Lizards in the Leaves

Rustlings in the green....imagination, art, whimsy

Feb 2, 2011

Imbolc Ice Thoughts, Saori Hat Fabric

Writing from the ice band, that relatively narrow swath in the big storm that tumbled through here over the past couple of days. North of us there were many inches of snow, south of us a smaller amount of ice. Ice storms have been (along with tornados) my biggest Midwest disaster fears (I just don't have much room to think about the New Madrid fault, despite being awakened by an earthquake a couple of years ago.)

From my journal: The actual precipitation is over, the trees and power lines are coated with a layer of ice, the wind has picked up and gusts at 30-40 mph occasionally and a bit of snow falls now and then. I think this is the worst ice event since I moved here and it’s very surreal.  I keep thinking of the fragment of lyrics I wrote a couple of years ago:

It’s bitter and beautiful
where the Snow Queen reigns,
where icy winds roar from the plains,
and the crows fly in
to feast on all that remains.

That’s what it’s like in its essence, though I haven’t seen a single crow. It’s the sounds that are so eerie. The wind blows and the trees crackle and creak. The wind chimes sound and just now I heard dozens of sparrows calling in the bushes in our yard. 

It's the loss of power during an ice storm that has me spooked, and all the awful stories of people going days into weeks without it in some areas.  The fact that I live in a small city and close to its main roads has somewhat mitigated my fears, but ever since Katrina, I have an awareness that disasters can demolish whole cities.  You'd think I'd have been well prepared for an ice-storm related power outage, but alas I am not.

I gathered together my meager supplies: 8 cans of Sterno, 2 emergency 50-hour lamps, a bright orange AM/FM radio/light with batteries, solar, and hand-crank power sources. I imagined closing off doorways with plastic (a la the old Homeland Security advice for attack situations), donning many more layers and spending days bundled in blankets. I joked (but not really joking at all ) about Clover being our alternate heat source.
 My improvised Sterno stove

The good news is that we did not (yet) lose power, and, with a few exceptions, have had Internet access.

Besides making me aware of a need for us to acquire better emergency supplies and plans, I have spent the last two days being immensely grateful for everything I do that requires electricity. Every time I washed and dried clothes, took a hot shower, did dishes, cooked food, I said thank you. Every time I charged my cell phone and iTouch and camera battery, socialized with friends online, watched the news and weather or a favorite TV show...I was acutely aware of how all these things depended upon electricity.  And I was grateful for it.

I was also aware of all that I do that I love to do that doesn't require electricity: weave, knit, spin, read books, make collages, Tai Chi, play guitar (though I just doodle more than play), sing (weeeellllll, using the word loosely), dream, meditate, write (I've always kept a couple of old typewriters around, both for the retro look of the type, and, well, just in case there's no power.)  There's a need for light for much of that, but even at its murkiest, through clouds, the sun provides hours of it.

And Imbolc,  I haven't honored the time and Brigid as I'd like, but I wonder if electricity isn't a form of fire and that to feel this gratitude isn't a way of honoring this goddess of fire and light. I'll order my beeswax candles for the year, and maybe send in my poems for the Max Ehrmann competition, tie a ribbon outside tonight and hope she'll pass by again to bless it.

Saori Weaving Update - Hats
I'm on the 6th and final part of my long fabric I'll make hats of.  Here's some pictures of the yarn I chose and the resulting woven fabric of part 5:

Winding the main yarn, a hand-dyed fine cotton boucle called Cotton Warbler from Indiana dyeing artisan Robin Edmundson. Do check her out, wonderful colors, and I think her prices are very reasonable.

The other yarns.

Stay warm!

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At 2/2/11, 6:14 PM, Blogger Kristin said...

I saw two huge crows when I was out today. On the way home from my quilting class. just flying around, short bits from tree branch to tree branch.

too bad you don't at least have a fire place!

At 2/2/11, 7:57 PM, Blogger libramoon said...

Bearing Water for Brigid

Sketches for a water vessel --
bottle and message elide on waves.
Voice of Brigid calls.
All who hear: Imagine.
Exposed to wind, to grit, to rain
and hail,
rock faces erode.

Designated fixed space
Sacrosanct container
Conveyor through fluid
Creates place, surface to paint.
diffusement of emotion,
beatitude, foment of dueling farce.

Harsh edges polished,
pure colors
blend in the dark.
Brief infusion
of giddy illusion
just enough to guilefully entice.
Sparkling Neural net
a secret
clue revealing
purpose, meaning,
wild eternal child,
ages' flamboyant fool,

(Voice rains from within)

A wound is a sacred vessel.
Pain carves into flesh
sense memory;
carries the seed
of its own demise.
engulfed in life
learns anew to be whole.

Wounded with the potential for wisdom
when eyes are are pried
from seeping, sucking, suffering
aching to censure what future we admire.
Redefine the schizm.
This wound is our project.
To heal, discover the vision;
realign the seam to fit
self-framed landscape.

Let loose that genie of desire.
Ride rushing blood streams.
Build a roaring pyre of grief,
insane belief in wrathfilled deities.
Revile that old refrain: "life is pain" or a game
to be lost.
No Faustian bargain.
Just a
rambling adventure
to explore
essence of ecstasy.
Don't wait for the rest to see
and demur.
Stretch your sail.
Take sight of your guiding star.
The only failure is self-denial
in favor of the vile lie
that pain is destiny
instead of faithful friend
lending energy
for change.

Slice vivid memories.
Exult in the tastes, the textures.
Enliven your way.

In the end
the vessel breaks.
There the Goddess stirs

2011 Aquarius

At 2/6/11, 6:42 PM, Blogger 'Zann said...

Kris: We do have a fireplace, but never use it because of asthma aggravation. Molly suggested I had plenty of emergency fuel: books. ha.

Libramoon: Thank you so much for leaving this poem. What a delightful, magickal surprise!

At 2/12/11, 7:22 PM, Blogger Joey Polanski said...

I have interestingly FOND memories of an ice storm that came through Lincoln, NE just before Halloween of 1997.

I recall listening to Game 7 of the World Series on a battery-powered radio, filling out my scorecard by flashlight, as my hometown Cleveland Indians lost it all in EXTRA innings to the Florida Marlins.


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