Theresa Mae Funk (If she wants to)

George Clinton and the Parliament of Funk played Johnson, Vermont in the late 90's, and I was one of the fortunate folks who got a ticket to the show before it sold out.  The show was phenomenal.

Clinton's style of blending Jazz, Rock, Pop, Classical and hints of Gospel into his productions resulted in the development of his unique style of music that is affectionately called "Pfunk".  Dr. Clinton's creative determination elevated Funk music and secured its recognition and acceptance as a true genre of music. It was a remarkable sound to absorb. Truly funkadelic.

Throughout my life, I've endured a lot of teasing about my name.  More often than not, it has all been in good fun, and I don't take offense to it.  Most of my friends call me T Funk, and some like to sing the refrain "We want the Funk" when the mood strikes them.   It's true; my name is Theresa Mae Funk and I will if I want to.

~T.

Gumby and Pokey

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where The Funk Were You?

The time I intended to set aside daily for creative writing has been compromised by my own busy-ness and the business of others that I have deemed deserving of my attention.

Uprooting 21 years of an established life in one corner of a country and transplanting it thousands of miles away in an entirely different climate and culture requires attention to details that can, if you let them, consume most of the 24 hours in a given day.  This has not been conducive to me getting my Funk on, but I've been making a few active adjustments. 

Writing something that will hold your attention for the few minutes of time that you have and may be willing to give me is a challenge that gets compounded by the time constraints that I have allowed to interrupt and restrict my creative endeavors. 

The numerous attempts to post and publish bits of my experiences and observations that I hope you will find interesting, entertaining, and meaningful to you have been thwarted by other tasks that I have allowed to take precedence over my desire to write.   My advice on the matter is to not let this happen to you!    To do so is a serious infraction of one of the founding principles and mission of The Funk House Art Garden:  To cultivate and inspire art with determination.  

I'm thankful that I have reclaimed my right to a creative space that is safe, forgiving, and designed to inspire.   If you have a desire to create something, don't talk yourself out of doing it.  Acknowledge it, honor it, and see where it leads you.

~T.

The Swedish Bohemian's Funk House Art Garden

The Funk House Art Garden is a Bohemian social club that I founded three years ago while living in Middlebury, Vermont at the address formerly known as 190 South Pleasant Street. My former residence, the Joshua Henshaw House, was built in the early 1800's.
Mr. Henshaw was a director of the Vermont State Bank in 1814 when the bank was robbed of some $28,000 in what was determined to be an inside job. The next morning, Henshaw left town for Canada and never returned. A duplicated key to the bank was found concealed in the attic of the house. Later in the century, the house became a Congregational parsonage, and in 2009, the first Funk House Art Garden seeds were planted.

I lived in two different apartments in this building, and with the exception of a few rowdy neighbors from time to time, genuinely enjoyed creating art and a garden here:

The Funk House Art Garden (a,k,a.Funk Haus Art Garten in Germany and the country formerly known as Bohemia)  is currently growing in Sacramento County, California and at the moment, thriving:

Membership to the Art Garden's Social Club is by invitation only, but kind-hearted guests with good intentions are always welcome to visit.

Excellent Birds

The photo really doesn't do the experience justice, but I want to provide you a visual image of my recent visit to Gray Lodge Wildlife Area near Colusa, California to watch the wonder of a million birds in migration.


I would like to call them Excellent Birds, but that's been said before.
They arrive by the thousands and drop from the sky,
landing in groups of two, three, or six sometimes and all at oncce.
A Pintail circles around another,
one other takes to flight.
A cloud of Snow Geese grace
the liquid surface of the world.
The sound of wings uplifting is like a sudden burst of inexhaustible joy.

~T.
                                                           

The American River

The rains that started on Wednesday finally stopped today.  Despite the mild flooding in our back yard and seepage into a couple of rooms in the house, we are no worse for the weather.  Everything is plush and green now, and we enjoyed our walk along the swollen Río de los Americanos. 

I am thankful for this place.

Writer's Block

It has been months since I've felt compelled to visit my blog and express myself in words but now that December has arrived, think I will feel more inclined to do so.  Just not right now.

Funk, out.

I'm Not In Kansas Anymore

Good day, good reader, and apologies to the state of Kansas for neglecting to include you in the list of states that were visited as part of my transamerican tour 2012. How could I forget the 417 mile drive in 103 degree temperatures that scorched your vast fields of sorghum, wheat, and acres of wilted sunflowers? And although it was not made of yellow bricks, the road that led us to Wamego was a pleasant nine mile ride to a "small town, big experience".   Had we not seen this sign, we would have driven right by:

How could we not visit a museum dedicated to George's favorite movie and, as a bonus round, grab lunch at Toto's Tacoz?  It was settled.  We were off to see the wizard, and with our little dog too.

We parked in front of the museum which I thought remarkable considering the popularity of the movie classic and allure of the signage:

Since little dogs were not allowed inside the building, George suggested that swag procurement would be the most sensible use of our time.  It was difficult to choose which item was most worthy of my cash, but was satisfied with my choice: 

 The caribiner broke somewhere between Kansas and Nevada but otherwise, the vessel works just fine.  We may not  be in Kansas anymore, but there really is no place like home.

Until the next time, have courage enough to funk things up with as much joy that you can muster.

~T.

A Blog Revisited: Where the Funk Have You Been?

 

Hello dear reader, and welcome back!  A lot of shift has happened in my life since my last post and considering that I promised to only share my thoughts here when I feel like it, think an apology isn't necessary.  If you need an apology, I'm sorry that you won't get one.   Just know that you've been missed, and I'll make more of an effort to stay in touch more often. 

So, where the funk have you been since my last post? 

If you are familiar with the United States, you are probably aware that it is a pretty big country.  Not the biggest, mind you, but a BFC just the same.  How big, you ask?  Approximately three million and seventy-nine and four-tenths of square miles, and that includes water which you definitely want to take enough of before you set out to measure a nation. 

During the course of measuring America in July, George, Stella and I stopped many times for water and ice to keep ourselves hydrated. A triple-digit heat wave had gripped most all of the mid-western states which made the trip "pretty, pretty dang hot" as some disc jockey's in Missouri might say. 

To see massive fields of corn and soy beans wilting in the heat was, and still is, a significant concern for farmers who, according to signs posted along the highways of Missouri, feed an average of 128 people a day.

It took ten days to drive a fully loaded Ford Focus from Vermont to California, which included stops in Rhode Island, West Virginia, Ohio, Missouri, Colorado, Utah and Big Basin National Park in Nevada.  Camping at 10,000 feet above sea level gave us a long overdue respite from the heat and despite my nosebleed, had managed to stay in good spirits over the entire course of our journey.

I am still actively adjusting to my new environment and think that Sacramento will eventually accept me as a Californian.  Until then, I'll do my best to funk with people in a joyful way to let them know I'm here. 

~T.

 

Welcome Back! I Missed You!

Hello dear reader, and thank you for stopping by to see if I've added any content to my blog.
My last post was in October, just before we started the Funk Haus Art Garden Octoberfest celebrations. It was a good celebration and lasted through most of November until the wintry season began to kick in and froze everything. Now that my fingers have fully thawed, I thought I would take five minutes and write something here lest you thought I had forgotten about you.



Vermont has received a lot of snow since November and when I say "a lot" I'm talking apocalyptic proportions. If you don't believe me, check out the photo of my car that I took on March 7th, a day after the latest storm dumped 24 plus inches on us. It's a compact car mind you, but unearthing my little red auto required the brute strength of one handsome man with a hearty headed shovel to dig it out and get me on the road again.

There are days during the long stretch between seeing soil and the green returning to these mountains when I am convinced that this will be my last winter in Vermont, and that very well might be true considering we may not see springtime until summer is nearly through.

Here's hoping that spring will arrive sooner as opposed to later and that you can funk things up just enough to help spread a little more joy in the world.

Until next time -
Funk, out.

Oktoberfest, American Style

I've not been blogging as frequently as I had originally intended but am going to let myself be okay with it. "Less is more" someone once said, and I believe this to be true. Especially in the realm of blogs. But of course, there is always an exception.

One such exception is Oktoberfest at the Funk Haus Art Garten (FHAG) in Middlebury, VT. The underground social club originated as an homage to my Bohemian ancestors (pretty kick-ass coat of arms, don't you think?) who, like me, believed that less was more in most cases, with the exception of a few things. Oktoberfest was one of them.

The Bavarian celebration typically lasts between 16 - 20 days beginning the last week in September but being the Bohemians that my ancestors were, decided to "Funk the Germans!" and drank beer daily for three months while cooking up huge portions of Schweinsbraten and grilled hendl to sustain them through the cold and bitter winter season.

The Oktoberfest celebration to honor my Bohemian heritage began yesterday and will conclude when the hendl and schweinsbraten have all been eaten and the keg of beer runs out. Until then, I'll be doing what I can to share a little more joy in the world and funk things up just enough to keep life interesting.

I hope you will do the same.

The Six-million Dollar Bridge to Nowhere

Hello my dear and literate readers! I've missed you terribly and wish I had something really fantastic to write about to welcome you back but alas, life has been a bit of a suck-fest lately and I just haven't felt joyful enough to engage in writing.

Today, however, is Friday and for this I am truly thankful.

I, like so many other Middlebury residents, eagerly await the opening of the $6 million bridge in the middle of our town and fabulous round-a-bout that has, thus far, done nothing more than cause another traffic jam during peak travel times in this town. I especially have enjoyed watching the big semi-trucks and agricultural machinery trying to negotiate the narrow lanes of the design and look forward to the winter plow truck snafus that will surely ensue. I can almost hear them cursing from behind the steering wheel as they drive over the fancy cobblestone curbs to avoid tipping their trailer over.
A brilliant design indeed!

Even more entertaining has been the constant parade of people who now come to gaze at the marvel that is the bridge. (I live in the gray house you see in the photo which affords a great vantage point to watch the huge amount of money being spent on a daily basis by the town and tax payers.) "Oh look, Martha! A bridge! Take a picture and be sure to get the port-a-let and debris in the background."

"Okay, Earl", says the guy who thinks he is the crew's boss, "park the front loader so that it blocks as much of the road surface as possible and then stretch that orange plastic fencing across the entrance. Be sure to secure it to the flimsy stick and make shift hand-rail." The next day, Earl comes back and finds the plastic fencing has been shifted to allow pedestrian traffic to flow more easily. "What the???" he says. "Don't these people get it?"

No, Earl. We don't.

Until next time, Funk out and do it like you mean it.

Stoplights at a Round-a-bout?

It has been a long while since I've posted anything to my blog, and for this, I am a little sorry. I've been distracted since summer began and can't seem to shake the hold that sun, warmth, and greenery has on my ability to sit inside for too long a period of time, like when you get caught behind the red light at the "rotary" located in downtown Middlebury.

For those of us who understand the concept of a rotary, we know that a rotary is designed to keep traffic moving in a consistent flow. Merging is a brilliant idea and quite effective when used properly, a concept that whomever is responsible for having traffic lights placed there, does not understand. I should have posted a photo so that you can better see how funked up it is but just looking at it is too much for my impatience with the matter.

If you ever happen to be driving on Rte. 7 through Middlebury, do it at the height of traffic so that you can fully appreciate the mess it creates. As for me, I have decided to get myself a faux traffic vest and start directing the southbound traffic to disregard the red light that is responsible for creating a 1/4 mile traffic jam each day at 8:00 a.m., 3:00 p.m., and 5:00 p.m. Drivers may then begin to understand that common sense should rule the road, especially a really badly designed one.

Until the next time I feel inclined to post something here and you opt to read it, Funk out and laugh like you mean it.

Radioactive Fish in the Connecticut River Not Linked to Vermont Yankee? Really?

I've been extremely slack in posting things to my blog lately, mainly because of endless meetings at work coupled with the season we call summer (a fleeting thing in Vermont), and because I've just been plain lazy. Today, however, I feel inspired to write and express my disdain with Vermont Yankee and the Vermont State Department of Health's recent report that fish found in the Connecticut River carrying "trace amounts" of strontium 90 have nothing to do with the radioactive materials being leaked into the waterway by Vernon's toxic teapot.

Excuse me but WHAT THE FUNK? Do you really expect me to believe that? If so, I fart in your general direction.

The Vermont Department of Health announced late last Friday that testing of fish in the Connecticut River has again turned up traces of strontium-90, a radioactive isotope linked to leukemia and other cancers.

In a press release last Friday, Health officials said the concentrations of the isotope are within "background levels" and are not linked to the nuclear power plant, which uses water from the river to run through its condenser. "Concentrations of Sr-90 detected in the inedible portions of these fish are in the range of what would be expected as a result of fallout from nuclear weapons testing in the 1950s, and the Chernobyl release in 1986," the Health Department said in a prepared statement.

Entergy Nuclear has now admitted that the bone-seeking radioisotope Stontium90 has been discovered near underground leaking pipes at its Vermont Yankee atomic reactor on the bank of the Connecticut River. Arnie Gundersen of Fairewinds Associates warns that Sr-90, which is highly soluble in water, can concentrate in bones and cause leukemia, and thus is the most hazardous radioisotope yet discovered leaking into the environment at the 38 year old reactor just across the Connecticut River from New Hampshire, and just several miles upstream from Massachusetts. Other leaking elements discovered into the site's groundwater and soil include tritium, cobalt-60, cesium-137, manganese-54 and zinc-65.

I suppose we should be happy that the radioactive materials hasn't spewed 140 million gallons of their shit into the river. Yet.

Stay cheerful, my kind and literate readers. Anyone up for a fishing trip?

Funk, out!

Never Underestimate the Power of Duct Tape

My blogging efforts have been substandard at best and inconsistent to boot, and for this I am not sorry. Summer's near arrival has me spending most of my days out of doors and away from my computer and quite frankly, is becoming a bit addictive. I remind myself that there are worse things to be addicted to and so will get on with this post so I can leave the building.

Duct Tape is fast becoming my favorite repair tool. After learning that my dad safely arrived back in Ola, Idaho last week from his cross country excursion in the '89 Pontiac Grand Prix that was literally held together with the stuff, I have new found respect for the material. It was invented the same year Walter was born and may be one of the reasons why he is so fond of the polyethylene's powerful magic.

Things repaired in the past week include a back pack, door hinge, camp chair, book cover, shoe, and leaking tire valve. I'm thinking that there are some architectural issues with our back porch that could probably be fixed with Panzerband but that is a project for another day.

Maybe BP should consider using the stuff to fix the well that continues to spew oil into the Gulf of Mexico. It would take a few rolls to do the job, but it just might be worth a try.

As always, I hope you are able to enjoy this day and funk things up just enough to spread a little more joy and love in the world.

Walter Nels Funk and his Joy Ride to Vermont

I've been a complete slacker when it comes to writing on my blog and am sort of sorry about that. A very unexpected and amazing thing happened to me last week that I am still in the process of processing but think that sharing the experience here will be good for me and of interest to you, especially if you believe that miracles do happen everyday and that our thoughts are powerful in making things happen.

It all started two weekends ago when a friend who I had been canoeing with asked "You never speak of your father much. What's the story?". Before I began to give my friend the abbreviated history of my father, at least what I know, I uttered his name and proceeded to tell the story. His story.

Walter Nels Funk was born on Halloween in 1942, enlisted in the Navy from 1960 to 1968 as a sonar tech and communications specialist. He served on a few different destroyers during the Vietnam War. At 20 years of age, he had already met and married my wild at heart mother who gave birth to me in 1963. They divorced three years later and the father - daughter relationship was severed. I think his spirit and heart were wounded and never fully recovered which is why he now lives in the small community of Ola Idaho, population 100.

And that was that, or so I thought, until I arrived at work last Tuesday and had a message from my dad indicating that he would be arriving in town in less than an hour and was looking forward to seeing me. WTF?

The last time I spoke with my dad was about 8 months ago and he didn't mention anything about a plan to come visit. Unexpected visits in general, is not a wise idea and ill advised, especially if you are driving all the way across the U.S. in an '89 Pontiac Grand Prix with valves made of duct tape to visit your first born child because you feel compelled to do so. More amazing is that had Walter been delayed and arrived a day later, I would have already been gone for three days and the connection would have been missed.

I'm thankful that I had the chance to see him and am certain that he is too. So with that, Funk out and enjoy the upcoming Memorial Day weekend. I intend to fully engage is perpetuating some joy and love into the world and hope you do the same.

Peace.

Words for the Music

Today's five minute creative writing exercise is actually song lyrics to one of my original tunes that I sometimes opt to share with complete strangers at open mic or coffee house gatherings. I am far more comfortable playing the tunes for my plants and furniture but need feedback on occasion to determine whether the song is a keeper.

I understand the importance of hearing a song in order to fully appreciate the potential, but for now, the lyrics will be all that I can offer you here. So without further adieu, a T Funk original for your consideration. I hope you have an opportunity to funk things up just enough to spread a little more joy in the world today. Have a great weekend and as always, Funk out!

The Flame

Where you are going will be where you've been
it's all the same place in the end
Words spoken are ideas uttered
sometimes in vain and then forgotten

But sometimes,
they make a connection and need no clarification

If one small push can put you over
then one good turn surely leads to another
One chance is all life requires
for one dream to be inspired

One spark catches another
and that spark feeds the fire's flame.

You probably haven't noticed that I've not blogged very regularly these past weeks, and if that disappoints you, I apologize. There has been a major construction project going on in my front yard that has managed to drain most of my patience right out of me and sadly, has also compromised my sense of humor. I fear that cynicism will soon kick optimism's ass and leave this Funk in a permanent funk, the likes I've never known before.

To counter the bad attitude that is trying to take over my emotional well being, I decided to review some inspirational quotes with hopes that my spirits would be magically lifted and I would succeed in turning my surly outlook on things into something positive. Instead, I found myself uttering negative responses to each quote which only made me feel worst!

For example: "When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us." ~ Helen Keller
Of course you couldn't see the door that had been opened for you, Helen. You were blind.

Happiness does not consist in pastimes and amusements but in virtuous activities. ~ Aristotle
Pastimes and amusements probably didn't even exist during your day, Ari, so of course you would say that.

"Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities." Aldous Huxley
Right, Aldo. Did you come up with this one as a result of the 'other activities' you pursued, like taking psychedelics or growing that alternative tobacco product in your father's botanical laboratory?

I'll stop there, dear reader, because I think I've made my point. The Funk is in a funk and needs to get out of it. Suggestions?

Be well, stay happy, and as always

Funk, out!

Where the Funk I've Been, What I Said, and Why You Don't Care

Okay, so I've been slacking on the public display of my innermost thoughts via this blog and am sorry to the few, but impressively cool, readers that have discovered my digital diary and want me to write more. I haven't forgotten about the 5 minute daily commitment to the creative writing exercise that is the source of inspiration for this blog, I've just been preoccupied with spring, planting my garden, and snapping photos of wild creatures. I thought it would be better to give my next entry some thought so that I might come up with something to pique your interest enough to keep you reading.

Last week was an interesting mix of weather, neighborhood drama, and high adventure and in the course of those seven days, I managed to offend a some people with the language I used and refuse to give up because they are not "politically correct", will make people uncomfortable, and will give people the impression that I am insensitive and un-diplomatic. That may be true but I say "Funk that!" There is a civil right called free speech and I intend to use it. Freely, and with conviction.

The offensive words and language that I am no longer supposed to use but do from time to time are as follows:

"I'm feeling quite gay today!"
"Whew! That mountainous hike really fagged me out."
"Don't be so niggardly with that (insert item name here) and give me some."

I'm sorry if people think I am being malicious when I use words that make some feel uncomfortable because I'm not. I'm only exercising my right to speak my mind in words that, for me, help express the way I feel or think about something. To take language away from me infringes on my civil rights and that, my kind and literate reader, is offensive.

Until the next time,

Funk out!

Slow Down! What's the Russia?

Hello dear, kind reader! Thank you for taking time to stop by to see if my five minute creative writing workout produces something that will elevate the level of joy you might, or might not, be feeling today. Whatever the mood you find yourself in, I assure you it will get better if you take a few minutes (along with some deep, cleansing breathes) and remind yourself that there is always someone in the world whose life sucks way more than yours does. I was reminded of this during my recent transcendental trip to Siberia.

I posted Vlad's picture to (with his permission of course) remind myself of how fortunate I am to live in a 900 sq. ft, riverfront apartment, and get to watch the huge bridge construction project that is underway just yards from my front door. I also wanted to post his picture to prove that transcendental travel is possible, regardless of what the naysayers say.

So before you start whining about whatever it is that has you in a funk, think of Vlad and his cardboard condo. You might also find inspiration in the words Vlad shared just before I snapped his photo: "The only difference between champ and chump is 'U'."

Have a great weekend and as always,

Funk, out!