The Roses of Bellemaison
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Not too long ago, the folks over at HBO were talking about the Seven Wonders of the World. I've talked before about how deeply connected I am to my world, still, after all these years, and how my world informs and frames my outlook onto the larger world. Good, bad or really ugly, I am who I am. Truer words were never spoken when it was said that you can take the girl out of the woods, but never take the woods out of the girl.
Still, you might like to know, specifically, what rocks my world and what dropped my mouth open into a perfect O upon first glimpse and still has the very same effect on me. Henceforth, may I present The Seven Wonders of My World, spoken with my best O mouth.
Lac Louise
Banff
Alberta, Canada
Just writing the words brings an audible groan to my core. At first glance, it's quite a contradiction of sorts: tourmaline blue Caribbean-like waters framed by soaring granite mountains. But as you enter it, there is no contradiction or confusion; it is absolute in every respect. Ancient. Silent. Moderately gracious. Acquiesces and allows tourists to canoe it. Is quite happy to let anyone skate it; ski it. Delighted that people walk around it. But is completely unyielding to anything else, particularly swimming. It's glacial-fed water and runs about 5 degrees Celsius, which, if you're doing the math, is a mind-robbing 40 degrees Fahrenheit. It is the closest thing that I can understand to pure, holy magic. Completely on its own terms.
Lake Coeur d'Alene
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Summer! I learned to swim on the north shore of Lake Coeur d'Alene, learned to canoe at camp in Kidd Island Bay, got married on French Bay, took my own kids there for birthdays, fun and to observe the rites of celebration. These days, the tug boats and log booms have been replaced by McYachts and McMansions and it's quite possible that standing ahead of you in line for ice cream on Sherman Avenue will be some Hollywood luminosity. It's still home, though and still is livin' easy and livin' well in the very best sense.
Cataldo Mission/North Fork Coeur d'Alene River
North Idaho
My first memory of the Cataldo Mission was of the field trip we took at the end of fourth grade after a year of self directed study on Idaho state history. Looking back, I can clearly point to this as the exact year in time when I became smitten with history, ancient people and rivers. God, how I love this place and love Idaho. The Coeur d'Alene Tribe still maintains a strong relationship with the Mission, thankfully, and these days, it operates as a real museum with a visitors' center and everything. Back in the fourth grade, though, you could still pick up the square nails used to build the thing as they popped out of the logs. I still have one.
Chinatown
Victoria
British Columbia, Canada
Another big sigh and a giggle even at the thought of this marvelous community. Tourists don't come to Victoria to see Chinatown so it really has escaped much of the trinketry and development/decline that plagues New York's Chinatown and even San Francisco's. In Victoria, Chinatown is the where the Chinese in the area buy groceries, go to the hardware store, get their cleaning done, get together with friends for good food and conversation, look at art, go to performances, hear lectures, exercise, buy birthday gifts for each other, have their hair cut, and buy things they need for their house and to live their life. This Chinatown has a authentic, contemporary rhythm and never fails to stir me. I'd live there in a second if the locals would have me.
Pike Street Market
Seattle, Washington
Now I'm chuckling. What can I say about the Pike Street Market that countless others haven't said? Maybe, why it's an obligatory and fundamental observance for me? Breakfast at a dockworkers' diner on Elliot Bay with scrapple and tripe on the menu. Pink and red silvery salmon the size of cocker spaniels packed in ice at the fish vendor. The smell of strong, dark pungent coffee. Impossibly bright, cheerful and fragrant handsfuls of flowers. Artists with great hopes. Street musicians with razor sharp wit. Clean, fragrant streets and alleyways. The absolute best of the Very Best.
The Gorge of the Columbia River
George, Washington
The mighty Columbia is never more beautiful than here. My favorite time of year is summertime when the rock cliffs practically light up with heat that you can easily see rising from the plateaus and crevices of the rock. The river and the rocks somehow become one but at sunset, the river goes silent and the rocks glow fiery red. Then the dark night sky is pierced with millions and millions of stars. You can only imagine what it was like to be alone and on foot back in the day in the Gorge....
The Mission at St. Ignatius
St. Ignatius, Montana
When other Americans were fighting a Civil War, the Jesuits were here in service to the native Americans of the area. The mission church holds a series of paintings done by a cook in the kitchen that are familiar, primal and startling. The frescoes, or murals as they are called in Montana, are as jaw dropping as anything Raphael ever did. Not a small part of this experience is the setting at the foothills of the magnificent Mission Mountains but still, the mission at Ignatius is an uncommon experience that simply isn't available anywhere else in the Northwest. My particular favorites are the Lord and his mother in the very back of the church. They are Salish. As are the locals, the native people of the Flathead Indian Reservation.
Priest Lake
North Idaho
If there was ever a contentment or a peaceful resolve that emanated out of me than was greater than the one that Priest Lake evokes, I am not aware of it. Priest Lake never, ever changes. Despite development, the State of Idaho and the price of timber, Priest Lake remains undeterred and unseduced by the ways of the world. Utterly sublime refuge amid the chaos and wreckage of life in the new millennium.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Still, you might like to know, specifically, what rocks my world and what dropped my mouth open into a perfect O upon first glimpse and still has the very same effect on me. Henceforth, may I present The Seven Wonders of My World, spoken with my best O mouth.
Lac Louise
Banff
Alberta, Canada
Just writing the words brings an audible groan to my core. At first glance, it's quite a contradiction of sorts: tourmaline blue Caribbean-like waters framed by soaring granite mountains. But as you enter it, there is no contradiction or confusion; it is absolute in every respect. Ancient. Silent. Moderately gracious. Acquiesces and allows tourists to canoe it. Is quite happy to let anyone skate it; ski it. Delighted that people walk around it. But is completely unyielding to anything else, particularly swimming. It's glacial-fed water and runs about 5 degrees Celsius, which, if you're doing the math, is a mind-robbing 40 degrees Fahrenheit. It is the closest thing that I can understand to pure, holy magic. Completely on its own terms.
Lake Coeur d'Alene
Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Summer! I learned to swim on the north shore of Lake Coeur d'Alene, learned to canoe at camp in Kidd Island Bay, got married on French Bay, took my own kids there for birthdays, fun and to observe the rites of celebration. These days, the tug boats and log booms have been replaced by McYachts and McMansions and it's quite possible that standing ahead of you in line for ice cream on Sherman Avenue will be some Hollywood luminosity. It's still home, though and still is livin' easy and livin' well in the very best sense.
Cataldo Mission/North Fork Coeur d'Alene River
North Idaho
My first memory of the Cataldo Mission was of the field trip we took at the end of fourth grade after a year of self directed study on Idaho state history. Looking back, I can clearly point to this as the exact year in time when I became smitten with history, ancient people and rivers. God, how I love this place and love Idaho. The Coeur d'Alene Tribe still maintains a strong relationship with the Mission, thankfully, and these days, it operates as a real museum with a visitors' center and everything. Back in the fourth grade, though, you could still pick up the square nails used to build the thing as they popped out of the logs. I still have one.
Chinatown
Victoria
British Columbia, Canada
Another big sigh and a giggle even at the thought of this marvelous community. Tourists don't come to Victoria to see Chinatown so it really has escaped much of the trinketry and development/decline that plagues New York's Chinatown and even San Francisco's. In Victoria, Chinatown is the where the Chinese in the area buy groceries, go to the hardware store, get their cleaning done, get together with friends for good food and conversation, look at art, go to performances, hear lectures, exercise, buy birthday gifts for each other, have their hair cut, and buy things they need for their house and to live their life. This Chinatown has a authentic, contemporary rhythm and never fails to stir me. I'd live there in a second if the locals would have me.
Pike Street Market
Seattle, Washington
Now I'm chuckling. What can I say about the Pike Street Market that countless others haven't said? Maybe, why it's an obligatory and fundamental observance for me? Breakfast at a dockworkers' diner on Elliot Bay with scrapple and tripe on the menu. Pink and red silvery salmon the size of cocker spaniels packed in ice at the fish vendor. The smell of strong, dark pungent coffee. Impossibly bright, cheerful and fragrant handsfuls of flowers. Artists with great hopes. Street musicians with razor sharp wit. Clean, fragrant streets and alleyways. The absolute best of the Very Best.
The Gorge of the Columbia River
George, Washington
The mighty Columbia is never more beautiful than here. My favorite time of year is summertime when the rock cliffs practically light up with heat that you can easily see rising from the plateaus and crevices of the rock. The river and the rocks somehow become one but at sunset, the river goes silent and the rocks glow fiery red. Then the dark night sky is pierced with millions and millions of stars. You can only imagine what it was like to be alone and on foot back in the day in the Gorge....
The Mission at St. Ignatius
St. Ignatius, Montana
When other Americans were fighting a Civil War, the Jesuits were here in service to the native Americans of the area. The mission church holds a series of paintings done by a cook in the kitchen that are familiar, primal and startling. The frescoes, or murals as they are called in Montana, are as jaw dropping as anything Raphael ever did. Not a small part of this experience is the setting at the foothills of the magnificent Mission Mountains but still, the mission at Ignatius is an uncommon experience that simply isn't available anywhere else in the Northwest. My particular favorites are the Lord and his mother in the very back of the church. They are Salish. As are the locals, the native people of the Flathead Indian Reservation.
Priest Lake
North Idaho
If there was ever a contentment or a peaceful resolve that emanated out of me than was greater than the one that Priest Lake evokes, I am not aware of it. Priest Lake never, ever changes. Despite development, the State of Idaho and the price of timber, Priest Lake remains undeterred and unseduced by the ways of the world. Utterly sublime refuge amid the chaos and wreckage of life in the new millennium.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Friday, June 19, 2009
A gardener never, ever loses utter fascination with the garden. Gardeners are fascinated with their land twelve months a year, everyday of each month. They wonder and watch. Walk and wait. Listen. Scout. Explore, investigate. Check on. Anticipate. Exhale. Reach for the soapy water. Reach for the camera. Reach for the felcos. The garden provides real time live entertainment for a gardener most waking moments of his existence.
I try to walk in my garden each day as it is a true moment of solace for me. I do not like the distraction of other people in the garden when I am there so I have to wait until I am certain the coast is clear. And then I stroll through my peace of mind and consolation. It is impossible, no matter how i am dressed, not to deadhead, pick off aphids, examine underside of foliage, or smell a handfuls of soil, if I am prompted. Can't not do it. Can't not be in it while being present.
And I end up with handfuls of seed pods and yellow, crispy foliage that fascinates me as I drop them in my big orange Home Depot bucket. I love to look at that stuff. Love it. I love the plant as it emerges from dormancy, begins to leaf, then bud, then bloom, then fade and finally, settles. I love every part of it. The poppies have just run through their cycle and I am fascinated with the seed --which is, you have to admit-- the alpha and omega of it all. It's all about the seeds. I was playing with the poppies last night in my nightgown well past good light and got these. So you know, this is the stuff that really interests me. When I do my book, I'll include lots of pretty pictures like the ones below for you. But for me, I do a whole section of this stuff.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
I try to walk in my garden each day as it is a true moment of solace for me. I do not like the distraction of other people in the garden when I am there so I have to wait until I am certain the coast is clear. And then I stroll through my peace of mind and consolation. It is impossible, no matter how i am dressed, not to deadhead, pick off aphids, examine underside of foliage, or smell a handfuls of soil, if I am prompted. Can't not do it. Can't not be in it while being present.
And I end up with handfuls of seed pods and yellow, crispy foliage that fascinates me as I drop them in my big orange Home Depot bucket. I love to look at that stuff. Love it. I love the plant as it emerges from dormancy, begins to leaf, then bud, then bloom, then fade and finally, settles. I love every part of it. The poppies have just run through their cycle and I am fascinated with the seed --which is, you have to admit-- the alpha and omega of it all. It's all about the seeds. I was playing with the poppies last night in my nightgown well past good light and got these. So you know, this is the stuff that really interests me. When I do my book, I'll include lots of pretty pictures like the ones below for you. But for me, I do a whole section of this stuff.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Loaded up another boat and sent it back out on the lake. I've known this boat for many, many years; actually since the first. Always been one of my very favorite boats, maybe even my favorite. Been on stormy waters for more than several years now, beat up pretty bad, this one has, so I was a surprised but really, really happy to see it tie up at my dock couple of months ago, scruffy and worn but still very handsome and sturdy. I gave it the best stuff I had, but not completely sure of what had gone on and where the new journey would go, I could only guess at what inventory to lay in, what supplies to use to line the shelves, what stock would be needed. Saw 'im chugging away on Monday, steady low throttle. Gotta be all good. Some transitions are not lightning nor laser fast but discernible in only a nano-second. This time I saw it. Which makes me think about how ignorance is bliss. Bob Seger: "Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then."
So these people I know are having a social event of sorts and invited me. I was quite glad to be included. For reason of a strictly personal nature, I won't be going. But it's got me to thinking about why I separate myself from things that I really, really enjoy. Because I do that, if rather frequently, rather regularly.
A classmate of mine from back in the day has been cranky with me for 39 years or so--we also go back to just about the very beginning. This guy does not approve of me nor do I, wait for it, meet his expectations. There's a reoccurring theme! But because I bring out the absolute worst in this guy and he is sure to go off on me for something I did or didn't do, after all this time, I have stayed away and continue to stay away from most of my hometown friends. Just seems more friendly that way; I'd feel bad if our old friends had to witness how ugly he can be. Because he's pretty damn ugly. And chooses me to be his personal witness. I'd also be lying if I didn't admit to be tired and a little resentful of my particular job description in being Mr. All American's punching bag. I'm weary. I don't choose pain. All in all, it forms a beautiful, treacherous reef of separation and isolation.
Another thing I have loved since I was quite small is the lake. The people of my birth family are particular devotees of the river, so we didn't spend much time on the lake as a child but I love the lake. love it. Walked along the north shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene practically every night of my adolescence, stars and snow alike, and when I went to college in the wheat fields down the road, my big secret was that the one and only thing I missed about home was the lake. After college, I moved to the third leg of the triangle where my life was at the club and on the course, both which came with pools. I became a pool person. That's what my life was and as incredible as it now seems, all three of my children learned to swim in pools. Might be a good time to take them back and get them re-certified. Can you really swim if all you know is pool swimming?
Now I live in a home with a very nice swimming pool that I never, ever, read that no, not once, use. Why do I separate myself from the things that I really like? Part of it is the people around me, part of it is that I would much rather walk around pain than walk through it. Having my Inner Gladiator on alert 24/7 makes me so weary. So very weary. So separation, then, ends up being only the best I can do.
I am going to try to relieve myself from separation; abandon my monastic instincts and practices for a few moments. A few soon moments. I will swim, swim!, in Lake Coeur d'Alene on my birthday, just as I did as a little kid. And recall and celebrate my American Red Cross swimming lessons on Lake Coeur d'Alene. And I will summarily throw caution to the wind and see if I can't join people who are barbecuing and drinking beer before the year's end. Gotta try it and dodge it no more.
And every morning, I will go down and sit on the dock, with a good book and my dogs, and watch the horizon and wait for a glimpse of that handsome, sturdy boat that I have known and loved for so long--surely now sailing on a smoother, straight course to unparalleled achievement and expression.
~for Joe Nathan, aloha nui loa
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
So these people I know are having a social event of sorts and invited me. I was quite glad to be included. For reason of a strictly personal nature, I won't be going. But it's got me to thinking about why I separate myself from things that I really, really enjoy. Because I do that, if rather frequently, rather regularly.
A classmate of mine from back in the day has been cranky with me for 39 years or so--we also go back to just about the very beginning. This guy does not approve of me nor do I, wait for it, meet his expectations. There's a reoccurring theme! But because I bring out the absolute worst in this guy and he is sure to go off on me for something I did or didn't do, after all this time, I have stayed away and continue to stay away from most of my hometown friends. Just seems more friendly that way; I'd feel bad if our old friends had to witness how ugly he can be. Because he's pretty damn ugly. And chooses me to be his personal witness. I'd also be lying if I didn't admit to be tired and a little resentful of my particular job description in being Mr. All American's punching bag. I'm weary. I don't choose pain. All in all, it forms a beautiful, treacherous reef of separation and isolation.
Another thing I have loved since I was quite small is the lake. The people of my birth family are particular devotees of the river, so we didn't spend much time on the lake as a child but I love the lake. love it. Walked along the north shores of Lake Coeur d'Alene practically every night of my adolescence, stars and snow alike, and when I went to college in the wheat fields down the road, my big secret was that the one and only thing I missed about home was the lake. After college, I moved to the third leg of the triangle where my life was at the club and on the course, both which came with pools. I became a pool person. That's what my life was and as incredible as it now seems, all three of my children learned to swim in pools. Might be a good time to take them back and get them re-certified. Can you really swim if all you know is pool swimming?
Now I live in a home with a very nice swimming pool that I never, ever, read that no, not once, use. Why do I separate myself from the things that I really like? Part of it is the people around me, part of it is that I would much rather walk around pain than walk through it. Having my Inner Gladiator on alert 24/7 makes me so weary. So very weary. So separation, then, ends up being only the best I can do.
I am going to try to relieve myself from separation; abandon my monastic instincts and practices for a few moments. A few soon moments. I will swim, swim!, in Lake Coeur d'Alene on my birthday, just as I did as a little kid. And recall and celebrate my American Red Cross swimming lessons on Lake Coeur d'Alene. And I will summarily throw caution to the wind and see if I can't join people who are barbecuing and drinking beer before the year's end. Gotta try it and dodge it no more.
And every morning, I will go down and sit on the dock, with a good book and my dogs, and watch the horizon and wait for a glimpse of that handsome, sturdy boat that I have known and loved for so long--surely now sailing on a smoother, straight course to unparalleled achievement and expression.
~for Joe Nathan, aloha nui loa
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Saturday, June 13, 2009
I know a guy who is a beermaker--makes beer on the weekend and at night and from all published reports, does a pretty good job of it. This week he was looking for a few handfuls of huckleberries, I guess, for his next batch of brew. HBO then asked the question, What Would You Trade for a Six-Pack of Home Brewed Beer?
I responded immediately that I would trade an enormous bouquet of summer perennials from Bellemaison, featuring roses of course. I could make him up a really nice one today, with white peonies, coppery orange yellow roses, some late deep pink lilacs, fresh, tender ferns, blooming catnip and some nice single petal red roses. Altissimo, for those in the know.
But it got me to thinking about what do I have or do here that I could trade, if I wanted to? There are, I would say, about 20 Hermes scarves that I don't want or wear. There are some exquisite French hand-colored botanicals from the 40s. I've got some yucca, Joe Pye Weed, and hostis in my inventory of excess capacity. I have got 20 very large terra cotta pots. I've got several digital cameras that I don't use at all any more. I have one very excellent Mel McCuddin t shirt that I would trade for something really worthwhile. Something that would be as cool to have as this Mel t-shirt. I have a very, very fine Robin Dare print that I have never made friends with--sure wish I could find it a happy home. It hangs in storage at the moment, as it has for 10 years. I have vintage cookbooks that I'd trade for other vintage cookbooks. I have dishes that I would happy trade for another set of dishes. I think, last time I inventoried the dishes, I was up to 13 sets of dishes. But only one set I'd trade. I need the rest.
I could trade a first rate apple pie; a batch of flank steak second to none; potato, macaroni and fruit salads fit for a Goddess; cole slaw that will make you weep in ecstasy; corn on the cob that will have you growl, rumble and roar for more; chocolate cake and cinnamon ice cream that will have you stand up and howl, then scratch and bark. Huckleberry pancakes. I have other prowess in the kitchen, too. We could talk.
And I have Chow hair that I just took off four chows. It's wintry, thick, fleecy hair and perfect for planting the spring garden because the smell wards off would be interlopers who believe, correctly, that the Chows are very near. Just where ya going find stuff like that?
What do you have to trade?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
I responded immediately that I would trade an enormous bouquet of summer perennials from Bellemaison, featuring roses of course. I could make him up a really nice one today, with white peonies, coppery orange yellow roses, some late deep pink lilacs, fresh, tender ferns, blooming catnip and some nice single petal red roses. Altissimo, for those in the know.
But it got me to thinking about what do I have or do here that I could trade, if I wanted to? There are, I would say, about 20 Hermes scarves that I don't want or wear. There are some exquisite French hand-colored botanicals from the 40s. I've got some yucca, Joe Pye Weed, and hostis in my inventory of excess capacity. I have got 20 very large terra cotta pots. I've got several digital cameras that I don't use at all any more. I have one very excellent Mel McCuddin t shirt that I would trade for something really worthwhile. Something that would be as cool to have as this Mel t-shirt. I have a very, very fine Robin Dare print that I have never made friends with--sure wish I could find it a happy home. It hangs in storage at the moment, as it has for 10 years. I have vintage cookbooks that I'd trade for other vintage cookbooks. I have dishes that I would happy trade for another set of dishes. I think, last time I inventoried the dishes, I was up to 13 sets of dishes. But only one set I'd trade. I need the rest.
I could trade a first rate apple pie; a batch of flank steak second to none; potato, macaroni and fruit salads fit for a Goddess; cole slaw that will make you weep in ecstasy; corn on the cob that will have you growl, rumble and roar for more; chocolate cake and cinnamon ice cream that will have you stand up and howl, then scratch and bark. Huckleberry pancakes. I have other prowess in the kitchen, too. We could talk.
And I have Chow hair that I just took off four chows. It's wintry, thick, fleecy hair and perfect for planting the spring garden because the smell wards off would be interlopers who believe, correctly, that the Chows are very near. Just where ya going find stuff like that?
What do you have to trade?
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
This is high holy lilac country here in The 'Kan EWA. I suppose it's the good hard freeze that provides the nice dormancy those woody stems need to set blooms. But whatever it is, we grow lots and lots of lilacs here and in fact, have nick named our self The Lilac City. Heady stuff.
When I was in high school, I played the flute and marched in the Coeur d'Alene High School Marching Band. Every year at this time we'd pack up base drums and the tubas, we called 'em tubas then, and head to The 'Kan EWA for the Lilac Armed Forces Torchlight Parade where we would march up and down the streets of downtown in between the floats and military units. The closer I got to graduation the dorkier it was to march in the band and just about everybody had more fun in the band than I did but still, I was a four year veteran of playing first chair flute and count those parade marches under the starry spring night skies of The 'Kan EWA as some of my favorite memories of back in the day. And it was all about the lilacs.
One morning in May 1980, I got up really early and drove my truck out past north Mead, where I had located 3 dozen bareroot lilacs. Dark purple. I wanted a lilac hedge that would span the back line of my property so I went out there, took all those bushes bareroot out of wet bark and brought them home and planted them. Toward mid morning the sky turned really dark; ominous yet no signs of rain nor clouds really. Just ominous. It was an eerie pall that cast itself over the gazebo and the fish pond but I just kept plugging those holes I had dug the day before with steer manure, peat moss and bare root lilacs. By 11 am, the phone was ringing off the hook with the news that Mt. St. Helens had blown up and that dark sky was volcanic ash getting ready to settle itself into my life--in my garden, on my driveway, atop my roof and in every nook, cranny and crevice of my pores, my sinuses and my every open orifice and those of my two little kids and my dogs. So I kept planting. Didn't have much time and I had to get all 36 of those lilacs in the ground. I finished just in time. It got pitch dark by 1 o'clock in the afternoon. We waited for something horrific to happen but it never did; we woke up the next morning to 8 inches of gray, powdery volcanic ash covering everything. Our entire world. And all 36 of my new lilac bushes. I had no idea if they would survive. Sometime after that I got a divorce and we moved away from that house but as luck would have it, I drive by it at least twice a day. It still has the most fabulous, enormous hedge of lilacs in back. Dark purple. It was the volcanic ash that sent those lilacs heavenward and kept them a bionic presence on Rockwood Boulevard all these years, where they were blooming today.
I had another baby and twenty years later he moved to London. It was in the glory days of terrorism and I worried about him hourly for the first six months he was there. Never occurred to me he might be homesick--in fact, I probably didn't care if he was homesick. I was completely absorbed with his safety. After his first Christmas there, I relaxed and began to settle into life without my happy, busy youngest child. As I missed him the most, in April, he wrote me a note and said that he was a homesick as he had been in London, at almost a year after he arrived. He was walking along the Thames well into his morning routine one day and all of a sudden, he smelled them. Couldn't see them, but he smelled lilacs and he was immediately taken back to his bedroom in The 'Kan EWA, where the scent of lilacs wafts upward from the garden beneath his window. He misses the lilacs still and told me a week ago or so that he misses the spring work in the garden and the feel of freshly turned spring soil and the smell of lilacs that is ever present, everywhere here at Bellemaison this time of year.
My favorite these days are Korean lilacs. They are smaller, lighter in color but have a powerful, pungent lilac smell that I can catch in the air 200 yards down the street. Korean lilacs are a change up for me; I like big, bushy well pruned dark purple lilacs. But now, I am different. Things have changed and will change again. And probably again. But my life is bookmarked by certain irrevocable events and if there are lilacs in the air, for me, surely it's May and will be, for all time.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
When I was in high school, I played the flute and marched in the Coeur d'Alene High School Marching Band. Every year at this time we'd pack up base drums and the tubas, we called 'em tubas then, and head to The 'Kan EWA for the Lilac Armed Forces Torchlight Parade where we would march up and down the streets of downtown in between the floats and military units. The closer I got to graduation the dorkier it was to march in the band and just about everybody had more fun in the band than I did but still, I was a four year veteran of playing first chair flute and count those parade marches under the starry spring night skies of The 'Kan EWA as some of my favorite memories of back in the day. And it was all about the lilacs.
One morning in May 1980, I got up really early and drove my truck out past north Mead, where I had located 3 dozen bareroot lilacs. Dark purple. I wanted a lilac hedge that would span the back line of my property so I went out there, took all those bushes bareroot out of wet bark and brought them home and planted them. Toward mid morning the sky turned really dark; ominous yet no signs of rain nor clouds really. Just ominous. It was an eerie pall that cast itself over the gazebo and the fish pond but I just kept plugging those holes I had dug the day before with steer manure, peat moss and bare root lilacs. By 11 am, the phone was ringing off the hook with the news that Mt. St. Helens had blown up and that dark sky was volcanic ash getting ready to settle itself into my life--in my garden, on my driveway, atop my roof and in every nook, cranny and crevice of my pores, my sinuses and my every open orifice and those of my two little kids and my dogs. So I kept planting. Didn't have much time and I had to get all 36 of those lilacs in the ground. I finished just in time. It got pitch dark by 1 o'clock in the afternoon. We waited for something horrific to happen but it never did; we woke up the next morning to 8 inches of gray, powdery volcanic ash covering everything. Our entire world. And all 36 of my new lilac bushes. I had no idea if they would survive. Sometime after that I got a divorce and we moved away from that house but as luck would have it, I drive by it at least twice a day. It still has the most fabulous, enormous hedge of lilacs in back. Dark purple. It was the volcanic ash that sent those lilacs heavenward and kept them a bionic presence on Rockwood Boulevard all these years, where they were blooming today.
I had another baby and twenty years later he moved to London. It was in the glory days of terrorism and I worried about him hourly for the first six months he was there. Never occurred to me he might be homesick--in fact, I probably didn't care if he was homesick. I was completely absorbed with his safety. After his first Christmas there, I relaxed and began to settle into life without my happy, busy youngest child. As I missed him the most, in April, he wrote me a note and said that he was a homesick as he had been in London, at almost a year after he arrived. He was walking along the Thames well into his morning routine one day and all of a sudden, he smelled them. Couldn't see them, but he smelled lilacs and he was immediately taken back to his bedroom in The 'Kan EWA, where the scent of lilacs wafts upward from the garden beneath his window. He misses the lilacs still and told me a week ago or so that he misses the spring work in the garden and the feel of freshly turned spring soil and the smell of lilacs that is ever present, everywhere here at Bellemaison this time of year.
My favorite these days are Korean lilacs. They are smaller, lighter in color but have a powerful, pungent lilac smell that I can catch in the air 200 yards down the street. Korean lilacs are a change up for me; I like big, bushy well pruned dark purple lilacs. But now, I am different. Things have changed and will change again. And probably again. But my life is bookmarked by certain irrevocable events and if there are lilacs in the air, for me, surely it's May and will be, for all time.
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
Monday, June 01, 2009
okay, okay, okay. Get off! I have been out of town and thus am remiss in putting in my take on the brilliant win by FC Barcelona in the UEFA final last Wednesday. It was a love-lee day for the blue and red and Man U, not so much. Failed to respond to the Spanish ass kicking delivered systematically, swiftly and surely after Eto'o drilled one in 10 minutes into the game. Failed to show up to the search and destroy party hosted by the boys from Barcelona. Failed to even be worthy after FCB routed them and left them with no response at all at the end of 90 minutes of training manual soccer: You Too Can Win Even If Yore Defense Has A Few (Large) Holes In It. The only pain in two hours was my boy Wayne Rooney's confusion and bewilderment. God, I used to love to watch him play and reveled in his Annihilator performance at the World Cup 2006 in Germany on behalf of The Queen's England. But on Wednesday last, Puyol dismantled that man and left in his place a little, babbling man to do a Wayne Rooney-size job. It was so sad. Even Prince William looked embarrassed and impatient shaking his hand in the medal ceremony. Awkward.
My boy Thierry Henry looked ...okay. What! He's been sorting out an injury! And I must admit that Lionel Messi can bring it anyway you want it. Warrior,that. Him. Whatever. Here's the NYT's take on it. Loved it. Hey, did you realize the World Cup is next summer?!
Player Ratings
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
My boy Thierry Henry looked ...okay. What! He's been sorting out an injury! And I must admit that Lionel Messi can bring it anyway you want it. Warrior,that. Him. Whatever. Here's the NYT's take on it. Loved it. Hey, did you realize the World Cup is next summer?!
Player Ratings
JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA
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