Greenadine’s Weblog

Vicariously visiting the France of my other self, i walk into the narrow restaurants i once enjoyed with intense experience, the walls closing in on narrow hips and wide minds.

I follow the home visit of La Marguerite with an eye to changes, knowing how the French are generally well informed and progressive, i am anxious to hear about the developments among the people on the ground.

safely tucked inland, the latin quarters are resistant to damage from severe coastal storms.
smartly hidden from natural laws, chemists reason the climatic realities behind a scientific curtain.
softly cuddled in a sensual cushion of consumer delights, gourmets dine on climatic denial.

a reality apart in the recesses of the intellect, we all see the eye of the storm of neglect
on our doorstep.

thank you for reading greenadine and please come back when i post again.

i will resume posting as soon as i meet all my present obligations.

till autumn, tender thoughts, nadine

nadinesellers@yahoo.com

the intimacy of self

when turning around
i set eyes upon you
and find myself in your gaze

contained and safe.

Inspired by La Marguerite’s Paris blog.

This morning, as homes are being ravaged in the California fires and the Midwest floods, i contemplate the degradation of intimacy in the ever greater buildings made of man’s will to power and greed. Writing from an old brick house large enough to shelter a flood of refugees, i apologize to those who suffer loss of space.

For the last decades the scale of buildings has increased to obscene degrees, wealth and well being incorporated in the scheme. Professionals have upheld ever higher standards of architecture and decor. Magazines and television have escalated the wants and perception of the many.

In an era of ever larger buildings, when hospital corridors could house a crowd of immigrants, when church halls could hold a flock of vagrants. I miss the Parisian closeness of walls and hands.

In a time of finite resource, where the plastic bottle has consumed oil and water to reach its consumer, where the trash truck has carried its refuse to the confines of earth and ocean, i mourn simplicity.

In a space ever aggressed by corporate will, where the pyres of greed blacken forests to replace nature with illness, where chemicals feed the dirt and kill its inhabitants, i mourn the will to be, simply be.

As homage to those who suffered loss during the Midwest floods.

I paid the price of 3 slices of bread for a tattered paperback of tradition in literature; a quarter which i had found in a school parking lot. The book weighed long and heavy on my shelves, the money was light in the child’s pocket. And now authors part pages to enrich the reader in times of empty. I cannot read but a few lines in my will to absorb, thoughts hurling from a lake of words pooled behind my eyes.

A continent apart in another time, another tongue. Memory bidden, transcends form and texture to land upon mind and suspend all others. Two lines and i take flight across centuries, unhampered by inventions of man, the current my only connection.

I have no hunger but for the single line, transfixed by bird song and empathy. Once the storm has passed and consciousness afresh, i am washed and cleared of mundanity.

on a rainy day.

today was a rainy day

a stormy splashy saturated day

thunder cracking multiple whips to the north

winds rushing waters to the south

and a folly of leaves torn asunder

maddening in great swaths across the grass

i read walt whitman

i imbibed emily dickinson

and fed the starveling cells of the mind

today i discovered america

in the pages of a dusty book

i gained respect for the word

in a world of too much

i found the string which ties sentiment

and keeps us human in the fray

today time and storm kept me still

sat me down by light of day

and told me to be quiet

beneath the raging skies

today i was an american between rivers

between ages of thinkers

solid as the departed buffalo

native as the swaying prairie grass

i was the berries

the fruits ripening in the trees

today i was myself

apart and together

the wind parting the curtains

scattering scent of honeysuckle

elusive wafts dispersed upon senses

tasting of love imagined

breeze racing across rooms barely touching

furtive in its approach and gone

in an instant to disturb a page

to lift a rug and then disappear

flowers in a vase only witness to passage

a verse on the tongue ready to be sent

along along

the tempest in the ear

the fugue of swirling waters

cascading down gutters

toward the swollen creek

to the streets to bridges below

taking my eyes to the ocean

to the flood of memory

today i am prairie washed away.

Please allow me to revert to the ancestral source of blind obedience to authority, i can trace modern man’s need of allegiance to hierarchy to long determined socialization. What essentially evolved from tribal necessity, was a sense of awe for the saviors; the guardian of the territory. Once the saber tooth tiger was gone, the next idea arose and worship crept in, then religion walked easily through the gaping cave door. Agape!

Thus came ego, demanding blind followers to bow to authority, with little indoctrination, leaders had no trouble finding followers. History is replete with demigods and full size zealots who have fooled slaves into sightless submission. i believe they have given their energy and resources under various names.

we continue to do so under tags and job descriptions. We work and toil for love and money, for someone, for some thing, car house food gadget or pet.

All of this in the name of possessions, we are indeed possessed by our very obsolescence.

What i wish to expose here is a degree of maturation of the sense of freedom; whereby the individual would be free to grow some sense of personal responsibility in his work performance.
surely this concept would aver to be enriching for all concerned. Contented workers would ideally produce better items or performance. This would be an end to mass mediocrity, an end to consumptive futility as well.

Ultimately we could witness a slowing down of wasteful abuse of resources. When full value is paid for time spent at work, and material used in the process, there is bound to be an increase in respect for each component of the process.

Can we afford to watch another generation spending life away on divisive schedules, away from civic and social duties? Would a shorter work week offer an improvement in interpersonal relationships? A well rested parent may be more inclined to make better choices and have saner reactions to the demands of childhood. A de-stressed partner may just be more cooperative and positive.

Toying with the idea of sustopia, i muse over the picture of community spirit, no nothing like a commune run amok, or sharing small quarters with groupies. But a situation where parents would meet their children, face to face, eye to eye..Everyone cared for and fed and each hour in the home, the field or the theatre could be a cultural experience, specific to need and inclination.

Time is not an element to be wasted on work, work is to be appreciated as a function. Thank you for the discourse, i have enjoyed throwing these words, loaded with ifs and whens, with maybes and hows.

Now, it’s your turn to churn, Europeans are considering shorter work weeks, What does the rest of the work force think?

Time to check the garden, if the word applies, a series of flowerbeds, tucked against the house, against the fence, against the chicken pen.

Turned the chickens loose last week to forage in the backyard; found out why people keep animals penned up. A country moment, rural reality, chickens like everything i do, tender greens, turnips, radishes, and lettuce.

Nothing surprising in the fowl behavior, something predictable in the romantic notion of freedom. I believed the winged creatures would lay happy eggs if allowed to eat worms and bugs as guineas do. Common error, the three pound birds squashed the entire garlic and onion crop and decimated my salad futures.

However, they entirely overlooked the weeds i had saved for them. Beady eyes riveted on prime radiccio, they ran for the prize mesclun. chased from the salad run against the fence, they casually strode over to the tender peas and fooled no-one but me. Are chickens coy enough to plan their feast?

Between chores, i surveyed the damage, and soon herded the flock of seven back to prison. Consider Three at anytime behind the rake, chase these inside the chicken compound. Then as you slink back into position behind the remaining four, the initial inmates have escaped to their original hunting grounds.

Rooster sounds alarm and rebellion, runs frantically along to rejoin mates, after-all he is the one in charge. By then the girls have three toed their footprints all over the carrot seedlings and smashed the healthy tomato forest. The fowl family in full mockery, flapping wings in a show of utter freedom, they cackle.

I give up and vow never to turn the egg factory over to the spirit of liberty. I am the shepherd, the queen of the animal dominion, i shall not sacrifice the vegetarian goodness to the granivores. So today, i am stooping under the neighbor’s cedar trees to collect handfuls of chickweed, their absolute favorite greens.

The law of natural compensation has taken over, i prop up and tie the wounded vegetables, and feed them a dressing of chicken coop compost. Four inches of rain fell upon the lot last night to seep the rich humus down to roots. I slept with easy conscience after the neighbor donated a bowl full of limp macaroni salad to the disappointed incarcerates.

As wild as i wish to be, i depend upon the animal kingdom to support my protein requirements. Arguments would provide no food for peace, i am admittedly an omnivorous species with all the right digestive organs. Yet, body says vegetize, vegetize. I shall invest more good will toward the plant kingdom. and nurture the vegetal realm so copious about me in the wet-wet Mid-West.

An immigrant’s first impression:

i wrote this years ago in French and attempted a loose translation into English, never quite whole, never satisfying, but nonetheless accurate in estimation, the feeling persists throughout a life spent in the observation of man across the lands that once were free range to its original animal inhabitants.

an appeal to connect again with the wild within.

savage before me

savage after us

prairie stretches within barbed confines

stuck between the avaricious owners

and their neighbors’ swollen ego

pasture cloture closure

the foot of one the dinner of another

the now murdered wolf

buffalo steps on the rancher’s dollars

wild in the portrait for the salon

of the other romantics

the fillet mignon of cousin cow

fattened with corn

arrives on the affluent table

while the plane the train iron and sound

chase the insane animal

across mid America

the vulture does not land

upon a poisoned coyote

the antelope runs frantic

with angry truckers

along the fence of madness

man iron heart and gun scope

kills the prairie dog with thunder

billboards erected by great hammers

the frog is deformed in the marsh

bird born beakless in his nest

and there the creek noise conceals

the absence of the minnow

all is clear in the meadows

how peaceful the cows

how sad the crow.

————————-

sauvage avant moi

sauvage aprés moi

la prairie s’étale en ses confins barbelés

coincée entre avarice

et le trop grand soi des voisins

pâturage voisinage

le pied de l’un le diner de l’autre

le loup assassiné

le buffalo piétine le dollar du rancher

et se fait peindre pour le salon

des autres romantiques

le filet mignon des cousines vaches

engraissées au mais

arrive sur table tandis que

le train l’avion le fer le son

chassent l’élan psychosé

sur la plaine Américaine

le vautour n’attérit pas sur

le coyote empoisonné

l’antélope courre avec le camion

tout au long des demarcations

homme coeur de fer blanc

tue le chien de prairie

á coup de fusil

les grandes pancartes s’élévent

á coup de marteau

la grenouille se déforme dans la marre

l’oiseau se malforme dans son nid

et lá le bruit du ruisseau

cache l’absence du goujon

tout est clair dans la prairie

comme les vaches y sont paisibles.

Lawns are an integral part of English and American culture.

Lawns are pride and frustration, expense and celebration.

Lawns are the source of worry and the petty concern.

Lawns are the aquaholics of the desert.

Rocks never complain, rocks never need care.

Rocks don’t claim pesticides nor do they need herbicides.

Containers come in all shapes and forms of imagination.

Vegetables hide in flower tubs between edible blooms.

Summer vacation opportunities. Big week-end, everyone’s on the road today, each four wheeler out of the garage and i’m sitting here making crazy plans. It’s raining hard in the Midwest.

Just in case you had not gone into a store lately, you may not realize that the economy is squealing with stretch marks. Painful as it may be, the budget must be harnessed and tied to the purse strings. So, i have gone on line to find unusual summer adventures for the creative soul on a pecuniary quandary.

Number one of course is a recycling standard:

Aluminum cans bring a healthy 70 cents per pound, why not spend your spare time diving for abandoned pop cans?

Tools of the trade:

strong gloves, abused jeans, tick spray, vinegar spray bottle as a deterrent to dogs ( does not work well with pit bulls) a supply of plastic bags and a good pair of shoes to crush cans, a long stick with hook at bottom, to retrieve recalcitrant cans wedged deeply on roadsides or dumpsters (or scare snakes away).

Personal benefits:

provides perfect balance of aerobic activity, bending and stretching.

Brings about $7.00 a full leaf bag.

Makes you look like a recycling fool, useful if looking for nature type networking.

Also brings your level of discourse to an existential high, something to write about, or to impress timid housewives at the next office party.

Community service:

And let’s not forget the civic aspects of keeping America Beautiful, wherever you may live, keeping China or Chile beautiful too. The roadside mowers and tourists will be grateful.

On a larger scale the planet and Alcoa will breathe a sigh of relief, as aluminum is an energy intensive product to eke out of the soil and bring to your product and pleasure.

Number two is a research project: cross country freegan data collector.

So you always wanted to finish that dissertation, you could not pass the math portion of your degree, you did not garner tuition for the competitive computer field of choice, no worry…attach yourself to a branch of your favorite university. Offer your endurance skills for the arduous task of finding where America leaks its vast food supplies. First destination, the bottom of the pile–of trash. America the queen of leftovers leaves plenty to be desired. to be computed into millions of pounds and poverty.

Planning:

Reasonably maintained vehicle, be it car with plastic lined trunk, or pick up with hardy bed. Could be a bicycle with twin baskets or one of these handy baby carriers in tow, the baby is your choice. Any vehicle which will support your wide efforts at finding the source of nutrition loss in your path.

A map, a list of malls and grocery stores where you wish to extend research.

A stack of notepads, or a lap-top with a thumb drive to plug in at intermittent libraries and feed the recovered data to a central pool, home or school.

A portable scale to weigh dairy, produce, prepared foods, etc recovered. A lined pad to record specifics and locations.

Sunscreen, toothpaste, digestive tablets and band aids, sunglasses, flashlight, portable radio, scarves, scissors, knife, stick,

Heavy gloves, rubber and elbow long, a plastic apron with some impressive logo ( in case the green grocer finds you in his bin) and all these clothes you were going to cut up for rags, give them one more chance. Bag lady disguise, homeless hand me downs, nothing too sexy or too cool.

The alternate course of action could have you dressed as undercover rich folks down on their luck. In such case the dress code would be retrieved office vintage, smart hair and heels, and dainty gloves of course. Impoverished gentry stirs the hearts of Romantica. Should you be discovered rummaging the nether regions of the commercial food chain, you would rely on drama 101; your very best performance yet.

Personal benefits:

Plenty of sunshine and exercise while avoiding contamination from ill kept dumpster sites.

Mapping skills improvement when lost or frustrated.

Animal photography, homeless journals and other reportage experience for your collection.

Social networking while avoiding competitive elements on the road. hopefully away from home.

Learning to cope with weather and unpredictable conditions; life skills 102.

Perhaps sealed container dining a la carte on the menu, or pooch pizza for your favorite companion.

A cross country freegan fest, travel light and eat heavy on the fruit picker’s path?

Social benefits:

It is essential to enhance awareness of wasteful practices in an economy of stress and increasing misery.

Necessary to train people to enjoy every single item they purchase and put it to its limits of effectiveness.

Important to shine the flashlight on the obscene waste of fine foods in the mass marketing strategy.

Every muffin in the bin is an insult to the farmer, the trucker, the baker and the homeless divorcee with 3 kids.

Restaurants could learn how their employees and customers process a third of what is offered, it’s all about seeing the figures, not just the profit margins.

A third alternative to great summer fun, plastic hunter:

I am afraid this also involves the above specs, but ends up with the same depressing results. So your focus again should be one of determination in rectification. Whatsoever man has produced - man must reduce. Objective, to tally the rate of discarding plastic objects, per locale or per vast area, your choice of cover.

First arm yourself with a last glance at two influential documentaries, The Story of Stuff and Plastic Island, with that in mind you will be hyper-aware of what you must demonstrate in your own way.

And perhaps come away with solutions to the packaging conundrum of marketing.

Tools of trade:

Camera with good resolution, rechargeable batteries, upload/download capacity.

Large-uh- plastic bags to stack and weigh the findings.

Lifting scale.

Paper pads, pencils, pens, found at site or at home.

Guideline for journaling the results by brands, sizes, numbers of plastic material on labels, toys or types.

A back-pack to store all the useful things you find alongside the refuse of society. Brand new screwdrivers, scissors, crochets? Susan B Anthony dollars, whatever neglect and apathy has lost.

Pepper spray or white vinegar, for animals and bi-pends, whichever endangers your physical person.

Personal benefits:

Friends gathered at roadside, networking buddies for future projects, documentaries or school program.

Pictures of reactions to your endeavor, complete strangers or your traveling companions.

A sense of community and purpose in the correcting the abuses of industrial past or present.

A lobbying possibility in political circles? or a neighborhood watch for plastic-abuse.

Extra credits for sociology and environmental science.

A book deal, hometown newspaper glory, stories for the grand-kids.

Whatever, you’ll never buy another plastic beverage container in your life.

Wider benefits:

Imagine an ocean without discolored crackling hot tub liners and water bed covers, fish nets and pop bottles in various stages of crushing desecration. Forget the cow, she won’t fit in any bag..

Pelletized plastics to be ingested by marine life and ultimately passed on to deserving human consumption.

Beaches free of protruding dangers and aggressive man-made matter.

Imagine green roadsides free of detritus and split cola cups. Free of product assault and insult.

Imagine hospitals and families free of so many cancers caused by these very same products of chemical engineering and over consumption?

Need i write more? Have a good summer vacation.. whatever you choose.

PS: They need lots of volunteers on poop-deck duty, no not ships, dairies, milking barn number 3 needs you! Panda Bear habitat and Koala rehab need you too. Or have you thought of joining the artistic community’s elaborate plans to draw crop circles in bio-fuel fields? Just a thought!

Good thing i don’t know any artists…