Dangermond.org

Alison Pelegrin

Brenda Marie Osbey

The other day in yoga, Lisa asked us to close our eyes and visualize our life as a tapestry where all of the events are depicted in vivid colors. On that particular day, I had a vignette depicting me meditating to Purnamadah, a walk through City Park, cleaning off my desk and uncluttering my mind, a not so delightful moment with someone who is not so delightful, and a hug from Tin after he scowled at me for wanting him to come eat. A tall glass of dandelion, parsley, celery, green apple, and ginger juice that Tatjana has made in the Jack LaLanne juicer my mother ordered off of an infomercial and never used and gave to us (add to this the way Tatjana says dandelion – dar dan leon). Picture all these vignettes across a tapestry and they add up to wonder. Take one of them individually and it belies reality.

I must admit having introduced meditation in my life, the anxious thoughts that ramble through my bramble have been picked apart much like the singular conflict of that day and put there, there being on the side, to view, to notice, but not to succumb to. The I Ching master warned me many years ago now in a small apartment overly warm in Shanghai not to think too much in one direction and that is advice I heed. And that makes the tapestry more remarkable because it is those vignettes that I highlighted and sat upon, or wore upon my head, or beat my breasts with, that were ruining the design.

Of all the best voice over narratives I can remember that soap opera as if I were hearing it yesterday, “Like sand through the hour glass, so are the days of our lives…” This occurred to me as I readied myself for the next few weeks that promise to be eventful. T leaves for two weeks out of the country and I fly solo for Jazz Fest with Tin who is in a much more mobile state of being than he was last year when I carried him stage to stage in the Ergobaby. Now it’s the Stroller on Steroids, equipped for the impossible. Forget about running stage to stage as I am want to do, now it’s set up camp and enjoy.

Similarly, we have not one, but four Jazz Fest parties to attend and that is not counting all the ones we were invited to. Then there is flying to Atlanta for my nephew’s wedding where I will do a James Brown turnaround with Tin. The second half of the fest has a colleague coming in town – his first visit ever to New Orleans. And then a friend and colleague from The Nature Conservancy who I haven’t caught up with in person in too long a time is coming in post Fest. That same week Steve is in town for the AIA conference here with his own busy agenda of eating and socializing.

I thought about this busy-ness and how I will be sitting here at my desk in the blink of an eye and will be writing about the Saints and Sinners Festival or whatever is next up on the narrative scroll. Like sand through the hour glass …

I’m  back in my vegetarian mode, getting a little repulsed by the same chicken breast that I just cooked, warily staring at a pork loin that T had made, and overall just having a general revulsion towards flesh food. I saw this thought of the day and it reminded me of Pollan, who seemed to be so ubiquitous for a period there but now I haven’t seen anything by him lately. This thought is lasting but my favorite from him is “if you are not hungry enough to eat an apple, you’re not that hungry.”

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. -Michael Pollan, author, journalism professor (b. 1955)

I was trying to tell Tin what absurd means but he wasn’t following too well what a word would mean outside of his Tin-centric universe. But I have the definition of absurd. The New York Times’ breaking news is this:

THIS IS BREAKING NEWS?

I read that the gestation period for swans is 35 days, but it seems like it has been longer than when the three swans formed a tribe and began watching the nest. Today, looking over at the little island it appeared as if a two-headed swan was nesting while the black one circled around making those ourh ourh noises. I’m watching and waiting for a site of those baby swans. Sitting beside the bank of the lagoon was an Old Milwaukee with a straw in it. It made me think about our vices, something I was pondering as I watched Kusterica’s While Father Was Away on Business, a Yugoslovian film that highlighted the brother against brother dynamic that became even more acute during the 10 year war but what I had latched onto was the father’s promiscuity – almost like an addiction or a right. Put a straw in it, you can drink it faster.

Later, as I was walking home, I saw my neighbor who was so anxious to have another child she considered adoption before she finally got pregnant, now here we are some years later and she was putting both children in the back of the car, and once she had gotten them in and buckled up I heard the screaming and she got out, rolled her yes and said to me, “It’s the same thing every morning!”

I came home and pulled Tin out of his crib – Tin who went #2 in the potty yesterday – such a big boy and he asked for Salt Peanuts. Salt Peanuts, Salt Peanuts. If Dizzy Gillespie would have known the spell he put a two year old under with this song, he might not have ever written it. But 35 days from now, when Tin is headed off to college who knows what the “same thing every morning” will be. So for now, Salt Peanuts, put a straw in it!

There are days, such as today, when I wish that I had a hammer and could ply a trade with it. That I could build beautiful furniture, cozy houses, or simply make art. But my tool is my pen, or rather my keyboard, and try as I might to get away from this as my trade, it is always here when I wake in the morning. But that wouldn’t be so bad, if attached to it were not the other parts that go with it – like people. If you could just use a hammer to wield against the idiots you deal with during one day long period, now just think of how satisfying that would be.

I recall seeing that black and white swan getting jiggy last year, but now it seems they and the other white swan have all formed a tribe and are raising some younguns. I have seen baby ducks by the dozen, a few goslings, and even baby squirrels but I’ve yet to see the baby swans emerge from the nest that the three are watching so vigilantly. Although I can’t wait.

The geese have been particularly nasty lately and one day they startled me and I yelled at them because they are so hissy and spitty for no good reason. But today without warning Loca up and hissed back at the geese and set them all scurrying for the lagoon. Cracked me up.

My favorite time of year, Jazz Fest, and I can almost feel the drumroll about to begin and see the horns shining in the sun not to mention the feathers flying from the Mardi Gras Indians parading around the Fairgrounds. I remember when going to Jazz Fest meant simple things – a hat, a brass pass, a schedule, sunglasses and let the bands begin. Now I have been spending all week outfitting the super stroller event of the year – a new cup holder for the stroller, two travel chairs – one for Tin with an elephant and one for me made of mesh to keep me cool, an umbrella and two velcro straps to attach it to the stroller, an freezer bag, diapers and wipes, bubbles (I sent back the gazillion bubble machine that I was going to attach to the stroller because it malfunctioned so we’re going old fashioned the simple blow-the-wand method), a hot potato toy, and I’m bringing a book, sunscreen and god knows what else. Whatyagonnado?

I’ve mapped out the agenda and find myself pretty much setting up camp in Congo Square for most days, albeit we’ll have to travel to see a few bands here and there. One of the best days is Sunday, May 1st — WHICH I WILL BE MISSING!!!!!!!! because my nephew decided to get married in Atlanta on Jazz Fest – why? The line up is incomprehensible that Sunday – head shakingly incomprehensible. Boo-hoo.