Midnight Window gardening

I find myself with a strange amount of energy this evening. It probably has something to do with the coffee I had at 8pm at Oakridge. I drove by Mari's just as the Canadians had finished schooling the Americans in hokey. (ra ra Canada. So interesting how sports are patriotic...). We have both begun to panic with the first draft deadline on the 15th. Sometimes motivation is acquired by coffee, greenhouses and company. One cup of coffee, a very delicious biscottii, and two house plants later, I am sitting here 10 to midnight wondering what more I can do...

I have successfully transplanted 6 of my little pants, started some seeds and fed and watered my little garden. Yes, fed. I have decided to feed my plants with chemical food as they are in containers. The food is from Schultz. I wonder if they are owned by Monsanto. That would be tragic. I am afraid to research. I am sure, however, my plants are enjoying their meal. If anyone knows of a way to compost for indoor plants do share the secret. I am not sure about what kind of a microbe food chain one could acquire however. Would be interesting to test.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) I have found that my seed collection, which I store in my fridge, has fallen prey to internal refrigerator flooding. I have lost my peas, romaine lettuce and watermelon. The majority of my little seedlets however, are stored in glass tubes with rubber tops and are safe. I have, on the a positive note, collected some new forms of mold... I don't think I will add them to my indoor plants though... Apparently I need an air tight container for seed storage.

Below are some photos of the gardening (please note that I am using my cell phone camera which allows for minimal artistic freedom:

Ambitious Romain lettuce which sprouted in the fridge. I gather from this that lettuce likes cold weather. I have stuck it in some soil and will see if any last.

Three month old light starved basil (in the squares) and a little pine tree. Small. They are not particularly keen on growing, and I think it has to do with not having enough light to encourage them. I sympathize.

My first African violet which I am semi proud of. It has flourished since I began to try to take good care of it. This means finding a spot which is not directly in the light, and watering it once a week by soaking it from the roots (rather than pouring water over it). It even gave me a flower. It was white. I hope that's normal.

Rescued seeds and seed casualties (in plastic baggie) from the effects of micro climate change within the fridge.

Potting soil, without which this evening would not be possible. Under 3$ for 15 liters of earth which took about 1000 years to make.

Cuban Oregano. A gift from Val to those in Voluntary Simplicity. It seems relatively happy, but I know it could be better. Perhaps it too needs light. I wonder if my golite would work on plants like it does for humans?

Window peas! O Delight of my eyes! I don't know yet why their little leaves go dry. Perhaps too much light?

And last, "but never least," the random Tropical Plant from Super Store already a year old. Complete with little porcelain cat guards. Sometimes I suspect they use the soil as their own personal littler box, but I have never caught them in the act, so I let them stay...

Erthe upon Erthe

For the past few weeks I have been discovering that I can listen to just about any song on YouTube and am delighted to discover some wonderful artists. One of the songs I have frequently played is "Erthe upon Erthe" by the Mediaeval Baebes--quite a group name, indeed.

This song bridges many intersections of my mind right now. Because of my thesis I am always thinking about the mortality of the earth and the irony that as humans develop they destroy themselves and the world around them. The words to this song, posted below, relay in beautiful Old English, this reality.

As well the Latin in the middle reminds the human that they are mortal, reciting the line from Ash Wednesday, "remember you are ashes, and to ashes you will return." It is Lent, Ash Wednesday was last week, a blur in my memory, as all last week. Still, I am interested in participating in lent now not so much as a "spiritual discipline" whatever that means. Rather I have begun to see it as an opportunity to join in solidarity with those who have less than myself by restricting some aspect of my consumption to the same level. It is in this awareness that I am reminded of the finiteness of myself and the earth. I relearn to respect both. Again, I hear the words

"He who swans around the earth, glittering like gold
As though earth won't really have to return to earth
Will soon find earth indeed becoming earth again, no matter how much he tries to fight it"

Added to my growing awareness of the earth and the season of lent, I am auditing a course on the Pentateuch with Cameron. We are now on to comparing it to the creation story of Enuma Elish. I love trying to wrap my mind around the ancient vision of the world both its cosmic order and place of humans within that order. It deserves a separate reflection, but for now suffice it to say that within the two creation stories in Genesis 1 and 2 there seem to be two different sources. One is older and one is younger. The older is the one with God actually forming humans with clay and dush and breathing into them.

"Erthe out of erthe is wonderly wroghte

Erthe hase geten one erthe a dignite of noghte

Erthe upon erthe hase sett alle his thoghte

How that erthe upon erthe may be heghe broghte"

I love this telling of the story of humans. Earth, God and humans all in one mess. For all the fear of the returning to the earth, I feel myself in revisiting these ancient ways of thinking also with a bit of awe in the reality of our mortality. Perhaps we are ash, and will return to ash, but we have been breathed on by the Elohim, and we turn and breathe out that spirit around us.

Lyrics

Erthe out of erthe is wonderly wroghte

Erthe hase geten one erthe a dignite of noghte

Erthe upon erthe hase sett alle his thoghte

How that erthe upon erthe may be heghe broghte

Erthe upon erthe wolde be a kinge

Bot how erthe to erthe shall thinkes he no thinge

When erthe bredes erthe and his rentes home bringe

Thane shall erthe of erthe have full harde parting

Memento, homo, quad cinis es

Et in cenerem reverentis

Erthe upon erthe winnes castells and towrres

Thane sayse erthe unto erthe, "This es al ourres"

When erthe upon erthe has bigged up his barres

Thane shall erthe for erthe suffere sharpe scowrres

Memento, homo, quad cinis es

Et in cenerem reverentis

Erthe goes upon erthe as molde upon molde

He that gose upon erthe, gleterande as golde

Like erthe never more go to erthe sholde

And yitt shall erthe unto erthe ga rathere than he wolde

Whye erthe lurves erthe, wondere me thinke

Or why erthe for erthe sholde other swete or swinke

For when erthe upon erthe has broughte within brinke

Thane shall erthe of erthe have a foul stinke

Memento, homo, quad cinis es

Et in cenerem reverentis

Texts

SCHOLARSLIKETHEWORLDWILLNEVERSEEAGAINIMAGINEWHATITWOULDBELIKE
TOENCOUNTERATEXTWITHNOBREAKSPUNCTUATIONORANYOFTHEUSUALCLUES
WHICHHELPTODICERNHOWTOREADITANDWHATITISTRYINGTOCOMMUNICATECE
RTAINLYMODERNACADEMIAWOULDBEIMPOSSIBLEASTHEVOLUMEOFTEXTSWEM
USTREADWOULDREQUIREYEARSOFSTUDYRATHERTHANMONTHSTHEARTOFSKIM
MINGATEXTISBASEDONTHESECLUESANDWITHOUTSKIMMINGISEVERELYDOUBT
THATUNIVERSITYASWEKNOWITWOULDEXISTPERHAPSFORTHEBETTERBUTTHAT
ISIRRELEVANTRIGHTNOWFORTHESEREASONSIAMINAWETOLEARNTHATSCHOLA
RSINTHEPASTWHOREADTHESESORTSOFBLOCKTEXTSWEREABELTODISCOVERTH
EBREAKSETCANDHENCETHEFORMSWEHAVEJUSTBEENINTRODUCEDTOMRLOWTH
WHODISCOVEREDTHEPROPHETSHADBOTHPOETRYANDNARRATIVEAVERYELEME
NTARYDISCOVERYBUTONEWHICHWOULDBEDIFFICULTIFTEXTSWEREJUSTASOLID
BLOCKSONOWWHENIOPENMYBIBLEORNEAREASTERNSEMITICCREATIONACCOU
NTIWILLBEGINBYJUSTAPPRECIATINGTHEFORMOFTHEWORDSTHEFACTTHATID
ONOTHAVETOSORTTHROUGHANCIENTSEMETICBLOCKCAPITALKSINORDERTO
READTHETEXTFORMYSELFOFCOURSETHEREAREALLSORTSOFOTHERCOMPLICA
TIONSSUCHASTRUSTINGTHATMRLOWTHANDCOMPANYDISCERNEDTHERIGHTBR
EAKSANDDIDNOTINVESTTOOMUCHOFTHEIRMALESTREAMIDEOLOGYINTHOSEB
LOCKSORATLEASTTHATIWILLBEABLETODISERNTHEIRBLOCKCAPITALS

“Scholars like the world will never see again”

Imagine what it would be like to encounter a text with no breaks, punctuation or any of the usual clues which help to discern how to read it and what it is trying to communicate. Certainly modern academia would be impossible as the volume of texts we must read would require years of study rather than months. The art of skimming a text is based on these clues, and without skimming, I severely doubt that that university as we know it would exist. (Perhaps for the better, but that is irrelevant right now). For these reasons I am in awe to learn that scholars in the past who read these sorts of block texts were able to discover the breaks etc. and hence the forms. We have just been introduced to Mr. Lowth who discovered the prophets had both poetry and narrative. A very elementary discovery, but one which would be difficult if texts were just a solid block. So, now when I open my Bible, or Near Eastern Semitic creation account I will begin by just appreciating the form of the words, the fact that I do not have to sort through ancient semitic block capitals in order to read the text for myself. Of course there are all sorts of other complications, such as trusting Mr Lowth and company discerned the right breaks and did not invest too much of their malestream ideology in those breaks, or at least that I will be able to discern their block capitals...

Marry Oliver

I missed last night's poetry reading due to theatre practice. So I thought I would post in some form of participation. I am at the moment discovering Mary Oliver thanks to my friends (Mari in particular). The poem below I encountered in our recent church retreat. When it comes to poetry in my mind sometimes the less said the better, so I will simply let her words stand.

Messenger
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflower, there the hummingbird--
Equal seekers of sweetness
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the calm deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half perfect? Let me
Keep my mind on what matters,
Which is my work,

Which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
And these body-clothes,
A mouth with which to give shouts of joy
To the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
Telling them all, over and over, how it is
That we live for ever.

The wreckage of academic life

Nobody—absolutely nobody—is allowed to visit me in my apartment until March. There is no one apart from me who is capable of navigating through the small confines of square feet covered in all the material trappings which happen to a space in the process of human living. Archeological layers of papers which, in order to find the right lecture hand out, I must analyze the stratus of each layer to find the current semester. The ocean of clothing which nolonger heeds the traditional bounds of my closet has interpreted my bedroom floor as a shelf. It trickles down to a stream into the living room and puddles in the kitchen as I rush awake every morning and plunge myself into it in order to appear vaguely put together. The sink is not full of dirty dishes because I no longer inhabit the space but only use the bed for brief naps at random intervals. Instead the kitchen table, counters, and floor are full of books in various piles which have found their way in to the kitchen because the living room/ study was transformed into an art study one late night and continues to exhibit the material and methods used to create my works of wonder. There are paths, but these can only be navigated after years of training in the famous Smith “Art Studio.” And this is a skill I am sure that I alone of all my friends possess.
Thus, you all are forbidden from entering my apartment, just be happy when you see me that I have not been consumed by the raw force of entropy.