Being Lila

Mindlessness: What Happens When You Don't Pay Attention

2010-06-06T13:15:00.000-07:00

I'm having one of those days (no, that's not really me in the photo). I made a great new vegan recipe--Noodles in Thai Curry Sauce--in my current host's kitchen (air conditioned), put in into a bowl he had sitting on the counter so I could take it outside to eat, dropped what turned out to be his grandmother's bowl, broke it and dumped out all the great food I'd just made all over the back steps.

A few minutes ago grandson Austin called to ask why I wasn't there to pick him up for the play I promised to take him to at 4:00 (it was 3:57)...sigh...I was really sad until he called back and invited me to come over for tacos at his house (a favorite of mine) but then I remembered that I don't eat meat any more. Sheesh. Guess I'll just have to stop by the store for some tofu on the way. Things are looking up.

Poetry Saturday

2010-05-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

The third annual Asheville WordFest happened last weekend. When I saw in the newspaper that there would be a Poetry Scavenger Hunt on Saturday (what might that be?), I called grandson Austin to see if he wanted to join me.

I didn't bother to tell Austin about the poetry part, just that "an event" was being held downtown at the Thomas Wolfe Memorial. Author Thomas Wolfe's boyhood home, which he immortalized in his novel Look Homeward Angel, is a favorite destination for Austin and me. One of the things he and I have had in common since he was about eight years old is visiting old houses and other historical sites. We've seen the log cabin birthplace of Civil War-era North Carolina governor Zebulon Vance. We've been through the house and grounds of the Biltmore Estate. And we both like to hear the story of how young Thomas Wolfe didn't know if he would have a place to sleep in his mother's boarding house on any given night, the house often being filled to capacity with paying strangers.

The Poetry Scavenger Hunt turned out to be a search for inspiration and ideas that would become a poem. We were sent out into the crisp morning air, on foot, with strict instructions to find three things each that came through our five senses. I immediately conjured up a favorite morning taste and smell, and suggested we find a coffee shop. Austin was agreeable and we set off.

The first place we came to was actually a favorite all-day breakfast restaurant, but the wait was 30 minutes (it being Saturday at 10:30 a.m., time for the Friday night crowd to be wanting their first meal of the day) so we moved on. Another place I had in mind had closed for good (Asheville is a town in flux even in the best of economic times), but just up the street was a place I knew would be perfect: lots of sights, sounds and smells.

It didn't take long, over coffee and lemonade, for us to have our list of 15 items completed. Then it was back to Wolfe House to put it all together into a poem. Here's the result:

The Coffee Shop

Mmm, coffee and brownies,
With sausage thrown in:
Three of the best smells.
Sour lemonade
In a cold, icy glass.
Conversation between families
All around.
The juicer, like a lawnmower,
Cuts greens into a glass
For the lady in the
Yellow and orange flowered pants.
The coffee maker gargles,
Rich and dark,
Into a warm mug,
Bringing good breakfast memories.
The kaleidoscope floor makes me happy.

Later, in the evening, the poetry continued at a downtown church. My morning poetry pal was not with me and I wished I had invited him because he might have enjoyed it. Mark Doty was there, and Pulitzer-winner Natasha Trethewey, along with a local favorite, performance poet and educator Glenis Redmond. The last poet was Flying Words Project, a duo: one hearing and one deaf who told poems in sign language. It was a wonderful experience, but it couldn't touch making a poem with Austin in the coffee shop with the kaleidoscope floor.

Did You Miss Me?

2010-01-28T15:31:00.000-08:00

Hi! I just read my last post and realized that I kinda left ya hangin'. I've not done much of note since Nov. 27 but here's what you missed.

The injury I referred to in my last message was sustained when I tripped and fell on a hardwood floor on Thanksgiving Day. I jammed my left elbow (rather than spraining my wrist, which is the usual injury for us old folks). I am not 100% back to normal but at least I can brush my teeth and my hair with my dominant hand--oh yes, and get a fork to my mouth (didn't lose a pound). And I can type.

The new business venture I mentioned was a momentary lapse of good sense. What do I want to start a new business for? I'm retired! If I decide to do any work it certainly won't be as a small business owner. Maybe a couple days a week of volunteering...

Okay, what else? This was hardly worth booting up the computer. My plan for the next four months is to find something to keep me from going stir crazy and then take grandson Austin with me on a summer-long trip to New England and Canada. After that, who knows? Being here for all these weeks has made me realize that I'm not ready to settle down in Asheville, wonderful as it is. So...onward!

Finally...

2009-11-27T18:46:00.000-08:00

The photos are up. I've injured my writing hand. More later...

Last of the Travel Photos

2009-11-22T07:01:00.000-08:00

It already seems so long ago that I was out there on the open road. My trip from Memphis, through Nashville (had to settle for photos: no time to find the museum where they sell the postcards), and on to Chattanooga was uneventful. I enjoyed the Tennessee Aquarium immensely and was there early in the day so I almost had the place to myself. Unfortunately, I only had a couple of hours to spend so that I could get to Asheville before dark.

The main reason for going through Chattanooga was to detour around a HUGE rock slide on I-40 in the Pigeon River Gorge. They say it's 150 feet tall and will take 3-6 months to remove. It's not the first time this has happened in the Gorge and it probably won't be the last. I decided to take a southerly detour rather than the northern one that most of the 18-wheelers are taking. In fact, I recall having to take the northern route on my first trip to Asheville from Minneapolis in 1996, and for exactly the same reason. We followed a line of big trucks down a two-lane mountain road (now widened and hooked into I-26), with the smell and smoke of overheated brakes in the air. The southern detour was MUCH nicer (see sidebar photos) and as I drove eastward towards the mountains, the tree-covered, rolling hills beckoned me onward.

I returned to Asheville just in time to attend a little soiree at the home of friends Jan and Paula. Jan (whose photo will appear in the right sidebar presently) had heart surgery about a month ago to correct a previously undiagnosed congenital heart defect that had progressively disabled her for the past 7 years. It's an amazing tale, too long to go into here, and she definitely belongs on that cable TV show about medical mysteries. Suffice to say, she has been brought back from death's door and we are all very glad to have her with us.

Last week I emptied and flushed Michelle's black and gray water tanks, then gave her a thorough washing with help from grandson Austin. It was an all-day project and I was pooped, so I didn't get the fresh water tank drained, which I must do before the temps get below freezing; I will also need to run a special RV antifreeze into the lines.

This week I've been helping daughter Liz do some major re-organizing in her tiny apartment, and have enjoyed visiting with her family and helping out with the cooking. She works several 12- to 14-hour day shifts a week as a hospital RN; Sean works several 12-hour night shifts a week for the Sheriff's Dept. as a detention officer, so there've been some poor eating habits established, understandably. Besides, I do like to cook, especially in a real kitchen with a regular oven.

I'll be moving in with my friend Cathy when her house closes the day before T'giving, at which time Michelle will cease to be my primary abode and become my sole means of transportation. I look forward to settling in for the winter and helping Cathy decorate her new space. We also will be planning a really BIG new business venture that I'll say more about later.

That's all for now. Time to fix Austin some breakfast: doing the Nanny thing again...nice.

Those Photos I Promised

2009-11-05T09:35:00.000-08:00

Here's the Flagstaff to Arkansas leg of the trip, which should keep you busy for a while (in the right sidebar). I have Memphis to Asheville to work on next, which will keep me busy. Later...

Going Home

2009-11-01T09:38:00.000-08:00

No excuses. I guess I just got out of the mood to write, for a really long time. Glad I'm not trying to be a real writer: too much pressure. The new retired me doesn't want to do anything that HAS to be done.

The month of October flew by: the vertigo subsided (although I still feel a slight lingering dizziness on occasion); I went to the RVing Women convention in San Antonio, where my sessions were well received and I met a lot of great traveling women; I visited my friends in Austin; I arrived in Memphis Friday evening; I'm leaving for Asheville in a couple of days. I've decided to spend the holidays, and on into spring, with loved ones. Fortunately, a friend will close on her house next week and has invited me to share her space for as long as I want. Everything has fallen into place to make my homecoming work out right. I'm looking forward to spending the winter in a place where it will snow a few times and melt in a couple days each time. It's beautiful but not bothersome. I'll drain Michelle's water and holding tanks and use her as my everyday vehicle. I'll cruise for chicks and invite them in for hot toddies and a look at my travel photos. Smile.

I might change the theme of this blog while I'm "in port." Look for something different after I get settled in my new digs.

Meanwhile, I'll take a look at my photos and pick out some that you might enjoy. Nice to be back.

The Texas Capitol Dome

Head 'Em Up, Move 'Em Out!

2009-10-05T13:47:00.001-07:00

I certainly didn't get much blogging done in September, did I? Here it is October 5 already. Time to plan my route to San Antonio for the big RVing Women National Convention. Should I take the southern route or head due east to Albuquerque? I've planned it both ways but I think I'll go east so I can get that souvenir capitol building postcard in Santa Fe. And I'll stop off in Madrid, NM, to see if it is still as cute as it was when I first saw it in 1995. At that time my partner and I were looking around for a warmer place to live than Minneapolis, and we thought Santa Fe might be the place. Alas, not enough trees and water for either of us, so we ended up in Asheville, NC, still my home base.

Lots to do and little time before I go, so I'll just put up a few photos of brother Steve's and my overnight camping trip to the Canyon with his pals Jeff and Rhonda. I love tent camping, and was looking forward to being with "Mr. Stuff" out in the wilderness. But it was so windy that the camping was not very good: no breakfast for starters, which is my favorite campout meal. At least we made it into the Canyon this time, if not very far, so I can now claim to have hiked the Grand Canyon.

But we had a great breakfast; don't think we didn't, in the restaurant at Bright Angel Lodge, built in 1935. Steve says it hasn't changed since the first time he was there in 1981, including the front of the menu. Some things you can count on.

Jeff and Rhonda headed back to Flagstaff and Steve and I headed for the Bright Angel Trailhead, where we arrived just as a mule train returned, carrying passengers who had been all the way down to Phantom Ranch, on the Colorado River, and back, a ride of about three hours.

Being with Steve, who, as I said in a previous post, has hiked the Canyon 20 or 30 times, and rafted the Colorado twice, was a big treat for me. I only wish I had done it back when I might have been able to put on a pack and do it for real.

Mules have right-of-way.

One sign we saw told the story of a world class runner who tried to cross the Canyon rim to rim without enough water. She didn't make it.

If you look closely at the second level down from the top of this rock formation you'll see people, which helps to give perspective to our location inside the Canyon.

The Bright Angel Trail from where I was, near the beginning.

Bright Angel Trail from the south rim. The trees are growing in what is known as Indian Gardens. The trail forks right, down into the Canyon, to Phantom Ranch.

Back up from the warmth of the Canyon, carrying my jacket, which I needed again as soon as I reached the rim, where the wind that day was fierce and the temperature was much lower than inside the Canyon. Many hikers returned wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

Onward. Much to do and it's already 3:45. More later, from the road.

Feeling Puny

2009-09-28T18:04:00.000-07:00

No, it's not the flu, not yet anyway. It's vertigo. I had an attack of dizziness last September and now it's returned but it feels different this time, more menacing, with nausea. The onset was different also: I woke up Thursday morning, sat up, and was immediately knocked back down onto the pillow by some unseen force--ka-whump! I thought I had sat up too suddenly and lost blood flow to my head, so I laid there for a minute and everything seemed okay. I went into the house and was puttering around in the kitchen when I became dizzy and had to sit down. But it didn't go away this time.

According to one web article I found, which I am unable to find again, the cause is likely some sort of flotsam floating around somewhere in my inner ear, a calcium flake from my mastoid bone or something, and it's got into my semi-circular canal, irritating the nerve endings. One treatment is to lie down with my head hanging over the edge of the bed and wait for the junk to float up into the vestibule, out of the canal. I haven't tried it yet but my sister says a friend of hers who suffers chronically with this condition uses the technique.

Anyway, long story short: Since symptoms were present upon rising and improved throughout the day, I decided to see what would happen if I slept sitting up on Steve's couch. It worked, so I did it for two nights. No symptoms yesterday or today. Tonight I will return to my bed and hope for the best. If it happens again I guess I'll find a doctor. Cross your fingers.

Yesterday Steve and I visited the local Arboretum, which was rather a disappointment except for the raptor show. Click to enlarge.

This is a Harris Hawk.

In flight. Beautiful

American Kestrel. So tiny that a house cat can bring it down.

Siberian Eagle Owl, largest of all the owls. Its predominant feature is it's beautiful orange eyes.

It can turn its head even farther around than this: about 270 degrees.

That's the nature lesson for today, boys and girls. There will be a test tomorrow.

Catching Up Again...Again

2009-09-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

It certainly is easy to get busy with other things: sleeping, eating, sight-seeing, helping my brother organize his photos, making earrings with the beads I bought in Sedona, organizing my own photos and sending them to friends and family, etc. It's not that I don't think of you often, you know, I just keep putting you down a bit farther on the To-Do List. Please don't be mad; I couldn't bear it. (Is anybody out there?)

The photos are up, so I'll try to give a bit of commentary to go along with them. BTW, another tip about viewing the slide show: when you open the blog page the slideshow begins a couple seconds later, and since I try to put them in the order that they were taken (usually), you might want to view them in the correct order for them to make the most sense. I've explained how to do this before, but here's a refresher if you need it:

Single click on any photo. It will enlarge and show in the upper left corner which slide it is (e.g., 3 of 42). You can either use the arrows above the photo to move back or forward to the beginning, or you can choose 'View All' and the entire gallery will open up. Then click on the slideshow icon, the farthest left one above the photo gallery, and the first photo will enlarge and the slideshow will run. A menu bar will appear at the bottom of the slide so that at any time you may increase the viewing time of the slides (e.g., in order to read the captions more easily) by increasing the seconds (click on the + sign). The default is 3 seconds but you can change it to any number. Or you can view the slides individually for as long as you like by NOT choosing the slideshow icon and just clicking on the arrows.

Anyway, here's what happened after I left Seligman (pronounced with the accent on the middle syllable, by the way). I drove to Flagstaff on I-40 where I met up with my brother Steve at his house,

and with my brother Larry who had arrived by car from Memphis the previous day with Steve's son Austin. They had taken the scenic route through Utah and Monument Valley, a trip that is definitely on my agenda for next year.

Larry appeared to be suffering from some unknown malady that was causing a hacking cough (Austin had some kind of crud, too) so he was feeling rather puny. The next day I stayed at the house with him (I was feeling a bit under the weather myself) while Steve and Austin drove to Phoenix (some two hours south) to pick up the rest of the Wellses at the airport: my youngest brother Jay and sister Marcia.

Next day all except Larry did some sight-seeing in Flagstaff, shopped a bit (ugh) and Steve grilled big ol' steaks for dinner. That night Larry was up with fever and lots of coughing, which I diagnosed as the flu (swine or otherwise, I couldn't say) so everyone became hyper-alert to germs and the correct procedure for coughing, etc.

Sunday we went to Sedona by way of Jerome. Since we are all rather large people, ranging in height from 5'8" to 6'4", with girths to match, we decided to take two cars. Steve and Jay were in the lead in Steve's pickup and he led us on the "scenic route" through the back country, much of the way on an unpaved road. We talked to each other on walkie-talkies ("Checkmate King Two, this is White Rook, over") and felt just like explorers in a new land, kinda-sorta. It was an extremely bumpy, dusty road and I thought it would never end. I was driving Larry's Saturn and he and I decided that there was no way we were going to be able to keep up with Steve at the pace he had set in the pickup, so, of course, the trip was even longer. But it was mighty pretty, and so was Sedona, with the late afternoon sun on the red rocks.

Monday was Grand Canyon day but we didn't have to hurry because Steve wanted us to be there at sunset. So we stopped off at Sunset Crater Volcano (the whole area is jumping with currently-dormant volcanic activity), two native pueblo ruins, and a roadside native crafts stand on the way.

Brother Steve traveled to Grand Canyon from Memphis with a group of friends (sometimes including brother Larry and son Austin) every year from about 1981 until he moved to Flagstaff permanently in 2001. He's probably traversed every known trail, and run the river twice, so he knew exactly where he wanted to take us for our first view. He had his spiel all worked out as well, about how Coronado and his men came to America in search of the Seven Cities of Gold, dispatching Garcia Lopez de Cardenas to find a large river they had heard about. De Cardenas led his men through the scrub pinion and juniper, right up to the edge of the biggest hole in the ground they had ever seen. They saw the river far below them, estimating from the rim of canyon that it was about 10-20 feet across (it is actually about 100 yards wide) but they couldn't find their way down to the river, possibly because their native guides were not anxious to show them the way, and so were forced to move on. It would be another 200 years before two Spanish priests explored the Canyon again, and another 100 years until Major John Wesley Powell led a Colorado River expedition through Grand Canyon, mapping and studying its geology as he went.

We ended the day at Mohave Point, next to last stop on the shuttle that runs westward along the south rim. Again, Steve led our little expedition through the scrub to the edge of the Canyon, this time far above what has become known in our family as Ryan's Peak. Ryan was Steve's younger son, who was killed in a car crash on Labor Day, 1999, at the age of 15. His ashes are mixed with the soil of Grand Canyon on top of the little peak. We stayed until the sun turned the rocks to gold and finally sank into the western sky. Rest in Peace, young Ryan.

Just Grand!

2009-09-19T18:35:00.000-07:00

I got the photos organized and they're in the right sidebar. I promise I'll write something tomorrow.

Oh My, It's Hot

2009-09-10T14:03:00.000-07:00

Greetings from beautiful downtown Seligman, Arizona, on Historic Route 66, home of the Roadkill Cafe and some really beautiful clouds. I wouldn't be surprised to have the first rain I've experienced since June in Wyoming (in fact, here it comes now).

It's 98 degrees in the shade but I don't care, 'cause I got air conditioning--woohoo--and all the electricity and water my little heart desires. I am a happy camper!

My Las Vegas contact didn't work out: no electricity and temps in triple digits so I had to leave early to find a place where I could run the A/C. Here's my favorite photo from Vegas (click to enlarge to full effect).

What you see here, among other things, is the base of a replica of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Casino, and also an old-world fountain, packed cheek by jowl with other casinos shaped like Greek temples, the New York skyline, the Taj Mahal and other unbelievably tacky things. Check out the number of people on the streets; I think you can tell how hot it is. I drove down the strip and took photos from inside Michelle. Just the thought of trying to find parking and then being out in all that made me sweat (don't believe what you hear about "dry heat"). Been to Las Vegas, don't need to go again.

But I'm supposed to be filling you in on San Francisco, which wasn't hot (I just missed a one-day heat wave, fortunately), and has great public transit so it was easy to see the sights.

Before that, however, there were the Biting Ants of Oakland! OMG, I was so freaked I didn't even think to take photos; all I wanted to do was get the little buggers out of my space! The first day I found a couple inside: no big deal. The next morning one was in my bed and it bit me: still no biggie--one little ant. One day and several bites later I discovered they were coming from the garbage cans I was parked next to (duh) and I realized that squishing them one by one was not going to work; they were in my food boxes and I needed poison, which I hate to use, but I had no choice. The really freaky part was when I saw some crawling on my little Christmas Cactus. Upon closer inspection, the plant was teeming with them, and when I picked up the inner pot and look into the outer pot, it was like something out of science fiction: I've never seen so many ants; the pot was black with them, all running around as fast as their little ant legs would carry them, shouting, "Run for your lives!" They died a horrible death and I felt bad and triumphant at the same time: "Leiningen" writ small.

Here's my favorite shot from my neighborhood walk in Oakland.

This is the tallest corn I've ever seen, and growing in the city! I grew up in Iowa and this stuff made Iowa corn look stunted.

The next day it got really hot in Oakland and since I didn't have electricity, I headed to San Francisco. I was unable to find a contact who had a driveway, SF being what it is, but an RVing Women contact led me to free parking on the street, right on the ocean, on a busline that went downtown and transferred to wherever I wanted to go: all for $2 each way. It had a great time, and because I was living on the cheap I blew $50 on a second balcony ticket to see "Wicked."

Here's one of my favorite SF photos, taken in The Castro; those ladies are no ladies.

Here's another: a "Lila's-eye view" of a crowded Chinatown bus. And no, I was not holding the camera above my head (well maybe just a bit); I was hanging onto a strap, the only 5'10" Anglo on the bus.

From San Francisco I drove to Sacramento for my souvenir Capitol Building postcard (and a tour: The Governator was out); then to Lake Tahoe where I camped in a state park, again without electricity so I couldn't blog; then to Carson City, Nevada, for my souvenir postcard of the Capitol Building (it was Saturday: no tour); then to an overnight stop in Hawthorne, NV, in the parking lot of the El Capitan Resort and Casino (again, no electricity); and finally over Hoover Dam and into Arizona.

It will take the rest of the day, practically, to get a new slide show up and running, and you may not be able to see it until tomorrow, but it's coming. Thanks for sticking around.

Oh, I've also included the following tiny pile of self-absorbed drivel that I wrote longhand during my stay at Lake Tahoe Thursday and Friday of the Labor Day weekend. It's not pretty, but if you want to know what was going on with me then, you can read it when you have absolutely NOTHING ELSE to do. Rest assured, I am way over it, thanks to Eckhart on CD through most of my journey from Lake Tahoe to Seligman.

It’s Labor Day weekend, Friday to be exact, and I’m here in the William Kent Campground for the second night. I’ve been practically alone all day and I guess I thought I would be until my stay is over tomorrow at noon. But lo and behold, the campers are here. Glory be, I think, for now I won’t be alone on Labor Day. Alone on Labor Day, I’m thinking now, how bad can that be? Well, I’ll tell you how bad: it’s the families and their campfires and kids shouting and parents running to and fro carrying the camping gear and the dinner fixin’s and so I go outside with my wine and cheese and crackers I bought from the little store up the road and I think I’ll just watch the action. But I can’t really see very well from this vantage point so I sip my wine and eat my crackers and cheese and read my book. I’m reading ‘Tis by Frank McCourt. It’s the sequel to his Pulitzer-Prize-winning Angela’s Ashes, and in this book he has come back to New York City from Limerick, Ireland, and it’s Christmas. I’ve been in New York City at Christmas so I know what it’s like: it’s fucking gorgeous is what it is. And there’s the hustle and bustle of shopping and visiting friends and family and eating and drinking and parties and presents and family. Only Frank doesn’t have any family and he’s telling about going to mass on Christmas Day and being kicked out of the pew of some rich family by a guy in striped pants and all of a sudden I can’t stand it another minute. I look around at the families enjoying their camping escapade and I want to cry because I remember those camping trips with my daughter and that time is gone. I would call my daughter and tell her how much I miss those camping trips but she’s too busy working (nurses work Labor Day weekend, you know) and she wouldn’t even pick up the fucking phone. So here I am in my little home on wheels pining for days gone by and getting all weepy. I don’t know how much longer I can do this alone. Maybe it’s time for that dog. For sure I should not have had that second glass of wine. And to top it all off I have no fucking electricity so I can’t even watch a movie. I should get the generator fixed but even if I did I’d feel like a fool running it with all these tent campers about. I should go for a walk…

So I walked a big loop to see if I could find someone to take me in and share their campfire. I walked by cars with tents and trucks with campers and people with the kids having dinner or finished, and one group that was obviously a middle-aged couple and someone’s mother, playing cards. I almost stopped but they were so engrossed in their game I didn’t want to interrupt. They were the most likely hosts and so I came home. I noticed that some people in campers were inside like I tend to be most of the time. I think we’ve lost that camping feeling. I know I have but for me I think it’s mostly because I live in here too. Most folks probably wouldn’t think of building a fire in their backyard so they could get that camping feeling, although I do know some people who have fire pits.

So I am going to eat chocolates and read Frank McCourt and hope I don’t get the woozies again. Maybe I should read a different book…

Las Vegas, Here I Come!

2009-09-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

It's been many days since I had enough time/electricity to bring you up to date on my travels. Unfortunately, today is not good either. I'm sitting in a little cafe in Tahoe City, CA, juicing up the laptop and reading emails to see if someone answered my plea for a place to park Michelle when I get to Vegas. Got one! A Lesbian Connection CD (contact dyke) responded so I am much relieved. When I get there I'll put up my photos of San Francisco, etc. and tell you about being terrorized by biting ants in Oakland. It's a chilling tale.

Here's a teaser:

Don't ask because I don't know...

No Yesterdays

2009-08-28T16:01:00.000-07:00

William Least Heat-Moon turned 70 years old yesterday. He wrote Blue Highways: A Journey into America in 1982, an account of his travels on the back roads of the USA.

Heat-Moon began his journey after he lost his job and his wife of 11 years left him. He decided to take to the open road and "live the real jeopardy of circumstance."

Over the course of three months, he traveled 13,000 miles around the United States. In comparison, I have been traveling since August 2008 and have put about 12,000 miles on Michelle.

Heat-Moon said, "When you're traveling, you are what you are, right there and then. People don't have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road."

He's so right.

Catching Up...Again

2009-08-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

I finally made it to Mendocino

on a clear day so here is the "money shot" of the little village of 824 souls, taken from across the bay or inlet or whatever. (I've discovered that you can only enlarge these photos if I put them into the post in the "medium" size rather than "large," so that's what I will do from now on. Click to enlarge.)

And then there's the Point Cabrillo Light Station that I also mentioned last time. I stopped by on my way out of town. It is a lovely little spot but the half-mile walk from the parking lot was a bit trying (I wasn't wearing the right shoes), especially on the uphill return trip.

There are so many more photos to share that I will put them into a slide show in the right sidebar for your leisurely perusal. Stop the slide show (click on any picture) to read the captions if you want to know what you're seeing.

Besides my overnight stop at Salt Point State Park, I also made a side trip to Point Reyes National Seashore. There's another lighthouse there but it was closed, so I took a one-mile hike to see the Tule Elk. It's mating season and the bucks are gathering their harems. I could hear them calling somewhere off in the fog. Yes, of course it was foggy way out on Point Tomales, but it lent an air of mystery to my sighting of a dozen does with their lord and master.

Today I am recuperating from the l-o-n-g (in hours) 186-mile journey from Fort Bragg and Point Cabrillo up in the redwood country, south on Hwy. 1 with its twists and turns, and on into Oakland, known far and wide as the Bay Area, arriving after dark last night (after missing my exit on the Nimitz Freeway--sheesh!).

I'm parked on the street, near the home of two wonderful women friends of my new Seattle friend, Fai. I'm not hooked up but they have really fast wireless internet, so I am currently ensconced on their sofa with two dogs and several cats for company. And they serve great desserts so I am happy as a new puppy in fresh-cut grass.

Plans are to head for Sacramento on Sept. 3 to get that souvenir capitol city postcard, then push on the same day to Lake Tahoe, where I have actually reserved a campsite! Can you believe it? Two days in the "wilderness." I spent one night in a state park on the way here and will include some bird photos in the slide show. The western equivalent of the eastern Bluejay, the Steller's Jay, is a lovely large bird. Bird fact: there are no Cardinals in this part of the country. I miss them!

It's already nearing 5 pm, so I'm going to post those photos, which it took most of the day to organize, and you may be able to see them tomorrow.

Here's a short traveling poem for you.

The Longest Mile

When next I travel the Shoreline Highway
I'm going to hire a chaffeur.
'Twas lovely to wander that beautiful byway
But I really needed a go-fer.

August 27, 2009
Oakland, California

TTFN...

New Sights

2009-08-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

Friday again already. How can the time pass so quickly when I do practically nothing all day? Why aren't I bored? It's already afternoon and I haven't accomplished a thing. And what is it that I want to accomplish anyway? That is the question I keep coming back to. No matter how many times I tell myself that BEING is a worthy accomplishment, I continue to feel...useless. Maybe I retired too soon.

Maybe I really should write that book. There I've said it "out loud." I keep thinking about writing a book about my life, for my descendants, not for publication, but it seems so much like drudgery that I don't even want to start. Drudgery: a good enough reason not to do it. Perhaps if I characterize the process in a slightly less pejorative manner I'll be more inspired to begin. All I know is that I would have been thrilled to have such a history of my own mother's life, or my grandmother's.

Meanwhile, I went to M acKer richer State Park yesterday, where I saw my first wild seals. Unfortunately, they were "sunning" (there was no sun) too far away for a good photo but I got a good look through the binoculars. If you click on this picture you will get an enlarged shot of the white, sausage-looking things stretched out on the rocks.

I also saw lots of ground squirrels, a species native to northern California with a dark patch on their backs that other species don't have. According to a website article they are terrible pests and I can see why. There were lots of them, all eating, and begging (obviously some people had not heeded the signs about feeding them).

I drove to Mendocino a couple days ago but it was too foggy for photos so I will try again, perhaps today as the sun is out here right now. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean it will be shining 10 miles up the road. There is a lighthouse to visit between here and there so it won't be a wasted trip.

We're having company for dinner tonight and will attend a play afterward. A reason to take a shower and do something with my hair, which has grown past my shoulders. Gonna have that ol' lady bun goin' on pretty soon. I used to see my mother's face in the mirror, now I see my grandmother's. Oh well. I feel good physically and psychologically and that's all that matters.

My Special Day

2009-08-17T11:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I didn't make it to Mendocino. I had all the hatches battened down, so to speak, and was ready to drive off when I remembered that Marilou had said she was leaving for San Francisco around 5 p.m. Since it was already 3 p.m. and we still hadn't gone over the pet feeding instructions, I hung around. When she left I turned on the TV and hunkered down for the rest of the evening.

Fortunately, there are only 65 stations to choose from (how did we ever survive with just NBC, CBS, ABC and sometimes PBS?), and TCM is not one of them, so it was pretty easy to run through the channels and decide that there wasn't anything worth watching. I can take just so much MSNBC or CNN before the ills of the nation and the world become too much to bear. In the past, I would have soldiered through (no pun intended) so that I could say I was up to date on current events. Now I don't care. The thing that I do to make the world a better place is to be conscious as much as possible, and I don't need Rachel Maddow for that (although I can think of a couple things she could help me with).

Yesterday I made the Pillsbury Bake-Off chicken recipe but I have to say I was underwhelmed. It needed something: salt for starters, and maybe red wine. I think I'll try it with breasts instead of thighs, and more almonds--more of everything, in fact.

Today is my birthday, did I tell you? It's Mae West's, too. My favorite MW quote: "Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before." My brother Steve video-called me a while ago from Flagstaff with his impersonation of Elvis singing Happy Birthday (always a hit), right after my State Farm Insurance agent's assistant called to wish me happy birthday and remind me that I might need to renew my driver's license (I don't). I got an e-card from the woman I've been emailing through Compatible Partners (e-Harmony's LGBT off-shoot) and with whom I will have a first phone conversation at 1 pm today (some anxiety about that).

Here's a naughty birthday limerick for you (you need to be a TV-watcher of a certain age in order to "get it").

Lila’s Birthday

The day Lila turned sixty-two
She said, “What the heck should I do?
Like that Timex, I'm tickin’
But where is the lickin’?
I’ll find a new lover! But who?”

August 17, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

What do you think of that, Carolita?

Seeing the Sights in Fort Bragg

2009-08-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

I gave up on new poetry myself thirty years ago, when most of it began to read like coded messages passing between lonely aliens in a hostile world.
-Russell Baker

The above quote is for my fellow blogger at Wander to the Wayside. Linda, Russell Baker has won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature so you are in good company.

The Mendocino County coast can be a very foggy place, but recently it appears that perhaps the sunny times are here to stay for a while, which has prompted me to spend more time seeing the local sights, and also meeting some local women.

Yesterday I went into town and walked around investigating little shops (Christmas will be here before you know it), having lunch at a small eatery (ooh, the pastries), and checking out the details of a possible train excursion (too expensive).

I took a lot of photos, which you will see in a slideshow in the right sidebar. I've included the flower photos from my time at the botanical gardens a few days ago, and they take a while to load so you may have to check back later to see them. Today I think I'll investigate the town of Mendocino and the Point Cabrillo Lighthouse.

This weekend my host Marilou will travel to San Francisco for a family gathering and I will stay here and feed the animals (and sleep in a bed, and watch too much TV, and cook that Pillsbury Bake-Off-winning recipe I got from my friend Diane in Seattle).

[Oh, my Skype line is ringing.] That was my oldest brother, Steve, and then our youngest brother, Jay, came online so we added him to the conversation. Do you have Skype? It enables you to video call others who have the service (free download) and a computer camera. Pretty cool. I'll be seeing them in person in mid-September in Flagstaff. Grand Canyon--woohoo!

Yikes, it's already 2 pm! Where does the time go? I'll wrap this up for now. Poem later. Also photos.

Go Pick Some Berries

2009-08-09T15:10:00.001-07:00

Did I mention that my host, Marilou, lives in a redwood forest? I might have shown you a photo or two. I took more today. And I learned a bit from Marilou about these gigantic Sequoias. The specimens in her yard are not as big as the ones in the national forest, but they impress the heck out of little ol' me.

And it's berry-picking time! We've picked blackberries and thimbleberries and blueberries until I am about picked out. I'm ready for the cobbler.

This is Marilou, sister of my good friend Kali, in Asheville.

Picking Berries

What’s a thimbleberry, I ask?
There, she says, the bright red one.
I reach
Grab too hard
It disintegrates into a bloody pulp
Brighter
Sweeter than blood
But just as pleasing.
Tastes like Lik-M-Aid, she says,
That we used to eat as a kid?
Oh yeah…
But I don’t tell her how
My friend Betty and I
Used to steal it from the corner grocery,
Slip the little flat packets
Down the front of our shorts
And walk out.
Later up in my bedroom,
We took off our training bras
And took turns
Pretending to be the man,
Our bright pink Lik-M-Aid
Lips and tongues
Encircling each other’s
Thimbles.

August 9, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

This is view from my window. So lush. So green. So cool. So peaceful.

123456789

2009-08-07T14:50:00.000-07:00

Today I got a Facebook message from my friend Corina in the UK who is proclaiming today as 12:34:56 7/8/9 Day. That's the way they see it across the pond. Unfortunately, for us Yanks it was last month, so I missed it. Shouldn't there have been a party or something? Oh well, we'll have another one next millenium. I hope I get a heads up next time. How about a poem to celebrate.

12:34:56 7/8/9 Day

Well
What can
You expect from
People who drive on
The wrong side of the
Road, and call the trunk the
Boot, and call the hood the bonnet?
Sour grapes really. I have always wanted a
Queen. Love the hats, love the name: Her Majesty

August 7, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

Happy 123456789 Day, Your Majesty!

Facebook: Finally Good for Something

2009-08-05T10:06:00.000-07:00

Are you on Facebook? I've been very ambivalent about it since I joined. There's a lot of junk (to put it mildly) but sometimes you get a gem. It depends on who your "friends" are, I've discovered.

Ever since adding Corey Mesler, owner of Burke's Books in Memphis and a high school friend of my brother's, it seems there are fewer goofy quizzes online; I guess because Corey seems to fill the space with "book stuff." Then I decided to add Patti Digh (a no-brainer, right? You know I love me some Patti) with all her friends' comments, and I'm feeling better about being part of yet another communication medium that I was putting off . (No offense meant to all my other FB friends, really.) OMG, what next, Twitter? Not.

Today I got the best message I've had in a long time, from a friend of Patti's. Here's the link. You MUST read this if you have ever been in a serious, committed relationship that didn't last, or you're in a great relationship now, or you hope to be in one. The woman who wrote this is brilliant.

So Peaceful...

2009-08-04T14:42:00.000-07:00

Today I explored the woods around my host's home, along a path that led to an old logging road. The sun was out, for a change, and some blue sky showed through the cloud cover. When I returned I finally remembered to ask about the tree with the red, peeling bark and was told that it is Manzanita. There's nothing like it in the east. (Click on the photo to see it larger.)

Then I spent about an hour and a half watching videos of Eckhart Tolle and his partner Kim Eng. Because I am a "member" of Eckhart Tolle TV and perhaps you are not, you may not be able to open this link. But if you can, you will discover what I have been trying to convey about how living in the NOW can change your life. This video is the best explanation I have seen yet, and it's only an hour long. There are other, smaller, segments available on this link that are useful as well (in the right sidebar), especially the one at the bottom of the list, where Kim Eng talks about relationship, and specifically her relationship with Eckhart.

If you have already read The Power of Now, and especially A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose, the video will be helpful in "bringing it home" to you, perhaps in a more meaningful way than through just reading the books. I have watched many Eckhart videos and this one is the best. I hope you can see it and that it will have meaning for you.

If you can't open it, and you are interested in what it contains, please let me know and I will see if it can be accessed without paying the fee. I can certainly point you to other videos that are shorter and don't require membership.

Namaste.

Another Lazy Day

2009-08-03T12:38:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, it's been two whole days without a word from me. However did you survive? This is what happens when I get off the road and settle in one place for a few days. It's not as if I were so busy that I didn't have time to write. I just get lazy.

Here are some items I saved for just such an occasion. Then perhaps I'll try a little poem. No more sonnets for a while. The last one gave me a headache.

July 24 was the birthday of Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of F. Scott and a darn good writer herself. She ended up in a mental hospital in Asheville and was killed in a fire there at the age of 47. She said:

I just lump everything in a great heap which I have labeled "the past," and, having thus emptied this deep reservoir that was once myself, I am ready to continue.

(How very wise of her to empty her "past" reservoir.)

She also said:
We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising. I still believe that one can learn to play the piano by mail and that mud will give you a perfect complexion.

(It's advertising that's got us into the mess we're in. They're very clever at getting us to buy things we don't really need, so that we have to make more and more money in order to have more and more things. Someone said on public radio yesterday that the two main causes of the economic crisis were fear--because the people who saw what was happening feared for their security if they blew the whistle--and greed, obviously.)

July 29 was the birthday of the French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville, an astute observer of America and Americans, who had a lot to say about us back in 1835 in a book entitled Democracy in America. He said:
An American will build a house in which to pass his old age and sell it before the roof is on; he will plant a garden and rent it just as the trees are coming into bearing … he will take up a profession and leave it, settle in one place and soon go off elsewhere.

(He got it right, don't you think? Funny, I thought everyone, everywhere did that. Maybe we're more special than I realized, at least we were in 1835.)

I'm going to take the dog for a walk and perhaps I'll get inspired to continue this drivel in a more interesting vein. TTFN...

The most inspiring thing I saw on my walk today was this statue of Quan Yin in a neighbor's yard. I had seen a Buddha of similar size in that yard on another day; this one was in such a lovely, shady spot I had to take her picture. Quan Yin is a female bodhisattva, one who is on the way to becoming a buddha.

The name Kuan Shih Yin, as she is often called, means literally the one who regards, looks on, or hears the sounds of the world. According to legend, Quan Yin was about to enter heaven when she paused on the threshold as the cries of the world reached her ears. Sacrificing her own ascension for the sake of her "children," Quan Yin stayed on earth, thereby exhibiting the same behavior of mothers everywhere who would sacrifice their very lives for their children.

Quan Yin's Statue

Crying all around
Suffering humanity
Little world at peace

August 3, 2009
Fort Bragg, California

PS: I keep forgetting to mention that I have removed the "register" requirement on the Comments box for those of you who have said you would leave a comment but don't want to register. It's always nice to find that someone is out there reading this stuff, even if you do it anonymously.

This and That

2009-07-31T18:59:00.000-07:00

That is a banana slug.

This is a sonnet.

Sonnet for a Blog About Being Lila

Fourteen lines to rhapsodize about love,
Ten syllables in each line to move you,
Make you whimper, look to the stars above
For answers, and then sigh as lovers do.
Fiddle-dee-dee to all of that, and yet
Some find that love can be the sweetest thing
That humankind may know (and then forget),
If love’s object is right and true feeling
Takes away all doubt. I only know it’s
Hard to find my way through love’s bright meadow
Without stumbling and sometimes throwing fits.
I count to ten but still I stomp and bellow,
I am a happy single lesbian!
Oh dear, an ending rhyme now: thespian?

July 31, 2009
Fort Bragg, CA

This is better than that, don't you think?

Spying

2009-07-30T11:24:00.000-07:00

A week or two ago one of my Facebook friends, my 20-something ex-stepnephew, wrote this post:

When you see a homeless person begging at say, a road intersection corner, with a scratty cardboard sign, do you give them a dollar, perhaps more; if not, how do you react to those who do hand it out?

The answers he received ranged from this one:

F--- 'em. I work for my money. Most panhandlers, according to MULTIPLE studies, make about eleven dollars an hour. I feel no pity. Also, half of those guys are on wellfare and NOT HOMELESS.

to this one:

I feel guilty if I don't and gullible if I do - can't win

and everything in between. It's a question I've wrestled with and have come to this conclusion, which is what I posted back to my Friend: I don't care how much they make an hour; it's a terrible way to live. I give out of gratitude for what I have.

I didn't bother to expound on some other reasons I give, without feeling gullible:

Many people who ask for money on the street are homeless through no fault of their own, including military veterans, the mentally ill (we closed their facilities and kicked them out), and others;
Even if they choose the life they live, they are much more likely to be sick or wounded than others;
They are easy prey and are often attacked;
There aren't enough shelters even if they wanted to go to them, and if they have a cart full of "stuff" they can't take it in with them;
Sure they drink and drug. If you lived on the street you'd probably want something to help ease that pain too.
No, they can't just "get a job" because they don't have an address or a place to get presentable enough to appear for an interview.

I could go on. Have you ever really seen the people who ask you for money? Some of them are obviously not as old as they look; they're just beat up by life on the street.

Here's what happened in Grants Pass, Oregon, on Monday. I was parked at Walmart * (Have you noticed, they've changed the way they spell their name? It used to be WAL-MART; now it's lower case with a little flower at the end: supposed to give us a friendlier, more hometown feeling instead of a giant blood-sucking corporate behemoth feeling. At least, that's what some guy on the radio said, but I digress.)

To digress a bit more, you need to know that Michelle has privacy windows. I can see out but you have to put your hands to the glass and peer in to see me. Thus I am accorded a view of people who are unaware of being watched, which can be very entertaining and enlightening.

This past Monday I was getting ready to leave Oregon around 11 a.m. when a small brown pickup truck pulled into the space next to me. It was already hot and their windows and mine were open, so when their engine stopped I heard a woman say "I don't lie to you, you know. I will answer any question you have." I didn't hear what her companion replied. As usual when someone parks that close to me, I lowered the window curtain so they couldn't see me even if they tried, which means I didn't see what happened next, but I heard the truck doors slam and figured they had both gone into Walmart.

About three minutes later I heard the truck door again, so I raised the curtain enough to see that the woman had returned with a piece of cardboard that read "Taco Bell Quick Prep Chunky Beans," which she had apparently retrieved from the restaurant dumpster a few yards away. I watched her use a dull pocket knife to cut about a 12 x 18-inch piece. Then she took a big black marker and made a sign that read, "OUT OF GAS," in very neat, precise lettering.

Of course, I immediately thought, How can you be out of gas when you just drove the truck into that parking space?

But then I thought, Okay, maybe they are really low on gas and need to panhandle for more before they really do run out.

About that time a man with long graying beard and hair road up to the truck on a bicycle. He could have been 40 years old or 60. He handed the woman a piece of paper. "Forty cents," he said, as she folded the paper and put it with some others in a little compartment under the dashboard.

The woman finished her sign, got out of the truck and walked to the nearest cart return corral, where she chose a cart and then looked into a nearby trash receptacle. She was wearing a full-length "granny dress" and her hair was pulled neatly back from her face and tied with an elastic. Her face was tanned and worn. I wondered if she intended to fill up the cart with trash in broad daylight, so I decided to follow her.

By the time I got my shoes on she was nowhere in sight, but before I returned home I glanced into the pickup (the windows were still down) and saw the sign on the seat. I also saw the piece of folded paper in the little compartment under the dash, so I boldly reached in, picked it up, and saw that it was a receipt for cash on bottles returned to Walmart. Aha! Apparently Oregon has a bottle return law, I thought. (5 cents each, as it turns out.)

When I was once again ensconced in my window seat the woman returned with her cart, from which she unloaded into the back of the pickup two large white plastic bags stuffed with plastic bottles she had obviously scrounged from the trash cans at Walmart and the other stores in the complex. Then she left again on foot, without her sign.

As I was preparing to leave, the man came back on his bike, looked around for his partner and, not finding her, took off again. I left a five-dollar bill on the front seat of the truck, under the sign, hoping she would get to it before he did, and then wondering if she would tell him she had it.

On the way out of the parking lot I encountered a truly pitiful looking woman trying in vain to keep cool in the shade of a young tree. I don't know what her sign said, I just reached for some quarters and rolled down the passenger side window. When she came to take the money, I saw that she was in pretty bad shape. She could have been 20 or 50. She took the money and croaked something that I assume was a thank you. I rolled up the automatic window on my air conditioned home on wheels and left her there.

Praise the Universe from Whence All Blessings Flow...if you happen to be in the right place, at the right time, with enough dough.

PS: Yesterday I saw a woman on the street with a sign that said, no kidding, "Will Take Verbal Abuse for Spare Change."

PPS: Still working on that sonnet for you.

California Dreamin'

2009-07-29T13:44:00.000-07:00

(Yes, the sign says "Entering Tsunami Hazard Zone.")

After an arduous drive up and down many mountains, I finally arrived yesterday at my destination: Fort Bragg (not the Army post), California, on the coast again. And again, it is foggy here. My hostess tells me that it will be like this as long as the temperatures inland are so high: the heat draws the fog in from the ocean. Turns out, the best time to be here is Fall, when the breeze blows the other way. Oh well. It's lush and green, and the temperature this morning is about 59 degrees. SO much better than the 100 degrees folks are experiencing just across the mountain from here. I'm all cozy in my sweatshirt and slippers.

I'm going to try to upload some photos but the reception is really poor here and it might not work. Last night I couldn't download even an old B&W movie: broadband modem too slow. Oh dear.

Sorry Minnesota, you don't have a corner on Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. In fact, Bemidjians, the cojones on the Klamath, California bull are very impressive indeed.

This is my first view of the Pacific when I came down the last mountain. It's a bit more what I expected the coast to look like (those birds are pelicans, a flying squadron that reminded me of my stay in Florida last winter).

Boy, was I glad to get out of that vehicle. Coming down the mountain is more stressful than going up because I have to try not to ride the brake, which means playing with the gear ratio and trying to keep out of the way of folks in sports cars and motorcycles who want the thrill of going fast: not my thing in a vehicle where the sway causes everything I own in the world to slide around, audibly.

This is a pretty lousy photo but I just had to show you the cows. Why don't they fall in?

Here's the home and barn that I couldn't fit in the cattle shot. Who knew you could raise cattle so close to the ocean?

I tried like crazy to get a decent shot of these immense redwoods and this is the best I could do, through the windshield as I passed through the really old, big ones in the protected area. The ones around here are tiny in comparison, at only a yard in diameter and 50-60 feet tall. The biggest one I found in these parts (right here in the yard) gave up the ghost a while back and now serves as a great playhouse.

Well, that's enough for now. Let's see how this formats with the photos. More later.

Eureka!

2009-07-28T09:51:00.000-07:00

When I left Grants Pass, Oregon, yesterday around 12:30 pm, the temp was heading toward 100 degrees. As I traveled southeast on Route 199, Redwood Highway, toward the coast, I hoped it might be cooler near the water. It was so hot Sunday night (parked at Walmart with no A/C) that I had to see a movie I wasn't really interested in just to be able to spend a couple hours in an air conditioned building before trying to sleep. ("G Force," an animated feature starring guinea pigs and a star-nosed mole voiced by Nicholas Cage would have been a good choice for my grandson and me but not solo.)

When I climbed down from the motorhome at Crescent City, California (elevation 29 feet: quite a change), I had to go back and add another layer of clothing, the foggy breeze being a good 30-35 degrees cooler than my starting point. What a relief!

My first view of the Pacific Ocean was rather anticlimactic because of the fog, but I was pretty psyched nonetheless. I stopped at the visitor center, got directions to a good restaurant that had a place to recharge the laptop, and enjoyed my first "California cuisine," turkey pannini with feta, pesto and spinach. You will note that they put garbanzo beans in the salad and tied the setup with a piece of green rattan, neither of which I've ever seen in any restaurant I've frequented: yes, I am in another world now.

I decided to head south to Eureka to spend the night at Walmart. One problem: there ain't no stinkin' Walmart in Eureka, or anywhere close by. Yikes! It was about 8 pm and I didn't have a place to park! I got out my trusty Lesbian Connection directory and found several listings in Eureka. My third phone call was a charm and a lovely couple with their 19-month-old daughter and three dogs welcomed me for the night. Whew! That was a close call. I've never been in a town of 40,000+ that didn't have a Walmart. What's that about? These Californians are a strange breed, indeed.

California, Here I Come

2009-07-26T10:57:00.000-07:00

I leave Bend, Oregon, today and head south to Grant's Pass before pushing on to Highway 101, the Coast Highway, and a lovely drive down to Fort Bragg (not the North Carolina army post; about halfway between Eureka and San Francisco, on the coast) to visit the sister of an Asheville friend.

I'm trying to get going before noon for a change, so this will be a short message (forgive the funky formating; I can't fix it). I just want to share a couple of photos I forgot about, from Walmart in Olympia, WA. Yes, I know, sometimes you wonder if I have all my marbles, but this was a special Walmart and I have to share.

This is how you design a Walmart in the Pacific Northwest.

Note the timber-framing.

And where does this lovely shaded stairway lead?

Why, to the walking track, of course.

I'll leave you with a poem from my brother, who writes under the name Buxton Wells, and is actually a published poet.

March First
I’m snowblind in Tennessee,

wearing sunglasses indoors

like a half-dead celebrity,

and the noonday world

lies stunned in white light.

I have Whitney’s Star Finder for a visor,

a night of breaking glass for a cowl.

I wait for dusk when the snow will turn blue,

when the sun going down is a shriveled orange.

A bluish night on white ground

should be seen in God’s good time,

midnight and after.

Hildegard and her hundred cats may howl about eternity,

for there will be fire in the heavens,

like Christmas in Stalingrad

—heiliger nacht—time for all trekkers

in the snow to end their winter campaigns,

their woes just begun.

Next Stop: Bend

2009-07-24T12:09:00.000-07:00

It's just after Noon on Friday and I'm still pondering my next move. Do I go straight to Bend, Oregon, to visit my niece and attend my friend Patti's next reading (I was at her Portland reading last night), or do I swing south first and visit the capitol building in Salem? Gotta have that postcard, don't I? (BTW, the capitol building in Olympia was closed by the time I got there so this is my souvenir photo of the capital of Washington.)

Okay, then which road to Bend? Google maps shows that one road seems to be a bit bigger, and perhaps less curvy than the other. Since I will have to go over mountains to get to Bend, I want to choose the easiest route. I'll ask for travel advice in Salem.

After Bend I'm off to the redwood country of northern California for an extended visit with my Asheville friend Kali's sister, Marilou. I plan to take the coast highway and enjoy some incredible scenery along the way, which I'll share.

Gotta get goin' so that sonnet will have to wait...

An Oregon Trail

2009-07-23T13:12:00.000-07:00

I've left Alaska so far behind that I can't think of anything else to say about it (how quickly we, okay I, forget), so...onward!

Today I am in Portland, Oregon, having arrived day before yesterday at the home of my new friends, Glea (pronounced GLEE-uh) and Sue (pronounced SOO, tee hee). Yesterday Glea, a retired RN, and I drove over 100 miles each way to visit sights along the Columbia River Gorge, which is the boundary between Washington and Oregon. It was spectacular, and so nice to have a guide who likes beautiful scenery, museums, and food as much as I do (although I have had no trouble reducing my calorie intake from "cruise" to normal). A photo album of our trip should appear in the right sidebar by tomorrow.

Highlights, before I forget:

Multnomah (also Portland's county name) Falls is one of the highest continuously running falls in the country. They serve Eggs Benedict in their restaurant and the biscuits are heavenly.

Vista House, at the top of Crown Point State Scenic Corridor, has some interesting historical artifacts in its little museum, including a pair of ladies' shoes that typify those of that era (1915): they are so narrow that no living woman could put them on (sorry for the poor photo quality: it was taken through glass).

Sam Hill (as in "where in the Sam Hill...") built a mansion in the middle of nowhere, near Goldendale, Washington. Because he married railroad tycoon James J. Hill's daughter and became friends with Queen Marie of Romania (granddaughter of Queen Victoria of England) and sculptor Auguste Rodin's girlfriend Loie Fuller, there are some very interesting artifacts in this museum as well, including some wonderful paintings, some Rodin plaster casts and a bracelet made from Queen Victoria's hair (a common practice in those days).

Besides the house, which he never lived in, he also built a replica of England's Stonehenge, the country's first national World War I Veterans Memorial. We were tuckered out when we got there so we didn't get out of the car, but the bikers seemed to be enjoying it.

That's all for today. I've been challenged by my favorite critic, my sister Marcia, to write a sonnet, which I fully intend to do but it's already 2:45 p.m. and I've been at this computer since about 9:30 a.m. (where DO the days go?).

Wiki-Wiki

2009-07-19T15:24:00.004-07:00

This is actually Post #2 for today so you need to read the one below this one first--or not. It doesn't matter.

I'm trying to catch up on email, much of which is automatically sent from people I don't know (The Writer's Almanac, Daily Peace Quote, etc.), before it gets out of hand, so despite my headache (see below), I am forging ahead and just ran across this from Garrison Keillor (or his staff, whatever). Since, as you may have noticed if you follow the links in these posts, I'm such a big fan of Wikipedia, I couldn't wait to share this tidbit of wiki-history. The poem is nice, too. Aloha.

America the Beautiful--and Canada, Too

2009-07-19T13:13:00.007-07:00

Here's my Alaska poem.

State of Mind

Now I’ve been to Alaska
State of gold prospectors
(call them miners
but most mined only
stones and starvation)
State of claim jumpers who
Killed Tlingit, Haida, Tsimshian
Carvers of the great totems—
Raven, Bear, Eagle, Frog, Beaver—
Signifying clan history
State of animal trappers
Hunting fur species to near extinction
To supply adornments
State of fishers
Taking from the mouths of natives
To feed their conquerors
State of mastodons and mammoths
Lying around making petroleum
Sucked out of the ground
Converted to disease, death and damnation
State of indescribable beauty
Humongous plots
Where no man
Will ever go
(thank God)
Where I feel like
A flea on the ear of a
Southbound hound
Hitching a ride
On a friendly whale
Don’t think
Just ride

July 17
Aboard the Norwegian Star

The chosen photos are in a slide show in the sidebar, including captions. They speak for themselves, and are best viewed at full size so, as a reminder, single click on the slide show to enlarge the photos. When the window opens click on the "full screen" button near the upper left corner, then move your cursor near the bottom of the screen to open the play menu and click on the "play" button (shaped like a sideways triangle). You can also choose the number of seconds for each shot to play, which you will want to do in order to read some of the longer captions. Or press the "pause" icon as needed. Press the X to stop, then the back button a couple times to return to this post. Good luck.

I'm still recuperating from my vacation (today I have a raging headache) so perhaps tomorrow I'll be able to give you the highlights of my trip. The short version: it was awesome!

Oh yeah, be sure the read the Peace Quote, also in the sidebar. It's better than my poem, and written by a 4th grader. Brilliant.

Reports of My Death Are Premature

2009-07-18T15:25:00.004-07:00

I'm back. I'm tired. I'm fat. I'll write in the morning. Meanwhile, Patti Digh has published my obituary (an exercise in living the life you want to live). Read the one for Nancy Lee Hixson first, to get inspired.

Greetings from Juneau!

2009-07-14T13:30:00.002-07:00

I'm sitting in the restaurant at the top of the Norwegian Star, enjoying the view along with my lunch, and waiting for us to shove off northward again in about an hour. I'm about to run out of battery power and have no plug, so I will leave you for now with a refresher course on Henry David Thoreau, as taken from The Writer's Almanac from a couple days ago.

"It's the birthday of the man who said: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." That's Henry David Thoreau, (books by this author) born David Henry Thoreau in Concord, Massachusetts (1817). He grew up exploring the woods and fields of Massachusetts, encouraged by his mother to learn as much as he could from nature. He went to Harvard, but he didn't like it very much — he refused a diploma since it cost five dollars. He worked for a while in his father's pencil factory, and as a public school teacher, and he became close friends with Ralph Waldo Emerson. In 1841, the Emersons invited Thoreau to live with them and work as a handyman and gardener, and he helped take care of their children, taking them on nature walks and telling them stories. Thoreau stayed with the Emersons for two years, and during that time he worked on his writing, and through Emerson, became friends with many of the Transcendentalists. In 1842, Nathaniel Hawthorne and his wife rented some property from Emerson and moved to the area. When he first met Thoreau in 1842, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote in his journal: "Mr. Thoreau dined with us yesterday. He is a singular character — a young man with much of wild original nature still remaining in him; and so far as he is sophisticated, it is in a way and method of his own. He is as ugly as sin, long-nosed, queer-mouthed, and with uncouth and rustic, though courteous manners, corresponding very well with such an exterior." The two became good friends, and Thoreau planted a garden for the Hawthornes and did maintenance work for Ellery Channing and his wife.

In 1844, Emerson bought land on the shore of Walden Pond. Walden Pond was a pristine, 61-acre pond, surrounded by woods, and Emerson agreed to let his friend live on the land and build a cabin there. People often assume that Thoreau went out into the wilderness to write his famous treatise on nature, but in fact, he was living less than two miles from the village of Concord. He had regular dinners with friends, continued to do odd jobs for the Emersons, and had frequent visitors. The book he was so committed to writing at Walden Pond was called A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers, about a trip he had taken with his brother. He finished it and published it himself, but it was a flop — he sold fewer than 300 copies.

But during the two years he was at Walden Pond, he also kept a journal, and after he left, he put it together as a manuscript. In 1854, he published Walden, or Life in the Woods, which has become a beloved classic.

The Thoreau Society was founded in 1941, making it the oldest society devoted to an American author. It's also the largest. Every July, there is a four-day gathering at Walden Pond to celebrate Thoreau's birthday.

In the conclusion to Walden, Thoreau wrote, "I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."

Here, here.

This Is the Best Part of Your Life

2009-07-10T16:16:00.002-07:00

I'm hot and sweaty from packing for the cruise so Susan Werner's poetry will suffice today. I not only couldn't have said it better, I couldn't have said it nearly so well.

Stay in the Present.

Puppies, Kitties, Chanting

2009-07-08T11:10:00.005-07:00

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
- C. S. Lewis

Wow, religion and politics in as many days. When my sister Marcia pointed this out to me in a comment, I told her those are the things that are on my mind. She says I might want to write about puppies and kitties today. But look at today's Peace Quote above; it fits so well with the lessons I'm trying to learn.

When I was preparing to leave Asheville I asked a friend for some "chant music" for the road. Her spiritual practice includes more formal meditation than mine and I was sure she had some appropriate music to accompany her sitting. My favorite CD from her is "Dakshina" by Deva Premal, a German-born woman with a lovely alto voice who sings Hindu chants. Here's one of my favorite cuts from the album. I recommend that you just listen and not get hung up on what it means (no, that's not a swastika). I love it for the music and the voice. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SUoY-bfweg

If you want to see what she looks like, here's another Youtube video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtOXRchcHek

I'd rather stay here and write a poem for you but it's 2 p.m. and I must go up to Shoreline and dump my holding tanks. I should have done it yesterday. Tomorrow is another day.

Still Hung Up With the Flag

2009-07-07T11:48:00.004-07:00

Support your country 100% of the time. Support your government when they deserve it.
-Mark Twain

A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.
-Edward Abbey

Patriotism is your conviction that this country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it.
-George Bernard Shaw

[Patriotism] is love tempered by wisdom and powered by goodness and obligation.
-Paige Edmiston

I heard an interview with Eric Liu and Nick Hanauer, co-founders of The True Patriot Network. They've written a new book, aptly titled The True Patriot, in which they declare:

"...when you unpack true American patriotism — the idea of country before self — what you discover is a moral framework that goes back to this nation's founding, and that is inherently progressive. Living by such principles as service, stewardship, tolerance, and equality of opportunity, true patriots show that devotion to this nation means working to help America reach its exceptional potential and promise."

I like that better than "Love It or Leave It," don't you? Eric and Nick's raison d'etre is to convince political progressives (we used to be liberals but that's a dirty word now) that we should reclaim the word 'patriotism,' which conservatives have so successfully used against us (another one being God). Their tagline is "Patriotism is Progressive."

The last quote above comes from their website, www.TruePat.org. Paige Edmiston, a senior at Federal Way High School, Federal Way, Washington, just south of here, won a $25,000 scholarship from The True Patriot Network for her essay What True Patriotism Means to Me: A New Breed of Superhero for the 21st Century. I feel better now. I'm counting on Paige to carry my flag while I stand at attention with my hand over my heart.

Finding God

2009-07-06T09:36:00.008-07:00

If you don't find God in the next person you meet, it's a waste of time looking for him further.
- Mohandas K. Gandhi

If you don't know much about Gandhi I highly recommend any biography and also his autobiography The Story of My Experiments with Truth, in which he says, "I must reduce myself to zero. So long as a man does not of his own free will put himself last among his fellow creatures, there is no salvation for him. Ahimsa is the farthest limit of humility." Ahimsa is pure selfless love for every human being, and indeed for every living creature. It is non-injury in mind, word and deed.

Eckhard Tolle might say Gandhi was referring to the release of the egoic mind, which is that voice in the head, the thought process that continually reminds us that we are superior to others: smarter, better looking, more creative, more loving, more spiritual (you see where thinking can lead?). He says Descartes got it wrong: I Am despite the fact that I think; or, put another way, I Am only when I don't think.

Eckhart interprets Jesus' admonition to "Love your neighbor as yourself," literally. In other words, Jesus didn't mean love your neighbor as you love yourself; he meant love him because he is yourself. Your neighbor--and you--are merely the form that Consciousness/Essence/Being/Spirit/Presence/God has taken in this moment, in this blink of the cosmic eye. We are all merely the life force of the universe in human form.

By the way, if you identify as Christian--or ever did--Tolle draws comparisons with Jesus' teachings throughout his own teachings in a way that has re-opened my mind to true Christianity after many years of disappointment with the religion of my youth. I had painted Christianity with the same broad brush I used on all Christians; not that I wasn't aware of my prejudice, I just didn't know how to give it up. Reading Tolle has been worth my time if for no other reason than this.

Peace.

Bread and Roses

2009-07-05T12:52:00.004-07:00

As we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.
-Verse 3, song adapted by Mimi Farina from a poem by James Oppenheim, 1911

According to Wikipedia, Macy's fireworks display costs $350,000. That's as close as I could get to finding out how much Seattle spent on its really wonderful show last night over Lake Union. My pics are lousy because I don't have the right camera, but they are good enough (until the battery ran out) for a remembrance of a lovely evening with new friends and a GREAT VIEW from Pat's porch. I would have tried for a skyline shot before it got dark but for some serious power lines blocking an otherwise breath-taking view.

In these tough economic times, is it a good use of limited resources to blow up $350,000? A couple of the women in our group were aghast at the fireworks that private citizens were sending up prior to the main event. Some were almost as good as what we were all waiting until 10 pm to see. "Why do they waste all that money?" someone said, with murmurs of agreement among those who heard her remark. No one thought the city or the taxpayers were wasting money, at least they didn't say so.

Is it because $350,000 is such a drop in the bucket in a multi-million-dollar budget? Or because it's already a done deal and they had no real say in the matter? Is it better to entertain the poor than to feed them? I'm just sayin'.

What would Jesus do?

America, America, God shed his grace on thee.

I love this last one for its silouettes of small boats afloat in a Red Sea.

Pass Me Another Hot Dog, Tom

2009-07-04T11:58:00.004-07:00

Any system of religion that has anything in it that shocks the mind of a child, cannot be true.

-Thomas Paine

I'm still ambivalent about the flag, but not about Independence Day. That's the kind of commemoration I can get into, "Question Authority" being one of my favorite mottos. Of course, when I became the authority--and an untrustworthy one, at that--upon attaining the ripe old age of thirty, that was a peanut of a different color: it was 1977 and poor ol' Jimmy Carter was in charge--and my daughter was born.

If the Revolutionary part of our founding as free and independent states could have been accomplished without the War part I'd be even more keen, but you can't make a hot dog without grinding ox lips, so I guess it was for the best in the long run.

The other day I heard an interview with Christopher Hitchens on NPR's Talk of the Nation. He's the author of a new book about the influence of Thomas Paine on the French Revolution as well as the American, entitled Thomas Paine's Rights of Man: A Biography. It is the latest in the publisher's series on "Books That Changed the World." Hitchens makes Paine's life sound like a movie screenplay (not necessarily a bad thing) and I wanted to rush right out and get a copy.

The writings of Paine himself are among a select few from that long ago time that are still in print. You can probably find Common Sense and Rights of Man in any book store. I've read books on Adams and Jefferson (my trip to Monticello was akin to a spiritual experience) and I think a biography of Paine should be on that list. The Paine quote above is a favorite of mine from my days as a staunch Unitarian Universalist. He also wrote a more oft-quoted line: "These are the times that try men's souls." Everybody's used that one.

If you haven't read about the Revolutionary War since high school, and if you particularly don't care for non-fiction (David McCullough's works being my first choice), I recommend a novel about John and Abigail Adams entitled Those Who Love by Irving Stone. It's an easy read and provides good historical background.

Have a great holiday and don't burn yourself.

Big News

2009-07-03T14:33:00.009-07:00

Here's that recipe I promised for Salsa Couscous Chicken, the Pillsbury Bake-Off Winner. If you like Mediterranean food--flavored with cumin, cinnamon, raisins and almonds--you'll love the way my friend Diane's friend Ellie made mexican salsa taste like it came from Morocco. In case you didn't know, the Pillsbury folks don't require that contestants use only traditional baking ingredients; in 1998, the year this recipe won the $1 million, Old El Paso Salsa was on the list of acceptable ingredients (I assume Pillsbury owns the company). It isn't on the 2009 list, but this year contestants can use certain Green Giant veggies, among other things. Bon appetit!

Now for the big news: I'm going on a cruise to Alaska! A woman on a local listserve put out a call for a stateroom-mate for a cruise leaving on July 11, a week from tomorrow. It's a cheap deal on a "family" cruise with Rosie O'Donnell: all inclusive for one week, $577. I couldn't drive up there for that! Now I can get a postcard of the Juneau capitol. Woo-hoo! Folks say being in Alaska is like being in a different country--or perhaps just a different time. I can't wait.

Closer to home, I've been organizing my photos and found a couple from Montana that are pretty special. See what you think.

This is the glacier for which the national park was named. There's a sign with pictures depicting how much it has shrunk.

These guys are the real deal, you just can't see the cows because I didn't get the shot in time.

I love the clouds in this photo, too.

Montana Song
Big sky country spring
Ice, earth, wind moving in time
In the car we sing

July 3, 2009
Seattle

It's the Now Again

2009-07-02T09:08:00.012-07:00

The high note is not the only thing.
- Placido Domingo

If you're reading this on Facebook, I've included the Daily Peace Quote above, there being no sidebar on FB, because the wise words of P. Domingo are the text for today's "homilita" (that's Spanglish).

When I began my journey of discovery a year ago this month, I decided I would blog for all those folks who kept saying, "Now you keep in touch, y' hear." (That's how they talk in North Carolina, after which they say, "C'mere and let me hug yer neck.") I finally summoned the nerve to write my first post in September. It contained, among other random yet oh, so interesting ruminations, the question of what I would do to make the world a better place while enjoying the selfish pleasures of retirement.

Here's the simple truth about that: making the world a better place is not only about the world, it's about me and what I need to feel good about myself. Because making the world a better place comes with recognition for my accomplishment and for me, Recognition=Contentment.

What I have learned, with the help of Eckhart Tolle, is that learning to be in the Present is the greatest accomplishment of my life, and that that alone will help the world more than all the committees, marches, drives, campaigns, donations of time and talent, petitions, solicitations, letters and phone calls combined. And what's more, I don't need to be recognized by anyone but myself in order to be contented. If you don't believe me, read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose, and try it for yourself. Or ask Oprah.

By the way, Eckhart has a new TV series you can subscribe to online (for a fee) at http://www.eckharttolletv.com/. If you have never seen or heard him, you may be surprised by this little beige, unprepossessing man with the British/German accent and the subtle sense of humor. He lives near here, in fact, in Vancouver, BC. Here's a little YouTube sample for you to try: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwr4zCuEmw0, which is taken from a PBS show and is introduced by two women who set it up for you.

Singer/songwriter Bill Staines reiterates what Mr. Domingo says:

All God's critters got a place in the choir
Some sing low, some sing higher
Some sing out loud on the telephone wire
And some just clap their hands, or paws
Or anything they got.

What is the sound of one bee clapping?

First Yesterday, Then Today

2009-06-30T09:35:00.013-07:00

As sometimes happens, yesterday I started writing a post that I didn't finish, so today I'll show you what I wrote yesterday, and then I'll write what I want to say today, which is actually based on something I read yesterday. Tomorrow I'll write something about tomorrow...maybe. Who's on first?

Before I go any further, I need to set the record straight (so to speak). I didn't provide a lot of details about my short stay in Edmonds because, as you may recall, I've taken a vow not to whine/complain/gossip, etc. But if I gave the impression that I was staying with Rick Steves, I need to disabuse you of that notion. I just dropped his name because Greg told me Mr. Steves lives in Edmonds, that's all. Now that we've cleared that up...

Last night (which was actually night before last, are you with me?) I had dinner with my charming new host, Diane, of the lovely garden. I brought to the feast a baking potato and fresh cherries, which are all the rage in Washington this time of year (cherries, that is, not potatoes). Diane provided leftover chicken thighs that she baked using the Pillsbury Bake-Off-million-dollar-prize-winning recipe, invented by a woman she knows! Here's the recipe:

(This is where I stopped yesterday because Diane wasn't home and I couldn't get the recipe. I just called the house to see if I could come in and get it now but the machine picked up so I still don't have it. But it's a good one and it's coming, I promise.)

So here's what I just wrote today:

Wednesday, July 1, 2009
What I want to share today is inspired, once again, by The Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor, for June 30, 2009, who writes:

"On this day in 1936 Margaret Mitchell's (books by this author) novel Gone With the Wind was first published.

"In 1920, Mitchell fell off a horse and suffered terrible injuries. She sort of recovered from the fall, but she kept reinjuring herself in different ways, and a few years later she had to quit her job as a reporter with The Atlanta Journal and stay in bed. Her husband, a newspaper editor, would go to the Atlanta library and bring her back piles of books to read so she could occupy herself while bedridden. One day, he came home and said, 'I have brought you all of the books that I think you can handle from the library. I wish you would write one yourself.'

"He then went out and got a Remington typewriter. When he presented it to his wife, Margaret, he said, 'Madam, I greet you on the beginning of a new career.' She asked him what she should write about, and her editor-husband gave her the famous 'Write what you know' line.

"So she wrote about Southern belles, and she expanded upon family stories and the stories she'd heard from Civil War veterans while she was growing up in Georgia. The one-bedroom apartment that she and her husband lived in was cramped, and she called it "The Dump." She would sit and write in every nook and corner of the tiny place, working in the bedroom or the kitchen or the hallway.

"She told almost no one except her husband that she was writing a novel. When friends came over to their place, which happened often, she'd hide the manuscript under the bed or the couch.
But one of her Atlanta friends, Lois Cole, had found chunks of the manuscript lying around that cramped apartment. Cole was now living in New York City and working in the publishing industry. Cole told her boss at Macmillan, Harold Latham, that her witty Southern friend 'might be concealing a literary treasure.'

"Latham went down to Atlanta to pay Margaret Mitchell a visit and ask her about the novel. Mitchell denied its existence. He spent the day with her, following along on outings with her friends, and asked about the novel again in a car full of her girlfriends. Mitchell changed the subject. But when Latham got out of the car, all of her friends in the car kept up the questioning. One friend was adamant that Mitchell was working on a novel, and asked why she hadn't shown it to Latham. Mitchell said that it was 'lousy' and that she was 'ashamed of it.' The friend goaded, 'Well, I dare say. Really, I wouldn't take you for the type to write a successful book. You don't take your life seriously enough to be a novelist.'

"That did it — Margaret Mitchell was furious and galvanized. She hurried back to her cramped apartment, grabbed the assorted piles of manuscript and shoved them into a suitcase, and drove it over to the hotel where Latham was staying. When stacked up vertically in one pile, the manuscript was 5 feet high. She delivered it to him in the lobby, saying, 'Take it before I change my mind.'

"It was published on this day in 1936, and immediately it was a sensation. Reports abound of people in Atlanta staying up all night to read Mitchell's novel that summer of 1936. It revitalized the publishing industry (italics mine). The next year, Mitchell won the Pulitzer Prize. Her book was made into a movie starring Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh, and when it had its premiere in Atlanta in 1939, Margaret Mitchell was there at the Loew's Grand Theater with the movie stars.

"The cramped apartment in which Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone With the Wind is now the centerpiece of the Margaret Mitchell House in midtown Atlanta, which reopens this weekend after a long period of renovation. There are tours of the apartment, historical performances, and a museum devoted to her life and work."

Now that is a story about a writer who wasn't a writer until she wrote a Pulizer Prize-winner that, for some reason, does not intimidate me, probably because although I never read the book, I didn't particularly like the movie. It makes me think, geewhiz, if Gone With the Wind can be a prize winner surely I can write something as good as that. Well...I could if I wanted to! And if I did, I wouldn't tell you!

Here's a pithy little poem for you while you're waiting for my epic novel.

Tara Revisited

Margaret Mitchell stole a pickle
All on a summer’s day
When Margaret Mitchell ate the pickle
Here’s what she had to say:
As God is my witness,
I’ll never be hungry again!

July 1, 2009
Seattle

(And I suppose she wasn't, damn her eyes.)

Oh Those Lazy Days of Summer

2009-06-29T15:30:00.010-07:00

I'm back in Seattle, in a neighborhood known as Columbia City, an older part of town than Madison Park, with little ethnic businesses and people who don't all look alike. I'm staying with my new friend Diane on top of a hill (but flat parking--woo-hoo) with a great view of the city and the Cascade Mountains. It's not a good day for a photo--kinda hazy--so I'll try tomorrow, although the temperature is predicted to be in the high 70s to low 80s so it is likely to be hazy again. I certainly can't complain about the weather. It's been glorious!

Today I took a walk through Diane's garden, which is indescribably delicious so you'll just have to look at the slideshow (sidebar). Then I walked down a really big hill (and back up--ugh) to scout out the local availability of a grocery store, etc. What luck: Safeway, Starbucks (and even better, Tully's Coffee Cafe, which has FREE WiFi), Walgreens, Hollywood Video, Taco Bell...everything a girl could want, including several ethnic restaurants and a tiny grocery store run by a beautiful dark-eyed, caramel-colored woman who would let me take her picture but wouldn't look at the camera.

Here's perhaps my favorite photo of Diane's garden (I love all the little tiny plants growing from cracks and crevices) and a poem that doesn't do it justice either.

Diane’s Garden: Act Two

Walk gently in June
In Diane’s later garden
Tip-toe along the path where
Perhaps
Tulips had bowed fresher cups
In homage to faded Daffodils in the pit
Great golden horns that trumpeted
A silent score
To herald the Awakening
And blasted sunbeams soon lilac-scented
Into spectrum shards that glaze the greens
(Act I following the Crocus Overture).
I arrive late due to a previous engagement
Feel my way between the rows
Excuse myself for stepping on toes
(Oh the Baby Tears they flow)
A tiny orb-weaving usher holds me
Behind a silken rope
While a hummingbird scolds me
From the box seats.
Sans playbill I can only guess
Names of players
The script I know
Characters great and small
Nodding pointing climbing creeping
Across an igneous stage
Wardrobe bright or fading
Buttons and bows
Flounces and frills
Everyone on cue now
Take a bow
Bravo!

June 29, 2009
Seattle

Dykes for Days

2009-06-28T16:33:00.007-07:00

I attended the Seattle Dyke March in honor of Gay Pride yesterday. Woo-hoo! The weather was perfect and I met more great Seattle women through my connection with the Over 40s Lesbians group that meets every Tuesday evening. I'm not going to put up the pictures of naked breasts but there was plenty of T&A on full view. There were walkers of all ages and colors.

The nips were all covered with paint or pasties so it was all in fun and very "tasteful."

The Clothesline Project had a display that was very moving, as always. It's a program started on Cape Cod, MA, in 1990 as a vehicle for women affected by violence to express their emotions by decorating a shirt. They then hang the shirt on a clothesline to be viewed by others as testimony to the problem of violence against women.

These women did a great Kung Fu demonstration wherein they tossed each other around and pretended to be kicking in knees and poking out eyes--all in self-defense, of course.

Nice banner, huh? I made it myself. A few of our group, including an 80-year-old and a 12-year-old on crutches (and me and my new friend Fai), walked about 8 blocks and then cut out to enjoy some great Mexican food. Now that's what I call marchin' smart. It reminded me of that Stella Artois ad they're playing during movie previews these days where the two Italian brothers in the bike race have a flat tire in front of the little restaurant and never finish the race, just like Papa.

And here's my poem to commemorate the day:

Dyke March

We made the signs
We joined the throng
Amazons
With bare breasts
In the Broadway wilderness
A too brief mingling
Joy
Laughter
Singing
Power
Women together
We told our stories
In the dark
An inner glow
Lighting my way
Home.

June 28, 2009
Seattle

It's A Dog's Life

2009-06-26T16:35:00.011-07:00

The Peace Quote for today (see sidebar) is so wonderful I decided to rhapsodize about some of my cool dog friends instead of whining about my current living situation. Let's just say the Edmonds deal didn't work out. But I'm moving again tomorrow so everything's copacetic. (Please excuse the screwy formatting in this post. It's the photos and I can't seem to fix it.)

My newest dog pal is Roger, who is Greg's 14-year-old schnauzer mix. He and I hit it off pretty quickly and I miss him now that I'm not parked in front of Greg's condo, where Roger would come and see me and sometimes leave a little something (which Greg dutifully bagged, like any good dog owner does). Someone once remarked that if the first thing a visitor from another planet spotted was an upright bipedal humanoid following a quadripedal canine around picking up its droppings and then carrying them around in a little bag, the alien would probably assume that dogs rule here on Earth--and don't they just. Roger loves to come into my motorhome to check for crumbs. There's nothing like a dog for keeping your floors clean and shiny.

Then there's my new Houston dog pal Lena, who's also fairly old (sorry Mary Helen, I can't remember). She's a border collie mix who is a sweetheart once you get to know her. She and I used to have good long walks together while MH was at work, and it didn't take long for her to learn just what I wanted her to do (no barking at the neighbors, walk beside me without pulling, ignoring the dogs behind the fences). I miss our daily walks.

My brother-in-law's beagle Gracie (with the heart on her side) is the queen of the food sniffers. She and I didn't spend much time together because she is Eddie's dog and no one else's; wherever he goes, she goes. It didn't take long for my sister Marcia to realize that if she were going to get any dog time she would have to get her own, so along came Trixie, the cairn terrier. Trixie and I also used to take long walks while Marcia was at work, and she's a great ball fetcher.

I've done portraits of everyone except Roger because I've had trouble getting a good photo, but I intend to try again. The portraits are in the sidebar under All In The Family Pet Portraits. Tell your friends.

I'd write a dog poem, but the comparison with Mary Oliver would be painful so maybe I'll be inspired tomorrow. Besides, I want to get back to my book. Have you read Reading Lolita in Tehran? It's a must for historical background on what led up to the happenings there now.

Hope you are enjoying my Madison Park photo slideshow. I forgot to mention that you can click on a photo to make it bigger, which you probably already knew.

Moving Day

2009-06-23T10:59:00.004-07:00

I've been parked on the street near Greg's condo since a week ago Friday, all that time searching for a more "permanent" home, where I can plug into the big grid and juice up: microwave and computer being the really important appliances that make a home a home. I'm going up to Edmonds this afternoon (pop. 40,000; 87% white; median family income $85,000) to check out the home of a woman who is a retired substance-abuse counselor now working as a writer. I don't know what she writes but it impresses the hellouta me that she calls herself one.

So today I took my camera on my last walk in Madison Park. But instead of filling up all this space with photos I'll put them into a slideshow in the right sidebar. I'm also going to see if I can put them into a Picasa link so you can enlarge them for better viewing. A fellow blogger has done that so I am going to her blog and see if I can figure it out.

I will, however, share just a few photos in case you don't want to open the album. One is for my blogger friend Linda who likes flower photos. Here are those lavenders we talked about, and some other purple stuff...

And a photo of a house that's for sale here in the Madison Park neighborhood, which is sandwiched between the Arboretum and Lake Washington. It's really a lovely neighborhood, with homes, condos, apartments, shops (even a hardware and a grocery store), salons, coffee shops, restaurants, bars: just about anything you would need can be found here except a library, a post office and an adult bookstore--which I don't need but you might).

This fine home can be yours for a mere $1,695,000. Taxes: $14,231. (Seattle, in case you're interested, has a population of 595,000 in the city and 3.2 million in the metro; 74% white; median family income $62,000).

This last one is for my older siblings (the "little boys" were not old enough to remember). As I passed this hedge a very familiar scent stopped me in my tracks. This is the species of hedge that was in front of our first home in Davenport, Iowa, where we lived from about 1951-1957. Ours didn't look like this because Dad used to keep it trimmed to about four feet tall and perhaps 18 inches deep, but sometimes, maybe right before the first spring trimming, the flowers would come out. Frankly, they stink, but it's a childhood thing, you know?

Okay, I lied. Here are two more pictures that I couldn't resist showing you, and they need an explanation. If you look near the top of this "tree" you'll see a streetlight poking through the leaves.

Here's what it looks like inside...

Pretty cool, huh? More soon, from Edmonds, WA, home of Rick Steves, the travel guy.

Go To The Laundromat

2009-06-22T10:26:00.009-07:00

I started this yesterday and ran out of time...

Sunday, June 21, 2009

According to one website, the Summer Solstice arrived at 10:45 p.m. last night for those of us living in the Pacific Daylight Time zone. But most folks will say it is today, and who's counting anyway? According to Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac, "One of the biggest destinations for the summer solstice is Stonehenge in England; today it is the place for New Agers such as neo-druids, neo-pagans, and Wiccans to gather, along with college-age revelers, wholesome families, romantic couples, and shoestring backpackers. And it's the only day of the year the park service offers free parking, free admission, and the opportunity to stay at the monument overnight."

I hope to visit Stonehenge some day, preferably on the summer solstice, for the free admission, free parking, and overnight stay with all those neo-whozits. It sounds like a great spiritual party. Today, I'm celebrating with a bunch of lesbians at, what else, a potluck.

Monday, June 22, 2009

At 10 a.m. yesterday, as I was writing that post, I got a call from my new friend Fai from the Over 40s Lesbians group to remind me that I had promised to help make a banner and signs for the Dyke March next Saturday in honor of Gay Pride; the big march is Sunday. The potluck was to be at Fai's house, too, so I spent a lovely day with new friends, being creative and getting to know Fai better. At 5 p.m. about 25 more wonderful women showed up with fabulous food. True to form, there was very little meat, just some bits of chicken mixed into a green salad and some shredded salmon tossed with another green salad. We grilled some tofu kabobs and gorged ourselves on a wide variety of vegetable dishes, including a classic potato salad just like Mom used to make. Why are so many lesbians vegetarians? I must research this phenomenon sometime. I'm sure it has something to do with patriarchy. Doesn't everything?

I probably had thought I would write a solstice poem yesterday but today I am uninspired by all that. It's laundry day and something a bit more mundane seems appropriate.

Laundry Day

My brother is moving to a house

Where he won't have to schlep his dirty duds

To a communal laundry room.

For years I lived in a tiny house

Sans hooksup even

Took my two weeks worth

Of underwear and such

To a nearby

Laundromat

Washateria

Launderette

Loaded the washer and practiced my Spanish

Eavesdropping on families of

Short

Brown-skinned immigrants

(In my head)

"Hola. Su nina es muy bonita."

Loaded the dryer and went for coffee

And a Cranberry Walnut muffin

Quarters for the machines

Twenty

Coffee and muffin

Fourteen

Hearing beautiful dark-eyed children

Speaking a foreign language

Just like they knew what they were saying

Priceless.

June 22, 2009

Seattle

(While searching for more synonyms for laundromat I stumbled across this very cool link. Check it out if you would like to know how to spell laundromat in American Sign Language, British Finger Spelling--with animation--Morse code, and semaphores, you know those signal flags.)

And here's an appropriate Laundry Day photo from the Seattle Summer Solstice Parade.

Playing With Blocks

2009-06-20T16:31:00.010-07:00

My friend Patti Digh (of the 37 Days blog and the book about what you would do if you knew you only had 37 days to live...I may have mentioned her once or twice) co-hosted a free telecoaching session the other evening entitled "Playing With Blocks." It was about the things that block us from doing the "important things," the life goals that we set for ourselves that are the most meaningful, the things we tend to put off while we are taking care of business. We all have them: the important things and the blocks.

I tried to convince myself that I didn't have to worry about the blocks anymore, now that I'm retired and have all the time I need to accomplish those "important things." I mean, it's just a matter of having enough time, isn't it? You can't do great things if you have a job, or a young family, or a sick dog, or "The Office" is on, or...well, you know. Lucky me, I have the time, no dog and no TV. Problem solved, right?

The blocks fall into three main categories:
1) False comparisons with Others
2) False expectations of Self
3) False investment in "The Story"

I didn't join the teleconference (and I haven't listened to the tape yet) but I know what those three things mean without having heard a word. You do, too, if you have an important thing that you can't seem to get around to doing.

Here's what happened to me today. I read in The Writer's Almanac:
It's the birthday of poet and novelist Vikram Seth, (books by this author) born in Calcutta, India (1952). Seth grew up in India, went to Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and moved out to Northern California to study economics in graduate school. One day got fed up of entering numbers into a computer database. He walked into a bookstore and up to the poetry section. He pulled off the shelf Pushkin's novel in verse, Eugene Onegin. Seth was so impressed and obsessed with the book that he decided to quit working on his master's thesis for a while and write his own novel in verse.

He never finished his graduate school economics project, but he did write that novel in verse, published in 1986 as The Golden Gate. Seth's native language is Hindi. He writes in English, and he's fluent in Mandarin and Urdu, Pakistan's national language. He's also studied Welsh, German, and French. He plays the cello and the Indian flute, and he sings German lieder. His most recent book is a work of nonfiction, Two Lives (2005), a love story about his Indian great uncle and German Jewish great aunt.

Now, I never said I wanted to be a great poet, but if I wanted to, let's say, write a novel in verse, reading this would have stopped me cold (see Block #1 above). What's worse is having a friend who wrote a terrific book and is coming out with a new one next year, and who is now teaching a class on how not to get blocked. I'm so bummed.

On to Block #2. If one wanted to, oh, I don't know, commit to writing a poem every day, but one didn't feel like writing a poem on Saturday, one might decide that one was no better than a slug, and therefore, not even try to write a poem on Sunday, or Monday, and then just give it up altogether.

I'm not even going to get into Block #3 because that is a story I'm sure you don't want to hear.

So let's just look at pictures of naked women, shall we? Greg and I went to the Seattle Summer Solstice Parade today and I took about a dozen pictures of painted naked people on bicycles. Some of them are even men. Enjoy.

At least these young ladies remembered to wear their helmets.

Finally, the Rain

2009-06-19T11:24:00.005-07:00

I've been in Seattle rain before. It's not nearly as menacing as Houston rain, which comes down in buckets and fills the underpasses so your car becomes a boat while you're trying to get home through rush-hour traffic. In fact, the Seattle rain I've experienced is such a gentle misting rain that you hardly need an umbrella. It's a small price to pay for the luxuriant foliage that thrives in this climate.

Greg and I didn't make it to Whidbey Island but we went to Kubota Garden, which was started in 1927 by a Japanese immigrant and protected from development in 1981 when the core 4.5 acres were designated a historic landmark. What a lovely spot. I've always enjoyed Japanese gardens (if you go to this link, just press 'cancel' if it tells you to download Japanese language), and even though this one is a bit more...well... more...than I have seen other places, it's unique plantings soon filled up my camera's memory. I'll bore you with only a few photos.

You see what I mean about "more?"

In honor of my visit to the garden, and despite the fact that my sister says Haiku is "cheating," here's another:

Seattle Spring

In Seattle spring

Riotous color abounds

Green both king and queen

June 19, 2009

Seattle

And here's that photo from the living room window (actually the balcony) that I promised. Don't you love the little table and chairs at the end of the dock?

A Wish for Today

2009-06-18T09:15:00.005-07:00

Nobody sees a flower - really - it is so small it takes time - we haven't time - and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
- Georgia O'Keeffe

Where did yesterday go (or the last 62 years, for that matter)? Never mind. It's today and it's good.

My friend Greg and I are planning a little out-of-town trip up north to Whidbey Island, about which I know very little except that it was once inhabited by members of the Lower Skagit, Swinomish, Suquamish, Snohomish (gesundheit) and other Native American tribes but now hosts some 58,211 "Whidbey Islanders," most of whom I imagine are descendants of a somewhat paler race. It's supposed to be beautiful country but I can't imagine that it's more beautiful than where I am right this minute. If I'd remembered to bring my camera inside I'd take a picture for you of the view of Lake Washington from Greg's living room window.

Speaking of sight-seeing, it turns out I have come to Seattle at the right time, as even the national news is reporting that we have just broken the record for the number of days in a row without measureable rainfall: 29. I will enjoy every minute, rain or no rain.

Here's a poem for you...

Ride, Sally, Ride

On this day
In 1983 Sally Ride took the ride
Of her life
Aboard the Challenger
(The most fun she will ever have
In her life she says)
Why her and not
Christa McAuliffe
Whose time came
Three years later
For 73 seconds
But no more?
What’s it all about?
Planning ahead?
Already there are hundreds
Of millions
Of pieces
Of space trash floating
In our region of the galaxy.
If we’re looking for an upgrade
We’d better increase the fine
For littering.
Sally was my hero
The youngest
The first woman in space
I wish she’d been
The last.

June 18, 2009
Seattle

BTW, I've removed the "On This Day in History" thing from this site because it appears that whoever is "the decider" thinks most of the things that were worth remembering from history had to do with war. How sad.

Bloomsday Revisited

2009-06-16T13:58:00.009-07:00

Ulysses
by James Joyce
"O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the fig trees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rose gardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes."

I have read Joyce, but not this Joyce. God knows I've tried (sort of) but it was too much for me. The reputation of Ulysses had preceded it, of course, most recently in a series of NPR interviews a year or so ago. People were asked what fluff they were reading over the summer, and at the end of the interview they were asked what serious book they would read if they had all the time in the world. More than one interviewee claimed it would be Ulysses. So when a free paperback copy presented itself to me I took up the tome and gave it a go. Either those people in the interviews were big fat liars or they didn't really know any more about the book than I did. And I thought Gertrude Stein was a challenge!

Anyway, today is Bloomsday after the hero of the book, Leopold Bloom, and it celebrates the single day in which the entire story takes place, in Dublin, in 1904. "Joyceans" all over the world are celebrating with staged readings and all manner of merry-making. I'm sorry, but I don't get it. Call me a Philistine.

But if you like Joyce, here's a poem for you.

Jimmy I Hardly Knew Ye

O and I am like a cloud kissed dew drop in Seattle all damp and smooth a stone lapped in the shallows of the lake where sun dappled bees dip their tiny feet in pools of cool liquid gold and fire upon a green and pleasant hill where I dreamed of a long ago popsicle banana or possibly grape and how the two halves broke across the middle instead of along the seam and I cried because my brother ran away with the sticks and left me only the melting top half sticky and sweet running down my fingers like watery blood as it was actually cherry not banana or grape and I said no and no again and ran after but he only laughed and I dropped the wet sticky mess on the sidewalk where it melted like like a popsicle on a hot sidewalk.

June 16, 2009

Seattle

This is my friend Greg's condo on Lake Washington, where I am temporarily parked. Not too shabby.

Everything is lush and colorful here. I can't possibly take pictures of all the beautiful flowers. I'd never have time for anything else.

Dig this purple daylily.

I believe this is St. John's Wort, the stuff I used to take in capsule form when I was going through menopause. If you're depressed and irritable you might try some. You'll need it after you read Joyce.

For All the Pilgrims

2009-06-15T08:13:00.007-07:00

You have much more power when you are working for the right thing than when you are working against the wrong thing.
- Peace Pilgrim (1908-1981)

I wonder why I never heard of Peace Pilgrim until this Daily Peace Quote came into my inbox? It could be because she died in 1981, a busy year for me, what with a 4-year-old daughter to raise on my own while attending college. I wasn't really into the "peace movement" then. Other kinds of movements were capturing my attention: I came out that year.

I had been fairly active in the anti-war movement of the 60s and 70s, but that's not the same as working for peace. I had to discover that on my own, and not very long ago at that. Peace Pilgrim was a woman who knew it much sooner, and she set off on foot in 1953 to spread the word. What an incredible journey it must have been.

Today's poem honors Peace Pilgrim and also the birthday of Kobayashi Issa, born in Japan in 1763, a master of Haiku.

Toward Peace

To move toward Peace
Study the ways of Nature
The wisest teacher.

June 15, 2009
Seattle

Flag Day

2009-06-14T17:31:00.005-07:00

Oh, my, it's 7:30 p.m. and I haven't written a poem. This is going to be harder than I thought. Well...
Flag Day

I am ambivalent about the flag.
When I see it protruding from the house
In the next block
Or, even more suspect,
Hanging on a specially-installed pole
In a circle of concrete
Surrounded by red geraniums,
Blue salvia,
And white flox,
I wonder if the owner is one of those
"Love It or Leave It" people,
And I bristle.
I am from the flag-burning generation,
The ones who marched
And fled to Canada
And stopped the war.
But what about Allegiance? you ask.
What about Liberty and Justice for All? I reply.

June 14, 2009
Seattle

Something For Everyone

2009-06-13T10:23:00.005-07:00

My new blogging friend at Wander to the Wayside says she doesn't know how she'll take to the poem-a-day idea (what does it all mean?) but she likes pictures of scenery. Here's some of each.

On This Date

According to The Writer’s Almanac,
On this date in history were born
Ban Ki-Moon
William Butler Yeats
Cristo
And Dorothy Sayers.

And Alexander the Great
Died, or so they believe.

What a cataclysm
Must have been arranged
In the heavens
To spawn
A great Korean statesman
A profound Irish poet
An innovative sculptor
And a first-class novelist.

And to reclaim
The 33-year-old world conqueror
Who slept with a copy of
The Iliad
Under his pillow.

June 13, 2009
Seattle

Ban Ki-Moon and Cristo references here.

I don't know which I like better: the wind turbines or the clouds.

The falls at Great Falls, Montana, are not the highest I've seen but they are pretty impressive, nonetheless.

These old grain elevators dot the landscape in farm country, most of which stand beside the newer round metal ones that are not nearly so aesthetically pleasing.

And for you, who don't care for either poems or pictures, better luck next time.

A Poem A Day...Yes!

2009-06-12T12:03:00.006-07:00

Here's what Garrison Keillor had to offer in yesterday's The Writer's Almanac for June 11, 2009:

It's the birthday of poet David Lehman, (books by this author) born in New York City in 1948. One day in 1987, the day after he had moved into a new house, he was driving back to his old rental to get the last of his stuff, and he had a sudden inspiration: to create a yearly anthology that would feature the best poems that had been published that year, and each year a different poet would select the poems. He figured that since he had just moved into a new house, it was a good time to start a new project. Publishers were hesitant because they thought that poetry would automatically lose money. But Scribner finally agreed to publish it, and The Best American Poetry 1988, edited by John Ashbery, was a huge success. David Lehman has served as the series editor ever since, and the Best American Poetry books continue to come out every September and are very popular.

David Lehman was inspired by Robert Bly, who was in turn inspired by William Stafford, to wake up early in the morning and write a poem, one poem every morning. He did that on and off for years, and once he managed to write poems for 186 consecutive days. He published two books of his favorite daily poems: The Daily Mirror (2000) and The Evening Sun (2002).

Today I woke up early, as I do most days, but this time I decided not to try to go back to sleep (okay, I tried for about 15 minutes). The sun rose, officially, at 5:01 PDT in Walla Walla, Washington, where I stayed the night just because I've always loved the name Walla Walla ("W, my name is Wanda and my husband's name is Walter and we come from Walla Walla with a ship loaded down with wallets"). It took me nearly eight hours to drive there from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, yesterday and I was beat. But I was parked with Michelle's rear pointed toward the east (the head of my bed) and it was impossible to sleep, even with the mask on, which I usually wear at WalMart, their being fully lighted 24 hours a day.

It was already about 70 degrees outside at 6:30, which made it easier to get up, so I took a walk, had some cereal, and enjoyed the warm. I was on the road a lot earlier since I couldn't use my laptop, it being totally out of juice from having watched Meryl Streep in a movie called "Dark Matter" last night ($1 rental at WalMart: they got it all). My review: it was not bad until the end, which sucked.

So here I am in Sunnyside, WA, about 40 miles out of Yakima, at a little coffee shop with free WiFi, juicing up the laptop, checking email, and, while I'm at it, recording my thoughts. I like this poem-every-day idea. Maybe when I'm dead my heirs will find them and publish them posthumously and give them to friends and relatives to remember me by. Move over, Emily Dickinson...not.

I've been taking way too many pictures of stuff that won't translate very well to the blog, the kind of stuff I have always thought would not make a good picture (someone else's idea of beautiful scenery, ho-hum), which is why I didn't take many photos before I got the digital camera: the photo is never as good as what the eye sees, so what's the point? The point, of course, is to be reminded how beautiful or interesting the scenery was, but you, Dear Reader, have to suffer through them, too. Well, you can just skip that part. Tomorrow I'll wake up early and write a poem. You can skip that part, too.

The truck is for perspective. These were some serious hills.

No, this is not a golf course, although that's what it looks like from a distance. Sorry for the poor photo quality: it was taken through the dirty windshield at 60 mph.

I took several pictures of birches, but this one also has an orchard in the foreground so I chose it as representative of the trees (in the background) that Robert Frost immortalized in his poem, which is longer than I remembered it, so be prepared...

Birches

by Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Onward to Seattle! Hope your day is GRAND.

Oh, Woe Is Me

2009-06-08T09:13:00.006-07:00

Those who know do not speak.Those who speak do not know.
- Lao Tzu

I was unable to get to the Internet on June 3, so here is what I wrote that day:

I started out from Custer, SD, day before yesterday, heading northwest to meet a new RVing Women contact in Sheridan, Wyoming. As usual, I took my sweet time getting ready to leave and it was past noon when I finally hit the road. My new host said it would take about 4 hours to get to Sheridan. But then I realized that if I drove straight through, I would miss Devil’s Tower, a must-see on my trip through the West ("Close Encounters of the Third Kind" being one of my favorite movies).

So I took a little detour that should have added about two hours to my trip; I would still arrive in Sheridan before dark, just barely. I got to Devil’s Tower in time to see it, photograph it, and be on my way. Where I made my mistake was taking the trail around the Tower. It was great! I got pictures of the wonderfully spiritual monolith from all sides, but I was glad when I approached the sign that would lead me back to the parking lot so I could hit the road. Unfortunately, the sign informed me that I was only halfway around! I had already used up my allotted time for visiting Devil’s Tower and now I was going to be late getting to Sheridan.

To make an already too long story shorter, it was dark and raining by the time I pulled into Sheridan. I was pretty stressed out, having been hypervigilant about avoiding the jumping deer pictured on a series of yellow highway signs. But my new RVing friend, Edith, made me feel welcome and showed me where I could plug into her newly installed 30-amp RV connection on the side of her house. Not only did it fail to light my bedside lamp and radio, it tripped my circuit breaker, so I decided to unplug and try again in the morning.

Next day I reset the breakers and tried again. I knew I'd made a big mistake when I still got no juice and I could smell burning plastic. The radio was fried and when I opened the breaker box a breaker was tripped and the smell was stronger.

Edith suggested that we go to her local RV repair shop and get it checked out. She also called her electrician; since I was the first person to use her new receptacle, we wondered if perhaps it had been wired improperly. Sure enough, the repair shop guy said the converter that allows the motorhome to accept regular 110 current had been blown and that we should definitely look to the new electrical outlet as the most probable cause (they had seen this before, more than once, and had several horror stories to share). The owner of the electrical company came to the house while I was at the repair shop and discovered that his employee had indeed wired the new connection incorrectly. Michelle had received a 220 jolt to her 30 amp system. The Good News: he agreed to pay for any damages.

So Michelle is in the hospital today, to the tune of at least $600-$800 just for a new converter and labor. They also will check out all her systems for damage, which could even include plumbing and gas lines. Then there’s the water heater element, microwave, refrigerator, heat pump, furnace, water pump, etc., all of which could be okay now but break down later from the stress of the power surge. Sheesh.

Meanwhile, Edith and I are in Billings, Montana, enjoying some great scenery and visiting with her sister.

June 8: That was then; this is now. While Edith and I were enjoying beautiful scenery up in northern Montana, including Great Falls, Bozeman, Helena (gotta get that capitol postcard) and Glacier National Park, Michelle was being fitted with a new converter, generator something or other, refrigerator electric coil, and I don't know what all exactly, to the tune of $1,500, mostly for labor, of course. Then we had to find a replacement microwave (which we did find, thankfully, at Sears for $69.99) and a new clock radio. Edith paid for all of it and will be reimbursed by her electrician, whom she trusts. I was so grateful that she did that so I didn't have to worry about getting reimbursed.

Yesterday the weather report was for freezing temps overnight and 70% chance of precipitation but I checked out the situation west of Sheridan and decided to continue on my way to Seattle. I had not even reached the Montana border when the snow started. Before I was through it, the ground all around me was covered in white and huge flakes were coming at me at 60 mph like big wet feathers blown by a giant fan. Fortunately the road was clear, so I plunged on. It's been a long time since I drove in snow but once I got over the shock of snow in June, I enjoyed the beauty and reminded myself that I had lived in Minnesota for seven winters and this was nothing I hadn't seen before. I wish I had remembered to put the camera in front with me before I took off because I could have gotten some really great shots of the only snow I've seen, or am likely to see, since January 2008.

I have lots of pictures of incredibly beautiful scenery but since I'm camped at WalMart, in Butte, without electricity, I'm trying to get this post done before I run out of juice. Here's just a sample. More later.

I'm headed for Missoula and maybe a rendezvous with another RVing woman, although she hasn't called me back yet. After that it's on to Idaho on I-90. I'm told Coeur d'Alene would be a great place to spend a couple of days. I'll let you know.

South Dakota Was Great!

2009-06-01T09:23:00.015-07:00

Simplifying our lives does not mean sinking into idleness, but on the contrary, getting rid of the most subtle aspect of laziness: the one which makes us take on thousands of less important activities.

- Matthieu Ricard

I'm anxious to be on the road again but I must get some thoughts down or they'll fly away. First and foremost: I really like South Dakota, a pleasant surprise (reminds me of moving to Texas and finding that it wasn't all cactus and rattlesnakes like in the old westerns). Of course, it's spring and that helps because that green is everywhere. Such beauty, mile after mile. I have nearly run off the road many times while trying to take pictures through the windshield. This is one of the earliest, somewhere around Sioux Falls, where it's still pretty flat. Okay, very flat but not as topographically challenged as Iowa.

And then there was the Corn Palace and Wall Drug, both run specifically with tourists in mind. But Wall Drug was more. Have you seen the bumper stickers for Wall Drug? It's located in Wall, SD, and, to make a long story short, after it opened in December, 1931, and barely got by for about five years, the pharmacist/owner's wife suggested that they start giving away free ice water to motorists crossing the great plains on the nearby highway. So they made up some rhymes, put up some signs (a la Burma Shave) and the rest is history. They still give away ice water and sell coffee for five cents, along with every other thing you could possibly want, from hamburgers and ice cream to original western art--and the first bumper sticker is free (after that they're ten cents). I don't know if he was a good pharmacist, but Ted Hustead was a marketing genius (the signs are everywhere), and the company is still in the family.

Next stop, Pierre (pronounced like pier, for the uninitiated) and a quick visit to the capitol for a souvenir postcard. It's a lovely building and the woman at the gift shop told me it looks the same as the Montana capitol because those frugal SD folks bought the Montana plans for $15. Montana had theirs first, even though it was farther west, because the South Dakotans had a hard time making up their minds what city should host the seat of government. They chose a lovely spot, centrally located, on the Missouri River. When I asked why Pierre was so much smaller than Sioux Falls and Rapid City, I was told that the military bases in the other two cities caused the increase in population. Geography lesson over for today, class.

I won't bore you with my Mt. Rushmore photos. If you've seen them once, you've seen them a hundred times. So I'll share this instead: George Washington taking a bite out of my Buffalo Burger.

And some pretty scenery.

I love how South Dakota makes it so easy for you to give them your money.

Okay, that's about all. Oh yeah, saw some buffalo...

on a mound (stupid mound)...

and on a plain... Sorry, this is a Wells Family joke, or if you were a die-hard Dick Van Dyke Show fan, you might get the reference, from the episode where Buddy and Sally were helping Rob and Laura sort through some old nickels they found in Rob's grandfather's desk (or was it Uncle Hezekiah's, I forget).

I'm off to the great State of Wyoming in a few minutes, location of Jackson County, which I am told by a camper from Cheyenne is the richest county in the nation. Who knew?

Moving On

2009-05-26T08:18:00.004-07:00

Today I finally leave Minnesota for points west. It's been great reconnecting with my former partner; so much so that I want to stay longer...but fear to wear out my welcome. Until I have something further to say, here's Patti Digh's blog post from a couple days ago, which includes such a wonderful photo of President Obama that I must share it. What a guy.

http://www.37days.com/2009/05/touch-the-presidents-hair.html

All Is Welcome Here

2009-05-19T09:02:00.003-07:00

Broken hearts and broken wings,
Bring it all and everything.
Bring the song you fear to sing.
All is welcome here.
And even if you broke your vow a thousand times, come anyhow.
We're stepping into the power of now
And all is welcome here.
- Miten (song "All is welcome here")

The Peace Quote for today is actually the lyrics to a song by Miten. Here's the video too.

All is Welcome Here - Deva Premal and Miten - The best video clips are here

It's Official: I'm Retired

2009-05-18T09:56:00.008-07:00

The crucial disadvantage of aggression, competitiveness, and skepticism as national characteristics is that these qualities cannot be turned off at five o'clock.
- Margaret Halsey

I did it: I applied for social security retirement benefits today. The amount of money I will receive each month, beginning in September, might cover Heidi Klum's tanning spray but fortunately, I have learned to live frugally (friends and family might say I've taken mooching to a new level, but...whatever).

I'm just thankful I don't have to wait until I'm 66 to retire, like a good friend who, at 65, has a big mortgage on a house she can't sell until the market turns around, and who also needs her employer-paid health insurance. I gave up health insurance for a mortgage in 2003 and have decided to continue living without it until Medicare kicks in. I'm in good health, take no medications, exercise daily, meditate and keep my chi flowing with weekly acupuncture. The best thing I do for my health: no job = no stress. That stuff will kill ya!

Next best thing I do for my health: hang out with my friends. Try it.

Lend a Hand

2009-05-13T12:31:00.004-07:00

An actually existent fly is more important than a possibly existent angel.- Ralph Waldo Emerson

If you've been reading this blog for a while you know of my high regard for my Asheville friend Patti Digh. Her blog post today tells you everything important that you need to know about Patti. I encourage you to subscribe to her feed so you don't miss a single word.

Sharing

2009-05-12T09:14:00.010-07:00

The art of teaching is the art of assisting discovery.- Mark Van Doren

Before my sister reminds me that I haven't updated my blog, here are a few words for Tuesday, May whatever, 2009.

A couple of things have happened, or are scheduled to happen, that are worth mentioning. One is that I've been invited to provide a silent auction item for the National Women's Music Festival, so I'm going giving a gift certificate for a pet portrait. I won't be in Wisconsin in July but thanks to the magic of the internet I can still participate and get some free publicity. Sounds like fun, huh?

I guess the thing I'm most excited about is that I will be a presenter at the 2009 RVing Women Annual Convention in San Antonio. Of course, I didn't do anything spectacular in order to be invited to lead a workshop, like discover a cure for the uncontrollable urge to sit around and watch Turner Classic Movies all day (not something I myself suffer from but maybe you do). The way one is chosen for this great honor is merely to fill out an application. Actually, I'm doing two sessions: Tai Chi for Back & Balance, and Whole-group Book Discussion: A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle.

I learned Tai Chi from a wonderful teacher in Asheville, Crayton Bedford. He has spent many years doing Tai Chi and I actually have the audacity to believe I can teach it after taking one course. Well, that's what trainers do, and since I'm a trained trainer (ret.), I feel I can teach what little I know. The few moves I learned from Crayton have certainly helped me, so why not pass it along in a small way?

As for the Eckhart Tolle session, the same applies. I certainly don't claim to be any kind of expert but I thought a book discussion would be a good way to encourage more people to stop thinking and connect with the Universal Consciousness. I'm going to divide the class into small groups so that everyone gets an opportunity to talk about the concepts in the book.

Of course, my ulterior motive in leading workshops is meeting RVing women more easily. There's nothing like being the center of attention for making new friends. I've discovered that being depressed in places where I used to be happy has a lot to do with not being connected with my old friends any more. It's actually easier to be content with the nomad life in places I've never been, where there are no memories of past good times. Making new memories is better than pining away over the old ones.

The best part of being in Minneapolis has been the discovery of Veterans Memorial Park, where I do my daily walk. Last week I met a man on the walking path who was taking photos of birds. He said there was no better place in the entire twin cities metro area for birding. What luck! He had a list of at least 50 species that he had seen that day, and it wasn't even noon yet! Besides the usual suspects (Cardinals, Sparrows, etc.) I've seen Great Blue Heron, Green Heron, Great Egret, Red-winged Blackbird, Baltimore Oriole, Yellow-rumped Warbler, and several other species.

Enough about birds. Bringing Up Baby is over and The Philadelphia Story just came on so I gotta go. It's a Katharine Hepburn & Cary Grant festival!

Perfect

2009-05-03T11:20:00.005-07:00

Some days we feel like strangers. When our hearts open, we will realize that we belong just here.- The Buddha

If you have not subscribed to the Daily Peace Quote, you must do it now. When you do, you will receive a quote by email every day. Some days the quote will not speak to you. Some days you will wonder how in the world those wise people at Living Compassion picked a quote that is so absolutely right for you, right here, today.

The quote above has reminded me that it doesn't matter whether or not I remember what is on the corner of Bloomington Avenue and 34th Street in Minneapolis, that when I visit other places I have lived and don't feel like I fit in anymore, it's okay. I'm not a stranger. I belong just here. And here. And here.

How about another:

Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude.- Denis Waitley

And this one:

Change always comes bearing gifts. It is our choice whether or not to accept the gifts.- Price Pritchett

Here's what it looks like today in Minneapolis, with the sun out and the temperature hovering around 65 degrees.

There's that green again!

The lilacs are coming! The lilacs are coming! You don't get these in the too-warm southlands, so there.

I love that Rita actually uses this old plow to prepare the soil for her beans. Here's hoping your soil is warm and your heart is full.

Good Days

2009-04-30T14:59:00.004-07:00

This is one of those posts that will probably appeal only to family and close friends, and only then because I'm sure they are totally enthralled with everything I do. It also may appeal to people who:

like Perkins Restaurant but haven't been there in a long time
are interested in the obscure architecture of Minneapolis
like to gloat because they are enjoying Spring in its fullest flowering
have a passion for New York City memorabilia

Okay, I know you must fit into two or three of those categories at least, and can't wait to read on, so here goes.

This is the dessert menu at Perkins. I opted to take home a Cranberry Nut cat-head muffin (I took a picture of the bag I carried it home in, too, but I'll spare you that).

This is the building where I go twice a week to have acupuncture. I must give them a plug, for your benefit as well. A few years ago I discovered acupuncture as a treatment for tendonitis (the link lists many conditions that can be treated with acupuncture), after a friend told me he had only three sessions for his neck pain and was completely cured. So whenever I feel the need to have my Chi jump-started, I go in search of a practitioner I can afford (the going rate is about $60 a session, which is too much for me). My first practitioner, back in Asheville, was a woman just out of training who just wanted to help people while she got her "real" practice going. The second was a student at an Asheville School of Chinese Medicine (who told me to eat more millet--ugh). Now I go to Three Treasures Acupuncture in Minneapolis, just while I'm in town. I got hooked up with these folks through the Community Acupuncture Network. These "clinics" are located all over the country and they charge on a sliding scale (I pay only $15 for each session). Check it out!

Okay, here's your chance to gloat over my having to have hay fever all over again now that I have arrived in the cold northland. You are probably going swimming already! I'm wondering if I will have to do Spring again when I go through the Montana Rockies in June. Sheesh!

This is my present from Rita on her return from The Big Apple, where she went to meet family for a concert by her nephew and the orchestra of The Curtis Institute at Carnegie Hall (not too shabby). She got to go to New York and I stayed here to eat at Perkins, have needles poked into me and sneeze. It's all good.

Good Day, Sunshine

2009-04-28T11:37:00.004-07:00

Much better today. It's still a bit nippy but the sun is out and I walked a new route today that took me past one of my favorite places: Perkins Restaurant. It's a great place for cheap breakfast (and a cat-head-sized muffin to go) and it brings back happy memories, too: my daughter Liz is particularly fond of their Eggs Benedict. We have often wondered why, since Perkins is headquartered in Memphis, they haven't opened any restaurants in North Carolina, right next door to Tennessee. It's probably just as well, my willpower being what it is.

Then, while sitting still, next to a window, I spotted a Yellow-rumped Warbler in a bare shrub (if it had been leafed out I might have missed it). Now, if you're a warbler snob I'm sure you've already been out looking for these, and no doubt found them, too. But I was three feet from one, so there.

And that's not all. They don't call Minnesota "The Land of 10,000 Lakes" for nothing. Do you have one in your neighborhood? How about several, within walking distance?

That's Diamond Lake. I can also walk to Lake Nokomis (you know, Hiawatha's mom, who had a wigwam "by the shores of Gitche Gumee") and several others. And the forsythia are still in bloom here, so that's a treat, along with the tulips. What a lot to be thankful for indeed.

And something else has happened to brighten my day. I have been accepted as a presenter for the RVing Women National Rally in San Antonio, in October. I will be leading a discussion of A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle! I'm so excited! This is such a great opportunity to meet other women who are already interested in the work, and to help others to awaken to their primary purpose in life, which is, according to Eckhart, simply to awaken, to become one with the collective consciousness of the Universe, so that together we can help to bring about world peace: a New Earth. Perhaps some day I will learn how to embed a few minutes of Eckhart video in a post. Meantime, if you don't know what he looks and sounds like, but you would like to, click here.

Feeling Better Already

2009-04-26T12:40:00.004-07:00

Here is today's Peace Quote:

Everything in the universe is connected, everything is osmosis. You cannot separate any part from the whole; interdependence rules the cosmic order.- Taisen Deshimaru

I could easily find a dozen more quotes that support this contention. Can all of these wise ones be wrong?

Peace Be With You, too.

Lost

2009-04-26T10:19:00.011-07:00

Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but the means by which we arrive at that goal.

-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

(As I read this post now, I find some formatting issues that I am unable to resolve. Sorry, you're on your own.)

I have the blues. This is unusual for me and it makes me want to figure out why it's happening so I can make it go away. Is it the rain, and the 45-degree temperature, and the bare Minnesota trees (just when Spring was really showing herself so gloriously in Memphis)?

Rita has left on a family trip to New York City so yesterday I drove her car to all the places I lived from 1991-1997, including a house I owned and lived in with my teen-aged daughter, a huge house that Rita and I shared with 3 other women, and the duplex she and I shared after that, right before we moved to Asheville. It made me sad, and upon examination, all I can come up with to explain the sadness (which even now is bringing tears to my eyes) is:

--I am longing for good times past

--I am regretting bad times past

--I want to return to a time of connectedness with another that felt good

--I remember a time of connectedness with another that felt bad

--I'm lonely

--It's just the weather and I'll feel great as soon as the sun returns

I hear Eckhart telling me that I can stop all of this bad feeling if I stop thinking about it and just breathe. But I don't want to. What is this need to wallow in sadness? It's sick. Or just human, I suppose.

Here's a funny story that happened yesterday, maybe telling it will help me feel better. I drove to Hopkins, a suburb of Minneapolis where I owned a home and where my daughter and I had some really good times. She was in 8th or 9th grade, old enough to be good company, and we used to have dinner at the restaurant connected to a locally-owned grocery store called Lund's. One of my favorite dishes was their Chicken Chili, which has a cream-soup base rather than the usual tomato base. We both liked their popovers, which you could get as a bread choice with any meal.

After driving by my house, I was looking forward to a late lunch at Lund's, and hoping that they still had some of the old menus choices available. I parked my car, and as I approached the restaurant I could tell that it was closed. The sign said "New Hours: Monday-Sunday, 6 a.m. - 2 p.m." It was 3:00. Yet another disappointment to add to my melancholy.

I decided to check out the grocery store for something from the deli, and while I was getting my Death by Chocolate Brownie, the woman who waited on me said the restaurant had had to shorten their hours because of the economy. (I am just realizing as I write this that not getting chicken chili and a popover has been the single most personally identifiable effect of the worldwide economic crisis. Poor me.)

On the way to the checkout, I remembered how much I used to like the wild rice soup with ham made by another local grocery chain and sold frozen, so I asked a passing employee if he could direct me to the Byerly's frozen soups. He seemed a little confused so I repeated my request, "You know, the frozen Byerly's soups?"

"Oh," he said. "I thought you said barley soup."

I had to laugh when I realized, as I followed him to the frozen foods, that it was my North Carolina accent that had confused him. How ironic, since my Memphis brother had chided me not two weeks earlier for using the Minnesota long "o" when saying the word "you."

Okay, that didn't help.

Perhaps this melancholy stems from the same kind of disappointment that I experienced while in Houston: there's so much of this place that I don't remember. It's like I never lived here. (Here come the tears again; this must be it.) What is this about? Fear of change? Fear of forgetfulness? Fear of anonymity? Longing for connection to place and then disappointment when the place doesn't live up to expectations?

I had a dream last night that is typical for me; I've had it for years. I am in a familiar place but when I turn the corner, or enter a building, or look for whatever it is that I know to be in a certain place, it isn't there. The familiar has become totally unfamiliar and I search in vain for whatever it is that I expect to see.

I had expected that being in my old haunts would be a great homecoming experience. Instead, I feel alienated. Like I don't belong anymore. Anywhere. Perhaps these tears just need to come and I need to let them flow. After that, I'm going to let it all go.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a Right Spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy Presence. And take not thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the Joy of thy Salvation and uphold me with thy Free Spirit. Amen. Or something like that...

Catching Up

2009-04-21T09:27:00.007-07:00

Today I finished the post I started on April 10 (see below). Damn but the days do fly by! I had to look at the pictures I've taken to remind myself of what happened on which days. Here's a synopsis in photos:

Big fun around sister Marcia's dining table.

More fun at the Pink Palace Museum where we saw the traveling exhibit The Scoop on Poop. Here we are pretending to be dung (that's a dung beetle above our heads).

My nephew Austin pretending to...well...you know.

At the world-famous Rendezvous Restaurant, #1 in the country for ribs, where they have just recently started hiring white men (still no women) as waiters: southern traditions die hard.

Iowa out the right side of the motorhome.

Iowa out the left side of the motorhome.

This is pretty much what Iowa looks like October thru May. Later there will be corn. Just corn.

Right now I'm in Minneapolis, where I lived 1990-97. I'm sitting in the living room of my former partner, Rita, who is at school, where she still teaches high school English, mainly creative writing. We had a pretty bad breakup in 2000, after 6 1/2 years of struggle, and didn't have any contact at all for about four years, so this reunion has been fraught with nervous anticipation on both sides. Fortunately, we are both wise enough to know, without having to mention it, that it is best not to unpack any of that old baggage, so the visit has been wonderfully pleasant and satsifying for me, and I think for her as well. We are enjoying all the things about each other that we used to enjoy, without any of the rancor. I've missed her more than I would have admitted (although I really did know because she showed up regularly in my dreams).

Today is Rita's birthday, so in honor of the occasion, a birthday poem:

For Rita at Sixty-Five

Girl, you are really old now
Like, Medicare-old
Like, get reduced-price-tickets-old
Like, wise-crone-old
Old enough to know better
Old enough to just sit in the sun
And relax
Take it easy
No excuses required
Girl, you are one fine
Old lady
My heart welcomes you home
Be still, my beating heart.

Fear Not

2009-04-10T09:35:00.002-07:00

If you no longer believe what fear tells you, you will live and it will not. - Cheri Huber

The view from my bunk window this morning was like a kaleidoscope, the colors shifting as a strong gusting wind blew the clouds around: now dark, now light, the trees green to yellow to gray, almost black against a bright white sky that also changed to gray with occasional patches of blue. I was mesmerized. The wind was blowing when I went to bed last night around 10:30 and the temperature hovered around 70 degrees. This morning I heard there had been stormy weather all around us, including a very destructive tornado somewhere in Arkansas, just across the Mississippi.

Living in Asheville, NC, has made me rather complacent about bad weather. I can recall only one tornado watch/warning in the 11 years I lived there. We endured some flooding in the aftermath of Hurricane Ivan (I think) in 2005: lost power and everything in my fridge; but that's about it for really bad weather. Sure enough, as soon as I ventured east out of the NC mountains toward the coast during this past hurricane season, I had to run back inland when Hanna threatened the coast. Now I'm on the outskirts of "Tornado Alley" and I'm starting to think about what I would do if there were a watch alert.

It's good to have a plan, I suppose, but I refuse to worry about something I can't control, just as I don't worry about living alone in a camper. A friend whom I will be visiting in Rochester, MN, as I make my way to Minneapolis next week called today to confirm my arrival date and, as many friends have before her, she told me how brave I am to travel alone. Then I opened the Peace Quote for today, found the opening quote above and decided that the muse wants me to talk about fear today. But Cheri Huber says it all and so I'll just shut up now.

What Day Is It?

2009-04-08T14:17:00.004-07:00

Is it Day 11? Day 12? Yesterday I rolled out of bed at 5:15 to accompany my sister Marcia as a volunteer for The Food Bank of Memphis. We drove to Amory, Mississippi, to interview 12 people at a food pantry as part of the Hunger in America survey. We were home by 1 p.m. but I was a slug the rest of the day: watched movies, etc.

Today we drove to Oxford, MS, to do the same. But instead of vegging out when we got home, I put on my walking shoes and took Trixie and myself for a walk. It was so beautiful I just had to share it with you. I hope that wherever you are, it is this beautiful, and that you are really looking at it, and thinking of nothing at all. I am. And I'm hooked into the collective conscousness of the Universe. Peace.

Day Nine?

2009-04-06T08:24:00.005-07:00

Oh yes, Day 9 of 37. It went, never to be seen again. And I went to hear my sister and the Lindenwood Christian Church choir (one of the best in the city) sing Handel, always a favorite of mine. Then we had a lovely lunch with a friend and attended a play, Moonlight and Magnolias, a comedy. I fixed one of my favorite meals, from the old Weight Watchers Cookbook: Thai Marinated Steak (for my meat-eating brother-in-law), with a marinade made up of lime juice, cilantro, jalapeno, green onion, soy sauce and garlic--yum.

I did "not doing" in a lovely sanctuary surrounded by colorful stained glass and people who, like me, were there to find their own inner peace. It was Palm Sunday and the children's choir carried palm fronds and made me cry (as usual when I see children singing).

As I participated in the service I tried to focus on the Jesus I know, who is a different person than the one I knew as a child and as a young adult, a different one from the Jesus the minister talked about. I took the bread and wine that was offered, to be polite, but I didn't think of it as the body and blood. I thought of what Gandhi said: "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

I also thought of what Eckhart says of Jesus: "Jesus on the cross said it all when He says, 'Forgive them for they know not what they do.' Which means they are unconscious. So when you realize that you naturally forgive." That is what I did yesterday morning, while music swelled and the prayers went up.

What I Saw When I Was Still

2009-04-04T15:01:00.006-07:00

Today I sat on the deck again and surveyed my sister Marcia's backyard. When I had been there for about 15 minutes, a Bluejay flew down carrying something in his mouth, which he laid in the grass. Then he poked around a bit and I thought perhaps he had decided that the thing he had brought was not what he really wanted and he hoped to find something more appealing in our yard. He picked up a fallen leaf, put it down and gave it a tap. Next he picked up something else, which I took for the preferred thing he had been looking for, put that down, then picked up another fallen leaf, put that down and gave it a tap, tap. Then he flew away over the fence.

It was then that I realized that the Bluejay might have used the leaf to cover something, perhaps two things, so I got up to investigate. Sure enough, under one leaf I discovered a morsel of dry dog food, possibly taken from the dog next door. But even more interesting, under another leaf was a piece of wood about one inch long and one-quarter inch wide (probably a piece of mulch), and under that was another bit of kibble!

Well, of course, I ran to get the camera. See what happens when you stay still outside for a few minutes? It was so awesome! I felt like one of those people you see on National Geographic channel who discover that animals in the wild do things you never thought they would do! Wow!

2009-04-03T09:45:00.004-07:00

If you are capable of living deeply one moment of your life, you can learn to live the same way all the other moments of your life. - Thich Nhat Hanh

This is my new mantra. Peace.

Day Three, Day Seven, Whatever

2009-04-02T11:21:00.004-07:00

I don't know what number to assign to this day of the Do Nothing Challenge but it's not important. What I have learned is that taking the time to "become one with all that is" has helped me reconnect with the self that I was becoming before I found myself involved in a couple of situations that made that becoming more challenging. Those two situations are visiting an ex-lover and visiting my family.

Are there people in your life whom you have known so long, or so intimately, that they may have expectations about how you will behave based on past knowledge and experience? Does the "family dynamic" take over when you are together for holidays or other gatherings? I am the oldest of five children. Do you think my siblings see me in a particular way based on 50 years of experience, without regard for, or knowledge of, the work I have done to become the person I am today? It can be frustrating, but of course, it's not all their fault: I easily fall into those old patterns if I'm not constantly vigilant.

The same thing happened when I visited my friend Mary Helen in Houston a couple weeks ago. We dated for one year, around 1986-87. During the two weeks I spent at her house recently I felt the pull of our old relationship dynamic, which can be summed up as, "Just let me tell you how to run your life and we'll both be much happier." (Guess who had the control issues?)

So this challenge has come at an opportune time in my journey. I need a daily reminder that being Here and Now is the only place to be, and that the "I Am" that Eckhart talks about is not anyone's sister or mother or partner, but pure ego-less consciousness: One With All That Is. Peace.

Pretend You're a Dog

2009-04-01T12:07:00.011-07:00

Okay, it's onward in the 37 Days Do Nothing Challenge and I'm finally off to a great start. Turns out I can't see the big magnolia from the sleeping side window of the motorhome, but the tree I can see is even better because it's a deciduous tree of some kind and it has that green on it. I had a grand time just looking at it, and watching the neighbor kiss her husband good-bye as he left in the car (so sweet), and enjoying the birds, and catching the fleeting shadow of a low-flying FedEx plane (imagining it was a chicken hawk and I was the chicken).

A couple of days ago I spent some quality Do Nothing time on the back deck with the dogs and cat. There is no better model for the Do Nothing life than a dog or cat. They don't hold a grudge because you stayed in the motorhome all day and didn't come in to play (poor Trixie cries and cries. Maybe I'll try bringing her out here), and they don't worry about whether or not you'll take them for a walk tomorrow. They live in the NOW, right where I want to be. Just another part of all that is.

Okay, It's Day One Again

2009-03-31T10:22:00.003-07:00

Last night I had dinner at the home of a new friend in Memphis and I forgot to do my evening meditation.

This morning I awoke with a sinus headache and I forgot to do my morning meditation.

Today I will write myself a Post-It. Sheesh.

Don't Just Do Something, Sit There

2009-03-30T12:38:00.018-07:00

As you may know by now, I am a big fan of Patti Digh, her book, Life Is A Verb, and her blog, 37 Days. I admire her so much that when she suggests that we all do something, whatever it might be, I try to do it.

Her latest idea is that we should all pick one thing to do just for ourselves, and make a commitment to ourselves to do that thing every day for 37 days. I've been struggling to decide what that thing is, and it's already Day Four.

See, I already do just about everything for myself that I can possibly do. I wanted to live a simple, stress-free life, so I retired early and started living in a 19-foot motorhome. I wanted to see the country before I got too old to drive comfortably and that's what I'm doing. I wanted to work for peace in the world so that I could feel that I had contributed something important, which led to my discovery of Eckhart Tolle, who told me that the best way I can contribute to peace in the world is to stop thinking and align my consciousness with the collective consciousness of the universe. Aha! I have been trying to decide what to do when what I really wanted/needed to do was...are you ready?...absolutely nothing. That includes absolutely not thinking about what I want/need to do.

So I laid back on my comfy cushions and looked out the window, something I do several times a day already. Then I looked out the opposite window, and out the roof window. And while I was looking at the redbud and my sister's house and the trees, I stopped thinking about what I want to do for myself for 37 days and became one with all that is.

And then I realized that what I want to do for myself is just that, more often, and that I don't have to "meditate" in the traditional sense in order to do it. I just need to stop thinking and sit here. I don't even have to close my eyes; in fact, keeping them open, looking at all that is, seems to work better for me than closing them. I can keep the thoughts at bay more easily if I have something to look at (as long as I don't think about it, don't name it). I don't need a special mat, or special clothes, or a special posture, or special words. Oh heavenly relief.

So now I will set aside two specific times for not doing. In the morning, before I roll out of my bunk, I'll raise the curtain and look out at the fresh new morning and the big magnolia over my head. At night I'll go outside and look up at the stars, or the moon, or the clouds, and listen to the night sounds.

Hey, you know, if you do "not doing," too, we'll have world peace that much sooner. Just slip into the stream of consciousness, get on the frequency, ride the wave (to mix a triple metaphor). Oh my, what peace.

Spring

2009-03-23T09:58:00.011-07:00

My friend Patti reminds us in her blog post that yesterday was the birthday of poet Billy Collins, on whom she has a giant crush that you can't blame her for. He is a brilliant and totally accessible poet who served as Poet Laureate of the U.S. 2001-2003 and has a zillion other awards to his credit. But it's more than that (I think it helps to hear him read his poetry). I've heard him on A Prairie Home Companion more than once.

Patti asks us to submit our own poem in honor of Billy's birthday, and even though I'm not "standing in [my] slippers at a granite counter with good light on ripe bananas," but merely looking out the window of my motorhome, parked in front of my sister's house in Memphis, I am inspired to submit the following:

Spring

How wonderful to be back

Where Spring is anticipated

For its flowers,

A winter-long yearning

Satisfied,

The change of seasons

Bringing daily surprises.

How can I not remember

From one Spring to the next

That the redbud tree

Sprouts flowers on its trunk?

That there is no green

Like the green

That mists the maples?

That a simple walk

In the neighborhood

Is like seeing the world

For the first time?

It is Nature's amnesia,

Otherwise my heart would break

To see it go.

On The Road Again

2009-03-19T11:41:00.018-07:00

Oops, I'm behind again. When there is not much going on where I am, I get complacent (lazy). Too much TV watching for one thing, which is why I have chosen not to have a television machine in my motorhome.

When last we met, back on March 2, I had left the Mardi Gras crazies behind and although I didn't report on my whereabouts on that date, I was in Houston visiting my long-lost friend, Mary Helen. I had intended to head north to Memphis to visit my family after my month in New Orleans, but after a reunion with Mary Helen in Lafayette, LA (halfway between NO and Houston) a huge cold front came through and I decided to keep to the southern environs a bit longer. I followed her back to Houston where a one-week stopover turned into two as the front dumped a steady, chilling, 3-day rain on Houston and freezing rain on Memphis.

While in Houston, where I lived 1985-1988, I visited some old haunts, including the duplex where my daughter and I lived, which as I had suspected, had been returned to its original single-family configuration. If I had not accidentally run across the address on an old piece of mail, I would not have been able to pick it out. And Houston has changed so much that it was as if I had never lived there, which was disconcerting, so I didn't go out much. Besides, Mary Helen has moved to a lovely waterfront condo in Dickinson,

an hour on the freeway from Houston and not a pleasant drive. I walked her new old dog (and drew the dog's portrait: the black & white Border Collie mix in the slide show, which is out of order and I can't seem to fix it), reorganized her kitchen, and watched too much daytime TV: Live with Regis and Kelly, The View, The Price is Right (I'm not proud)--but no soaps (okay, maybe the first five minutes of All My Children).

Then it was on to Memphis by way of a one-night stopover in Center, TX, another night in Arkadelphia, AR, an hour in Little Rock just to visit the capitol and get a postcard for my collection, and into Memphis on the third day, a distance I could easily have covered in one day in my youth. Oh well, what's the rush? I often take the secondary roads rather than the interstate and this was one of those times when I was happy to be tooling along practically by myself. The fuzzy photo at left is I-30 and the one at right is Hwy. 67. Which would you choose?

I didn't get a photo of the Houston skyline, which has long been a favorite, but I took this picture of downtown Memphis as I crossed the Mississippi River bridge.

Downtown Memphis has retained much of its "classic architecture" (old buildings) and looks about the way it did when I lived here 1974-1976, with a few notable exceptions. I suppose that says something about the city's growth and prosperity but, hey, it's also one of the few cities left where you can actually afford to buy a house. And I love that there are so many interesting 1920s homes still gracing the lawns of Midtown.

My sister Marcia lives in an area called Central Gardens and today I walked a few blocks with my camera so you could get a feel for the area. (See slideshow at right.) The Azaleas have barely begun to bud but the Redbud, Cherry and a few other trees are very pretty. I missed the Daffodils and the Bradford Pear, but there is a gorgeous Magnolia in Marcia's back yard, not the big Southern species with the wonderfully fragrant, huge white flowers, but the pink-flowered species generally referred to as a Tulip Tree.

I'll be here for a month so there will be more to report later on, including our trip to The Pink Palace Museum for the "Scoop on Poop" exhibit. You'll want to tune in for that!

On Writing

2009-03-02T09:57:00.005-08:00

Do you know who wrote the first "essay?" This is from Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac for February 28, 2009:

It's the birthday of the essayist Michel de Montaigne, born near Bordeaux, France (1533). He became a lawyer, but when his father died and left Michel the family estate, he took over the property and retired from the law. He spent the next 10 years in relative seclusion in his tower, ignoring his family and society. His best friend had recently died, the man he would have written letters to, so instead of letters, Montaigne wrote down thoughts to an imaginary reader. He wrote about all kinds of things: liars, smell, prayer, cannibals, and thumbs. He mixed anecdotes with academic thoughts. And he called his short pieces "essays" because he considered the pieces small attempts at addressing big ideas, and the French verb "essai" means "attempt."

This is from the Montaigne link above, in Wikipedia:
On the day of his 38th birthday, as he entered this almost ten-year period of self-imposed reclusion, [Montaigne] had the following inscription crown the bookshelves of his working chamber:

"In the year of Christ 1571, at the age of thirty-eight, on the last day of February, his birthday, Michael de Montaigne, long weary of the servitude of the court and of public employments, while still entire, retired to the bosom of the learned virgins (italics mine: I love that phrase), where in calm and freedom from all cares he will spend what little remains of his life, now more than half run out. If the fates permit, he will complete this abode, this sweet ancestral retreat; and he has consecrated it to his freedom, tranquillity, and leisure."

Perhaps I'd have done likewise if I'd inherited an estate. Perhaps he'd have stowed his laptop and taken to the open road in a small motorhome.

Fat Tuesday

2009-02-24T17:14:00.011-08:00

This may be the last message from N'awlins. I think I've about covered it. But Mardi Gras is such an unusual phenomenon (is that redundant?) that I feel I must give it one more post. For example, the food bank was closed not only today but yesterday as well (they were open on Presidents Day, and an employee told me they don't pay much attention to the federal holidays, just the Catholic ones). Okay, I understand how some businesses would close but WalMart? McDonalds? It was like Christmas out there today. I had intended to buy a few things at WM, and then have some really bad (good) fast food in preparation for Lent, and I was thwarted on both counts! I was bummed!

Saturday I attended one more parade because folks told me how they were more family-friendly out in the neighborhoods than in the French Quarter. So I drove to the Mid-City area to the home of a new contact who was having lots of family and food and lived within walking distance of the parade route for the Krewe of Endymion. I arrived at 9 a.m. for the 4:15 parade so I could get a parking place, then had some red beans and rice for breakfast. Yum! With King Cake too, of course, which is really a cinnamon roll, not cake.

As I approached my host's home I passed blocks and blocks where people had obviously been camping out in order to reserve their parade-viewing spots. These people are serious parade watchers. They rent porta-potties at $125 and then charge others $2-$5 to use them.

They build parade-viewing contraptions. They wear parade-viewing clothes. They put up tents and bring their grills. It's Party City on the median. I don't know why, but some New Orleans streets have 50-foot-wide medians. This is what it looks like before the parade:

And here's a float we saw on its way to the starting line.

TThis is what happens when the parade rolls by:

There is the biggest hoop-tee-do and fightin' and scramblin' and hollerin', to catch beads thrown from the floats so you can show that you were able to get more cheap junk to hang around your neck than your friends did. And woe be unto you if you try to bend over in that crowd to pick up something off the ground. You're liable to get your hand stomped on. There's no way to see any of the marching bands because the folks with the ladders are all in front (their reward for squatting out there for 36 hours) and there are police barricades to prevent anyone from getting around them.

Well, it took me all of about 10 minutes to decide I had had enough, but the people I was visiting were there until the bitter end, and they do it every year just as if it were a novelty they might never experience again in their lives. I walked back to the house and ate myself into a coma.

There were 57 parades this year, beginning with the one I told about earlier, on Feb. 7. Nine of them took place today, beginning at 8 a.m., and I didn't go near any of them. I was too busy trying to find just one lousy double cheeseburger. These people are crazy. I need to move on.

Exploring

2009-02-20T09:07:00.008-08:00

In ordinary life we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich.- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

This is the view as you embark on a journey across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway on a cloudy day, and it is indeed a journey. Turns out New Orleans is an island. Who knew? You can't escape without going over a bridge and the Causeway had been beckoning since I arrived. Every time I opened the city map there it was, a solid straight line bisecting the big blue part at the top of the page.

Sunday is my day to explore the city (less traffic) so I found Causeway Boulevard on the map (a straight line continuation of the straight line that crosses the lake), hopped on and road it through town and onto the bridge. Then I panicked: I couldn't see the other side! I looked at my gas gauge: a quarter of a tank. That should be enough, or maybe not, how long is this thing anyway? Okay, if I get 15 miles per gallon, and the tank holds 25 gallons (or is it 30, or 20?), then 1/4 is five gallons, which will get me 75 miles, no problem. How long IS this thing?! I'm looking at the gas gauge and peering into the distance and doing calculations in my head. There are crossovers that connect the northbound and southbound lanes every few miles and as I pass one, then another, I consider turning around. But I don't and then I'm getting farther and farther away from land and I realize that I could just as easily run out of gas going back. So I forge ahead and finally convince myself that the bridge can't possibly be 75 miles long or even 60, at which point I finally relax.

"Land ho!" I shout out loud when I see the opposite shore and I think, at least Columbus didn't have to worry about running out of gas (well, I guess food is pretty important, too). I clocked it on the way back: 23.7 miles shore to shore, at a cost of $6 for the toll and $5.67 for gas and $10 for the forgetable lunch. Having my blood pressure jacked up to 160/100: priceless. Adventure! Oh boy!

Thought For The Day

2009-02-17T13:10:00.002-08:00

In case you can't read what I wrote on my new PINK hat, it says, "I'd rather be 60 than Pregnant." XOXOX

What Was God Thinking?

2009-02-16T08:54:00.004-08:00

I've been chasing a mosquito around the motorhome today (makes me appreciate winters in Minnesota) while listening to Garrison Keillor and his Writer's Alamanac on NPR (another good thing from Minnesota). The end of the daily Almanac is always a poetry reading by Garrison, a master narrator, as you know if you've ever heard the Almanac or his weekly monologue on A Prairie Home Companion.

Having successfully rid my space of the intruder, I was inspired to write a poem myself, something I haven't done much in recent years, but which I enjoyed with my former partner back in the 90s (how time flies). Perhaps my reconnection with her by email (she lives in Minnesota, where we used to enjoy seeing Prairie Home in person) is part of the inspiration, in which case, this one's for you, Rita.

What Was God Thinking?

It was dry all summer in Asheville.
The drought went on and on,
and so the mosquitoes took a vacation also,
no doubt living the high life in Minneapolis
where the human inhabitants endured the deluge,
rain followed by tiny buzzing blood-suckers.

I opened the doors to welcome what breeze
might wander by at noon in North Carolina in August
and left them open into the cool evening
secure in the knowledge that the hungry horde
was visiting elsewhere.

Now I am in Orlando in January
but I must keep shut tight day and night
against the mosquitoes
who, nevertheless, daily discover

some tiny portal
into my private space,
three tiny morning bumps on my itchy ankle
proof positive of their presence.

I suppose I will never be a good Buddhist
(not that I seriously aspire)
for I cannot deduce the reason for the creatures
and I refuse to share my home with them,
virus vectors with skin-irritating spittle who
unlike wasps and spiders
will not be coaxed and cannot be carried
out the door—
their love for my corpuscles being so strong—
and so must be squashed in self-defense.

God knows it hurts me more than it does them
knowing that each tiny annoying Culicidae is in fact
an expectant mother
whose sole purpose is to reproduce
and who must imbibe a bit of my blood to do so.
Well I say
Let her eat cake.

What Do You Do in February in New Orleans?

2009-02-11T07:45:00.005-08:00

It's Mardi Gras in New Orleans! Woo-hoo! The first parade of the season was last Saturday night, the Krewe du Vieux (pronounced Crew d' View for those of us who are French-Canadian-challenged). I was to meet a few folks from the Food Bank at a certain place around 8-9 p.m. I was there early, which was a good thing because the parade was early too. I never met my people but I certainly saw everyone else in the world--O...M...G...and me a confirmed crowd avoider. It's funny, I used to be a crowd lover in my younger days. If there was a "happening" I wanted to be there. Now all I want to do is see it, take a picture and go home. So here are the pictures, mostly bad but I never claimed to be Ansel Adams (he wouldn't have wanted to be there either).

This is the corner of St. Peter and Royal St. where I was supposed to hook up with my peeps. Do you see them anywhere?

It was impossible to get to the front of the crowd and actually see the parade. The Krewe du Vieux is known for its old-time Mardi Gras feel: marchers on foot, very low tech floats drawn by mules (I kept trying to get a mule shot but they all came out bad). It's also very tongue-in-cheek, satirical, and raunchy as you'll see in a minute. I was only able to get this one close-up of a parade participant:the fairy gentleman in green, not the woman winking.

This float represents Fannie Mae giving it to Freddie Mac up the you-know-what. This was typical of the kinds of floats. Lots of commentary on bailouts, etc.

This is the Sperm Bank float. It speaks for itself. Something gross about "trickle-down" economics.

That's all from the Big Easy. My only other news is that I seem to have sprung a leak as a result of my run-in with the light pole in Port St. Lucie. It has rained the past couple days and water is seeping near the head of my bed, not on me just the mattress. The adventure continues!

Are You Aware? Yes, You Are!

2009-02-06T13:18:00.006-08:00

Awareness is our true self; it's what we are. So we don't have to try to develop awareness; we simply need to notice how we block awareness with our thoughts, our fantasies, our opinions, and our judgments. We're either in awareness, which is our natural state, or we're doing something else.- Joko Beck

Do you subscribe to the Daily Peace Quote? Oh, you must. The address is http://www.livingcompassion.org/. Every day you will receive a wonderful quote, some more wonderful than others, like the one above. I have a special folder in my "saved" emails for the ones that really hit me between the eyes, and I go back and look at them now and then. Sometimes I use one for the signature line on my email. My current email signature is a quote from that old curmudgeon H. L. Mencken: We are here and it is now. Further than that, all human knowledge is moonshine.

But let's get back to Joko Beck, whose full name is Charlotte Joko Beck (born 1917 and still living, in Prescott, AZ), who is a Zen teacher and the author of the books Everyday Zen: Love and Work and Nothing Special: Living Zen. Once again we are told that we already have within us everything we need in order to be fully conscious, fully present as Eckhart says. All we have to do is stop thinking about everything else and there it is: inner peace.

I had an opportunity to practice today while doing my volunteer assignment. Second Harvest is getting ready to do a Hunger Survey to find out more about their clients, the people who are served by the 200 agencies who help Second Harvest distribute food. As an incentive for the clients to complete the multi-page survey, each one will be given a $15 VISA card. My job was to open the 500 envelopes containing the cards, detach the cards from the printed material, recycle the paper and reinsert the cards into the envelopes in number order. It took nearly four hours, and I did it by myself, with no one around to talk to, not even a radio playing to relieve the tedium. I thought, what a great opportunity: four hours with nothing to think about. It wasn't the same as painting furniture or drawing (two things that never fail to engage me so fully that I forget to eat) but, amazingly, I was able to focus on the task and not think about what I would do afterward, or what I did earlier, or where I would go to dump the holding tanks in the RV, buy gasoline, do laundry and get a shower (which are the things that have been on my mind lately).

Later I went to the warehouse to help with food packing and came upon a group of adults from The Arc, the organization formerly known as ARC (Association for Retarded Citizens). They were packing "backpacks," which are bags of food for kids to take home from school on the weekends.

The bags include non-perishable, ready-to-eat foods such as Spaghetti-Os, pudding, snack crackers, fruit cocktail, etc., and they go home with children who usually get their daily breakfast and lunch at school through the free/reduced-price meal program. I have been aware of the school program for years, having worked in a school district where 50% of the kids are served by it, but I never stopped to think what those children ate on the weekends.

Anyway, here were these developmentally disabled adults packing bags of food, and I thought to myself that if anyone is probably conscious most of the time, it might be these people. They certainly seem to be living in the moment.

So I've had many reminders today that I have within me the ability to be at peace any time I choose to be. Incredible, isn't it? And if I can do it, you can do it. And everyone else can do it, too, all over the world. Stop thinking. Do it now.

Greetings from The Big Easy

2009-02-04T11:56:00.028-08:00

I made it! I'm in New Orleans, home of beignets, boudin, crawfish etouffe, and so much more (some of it having nothing to do with great food--or Katrina).

Here's my route and highlights along the way:

Left Gainesville WalMart (probably the nicest one yet) headed for Tallahassee WalMart, where I did a quick tour of the capitol the following day and drove to St. George Island State Park for one night. I couldn't resist staying in a campground that, according to the map of Florida, looked as if it were at the very end of a little bitty spit-curl of land on the forehead of the Gulf of Mexico near Apalachicola.

Next day I was off to meet my new contact in Lynn Haven/Panama City. I had a great two days in her driveway, ran into three of her friends at brunch and attended a wonderful presentation on Bald Eagles by a woman who must be the foremost authority in Florida. She brought with her a 14-year-old Bald Eagle named Paige, who fell out of her nest at about 8 weeks old and had been raised at the Audubon Center for Birds of Prey in Maitland. Did you know that Bald Eagles can live to be 50 years old in captivity? She was an awesome bird.

Left on Sunday, Feb. 1, headed for Pensacola but since I never heard back from my contact there, I spent the a restful free night as the guest of the heirs of Sam Walton. Next day, on to New Orleans. I made three more states in one day:

Alabama: that's Mobile in the distance

Mississippi: here I am coming into Pascagoula. I'm sure it's there somewhere to the south of I-10.

And finally, New Orleans. That's a cemetery, in case you can't tell. I couldn't stop to get a better photo.

But I knew I had arrived when I saw this establishment in the WalMart parking lot the next day.

Toto, we aren't in Kansas any more. This is a drive-thru Daquiri stand. A more appropriate name might be "The DWI Store."

And they start very early in the day with just a little pick-me-up to get them to the office in good shape. Okay, I checked it out: a "Breakfast Shot" is a little bitty egg, bacon and cheese sandwich. Had you goin', didn't I?

Yesterday I arrived at my new temporary home and checked in with Melanie, my new boss. A very friendly warehouse guy helped me park the RV and hook up the shore line (that's RV talk for the electric cord). Today I soaked up some of the local color by shadowing Melanie as she worked with a group of school kids who were put to work sorting through several pallets of recalled food looking for "peanut butter" in the ingredient list. Sheesh, what next? It's not bad enough that people are going hungry...don't get me started.

This was definitely controlled chaos, or semi-controlled anyway: 17 fourth graders. But they worked rings around the 8th graders who were mostly standing around trying to look at each other without letting anyone else look at them, in another part of the huge warehouse.

Is this a great photo, or what? Newman is a private school that was founded as a school for Jewish orphans in 1903.

So that's where things stand. I have offered my services as an office assistant or project assistant or warehouse worker, whatever they need. Maybe tomorrow I'll get my assignment. Meantime, it's supposed to be 30 degrees here tonight, and even though that may not sound cold to you, I hope my water lines don't freeze. Today I am thankful for my sleeping bag.

Still in Florida But Not For Long!

2009-01-28T09:15:00.019-08:00

I was reminded yesterday that I hadn't posted since January 2. Then I read my friend Patti's post in which she mentions that her husband, Mr. Brilliant (you'll have to read her book to find out how he got his name) had been blogging for a year and encouraged her readers to try him out. I had been to his site before and couldn't understand a word (he's that brilliant) but I did it again and found that he had posted over 400 messages in 2008! That's like, okay I'm just guessing here (they said I wouldn't have to do math in order to blog), but that's more than once a day! I am ashamed and having been chastened I promise to do better. Unfortunately, I am not brilliant, or even close to it, which is why you only hear from me sporadically. If I had something to say, you can be sure, you'd hear about it.

Yes, I'm still in Florida and I'm bored. Not that there's anything wrong with Florida, if you like palm trees and sunshine and Saw Palmetto and sand and lizards and FLAT. No, I'm NOT complaining/whining/etc...but I have wanted to go WEST since I bought the motorhome and I am still just about as far EAST as one can get. That has all to do with temperature and my decision to forego worrying about keeping all my water lines and tanks above 32 degrees, which means, of course, that I must hang around the warm places. And this year even central Florida has seen some hard freezing (if you didn't know, you will next time you buy oranges).

So here's what's been happening since Jan. 2. First, I realized that I needed to have my annual GYN exam and mammogram (and that I should have done it in November, before I left Asheville, duh) so I set about trying to set that up as quickly as possible. I got the exam pretty quickly at Planned Parenthood, but I couldn't get the mammogram until Jan. 26, so I decided to spend the intervening two weeks in south Florida. Unfortunately, I didn't take time to investigate my camping options and when I arrived all the local state parks (my preferred cheap/nice places to camp) were full, which had never happened before. Since my contact/host couldn't park me at her house, I was left with one option, at $45/night. It was like spending the night in a used car lot. I could read my neighbor's newspaper from inside the RV.

So the next night I went to my favoriate free place to camp,

where I proceeded to back into a utility pole, one of those that is encased in a cubic yard of concrete. As usual (yes, I've done this before but only into a wooden fence...and a nice soft tree) it was the spare tire carrier that made contact. But this time I gave it a good whack and it "bounced" off the back window, shattering the glass. The next few moments were spent trying to imagine that what had just happened hadn't really happened. You know, when you think if you just close your eyes and then open them you'll wake up?

Skip to the happy ending: the next day an auto glass place just up the road in Ft. Pierce had the glass I needed, handled all the insurance stuff, charged me only my $100 deductible (for a $485 bill) and I was on the road again at 3 p.m. Now I know why the previous owner had a back-up camera installed. Too bad it hasn't worked since I bought the RV. I guess I'll add that to the list of things I will buy when I get some extra money (I might have to get a job at the next Wally World).

Next stop: Titusville, where a new contact met me to enjoy a few hours of wildlife watching: an 8-foot one and a 6-foot one.

(Taken with a zoom lens, rest assured.) Then on to New Smyrna Beach where I was able to park in my host's yard and where I spent a very nice couple of days with some less exotic but more hospitable wildlife.

A pair of Sandhill Cranes

and some other nice folks.

The highlight of the two weeks was an overnight stay at Blue Spring State Park and an hour spent communing with manatees. In winter, West Indian Manatees move into Blue Spring from the St. Johns River because the water in the spring run is a constant 72 degrees. What lovely creatures. They make one feel absolutely at peace.

I hope you can see that the large animal in the photo is showing her belly, and that it is her calf just above. What an incredible moment.

This is the same pair and in this photo you can see the scars on the cow's back, injuries caused by a run-in with a boat propeller. Each of the individuals at Blue Spring has been identified, and named, according to these scars and other physical characteristics.

Today I am in Gainesville, on my way north to visit the state capitol in Tallahassee, then westward through Pensacola, across the lower little hangy-down parts of Alabama and Mississippi and landing in New Orleans, where I intend to volunteer for a month before heading up to Memphis to visit my siblings. That's the plan, anyway. The best part of this adventure is having the freedom to revise the plan as needed. I am, after all, Queen of the World.

60@60? Sure, Why Not?

2009-01-02T07:29:00.007-08:00

I just read my friend Patti Digh's January 1 post on 37 Days. It made me tired just to read it! She's made a list of 50 things she wants to "learn" this year, the year she turns 50, and suggests that we all do something similar: 20 things if you're 20 or 35 things if you're 35, whatever is appropriate for your age. She's calling it 50 at 50. All I have to say is, "Atta girl, Patti!"

As for me, I will turn 62 the day after Patti turns 50 and this is the year I intend to smile contentedly while I sit back and watch the "youngsters" do their thing. There is nothing else I need to learn.

Do I detect a raised eyebrow? A quiet, "Oh, really?" Okay, I'll admit that I have a long way to go before I can claim that I practice everything I've learned. And to be fair to Patti, her list includes many, many things that she has already learned but wants to master, same as me (#20: Learn to speak my truth).

Of course, I have a list, too, as I'm sure you do. It's a new year; how can you not have a list? Come on, admit it, you have a list. It's about the things you want to do differently in 2009, isn't it? There are the old standbys: lose weight, stop smoking, learn Spanish...Mine is all about living intentionally. It's a very short list:

1. Live every moment as if it were the end, not just the means.
2. Love everyone and show it by smiling when you see them.
3. Be grateful.

From 1984-1995, I worked in non-profit management and fundraising for three different national health organizations. I learned many important life lessons during that time, one of which has to do with acquisition and distribution of wealth. In Fundraising 101 I learned that there are two types of people: those who are striving to acquire as much as possible and those who have enough and are looking for ways to distribute what they have acquired. Of course, the best charitable donors are the ones in the distribution phase of their lives.

That's where I am: in the distribution phase. In 2008 I sold my 767-square-foot house and its contents. Fortunately, I bought the house in 2003 for $60,000 and was able to sell it for $95,000. Not bad in the year the bubble burst. I could have spent another $20,000 and made a bigger profit, but I undoubtedly would not have been able to sell it so quickly--before the Open House--if my asking price had been over $100,000; plus, my kitchen and bath would have been unusable for weeks.

In 2008 I had already been working part-time since 1995 (yes, the year I quit my high-stress fundraising and management job), so it wasn't a huge step from 20 hours a week to 0 hours a week. With the help of a small inheritance, I was able to retire a year early and live my dream of traveling the country in a small motorhome. I "distributed" the house proceeds to MasterCard, my daughter's wedding, and the guy who sold me the motorhome. I distributed my car and the entire contents of my house, including most of my clothes. It took three days to figure out what I could put into the RV and what I absolutely had to keep in storage (family photos, high school yearbooks(?), winter coat, tax returns).

About the only thing I have left to distribute is my love and my gratitude, so for 2009, under #3 above, I am making a list of 60 things for which I am grateful. I've bought Sarah Ban Breathnach's The Simple Abundance Journal of Gratitude (thanks, Oprah) and since she suggests that we write down five things every day, I should have my 60 things in 12 days. For January 1, Sarah includes the following quote from Melody Beattie: "Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow."

Here are the five things I recorded yesterday:
1. I'm grateful that I am healthy.
2. I'm grateful that I had a good night's sleep.
3. I'm grateful to be staying in this place where I have free electricity and WiFi.
4. I'm grateful that I can leave any time I want to.
5. I'm grateful for cheeseburgers at Johnny Rocket's (I guess this is not the year I stop eating meat.)

Here's wishing you Peace and Gratitude in 2009.

More Christmas Memories

2008-12-25T08:03:00.017-08:00

My friend Patti Digh, whose blog posts have been made into a wonderful book, Life Is A Verb: 37 Days to Wake Up, Be Mindful and Live Intentionally, writes lovingly of the deaths of her father and stepfather, the former very sudden (although not unexpected) and the latter only 37 days after his cancer diagnosis. Her stepfather's death became the catalyst for her blog 37 Days and her book. Today, Christmas Day, she reprised her blog post from Dec. 24, 2005, an annual re-telling that she shares with us in celebration of the lives of two wonderful men who had an impact on her life.

I've read these stories of Patti's before, and as before, it struck me again today how we have another thing in common (besides that her birthday is Aug. 16: same as Elvis; and mine is Aug. 17: same as Mae West): her father died of heart disease at the age of 53; my father died of heart disease three months shy of 53. That, however, is where the similarity in our stories about our fathers ends. From Patti's description of her father, he was kind, thoughtful ("the best breakfast cooker in the house," maker of monogrammed pancakes) and had a "pixie sense of humor." As far as I could tell my father had no sense of humor whatsoever.

Dad was a big man, about 6'1" tall with a barrel chest. He had played semi-pro football before he and my mother were married, a marriage for which she was always grateful (she told me so herself) since I was already on the way. My mother gave birth to five children from 1947 to 1954, and I think we were just too much for my father, who was the sole breadwinner until we were in high school. My mother didn't learn to drive until he died, so he also did the grocery shopping while she stayed home with us. His only other household duty, as I recall, was yelling a lot and smacking us regularly.

In her essay Patti ponders what her father might be like now, and wonders if she would adore him less now that she is old enough to see things about him as an adult that she wouldn't like. "Does my adoration depend on his loss?" she asks. For me, it is the opposite: I wonder if I would have loved my father more now.

One of the best memories I have of my father was Christmas 1972. I was 25 years old and had been married for nearly three years. Christmas had always been the best time to be with Dad, even when we were little (despite being yelled at and made to feel like a clumsy oaf when I dropped my best present of 1958--my very own camera--as if I didn't feel bad enough already). I like to think it was the generosity he wanted to show throughout the other 11 months of the year that was condensed into what certainly was for my sister, my three brothers and me the most wonderful time of the year.

About the year I turned 12 my mother started encouraging us to write down what we wanted for Christmas. I made it as easy as I could for Santa to bring just the right stitched-down pleated skirt and matching Villager sweater by helpfully including the page and item numbers from the Sears catalog. The list was a modest one, with perhaps a half-dozen items on it, nothing too expensive, and what do you know! On Christmas morning, everything on my list was waiting for me under the tree! My siblings were equally blessed, except for a few of the things on the bottom of my sister's rather lengthy list (the next year she put her "must-haves" at the top). It took my parents the next 11 months, or perhaps longer, to pay off the Sears bill.

In 1972 I had no list. It was enough just to be in the bosom of my family, having spent the first two Christmases of my married life without sufficient funds for two round-trip tickets from Virginia to Memphis for a not-so-white Christmas with my wacky siblings, my mother and my now-mellowing father. The highlight of the first day was evening cocktails with my parents. Mom and Dad were not drinkers while we were growing up so it was an especially rare occasion and an increasingly happy one as the evening wore on. I don't think I ever saw Dad laugh as much as he did that night. I felt all grown up, an adult at last, a peer of my father instead of the brat who couldn't seem to do anything to please him. He didn't live to enjoy Christmas 1973.

So I am left to ponder what life with father would have been like after that. My mother says my coming out as a lesbian would have been very difficult for him, so perhaps it's best that he didn't make it to 1981. He would have been 88 this past July, but I doubt he would have lasted that long. My mother battled cancer for six years and died in 1999 at a too-young 77.

I was angry with my father for many years for the way he treated me as a child, blaming him for all the qualities in myself that I abhored. But I finally gave that up in 1995 with the help of a great weekend workshop during which I wrote him a letter of forgiveness. These days I only wish he had been around long enough to see his granddaughter, who is now 31, and maybe his great-grandson, who's probably going to be a big man like my dad and my brothers. Dad would have enjoyed giving him a football for Christmas.

Happy Holidays to all from St. Augustine, Florida.

By the Sea, By the Sea, By the Beautiful Sea

2008-12-21T07:56:00.007-08:00

Well, I finally made it to the beach. I had intended to visit the North Carolina Outer Banks soon after I bought the motorhome, but gas was going for $4.00+ per gallon and campground fees in that area were around $40-$60 per night, so I stayed closer to Asheville while waiting for my daughter's October 25 wedding.

I've been in Florida since Thanksgiving week but had had no more than a glimpse of "big" water (Tampa Bay) when I decided it was time to take advantage of a friend's offer to stay in her condo at Satellite Beach, between Cocoa Beach and Melbourne Beach on the Atlantic coast. I took my friend Annette, in whose back yard I've been staying since the first week in December, and it was a quick two-hour drive from her home north of Orlando to the beach.

"On the Atlantic coast" is an understatement. We arrived in late afternoon as the high tide was just turning. As we sat in our second floor living room and looked out across the small balcony, there was no beach to be seen, just rough sea. Waves lapped at the stairway leading down to the beach, and sand completely covered the bottom step. I've never stayed in a place so close to the water. With the angry December surf and gray skies I felt rather uneasy, or was it the memory of the lifeguard's sign at that public beach--"rough surf, rip tides, man o' war, water temp. 66"--that was making me feel fearful and exhilirated at the same time?

It was a great three days. The surf calmed down a bit, the sun came out, and the bird watching was incredible, the highlight being the glorious sight of an osprey swooping into a wave and climbing back into the sky with a flashing silver fish wriggling in its talons. Of course there were the scooty-legged sandpipers in several varieties, the ubiquitous gulls, and squadrons of pelicans

doing aerial maneuvers up and down the beach. I became a cloud watcher, too. The surfers were out in their wet suits, which I didn't expect to see since the east coast waves are relatively benign, but I guess if you're a surfer who lives on the Atlantic you take what you can get. Me, I never got in the water and I was happy as a clam.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

2008-12-07T10:46:00.007-08:00

It's now Saturday, December 13. Time I finished the post I started nearly a week ago.

I've been visiting friends and relatives in Florida since the week of Thanksgiving, and since they attend church, I have been joining them, mainly for something to do and to "be folks," you know? At least, that's how it started out. But I've discovered that my study of Eckhart Tolle's writings has given me a new perspective on the sayings of Jesus, and that being immersed in Christian doctrine of the Presbyterian variety on Sunday morning (no pun intended, since Presbyterians don't immerse, they just sprinkle) has become less...well..."doctrinaire" when filtered through the lens of my new spiritual understanding.

A couple weeks ago I joined my cousin Peggy at her church in Tampa and even sang in her choir. I've been a choral singer nearly all my life until the last few years. It was the first Sunday in Advent, the first of four Sundays leading to Christmas, so even though the tree was not up yet, the Advent wreath of evergreens with purple, pink and white candles was on display, and the Christmas spirit that Walmart has been trying to instill since the day after Halloween finally was validated in the church sanctuary. A child was chosen to light the first purple candle and as I watched and listened to the familiar words, I harkened back to days of yore (about 1958) when I and my fellow girls' junior choir members sat together in church in our blue robes and I believed that Jesus was the son of God.

I don't remember the title of the minister's sermon, but he held my attention when he recalled his experience of being on retreat at a monastery just before Advent a few years ago. He said he had arrived for the retreat with his usual collection of essential communication devices: cell phone, laptop computer and Blackberry, intent on keeping up with his work while becoming spiritually renewed. He described how he and his fellow attendees did everything the monks did every day, including retiring at 8 p.m. and rising at 4 a.m., prayers, meals, church services and long periods of silence. It was during the silences that he answered e-mails and kept up with correspondence.

The minister then recounted his meeting with the director of the monastery, an audience that all attendees were given during their week-long stay. When his host asked how he was enjoying the retreat, he confessed to the monk that he felt he was not "getting it," that even though he was doing everything the monks did, he was not having the kind of spiritual experience he had expected to have.

"Well, duh," I said to myself. "This comes under the heading of, 'I don't believe I'd have told that.'" (I was feeling rather self-satisfied in my new-found knowledge of being in the stillness.) "Anybody should have known that," I thought.

My very next thought was, "See how quick you are to judge?" Sometimes I wonder if there is any hope for me at all, ever. And don't ask how the "no complaining/gossiping/whining" thing is going. "Today is day one" has become my mantra.

But that is not the point of this post. What I really want to convey is how being in church lately has become almost bearable because what I've heard makes more sense to me now than when I heard it back in my choir days (it was the singing that kept me going back), even as an adult. In his books, Eckhart Tolle often interprets the words of Jesus in such a way that I can almost believe again, if not that Jesus was the son of God, at least that he sure had it goin' on. If you believe in what the Bible says, I encourage you to read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. You may get an enhanced perspective on what it means to be a follower of Christ.

If you don't believe but you're still searching for "the peace that passes all understanding," (Phillipians 4:7 and A New Earth, page 56) like I am, Eckhart says you can stop searching because you already have it in you to be at peace if only you will stop the thoughts in your head and be still. And the best part is you don't have to sit on a cushion with your back perfectly straight in the pretzel--I mean lotus--position for what seems like hours but is really only 30 minutes (not that I'm complaining)... in order to experience the stillness. All you have to do is ask yourself, "Am I still breathing?" That focuses your attention away from the voice in your head ("What voice?" you ask. "That one," Eckhard replies.) and puts it on your body. Beathing in...breathing out.

Live in this moment. Be at peace. And have a holly jolly Christmas.