Reading While Falling

Here's a link to a captivating blog written by an American who is in Beirut teaching Lebaneese children about peace. This appears to be a genuine telling of what is going on, how this particular American is perceived by self and those around him. It's gripping and I anxiously await every post.

Reading While Falling

Pray for peace in our world
Be the peace in your own world

Yes Victoria, I Have A Secret

One of the experiences of losing weight is that often, your internal body image doesn't match reality. There's less of me...I know this because I don't have to turn sideways to get through a turnstile and my ass fits comfortably in a movie theater seat. But this morning, I was picking out something to wear and realized the perfect bra to complete the ensemble was one I hadn't worn in a while. It's red satin with black lace...very nice and of course, no one but me (and Mocha) know that under this seemingly nondescript blouse lurks some sexy lingerie.

Imagine my surprise when I put it on and realized it was too big. I don't mean around my torso, but the cups. I stood gazing down at my boobs swimming around in satin cups that once were filled to overflowing. There was enough room for them to do the breast stroke, if they were so inclined.

Did someone come in the middle of the night and deflate my boobs? Is this my punishment for thinking Ken Lay isn't truly dead?

So now, I have to adjust my body image and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I've always liked having big boobs, others have as well. I was happy when the size of my thighs, stomach and hips shrunk...I'm even wearing a smaller shoe size, but it's going to take some time for me to accept my new boobs.

Photo Archives

I discovered a file on my laptop containing photos for the past 4-5 years. I'm posting some of my favorites.

This is Mocha and Molly taking up residence in my favorite chair. Everybody say, "Awwwwww."

When I Wake Up....

I've suddenly become very weary over the situation surrounding my stepdad's protracted decline. Last week, the doctors started him on chemotherapy after they discovered that on top of everything else, prostate cancer he had surgery for 17 years ago is back with a vengence. Did I mention they did this without consulting my stepdad, mom or any of us? This seems to be ok with everyone but me and my sister...Mom has gone from being in deep denial to turning it all over to God and the doctors.

Why in the name of all things decent would they do this? Doesn't quality of life mean anything to anyone any more? If it were their father, would they have taken the same action? I think not.

All I want to do is take a nap...its 6:22 pm...this is not a good sign. Maybe when I wake up, it will all have been a bad dream. Who's in denial now?

BZZZZZZ

An active hornets nest was discovered in the brush on the side of the lake. Normally, we leave these things alone, but folks spend a lot of time in the area fishing, walking and sitting on the benches, so we couldn't take the risk of someone getting a face full of hornets.

Much to my surprise, our exterminators wouldn't touch this job with a ten foot pole. Apparently the EPA prohibits the spraying of chemicals near a body of water...makes sense. But, I have a live hornets nest!!!!!!!! After being shuffled from one government agency to the next, I: 1) did research on the internet and 2) spoke to an entomologist at the county extension office.

The rules of engagement, as explained to me, seem to be like entering a bar full of surly women:

• Wait until dark..they are more easily agitated when it's light outside
• Since it's dark, you'll need a flashlight, but cover the beam with red celophane...they tend to make a beeline for the light
• Approach with caution and NEVER attempt to do this alone...take a buddy as a decoy
• Don't wear bright clothing...gray, brown or black is preferred
• They have a tendency to crawl up your pant leg, so tape the bottom of your pants real tight and include the wrists of your shirt sleeve too...just in case
• In fact, wear two layers of clothing, two hats, two pairs of gloves and a impenetrable veil over your face...they will sting over and over again
• Have a foolproof getaway plan (this is where the buddy comes in handy)
• There's only one way in and out of the nest, so find the hole and spray liberally with hornet be gone...wait a few minutes for them to get stunned, then spray again
• Pick up the nest and 1) put it in a plastic bag and seal it with duct tape, 2) burn it, 3) toss it in the lake or 4) leave it where it is and go back this winter when you are sure they are all dead and display proudly on your fireplace mantle...makes a great conversation piece

OK...so my beekeepers suit is in storage in Houston and Mocha is no good at driving the getaway golf cart....what am I to do? Then I remembered...one of my neighbors has bee hives in his yard. I bet he has a beekeepers suit. So I dial him up and sure enough, he has the wardrobe for the job and will come over right away and take care of it for me! I'm a little disappointed he's not going to let me wear his suit, but heck, leave it to the experts I say.

He pulls up in his pickup truck in full beekeeper regalia...cute as a bug. We exchange polite chit chat...he too lived in Houston and has very fond memories of that time. We jump in the golf cart and tallyho...we are off to the lake....him singing through his beekeeper veil, "Isn't it Romantic." Now I have to tell you, he and his wife have been married 57 years, so he can get away with it. Then, my knight in shining armor does the sweetest thing...he says, "you go on back to the house and I'll walk back once I get the nest in the plastic bag." Sure enough...about ten minutes later, he comes walking up the trail to the house with stick in one hand and plastic bag in the other...what a man.

Tomorrow, I'm going to bake him something and drop it off at their house as a thank you. No my friends, chivalry is not dead!

Random Musings

I'm in a personal season of Advent...waiting and while I'm waiting, I'm observing and feeling and thinking and when I do this...randomness occurs:

Random Confession #1

No matter what I'm doing, when Vince Gill comes on the radio I stop, take a deep breath, sit back, close me eyes and let his voice wash all over me...in one fluid movement. That boy can sing.

Random Feeling #2

Today, I picked and ate tomatoes I grew in the front yard at Penuel Ridge. They were warm and juicy and tasted as good as being here feels.

Random Irritation #3

There's a song playing on a country radio station in Nashville titled "Yeehaw." It's a bouncy tune, but what bothers me is they spell the word yeehaw in the song...y-e-e-h-a-w. I'm thinking the folks who need to know how to spell yeehaw already possess that skill because just like me, they learned it in the 6th grade when they took Texas History. If your birth certificate doesn't say Texas, please refrain from using our word...you just sound silly.

Random Knowledge (good to know) #4

Yellow Jackets build their nest in the ground. Hornet nests usually hang from trees or bushes and look like watermelons or basketballs made of papier mache. Bees build hives in hollow places, usually trunks of trees. I've interacted with all three this week. Run Forrest Run!

Laying on the Conspiracy

I reached a new height of cynicism when I heard Ken Lay had died of a heart attack at his vacation home in Colorado. I didn't believe it and apparently am not alone in my conspiracy-laced thinking. Instead of packing for a long stretch in prison, I picture him reclining under a palm tree, healing nicely from a facial transplant and sipping pina coladas through a straw.

I usually don't lean in the direction of conspiracy theories, but you have to admit, someone with Ken Lay's cunning and resources could pull this off.

This appeared over the weekend on one of my favorite blogs...

I imagine Michael Moore or Oliver Stone are working out the story idea even as I type this confession.

Answer the Door

A large, dark SUV crunched to a stop on the gravel drive outside my office. Not expecting a visitor, I looked up from my morning labors impatiently, wondering who had made the trek to Penuel Ridge on the off chance I would be there. I checked myself, smoothed my unruly hair, plastered on my most hospitable Southern woman smile, the one that says, “yes, I just happened to have a pie baking in the oven in case someone came by” and went to the door to greet the interloper.

There stood a tiny woman with bleached blonde braids zigging and zagging across her black scalp. She shook my hand and made a beeline for the bathroom. I stood there awkwardly, waiting for her to reappear and identify herself. Bursting out of the door and closing the gap between us in two strides, she enveloped me in her arms and whispered, “I am a Prophetess and God has sent me to deliver a message.” Locked in an embrace, she spoke intentionally in my ear, part English, part moaning, part twitching, part guttural dialect I didn’t recognize. She uttered my truths, every single one in detail, acknowledging the whimpering child who suffered at the hands of my father and brother and the wounded woman who carried the pain of lost loves. “Repeat after me,” she instructed, and I did, eyes closed, leaning into her, repeating forgiving words of sweet release for it ALL. When consciousness crept back into the corners of my mind, I was lying on the floor, her smiling face looking down at me. Not sure the proper protocol for this type of experience, I pulled myself off of the floor to an upright position and did the only natural thing…hugged her.

How many times have we, in our human-ness, asked God for a sign, for a message letting us know he is there; sees our struggle; knows our pain and will wash it away? In our soul pining, do we believe it will come and when it does, will we know it? She was gone as quickly as she came. Was she truly a messenger sent from God or a crackpot on a joy ride through rural Tennessee? My intellect questions if it actually happened. The healed, open space inside of me that once held tight to the pain of the past says, “Yes.”

I wonder, if in your human-ness, you would have opened the door?

Independence Day 24

Independence from TV - no problem

Independence from sugar - a couple of candy bars and a small bag of Teddy Grahams in the last 24 days...not too bad considering what I was consuming

Independence from procrastinating - finished or discarded unfinished poems from a year ago (mostly discarded)

Independence from cursing - the "f" word has been flying out of my mouth today and I don't mean "frustrated", although I am quite frustrated...something is holding Bill to this Earth when his body is clearly shutting down, at being a prisoner to my body, which is only painfree in the sitting and lying down position

...time to swallow the patience pill

Untitled

My first sweet breath...as I drew it in, you were there
ancient souls in a new body peering through curious eyes

My first sweet taste…as it passed my lips, you were there
hungry souls in a marauder’s body savoring life’s bounty

My first sweet love…as it filled my vessel, you were there
entwined souls in a rhythmic body breathing in one another

My first sweet heartbreak…as the fabric tore, you vanished
abandoned soul in a quaking body seeking solace in darkness

My first sweet awakening…as it shone in my eyes, you were there
reunited souls in a soaring body embracing one another

My last sweet breath…as it escapes my lungs, you are there
flooded souls in a spent body released…manna to the Universe

I'll Take Two Please

I'm hungry...yogurt, toast and coffee are to my right.

I have things to say...laptop is perched on my lap, ready to go.

Which will win out....hunger to eat or hunger to write?

I need more hands.

Scraps of Wisdom.10

Those who have sought for and gained from your destruction find no benefit in your resurrection.

...on Jack Kerouac

I just finished reading Big Sur by Jack Kerouac. A disturbing read as you are drawn into his desperate attempts at clarity through alcohol soaked boughts of insanity. The dialogue was hard for me to follow at first, written in the beatnick vernacular of the early 60's. Luckily, I hung in there and on page 34, he pulls out of a drunken stupor to lay out with precise clarity one of the most profound narratives I've ever read. It's a bit long, but well worth the read...enjoy.

The setting is a small cabin in Big Sur, California...sandwiched between ancient redwood forests on one side, the pounding Pacific Ocean on the other. Here's a link to the coastline view he mentions from the upper deck of Nepenthe.

At high noon the sun always coming out at last, strong, beating down on my nice high porch where I sit with books and coffee and the noon I thought about the ancient Indians who must have inhabited this canyon for thousands of years, how even as far back as the 10th Century this valley must have looked the same, just different trees: these ancient Indians simply the ancestors of the Indians of only recently say 1860-----How they've all died and quietly buried their grievances and excitements----How the creek may have been an inch deeper since logging operations of the last 60 years have removed some of the watershed in the hills back there----How the women pounded the local acorns, acorns or shmacorns, I finally found the natural nuts of the valley and they were sweet tasting----And men hunted deer-----In fact God knows what they did because I wasn't here----But the same valley, a thousand years of dust more or less over their footsteps of 960 A.D.-----And as far as I can see the world is too old for us to talk about it with our new words----We will pass just as quietly through life (passing through, passing through) as the 10th Century people of this valley only with a little more noise and a few bridges and dams and bombs that won't even last a million years---The world being just what it is, moving and passing through, actually alright in the long view and nothing to complain about----Even the rocks of the valley had earlier rock ancestors, a billion billion years ago, have left no howl of complaint----Neither the bee, or the first sea urchins, or the calm, or the severed paw----All sad So-Is sight of the world, right there in front of my nose as I look----And looking at that valley in fact I also realize I have to make lunch and it won't be any different than the lunch of those olden men and besides it'll taste good----Everything is the same, the fog says "We are fog and we fly by dissolving like ephemera," and the leaves say "We are leaves and we jiggle in the wind, that's all, we come and go, grow and fall"----Even the paper bags in my garbage pit say "We are man-transformed paper bags made out of wood pulp, we are kinda proud of being paper bags as long as that will be possible, but we'll be mush again with our sisters the leaves come rainy season"----The tree stumps say "We are tree stumps torn out of the ground by men, sometimes by wind, we have big tendrils full of earth that drink out of the earth"----Men say "We are men, we pull out tree stumps, we make paper bags, we think wise thoughts, we make lunch, we look around, we make a great effort to realize everything is the same"----While the sand says "We are sand, we already know," and the sea says "We are always come and go, fall and plosh"----The blue sky adds "Don't call me eternity, call me God if you like, all of you talkers are in paradise: the leaf is paradise, the tree stump is paradise, the paper bag is paradise, the man is paradise, the sand is paradise, the sea is paradise, the man is paradise, the fog is paradise"----Can you imagine a man with marvelous insights like these can go mad within a month? (because you must admit all those talking paper bags and sands were telling the truth)----But I remember seeing a mess of leaves suddenly go skittering in the wind and into the creek, then floating rapidly down the creek towards the sea, making me feel a nameless horror even then of "Oh my God, we're all being swept away to sea no matter what we know or say or do"----And a bird who was on a crooked branch is suddenly gone without my even hearing him.

Small Miracle

I was on a conference call when a retreatant burst into my office exclaiming, "we have a minor crisis on our hands!" I politely excuse myself from the call, pull myself up off the floor (the only comfortable position I could find that day) and follow her to the patio, where she points to the problem. At the end of her intentional digit, is the large birdfeeder sitting on the picnic table. It's a long cylinder with holes drilled hither and yon with metal perches inserted so the birds can feast comfortably. There, on the bottom row, I see the body of a small bird jutting out of one of the feeding holes, but no head! I step closer and realize this creature, in its zeal to get the last safflower seed, has wedged its head so deep into the hole it can't get out. The retreatant is near hysterics...she's been watching this bird struggle for more than an hour to extricate itself.

One of us obviously has to stay calm and come up with a plan, so I check first to see if the bird is still alive, which it is, gently tug on its little body to see if I can free it, which I can't and step back to assess the situation. I open the top of the birdfeeder and look down. All I can see is part of its head, beak and its shining black eye looking up at me, pleading to be set free. There's only one thing to do...break the birdfeeder and set our feathered friend free.

So, I head back into the retreat house for plyers, channel locks, vice grips, whatever tool I can lay my hands on to do the job. The channel lock does the trick, several intentional tugs on the metal perch under its bird body and crack, crack, crack, the plastic gives way and out falls the trembling bird into my waiting hand.

It's in shock, laying on its side, panting, yes, panting like a dog. I'm pretty sure this little fellow is not going to make it, so I stroke its feathers and talk to it softly. It responds by peeing and pooping on me, which I oddly don't mind. The bird and I are locked in a staring contest, you know the one from childhood where the first person to blink loses. I recognize consternation in his fixed gaze. I send the retreatant back into the house for a box and something soft for it to lay on. She reappears with just the right makeshift bird sanctuary. Showing no signs of struggle, I gently lower him into the box where he seems content enough, all-the-while piercing my soul with its onyx stare.

The Ridge is wild, with many natural predators, so now I don the role of protector for our rescued friend. I gently walk the box into the breezeway outside my office. This is where I tend to the ailing houseplants, so it seems logical this is where the bird should recuperate.

I returned to my conference call, complete the meeting and check on the status of the bird. Much to my surprise, not only is he now upright, but flies out of the box in the general direction of my face. I duck and rush to open the door of freedom and our rejuvinated friend exits with a rush. Instead of flying straight away, he stops for a moment and rests, casting a backward glance over his left wing at me. Our eyes meet in a parting 'thank you' and he launches into the heavy summer air to the sanctuary of the forest.

Crisis and Calm

The space between crisis and calm is rapidly diminishing. Bill is back in the hospital after being home for only 2 weeks. Pneumonia, another mild heart attack and early signs of kidney failure is the diagnosis. The news this morning is encouraging...he's responding well to medication to knock out the pneumonia. Mom reports he's anxious to get back to the lake.

When does medical intervention become a hindrance? The sands of time are rushing into the bottom of his hourglass, yet something is holding him here. I know my role is to honor his process and not intervene...easy to say...hard to do.

Scraps of Wisdom.9

"Our work is simply to find our work. And then with all our hearts to do it."

I'm Tired

If I lay very, very still and breathe shallow breaths, the excrutiating pain almost subsides. It's been 3 sleepless days and nights of non-stop pain. It started out as lower back pain, but now the entire left side of my body from the waist down is on fire.

Hopefully, at some point, I'll pass out from exhaustion.

Two Chickens and a Turkey Leg

I was thinking about my Grandma this morning, who taught me some mighty powerful life lessons. She had a reputation for being an impeccable housekeeper, which was no small feat considering the number of menfolk traipsing in and out of her house. One day I asked her, "Grandma, how do you keep your house so clean?" She looked me in the eye and said, "Baby, if you live clean, you're house will stay clean." Wise woman.

So, this morning I decided to tackle the mystery contents of the freezer. It appears to be full of food, but truthfully, it's full of various portions of food that went bad in my refrigerator. When this happens, I just move the offensive dish into the freezer, awaiting disposal on trash day, at least that's my intention. In truth, there's more dead food in my freezer than consumable. Did you know moldy food continues to mold in the freezer and turns a beautiful shade of teal?

After an hour of feeding the garbage can and emptying countless storage containers, here's what remains:

1. Homemade chicken broth
2. 4 bananas
3. 4 packages of corn meal - which must multiply in the freezer when I'm not looking because I only remember buying one carton in the past year
4. 1 package of coconut
5. Various bread products - hot dog buns, croissants, etc...
6. Two Whole Chickens
7. One Turkey Leg

From a freezer jam-packed with stuff, I'm down to 7 items. My Grandma would be so proud!

My Personal Declaration of Independence - 2006

Although most people make resolutions for personal and professional improvement on New Year's Day, I have found Independence Day to be a more meaningful time for me. Yeah, yeah...New Year, New Beginning, New You...I appreciate the metaphor, however what could be more powerful than claiming independence from those things holding me back from realizing my fullest, most joyful self?

Since last July 4th, I've achieved independence from:

diet sodas
smoking
artificial sweeteners
wheat
sloth
fear
impatience

I was only intentional about the top 4 things, which I admit were at the level of addiction. The additional ones occurred organically as a result of living at a Contemplative Retreat Center...a bonus of sorts.

It's been quite a year, so in the interest of balance, my personal declaration of independence is shorter this July 4th...nevertheless intentional. These are BIGGIES and have been with me since childhood, except the last one:

Watching television
Sugar
Procrastination
Cursing

The television, VCR/DVD player, all remote controls and owner's manuals have been neatly tucked away in a closet.

Since sugar truly is an addiction for me, I have to quit cold turkey. Nor do I intend to replace sugary treats and snacks with sugar-free alternatives...that's just silly. Please send blankets. I envision myself crouched in a corner of the basement shivering from withdrawal, like someone coming off of crack.

The latter two, I'll take a day, an hour or a moment at a time. I am amused at the irony of posting this 5 days after July 4th and will miss cursing, but look forward to an expanded vocabulary.

I've lit the fuse on this Independence Day. Time will tell if the sky lights up with brilliance.

The Mother Church of Country Music

Yes folks, this Sunday night I'll be standing on the stage of the Ryman Auditorium, the Mother Church of Country Music, singing my heart out with my brothers and sisters from Nashville in Harmony. I'm freakin' gonna sing at the original Grand Ole Opry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's the best part...Mae West performed on the very same stage.

















Life doesn't get any sweeter than that!

Scraps of Wisdom.8

Life is no brief candle for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it onto future generations.

George Bernard Shaw

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap;

the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman

Manna

I lace my hiking boots
to the pulse of raindrops meeting
parched Earth, today calls
for a sturdy shoe, no umbrella
to shield me from the elements

We strike out on an all-too-familiar path
staccato footfalls muted by a veil of rain,
soft and supple as chiffon swaying
before an open window

Six clicks of a walking stick
and we enter the sanctuary of lichen-covered trails
cool and quiet, yet not without movement
leaves and branches bow and sway
as puddles rekindle their jubilation

Why is there no name for the sound of falling rain?
More soothing than static, richer than white noise...
manna.

Deeper into the woods
the crisp call of a cardinal shakes
us from our morning stupor
Senses heighten
breath quickens
we are hydrated deeper than our skin

Yawned from the mouth of the trail
I stand frozen at the specter of a
dancing lake embraced by smoking trees
layers of mist dissecting the green of
the forest, punctuated
by the smell of loam and ripening berries

Along the creek, cedars cling to rain, wrestling
gravity for each precious orb
held in defiance on the tips of outstretched arms
We are careful in our passing not to
engage in battle not of our making

Will the cascade, held to a whisper by drought,
bustle once more or will the Ridge open its craggy,
leathered fingers to drink in every drop?

Anchored steps and sturdy rope aid
our descent into the meadow
the grandiose sweep of walnut branches tickle
meadow grasses into gales of laughter
soaring above the low,
growling rumble of thunder

Shelter is but a meadow away.
We are unhurried to separate
ourselves from the feast,
to be in dry clothes
or restored to the order of the World

All too soon, staccato footfalls
and the click of a walking stick
will lift the veil between worlds.
What lies beyond is not necessarily chaos.
Like the sound of rain, it has no name
...except yearning and peace.



© 2006 Laura E. Valentine. All rights reserved.

Coming Clean

It's 12:48 pm...time to come clean.

Today has been filled with tasks aimed at keeping my hands and mind busy. Busy enough to drown out the small still voice inside of me that is throwing me into a bona fide state of guilt.

Here's what I've done so far:

hiked
baked banana nut bread
did laundry
flipped the mattress on my bed
vacuumed
rearranged books in my closet
washed, dried and put away dishes
cleaned the bathroom
arranged recipes

...and I've only been up for 6 hours. If I keep up this pace, I'm going to collapse before the day is over.

So, here's the deal. My stepdad has been gravely ill. He's been in congestive heart failure for more than a decade and his health has slowly declined. Seven weeks ago, he had a heart attack and has been in the hospital, then a nursing home for rehab and back to the hospital...where he is now. To say this has been a difficult time is an understatement.

I consider Bill my Dad, even though he and my Mom didn't marry until I was in my mid-twenties. He's a good man and he's been good to my Mom. He's also been very good to me; showing me over and over again what it means to be a father. I love him for this and for the imperfect person he is.

All the love and medical knowledge in the world is not going to strengthen his heart. He's not going to recover from this last heart attack. His mind is with us, but his body is shutting down and I wish he would just slip away. That's a nice way of saying I wish he would die.

I don't need to expound upon my guilt surrounding this wish. I'll have to work through it the only way I know how...shed some tears and find peace in being human.

Chasing Bunnies

It's easy to overlook subtle changes since moving to rural Tennessee. These changes haven't only occurred in me, but in my constant companion, Mocha.

Having been surrounded by dogs my whole life, I'm familiar with their tendency to "run" in their sleep. Laying on their side, all four paws twitching and moving in tandem, muzzle trembling stifling a low woof. We humans can only imagine what our furry friends are dreaming of. I'm not alone in calling this phenomenon, "chasing bunnies."

The other night, Mocha was curled up in her dog bed and I was settled in my own, reading. Suddenly, I heard thump, thump, thump...the wagging tail of a happy dog. I gazed over the top of my book in her direction and realized she was indeed wagging her tail, but was sound asleep. I laughed out loud and then it occurred to me, she no longer runs in her sleep chasing bunnies. She doesn't need to because she runs freely all day long, chasing bunnies, wild turkeys, chipmunks, squirrels, etc... so now she wags.

She is one happy dog.

Quiet Day Mantra

Today is quiet day at Penuel Ridge, where we are intentionally silent for the day. With a lot of stuff churning inside of me, I decided what I needed to do was go to The Well (our chapel) and lie prostrate on the floor, clear my head and let the small still voice be heard. After deep breathing and clearing the clutter...here's what was spoken:

I open my heart to receive the infinite love of the Universe.

Assumptions About Tomorrow

The little mushrooms were pushing through the mosses in the undergrowth, signaling that the autumn rains were bringing the time of gathering. Two Clouds was teaching the young women of her Clan how to know which kinds of mushrooms were edible, and how to collect them.

One young woman was filling her baskets with every edible mushroom she could find. Two Clouds noticed and stopped the women, asking them to form a circle so they could talk. Then Two Clouds began her lesson.

We can never assume what tomorrow will bring for our children and their children. If we take all the mushrooms we see, there will be none left to continue the generations of food that can be foraged from the forest. We might discover that our great grandchildren died of hunger because we took unfair advantage of the bounty given to us today.

There is a balance in the natural world that we can sense, but we cannot always see. If the buffalo keep disappearing, and the deer and the flocks of winged creatures change their migration patterns, how will our generation survive? In assuming that there will always be more than enough, we have forgotten that we are ultimately responsible for what tomorrow holds. If we take without giving something back, we have robbed tomorrow of the energy it needs for renewal.

Observations from the Road

...or maybe questions, but definitely not rhetorical in nature:

1. Why isn't baseline and vaseline pronounced the same way?

2. Driving back from Texas, I hit Bucksnort, Tennessee at about dusk. There was a deer grazing peacefully next the interstate under the city limit sign. Redundant or shrewd municipal marketing?

3. Truckers...do they truly think pulling up next to me on the freeway and making cat calls loud enough to be heard over the roar of their engine is going to turn me on? Does this ever work for them?

4. Who is advocating for the geriatric community dealing with substandard rural healthcare?

5. Solidarity...a pylon or a pile driver?

Ich habe geweint

I cried.
I cried this week.
I cried over things seemingly disconnected.

Mournful tears

the fresh scars of tire tracks and ruts on the lower trail leading to the lake

having to resort to killing a wasp building a nest in the doorframe of the cottage when she/he was not amenable to being relocated

photos of the corpse of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi shortly after he was killed

loneliness

Joyful tears

Mocha running as fast as she can across the meadow with a crazed smile on her face

hearing and feeling in my marrow my own voice joining others in creating a perfectly tuned chord

remembering who I am

knowing what I need to be happy

I cried.
I cried this week.
I cried over things seemingly disconnected...

Scraps of Wisdom.7

My barn, having burned to the ground

I can now see the moon.

Gracias DC Comics

Ode to my Texas heritage

Bluebonnet, bluebonnet
with your coat so blue
your eyes are so shiny
through the silvery dew

I know you're my dolly
offered for the rain
I know you'll return again
to Texas in the spring.

A Surly Sentiment

Driving back from town to the Retreat Center I closed in on a short line of cars going very slow on a road that usually clips along at 50 mph. As the ribbon of cars bent around a curve, I spied the culprit, a John Deere tractor in the lead. I settled into my seat, expecting to poke along for the 5 or so miles I had left to travel. The folks ahead of me must have been anxious to get home for as soon as the double yellow lines became single, they zipped around the tractor at break neck speed. When it was my turn to pass, the road was seeing double again, so I had a front seat behind Mr. John Deere, with its large air-conditioned cab and tinted windows.

Glistening in the light of the setting sun, I noticed very large lettering on the back window of the cab which read:

GOD BLESS AMERICA.....

AND THE FARMER THAT FEEDS YOUR FAT ASS.

Write Your Own Caption

Again with the Labels

Recently, a retreatant and I were in conversation about our mutual experiences working with the homeless. We shook our heads in unison over the plight of the poor and marginalized, a kinship born out of mutual frustration and then... it happened. It was so subtle, I almost missed it, but woven into the conversation, he referred to me as a "person of privilege."

I suppose he labeled me a "person of privilege" because I'm white. My reaction was one of curiosity, not quite understanding how this virtual stranger could assume I led a privileged life based solely on the color of my skin. I didn't draw attention to his choice of words, but since his departure, I hear the echo of his voice and wonder.

Consider the Kite

Achieve the most daunting task first...

Scraps of Wisdom.6

...and the day came

when the risk it took

to remain tight inside the bud

was more painful

than the risk it took

to blossom.

Anais Nin

For My Dear Friend

My dear friend Mark has forever spoken wistfully of spring lilacs in his native Pennsylvania. The sweet signature fragance of these young bushes lured me into the back yard. In honor of you, my friend, I buried my nose in the soft blossoms and breathed deeply.

An Accord

Several years ago, I was reading New Begnnings I, by Abraham-Hicks. The subject of abundance, creation and miscreation was presented in a way that has forever altered me.

THERE IS ENOUGH IN THIS WORLD FOR EVERONE, WITHOUT ANYONE GOING WITHOUT.

Embracing this concept has led me on a journey, leaving the security of a well-paying job behind to pursue writing poetry without any visible means of support. It's taken a lot of retraining for me to live this tenet in full faith. This is America after all...manifest destiny and the pursuit of more has been the mantra fed to me since early childhood. It's every man for himself and if you work hard enough, you can achieve the American dream. Only problem is, how are we fed in a world such as this? We work hard, we make money, we buy things, we work harder, to make more money, to buy more things, and still we are hungry, disconnected and exhausted.

With $32 to last 21 days, you would think I might be in a bit of a panic, but yesterday, I said outloud, "whatever I need will be provided and there is ample abundance for everyone." Today, someone called to book a retreat. It's a small group of women who are utterly exhausted and they wanted to know if someone could cook for them. We don't provide meals at the Retreat Center, but I do cook on a case-by-case basis for a modest fee.

Do you see how clever the Universe is at bringing forth abundance?

Flowering Trees at Penuel Ridge

Pink Dogwood

azure sky












Redbud suspended over barbed wire

Native Dogwood basking in the sun

Blogiddy, Blog, Blog, Blog

It isn't because I haven't had anything to say...
It isn't because I don't adore each of you who peek through my window to the world...
It isn't because this process has grown tedious or boring or time-consuming...
It's simply a matter of placing my energies where they serve me best.

The emergence of Spring in Middle Tennessee has been nothing short of spectacular. After hunkering down in multiple layers of clothes in front of the fireplace for 2-3 months, I've been spending every possible moment outdoors. Doing what you ask? For starters...

1. Breathing
2. Listening
3. Stretching
4. Looking up
5. Looking down
6. Looking left
7. Looking right
8. Basking in the sun
9. Climbing
10. Sitting

Every day Mocha and I hike (almost every day) and the transformation of the trails from barren to explosions of fragile and feathery foliage and blossoms have captivated me.

I'm accustomed to wildflowers you can see easily from the back seat of a car barrelling 70 miles an hour down the interstate. It takes a big, bold, garrish Texas wildflower to pull that off.

Wildflowers in Middle Tennessee are different. I had been walking past a horde of wildflowers without realizing the banquet of flora in my path. They are subtle. At first look, you can't even see them. Then, as you let your focus relax, suddenly, they come into view and you realize within a 2-3 foot radius, you are seeing 4 or 5 different wildflowers. Trout lillies, spurge, trillium, purple, yellow and white violets, etc...

It's been a wonderful experience and rather than prattle on and on, straining for yet another adjective, I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

The Wonder of it All

I sit in awe at the unfolding of spring around me. I am paralyzed by the beauty of the subtle spring wildflowers and trees as they blanket the ridges around Penuel Ridge with their soft hues of pink, lilac, yellow, purple and blue. I can't describe the exhuberance of the emerging shades of green at the tips of swollen branches.

My neighbor told me a story once...she was born and raised in New Jersey, but spent time in the South as a missionary. She recalled returning to the east coast after many years and weeping when spring arrived. I second that emotion. For me, spring in Houston meant an annual trip to the Ima Hogg mansion to view the azaleas in full bloom. They don't hold a candle to determined daffodils pushing their way through frozen ground and snow to wave their buttery faces at me on morning hikes.

Witnessing this season of renewal has humbled me, inspired me, dropped me to my knees in gratitude...left me breathless with wonder.

Wish you could all be here, witness this, weep with me.

Wisdom in the Most Unexpected Places

The virtue of PATIENCE and the emotion of FEAR is something I've been writing about for a few years. PATIENCE is an elusive virtue, not one we are born with and one acquired by few. Imagine my delight, when reading Tantric Sex for Women by Christa Schulte, I encountered the following thought:

"Patience means being relaxed - being able to wait, staying calm, and giving yourself the necessary playing room for development. Patience creates space - living space, breathing space, space to develop. It is the opposite of fearful defensive maneuvers and the rigid "no!" in response to everything that is new or different. Patience means showing forbearance for ourselves, for the beloved who is so darned "different," and for all other beings."

Read it again if you need to...it's buried in the middle - PATIENCE opposite FEAR! The anvils of PATIENCE AND FEAR who have enjoyed taking turns pulling me under the waves converge in a single sentence. A SINGLE SENTENCE! The lighbulb not only came on...it's burning at 1,000 watts.

It's so very simple I want to laugh out loud and dance with the wildflowers in the meadow. Join in if you'd like...there's room for everyone at the dance of an abundant and joyful life.

Words Escape Me

I usually have very vivid dreams and can remember them long after waking up. Last night, in one of my dreams, I was in conversation with my ex and she used a word I didn't know. At that moment, I stepped out of dream consciousness and thought to myself, wait a minute, this is my dream and my psyche is feeding her dialogue, so how could she use a word I don't know. I told myself to remember the word and look it up in the morning and then quietly slipped back into dream consciousness.

When I awoke this morning, I remembered the dream, but couldn't remember the word. Isn't that strange?

Libbys, Libbys, Libbys

There was a jingle. It went like this...

If it says Libbys, Libbys, Libbys
on the label, label, label
You will like it, like it, like it
on your table, table, table

Catchy tune
Excellent branding technique
Libby's probably paid a big hunch of change
to a Madison Avenue marketing firm to create it

Here's the thing...I HATE labels

Putting labels on people makes me CRAZY

So here I am again, being asked...."do I introduce you as my GIRLFRIEND?"

I respond, "I would be happy and proud to be introduced as your GIRLFRIEND, but could you please tell me what that means?"

So I guess I'm going to forced to figure out why it is I have such an aversion to labels. Or do I?

Here's why I don't like labels:

1. Very rarely do people define the words used as labels in the same way, so although you may think you know...you really don't.

2. Pidgeonholing people, situations, etc... limits them to our current perception and understanding...what if we just let it alone for a while and allow it to name itself?

ok...sidebar...I just realized I had the same thought years ago about teaching children to talk...what if we didn't talk around them, what language would they develop on their own?

3. Labeling someone "this" or "that" is but one facet of who they are.

If you have thoughts about this topic...feel free to leave a comment.

The Promise of Spring

The Ridge is noisy with morsels of color tucked here and there in the woods, along embankments, catching the corner of passive eyes grown accustomed to the gray of winter;

Yellow are the faces of daffodils as they stretch, stretch, stretch their long ruffled necks, peeking around tree trunks, winking from under bushes, flirting with the March wind;

Fuchsia are the berries, overwintered on tender stalks, waving seductively at passing flights of birds, gliding on the boomerang's path home;

Purple are the crocus cups, bashfully nestled in dry grasses, so fragile yet so valiant against the crush of a late winter snow;

Swollen are the tips of branches
Swollen is the dry creek
Swollen is the Earth where gophers have left their calling card

The Ridge is noisy with color, with stirrings of life anew, with deep cleansing breaths that rattle bare branches;

The same sweet, sticky sap rising in ancient trees is rising in me;
Intensity, desire, warmth, connectedness,
humor, joy, longing, passion, play
are pushing through the blanket of straw
cast over my heart

The Ridge is noisy with color, with lessons, with new paths carved by Nature's hand, with the percussive promise of spring.

Scraps of Wisdom.5

Life is too short to stop doing what you love
and it is never too late to discover your favorite things.

Everybody say AMEN!

How To Build Community

TURN OFF YOUR TV
LEAVE YOUR HOUSE
KNOW YOUR NEIGHBORS
LOOK UP WHEN YOU ARE WALKING
GREET PEOPLE
SIT ON YOUR FRONT PORCH
PLANT FLOWERS
USE YOUR LIBRARY
PLAY TOGETHER
BUY FROM LOCAL MERCHANTS
SHARE WHAT YOU HAVE
HELP A LOST DOG
TAKE CHILDREN TO THE PARK
GARDEN TOGETHER
SUPPORT NEIGHBORHOOD SCHOOLS
FIX IT EVEN IF YOU DIDN'T BREAK IT
HAVE POT LUCKS
HONOR ELDERS
PICK UP LITTER
READ STORIES ALOUD
DANCE IN THE STREET
TALK TO THE MAIL CARRIER
LISTEN TO THE BIRDS
PUT UP A SWING
HELP CARRY SOMETHING HEAVY
BARTER FOR YOUR GOODS
START A TRADITION
ASK A QUESTION
HIRE YOUNG PEOPLE FOR ODD JOBS
ORGANIZE A BLOCK PARTY
BAKE EXTRA AND SHARE
ASK FOR HELP WHEN YOU NEED IT
OPEN YOUR SHADES
SING TOGETHER
SHARE YOUR SKILLS
TAKE BACK THE NIGHT
TURN UP THE MUSIC
TURN DOWN THE MUSIC
LISTEN BEFORE YOU REACT TO ANGER
MEDIATE A CONFLICT
SEEK TO UNDERSTAND
LEARN FROM NEW AND UNCOMFORTABLE ANGLES
KNOW THAT NO ONE IS SILENT THOUGH MANY ARE NOT HEARD
WORK TO CHANGE THIS

...to the wreckage awaiting me there

...and so, with evidence of Mother Nature's wrath in my rearview mirror, I continued driving southwest to Houston. It sounds corny, but every time I drive or fly into Houston and see the skyline for the first time, I start to cry. You can get your first glimpse of it pretty far away, I think somewhere between Cleveland and Shepherd...that is if it's a clear day and I mean pollution, not clouds. Anyway, there it was and there I was and there they were, big crocodile tears rolling down my cheeks.

(****Editorial note...if you want to skip all the details, scroll to the bottom for a synopsis, otherwise enjoy the ride)

My last trip to Houston was supposed to be purely for fun...of course we all know how that ended (see heartbreak blogs from November). This trip was purely about business, health and seeing the folks this time around I didn't get a chance to see the last time around (for those of you I still missed..I'm so sorry). Here's my Houston agenda...remember, I was still sick:

Thursday:

• arrived in Houston in the afternoon
• rested and got ready to go to dinner with a friend
• friend had to make a quick stop at a political fundraiser beforehand
• cracked many faces, enjoyed the hell out of it; genuinely glad to see some of the people
• ate great seafood, had many libations and talked for hours 'til we closed the place down
• fell into bed realizing it takes more energy than I'm willing to expend to be "on" with people who don't feed me

Friday:

• authentic Tex-Mex breakfast...huevos y papas
• neurologist for a checkup; great news...all is well and I can go off medication; skipped out of the doctor's office and called my momma
• rearranged stuff in the storage unit to make room for bits of furniture stored at this one's house and that one's house and someone else's house whom I didn't originally leave it with
• had a dose of reality...underneath all that bravado, you are a coward
• stopped off at Pierson House to visit former co-workers and meet new folks; fell into old habits playing toss the koosh ball back and forth while listening to music...fun
• stopped off to visit with friend who will soon be 40; she has nothing to worry about...great valentine's day decorations, by the way
• stopped off at The Chocolate Bar to see a friend and pick up some sweet treats
• went to my church to see the pastor give him a great book on Ecclesiastes called "Against the Grain"; he wasn't there, but it felt good to be in that sacred space again; took a turn around the labyrinth for good measure and then...
• stopped off for a surprise visit which lasted all of a few seconds as she was walking out as I was walking in...still fun to see the shocked expression on her face
• back to my friend's house (been in town more than 24 hours now and still haven't seen her!) to clean up and rest before dinner
• got to hug Holly's neck finally and see Miss Emma (Mocha's puppyhood playmate and fellow chocolate drop)
• Mexican food and ritas...I must be in Houston! Lordy we ate 'til I was about to bust and then we ate some more. Learned some new lingo that I'm sure will come up in the future and had a eyebrow raising discussion about chaps...have mercy!
• decisions, decisions...go out and dance or go to the house...hmmmm
• pit stop to meet the new girlfriend...nice & I like her dogs
• final stop...big cushy sofa in our jammies for girl talk and catchin' up
• sleep, sleep, sleep

Saturday:

• coffee and goodbyes with Holly and J
• brunch at the Hobbit Cafe with Kris
• shared the events of our lives from the past 6 months over great food
• pit stop to meet the new girlfriend...nice & she works with dogs
• filled up the tank, fired up the cell phone and waved goodbye to the skyline as I headed northeast to Overton, TX

****Synopsis:

• tried to do way too much in too little time
• ate favorite foods...mexican, seafood and Hobbit Cafe
• renewed some old friendships
• cast away the remains of friendships that were nothing more than lip service
• got warm and only had to wear one layer of clothes
• cracked some faces
• left people to draw their own conclusions

...next stop, a reunion

Wounded and Scarred

Let's see....where did I leave off...oh yes, driving through the Sabine National Forest on my journey to Houston.

It was a bright and glorious day as I set out on my 3 1/2 hour trek to Houston. Having driven in under the cover of darkness a few nights before, I had no sense of my surroundings or to what I would bear witness.

The Sabine National Forest is located on the Texas/Louisiana border and covers thousands of gentle rolling acres populated by native pine trees, dogwoods, wild azaleas and other native flowering trees. The pines are soaring and majestic and have provided me, my family and friends with the most magnificent pine cones. What I love most about this forest is the light play as the sun filters through the pines and gently washes the undergrowth and forest floor, blanketed by russet colored pine needles.

As the winding farm road carried me into the forest, I could scarcely believe what lay before me...a forest scarred, burned, twisted, disheveled and discarded, like litter thrown carelessly on the side of the road. I knew Hurricane Rita had dealt a mighty blow to East Texas, but until I saw the forest, I had no barometer to measure how fierce and unyielding the wind, rain and lightening must have been to exact such devastation. I tend to view natural disasters as Mother Nature's way of cleaning house, but did she have to be so vindictive to her children?
I had to stop several times; walk into the forest and lay my hands on the trunks of the fallen. It was as I would imagine a graveyard of dinosaurs might have been.

Normally quiet, save the wind through the pines, the forest now moaned and creaked and bled. Those still standing had trails of thick sap running down their trunks...silent, sticky tears. Standing there, I remembered my mother telling me shortly after the hurricane had passed, the dogwoods and wild azaleas burst into flower, even though it was August and they normally don't bloom until March. Was this unnatural act a memorial or a beacon of hope?

What hurt the most was to see the forest unattended, littered with the dead. Part of me wanted to leave it as is...a lasting memorial. The other part shrieked to remove the carnage from my sight. Standing amidst so much devastation, my spirit was filled with the internal wrestling of fight or flight. Flight won out and I bolted for the safety of my car and headed for the city...for I knew what wreckage would await me there.

The Phlegmish Poet

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy have I been sick. So sick I wanted my mommy. My body produced more phlegm than I thought humanly possible. My trip home was delayed for 2 days until I had the strength to drive from Tennessee to Texas.

The first leg of the trip was from The Ridge to my parents house in deep East Texas. How deep you ask? So deep when you walk down to the dock, step in the boat, navigate out the cove and around the corner you are in Louisiana. So, last Tuesday morning I took all my medicine, pointed the car in a general Southwest direction and 2 rest stops and 12 hours later, I pulled up to their door. It was not as bad as I thought it was going to be, although the last 30 minutes lacked any degree of charm or enjoyment. The truckers kept me entertained and I played russian roulette with my CD collection. Never played? Well..it has to be dark outside, you open your CD case and randomly pull out a CD without looking at it and pop it into the CD player, crank up the volume and sing at the top of your lungs. Most importantly, you must listen to the entire CD...no early ejection. My favorite surprise was Colour Me Badd, "I want to sex you up!" I didn't realize I owned the CD, much less listened to it in the past decade.

The folks are doing OK. I was only there for a day and half, but we managed to visit, solve the worlds problems and play several hands of kings on the corners before I had to leave on the next leg of my journey. I was truly proud of my Mom. She honored my request for no sweets. I honestly didn't think she was capable of preparing for a visit without baking:

• cake
• pie - fried and/or baked
• cookies
• banana bread
• all of the above

Bless her heart...she did it!

My folks are aging. Bill (the cutey in the red sweater) is 80 and Mom (the cutey with the red hair) will be 73 in April. I had something very important I wanted to share with her, but she wanted to talk about her funeral arrangements, so my news was trumped. I'm glad we had the talk, even though I sat there crying and couldn't say a word. It's good to know what hymn they want sung and what NOT to serve at the covered dish supper. She wants a "green" burial...she didnt know that's what it was called, but she wants to be put in the ground in a sheet and tree planted on top of her. I support her, but I'm afraid the small church cemetery out in the Piney Woods is not going to cotton to me dropping my Mom into a hole without the usual trappings, pomp and circumstance. We shall see...the women in my family usually get their way when it's all said and done.

So, with the first leg of the journey complete, I rose with exuberance to begin the second leg...Houston. What had hitherto been a 3 1/2 hour drive I normally bemoaned seemed now like a walk in the park on a sunny day. And the day was sunny and bright, perfect for driving through the Sabine National Forest.

...more tales from the road to follow

Hmm

Flames and smoke defy gravity when embers and ash cannot. I sat in front of the fireplace pondering this very thought...poem to follow.

Scraps of Wisdom.4

An excerpt from In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver:

To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Make Mine a Double

I was torn as whether or not to watch the State of the Union speech last night. I've learned to keep soft, throwable items near me so as not to shatter the screen when W dons his infamous smirk and tells us everything is just fine.

So at 8:00 pm, central standard time, I braced up and attempted to be a responsible, informed citizen of these United States and listen in. Immediately, I realized I couldn't even look at the screen, so I averted my eyes and listened...so far so good. Within 30 seconds, I began tossing anything I could get my hands on at the screen, shouting retorts at the top of my lungs. After battling a very nasty cold/flu for the past week, I just didn't have the energy to sit through it, so I went upstairs to check my email...a much better use of my time. With about 10 minutes remaining in the speech, I went back downstairs, thinking it would be safe as he'd be wrapping up with all the good news we dutiful citizens were supposed to believe. I was wrong...the first sound that registered in my ears was our President once again butchering the pronunciation of nuclear.

Is it too much to ask that the leader of our nation have a command of the English language? For God's sake, he's been in the public arena for more than a decade! Don't you think someone in his administration would have pulled him to the side by now and tutored him, as they do on everything else?

I know in the grand scheme of things, this is the least of our worries, but if W can't pronounce a 3 syllable word properly, how can he possibly begin to address the ills of our nation? I headed for the liquor, telling myself it was for medicinal purposes to quiet my seizing cough. I'm afraid the tightness in my chest has nothing to do with the common cold but the ineptitude of a corrupt and delusional man.

Dust off your Lexicon.2

Detritus - tripped on this word reading Maya's blog.

She writes eloquently of her time in India,

"All these things were around me, not enveloping me, but still there, rampant overpopulation, disease and strife, poverty and detritus."

I cherish the writer who drops a word jewel into a sentence and offers no clue as to its meaning. Thank you Maya for sending me to my dictionary and synonym finder. I smiled a crooked smile when listed among the many synonyms for detritus was flotsam and jetsam.

How I do love words.

Definition of Detritus

1 : loose material (as rock fragments or organic particles) that results directly from disintegration2 : a product of disintegration, destruction, or wearing away : DEBRIS

Blogging for the sake of Blogging

Mental numbness, a nasty cold and heightened activity at the Retreat Center have kept me away from Blogdom. Enough time has passed for me to realize I may have fallen into the trap of blogging simply for blogging's sake.

I see the red flag bobbing on the horizon and hear the siren wailing in my head...time to take inventory.

Oh Happy Day!

All good Southern folk lift your voices with me in a rousing chorus of Oh Happy Day!
First me...then you:

Oh Happy Day!
(Oh Happy Day!)

Oh Happy Day!
(Oh Happy Day!)

You dont need the words, you can hear the gospel choir welling up in the background. Clap your hands...stomp your feet...twirl 'til you fall to the ground!

My heart is healed. No more moaning...no more crying...no more longing.

Can I get an AMEN?!?

Stunning Star Formation

...I cease to question the Divine when confronted with such beauty

For the curious...visit the APOD website. Deep gratitude to Maya for turning me on to this daily feast.

Soul Food

This book jumped off the shelf at me and said, "have a seat...read a while."

Entry for January 19th

When we feel lonely we keep looking for a person or persons who can take our loneliness away. Our lonely hearts cry out, "Please hold me, touch me, speak to me, pay attention to me." But soon we discover that the person we expect to take our loneliness away cannot give us what we ask for. Often that person feels oppressed by our demands and runs away, leaving us in despair.

As long as we approach another person from our loneliness, no mature human relationship can develop. Clinging to one another in loneliness is suffocating and eventually becomes destructive.

For love to be possible we need the courage to create space between us and to trust that this space allows us to dance together.

Are You...Truly?

Strange things happen on the Ridge with the phones...the infrastructure is pretty vulnerable to weather, phases of the moon, birds on the wire and other mysterious telecommunication maladies.

We have all become accustomed to answering the phone only to find a recorded voice on the other end attempting to sell us something. Today, what occurred has never occurred before and it has me wondering exactly where we are as a society.

When I answered the phone, a woman's recorded voice came on the line and simply said, "I'm sorry." That was it..."I'm sorry" and then silence...not disconnected, but silence. I stood there looking at the receiver, which remained mute, keeping the source of its caller a secret.

I have two thoughts...either there was more to this recorded message and I only received a snippet or we've become so disconnected as a society, there is a service you may subscribe to which will deliver messages you are either too embarrassed or too busy to make yourself.

I'm not sure which explanation is accurate, but can you imagine for a moment what the menu options would be for such a subscriber service?

Fair Warning

Note to self: Since you have re-entered the dating scene, it would be wise to trust your instincts when it comes to assessing a person's character. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is for suckers who will find themselves in an awkward position.

Case in point. I met someone on-line, we emailed back and forth, progressed to talking on the phone and had our first "date". Today, this person called and asked if I would act as a personal reference on a job application. I've known them a week...seven days! When I pointed this out...the response was..."just tell them you've known me a year." When I said I wouldn't lie, I was hung up on...hung up on! Then I receive a text message stating I'm too "arnry". I guess if "arnry" means I have principles...then call me "arnry."

Note to self: Always trust your instincts...

Scraps of Wisdom.3

Everyone read this aloud:

Being in a relationship is like pouring Miracle Grow on your bullshit.

I have to give you props e...

What To Do?

When is it going to be easier to live without you? I've done everything I'm supposed to:

1. Cried for a month
2. Starting taking anti-depressants so I could stop crying
3. Sought out and joined some social groups to meet new people
4. Posted a personal ad on a website
5. Ate right, exercised, got plenty of sleep
6. Wrote about it
7. Threw plates
8. Had a BodyTalk session and my cards read
9. Took an apple cider vinegar bath
10. Prayed

It's been two months and the crying started again this morning. I thought I was past this stage. I don't know what else to do, so I'm opening it up to the citizens of Blogdom...you are smart people...please help me.

Chasing Rabbits

I'm out of sorts today...kind of achy and sleepy and bitchy...don't know why. Then, I look over from my desk and Mocha is stretched out on the floor sleeping. Her paws are in constant motion as if she's chasing a rabbit and her nose is twitching....then, sound asleep, she starts wagging her tale, thump, thump, thump. She is one happy dog...I want to be that happy.

Scraps of Wisdom.2

Sitting in a dark movie theater, waiting for Memoirs of a Geisha to start, these words had me clawing in my purse for a pen and something to write on, which wound up being a deposit slip:

Why long for things if they are not meant to be ours.

Snow? Yes, Snow!

It has happened at last...snow flurries this morning on the Ridge. I've been expecting it for two days...funny how the body knows these things.

Snow flurries are subtle, silent and best experienced standing still. The tiny flakes tickled my eyelashes as they fell. I held my breath and fought back tears for fear the exhalation of body heat would chase them away.

Walking to the mailbox I noticed the air was different and so very still, save the flurries swirling around me. I imagined myself in the middle of a snowglobe, being gently shaken by the hand of the Divine.

Giveth and Taketh Away

In addition to adding new words to my vocabulary, I intend to extract a few along the way. As writing has become central to my existence, words I commonly used in the work place and in casual conversation suddenly seem crude and/or lacking.

Here is the short list...I welcome your suggestions as well:

GET or GOT

Example: What did you get for Christmas?

I mean really, those 3 letters completely annihilate the generous act of giving.

THAT

Example: What is it that you want from this experience?

I am forever struggling with whether to use "that" or "which", so I'm eliminating it as an option...no more struggle!

Feeling A Wee Bit Peckish?

A Dilbert-ism I borrowed from Big Shot Bob's blog:

Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons

because to them

you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup.

Do Re Me!

Last night I auditioned to become a member of Nashville In Harmony. If the audition was any indication, I'm going to have a lot of fun singing in this ensemble. What a great way to start the new year, by bringing music back into my life. We start rehearsals soon and our first concert will be in March. I am absolutely over the moon with excitement!

Dust Off Your Lexicon

The beginning phrase of a poem has been circling in my head. I wrote it down lest I forget (see previous post) and after I saw the words on paper, it occurred to me I should invest in some new words (you'll see why in a moment). I don't mean words you may recall the definition of or how to spell, but words such a part of your vocabulary, the subconscious mind selects them when things, such as the beginnings of poems, start to percolate.

So, here's the catalyst:

Everything is as it is
and nothing is as it should be

and here's the word of the day:

Sagacious (adj.) to perceive keenly, prophetic, shrewd, discerning

p.s. the name of the poem in process is Train Wreck

Scraps of Wisdom

I've picked up the habit of writing words and phrases other people say or that come to me (usually when I'm driving) on scraps of paper.

I heard this in church on Christmas morning:

When mutual love is shared between people, God is reborn again and again.

Amen.

Like a Lion

What has the wind to offer
when it comes barreling in like March
on a January morning?

Without the sap of spring in their veins,
barren, rigid trees
shriek at its pronouncement

Even the brick walk sweats,
straining every muscle to keep order
as gusts taunt the mortar to break free

Only the cedar is supple enough
to be reeled around the meadow
like a maiden swishing her green petticoats

What has the wind to offer
when it comes barreling in like March
on a January morning?

Ask the chimes
as they are whipped into spasms of ecstasy

Tawanda!

New Year's Day 2006

Women of great spirit, beauty, humor, compassion, appetites and intelligence were my companions on New Year's Day. We watched Fried Green Tomatoes, laughed and hooted, cried and cringed. We trust each other with our secrets, our heartbreaks, our dreams and our struggles..this group of women in Covenant.

I'm new to the group, as I'm new to just about everything around here. Two of us have had particular disappointments in the relationship arena this year, so it occurred to me, that what would make me feel better and make a good start to the new year was to BREAK SOME PLATES!

We piled in the car at dusk and drove to our chosen location, a craggy rock wall set back from the road. Giggling like school girls, we jumped out and gathered our ammunition...discarded plates, bowls and cups. Two of our companions acted as sentinels and cheerleaders, standing next to the road, sounding the alarm as a car approached.

I threw the first plate and the splattering, clattering, shattering sound it made against the rocks was glorious! For once, I didn't throw like a girl. I reared back and let her rip with all the gusto I could summon from my toes to the top of my head. God, it felt good. At first we took turns, jumping up and down and celebrating each others Tawanda moment. Then we really kicked up the volume by throwing rapid fire together. You should have heard it! I'm telling you, it was better than any therapy session I've ever paid for.

So on New Years Day, have your traditional black-eyed peas and cabbage. When you're through, pass me your plates...I have a new tradition!

Una Morte Bella

if i had but one hour to live,
i would spend it
looking in your eyes

a veil of lashes playing hide and seek over
smoky blue-green irises
a darker halo encircling them
pupils advancing and retreating
as the unspoken passes between us

and when the moment came,
i would brush my cheek against yours
and gently kiss the corners of your mouth
as we share my last breath

if the final hour came tomorrow
or a month from now
or 50 years from now
would you grant this last wish?

Bring Me Safely to Shore

The ancient lover in me
will forever cry out
for the ancient lover in you

I can no more silence it
than hungry rocks
silence the foghorn

Let my lament be the mariner's
guiding star
in the dark of night

Oh ancient lover,
bring me safely to shore
for it is cold and I am trembling

In A Simple Brown Box

purple gloves made of soft suede
a squeaky toy for Mocha
an electric blanket to keep me warm on cold winter nights
a bag of Hershey Kisses wrapped in red, green and silver foil
2 tins of date bars
and a glittery card, hand picked and signed by my parents containing funds for the purchase of a new digital camera

As I pulled gift after gift from the box, I began to cry, overwhelmed by their generosity and by what each present represented....warmth, play, nostalgia and a confession found in the words of a greeting card....

A daughter is the person
who is most like yourself
and at the same time
can be someone you hardly recognize

So much has changed in my life over the past few years, there are times when I hardly recognize myself. Change has happened and is continuing in this place called Penuel Ridge.

What Good Is It Otherwise?

This quote came across my desk one other time and it's as salient today as it was then:

What power has love but forgiveness?

In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?

William Carlos Williams, "Pictures from Brueghel", 1962

Fröhliches Weihnachten meine Liebe

Wenn Sie nur gewusst haben, wie viel, das ich Sie verpassen.

A Force Felt Throughout

Our morning hike usually includes a walk around the lake. It is metaphorically the womb of Penuel Ridge. Mocha knows the trail well and usually runs ahead of me, stopping occasionally to look back to make sure I'm still there.

This morning, as I stepped off of the trail and walked across the dam, I noticed her at the water's edge, looking quite puzzled. As my eyes took in the scene, I realized her dilemma...the entire surface of the lake had frozen over during the night.

We stood for a long time, gazing out over the blanket holding the lake captive, studying the ice patterns and marveling at how a leaf could somehow fall and freeze in place vertically as it touched the water...as if someone had hit Mother Nature's pause button.

A profound silence permeated the air...as if the ice magnified the quiet stillness of a spring fed lake in bondage. I tapped the toe of my boot on the ice and the entire lake made a sound...a splintering, grinding, groaning noise that made me jump!

It's supposed to warm up today, so I imagine by tomorrow morning, the lake will again be unbound. It's no matter...for now I understand that even the soft beating of a dragonfly's wings in summer is a force felt throughout.

Santa's Lap

I look forward to the 4th Thursday of every month...that's when we open the Retreat Center to homeless men and women to spend the day at Penuel Ridge. There are some organized activities, but they have free reign to do whatever they want. Some curl up under warm blankets and sleep all day, some walk the trails, some sit in the Dayspring room drinking coffee and sitting by the fire. We cook a sumptuous meal (which they devour) served around a common table. Conversation is loud and funny and tragic...all at once.

Being a Southern woman, I love to hug people and I love to be hugged, so they get extra servings from me because, well...when was the last time you stopped and hugged a homeless person? They must all be in the Christmas spirit because in addition to hugs, today I kept getting invitations to sit on their laps. If I thought any of these guys had the power to grant my Christmas wish, I'd hop on in a second, but I have my doubts.

Non-Plussed

Rather than blah, blah, blah about the things I'm non-plussed about, here's a list. Some of them may be on your list too:

1. blue nailbeds
2. vanishing boobs
3. boobs who won't vanish (W, Dick, Karl, Pat...you know who you are)
4. writer's block
5. dependence on medication
6. car maintenance
7. no transporter (of the Star Trek variety)
8. winter intruding on stargazing
9. mean people
10. memories burned in my brain
11. Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas debate

That's enough for now.

Not Bo Derek

It was 10 degrees when I woke up this morning! 10 degrees...are you kidding me? I peak out my bedroom window at the thermometer in disbelief...walk over to the nightstand to retrieve my glasses...look out again and it's still 10 degrees.

You will find me parked by the fireplace today...knit cap on my head...coffee cup clasped between trembling fingers. This Texas girl is not equipped...not equipped at all.

Falling Leaves

More looking up

and asking why

it has to be

that surrendering

is viewed by man as

defeat,

when nature shows us

how to do it with grace

every season.

Too Close to Nashville

Living this close to Nashville there's a country western song gestating inside me. I tried to fight it, but it's just got to see the light of day. It's not finished yet, but it goes something like this:

There's not enough beer
to drink your memory away
Not enough time
for your touch to fade

There are too many stars
speakin' your name
Too many songs
sayin' what we couldn't say

I'm thinking George Strait needs to sing this one. It needs a lot of drawl and twang to make it work. Stay tuned, I have two beers in the refrigerator and the rest of it might get written tonight.

Happy Holidays from Hockley

This is my Uncle Arthur Roy's (a.k.a. "Butch") family...hey, do I get one of those matching sweaters?

More Words

Some phrases that have caught my attention recently:

"You have a freak flag...you just don't fly it."

"What would you do for love this Christmas?"

"Hold yourself as gently as you would a fine piece of crystal."

and

from the 1972 album There was Love (The Divorce Songs), music & lyrics by Harry Nillson (can also be sung in the past tense quite effectively)

You're breakin' my heart,
You're tearin' it apart
so fuck you...

Dangerous Liaison

You may have washed away the top soil

but you will not erode my foundation.

Exposed roots say, "Look at me." "LOOK at me." "LOOK AT ME!"

Do you see a single trace of your swordplay?

(I didn't think so)

My taproot, anchored deep in the Mother's womb,

sings a song of jubilation

as it rises...rises...rises like Spindletop.

You may have washed away the top soil

but you will not erode my foundation.

(Nice try though)

Truth #1

I lost sight of my personal mission...to achieve grace on a daily basis.

Topsy-Turvy World

My hope was to capture the spider in the act of paralyzing his/her prey but realize now that it's a study in which way is up. See if you can figure it out. I'll give you a hint...it was an overcast day.

Mystic in a Brown Dog Suit

My constant companion along life's journey, I am in awe of her gifts of unconditional love, humor, innate sense of what's right and wrong, knowing what she wants and asking for it, her patient watchfulness.

Thank you Mocha for showing me the way up the steep hill and cheering me on as I put one foot in front of the other.

Blue Lines Banished!

Fiddling around the computer, I found a piece of photo software that can successfuully remove the blue lines from my digital photos. HOW COOL IS THAT? It takes time and a steady hand, but soon my photos will be unmarred. Technology is a wonderful thing.

Being Short Taught Me To Look Up

Morning sun through turning leaves.

Where is Fido?

Blue house for Blue Dog?

Takes My Breath Away

Resting under a pine tree after a long hike, the shrill call of a hawk beckoned my gaze skyward. Brilliant blue sky butting against fall foliage, butting against deep evergreen, butting against straw colored grasses, anchored to the ground by shadows...

Frosty Feet

A light frost clung to the railing on this early fall morning. As I sat drinking coffee from a safe distance, all variety of birds were anxiously awaiting their turn at the feeders. These footprints were left by a morning dove.

Fall Photo

This is one of the last photos I took before my HP Digital Camera gave up the ghost permanently. Enjoy...I only wish it could capture the entire spectrum of color my eyes saw on the morning hike in early November.

Lassen Sie sie gehen

If you butt your head against a stone wall long enough

at some point you realize the wall is stone

and your head is flesh and blood

Lassen Sie sie gehen

"Tis the Season

I spent all day Saturday in retreat, immersed in the life and words of Emily Dickinson. The leader did an amazing job of taking us through what is known of her life, how she claimed her pain, transformed it into poetry and ultimately claimed herself.

Sitting in the lap of my own pain, I questioned the wisdom (or lack thereof) of the day spent. The emotional hangover the next day matched the weather...gray, bitter and seizing. I crawled into the sanctuary of my bed, the escape of an afternoon nap. Sleep was interrupted as I woke to the voice of my inner lecturer, scolding my self-indulgence.

I rose and went to the closet, pulled out two boxes and began the annual ritual of decorating for Christmas. Somehow, the reveal of each ornament unwrapped, the warmth of each candle lit, the viewing of my favorite Christmas movies ("Holiday Inn" and "the Snowman") brought me out of my stupor and back to the center of myself.

Dilemma

I drink a lot of ice water. The best part is the ice. I'm one of those annoying people who crunches their ice...eats every cube and then drinks the water. This goes on all day long...since I'm alone most of the time, it isn't annoying to me, so there's no problem.

Now winter is here and did I mention it's cold? I'm cold all of the time...can't get warm. The heat is set at a reasonable temperature, which means the unit runs most of the time, which means the air is very dry, which means I'm thirsty all the time. Drinking ice water is no longer an option for two reasons....I'm trying to kick the ice-chewing habit and it makes me even colder. So now what do I do? I don't want to drink coffee, hot tea or sodas all day, tap water is yucky and juice...well, too much natural sugar. So what's a girl to do?

I know...martinis!

p.s. Does the spelling of dilemma look wrong to anyone else? I always thought is was mn, not mm, but Merriam Webster say no, no, it's mm. Hmmmmm

Slipped a Cog

Watching the news tonight, I realized that although my inner calendar says it's Wednesday, it is actually Thursday. Somehow, I've lost a day this week. How did this happen? I've been productive, there's evidence of this in the office. Has the cold weather frozen my brain, my sense of time, have I finally slipped a cog?

World AIDS Day

Every day is World AIDS day to me.
Every day I wear a red ribbon.
Every day, I'm mindful of the men and women in my life who struggle with a cunning disease.
Every day, I think of how large my family, my circle of friends, my community would be if so many had not already died of complications from AIDS.
Every day, I think of those who choose between quality of life and quantity of life.
Every day, I remember what it is like to have to fight for funding, medications, compassion and dignity for People Living with HIV/AIDS.
Every day, I am grateful to have worked and volunteered side-by-side with monumental people of spirit and grace at Omega House.
Every day, I envision a cure, a vaccine, a day when we can erase HIV/AIDS from our consciousness.
Every day is World AIDS Day to me.