Tag Archives: love

A Catographer, I Considered (prose poem)

A Cartographer, I Considered

Oct. 2017 North Pacific, bound southward

Spectacled, heavy on a rosy face, hidden among stacks, drawing inventions of maps – delineating frontiers between playful apparatchik and fields where the healthy and husky scrambled games I couldn’t be bothered to learn the constructed rules of play.

Naming regions of gravel and grass in derivations of Iowa towns and possibly Balkan enclaves. Tracing roads across trucking routes and Roman ruins built to the width of chariot wheels-cemented as standards for mine entrance bringing a horse to shores, away from relations to new lives, absent from home still never known beyond memories, Serio-graphed into filtered ideals.

Yet an unsteady hand and overall disconnect, or even indifference, which led to a place to “settle” – build a house from logs, and seasoned by time, after hewn, nailed and assembled by saw blade and heavy sludge, forged by a possible cousin who always remain a stranger. The blade remains anonymous as an un-muttered pithy quote en route to cliché.

Neither did exploding suns, brilliant and fleeting, assembled in patterns, ~ shared by the patient and measured in Newtonian units – still could not muster a journey – hence gazed, but ignored as impractical, nigh impossible.

Translucent layers, super-imposed and stacked, detailing azimuths, trajectories and elevations – separating fertile valleys (though subject to floods) from talus slopes too steep but for mountain rams on the shady flank of Timpanogos. 

Dotted dashed and surveyed, specific dots explained in legend denoting assigned capitals, provincial outposts, and occasionally hamlets determined by polled populations, overseen with constructed superintendents, supported by varying address of retainers. 

Intrigued by absence of obvious order though not my task to chart. 

Instead, as per instinct, selected and committed to memory, devoid of context, thin slices of knowledge swirling in a petri vacuum – accurate as such, but irrelevant 

So i journeyed to wonder about likely motivations which took Normans, Pharaohs and troubadours beyond the point of unknown return. Capes left in wakes with dates and hard-track to fortify a quest alleged to diagram flora.

Among them, I reference guide notes from decades past – as vague as possible to acquire allowing white-space and risk. Packed in burlap next to a survivor’s stove and pouch of seeds and spices and an important black pencil. Only planned to go one way, impartial to return rather to chronicle the unfamiliar.

The familiar left far behind as physics might allow – exchanged possible comfort in normalcy for uncertainty contentment in ambiguity. Meandering concentric routes, devoid of patterns or ready purpose. 

Answers are easier in cliché, ergo:

“I’ll know when i get there” – 

Town to creek to roadside conundrum – I swirled each in mouth , pretending my palette featured a vocabulary to explain to unseeing why I hadn’t settled for seemingly ideal locales, situations and specific circumstance to flourish.

Eventually, after farm toil, beach frolic, rough nights in dangerous morass, leaping turrets of ruins and painful heaving, missed junctions and forgotten aims, at a campfire in a lake-forest with a khaki-scout familiarity, I stumbled through an unfavourable gale, onto the intended coast 

I mocked myself for misnamed non-discoveries, i assumed as fragrant promised lands of plenty allowed to the intrepid erstwhile accidental navigators. 

Teased over misread hieroglyphics and misappropriated meaning to stone wheels quarried a far, hauled by double-hulled craft powered by taro and current and fickle breeze.

I could no longer mock with unearned disdain, the vaunted and faulted explorers, stolen secrets leading to some anomaly errantly pro-claimed as new or proper or divine. 

Earnestly deterred, i occurred to map a universe of flesh and thought. Breath and sounds assembled into meaning. 

The crease on cheek, the measure of brow, the angle of toes, magnitude of halo surrounding chameleon eyes and the mysterious enthusiasm of all which exists between.

Thwarted, not by scenery but by shaking confessions, fumbled after a stealth crossing at an indifferent frontier town. I’d escaped to my holy land I presumed for an instant before minor catastrophe. 

Stalled at an unwelcoming inn where i laid myself bruised and bare to a lover temporarily transformed to a stranger after i let the truth languish, vanquished by the uncertainty of resolved and fear or wounding the occasionally innocent. 

She walked out vested, blithely, pithy saying “I know” unwittingly perhaps offering just enough loft to push a tattered sail across a colour-coded sea mis-named as somewhere calm. 

The explorer hides. Alone, entirely lost and surrendered to fates incomprehensible to the battered. Uncontrollable by the hostage. Yet clinging to an adrenaline determination to manufacture strength to another foray. 

Monk-like, minus faith, discipline, dogma or skill at ringing bells, relying on rice gruel and fragrant hope, the cartographer gathered charcoal, fired for unsteady hands, and a redrew boundaries to conceive an entirely new Pangea with concessions to speculate, plunder and charts assigned exclusively to only two.

daveo, Oct. 2017 North Pacific, bound southward

 

Happy Birthday Ryoko XO

My dear angels / happy birthday April 28 to Ryoko from hubbo DaveO and our Ichiro-kun

Happy Birthday Ryoko, a remarkable:
Arborist
Gardener
Singer
Momma
Tea ceremony practitioner
Small business owner/ entrepreneur
Painter / illustrator
Landscape designer
Coffee & café enthusiast
Kei-truck driver
Puppet maker
Piano (etc) player
More more more

She’s *always* ready for an outing, a laugh, a song, a soak, a snack, a walk – *always* stops to smell the flowers, document the trees and inspect the leaves.

And always ready to help out someone who’s having a tough time and needs a little support, a gift, visit, card, or compliment.

Switches between classic kimono, jazz café cocktail dress, rugged work wear, and cute pajamas like no big deal. Swooooon.

Always calm, strong & thoughtful >> And *somehow* despite always seeming to be running behind, always perfect timing.

And (importantly)… the sweetest, most supportive & patient, most full-of-sunshine wife a boy could ever hope for.

Smitten, endlessly.

Let’s enjoy the usual days!!

Love your lucky hubbo Daveo & our Ichiro-kun

Fancy black shoes on a muddy dirt path from the nursery school – love everything about this snap

Bonus: We made pasta, had a cake, farmer Mac came to visit

Ichiro 9 months old (at Yubara onsen rocking yukata)

Ichiro, 9 months old at Yubara Onsen

Ichiro Stanley Thorvald Olson 9 months old today.

Don’t remember life before him – I have photographs, journals and vague recollections but somehow, wonderfully everything changed.
Anyhow, with the family at a hotspring (onsen) hotel and, after a ridiculously massive dinner during which he entertained all the lady staff and guests, the little dude frolicked with Ma & Pa in a private outdoor bath ~ in and out of the cold mountain air for scrubbing, the Moon & Orion overhead, and hot fresh (42*) natural mineral water in a wooden tub on the rooftop in a steep gorge. Sigh.

Then rocked his yukata like a jolly viking samurai in the tatami room snuggled up in futon.

Proud parents & grandparents indeed!

Ichiro and Ryoko (and moss and trees)

{You might have seen a sneak preview of this glorious snap but…} Behold! 

Ichiro and Ryoko in a mossy garden love love love

My two lovelies, out in the *wild*, in the olden compound of a salt making family: aged bent trees, carefully tended; moss everywhere; rows of kura barns (previously storing rice, miso, pickles, salt); wood-fired bathtub; dry-fit stone masonry; art (traditional and modern) and artifacts (globes, cameras, phones, scales, accordion etc.) – I purchased a bag of salt, and six postcards which I decorated with their special commemorative inky stamp. 

At some other point I’ll share evidence of the above but for now, I’ll share evidence of my two wonderful humans. In the wild (Kojima, Okayama, Japan). <3

Ichiro in the tatami room (proudest papa)

Yes i am the proudest papa with remarkable Ichiro. This is all. Good night. #io (photo by exceptional mama Ryoko)

Grandson Ichiro at Ohaka grave with Fujita Family

8 month old Ichiro Stanley Thorvald Olson visiting his great-grandpa Ichiro’s ohaka grave on the 48th anniversary of his passing. Great-grandmother Tomiko joined him last summer. It’s all about the cycles.

4 generations of Fujitas, more or less art Grandfather Ichiro and now Grandmother Tomiko’s ohaka (grave) short walk from our home in Tsuchida, Okayama. We cleaned the ohaka, lit incense, fresh flowers, clap clap, bow, bow etc.

Momma brought flowers from home (daffodils and irises I think) note: construction beginning behind

Ichiro, “the Jolliest” & “Top o’ the morning”

Ichiro (with mama Ryoko) is the jolliest little guy

1 more which is really 4, regardless Ichiro is the jolliest little guy (with mama Ryoko Olson)

Morning greets from Ichiro on the go…

“Top o’ tha Morn to ya pals” says Ichiro on the go…

I picked you flowers (painting & poem)

Gravelly Beach, 2005, oil on canvas, Dave Olson

Picked you some flowers while I was out

Placed in a vase, slightly chipped

Perhaps you and the blooms will enjoy the view

I’ll be outside chopping wood

Cards and Scrapbooks – Japan Cottage Musings

Drinking a Turmeric / Reishi mushroom concoction in a stolen mug with a velour tracksuit, Dave rambles about  misplaced “tribute to Mom” memorandum log and love of receiving cards and letters which are stashed lovingly in handmade scrapbooks and shared with family.

Plus quick hits about festive cards (and evidential delays), poems, time traveller photos, letterhead, stationery and Ryoko’s Kinome office.

+ Name checks for new Papas, Steve Rapport (Mostly Rock n Roll), David Bowie 83, and Hotel Monterey and lost/odd Christmases + brother Anders.

Ichiro: cards #61~65 “5ive Set / Farm, Minako, Canadian, Rice, Superstar” 12.2~9.2020

5 – count ’em 5ive – new #Ichiro cards for your on-going collection from early Dec. 2020 (Reiwa 2), series includes:

Ichiro: card “Farm guys” hanging out at uncle Mac’’s goat Emporium Rural Caprine Farm with a haiku post box in the sunshine
Ichiro: card “meeting Minako-san” the remarkable elder lady proprietor of the finest tiny restaurant with ridiculous Okonomiyaki & a completely psychedelic painter (minus the psychedelics)
Ichiro: card “Officially Canadian“ no big deal, came with an awesome sweater and a citizenship certificate
Ichiro: card “Let’s try rice!“A.k.a. “Snacktime“ or “spoonful of wasabi…“ Yep, trying a little bit of sort of solid food in the form of smashed up rice soup. Next step, pierogies
Ichiro: card “Okayama superstar” our prefecture ain’t so famous (unless you count peaches, peach boy legend, denim and school uniforms…) but that’s changing with this dashing dude

Ichiro: card #60 “Child Prodigy-ish” 12.1

Ichiro card 60 / “Child Prodigy-ish” (Glenn Gould Redux)

Won’t say he is *concert-ready* quite yet but he’s using fingers not fists, posture is solid, chord shapes developing… another couple months he should be ready for Okayama Symphony Hall.
 
Will let you know when tickets go on preorder.

Ichiro: card #59 “Generations of Fujitas”(in Tsuchida) / 11.28

Ichiro: card #59 “Generations of Fujitas”(in Tsuchida) / 11.28

These shining lights continue to connect the centuries of culture & community The family gravestones go back so far the words are obscured / we wash (sometimes), light incense (Nag Champa in this case), clap and bow + bit of a conversation > In this case, namesake Grandfather Ichiro & Grandmother Tomiko’s ohaka / note: this “ohaka” has served as an important destination and part this year’s actions as documented in this archive.