Oh, The Things I Save

My Neighborhood

I love my neighborhood. It is called "Upper Sugarhouse" or "Fifteenth and Fifteenth." There is an old sugar mill on Highland Drive, but it never actually processed any sweet stuff because the machines shipped from France in the early 1900's didn't make the journey. I remember when Sugarhouse Park was the old Utah State Prison, with it's dark foreboding towers (old pictures here).

When I was a realtor, this area was described as a "sought-after quirky neighborhood, with early 20th century bungalows, cottages, and Tudors."

The first picture is the inside of Jolley's Corner. They feature clothes that I love, but never buy for myself. I would love to own this jacket, but I think I would look silly in it.
Christella, you talked me into it!

61, silly, and proud of it! (edited Wed., Oct. 7, 2009)

This is Emigration Market. It has been here forever. I grew up on 9th & 15th and I remember trying to ride my bicycle with my life's savings ($17) to this store so I could buy treats for all my friends. My mom stopped me and gave me one of my first lessons on spending money wisely.

Eggs In the City is new. I remember when it was a gas station. I'm glad they serve eggs now. There is a fabulous proudly-substantial waitress here who displays tattoos all over her body. My favorite is "Starry Night" on her upper arm.

Fresco's Restaurant - Fabulous courtyard & food,

The King's English Bookstore -

last of the independently-owned hold-outs.

Great Middle Eastern Restaurant

(reviewed for Catalyst Magazine, 2001-

short stint as food critic)

The Seven Dwarfs live here.

I have peaceful, meditative neighbors.

My little cottage -

(see more here)

Kathy's Countertop Café

(granddaughters Kathryn & Sandra with Mom, Autumn)

I didn't post pictures of the Starbucks or Einstein's Bagels in my immediate neighborhood (convenient, but not charmingly original) - or the Art Gallery (still under construction).

(pictures of downtown Sugarhouse here)

Tuesday Sentimentality

I have always loved old-fashioned things. Antiques. Faded sepia photographs. I love that I grew up in an era where my Mom wore house dresses and aprons. It's nice to be old enough that I am somewhat of an antique myself. Are the things I love treasured merely because they come from another time? Do I think that earlier generations were better? Are my dreams about foregone days foolish imaginings? Why am I afflicted with such yearning?

Love After Love, by Derek Walcott

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

Spur Of The Moment Trip To The Tetons

Smoke from Lake Moran fire,

life sprouting on twig,

golden aspen,

hike to Garnet Lake,

we meet Toni and René and run into them again on String Lake hike

(one of my most favorite things - meeting people on the trail and talking to them -

turns out Toni is also a massage therapist),

two of 13 people in lobby of Jackson Lake Lodge on mac laptops,

(below) kissing frog on end of walking stick -

still waiting for prince,

we walk through area posted, "Outfitters Only - Bear Habitat."

I guess we got lucky,

can't believe it when I run into Milo, former student

from when I taught full-time at the massage school -

I make him pose for view of his "Great Wave" tattoo,

the original "Great Wave,"

another of Richard Murray's paintings

at the Visitor's Center. He does all his wildlife paintings

life-size, so this one was more than 6' long -

notice how the shadow of the cougar extends onto the frame -

(more at bottom of blog) and here -

happy to be hanging out in the Tetons -

happy to have new digital camera!

Haunted By Hope

She appeared as religious

as girls got in that city,

fresh, hopeful;

the requisite pose of

paralyzed glee.

Had she wanted more

and pretended less,

her jewelry

would have been

different.

But she chose 'the right'

and wore the ring

and oh my, yes,

she felt the spirit.

It filled her

with sacred whimsy

and tempting tales

of indecent promise.

On account of love

she banked on limited trust

and withdrew

her sense

of balance.

With the truth

varnished

and reality disordered,

she assumed the pose

of one who is

haunted by hope.

© 2009 by Kathryn Feigal. All rights reserved. 

The Zion Subway

This is not at all what 'The Subway' at Zion Canyon looks like, but when I got home from this trip, I had to document the experience in some fashion, so I got out my chalks and made this drawing. I couldn't really find words at the time to describe what had happened on this hike, and I'm not sure I can now, either. Let me just lay it out without trying to be poetic or pretentious (which I am usually wont to do).

My hiking buddy and I had decided last minute to take a jaunt down to Southern Utah. We had taken several hikes over a two-day period and on the way out of the canyon, we decided we needed just one more short hike (this was before you had to have reservations and special transportation to most of the hikes).

We took a side road and pulled off where several cars were parked. We decided this was a good indication there might be a nice hike there. I don't remember what time it was exactly when we started walking, but I know it was after lunch.

We were clipping along at a pretty good pace, when we started getting thirsty and wondered if we should turn around and call this the extent of our hike. As we were contemplating this, another couple approached us on the trail. We asked them if it was worth it to continue to the end and they assured us it was. Up to this point, we didn't even know we were hiking 'The Subway.' These kind people gave us what water they had left so we could continue.

We reached the point where the water is shallow and glistening over the rocks. We walked along in awe as it became obvious why this place was named 'The Subway.' There was no literal light at the end of this tunnel like my drawing suggests, but metaphorically, the physicality of working to get to a place of inspiration necessitated adding the punched-through paper and tissue bits of light. (pictures of the Subway follow post, so I won't try to describe further here). Several people were there, all taking pictures. I was almost glad we hadn't brought a camera so we could just soak it all in. It seemed like we were in a separate world, like that Tom Beringer movie where the bounty hunter rides through the waterfall to a primitive Indian tribe. (Isn't it sad that in an 'ah ha' moment I would reference A MOVIE?). After staying in a trance-like state for several minutes, we realized the sun was lowering in the sky so we headed back to the car.

This is where the hike took on a "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" aspect. It was getting dark and I couldn't see well and that's probably why I began skipping from rock to rock in a surreal fashion. It seemed like I floated from log to stone to dirt. I suppose I hit my second wind, but it seemed like more than this. Every word I try to use here seems trite - 'transcendent' - 'floaty' - 'surreal' (I feel like a teenager who says, "like, I mean, it's like...)

When we reached the car, the sun was down and we were TIRED and THIRSTY! We had two Stewart's Key Lime Sodas in the cooler and I'm tellin' ya - nothing ever tasted better in my life!

I've never had an experience that comes this close to addressing all the senses like this Subway hike.

We were in a stunned state of exhausted bliss. I suppose what made it so exciting was how spontaneous and unexpected it was. I just love it when life reaches out and grabs you like this.

How To Be a Poet

by Wendell Berry

(to remind myself)

Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.

Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

Who Does She Think She Is?

I saw this documentary on Lifetime. It's disturbing, yet inspiring.

This is the winner of the first prize in the UN's competition for children portraying some of our planet's environmental challenges.

The picture is painted by a 13 year old girl, Charlotte Sullivan from England.