I Can't Forget You

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear O Best Beloved,

 

You know if I wasn't thinking of you, Radio Dodo would play you David Bowie almost exclusively, but, I am thinking of you, always.  And today, I think you should listen to this- it's a Song for Today. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miss Construe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Ones,

Here is why I love to write you here:  I can erase my words.  In speaking, I am just as careless with words as the next yahoo; sputtering nonstop meaningless drivel like David Mamet's characters, but, when I write my words, I also must read them, and that means that I choose them much more carefully.  I am composed, instead of blathering.  It is nice to construct oneself this way- I recommend it.

If you imagine talking to people, a dialogue, you can see that silences must be filled, and sentences must trail off, and words are more about sound than precision.  I often rehearse, in my mind, what I will say when I see so and such a person, and then when I am with them, of course, a million things happen, and all the beautiful sentiment that I practiced pouring forth has evaporated in slanting sunlight through a window, or a Mustang roaring by, or the flurry of energy in my companion's mood.

Which is why, dear reader, I love to say to you the things I mean in written words.  Although, if the sunlight slants in, I accept that you might misconstrue in the actual moment of reading, but you can rest assured that I meant if not what you read, then at least what I wrote.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cherry Lullaby

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Stoned Cherry,

 

This is a short story about waiting a long time-  you might sit there, and think that you don't have time to read a little paean to drupes, and so you might want to run along now.  If you do have the time, begin with this sweet song that has been around since the 15th century, which will help to put the next few minutes of our lives into historical and philosophical perspective.

 

I have never met a cherry I didn't like- I like their blossoms, I like their pits, I like they way they grow in twos, I like their color, their scent, their wood, and even the very word cherry- so close to cheery.  I love the rainiers, the morellos, the queen annes, and the bings- but cherries do not grow easily or well here at Twittering Patch, and over the years, most have perished one saddening way or another-  I make sculptures out of the their straight, sapling, hopeful remains.  But this Spring one of our orchard trees exploded in a cloud of white blossoms.  Then, even more surprising, green pips appeared!  They then grew into actual factual edible red cherries.  We ate about half of them right off the tree, hurrying to beat the birds and the deer.  The other two dozen we made into ersatz tarts. 

 

The little tree gave us Montmorency cherries- what they call a sour cherry: the spunky kind to be made into pies.  I could not be happier at our extreme good fortune in getting a small harvest this year.  It really does beat all!

 

 

 

 

 

Ersatz Cherry Tarts

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you have a little more time, you can set back and wait until winter and you can get yourself a bare root cherry tree and you can put it in the earth.  After a few more winters, maybe two, maybe four, you can make these tarts and you will have all the glory of a project completed after half a decade.  They are just cut squares of pastry with pitted halved cherries set on top- tip a spoonful of sugar over the cherries and bake them at 400 or 425 degrees, for 8 minutes or so.  They taste like a beautiful five years. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PS

 

When it's cherry blossom time in Orange, New Jersey, we'll be a peach of a pair....

 

 

 

PPS

 

If you do give your love a cherry, you might want to sing along, or play these easy guitar chords.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Infinity, and Beyond!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Infinity,

 

How can I explain myself?  I hear the people, they say:  "It was amazing; it was awesome."  They say:  "It was the worst; I hated it."  These emphatic phrases are flaccid little balloons of emptiness, and I am left searching for words to persuade you by, because, dear ones, I am not convinced, after all these years, that a picture is worth a thousand words; in fact, I am not sure you could get as many as ten words for a good sized picture, from even the venerable old masters.  Talk is cheap, yes, but often people don't even look up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marks no bigger than a lizard's foot print.  An attention to precision that speaks of human frailty.  Repetition that allows one to see every hair is numbered.  The unspeakable beauty, the meaning of such marks as a dot in the center of a circle.  All the wonderfully open areas of space and time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It isn't what it should be, this enticement and description of the wonderful retrospective of Agnes Martin's work at LACMA, but it might be enough to encourage you to drop by.  The thing, the absolute central thing, about Agnes Martin's work is that you must see it in person.  It simply does not reproduce in the camera's eye.  If you have seen her work, then you love her with a passion already, and you know what I am trying to say.  If you haven't seen it, then please step into the desert of her wide and generous mind by seeing these paintings- it is a real treat to see so many of them!  So many of the charming and shocking small works on paper!  I hope you are there already!

 

Oh!  But the beyond, I almost forgot the beyond!  You will not only appreciate these pieces as glorious testimony to the grandeur of life itself, but you will dash home ready to transform your jumbled and tangled objects and notions into glowing metaphor and shining statement.  No, really, I mean it!  You will be rattling around in your junk drawer for those old wooden knobs to make a sculpture out of, and you will sharpen your Way of the Dodo pencils to make a field of blossoming dashes and dots.  It really will inspire and motivate you!  Take my words for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PS

As long as you are there already, why not take a look at these wonderful objects of excess too?  They seem in some ways related to Agnes Martin's work, don't you think?

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Won't Last Long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Darlings,

 

Can you believe I have been stumbling around in the dark without this song?  My goodness, I must make a point of getting out more.  I really must, and you should too.  Meet me tonight at the nearest rotating restaurant and we can talk about it at length. 

 

Until then.

 

Reflecting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Instant Improvement: Just Add Suit.

 

 

 

Dear Quadruple Threats,

Isn't it time we studied one of the greats?  As I often tell myself regarding great paintings, we must be encouraged and inspired by demonstrations of outrageous skill (will you look at his outside edges!).  We must not turn our backs in sad dismay, give away our skates (or paintbrushes) muttering: "ain't no way I'm ever going to be that smooth."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gene Kelly would be very sad to hear that his exhibition of skating made us want to give up our own puny gliding and pushing, and so I intend to watch this repeatedly, until I can feel it in my feet, and to acquire, by osmosis, a teensy bit of Gene Kelly's mad rolling genius, and then manifest it in my own ploddingly joyful skating. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PS 

 

One thing that might instantly improve my skating is the addition of a fedora hat- although, I believe what is worn in this clip is more properly called a trilby- or maybe I will try a tailored jacket.  The Goodwill store is full of wonderful menswear blazers and they will probably even fit over my elbow pads.  There is a fellow, in fact, that I have seen skating at Moonlight Rollerway in Glendale, on Tuesday organ nights, with outside edges such as Gene's, and he wears a suit when he skates, too.  Want to read more on this 66 year old treasure of a skating rink?  I'll bet Gene Kelly skated there, and your Mom, or even your Mom's Mother!

 

 

 

 

PPS

 

Your suit won't be limited to roller skating, you can skateboard in it, too.