predictability and order are some of the necessary and defining trademarks of a lifestyle that many in this country enjoy, including myself. thank you god, and amen.
and believe me, i'm not knocking survival, but once it is fairly mastered, it's time to start living...
as an art student many years ago, i attempted an exploration of this theme of domesticity: my undeniable yearning for it; my dreaded fear of it. i exorcised my internal turf war with ironic art installations: household appliances promising ease and comfort were set on pedestals, forming a stonehenge-like prayer circle that when entered could simultaneously protect and entrap you---pretty standard art school rhetoric----but the process of creating this mock homage was cathartic in its own way....putting my banal possessions on display for a crowd of iconoclasts had a cleansing effect: "this is me. not all of me, but part of me...and why should i be ashamed? can't i be june cleaver and judy chicago at the same time?"
the passion, creativity and dedication i've demonstrated in the ensuing years to my husband, our children and the structures that shelter us is testimony to the resolution of that puerile conflict, (how to be ordinary and extraordinary simultaneously) and yet....i still wanna go where the wild things go...
my back yard is pretty big as far as suburbia goes, and i believe there are hidden treasures out there. for this reason i resist the urge to "mow and blow", wage war against the dandelions, or cut down my palms to eliminate pesky fronds. i see it as my own personal protected nature reserve. like the rain forest, perhaps there are clues, compounds, or species that i can learn from.
in the midst of a major metropolitan area nature persists...processes go unchecked, plant refuse is allowed to decay or petrify, and a little mess provides happy habitation for life forms that may otherwise have been evicted.
case in point: my owl.
well, okay, it's not mine, but it retains a time-share nest in the gnarled, spider-infested branches of the old mock orange tree.
when i was foraging back there recently for rocks and archeological fragments, (as well as avoiding a sink full of dishes) a large bird parked itself on the branch above me. i assumed it was a common crow, but as the silhouette became discernible in the periwinkle light of dusk i realized my companion was an owl. i was elated. slowly reaching for my sketch pad, i knocked out a couple quick studies while softly saluting this visitor, and began to realize that it was me who in fact was the visitor. my owl had more rights to these coordinates than any human cartographer; its ancestors most certainly have navigated these treetops for a long, long time.
after several minutes my feathered friend gently lifted off into the twilight, leaving me alone to bask in my amazement. a gift of confirmation had dropped from the heavens, justifying and encouraging me to continue my mission of benign neglect in the back forty.
it may be tiny, but it's still wilderness, and when the din of civilization wears on me, i know where to go.
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