January 6
Twelfth Night, Epiphany and that other thing
Check in
Go slow now. Take time, feel gratitude, forgive. Remember what matters: Spirit, authenticity, justice, words. Every day: Watch things grow. Live with silence. Reflect.
Already new
January is here. It comes with a new resolution for the month: Buy nothing except necessities like food and supplies. It’s the same resolution I make every January.
Already I’ve stopped myself from adding to an online shopping cart. That book will still be available in February.
I bought myself a breve latte instead. A luxury, but it counts as food.
Winter light
In framing this photo, I was drawn to the moss on the bumpers* but ended up being entranced by the light. Although it was nearly 10 am, the sun was still low in the southern sky.
*Does anyone know what the concrete blocks that keep cars from overrunning the parking lot are called? Bumpers was the only term I could come up with.
New Year’s writing
On January 1, while writing the daily exercise, I stopped to consider what writing demands of me.
What makes me write?
The answer is simple, actually. It feels good. Putting words together, searching for fresh ways to present ideas, finding the precise word—bam! It’s intoxicating.
It’s also a lot of work.
Sometimes I think I could just let it go.
I have the sense of a rubber band coming to stasis after being stretched. All the tension, resolved. The bliss in the release.
But, ah, what I would miss!
A wrench in the machinery
During that session, I fell asleep at the keyboard. Blame it on another sleepless night.
I snapped awake and kept typing. That’s a rule: don’t let the fingers rest. Even if all I type is “coffee coffee coffee.”
Maybe the lapse into slumber was a gentle shove from the Universe. Permission, perhaps, to cut my exercise short.
I thank Spirit for letting me know when to quit, and I forgive myself for quitting early. Creativity is not dependent on Measurement Time. Twenty minutes is the bar, but I can sneak around it.
My right leg starts to spasm, another distraction. It really is time to quit.
I love my life, my writing, my daily exercise. Every day is different. Every day brings fresh ideas and insights. Some days, I write less.
No matter. I will write some more tomorrow.
Color and form
This photo excites me with its play of color. Let your eye follow the sinuous red curb with its touch of black to the candy-cane-striped yellow pillars. Their form is repeated in the yellow line on the dark asphalt. Find more vertical interest in the various poles and tree trunks. Some shapes are square. Notice the many shades of green.
Twelfth night and after
Yesterday (January 5) was the twelfth day of Christmas, the day the lords were leaping and Duke Orsino intoned, “If music be the food of love, play on.”
In the Christian tradition, today, January 6, is the Feast of the Epiphany, celebrating the coming of the three wise men, Balthasar, Melchior and Caspar, with their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. It ushers in the season of Epiphany, which runs until Lent.
Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, is on Valentine’s Day, February 14, this year.
Sadly, January 6 is also one of the blackest dates in American history, when a mob tried to disrupt the functioning of the US Congress. I wonder if Stop the Steal was some MAGA epiphany.
Vocabulary corner
Epiphany, the phenomenon, meaning a flash of sudden insight or clarity of purpose, is relatively new in common usage. I don’t remember encountering the word before the mid-1970s.
Nowadays, it’s a word most educated folks know, less common that “suave” or “avuncular” but maybe more well-known than “paradigm” or “palimpsest”. It was even the pangram (the word that uses all seven letters) in The New York Times Spelling Bee a few weeks ago.
Epiphany is not, however, a description of the state of being that I’ve struggled to describe in the last few postings. That is a sense of clarity, an intense being in the moment, but it is visual and visceral. “Epiphany” is more about ideas than feeling.
Whatever they mean for you, may all your epiphanies be jolly and bright.
Epiphany music
A popular Epiphany “Christmas” carol is “We Three Kings of Orient Are.” *
*As a child, I used to wonder where “Orient Are” was on the map.
This song is remarkable in that it is one of the few Christmas carols/hymns in a minor key.
It was written, words and music, by an Episcopal clergyman, John Henry Hopkins Jr., in 1857 for a Christmas pageant for his nieces and nephews. The minor mode fits the prevailing view of the East (the “Orient”) at that time as somehow dark and mysterious.
The chorus, “Star of wonder, star of light,” however, slips from E minor into G major. There’s harmony in the chorus, too. I appreciate harmony. I sing the alto line, sometimes the tenor.
Other Christmas tunes in a minor key include “What Child is This?” (“Greensleeves”), “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” and “I Wonder As I Wander.”
Christmas Opera
Gian Carlo Menotti wrote both the libretto and music for “Amahl and the Night Visitors,” a one-act opera based on the visit of the three kings, for a live television performance in 1951. It’s a wonderful piece, compact and melodic.
In 1978, NBC aired a production of “Amahl” with Teresa Stratas as Amahl’s mother, Robert Sapolsky as Amahl, and Willard White, Giorgio Tozzi and Nico Castel as the three kings. Wikipedia notes that “As was the norm for filmed opera, the music was pre-recorded and the singers mimed their performances to the playback.”
I loved that production, a restored version of which is available on YouTube.
The video is murky. The sound was recorded in mono, but Stratas’s wonderful voice still resonates. As do Menotti’s haunting harmonies. Oh, what a wonderful web it weaves!
Here is the audio of my favorite aria, “This is My Box,” from the 1951 production.
King tides
The waves along the Oregon Coast are generally wilder in the winter. You probably already know that. I didn’t know there was a name for the bigger surf: king tides.
The dates below are when people can expect to see the king tides, according to the Oregon King Tides Project:
January 11-13, 2024
February 8-10, 2024
“King tide” is a nonscientific term that refers to the highest winter tides that occur each year. According to NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration), a similarly nonscientific term for the same phenomenon is “spring tide.”
Winter poem
There’s no snow in Portland. But that doesn’t stop me from envisioning it.
The land in winter
Winter upon us. Snow reflects the sky a white beyond white. Broken sedges, winter at the edge of a snow-covered pond. Winter sunset— watery orange, bacon-streaked magenta, bruise of purple, edge of the world. Cold so cold no cold sit quiet watch sit quiet be breathe in Spirit, breathe out warmth. The green dragon forms and reforms In its white winter skin. Form is formless, dry snow in drifts.
Cranky corner
Two things that really bug me. Well, not really. Just minor irritations. Really minor. Like they hardly even matter . . .
1. Websites that make it hard to sign in. You type in your credentials, and they send an email with a sign-in link. It always takes that email longer to arrive than it should, and it usually ends up in the junk filter. Sometimes I forget the whole process until I find an expired link in the junk mailbox some days hence. By then I’ve forgotten why I wanted to open the page in the first place.
2. I am impatient with those little animations for production companies that run, one after the other, the beginning of movies. They are often quite clever, but so unnecessary. I just want to see the movie.
When the movie—finally!—starts to roll, all of the production companies and collaborators are mentioned again. The cute animations were just frosting.
3. Sneaking in a third irritation . . . What is it with movies that start with a long shot over water? It’s become a visual cliché. Same with quotes from pop songs played over montages. Okay, maybe that’s Irritation #4.
Cranky poem
Grumble day
Frown lines Age lines, What’s the difference? Nothing suits my fancy. I don’t want tuna, I don’t want eggs, I can’t have fairy cake. Bah to carbs Bah to the rest of it. I’d throw in the towel If I didn’t need to dry my hair. A don’t and can’t day. Gray on the outside Grime on the in— I hate washing windows! Mouth full of ashes Heart mired in tar. No place for wishes. No spark, no fire. Okay, that’s enough. Laugh at my foibles, Poke fun at my gloom. Cheer up, tovarish, Strike a fresh match.
Ah! Thank you for listening. I’ve gotten the crankiness out of my system and will now move on to sweetness and light.
Check out
Emerging
It’s only the beginning of January, but already some trees have buds on their branches. And in my wandering this week, I found bulbs sprouting in several places.
Heartfelt
A new movie called “The Holdovers” is available on Peacock. It’s the kind of heartfelt cinema I greatly appreciate. From the first shots of winter walkways in Boston, you know that the filmmakers curated every scene. This is not a Hallmark Christmas flick.
Expect a great script, direction, cinematography, design. The director is Alexander Payne. It has depth, heart and unexpected story twists. I didn’t care about the plot; it is just such a visual feast.
I’ve seen “The Holdovers” on lists for possible Oscar nominations for best picture, director, original script, cinematography. Also, best actor, for Paul Giamatti, and supporting actor, for Dominic Sessa, playing the student whose story drives the tail end of the movie.
Also, a snow globe is involved.
One note: when I was a young thing, the term “movie” was considered déclassé. The proper term was “film.” Nowadays, nobody says film. A movie is a movie . . . or a flick, as I wrote above.
Writing and Mango World
Remember Mango World? That’s the metaphor of life where you pop out experience the way you harvest a mango. After scoring the flesh in squares down to the skin, you turn the fruit inside out to slice off the cubes.
Do the mango. Turn your experience topsy-turvy. See life from new angles. Celebrate the oblique, the idea that smashes into your carefully crafted words, bringing freshness and insight.
Now, go out and write. Every day. Your psyche will thank you. Your ego will kvell. Your anima will go all animal.
If writing be the food of love, write on!
Hey! Don’t forget the “like” button. I’d remind you to consider a paid subscription, but it’s January, the no-buy month. Maybe in February.
—30—
The mango metaphor is new to me! Great photos and musings throughout, Fran. I always enjoy seeing what has made your radar and what compositions have caught your eye. The things budding around the meter cover are especially surprising. Glad to see the reminder about The Holdovers. I had started it with someone and stopped it to watch later on my own. This was a good reminder. (You did mention it to me before, too.)
I love your tidbits and whimsical bits of wisdom and everyday beauty around us. What a careful eye you have!