Hang Drum at Pinnacle

Last Saturday i passed a very special hour curled up against the October wind on a rock near the one Dante Bucci is seated on in this video.

Not Weed?

Like Locro de Papa, this potato soup fog couldn't be creamier if they pureed the sunshine. I miss that Andean treat topped with avocado slices. Even the dead droughty corn stalks look soft this morning as i'm transported a continent away.
Yesterday i was stuck in traffic approaching an overpass in our local concrete jungle and my olfactory sensibilities were awakened from their depressed state by a heavenly aroma. Leaning out the window of the old white beast, i closed my eyes and inhaled again.
Leaves scritch against each other, bees forage, and garbage rustles along the pavement imitating windblown forest litter.
The messenger? One of those noxious invasive species of plants once thought to be ornamental or useful. Imported back when people didn't know better, of course. Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica) blossoms smell nice even when you're not among a line of commuters belching the nitrates it probably enjoys.
If you find this friend growing along a stream that has only animals fouling it (no industrial or pesticide runnoff, and not within fifty feet of a road) pluck a tender shoot and take a bite. With a zing like sourgrass/heart clover/wood sorrel that takes you back to a nice moment in childhood, this one is much more substantial so you can make salads comprising lemon juice, salt, grape tomatoes, avocado pear, feta cheese, black walnut crumbs, whatever. If you're really blessed, like some disgruntled gardeners i know, it will burst energetically through your vegetable patch, and you will now know what to do with that foreigner whose smooth pale roots reach clear through the earth to their native Asia: Feast!
Then again, if you are more pharmacologically inclined, you could refine and sell Resveratrol to your neighbors, and make sure they don't pronounce it as though it has the word 'reserve' in it.

Power Trip

Tripping can refer to various things: mushrooms, uneven sidewalks, guilt and pop-up campers, to name but a few.
Petrol is my personal 'favorite'.
Actually, wilting in a malodorous cloud of invisible vapor is most nauseating, and it happens all too regularly. Walking is ever so much more appreciated when i've been filling a 20 gallon tank at prices near $4 per gallon.
Still, there is something quite titillating about the sensation of an accelerator pedal, and how little pressure is required to command such immense forces.
Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan had nothing on the average SUV driving soccer mom.
Okay, so maybe that's taking it a little far, but seriously, have you ever pedaled a bicycle up a steep or long hill, or both?
Try accelerating to all of fifteen or twenty-five miles per hour on a dead flat piece of road, and notice the effort. Carry a tiny backpack and feel the difference made by six pounds of energy bars, gorp and bear spray for slobbering dogs. Multiply that by a factor of 500... and let it sink in next time you lurch out from an intersection just to get ahead of that slowpoke there. Oh, and square the velocity.
If i ever get Attila the Fun street-legal, i'll be fully conscious (at least occasionally) of the power apparently at my disposal. ...And i will thoroughly enjoy it.

Banditos - updated

Okay, so i haven´t actually heard that term used here, but it seems appropriate.
Tuesday morning i was riding a bus from a provincial town to a big city. Shortly after getting out into the tropical countryside, anxious voices disturbed my attempts at rest. The majority of the passengers appeared to be deep in slumber. It was nearly two a.m. and many of them were already asleep when i embarked, having an hour behind them and five more to go.
"Interesting," went the commentary in my head. "So this guy with a knife is demanding money of the guy seated next to me. I wonder what he´ll do?"
Slowly the lights in my head came on, though those in the bus didn´t.
"¡No aprende la luz! ¡No aprende la luz!" "Don´t turn on the lights!" in staccato Spanish muffled by the partition between the main cabin and the front.
to be continued...
And then...
(Get up, stretch, find a window or actually step outside for a breath of air, and come back after the commercial break)
The man skipped me and went back down the aisle of the bus demanding money and cell phones of everyone, before coming back to me.
In the meantime the passenger next to me motioned to stuff my wallet between the seats surreptitiously. I did so, with slight misgivings.
When our driver was ordered to turn off the main road and we commenced at a jarring pace along a dusty lane, i envisioned coming to a stop, tossing my wallet out the window, and collecting it later.
In fact that may have saved me the trouble of canceling a debit card and replacing my license and missing my flight due to being penniless and dejected at the airport.
But, i didn't.
Also, i didn't resist. "All we like sheep" simply obliged these anxious 'businessmen.'
Really, i think they might improve their customer service a bit. I'd rate them a two out of ten.
No one was hurt, though, so for operational safety i'll give them a ten.
Was the driver in on it? Were they concealing more lethal weaponry than the knives and machete used for intimidation?
I may never know.
It certainly makes for a great story, especially if you ask for more details...
For instance, imagine the conversations that happened at each troll booth when the driver didn't even have spare change to give them. It took no less than five minutes for him to convince the trolls to raise the arm-of-no-passage.
Oh, and the three ladrones disappeared into the night with their backpacks loaded with cash and phones, leaving us to turn the bus around on the one lane dirt road with drainage ditches on either side. By then my adrenaline was pouring on faster than the diesel, and after pushing sideways on the front, wheels spinning, with ten other men, i sprinted alongside the accelerating bus, last to board and give the all clear.
Chau Amigos, hope to see you in other circumstances next time!

In Love

"To all men, I would say how mistaken they are when they think that they stop falling in love when they grow old, without knowing that they grow old when they stop falling in love."

So this excerpt comes from an e-mail from a friend from the Philippines. Prior to that it is part of a farewell letter that the man Gabriel García Márquez wrote to his friends after being diagnosed

To read more from and about Señor Márquez check out http://www.themodernword.com/gabo/gabo_faq.html

Falling in love daily will be a good start.

Caf-Lib(tm) Puddles

I have a contained puddle of this roasted chicory and grain beverage in my hand. The other hand is dancing around, hunt-and-peck. It's fixin to turn warm today, but so far it's still cool enough to crave a hot mug of something.
Lightning storm last night.
It was after those great summer thundershowers in the days of being five, that gravity played at finger-painting on the landscape, its medium water.
Who knows who coined the term, but one particular low area of lawn next to a road was dubbed "The Caf-Lib Puddle"
As far as the plastic toy boats and i were concerned, this was THE puddle of all puddles. There was a time when it was deep enough to reach my waist, i think, toes curling into inundated sod.
The glorious wet was warm and turbid, dark and creamy.
!!!And i just reserved a flight to Darkest Ecuador!!!

Touching

...my chin with the fingertips of one hand, i pull it away from them, back toward the corner of the room behind me.
Now your turn.
In Tai Chi we were instructed to do this to align our neck vertebrae.
As soon as i had followed this tip, i noticed i had not actually done it as our Master had said it. What i had done was consistent with an approach to life that has not served me satisfactorily; instead of pulling my chin back, the fingers of the right hand had pushed it back. Small distinction, yes, but a vastly different philosophy is at work when i do it as told, using the lightest touch as a mere communication tool and allowing the creeping cranium to correct itself.
Trained as a massage therapist, i often notice shoulder tension directly related to this ubiquitous postural imbalance.
Sitting in a reclined position in front of a TV or in a car is one common source. Another is the computer slouch. My pet peeve is the schoolbag, which exacerbates (in a lopsided fashion) the already chin-forward stance seen among adolescents and other stressed people.

So if you notice your neck hurting, ask it gently to set the tone for the rest of the spine. Tell me if this works for you. While you're at it you might as well turn off your computer, donate to the Red Cross, and trade your SUV for a hydrogen-powered Jetsons mobile. Oh, and pray for peas and hominy all over the world.

Unspeakable!

Words.
Am i weird, or is it not so unusual? My sister (not the one in China; i have a plethora) points out in a discussion over lunch that in fact there are many words like 'sepulchral'.
In what way, you ask?
Well, put it this way. Have you Ever heard anyone say "...sepulchral..."? Sure, it is used in written language- but spoken?
And no, it does not stem from a fear of mummies, zombies, or other incarnations of death. Frankly, when i see that word, i'm scared of sounding silly even if i pronounce it 'properly'.
Likewise, i was appalled the first time i recognized the pronunciation of 'bona fide'. It staggered out of my English professor's mouth like a gringo on spring break. Forgive me if i pretend not to speak American.

Tea, a drink instead of Jam and Bread

Yes, while reading the first seven entries in my journal, i came upon the words "Cinnamon Toast Crunch" and suddenly experienced an urge to leap to my feet, bound across to the larder, snatchle a boxed cereal from the shelf, and snarfle it down with the soy milk because i think it may turn ugly soon.
Instead my flight was checked by a tea-cozy of contrasting knitted form, and an empty teacup at hand. Oh yes, and the pot full of amber liquid. So i drank some tepid tea instead. Sprigs of two varieties of mint went into it, one weedy, one not so weedy (speaking in terms of flavor, not growth habit; they're both weedy that way.)
Before the cup was half full, hindsight revealed the all-too-familiar pattern that had been about to manifest; i vastly prefer rice milk over soy, but the rice milk wasn't 'needing to be used'.

What goes on in a mind of a Punking {sic. typo. My Dad is the PunKing} Punkin Runner?

Well, on a hazy lazy Saturday when the world looks too hot for working, and i am being too old for playing, and my right arm is puffy with subcutaneous pus around a scab that may have been a spider bite and which may erupt in a fortnight or less as a volcano of necrotic flesh (can you hear the Vox of Experience here?)...
When, as i was saying, this is the case, something quite cheerful comes to me. Tea. So i'm here being playful with words for me and for you.
Maybe-- yes. I will go now and drench the remainder of that accidental bread-Pudding concoction i baked yesterday. With Rice milk. And eat.
Cheers,
PR

Twitter

We didn't get much of a storm last night. Sure, the wind was ok and the clouds mounted high up into the sky in rolling lumps of marshmallow, but the hail and rain and thunder and lightning were a little weak.
Apparently others nearby got hammered. Powerlines and trees down blocking the roads and making tv sets go blank. Or at least those are two of the happy results i could imagine.
The birds were all a-twitter, and i thought it best to join them outside.

Been there

Here are some charming words of encouragement from my sister in China,
"so, Wednesday has been a pretty good day, just so you know...i mean, i guess it's late-ish morning for you now,
but i just thought i'd let you know that the rest of the day goes pretty well..."
Pass it on,
(only works if you say it to friends west of your current location)

One of Many

This morning i exercised my eyes after watching the sun clear the trees beyond a wheat field.
My vision felt unusually sharp, (i wear glasses for driving) and i wanted to test its focusing ability. So i allowed the eyes to wander vaguely over the sea-green grain before settling on one stalk several yards in from the near edge.
It wasn't the tallest among those near it, nor the largest, smallest, brightest, darkest, etc. There was in fact nothing particularly noteworthy about it, except that i looked at it.
Hmm. Poor analogue, perhaps, yet it gave me some appreciation for God's perspective.
Later today i was reminded of Gary Larson's Far Side cartoon, "Wait! Wait! Listen to me! … We don’t have to be just sheep!"
Sometimes i wonder if spiritual growth, self-help, and other realms of personal development are just so much hot air. And then i see the humor in it again when i see this wondering as more of the same.
A cheerful weekend to all y'all out there!

Short

In gleeful anticipation of sleep, i shut down this computer. As it sighs its goodnight sigh, the tension in my neck slips down and pours off my shoulders.

Szechwan smiles

If you have some familiarity with Zulu, Xhosa, Sotho, other Southern African languages, or Welsh, then you may have heard my (current) favorite consonant that the human organism can utter.
The name Llewelyn, with its 'll' (often spelled with a second 'll' which does not reflect the pronunciation) and Nelson Mandela's Xhosa name, Rolihlahla with it's 'hl' share this sound. And those rattles hanging in a cascade around the ankles of a Mosotho? They're called Moshuehleshuehle. Say that ten times really fast!
Okay, and for those of my dear readers uninitiated to this aural pleasure/pain, i'll coach you through it if you'll bear with me.
A young boy named Tseliso helped me with this sound when i sounded silly trying to pronounce the name of a park 'Sehlabathebe'. To make the 'hl' first you press your tongue up against the hard palate. Now blow around both sides of your tongue. Oh, try it again and send the air whooshing through the saliva. [Ed. Note: i bet you thought Punkin Runner was going to call it 'salivary amylase'] Make sure there's plenty in there.
Now, recently i got a tip from a sister in China on how to say 'thank you' in Mandarin. I'm not certain, but it sounded like the same sort of sound. So next time i found myself being served bean sprouts and snap peas in a pleasant eatery in Philly i tried out my newly refined 'Shay-shay'. Both the waitress and the host's faces lit up in that way i love, like they had an unexpected visit from home through my 'thankyou'.
I wonder if their relatives lived through the recent earthquakes? I wonder if they even know yet?

Housefly

When was the last time a housefly brought tears of joy to my eyes?
It is late morning. I have just returned from sharing some Tai Chi and Qiqong. I feel a little sticky.
One solitary half slice of rye toast remains on the counter from another's breakfast. It is soaked with butter, slathered with dark red jam, and quite crusty. If the English like their toast old and cold, why not me? I will not let it go to waste.
So i boiled some water for barley tea and sat down to write.
A fly tangles itself in my hair, or at least the buzzing leads me to this notion. Eventually it tires of the jungle up on top, and comes to visit the vast expanse of dew-covered forehead. Ah, here is tasty stuff, it tells me.
"Sir, or Madame, do you mind?!" I think to it.
Then i lower the hand that was en route to a squashing slap, and i chuckle to myself. What do flies do? Well, i can guess with some assurance that this is not the Wrong Sort of fly, which bites and leaves pathogens behind and an itchy red welt. This is the harmless sort which makes lazy sweeping swoops through the kitchen. This sort leaves tiny circular deposits that frustrate those with a fastidious approach to window-washing.
I did not make the fly.
Flies have always gone after sweaty foreheads, no?
Well, always might be taking it a little too far back, but...
And the thoughts buzz around louder and with heavier footsteps than the fly, as Darwinist and anti-Darwinist paradigms ping off each other with the odd reference to molecular physics and behavioral psychology.
So i let them continue. And i follow the fly. Maybe i will capitalize 'Fly'.
Dear Fly, thank you for coming to teach me a little something, or to un-teach me something that has served its term. I'm not sure which.
Shye-shye, Thank you

Dulce Pontes _ Ondeia (Agua) _ 1999

Live performance. Slideshow set to CD version below.

I'm not sure words could add anything; watch her face...

alguer (Ondeia)

Thanks to Youtube user 'ierogamos' for a beautiful montage set to 'Ondeia'.

An Idea

...came to me while taking a bird bath.
I enjoy music. One might even claim that i am addicted to it, both the live performance with tangible energy and the stale recording too.
Be warned, my musical tastes are broad and odd. I go through phases, but generally i come back around to melodramatic stuff from any point on the globe.
(N.B. I will restrain myself and only link to artists whose albums i have bought, or whose concerts i have attended, or whose music is freely distributed with their blessing. Lend them your ear... in the flesh... if you get a chance.)
Tonight's pick is from Dulce Pontes, Portuguese Fado singer. The power and clarity of her voice is quite something to hear.
Check out these two videos posted above of an uber dramatic song: 'Ondeia'
It is from the excellent album 'O Primeiro Canto'. Buy it, as i did, and enjoy the others. A sweet highlight is Track 7 'Garça Perdida'.

The First Post

Trial run here.
I planted two trees this morning, or to be more truthful, i stuck two waterlogged seeds in some soil and did some hoping. Have you seen the 'Kentucky Coffeetree'? It's indigenous to a wide range of the eastern U.S. and part of Canada, though only scattered individuals can be found in most areas. It isn't a common tree. Appropriate, since i'm not your ordinary nut.
I'll keep this post short, since i have less than nothing to say. No guarantees that i won't run at the mouth later this evening, though.