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FYI: The site is not open to the public. We were lucky that no one turned us away, but unfortunately, this beautiful place is only open to members. Sorry!
Uncategorized
Under Our Noses: The Philosophy Works
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“Right near you in Wallkill,” my friend said, about a year ago. “We used to go to events there—concerts and crafts sales. Quality crafts. Really beautiful grounds.”
Then, last spring, we got a postcard in the mail from the School of Practical Philosophy at 846 Borden Circle, in Wallkill, New York. It announced the Philosophy Works Introductory Course beginning on April 12, 2022. I was intrigued, but I didn’t get around to looking at the website (www.philosophyworks.org/wallkill) until June. My Zoom schedule being full, I wasn’t as interested in a course as I was in the place itself.
Finally, on a Friday afternoon, we found our way to the site after several wrong turns. As far as we could see, nobody was around. We parked near a stately house and followed the noise of a weed whacker to where a man was clearing off the stone patio behind the house.
He turned off his machine, introduced himself, and proceeded to give us an abridged history of the organization and the Borden estate.
Perhaps some folks in the senior category remember Elsie the Cow, the mascot of Borden Milk?
(https://bordenestate.com/) John G. Borden, son of Gail Borden, the inventor of condensed milk, chose the site in Wallkill for his Home Farm in the 1880s. His daughter, Marion, took over running the business after his death in 1891. Under her auspices, the Queen Anne-Tudor style mansion was built. She was a great benefactor to the area, funding the library, portions of local school buildings, and other projects.
To learn more about the Bordens, go to this link:
http://abouttown.us/articles/marion-the-last-wallkill-borden/
The Borden Estate/Philosophy Works site is delightfully peaceful. We have visited twice so far and no one has chased us away.
Cat Bath
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*
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When the cat bathes itself
at the bed’s foot,
soft thumps
against the curve of my leg
take me home
to my child self.
Then I always had
an animal curled up fur tight
sharing my dreaming bed
nosing purr close
kneading an arm
sheathed claws
tiny pain pricks
supple companion
chose the king’s spot
the royal feline middle
and I, careful not to disturb
adjusted my legs around
its warm weight
Day Care
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*
He has his pull-ups on.
I’ve shaved him. (It’s fun.)
He’s got just one hearing aid.
Lost the other one.
He’s had his breakfast,
taken his pills
brushed his teeth.
*
“Where are we?” he says.
I tell him again.
*
“I’ll be here when you get home,”
I say.
“You don’t need to call me.
You’re safe.”
*
I send him out to the van.
Watch him climb in
wipe away familiar tears
like a mother.
Rail Trail I
*
*
Honeysuckle breeze carries
scent of cut grass.
Mower drones
behind shaggy hickories.
He stops to listen.
Maples flutter,
serious oaks think
about making acorns.
*
Slow walking
One step to his two-step
shuffle-crunch gravel.
On the verges
phlox lilac pink
dandelion fluff
sinister poison ivy,
innocent in shiny green
*
One chorus of
Zippity-do-dah,
He’s happy
under the canopy
shade and sun
in his eternal now.
Satya and Books
*
“I don’t read,” Satya says.
They are sitting in Satya’s kitchen. Samantha is in one of the chairs. Satya is on the floor with her back against the dishwasher.
Samantha looks at the stack of books on the kitchen table. One is about Mary Magdalene. Another is called Eyebody Technique.
“What do you mean, you don’t read?” Sam asks, gesturing to the books on the table.
“Oh, a page that looks interesting, yes, but not novels. I can’t sit still that long.”
Samantha thinks of her own bookish habits. Sometimes she’ll have three novels going simultaneously, and one for the gym, and an audiobook for the car. She especially likes to listen to Jane Austen on the way to work. Austen can make Sam laugh out loud.
Satya doesn’t strike Sam as the restless type. Sam knows that Satya watches videos. Sam squirms in her chair and lets out a huff of air. She doesn’t like this feeling of passing judgment, either on Satya for not reading, or on herself for spending so much time in books.
Sam has always been surrounded by books. As a child, Sam’s bookcase in her bedroom was only one quarter the size of the wall-to-wall bookcases in the dining room, the ones her father built. Sam read and reread the Little House books, the Narnia Chronicles, and all of Marguerite Henry’s horse stories. Laura and Lucy were as well known to Sam as her friends at school. In fantasy play with her friends, they acted out events in the books. Sam remembers that she always chose to be Susan, Lucy’s older sister. “Why Susan?” Sam wonders.
There were the E. Nesbit books, also, and George MacDonald’s fairy stories. Edward Eager’s magic books. For years, Sam believed intensely that one day she could find a magic coin or step into another world. Sam and her friend, Marcia, used to stand next to an ornate lamppost near the school playground with their eyes squeezed shut, waiting for a faun to call them into Narnia.
But in the silence while Satya stares at the floor and Sam sips her tea, Sam returns to Susan in Narnia. Susan was a warrior, strong and decisive. The exact opposite of Sam’s girlchild self who was timid, too eager to please, afraid to speak her opinion—it’s taken years for Sam to step away from those qualities. To be honest, she’s not gotten that far away from little Samantha.
Who was Satya when she was a girl? Was she as ethereal and unusual then? If so, she would have been teased and bullied by her peers, that’s almost certain.
“I went to a private girls’ school,” Satya says, as if reading Sam’s mind. “The girls tortured me. I didn’t have a single friend there. I hid in the library and read books.”
Fans of Narnia, Harry Potter, and the other books mentioned above might enjoy my Karakesh Chronicles:
Better than the Alternative
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It was a sobering experience,
trying on brassieres in Target.
*
Full disclosure:
It’s been at least four years
since I bought a bra.
And probably more
than four pounds.
But I was tired of
gorilla underwear.
*
In lingerie,
I got the size I was before—
34B.
No underwires, you know.
They obstruct the chi flow.
But look at the flesh
bulging over the sides.
(Don’t look at the belly below.)
*
When did this S shape
creep up on me?
When did my waist ascend?
The size I thought I was
I am no more.
Remember 32A? 32B?
*
To me in the mirror, I say,
“This is what 71 looks like.
You are healthy.
You are alive.
You’ve escaped Covid.”
*
I hang the lacy 34Bs
on the return rack:
the polka-dotted beige satin,
the striped gray cotton,
the black floral.
*
Again, I scan the displays. Pick out any 36B.
Buy the ones that fit.
Salat Al Maghrib*
Blessed are the birds
grackle bullies shriek,
scuffle over sunflower seeds,
muscling away patient goldfinches
cardinals wait on bare oak branches
*
Blessed are the dry oak leaves,
pale as deerskin
worn winter thin
that shiver and tumble,
grounded by bitter March wind
*
Blessed is the wind
sweeping in from the North
Only ice fairies fly
above the frosted pines
*
Blessed are the pines
moaning adagios
windswept violas and bassoons
harmonize at twilight
*
Blessed is the twilight
sapphire and steel
calligraphy of branches
writing the ballad of night
—————————————
*Islamic sunset prayer
Some Good News
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It is so gratifying when one’s written words are appreciated by others and sent out into the world. I’m thankful for both of these responses.
- One of my poems, Quilt, is appearing in the Summer/June 21 online magazine, Lightwood. Here’s the link: https://lightwoodpress.com/category/articles/
2. Another of my poems, The Memory Tree, is accepted to Amherst Writers and Artists publication, Peregrine. I’ll let you know when it is available.
Words
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*
Gait apraxia.
Two new words have sneaked into our house.
Commonly seen in vascular dementia,
gait apraxia
is that shuffling walk
as if feet are stuck to the floor.
*
The neurologist tossed the two words
into the air, casually,
but I caught them phonetically
in my notebook
and looked them up later.
*
No cues or modeling or suggestions help.
He can’t change how he moves,
so says Sciencedirect.com
We go for walks, and he shuffles along
behind me.
*
Before gait apraxia came in the door,
I would say,
“This isn’t exercise! Walk faster!”
“I can walk you into the ground,”
he’d reply,
lagging further behind.
*
Gait apraxia isn’t alone
in taking up residence.
We have anxiety
wringing its hands in the corner.
We have incontinence in paper diapers,
hanging around the bathroom.
But table manners left for the south,
forgetting to close the door.
Tangled Magic 