Author: boz bozeman

Ode to Wasps

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I don’t like to kill things. But when you own a home, pest management is pretty important. And wasps are a dangerous kind of pest.

For years, I only took down nests when they were in an obviously problematic place. That changed a little the summer I got stung in the palm by a wasp in my office. I got a little more aggressive about getting them away from the house.

This year, the first nest that had to go was in the kindling bin. It was still very small, and there were only three wasps associated with it. It must have been the queen I watched making it, excreting wood pulp and saliva to make the hexagons. It’s an intricate and fascinating process, and I reverence the creativity and ingenuity of nature exposed by it.

Though I’m glad people don’t make things that way. Ewww.

I wasn’t happy to take them out, but I can’t get stung every time I want to build a fire. I got them in the morning when they were gathered together, and took no pleasure in their twitching end.

Then there was the nest INSIDE the screen door that we found when we had family over. Patty got stung, so I took care of that one right way. Maybe took a little revenge satisfaction with their demise.

Finally, I had to take out the one in the hot tub cover. Getting stung takes away a bit of the pleasure of a soak.

I don’t like having to do this. All this time, there’s been a nest under the deck. Those wasps have not bothered us, so there it stays. I’d rather not go get them, and I hope the season ends before I need to.

5 Crows and a Hawk

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There are five crows that hang out in our yard. I wanted them to be ravens, so I could pretend that Odin was guarding the yard. But the internet deflated this fantasy: they are indeed crows.

I really shouldn’t want more. They are GREAT crows. One day, I was sitting in the backyard, and they were perched in the trees along the property border. They began cawing, and then one took off, flew down steeply, banked around the power line pole, then accelerated back up to the starting branch.

This was cool, but then one by one they each did the same thing. The waiting crows cawed loudly, as if encouraging their mate. As they continued to fly around the pole, it was clear that they were playing. Not only that, it seemed like this was a type of drill, practicing maneuvers that would be useful in the wild. 

Crows call a challenge
Leap, rise, stoop into a dive
Tilt, twist, bend their path
Beat down wings to rise again
Cawing cheers upon return

I return to this remarkable memory whenever I see them. I thought this would always be the high point, until last week. That’s when I saw one of the crows and a hawk together. Flying together.

The crow led, the hawk followed, beak almost to the crow’s tailfeathers. At first, I thought the hawk might be chasing the crow away, perhaps from a vulnerable nest. But as they flew, curving, diving, flying into tree shadow and reemerging, it became obvious that they were playing.

Thankfully Patty was there to witness this, or this would have been another of my partly believed strange animal stories. 

The crow and the hawk
Fly aligned, dive together
United by flight
Transcending their barriers
Darting, flapping, rising, one.

The reality of these birds is so much better than my mythological fantasy. Still, I’d like to think Odin would be proud to have them in his real world.

This post is part of a poetry challenge at http://www.tankatuesday.com

Back to School Haiku

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Teachers measure years a little differently. Our year goes from September to June. On the 26th, my new year begins. Unlike the traditional New Years Day, I don’t need to make a list of changes or resolutions. Those will come in the form of the 70 plus new students I will get to know and teach over the school year. 

Ads for school shopping
Remind me I have a job
That fresh minds await

The feelings at this time of year are always mixed. I love summer, and its mix of productive tasks, like writing and landscaping, along with relaxing and recreation. Soon, my focus will change to the trials and the joy of teaching seventh graders as they navigate the challenges of childhood coming to an end and adulthood beckoning. Though this will be my thirtieth year, even with all my experience each year starts with the nervous excitement of new beginnings.

Visit TankaTuesday to join the challenge of writing syllabic poetry.

Back for TankaTuesday

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Been a while since I posted, but I have been writing! Working on making my novel into episodes, with the goal of publishing on Kindle Vella when it is ready.

The haiku below relate to the work I’ve been doing outdoors in this summers extreme heat. Good to be back on Tanka Tuesday!

In smoldering heat
The black mulch glistens wetly
Sweat soaking my shirt

Hawks cry and circle
I point them to the mole holes
Whose mounds scar the lawn

The sun blazes heat
In the green leaf shade I rest
Leaning on the spade

It’s Nice

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It’s nice to say nothing 
It’s nice to talk expansively 
It’s nice to hunch forward and stare at something intently. 

It’s nice to walk slowly 
It’s nice to run fast enough to create your own breeze 
It’s nice to know the difference between squirrel chitters and bird calls. 

It’s nice to love gently 
It’s nice to love passionately  
It’s nice to have a dog sit on your foot as you pet its head.

The Activation of Zen

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My favorite Zen story starts with a Master walking down a road, carrying a sack on his back. A local wise man recognizes that this is a Zen Master and hurries out to greet him. The Master politely responds, but he keeps walking.  

Understanding that he only has a moment, the wise man says, “Please, Master, I must ask you a question. What is the realization of Zen?” 

At this, the Master stops, takes the bag off his shoulder, and sets in on the ground.  

Understanding this was his answer, the wise man boldly asked another question: “Then what is the activation of Zen?” 

The Master bends, picks up the bag, settles it on his shoulder, and walks on.  

To me, this story teaches about two powerful acts: 

  1. Setting Down the Bag 

I see the Master’s bag as a symbol of what we carry in life. Love and friendships, family and work. Being a person and interacting with people. Burdens and responsibilities.  

By putting it down, the Master relieves himself of the weight of his existence, the load of living a human life. With all of this off his shoulders, he can take a break. He can remember that there is rest from toiling, there is healing for pain, and that love is the balm of attachment.  

In this moment, a regular person could realize that some of the items in the bag are not really that heavy. Letting it down gives space to realize that some weight has been added, perhaps by excess worry or negative thinking.  

I’d like to think that this is a moment when things can be removed from the bag. Old thought patterns, neediness and jealousy, greed and disappointment. Even crusty dreams might finally get their rest on the side of the road.  

  1. Picking Up the Bag 

The Master activates Zen by picking the bag back up. I think this represents the total acknowledgment of living and acceptance of the conditions that we live in.  

Picking up the bag demonstrates that he is choosing the responsibilities and relationships he has. It shows that he wants to carry this weight, that he accepts what he chooses to carry. 

Indeed, the Master and the sack are one thing, even if it can be put down.  

If you’d like to read more of my philosophy, check out Tao of Thoreau.

Advice from an only couple

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When you’re an only couple, being there as your family and friend’s kids grow up is a treat. It’s great to be part of their lives, their growth. To see sisters, brothers, friends become mothers and fathers is to see their pride and their skill.  It is an honor to be part of.

Since we see them occasionally, Patty and I get a perspective that parents don’t: seeing the jump in personality and behavior over months. Suddenly a small child becomes … well, a less small child, but with much bigger ideas. Then, they’re not children anymore as they take that ride though the teens and early twenties. Now there are deep conversations, but the playful nature of the connection remains.  

And, in that uncle or aunt fashion, we get to be role models at each level. And be ridiculous. That’s one of my strengths as an uncle: wise and a little crazy. 

I’m writing this because my good friend’s son graduated from high school last Friday. I’m writing this because I had in my mind a mini-speech I wanted to give him. It was based on my freshman year of college. But I recognized immediately that it was all about me. Which made me suspect it wouldn’t be for him. 

And it wasn’t. I trashed that idea, but I still wanted to impart some advice. I settled on something concise: “I hope your college years aren’t the best four years of your life, but you should live them like they will be. Then you’ll set a high bar to surpass in your adulthood.” 

Not bad advice, and while it was based on my experience, it was a better message for him.  

Writing about not writing

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I didn’t want to write about not writing. But the only thing I can think about is why I’m not writing. Why my creativity is not creativating. Why my brain is so tired that the thought of writing makes it nap time.

Why am I not writing? Mostly, it’s this school year. It has been very difficult for numerous reasons, but as a professional I’m not going to list them. Suffice to say that it has been rough. It’s only been recently that I felt I was overcoming some of the challenges I’m facing. The process has made me stronger, which makes me confident that I will feel more creative energy. That and SUMMER IS COMING!

Being in pain for a year before her hip surgery was really hard on Patty, of course. We are intertwined, so it was also very difficult to me to see her struggling, and we both were bummed that we couldn’t do the active things we like to do.

Patty is better now! So that burden has been laid down, and the energy from it is starting to return.

On the positive side, we had “Step into the Spring” at work, which is a school wide step challenge. So I spent the month of April doing as much activity as possible. Being an active teacher, taking Anna for longer walks, and doing a lot of yard work. And the yard looks GOOD.

Oh, and I won.

Very positive, but obviously tiring. Coupled with a day of teaching, the physical and mental drain made it more difficult to get writing.

But I’m back! I mean I have a website – gotta be a responsible blogger!

Back for a challenge

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The form below is called a Renga. The breaks show the different line requirements and syllable counts. More info can be found at tankatuesday.com.

Contrast the hint of 
flowers with the attack of 
weeds. Balance of Spring.

Hints of summer in sunlight
humidity, light and heat.

Then cool like the fall.
Leaves hush instead of rustle,
No hint of winter
Once bare trees are blossoming
Nature's first green is golden.

Eclipse in a Dish

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I failed to get us eclipse glasses. Honestly I didn’t even think about it. We were so caught up in Uconn’s championship run and celebrating our birthdays that it didn’t occur to me to pick up glasses.

I had a solution. Years ago, I was washing dishes during a partial eclipse, and I saw the reflection of the sun in the water. Realizing I could watch the reflection safely, I filled a small dish with water and placed it on the garden window. I was able to “watch” it indirectly. One cool effect is that the depth of water means a layered image: the top image is nearly too bright to look at, but the refracted ones are like shadows, and give a really good sense of the shape of the sun as it is obscured.

This picture is as close as I could get to capturing the effect. The reflection allowed us to enjoy the partial eclipse here, but I’m sure didn’t compare to the total with appropriate lenses.

Here’s the poem I wrote years ago when I discovered this eclipse watching cheat code:

I watch the eclipse 
In a dish 
In the garden window. 

Even reflected 
The light stings my eyes. 

The water is still,  
Deep enough 
To give shape to the sun. 

I tap the rim and the water tilts 
Tipping side to side. 
The sun in a cradle 
Rocking, rippling, warped.