarded me with a peek of purple blooms a few days later, and now it is in full bloom. My old hand-me-down make-do digital camera does not even begin to show the beauty of the crocus, but I think the slight blur gives a soft water colour look to the little purple majesty.

I know this crocus is not the saffron cultivar, but I wonder, can I use the yellow stamens and styles for saffron?

Door of Roses

gate of my brother-in-law and sister-in-law's house in the village of Bishmezzine, Lebanon

yellow jasmine shrub outside my mother-in-law and father-in-law's back door of their house in the village of Bishmezzine.

my garden mint, which grows outside my back door, drying in my all-purpose baklava pan.

Today, I am sharing with you an excerpt from "Door of Roses" by Munia Samara, trans. Amal Amireh

MINT

doomsday of wind
talk of the garden
ambush of rubies
hiding in its sleeves
the leaf of the scene
and painting
the tea of the poor.

....

JASMINE

embellishments on the shirts of houses
and a perfume for the hands of the passersby
it amuses the picture of time
and when wind shakes it
it releases its seagulls
toward the villages.

Munia Samara is a Palestinian poet; this poetry excerpt is from The Poetry of Arab Women, ed. Nathalie Handal

My Garden Scrapbook

Here is the cover of My Garden Scrapbook. I haven't added to it for a couple of years at least, although there are many blank pages waiting to be filled. Tick tock. In My Garden Scrapbook, I have written down the names of flowers and plants in my garden, their medicinal or healing purposes, historical information and other tidbits of lore, drawn maps of what I planted where,

pasted in photos I have taken (like this butterfly on the Mock Orange bush by our front steps), images from magazines (like these china plates from an Irish magazine), and other scraps and snippets of paper and other errata that I keep saving in a large box...or two.

Hmmph. Where was that now?....I mutter as I rummage through boxes and rifle through papers...

In my Garden Scrapbook I also make pages on my dreams. Of what I hope to do. Sometimes the plans are beautiful, but time-consuming (like this healing garden idea by Marjorie Harris), so I postpone things knowing how much work it will be. Don't get me wrong, as someone with hardworking Finnish ancestors laboring away in my DNA, I love hard work and have learned to just keep working no matter what. My problem is I have too much work so sometimes my dreams stay in the pages of my journals. Also, too many dreams.

Sometimes I get carried away. Take this mishmash collage, for example. I must've put it together in November when it was gray and gloomy.

Yesterday, while I was crawling the web, I came across an interesting site that allows you to make mish-mash collages online; it's called Polyvore. Unlike my archive of snippet filled boxes, spiral bound scrapbook, scissors and glue, one's snippets online are taken from websites. Many of the creations (called 'sets') focus on fashion, clothing, shoes, jewelry, perfume, brand names, and other consumer goods. So, when you use a "scrap" for your set then you link the looker to where one can buy it. Of course. TO embed one onto your blog you automatically link to a brand name (see below).

Along with Rising Trends and Celebrity Styles, there are also sets categorized under Art and Expression. Of course, you can see how many hits a set gets so you can get quite popular (or dream to be popular)and get quite competitive in your creativity. Such is our capitalism. It is inside our heads. What I find interesting is that you can read the sets for their cultural meanings (I think I will include this site in the syllabus of my next Consumer Culture and Identity class). You can read them /decode them to see how their makers construct representations of themselves through consumer products. What is selected and what does that say? How do the pieces selected inform each other? What cultural narratives are revealed in the sets?

And, of course, people are very creative. Some of the sets transcend the set aside boundaries, while also participating in consumption, and perhaps...

American Muslimah by Hajar Zamzam Ismail featuring Donna Karan

challenging some stereotypes along the way. Like this set called American Muslimah by Hajar Zamzam Ismail.

the cat came back

Yesterday, I had a visitor.

She walked along the window sill of the front porch, turned the corner, then stopped to groom herself. After she was happy with herself, she sat staring inside. What caught her eye? She's curious and wants to come in. She's been here before with her big grey eyes.

Today, I had another visitor, although this one is not eager to come inside. She comes by the rock garden looking to see if I've set out any peanuts. She wants to get them before Crow and Bluejay or the other squirrels, especially the big gray tree squirrels that'll chase her out with a snarl.

We had snow last night. The black-eyed susans are covered now.

The owl didn't mind the cold and snow although the plants in the garden were struggling against the bitter winds. My hands froze as I picked a basketful of arugula.

This is part of the yard that I call "the jungle." It just grows its own way no matter what I do, so I leave it alone.

The Chinese wishing ball has a snow cap, too. I was wishing that snow and cold didn't arrive just yet, but my wishes went with the wind. Tomorrow, I'd better get out in the yard and put the wishing ball, Lily, and the cherub water sprite away into the garage as they can't withstand the cold when the hard frosts come to stay. I'd hate to see Lily in pieces.

sage, mint and nettles

I went for an early morning walk today, before sunrise. There was no wind and the lake by the shore was calm. I have no idea what monster waves lurk beyond this breakwater, beyon the bay of Thunder, past the Sleeping Giant. It's not called a thundering bay for no reason.

The sun came up after awhile. It's amazing, really, how quickly the ball of the sun emerges. As the earth hurls through space at 107,218 kilometres per hour or 67,000 mph, it is no wonder the sun rises so fast. Forget about watching the sunrise from this spot next year as this is where the "development" will sit, a hotel and condos smack dab here, blocking the view.

The name of this sailboat made me laugh: Concubine. It's an old boat. Even the name and paint are faded. The name has an Orientalist flavor. Taking a mistress out to sea? Other names of boats I saw: Blue Angel, Hedonist, Knot-e-Buoys, Gone with the Wind. Such carefree names. Next year where will they dock? The majority of boaters are not happy as they will have no slips available at the marina next year. Construction.

Back at home, the petunia I put inside the old wooden toolbox that my dad salvaged from somewhere, which I tipped on its side on my deck, cheerily looks out. It doesn't really like the plastic pot I put it in, hence the shortage of blooms. I try different plants in that plastic pot every year and none of them like it. I guess I need to get rid of it. I just hate putting more plastic into the landfill.

The mirror I have in the garden reflects back on another petunia that I put on top of an old Manitoba Maple tree stump that sits in our rock garden, which is behind the hops, which creep up the house. People like petunias, especially in short northern summers, because they continue blooming all summer. They just don't stop.

The sage my husband planted in the herb garden is doing well. Sage is very good drunk as a tea, especially for menopausal or post-menopausal women. It can make you sweat. A few leaves are also nice in salad.

I picked the mint already as our cool nights have some of its leaves beginning to show stress. So, I've got it drying in our sunny front porch, in a baklava pan. We mostly use dried mint in ground beef and salad.

I am also drying some nettles, which grew wild in our garden. You need to pick them with gloves on otherwise they will sting you and you will burn terribly. Once it's dry, the nettles no longer sting. I will make a hair rinse for it, mix it with some rosemary to help darken the hair. Not for my hair, though, as it is blonde. I need calendula.

A spot of joy in my garden. Or a joy stone.

butter and eggs

A little past the white teepee, on the ground where not much grows due to old toxic chemicals, I saw these wildflowers hidden under the grass. The yellow wildflower is known as Butter and Eggs. In Newfoundland it is also known as Bread and Cheese. A beautiful yellow dye can be made from the flowers. Butter and eggs belongs to the snapdragon family.I wonder if it too "tames tendency to throw out critical barbs"?

I phoned my sister

I phoned my sister, Katja, to hurry up and get over to my place. Last year, she and our mother gave me a gift certificate to a local garden shop and among the perennials I bought to make a new bed in front of my dining room window, were some daylilies. A few days ago, one long shoot had started a slow swirl to the stars and opened last night and so I ran inside to phone Katja to come and take a photo of it before it dies.....tomorrow?

I walked to the back yard, towards the area where I have planted "the tall plants". I can't remember the name of this flower but it is about 6' tall. Bees love it....but so do small white spiders. The spiders catch the bees, many of which are enshrouded under the flower heads, wrapped tight in cocoons of spiders silk. I saw a spider sucking the life-juice out of a trapped bee. Hassan said, "Oh, sister! Let's free the bee! I said, "Don't be silly. It's the law of nature. We should never interfere." Maybe this plant is called Bee Trap"? or Death to Bees?

Also by "the tall plants" this yellow visitor came to st(r)ay among The Queen of the Meadow. Queen of the Meadow is also called Ladies Bedstraw. Properly, she's a prairie plant, tall and regal and oh so sweet scented. Her stalks and flowers used to be strewn on the floor of the house or stuffed to make mattresses because of the sweet scent! You can also drink her as a tea or make mead/ale or black dye from her.

Sweetly scented thy wreath,
Meadowsweet of the cairns,
In round brindled clusters,
And softly fringed tresses.
Beautiful and graceful,
Creamy flowered, ringleted, high,
Around sheltered hillocks,
Where the wood sorrel grows
(translation from Flora Celtica)


Something took a bite out of the Lamb's Ears.

a morning walk in Bishmezzine

I have only been in Lebanon for 4 days, but I can whole-heartedly say that everyone should come to this wonderful country! Of course, I am staying in one of the most interesting places filled with the most interesting, hospitable, and genuinely friendly people, and, of course, excellent food. My days are full with so much to write down but too busy doing interesting things to find the time.

View from the balcony outside my bedroom. It is night now as I write this. The sound of hundreds of croaking frogs are broken by the crying howls of hyenas coming from somewhere under these tall old pines. Behind the pines are the mountains.

On Saturday morning, I went for an early morning walk with my husband. These yellow sun-button flowers graced the ground beneath a grove of old olive trees. Geckos slithered quickly out of our footfall. The occasional lizard popped its head over a stone wall.

The sun is hot first thing in the morning and in a different place in the sky than I am used to (as a northerner), so it is disorienting. I thought it was 11 am when I looked up in the sky and I asked my husband, How long have we been walking? We'd better get back. We promised your brother and his wife to go with them to a luncheon. My husband looked at his watch and said, it's only 9 am. We've got lot's of time. The dappled shade under the olive trees is inviting.

Many of the olive trees are hundreds of years old. Now is not the time to watch salt intake when delicious olives abound! I've eaten the best olives...

...and the best oranges. Fresh oranges right off the tree for breakfast or a snack. The fields around me are full of orange trees, olive trees, grapevines, pear trees, mulberry trees, fig trees, peach trees, walnut trees, almond trees, and trees bearing small juicy apricot-colored fruit with 3 large brown stone pits that I have no name for in English. The mulberries stain your fingers a deep purple. My mother-in-law makes a cooling drink from the mulberry juice. My sister-in-law makes a cooling refreshing drink from sour orange-like fruit. My husband's cousin gave me a glass of refreshing drink made from orange blossoms when my brother-in-law brought me there on his moped for introductions on the way to his house to met his wife's sisters.

The pomegranates are beginning their bloom and will be ready late in summer. My brother-in-law told me it is a very messy process to make pomegranate syrup, very sticky and gooey so he's always looking for someone to help with this. I said, I won't be here then, so I can't help.

Old widower uncle who lives alone dries fava beans on the floor of his patio. I'll tell you more about his 150 year old house later.

There are roses everywhere. Old uncle widower, my sister-in-law, and many other inhabitants of Bishmezzine are collecting rose petals now to make rose water soon. I will post a post on roses and making rose water later.

On our walk, my husband and I passed this old sanctuary on the way back home. It is just up the road from where the Turkish artist, Atta, lives.

He's been here since the 70s. He invited us in to his studio home on the corner after shouting out to my husband, "Are you Omar's brother?" (in Arabic) as we walked past his place. After showing us his portfolio, he wanted to make us some tea but we said as we had a lunch invitation in Tripoli, we had to hurry back.

A rusty sign hidden behind gardenia and jasmine bushes tells travelers where the sanctuary is.