"Playing for Change"--A Tribute to Buskers

Grammy award winning filmmaker Mark Johnson brought over 100 street musicians (buskers) from around the world together for a collaboration documentary called "Playing for Change". It is a tribute long overdue, and the project wants to get more people involved. For information: http://www.playingforchange.com/

It is gratifying to see others appreciate the importance of the talent buskers share every day with all who pass by. It's even better to see the golden light of appreciation shined upon the street musicians who, though they may be passed unseen, provide the soundtracks to our daily lives.

Sadie Died

Sadie Died, originally uploaded by MaryWit.

It's been nearly three weeks since Sadie died, and I still can't bring myself to write about her or see her picture. I am lost without her. No mere dog, she permeated every facet of my life, went everywhere with me, was my constant companion, family and friend. She cracked me up every day and was the one to get me through life's truely hard times. We had each other's back.

Her photos can be seen here: http://flickr.com/photos/marywit/sets/72157603329460230/

Rest In Peace, Sadie.

Alice Chasing Rabbit-Shoes

Street Shoes 12a, originally uploaded by MaryWit.

I came unexptectedly upon the most extrordinairy sight yesterday. A long stretch of Old Ballard Ave. telephone poles with shoes with snippets of poetry written on them screwed to the poles. I was enchanted and followed the poles nearly to the Ballard Bridge nearly a mile away. Mesmerized, I took snapshots of the the shoes. It turns out that it is a public art/poetry installation by local poet A.K. "Mimi" Allin. Here's how she explained it in a blog entry on My Ballard.com:

"50 pairs of poetry shoes (with dahlias), nailed to telephone poles on the north side of Old Ballard Ave. 100 spoons installed on the east side. This was a 2nd incarnation for these shoes. They were originally installed in Tieton Town Square, for LitFuse 2008, as a public art project called “Spoon River.” The installation is based on the classic American book of poems, Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters. Fellow artist, Frank Junk, suggested showing them off at Art Walk, so together he, Sage and I pushed a shopping cart full of shoes up the Ave, drilling them into poles and talking to passersby as we went. Each shoe represents a deceased character from the fictional town of Spoon River. Character’s names appear on the back heels of the shoes. Read together, Masters’ 244 poems depict life in small town America at the turn of the century. Few people are familiar with the book nowadays, but it saw 70 printings after being published in 1915! I found a copy at Abraxus Books. I hope you enjoyed them. "

I did indeed enjoy them--the mystery, the playfulness, the joy and delight. The world needs more public poetry and art. Buskers and street artists (not taggers), poetry scrawled on back alley walls express a fundamental howl --laughter or tears-- of the human soul. It's success is not dollar driven (though tips and donations are gratefully accepted) nor does it depend on corporate marketing schemes. A gift to all who take the time to notice. I am profoundly grateful to the artists, poets, performers and musicians who take the time to share their gifts.

You can see the rest of the poetry shoe snapshots I took here: http://flickr.com/photos/marywit/sets/72157609398131248/

Kitteh and Pip meet the Talking Heads

I have the proud honor of having the original drawing of this Adam Koford cartoon (#972) in my home. Check out Adam's blog at hobotopia.com and his Laugh-Out-Loud Cats flickr set at http://flickr.com/photos/apelad/sets/72157600296941365/ for the origins and further adventures of these two hobo cats, Kitteh and Pip.

You can see Adam's complete set of lolcats drawings here: http://flickr.com/photos/apelad/sets/72157600296941365/

The End of the Long Dark--and the H in Sunrays

Laugh-Out-Loud Cats #979, originally uploaded by Ape Lad.

As the election resuts came in last night, and Obama's victory was announced, Adam Koford (a/k/a Ape Lad) posted this comic announcing the end of his trademark H in Sunrays. The H in Sunrays have been hidden in every (or nearly so) daily comic he's posted at http://flickr.com/photos/apelad and on his blog, hobotopia.com. Ostensibly the >H< was a tribute to John Hodgman, but it was also more--much more--than that. The H in Sunrays is the universal symbol for Hobo Uprising. The symbol appeared throughout the land--in forests, along rail yards, shipping ports, trails, boulders, beaches and sidewalks all over the country. Adam's election night comic expresses hope for change and, with the end of >H<, there is no longer a necessity for a Hobo Uprising.

The long dark is over, World. And to answer the question asked by Michael Moore, lo, those many years ago--"Dude. Where's my Country?" We can now say with a resounding, jubilent shout--OH, HERE IT IS!!!

Crows

To begin, let me say that I love Crows. They charm and delight me. Their intelligence, humor and hi-jinx impress me. Their stark black beauty dazzles me, and their survival skills inspire me. They are the embodiment of Tom Robbins’s philosophy, “joy in spite of everything.” I had a foster son many years ago who brought home a baby Crow that had fallen from its nest and would surly have died. It lived with us, uncaged, in my second story apartment until it could fly. I fed it cat food from my little finger, which it impaled into its craw. As the little Crow grew, it would half-fly to my shoulder with loud baby Crow cries until I could get the food out and ready for him. The Crow had free range of the apartment. For those few months, it was an integral part of the household. He had favorite songs, favorite hiding places and favorite people. He was a constant source of entertainment—finding shiny things—earrings, money…anything that suited his fancy, and hiding it. He enjoyed arranging things in particular order. He was intelligent, loved games, and I swear he laughed when he put a particularly complex prank over on us. As he grew and learned to fly, his adolescent voice grew louder and his food begging more insistent, though by then he had his own constant supply. Wild Crows had spotted him through the window and had taken to lining rooftops of nearby buildings trees and calling loudly to him; calls which he ignored. One early morning, after a particularly late night with friends, he woke me with his hungry caws. Blurry eyed, I got up and he flew, wide-mouthed to my shoulder for food. I fed him than started preparing for a brunch gathering I had planned. Though he was fed, he wouldn’t leave me alone, wanting to ride on my shoulder, caw in my ear, and generally pester me. Annoyed, I opened the second story window and set him on the ledge then closed the window while I cooked. The outside Crows grew more frenzied and raised a thunderous cacophony that echoed through the neighborhood. My Crow flew away and never returned. People have told me that the wild Crows would have killed him, but I prefer to believe that he became a great leader of Crows. The magnificent Crow King whose legend lives in the hearts of all Crows. I mourn him still.

The past two days can best be summarized in two words: disturbed Crows. Yesterday, Sadie and I were driving to the Magnuson dog park, taking side streets to avoid the long stoplights that have appeared on nearly every corner of major Seattle streets. Just as I crested a hill, I came upon a black cloud of screaming Crows. They lined every wire, every rooftop and every tree. All were leaning in wide-beaked consternation toward a particular manicured front yard. The horrifying scene shocked me to the core—a small hawk had a Crow pinned to the ground and was in the process of killing it, oblivious of the ear shattering screams of the surrounding Crows. The hawk had the Crow in its talons, with its wings spread over it to hold the black struggling body down and was tearing at the Crow with its beak. The hawk wasn’t much bigger than a grown Crow. I wanted to stop and help, but a car was directly behind me and there was no place to pull over. The sight will forever haunt me.

The second disturbed Crow event happened early this morning. I woke up to the same agitated Crow screams as accompanied the hawk incident. I have bird feeders in front of my window next to the sidewalk. Over the summer, I’ve fed a pair of Crows, and if I see them in the window when there is no food, I toss them well-aimed pieces of bread. They drink and dunk the bread in the birdbath near the feeders and have come to trust me. The cries that awoke me this morning were not friendly food begging caws; they were definitely agitated and loud. A dozen or so others had joined the usual pair of Crows. All were leaning, wide beaked toward my window. With visions of yesterday’s violent scene, I steeled myself for more horror and went outside. Nothing seemed amiss. Mystified, I came back in and suddenly saw the source of their rage. I had put a realistic life-sized Crow replica in the front window for Halloween. Apparently, they thought one of their own had been captured. I immediately removed the provocation from the window and tossed some bread pieces out as penance. The Crows weren’t so easily assuaged; however, they refused the offering and continued their strident recriminations for about a half an hour more. There is an upside to the story: certainly, the upscale inhabitants of the new half-million dollar townhouses surrounding me—the ones who complain about the “Crow problem” --were awakened on this Saturday dawn by a scene reminiscent of Hitchcock’s “The Birds.” May they be visited by vivid dreams of the Crows’ Revenge and may I once again be graced by the company of glossy black Crows.

A Deluge of Rejection

It's been nearly six months since I was unexpectedly laid off of the job I thought I'd have until the end. It's the same old story--savings gone, no medical, etc., no family, and unemployment about to run out...don't know where next month's rent will come from. (Tension builds.) I've applied to countless jobs, had some interviews (amazing when according to interviewers, 2-300 apply for each position), but no job. Job hunting for people over 50 is not for sissies. Massive layoffs are happening at an alarming rate, and many (most?) positions I've applied for have been cut before I've had a chance to interview.

Here are a couple of examples that appeared today. Neither the rejection letter nor the headline are unusual in themselves, but that they arrived the same day, regarding the same positions strikes me as grimly ironic. The headline is from the 10/15/08 Seattle P-I; the email (names removed) arrived the same day regarding a position I had applied for over a month ago.

The Headline:

"King County Issues Layoff Notices to 237 Workers" --Seattle P-I, October 15, 2008

The Rejection:

Dear applicant:

Thank you for applying for the position of XXXXXXX with the Department of XXXXXXX Services - XXXXXXX Division. Currently, this recruitment is on hold pending internal layoff process review. Thank you for your interest in working for XXXXXXX. We encourage you to apply for other positions for which you may be qualified.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXX
XXXXXXX
Human Resources