Designer Bees

In my dream...

.....Lone, luminous
.....Honey-toned stepping stone.
.....Around it buzz bees,
.....Many together as near a hive,
.....Each a different designer bee.
.....Some alight on glowing stone.
.....Others hover low and near-by
.....Buzzing a dance with purpose
.....I want to join.

Bees defy aerodynamic design
And fly fat bodies in face of
Scientifically declared impossibility,
Joyously confident of thin air's
Support for their dance.

Bee business is this buzzing dance.
A buzzing map
That points to fields filled with sweet flowers.
Movements say what buzz alone cannot:
.....I've found flowers.
.....Go this way, this far,
.....And you can find them too.

Bees, like ants, share
Loot and tell each other
Where to find it.
.....I’ve been here.
.....Where have you been?
But bees…

Bees take sweet nectar
Without disturbing flower
And manage in their process
To ensure flower’s rebirth.
Then they create
Not just fodder for their own rebirth
But ambrosia for the gods.
Ancients make mead
Imitating gods
And know they are as blessed…
By the bees.
__________

The dream I describe has given me the metaphor for my work. Indeed, before that dream my two perfect grandsons called me Nana B. After the dream, I became Nana Bee—the change in spelling giving voice to my purpose.

My purpose is always sharing my ideas. My background includes a BA in Art and a career in graphic design that has spanned the US, Australia and Canada. My own buzzing dance involves design, poetry and even tap dancing. This is the stuff of my creative life. I offer it as mead. Let's drink together!

Poem: Excerpt from Designer Bees, Toronto, 2001

Spring's Greeter... Friend or Foe?

North Americans decry
Dandelion's ubiquitous invasion.
Japanese praise
Her unwavering tenacity.

Grown-ups call her weed,
Endeavour to eradicate.
Kids just can't wait for her
Summer seed-blowing crown.

To a person standing on a piston
The world goes up and down.
Seems a lot rests
On our point of view.

I suggest we choose
The piston or the world.

The dandelion doesn't care.
She'll be here long after
Our own seeds face distant
Yellow-topped challenges.

Bette
Toronto
1 June 08

On Becoming an Adult

While a university student,
In art guild group I met
Dr. Charles Burns,
Director of Witte Museum.
He was there because he painted.
He did art restorations
For paintings as well as pottery
And metal objets held by museum.
He wrote weekly syndicated column
About everything.
.....The opposite of Seinfeld.
He taught writing for profit.
My mother took his course.
.....And sold her stuff, too.
Dr. Burns was sixty-ish,
Always learning new things
To do and
To put into his column.
He was invited to speak
All over the country
On all his diverse interests.

At twenty-one I completed my
Bachelor's, married,
And enrolled in course in
Adolescent psychology.
.....I don't remember why...
.....Either the marriage
.....Or the psych course...
But professor presented
Paradigm of attributes
That separate adolescents
From adults:
..... Adults focus on long-term planning.
..... Adults are capable of deep intimate relationships.
..... Adults limit activities to ensure depth of participation.

I'm so glad Dr. Burns
Decided not to enter adulthood
Via that third attribute...
And that he showed me
I have choices too.
Growing up is entirely optional.

Bette
Toronto
4 May 08

First Spring Day

Not the first day of Spring
Because it's still cold then.
But the first Spring day.
A day that's warm
And Spring-like.
Today is it!

How can I tell?
First, no boots or coat.
That was last week.
Freedom from bulk.
We all transform ourselves
From looking like
Army of Michelin tire men
To showing ourselves
As men, women, boys, girls.

Today people wear short sleeves
And just plain shorts.
They jog.
Their dogs pull them faster:
Jaunty, smiling together.
And... on subway
They exude distinct
Smell of sweat.

Ah, yes.
This is the Real Thing.
We'll get busy now
Mowing, raking, planting.
Bike riding.
Picnics on the beach.
In a fortnight
We'll complain
About the heat.

Bette
Toronto
17 April 08

Tacos y Mantequilla

Carmen taught my mom

How to make tacos.

For that I am

Profoundly grateful.

I was four at the time.

I still make tacos

The way Carmen

Taught my mom...

So do my son and my daughter.

Carmen was happy

When we moved next door.

Mother to seven kids
In San Benito, Texas,
She sent first six
To kindergarten to learn English
In time for school starting.

Her youngest, Juanita,

Didn't have to go.

She learned English from me.

Unfortunately I learned

Very little Spanish in return.

What I did learn

Proved effective.

Once when Juanita

Refused to play

The way I wanted her to,

I shouted Mantequilla! to her

At the top of my lungs.

Apparently she

Understood using the word

Butter as an expletive.

She acquiesced

And played my way.

That was 1947.

Today in Toronto

I work on package

For Wal-Mart in the US.

I type: B-U-T-T-E-R

and

M-A-N-T-E-Q-U-I-L-L-A.

I wonder if they know

I put swear words

On their little

Bilingual box?

Bette

Toronto

8 Apr 08

Happy 2008

Listen...

That's me practising

My tap dancing.

The music's Sweet Georgia Brown,

Sometimes in Dixieland

But most often a simple piano solo.

I can't remember who played.

But I do remember

The steps...

And I do remember

The smells.

I tap and tap,

Change combinations

Ad infinitum.

Childhood home

Comes equipped with

Screened porch.

Perfect practice room

Away from television

And reading parents.

I crank up

That music and

Tap with all my might.

Oh, yes

Smells.

I did say "Smells,"

Didn't I?

Hot summer sun is filtered

Through live latticed walls of

Honeysuckle and Jasmine.

Vines are thick with tendrils

Heavy with blossoms of

Unforgettable fragrances.

I tap and tap.

Wipe face

With towel that

Lives 'round neck.

I gulp air filled

With sweetness

Stirred by breezes.

Each gust mixes new

Potion with

Variations on

Nectar's theme.

How can I describe

Smell?

Maybe you've known

Honeysuckle.

Maybe you've known

Jasmine.

have you known them

Together?

Then smell of

Sun and

Dancing dust motes.

They smell of

Joy and movement.

Then smell of

Nature's hopes

And promises.

They smell of

Effort to be better:

Determination.

Quicker and slower.

Shuffles and flaps.

Leaps and turns and kicks.

Black tights.

Gold lamé Cuban heels.

Capezio taps.

They smell of

Sweaty terry cloth.

They smell of

Soft rustlings.

They smell of

Butterflies and

Hummingbirds.

Oh yes,

And bees.

Of course.

They smell of

Rhythms.

They smell of

Memories in my bones.

I'm showing you some of my memories,

Carried here by

Honeysuckle and Jasmine.

Just kick back and drink them in

With me...

While I invite you

To notice

The smells around you...

To remember smells past...

And

To find new ways to enjoy...

And describe

Your smelliest year yet.

Happy New Year!

Bette

Toronto

Dec 2007

(Jasmine and Honeysuckle photos © 2004 fleursfrags)