clams

Clams are on my mind, and I’m a little frustrated that I cannot find much information about them online. An individual clam that made the news in 2006 has surfaced, however. Off the coast of Iceland, a clam was dredged whose shell indicated it was 507 years old, the oldest living creature on earth known to humans. (Each ring on a clam’s shell is reported to measure one year in time.) Scientists named the clam ‘Ming’ because its established birthdate of 1499 dates back to the ‘Ming Dynasty’ period of China. Ming is reported not to have survived the investigations of the scientists. However, the details are very limited. Perhaps if I dug longer, I’d learn how large was this creature. I’m curious about the circumstances under which it was removed from the ocean floor.

In the last year or so, I’ve seen old photos from the 1960s of certain species of clam harvested for food. Some were as wide as a foot, and looked to be bulging with life. The people who caught them did not seem proud or pleased but rather a little unsettled by their catch.

In the Old Testament, there is mention of the religious law directing that the Jewish people were not to eat shellfish. I don’t remember there to be an explanation.

I have an odd technique when painting or drawing whereby I do not decide in advance what I intend to create, but rather wait to see what shows up. In 2012, whales sometimes energetically emerged. In 2013, there were clams, although I’d not before experienced any special interest in them. In drawing them, I became interested in their existence, and wondered why they come forward in such a powerful way.

yoga at home

Yoga is a great practice for keeping an even keel. One may take lessons from a teacher or have friendly sessions with friends or practice alone. It took some effort for me to learn to practice alone. Weekly classes had worked well; we had a skilled, caring, intuitive teacher and I showed up for nearly every class. We were encouraged to practice at home, but it was a long time before I was able to get past my resistance. Turns out that a simple key was waiting for me. I didn’t commit to a whole routine of movements and breathing on my own. I just did something that felt good. If it was only one movement, I patted myself on the back just as I would for a longer or more complex series. Quickly, my practice became rewarding, and it flowed very easily.

Over time, yoga practice has faded some with the embrace of other activities. But the body awareness integrated with conscious breathing became imbedded in my core and is never lost. This week, I just had to find that old key: one small exercise done with sincere intention is very good. Practice can maintain or grow or contract at its own timing.

Kids bring gifts to the puddle:
tadpoles, bugs, sheltering leaves.
Creation!

Waterbug shadows
dance on the watery floor.
Life’s mouldering scent.

As I sat at a traffic light today, two bright green, almost neon green, birds were in flight. Though Austin has been known for its healthy population of monk parakeets, these parrots were of a far more brilliant shade. The two flew about six feet apart, darting and weaving in a surprising synchrony, like the Blue Angels, or a pair of eyes. That would not have prompted me to write, except that later in the afternoon, at another traffic light, I saw two grackles in flight, perhaps 12 feet apart, again in this intricate and intimately perfect synchrony. So, I wondered about it a bit. It’s the season for mating and building nests. Perhaps the birds pair up and become as one in flight without thought, for the pleasure of the union. The purpose of such synchrony which is perhaps beneath their consciousness is to become a team to rear young (reproduction for the survival of the species).

I’ve written in a past blog about the scientific method. The steps we were taught in high school circa 1970 have changed. The first step we learned was and still is my favorite, and in my opinion could stand alone. It’s the one that is now completely left out: Observation.

To learn about animal behavior, or how the weather works, we can juggle numbers and measurements and laboratory conditions all we want. I deeply believe it is essential, though, to walk outside and observe.

Nursery Rhymes and Fairy Tales

Fairy tales and nursery rhymes several centuries old were a staple of a child’s introduction to story-telling in the United States when I was a kid. The rhymes were recited in playgrounds, at bed-time, in the first years of school. The stories of giants and elves and trolls were written down in famed collections of the Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Anderson, and Mother Goose, among others. They were also retold in simplified forms for the youngest listeners – sometimes in thin hard cover publications like The Golden Books. Mostly descended from the European tradition, the stories and rhymes had kings and princesses and knights, and tales of elves that repaired your shoes in the night. There was the kid who climbed a beanstalk into the territory of one very ferocious giant who complained ‘Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive or be he dead, I’ll eat him with a loaf of bread!’

Everyone knew Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, The Princess and the Pea, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Puss ‘n Boots, King Midas, Sleeping Beauty, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears. They could sing or shout Mary Had a Little Lamb, Pease Porridge Hot, Old King Cole, A-Tisket, A-Tasket, and Pop Goes the Weasel.

Many of the stories traditionally began with the phrase ‘Once upon a time…’ and ended with ‘And they lived happily ever after.’ (Except for the stories where they did not live happily ever after! Some tales were plum scary.)

Kids tended to embrace these books when they showed up on their birthdays because of the amazing illustrations. Many were printed from paintings lush with color and intricate detail. You looked at the pictures first, then picked out the words to find out more about these amazing scenes. A wolf dressed like Grandma! Two kids stuffing a witch into an oven! The beautiful swan that was once an ugly duckling! A little mouse pulling a thorn from a lion’s paw.

Songs

There are all kinds of songs. Ballads tell stories. Some songs are brief and repetitive. The rhythm can make sure the point gets across. Some are silly or sweet or angry. Some songwriters spend a lot of time on the lyrics: the flow, the meaning, the imagery, the poetry. The power of the words. Others are more focused on the tune, the instrumental, or they just weave something magical out of notes and words that rhyme. Some ache with emotion. There are the blues, and there’s folk which tends to have a societal edge. Hymns are prayers with melody.

One song I composed is just the repetition of a single syllable: Hey!

unscheduled meditation

The neighborhood creek is largely dry but there is a broad shallow puddle just past the dam. I took a break from my walk and sat above, looking at the water and the leaves collected at the water's edges. I stayed longer than usual, in a quiet little peace, the temperature mild, a frog and a few birds making noises. I felt a little guilty - why was I staring so long in one spot? When I first sat, my body was still, with my mind still active. After awhile, both my body and mind were still, were one, and that is when I began to see.