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A tangle of trees, a host of sunflowers

 

Indira Ganesan, Bright Yellow Flower, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Bright Yellow Flower, 2014

Today I was stuck in the subway for forty-five minutes, going from one line to the next.  Last week, though, I took a walk, and was very unstuck.

 

Thinking of Wordsworth, I came upon a host of sunflowers;

Indira Ganesan, Host of Golden Sunflowers, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Host of Golden Sunflowers, 2014

I did not neglect Virginia Woolf,

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the salt,

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the sand,

Indira Ganesan, Sand Bar, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Sand Bar, 2014the sea

the sea,

 

 

 

 

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All this beauty where I live.

 

R.I.P. Mr. BK.S. Iyengar

Today is Another in a Series of such Days

Indira Ganesan, Bounty, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Bounty, 2014

 

A marmalade cat strolls out of the woods pleased as Punch

makes his way up the path, and disappears into the woods again. He is fat, plump on

more than just mice, his tail tipped with white.

There is a hint of autumn in the wind on this day, perfect as a picture.

Three weeks left before Labor Day.

The paper has been read and discarded,

and it so quiet. The traffic is muted,but there,

it begins again,

as the voices rise and fall in the distance as people make plans.

A sunflower

volunteers itself up in my garden, readying to bloom.

Mountain

Indira Ganesan, One Day's Close, 2014

Indira Ganesan, One Day’s Close, 2014

How do you celebrate a life passed? On May 19, Dr. Vincent Harding, noted historian, civil rights leader, educator, peace activist, passed away at age 83. July 25-26 was declared the Vincent Gordon Harding Memorial a Weekend in Colorado, marking what would have been Dr. Harding’s 84th birthday.

I met Dr. Harding in 2003 I think when I traveled to Denver to meet my dear friend Rachel. Her mother, the late Rosemary Freeney Harding, and I had been Bunting Fellows together in 1997-8, although that commonality between us seems hardly believable, given the wealth of Rosemary’s talents and wisdom. Rachel had accompanied her mother that year, and the three of us spend good company that year in Cambridge, working in colorful Victorian cottages, and attending afternoon seminars given on art, science, and peace work.

“Hello, my sister,” was Dr. Vincent Harding’s usual greeting, and I immediately became family.

The first part of the memorial began with prayers in , and I could have been listen to a priest chanting in Sanskrit, the same reciting of words in a cadence that was steady, sonorous, and ancient. English does not have this power, because it lacks invocations, and even its prayers have a passion that is more be searching than declarative. Kodo drummers led us out in fierce, loud drumbeats into the night. Yesterday, Aztec dancers began a four-hour long interfaith service, with a choral counterpart, and testimonies of the enormous influence Dr. Harding had not only Martin Luther King’s life, but in the lives of his numerous students, “nieces and nephews” who learned non-violent communication, community-building, and the use of tools to build a more just and peaceful society.

My memories of Dr. Harding are vivid from a trip his family and I took to Bahia and Rio de Janeiro. In the mornings, we sought American-sized cups of coffee, to the consternation of hotel staff, and Dr. Harding sang a song about “an awful lot of coffee in Brazil. Singing was instrumental to his work, and song and dance was an integral part of his workshops on black power and freedom. Singing also eased his way to the next life, aided by his daughter and son. My deep respect to a great man whose loss will be felt heavily in this world.

 

Izzy Turns One, Ocean might be Two

Indira Ganesan, Mother & Daughter, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Mother & Daughter, 2014

So, my cats. As many of you know, I fostered a family of four kittens and their mom for a few months last fall. They lived at first in my separate studio while making sure they were not infected with ringworm( they weren’t) before moving into my home. And move in, they did. Scrambling onto the computer, checking out the windows, the sofas, claiming spots, developing personalities. One liked to sleep on the upside down lap desk propped against my table; another slept with her sister head to foot. One liked to hide in boxes, and their mom sought refuge in spaces near the ceiling, atop the kitchen cabinets, or the transom of the window. They wriggled, purred, fought and cuddled their way into my heart. As they were adopted, my heart would give out a little. My sweet allergic niece decided she liked Izzy’s photo the best, and so I kept Izzy, and her mom.

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I am still not sure how I wound up with the mom, but her name is Ocean. From five felines to two, my days spin around them. I wake at four, battling with Izzy who is busy tearing up the lining of my box spring. It is a task she looks forward to. We go back and forth for an hour and get up at a more respectable hour.

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They have grown this past year, Ocean filling out, and Izzy as well. Now Izzy will be a year old, and my teen-mom Ocean might turn two Sunday.

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It’s mostly about food, and napping, and sleeping.

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There is also the adorableness factor.

 

 

Sunset, moon, and whales

Indira Ganesan, Humpback fin, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Humpback fin, 2014

 It was a perfect outing.  The Center for Coastal a studies held a sunset/moonrise whale watch the other night.  I attended with friends, met other friends on board,  and had friendly conversation throughout, interspersed with gasps of amazement as whales waved, rolled, and breached before our eyes.

we could on this trip never see all of a whale, only parts.  First, a flipper, a back, then a blowhole, and a tummy.  One mother appeared to train her young calf on how to slap the water and roll effectively.  Later, as the moon rose, a magnificent, as if overcome by the beauty or energy of the tides, as if moon-caught, moon-cow, breached the water, again and again.  I didn’t.t see his tail emerge, only most of its thirty-five or thirty-six foot body, and then with a splash of sea spray, the tail flicked and disappeared back into the sea.

if I am in the little plane from the Cape to Boston, I try to spot the whales.  I imagine them as large shadows.  Only once did I see one, and now I can’t recall if I just saw the blowhole spray, or if a part of it emerged.  There is so much we cannot fully see, and we are so much like the story of the three blind men touching an elephant and deducing that it’s part was the whole.

When we left the boat, we walked in and out of stores, and walked through the summer crowds.  On occasion, we would stop what we were doing, and exclaim, ” we saw whales!” We did.  We saw whales, a magnificent sight. We saw whales.

Indira Ganesan, whale spotting,2014

Indira Ganesan, whale spotting,2014

Indira Ganesan, Up!, 2014

Indira Ganesan, Up!, 2014

Indira Ganesan, splash, 2014

Indira Ganesan, splash, 2014

Indira Ganesan, adieu, 2014

Indira Ganesan, adieu, 2014

Indira Ganesan, That Moon, 2014

Indira Ganesan, That Moon, 2014

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