Feather drawing by Rosanne Raneri.
7.16.08 the octopus
I don't know why but I've been obsessed with a strange creature lately.
The octopus.
Before this, I knew little about the fascinating being-- only that it had 8 legs, suckers,
and shot ink.
But on PBS the other night, I caught a little glimpse into one's life and behavior in
particular, and ever since I've been obsessing about it and telling everyone who'll
listen to me how utterly amazing and, believe it or not, cute, they--or at least this
one-- is.
This octopus, in captivity in a glass storage tank, came to play a kind of hide and
seek with the scientist who was testing its abilities to be cognitive and reactive.
The octopus would sit behind a partition that obscured its view of the scientist on
the other side of the glass. The scientist would then play a cat and mouse kind of
game, raising his head above the partition, then lowering it, and the octopus
would follow suit by then raising its head in search of that strange being on the
other side.
What followed blew me away even more, resulting in my obsessive behavior of
telling everyone about this creature.
On the bottom of the ocean floor, a scientist filmed an octopus hauling along a
dirty, broken brown bottle under one of its tentacles. It lives in this bottle and
carries it with it everywhere.
What's in all of this for me, I wondered?
Is it the curiosity? The alien-ness of this odd looking being that I like? Iits complete
disregard for how it looks to others? Or is it that big rectangular eye that seeks
our gaze, and perhaps some kind of communication with us?
Is it the hobo-ness of this thing that I love so much?
I'm not sure, but Ii feel like a whole new world opened up in my consciousness.
Sometimes, it IS the little things.
post note, 2023: Sy Montgomery's book The Soul of an Octopus is a soulful journey into her experiences with cephalopods; anything with 8 arms surely must grab one's attention....
I don't know why but I've been obsessed with a strange creature lately.
The octopus.
Before this, I knew little about the fascinating being-- only that it had 8 legs, suckers,
and shot ink.
But on PBS the other night, I caught a little glimpse into one's life and behavior in
particular, and ever since I've been obsessing about it and telling everyone who'll
listen to me how utterly amazing and, believe it or not, cute, they--or at least this
one-- is.
This octopus, in captivity in a glass storage tank, came to play a kind of hide and
seek with the scientist who was testing its abilities to be cognitive and reactive.
The octopus would sit behind a partition that obscured its view of the scientist on
the other side of the glass. The scientist would then play a cat and mouse kind of
game, raising his head above the partition, then lowering it, and the octopus
would follow suit by then raising its head in search of that strange being on the
other side.
What followed blew me away even more, resulting in my obsessive behavior of
telling everyone about this creature.
On the bottom of the ocean floor, a scientist filmed an octopus hauling along a
dirty, broken brown bottle under one of its tentacles. It lives in this bottle and
carries it with it everywhere.
What's in all of this for me, I wondered?
Is it the curiosity? The alien-ness of this odd looking being that I like? Iits complete
disregard for how it looks to others? Or is it that big rectangular eye that seeks
our gaze, and perhaps some kind of communication with us?
Is it the hobo-ness of this thing that I love so much?
I'm not sure, but Ii feel like a whole new world opened up in my consciousness.
Sometimes, it IS the little things.
post note, 2023: Sy Montgomery's book The Soul of an Octopus is a soulful journey into her experiences with cephalopods; anything with 8 arms surely must grab one's attention....
7.1.08 Eunice Waymon (Nina Simone)
I was waiting for a cup of coffee the other day in a cafe, and there on the counter, among the magazines and assorted fliers, was a brochure for a benefit for Sudan, featuring a performer by the name of Sam Waymon.
Sam Waymon, I thought...I know that name.....
and then it came to me....
Brother to Eunice Waymon. Better known to the physical world as Nina Simone.
I first heard Nina Simone, I mean really heard her, in the late 70's. I was living in Lock
Haven, Pennsylvania at the time, and a friend (thank you forever, Lisa) had two of her vinyl albums, Baltimore and Emergency Ward.
I was addicted at first listen. She had the kind of sneer and strength and soul and softness, all combined in One, any portions thereof revealed at any time, and was
a brilliant interpreter of songs, both originals and classics.
In her hands and with her voice, she could reinvent "Here Comes the Sun" by
George Harrison and "To Love Somebody" by the Bee Gees; invoke classically
influenced piano playing on the intro to "Little Girl Blue" by Rodgers and Hart; spit
out her visceral cynicism in "Funkier Than a Mosquito's Tweeter" (which is how and where I first heard her brother, Sam).
Folks like Nina and her brother Sam play with a depth and passion i don't hear
much of these days, certainly not on the radio---wrapping beautiful songs with
messages and poetry in soulful arrangements, sometimes hitting funky notes or
rhythms, but real, just real playing.
I don't have every album she ever recorded--there are tons of bootlegs and
imports and reissues as well as her classic albums--two of my favorites are Little
Girl Blue ("jazz as played in an exclusive side street club"), for its cocktail jazz trio
ensemble in a small room kind of feel, and It Is Finished, a sinewy and soulful feast
of socially and spiritually charged songs.
Nina Simone passed away in 2003. She lived a life of extraordinary talent and activism, the writer of songs like "Young, Gifted and Black" and "Mississippi Goddamn".
Long live Nina. Long live passionate music.
I was waiting for a cup of coffee the other day in a cafe, and there on the counter, among the magazines and assorted fliers, was a brochure for a benefit for Sudan, featuring a performer by the name of Sam Waymon.
Sam Waymon, I thought...I know that name.....
and then it came to me....
Brother to Eunice Waymon. Better known to the physical world as Nina Simone.
I first heard Nina Simone, I mean really heard her, in the late 70's. I was living in Lock
Haven, Pennsylvania at the time, and a friend (thank you forever, Lisa) had two of her vinyl albums, Baltimore and Emergency Ward.
I was addicted at first listen. She had the kind of sneer and strength and soul and softness, all combined in One, any portions thereof revealed at any time, and was
a brilliant interpreter of songs, both originals and classics.
In her hands and with her voice, she could reinvent "Here Comes the Sun" by
George Harrison and "To Love Somebody" by the Bee Gees; invoke classically
influenced piano playing on the intro to "Little Girl Blue" by Rodgers and Hart; spit
out her visceral cynicism in "Funkier Than a Mosquito's Tweeter" (which is how and where I first heard her brother, Sam).
Folks like Nina and her brother Sam play with a depth and passion i don't hear
much of these days, certainly not on the radio---wrapping beautiful songs with
messages and poetry in soulful arrangements, sometimes hitting funky notes or
rhythms, but real, just real playing.
I don't have every album she ever recorded--there are tons of bootlegs and
imports and reissues as well as her classic albums--two of my favorites are Little
Girl Blue ("jazz as played in an exclusive side street club"), for its cocktail jazz trio
ensemble in a small room kind of feel, and It Is Finished, a sinewy and soulful feast
of socially and spiritually charged songs.
Nina Simone passed away in 2003. She lived a life of extraordinary talent and activism, the writer of songs like "Young, Gifted and Black" and "Mississippi Goddamn".
Long live Nina. Long live passionate music.
If I were a Tree,
My roots
Curious to find a Home in the
Bosom of the Earth
Meandering while remaining tethered to my Source
My Center,
My Seed
Craving nutrition
Source of Life
I would turn left
Turn right
Push downward
And in every direction
Connecting to nutrients
Sucking in the sweetness
Of life itself
Sending it back up through my Self
Into my Core,
My Source,
My leaves would push outward
Unfurl
Uncurl
Unwrap from their tight repose
And open to light
Fed by my gathering of nutrients
I would grow
Upward
Strong
Centered
Till one day my wondrous leaves
And strong branches
Would provide canopy
And protection
For others
I would dance to the sun’s light
Languish in the droplets of rain
Strengthen with the push and pull
Of winds and snows
And beating sleet
Making me stronger while
Releasing my weaker branches
And leaves
To fall safely to the Core, my Source
My Earth Beloved
And
Some day
When I had fulfilled my journey
I would fall or be felled
And provide warmth
Through my dance with Fire
And I would have lived
A good and beautiful
And worthy life.
for Nora the Norway Maple, Muncy PA, 10/31/13
and Grandmother Box Elder, 1311, 7/19/2015
7.7.12
Upstate New York winters can be cold. The kind of cold
that numbs your teeth, but when it’s colder than words
can convey, there is also a “snap” cold….where the snap
of a limb is heard, sometimes a pine limb succumbing to
the weight of a few inches of snow perhaps; sometimes
it's a virtual snap, because the air is just so cold it has to
make voice of it.
Last winter, 2011-12, there was no snapping. It was a
long, drawn-out one season. The temperatures were so
within a narrow range that even some pansies that had
taken root in some stones just below our windowbox
continued to fade, and rebloom; fade and rebloom.
There was no sudden death of vegetation and then the
long recovery from the harshness of the cold and
elements. Just one, long “in between” season.
Spring came early, about three weeks early. The
snowdrops barely made their appearance, as if last
minute guests to the banquet of spring bouquets.
Summer arrived with 90 degree heat when Spring had
just announced its beginning.
On July 7, 2012, we heard the herald of late summer’s
unmistakable grinding. The cidada has arrived, albeit
maybe only one lone cicada; but undoubtedly a crowd will
soon follow.
Just back from an inspiring journey through northern
California. Slept under the redwoods at an old dear
friend’s home; were the “keepers” of a lighthouse
("keepers" as in the name of the unpretentious lodging
only of course, on the grounds of an actual lighthouse
overlooking the Pacific); dreamed on the coast in
farthest northern California in a tsunami evacuation zone;
and reconnected with an old cowgirl acquaintance in
sagebrush high desert country in the shadow of Mt.
Shasta….one lone lava goddess in north central
California, along with her little sister, Shastina.
I have returned to the energy of the northeast---the quick
pace and hurry it up—wanting to relish these memories,
and render their visions somehow within my music and
within my life.
Over and over again, the lesson seems to be, be in the
moment. See the beauty. Ah, the beauty.
Taking a moment to realize where I am, and where the
wheel turns, nobody knows. What are you grateful for,
and where do you find Hope?
Upstate New York winters can be cold. The kind of cold
that numbs your teeth, but when it’s colder than words
can convey, there is also a “snap” cold….where the snap
of a limb is heard, sometimes a pine limb succumbing to
the weight of a few inches of snow perhaps; sometimes
it's a virtual snap, because the air is just so cold it has to
make voice of it.
Last winter, 2011-12, there was no snapping. It was a
long, drawn-out one season. The temperatures were so
within a narrow range that even some pansies that had
taken root in some stones just below our windowbox
continued to fade, and rebloom; fade and rebloom.
There was no sudden death of vegetation and then the
long recovery from the harshness of the cold and
elements. Just one, long “in between” season.
Spring came early, about three weeks early. The
snowdrops barely made their appearance, as if last
minute guests to the banquet of spring bouquets.
Summer arrived with 90 degree heat when Spring had
just announced its beginning.
On July 7, 2012, we heard the herald of late summer’s
unmistakable grinding. The cidada has arrived, albeit
maybe only one lone cicada; but undoubtedly a crowd will
soon follow.
Just back from an inspiring journey through northern
California. Slept under the redwoods at an old dear
friend’s home; were the “keepers” of a lighthouse
("keepers" as in the name of the unpretentious lodging
only of course, on the grounds of an actual lighthouse
overlooking the Pacific); dreamed on the coast in
farthest northern California in a tsunami evacuation zone;
and reconnected with an old cowgirl acquaintance in
sagebrush high desert country in the shadow of Mt.
Shasta….one lone lava goddess in north central
California, along with her little sister, Shastina.
I have returned to the energy of the northeast---the quick
pace and hurry it up—wanting to relish these memories,
and render their visions somehow within my music and
within my life.
Over and over again, the lesson seems to be, be in the
moment. See the beauty. Ah, the beauty.
Taking a moment to realize where I am, and where the
wheel turns, nobody knows. What are you grateful for,
and where do you find Hope?
Post Script to the above...10 years pass by, Climate Change is more than a suggestion that scientists and environmentalists have long warned of. California has suffered intense floods and wildfires - one in 2020 took that home under the redwoods that Betsy and I stayed at. If you feel disheartened, Jane Goodall is a wonderful place to find Hope (she believes fervently in it). And let us remember that Earth Day is EVERY DAY. And see the page "OntheWingPhotography" for Mia McPherson's beautifully documented photos of the Natural world.
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INSPIRATIONS.....
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MAVIS STAPLES...."Bubbles".
Listen, Listen, Listen to her music.
Move, Feel, Know....
You Are Not Alone.
never forget.....
Riley B. ("Blues Boy") King...
Willie Mae ("Big Mama") Thornton...Janis Lyn Joplin... (Gertrude) Ma Rainey... Bessie Smith...Billie Holiday(Eleanora Fagan)... James Brown... Howlin' Wolf(Chester Arthur Burnett)... Roebuck "Pops" Staples... B.B. King... Aretha Franklin... Memphis Minnie(Lizzie "Kid" Dougas)... Nina Simone(Eunice Waymon)...
note: the above images are from postcards collected over the years.
all songs, lyrics, most images except where noted, and all content of this website © 2023 Beth Jochum