notes from the kelp

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…about the music

Reflecting.

My little Smudge has no idea just how perfect his reflection looked in the framed pastel hanging across from my desk. I couldn’t have positioned him like this had I tried.

I’m reflecting, too, on the toll the massive fires are taking in my former home turf of Los Angeles. I’ve been following the reports on the web, and trying to transmit humid, cooler thoughts to the pyro gods above. During the 24 years I lived in southern California I experienced a lot of wildfires, a handful of which came frighteningly close to the physical spaces that contained fragile, temporal proof of my existence. Once you’ve been through it, a visceral reaction is unavoidable. Bravi to the brave: the tireless firefighters, working so hard in these hellish conditions, risking, and sadly sometimes giving, their lives in an effort to protect everyone else’s.

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…about the music

Elegy for a sea kitty.

I’ve featured Lion’s Mane jellyfish on these enpixelated pages once or twice before, but they’re always so fascinating to me that I can’t help but share this one with you. It’s roughly 18 inches wide, and in the process of ending its life, which spans only about a year. I hope it was a pleasant one filled with everything that a jelly might desire. Did it float around to wonderful places with comfy temperatures? Get enough sex? Eat out at some great spots, enjoying the background music of the passing Orcas’ latest hits? I hope so.

I often see them washed up along the beach here where I walk by the house, and I love to kneel and study them closely. Tempting as it is to touch their soft, gel-like skin, I resist. Even in this weakened state, they can offer quite a zippy sting that is officially referred to as, “seldom fatal.” I don’t care for those two words next to each other.

In life these jellies are magnificent and graceful creatures; in death, they remain beautiful as the sunlight reflects deep oranges and maroons from their weakening bell. Unnaturally upturned edges plead to the sky, as the rocks below coax them gently to the shore with each wave. It’s inspiring to witness a creature that’s as gorgeous in death as it is in life.

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…about the music

Ahhhh…

Saturday night between 7 and 9:30 p.m., three good friends, Charles, our guide and I kayaked almost silently through the Haro Strait. We were flanked by bald eagles, Dall’s porpoises, small fish that jumped giddily out of the water, rhinoceros auklets, and the memory of a large pod of Orca whales who swam in this same spot just an hour earlier. When twilight surrendered to nighttime, fascinating sparks from bioluminescent life forms lit up in the water with each paddle stroke. Vancouver Island and B.C.’s smaller southern gulf isles met our gaze across the sea, and as the clouds gave way to the sunset which gave way to the stars, I knew I was in my own version of Heaven.

I chose to accompany these pix with a little excerpt from the “Nunc Dimittis” movement of my “Evensong Suite,” since it seemed so fitting. The text refers to how, upon seeing baby Jesus, Simeon declares that he’s seen God’s salvation– something God had promised he would experience before he died. Well, for me, and for a lot of folks just like me, moments like this are my salvation, and the power of the universe in its natural beauty, in its art, and in the kindest interactions with others, are the only saviours that matter. Amen!

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…about the music

Afloat, in the air.

I was utterly charmed to discover this new cache of multi-legged life above a little aloe plant next to my front door. Suspended in a frozen tumble amid thin web strands, a hundred or more of these tiny, tiny spider babies experienced sunshine and pine trees for the first time. And, the regrettable circumstance of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The previous week I had captured and relocated an unremarkable, pale colored spider who I first inspected under a magnifying glass before helping it change zip codes from atop my kitchen cabinet to beneath my wooded ferns many yards away. I was taken by the significant chevron design on its outer abdomen, and pored over photos in my various arachnids-for-geeks books. It turned out that I had saved the life of a little creature who could have seriously impeded my own. It was a Hobo spider, not uncommon in these parts and who, like the Brown Recluse, makes up in necrotic, flesh-eating, potentially lethal bites what it lacks in fashion sense.

I’ve always loved spiders. An essay I wrote years ago describes just one of my many ongoing co-habitations. And so when I saw these adorable babies, my heart sank. Could they be a burgeoning squadron of Hobo spiders, soon to unintentionally menace those of us living here paying the property taxes? I scoured the internet for proof of their innocence. “Baby Hobo spider photo.” “Hobo arachnid young photo.” “Pictures of newborn spiders.” Nothing. Crestfallen, I flashed back to a related episode from years ago in Malibu.

The deed was done as rapidly and humanely as possible. I felt terrible. The next day I stepped out to the deck and gazed sadly at the space above the aloe where my little nursery orphans had hovered so trustingly. There, toward the edge of one leaf, was a lone survivor. Smiling, I walked back into the house, and immersed myself in my music.

…click to listen:

…about the music

Illumination, from all sources.

The lighthouse at Lime Kiln is one of this island’s best loved spots. Between sightings of Orcas, Canada, the Olympics, Mt. Rainier on a clear day, and tourists with a serene smile on their face, there’s plenty to see, framed by bright auburn Arbutus trees whose orange bark glows neon in the setting sun.

I think I’ve felt a little bit like a lighthouse this past week, informing others of what lies ahead. The topic in my case hasn’t been rocks that might sink someone’s vessel, but rather, tools that will help their professional ship stay afloat and find a great harbor. If you’re curious about the power of social networking (and since you’re connecting with me by reading this, you may well be), here’s a piece I wrote for Molly Sheridan’s ArtsJournal blog, Mind the Gap. There are plenty of thoughtful entries and comments on this subject if you swing over to the main page, too.

There’s no sense in cursing the darkness, when we can all find our own light.
At least, as long as we have electrical power and the internet!