January 29, 2021. Yesterday’s nudges from full moon and fresh rosemary blooms to memories of January 1990 collectively took me into one of my indulgences in image-isolation, a game of sorts, a way to release creative urges. The rosemary plant (associated with remembrance) caught my eye while I was in the back yard watching my husband plant a Texas redbud tree. A bit like memories catch our attention in the midst of some seemingly unrelated activity. This post honors the two mother figures who shaped me: my birth mother, and her sister with whom I lived in the 8th grade and summers thereafter until college years. First Aunt Mary Beth and then Mother died in January 1990 – both remain within me, blooming forth at times both unexpected and (like yesterday) predictable.
April 23, 2018. Yesterday, a poem I read sent me searching through old photographs looking for a specific dress worn in high school. I found it! But only in black and white. The memories, like the trigger for this search, are yellow. Vivid yellow. Same yellow as the Chiapas sage in my yard, which I resolved to let stand-in for the dress. When I found the photograph, I decided to layer dress and blooms – hence the strange collage.
This morning I opened Word-Of-The-Day to Cathexis (Analyst perspective) — investing psychic or emotional energy in a person, object, or idea. I certainly have these past 24 hours! Cathexis (Poet perspective) — holding onto associations, such as with a color (perhaps yellow).
This poem is a mindful reflection on the significance of simple things, like a dress, in defining memories – and likely spreading associations to future encounters.
Read Robert Okaji’s poem Yellow, Lost at https://robertokaji.com/2018/04/23/yellow-lost/
March 23, 2017. We recently returned to Rancho Lomitas in lower Texas near the Rio Grande border – an area with birds and plants that just don’t come further north. When there last fall, we took a photo of what we thought to be peyote growing along the roadside. To everyone’s surprise, the proprietors pointed out the distinctions between peyote and our picture of a star cactus – an endangered cactus that Rancho Lomitas is helping propagate in their nursery but had never seen growing natively on the ranch. Wow! This revelation came minutes before our departure, no time to revisit the star for more (better) pictures.
On this return trip, a high priority was finding that star cactus! Oh, did we look and look and look – walking slowly, eyes trained on roadside edge, up and down the stretch of road where the tiny star “had to be”. Well, maybe. Hours of looking yielded no star, but did prompt a poem. Afterward, a seasoned resident at Rancho Lomitas comforted us with the comment that rabbits do eat such (indeed the nursery samples are in wire cages) which leaves me eager to return again to photograph bunnies for an update to this collage. (Image note: fingers show a peyote the same size as the elusive star – star enlarged in center of collage – the two look alike to novice eyes.)
December 28, 2016. The year 2016 is just about spent – a year to be remembered for many losses. On the numerology front, 2016 is a “9” – the completing year in recurring 9-year cycles; 2017 starts us off on a new “1”. Perhaps losses are obscure completions we must reluctantly release.
The image is a mesquite seed pod, aglow at sunset in the Rio Grande Valley. Hanging on with tenacity, intrigue, beauty. But not for long.
March 26, 2016. This is my mother’s birthday, and I have spent it (somewhat oddly) thinking about another’s mother – Mom Kendrick. This began in the wee hours piecing together how various rooms connected in the house I grew up in – yielding a flawed floorplan – but the sketching helped connect some dots of memories sabotaging sleep. For example, in the back bedroom helping Mother put up new wallpaper; and in the living room gleefully lending a hand the day a wallpaper pro pulled down the stained red roses that had covered those walls as long as I was old.
It fascinates – how memories overlap and create a loosely-woven backdrop for what’s going on in the present. Foorplan struggles were followed by not knowing where the pretty crystal near the kitchen door came from. I’m getting older, forgetting more! What to do? Gary’s mom zooms to mind, her habit of labeling everything. On the surface, her labels seemed foolish. But perhaps essential to her? How many were created in sleepless fits? I’m not about to label every souvenir rock, but here’s a nod to Mom Kendrick for aging and recording her own way – poetry serving as my way to record life.
The image (a collage) assumes a bit of poetic license – the floorplan (not true to scale) and the crystal are not in true proportion.