Gogyohka-Friday [53]

 

I'm sorry, very sorry.

You're shocked, I'm very sure.

But no one's more horrified than I

for forgetting this poem

for the first time in a year.

Gogyohka-Thursday [52]

Oh, Father

how many times

must I fall

before I remember in You

I am free to fly?

*Photo Credit: Entrer dans le reve.

Isaiah 40:29 [Dabbling with photo-editing]

 

 

 

 He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Gogyohka-Thursday [51]

This is a poem I wrote in May, 2008 which was published a year later in a magazine in Japan. It's less concrete than my average Gogyohka- I wrote it contemplating someone dear to me who was leaving my life. Somehow, it seems to fit today- so here it is, for you!

sitting here

thinking of you

remembering

and trying

to forget

Gogyohka-Thursday [50]

And then came the day 

when Marilyn learned

she could still hear the world

through her headphones.

Her life as a recluse was wrecked forever.

Gogyohka-Thursday [49]

I go

merrily singing

and skipping

and twirling

around the college campus.

For pity's sake people, smile!

Gogyohka-Thursday [48]

the tongue, my weapon

has cleft the deepest wounds

into my memory -

my memorial

to those I lost in action

Gogyohka-Thursday [47]

"Some things never change."

What things? Even the mountains fade

and faces wither in ever-churning time?

God alone remains the same- 

yesterday, today, and forevermore.

Gogyohka-Thursday [46]

hats and bows

burned papers and sea-glass

I unpack my souvenirs

and remember

you

Fond Fare Thee Well

It's been about a year since I began Salt-Rain Tidings in August, 2010. I have so enjoyed blogging- documenting my experiences and sharing my thoughts. However at this time I think it wise to give my blog a rest as I have found it difficult to live in the present when I am constantly thinking and writing up posts. These next few months will hopefully provide me opportunity to devote more time to the people around me and to work towards publishing some children's literature (a project that has long been shelved in the shadow of my blog). This isn't a good-bye, just a take-care and see-you-later. I may begin re-blogging when I transfer colleges in January- or next year- or maybe just some time "in the distant future". But at any rate-  don't forget the archives, and per request I WILL be keeping up Gogyohka-Thursdays- so do stop in and check them out.

blessings,

L.E. Fiore

Gogyohka-Thursday [45]

strange

how "home"

is not always

where your

heart is...

Afternoon Tea in Company

"Find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things." -Saki

To my utter delight, I spent my birthday this year with the Townsend girls, my very oldest friends. (We go back to birth- a length of history I would challenge anyone to beat). To celebrate we went out for afternoon tea- all nine of us- our two mothers, their four girls, and my two sisters and I.

We spent the morning ironing our clothes (particularly feminine for the occasion)- doing our make-up- taking last minute pictures.  My little sister was particularly tickled in anticipation and told us with wide eyes- "We should pretend we're from England. From ancient times- before the revolution. And we should be very stiff and speak in English accents."

We went to a lovely tea shop- full of rose-china, linens, accessories, and satchels of tea. We were seated at two tables outside- next to the stain-glass windows and charming wooden-cottage doors. The tables were bedecked with flowers and lovely china, with pink napkins in flowered napkin-holders. Not far off- three older ladies looked up from their tea to giggle and wave at us and ask what the occasion was.  The charm of the atmosphere was contagious. (What is it in a woman- that blooms in the presence of beauty- and is ever seeking to recreate it around her?) We chose from a  vast tea menu two pots of tea to start off with (Dutchess Delight- which was a coconut, lemon, kiwi combo- Vanilla and Pieces- and later we had a mango tea and a blueberry tea)- and then adjourned to the dressing corner where we picked out hats.

What is a tea-party without hats?

Bonnets and boaters! Cloches and cocktails! Straw and felt! We had heaps of fun trying them all on and each choosing one to fit our outfit. I ended up with a wide-brimmed white hat- with a very coquettish netted veil. I found a pair of purple gloves to match my dress- but I ended up taking them off as they seriously interfered with eating.

Soon our tea came- and then our food. We supped on five different kinds of tea sandwiches- pesto and cranberry and humus and ham and cucumber- of that feminine shape and size that would make men shudder and despair of ever being truly satisfied. Next we had fruit and followed by scones with clotted cream, preserves, and lemon-curd. We finished off with strawberry shortcake (mine had a candle in it- upon which I wished).

As to our conversation, well, I shall not betray the confidence of that intimate circle by relating to you our numerous topics- or the smiles exchanged or the jokes shared and giggled over. No, for I hold the confidings shared by an entirely female circle sacred, and I could not tell you of them any more than I could offend the delicacy of my fair companions by relating to you just how many cups of tea each of us ladies consumed- imbued, as they were- with many slips of the sugar spoon and much cream besides. But I can tell you that there was joy- and joy abounding.

As three hours came to a close (you can imagine how much tea and talking filled those hours)- we perused the tea-shop- returning our hats to their hat-stands and fingering the linens for sale. There were three table-clothes purchased. One- a lovely paisley pattern of deep reds, oranges, and black- which, with my propensity towards anything Indian, I was immediately drawn to. Samantha, my darling friend, got it for me for my birthday. (Just the thought makes me smile.)

And then the antique store! More hats! More china! More linens! And cookery and table-ware besides. (We did not emerge unscathed. I believe there was at least one bracelet and exactly four silver napkin holders purchased.)

Five hours from when we set out- we returned home- weary from happiness. I can't think of a better way than to have celebrated my birthday. No tea could have been made any sweeter- for I shared it with the sweetest of company.

*Pictures by Madalynn Townsend. Used by permission.

Gogyohka-Thursday [45]

parking in Hollywood

snapping pictures of

an abandoned wine bottle

which later passed us-

acquired by three androgynous locals

River Rhapsody

There is in California a well-kept secret: the whereabouts of a river- secluded in a gorge- hidden by two mountain ranges.

On Wednesday we all- the eight of us and our grandparents- Poppi and Gaum- went river-rafting. We endured the hour or so of hair-pin turns to get there- and equipped ourselves with rash guards, wet-suits, hand-fin-gloves, hats, glasses, water-shoes, and a fair bit of sunscreen. We attempted to color-coordinate our various accessories- but in the end set out looking much like brightly colored tramps- our shoes, wet-suit, and air-mattress swung over an arm.

It is reachable only by way of an abandoned highway. For an hour you must walk in direct sunlight- the rising mountains to your left and to your right a cliff-drop into the gorge.

The chatter between us passes the time as our feet traverse the rocky highway deeper into the mountains- farther away from people, medical help, and proper bathrooms. We at last reach the turnoff where we leave the road and carefully descend a steep (and unsteady) dust footpath into the gorge. My sister takes my brother's arm- for her shoes have no traction and she does a great deal of discomforting slipping on the way down. After a quarter of a mile or so we reach the river where we put on our wet-suits and water-shoes and take our first dip into the river.

But the journey you must take in the blistering heat only magnifies the reward received in reaching the water. At first it is a shock of cold- and then the coldness is gone- and it is only a refreshing cool. You let your limbs slip under the rushing torrents- your feet find footholds between the river-bed stones.

We wade and stumble around rapids a bit up the river till we reach the first and second pool- my favorites. They design water parks after such places- clear, crystal, spherical pools spilling one into the other.

A veritable paradise- Diana in her infancy must have made these pools her bath- her radiant fingers smoothing away the edges from each stone till they gleamed, lunar pillars, around her aquatic palace.

We seat ourselves on the edge of the first lagoon- where the mothers and my little sister spend the day. From our packs we pull sausages wrapped in cellophane, carrots, and cheese. Those of us strong of lung (I do not include myself) blow up the ten air-mattresses which serve as our rafts. And then we are on our way- pushing off into a deep, green, shadowed lagoon.

In other places you can scarcely see the river floor- the waters turn from a languid green to an impenetrable black. In these secluded waters- who knows what lurks beneath the surface- sheltered in the shadow of the rising cliffs- hidden by the mountains.

This river is one of the few places where the rapids are large enough to enjoy- but not large enough to be of any serious danger. But this year the water is higher than normal (even higher than the other two times I visited in June) so we end up having to scramble around the falls- the current too strong to fight our way against. In between these scrambles we drift and paddle our way across lagoon after lagoon- till reaching our destination- where the gorge narrows and climaxes in a waterfall. In this particular section of the river the cliffs narrow so as to make a sort of passage between the mountains- so narrow you can touch both stone faces simultaneously as they rise above you for 20-30 feet.

Between Schylla and Charybdis you waver. To stay in the unknown depths of the black lagoon- or  to venture on into the foreboding enclosures of the stone passage, cliffs, and caves?

Through the passage you drift- dragging yourself along by the stone walls till the passage widens into a pool. Here the waterfall crashes down in a roar of wave and foam. My brother scares us by clambering up the rock face with the aid of two ropes and his own two adventurous feet- higher and higher above the stone and falls and water. We breath easier when he is back down. 

Where are the pirate ships? The smuggler's caves? Where in these depths do the mermaids play?

As we turn and head down-stream- this time with the current on our side- we pass two young men who are cliff-jumping. One of them lends his goggles to Paul who informs us that the depths of the pool are some thirty or forty feet and three-foot fish are swimming beneath us. (I didn't need to know that.) Paul takes the lead and he and I, close behind, blaze the trail ahead of everyone. We are both the lightest in our group- at 95 pounds- and we slide down the falls that cause others to capsize. Soon we are far ahead- and remain ahead no matter how many times we wait for the others to catch up. I am the first to sight our starting point- where we stow our rafts and return to the water unencumbered.

Beach yourself on a rock in the sun- let your feet bath in the rushing water- laugh and wave at those on shore.

We pull out our remaining victuals and the lot of us- on a rock in the water- rest from our toils and give each other back-massages. Then we begin the three mile walk home. 

Can we really leave this wonderful place? The cliffs and the river? We're here. For the moment. Here in California's best-kept secret. 

We reach the cars- we change back into clothes and shake off the sand. The day ends perfectly with Poppi treating us all to fantastic dinner- where we dine on pea soup and butter-lettuce salad, ravioli and baby-back ribs, sole and salmon- and for dessert a peach bread pudding and chocolate gelato. We crawl into beds- covered in scratches and bruises- aching all over- and full of good memories. Some of us are likely to return tomorrow.

But where is this Eden? I cannot tell. For I have become a secret-keeper.

Moonlight Moments

Sometimes it’s difficult to vacation on vacation.

There was a certain other-worldness to our week at Camp Spofford. I left the laptop at home. I was in a new place with new people. I was able- at least during the day- to forget my life and all its problems: a true and timely vacation.

But here… in a wonderful way, in returning to where I was a born, where I was a child- and the homeland of my parents and grandparents- I feel more in tune than ever with all that has made me who I am. There is no escape into alternative selves here.  Instead I am bombarded with memories from the past and I incessantly think of the future- of next semester at college- and of January when I transfer.
    

My sister seems to feel the same way. We were sitting in the spa- slowly cooking ourselves in the hot water and in the brilliant, harsh sun. “It is hard to just be.” she said. She too constantly thinks of the future. It is difficult to just take in the moment. 

In California- and so often unable to take in the moment. I fear missing these moments. Already I feel there have been moments not fully appreciated- already in the ever growing past.

Such thoughts as these played in my head last night as I gazed up alone at the night sky outside my grandparent’s house in Santa Rosa. The sky is a curious black in California- verging on purple, hinting of legions- almost misty. It is of that impossibly large quality peculiar to the flatlands. And despite the street lights (again, unique to suburbia), stars still shown down on my bare feet and upturned eyes. I felt, as I looked at it, that there is no sky like it- and how could I have forgotten it- and how could I possibly remember it?

I ran- across the grass and down the cooling pavement in the moonlight- thinking. And suddenly lights from an approaching car stopped me in my tracks and I stood very, very still  (abashed, as I was, to be caught alone and dancing at night on a sidewalk) next to a bush (which resulted in my getting many sharp needles in my feet) till they had passed and pulled into a driveway not too far away. I began to walk as inconspicuously as possible away from them when I heard some, well, rather unmistakable noises. I turned- and in the corner driveway stood the elderly couple just gotten out of the car- locked in each other's arms kissing. I stood, transfixed for a few moments watching this peculiar scene- then realized it would be very awkward if I was caught and moved on. I glanced back a few minutes later and they were still at it. (My grandparents informed me that their respective spouses were friends and had died and since then they've been going steady for three years.) 

Such tender love on such a tender night. The stars themselves were smiling. I smiled back- and the words from a song (which seems to be the melody that themes this vacation) -a stirring, wistful rendition of Over The Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole- played in my head. Someday I’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me…

Such are the moments that make up days. A beautiful young mother, pregnant with her third daughter, at the pool. All the old ladies- second grade teachers and navy men’s wives- with their twinkling eyes and smiles- all of them jams (sweet, pink, and preserved). These are the details I commit to paper- in haste lest the memory loose its potency- in hopes that I won’t forget.

I see fields of gold- grass turned to royal repose in the heat of summer.

I see trees- scattered and rising from the golden dunes. They are short and squat clusters of green- their gangly arms like the disproportionate limbs of trolls- weighted down and dragging on the floor.   

“If this is going to run around in my head, I might as well be dreaming…” (Nickel Creek)

I hear the sound of my Grandpa’s voice- as he prayed over our first meal here- thanking our good Lord for each of us- so special to him. And I sense- rather than see- my grandmother, like a ministering angel, doing the dishes as we climbed into bed- doing the laundry after we’re all sleep- and turning off the last light. (I was several times awake- my mind racing- late into the night. I wish I had joined her.) And I see her- her hand over her mouth- hiding something, or keeping something down- as she waved good-bye in the middle of the street as we drove away. 

And as I write this- that last memory brings the tears streaming down my face. The back of my throat burns.