Guest Author: Kelly Bennett

Thought I'd throw in a new element to the blog and feature a guest author, Kelly Bennett. For those suspicious of the Bennett part of her name: yes, we are part of the same family. She's married to my oldest brother Curtis, and they currently reside in Jakarta, Indonesia. She has many books to her name that you can check out on her website, www.kellybennett.com, AND she has been to the Rodney Street Laundry. The following is part of a series of email entries that Kelly periodically sends out describing her experiences in Jakarta. Someday soon she'll have a blog but there isn't any pressure, really, Kelly.

Jakarta News—Nyepi, March 7, 2007

Today is Nyepi. Nyepi is the Balinese "Day of Silence." It is a day set aside for fasting, and meditation. From sunrise today until sunrise tomorrow everyone is expected to maintain silence. The day is reserved for self-reflection, prayer, meditation. No one lights a fire, works, travels, no one talks or eats. Imagine on an island that is usually crackling with activity, buses, taxis, bikes roaring past, honking, music, tourists and hawkers yakking, laughing, completely silent. The roar of the surf, waves, wind and gulls squabbling provides background music along the coast. Inland,in the forests and rice terraces, the insects provide the only sound track. Occasionally, a baby's cry or a toddler's giggles break the silence, these interruptions only magnify the quiet. Although most of Indonesia is not Hindu, Nyepi is a national holiday. Indonesia recognizes five religions, and everyone must subscribe to one: Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, Catholic and Christian. As a nation, Indonesia recognizes major religious holidays of all five of these. Which translates to a lot of national holidays, and perhaps a higher level of religious and cultural awareness than is evident in other countries. Interesting how when we are given a day off as a result of a holiday, we are more inclined to take notice of the event. Here in Jakarta, where there are few Hindus--none that I know personally--the streets are uncommonly empty. And, if it's possible, the few cars and motorcycles on the road seem to ride quieter and the vehicle horns--honking is a favorite pastime of Jakarta drivers--are still. It's Thursday, but the air has that Sunday afternoon feel I remember from when I was a kid--that relaxed, lazy feel that came after church, after a belt-stretching lunch, after we'd changed out of our good clothes, and theTV was turned to the golf channel. One has to admire the conviction of the Balinese people. Imagine how difficult it must be to observe Nyepi. This island, where tourism is the mainstay of the economy, cancels all air, sea, and road traffic, demands that shops, restaurants, and even the beach shuts down for 24 hours. Tourists and non Hindu are exempt from observing the holiday--barely. Within the confines of resorts and hotels restaurants are open and the pools available for swimming, but no splashing allowed! Exceptions to the vehicle/silence code are made for emergency vehicles carrying people with life-threatening conditions and women in labor--they are allowed to scream. (I guess even on Bali no one is willing to confront a woman in transition.) One thing about the day seems grossly at odds with the sprit of Nyepi: Throughout the holiday, a select group of men called Pecalang (pronounced Pe-cha-long) patrol the streets. These men are selected by the community to patrol the streets making sure that no one dares to ride, or talk, or watch TV, or light a fire--even a cigarette--during the 24 hours of Nephi. Iwonder what a silence keeper does if he catches people breaking the rules?He can't yell at them? Maybe he thinks at them until they behave?Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

For more about Kelly Bennett and her books visit www.kellybennett.com
Kelly has authored or co-authored 12 books for children—both fiction and non-fiction. Her titles include Not Norman, Spider Spins a Story: Fourteen Legends from Native America and the just-released Strangers in Black.

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THROUGH THE WINDOW

I have an amazing spot where I write at home. My study has windows on two sides, the old kind with three vertical planes of glass in wood frames on top and solid glass below, circa 1930. I haven’t opened them lately, but this summer, Andrea, who painted all but two rooms of the house, worked wonders with a sharp blade to break them free from being painted shut. They slide along a thin rope pulley on the inner frames to open and close. On the south side of my room, I look out through three of these beautiful windows onto the backyard, beyond that to Mount Ascension. To the west, I look out on a side yard that once served as a dog run or at least has a three-foot wooden fence on one end with a gate to usher the dog in. The other sides are six foot. Now you know Ms. Em is not going in there so instead we imagine a stone patio with hot tub under the fine towering tree that is in charge right now. The woman who measured for the blinds had French doors where these west windows are for easy flow out to the patio. She had it all figured out down to which closet the towels would lodge. But right now, it is a bank of two windows and a view of Mount Helena in the background. The room is sunny and a very happy place to be. My desk faces out to the big backyard that hosts a small 350 sq. foot rental cottage on the right side and a small garage on the far side in front of me, both in matching dark yellow wooden siding with burnt orange trim. The rest of the back fence line is filled with trees kept with an old wire fence. On the left is more of the 6-foot wooden fence, encasing the yard from the street on the other side.

This is anything but a quiet little place, one can see by the variety of scat present: deer, rabbit, cat (lots of cat), birds, and dog. The deer’s was mystifying to me as I couldn’t figure out how a deer was getting in so I had settled on an imagined monster rabbit. Until the evening when I opened the door to let Emma out and there was a large doe digging around in the snow under the crab apple tree. She looked at me, me at her, Emma for the smell of cat excrement, and then she easily jumped over the wooden fence and took off down the street. I thought my apparition-seeing moment had come, but the next day upon investigation, I found her scat. I didn’t spot her again for a long time, but a few weeks ago as I drove up to the house I saw two young deer by the fence. One trotted across the street but the other looked at me and then into the back yard. Pretty soon a doe jumped over and the two trotted away. So much for the false sense of protection for a summer garden. I knew that a few herds traveled through the neighborhood, often following the same trail as the postman across the front yard at an angle to cut the corner. I’ve seen him; I’ve seen their “calling cards,” as Mammaw used to call them, large scat-terings.

There was another party interested in the crab apple tree, this time a huge flock of Bohemian Waxwings. There were at least a hundred of them that descended on the back yard with their playful chirping. I hadn’t seen this type of bird before. I knew they weren’t sparrows or robins and all the other ones I know were on sunny vacation and weren’t due back for a few months. I did the only thing I knew to do when faced with feathered questions; I called my mom. I couldn’t offer her much, “They’re bigger than sparrows and finches. There is a whole bunch of them. They’re mostly gray black, have some rust color on their heads, and yellow on the tip of their back wings.” She did what birders do: sorted the information, compared and contrasted in her mental bird book, and spit out the answer, “Cedar Waxwings.” Well, she had the waxwing part right. I was following her suggestions on the internet and was happy with that answer even though she suggested I look at Bohemian Waxwings too, which later I found out that’s what they were. Mom said that she had searched all over Michigan for some of these Bohemians but never found them. She called their visit “wondrous,” I’d have to agree.

The greatest activity in the yard surrounds the cats. In fact I’ve come to call the cottage the “cathouse.” Emma calls the flowerbed, bordering the front of the small house, “treat land.” I sit at my window, see the cats dig around in the bed’s soil and do they’re business, and shudder at seeing the production of Emma’s treasured snacks. That sight is just too fresh and vivid when Emma comes inside with THAT breath. Every now and then a cat will brave coming over to her. I wonder if she recognizes it as “the source.” The other night she was doing her own pooping by the bed. Even while she was in the dog’s awkward poo stance, she had her nose turned to the treat box, multi-tasking.

There is a little cat door in one of the windows of the cottage. Three cats live inside. Two out of three are often outside; the third is venturing out more now that the weather is warmer. The longhaired black one often sits on the roof peak over the door looking down on the yard. One day I came home to that cat on his perch, the other black feline resident climbing the nearby tree (best bird-hunting tree during spring and summer), and a loud crow in another tree cursing the cats. That’s what I imagined the noise to be; it sounded so stern. A giant gray tabby also visits the house. I’m waiting to hear howling and find him stuck in the door after eating the cat food inside. There are at least two other cats that visit on a regular basis.

The weather has warmed up and most of the snow has melted in the yard. I’ve enjoyed seeing all the various paw/hoof prints (the snow also covered the less desirable scat). We had some mighty windstorms in the last month or so. I looked out one day to see the plastic Adirondack chairs copulating. But there were some really, really cold days. I checked the weather conditions on the internet one morning, the day after a snowstorm left 2 feet of sparkling snow but lots of sunshine. The blue sky was deceiving, it was minus 15 outside, that’s Fahrenheit. On the Weather Channel listing where it reads “Feels Like:” it had “N/A.” No fucking kidding. Once you’re at minus 15, what’s it take to figure what it feels like, bloody hell frozen over.

On April 2nd I will have lived here 4 years. Clearly that’s not long enough to become jaded to the urban deer herd. They still surprise me when I drive by them as they trail down the sidewalk. Yesterday was no exception as I sat here at my computer and looked up to see a doe running down the alley, pass behind the garage, and cross the street. Soon a second doe came barreling through. I waited but that was the end of it. I wondered if I should have set up a water stand by the garage for the deer marathoners but socializing with the deer is frowned upon. Plus, they’re wild animals in an urban jungle. I still think they are the graffiti bearers.

Another window that I love looking out of is the one over the kitchen sink. It has a wonderful view of the big Montana sky, great for full moon watching, and more cat antics. I watched one of the neighborhood cats trying to act nonchalant, as cats do, when after crossing the snowy street, its paws, legs and belly sunk into deep snow. It backed up, sat down, scratched, and decided to go back to where it came from, all the while bluffing, “I meant to do that.”

Last week’s blog had a picture that was taken from my office window at the Myrna Loy Center which is across the street from the county courthouse. The caption read, “What’s in the pick-up.” It was a stuffed mountain lion and a mounted deer head. When the lion was being brought out, human arms under the belly, I thought it was a very old live dog. As it got closer and the man carrying it turned around, I thought with alarm, “It’s a mountain lion!” My brain then eased into, “ It’s a stuffed mountain lion.” Yesterday through the same window I watched a Golden Retriever/Yellow Lab mix puppy playing on the courthouse lawn. When the dog walker tried to take it back into the courthouse, the pup sat down and refused to budge. It’s only 2-3 months old and belongs to one of the judges –a good one that always talks to Emma when we see him on the street. He once borrowed Draco (one of the Hounds of the Myrna), when Draco was a young pup, for the day to hang out in his courtroom.

Windows offer a frame for life’s constantly moving picture. Not only do they allow us a view on the world but also a focus at a particular sight. Over the years when my dad was sick with cancer, especially toward the end, I remember thinking that someone watching through the window from across the street could have followed the whole story of his illness: his slowed walk during chemo treatments, the boxes being brought home after early retirement, the arrival of the wheelchair that propelled him once his legs became weak, then no sight of him leaving the house but the sense that he was still in there, cars lining the street, adult children arriving from the airport, a shroud of silence during the last days, a pastor ringing the doorbell, a hearse pulling up, and a body taken out on a stretcher (the jogger going by when this actually happened looked rather shocked). Later it would be the limousines driving up to carry the grieving family to the funeral --lots more of the family there by then, hours pass and back the cars come accompanied by more people, neighbors bringing casseroles to the door, flowers being delivered, and days later, cars taking the same adult children back to the airport. This might be a dreary sight but it is still there frame by frame and tells a story. We see these all the time if we look and keep looking. It is an honoring in a sense, witnessing of life unfolding, sometimes all the way to the end, a tender wave hello and goodbye.

In memory of Mary York, dear friend in Chicago, and Martha Gilmore, lovely woman mentor and friend in Dallas. I imagine you with Molly Ivins and Ann Richards. When the wind is right, I hear all y’all laughing.

Also in memory of four lovely four-legged creatures: Willy, Girl, Joshie, and Lily.

COMING SOON
Guest blog by Kelly Bennett, more e-says, and news of Rodney Street Laundry.

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AROUND THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Okay, forget that whole plan of writing more often with fewer words. Whatever. That’s just not my temperament and that’s that. Several of you wrote and told me that the number of words doesn't matter. I like you. Today, though, will not be an essay but a brief hodge-podge of items about the neighborhood.

(You can read the comments on the last posting by clicking on "Comments" just below my last posting.)

Capital City Perks
Months back I mentioned that the owners of Main News, James and Sandy Rojo, were taking suggestions for a new name for their store. Soon after, James came up with their new identity, Capital City Perks. The store is truly “more than good coffee” as their tagline promotes and good coffee gets high marks already. The Rojos are the wonderful people who bring the Sunday New York Times to Helena on the Sunday of publication AND they sell cigars AND comic books AND other interesting merchandise. Nice humidor and you can’t say that about just any store. Check out www.capitalcityperks.com. They aren’t officially in the Rodney Street neighborhood though they’re only 3-4 blocks down the hill. One good drop and roll and you’re there.

Side note: Big thanks to the “New York Times Fairy” who paid for last Sunday’s paper. When I picked up my paper from the Rojo’s front porch (the store isn’t open on Sundays anymore but we can still get the paper if we work it out in advance and put the $5 through the mail slot), there was a note that said the NYT Fairy had paid for my paper. What a fabulous and happy surprise, one of those little gifts that mean a lot. I now believe in fairies.

Jailhouse Sandwich Shop & Soup Kitchen
Big news about the Jailhouse Sandwich Shop & Soup Kitchen, it has now moved across the parking lot to B&B Market. It’s a nice fit as B&B already has a deli feel to it with their meat and cheese case leftover from when the building was a meat market. Plus the merchandise in the small grocery store already reflects the neighborhood’s diverse tastes: Pabst Blue Ribbon to Rogue Microbrews, lemon pies of old (also come in cherry and apple, one serving per yellow, red or green wrapper) to half-loaves of heavy wheat bread from a local bakery. I haven’t tried the coffee.

Snow Sculpture Contest
The 2nd annual snow sculpture contest was held a few weeks ago. First place went to Timber with his King Kong creation. He built back in a cold, shady corner and with the temperature in the 40’s, he also gets the award for the longest-surviving sculpture. Timber won last year as well. He has an advantage being a stone carver by trade. In fact, he carved the stone crosses that grace the Helena Cathedral. I asked him if he carved them on the ground and someone else put them up, but he said that he was the one up high on the steeple installing them. Made my knees weak just thinking about that kind of height. The sweet smell of dryer sheets at the drifted across the parking lot from Rodney Street Laundry where the machines were in full use. There is BIG news coming from the laundry too, but can’t tell it just yet.

MANY READERS HAVE HAD PROBLEMS WITH POSTING A COMMENT. HERE ARE STEP-BY-STEP INSTRUCTIONS:

TO POST A COMMENT OR RESPOND TO A COMMENT, DO THIS.
1) Click on the blue/gray word “ 0 Comments” (do NOT click on the email icon, that takes you a whole other direction) below. The zero will change with each added comment, so it could read 1 comment, 2 comments…
2) In the screen that pops up, write your comment in the box, like the text of an email. You can add your name at the end or not. Up to you.
3) Below that box is “Choose an identity,” click anonymous.
4) Click on “Publish your comment.”

TO READ COMMENTS, also click on “Comments.”

TO RESPOND TO COMMENTS, go back to the same process as posting (above).