The end of the year seems to bring out interesting statistics, which I never write down - and then wish I had. Last night on the news - the Dow had triple digit swings for 103 (or was it 104) days this year.Given that Wall Street is open 5 days a week, not 7 days, that's a lotta ups and downs.
Then there is the weather. So many statistics for 2011 that I can't begin to keep track of them. More major disasters than ever. Higher temps here, with record after record broken. One look out the window and I am not sure if it is early November or late March, with no snow on the ground - and none in sight. Clem threatened this morning to start up the mower and mow the grass for one last time in the year. A never-before-event in this part of the country.
We had deluges in July with many basements flooded in our community (we were lucky and escaped this calamity). Then came the first of August and we have had negligible precipitation since then - and are considered to be in a drought. We cut our road trip in the southeast short last March, because we were spending so much time trying to stay ahead of floods and tornadoes.
More seriously, were the tornadoes that destroyed Joplin, Missouri, wildfires burning a huge amount of acreage in Texas, and all the snow dumped on the NE coast.
There were the string of Congressional dramas and the multiple possibilities of government shutdowns. The polarized, paralyzed, and dysfunctional Congress high-lighted the deep political divide in this country, and the power of right-wing evangelical religions to dictate policy in our diverse country. At least it meant watching the evening news was like going to an exciting B-movie. Without popcorn.
And then there was Arab Spring, which has become Arab Year, the Tea Party, and the Occupy Movement. A global movement of disenfranchised people finding their voices. What 2012 will bring is any one's guess.
In the middle of it all were decent people who continue to reach out to neighbors and strangers. It is that decency that is the beacon for 2012.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
The Last of the Year and Hopes for the Next
When I check-in with the news, I strain for perspective! The news is grim, one catastrophe after another. Like the serial movie film of the past. We would sit on the edges of our seat, wondering what trouble will our hero stumble into next - and resolve?
When I go for lunch or other places beyond the Internet world, I find an entirely different world in which people who are courteous and decent. People laughing together over a meal. Holding doors for each other. Smiling at folks they don't even know.
It is there that I find hope. In the basic decency of most of the people who make up our world. I remember before going to France for the first time. There were warnings of French snobbery, especially towards those of us with a small French vocabulary. Instead, I found the opposite to be true. Helpful, friendly people, who did not laugh at my attempts to use my meager French - or turn away from me with their noses in the air. The only rude Frenchman I encountered was a very short man who wanted to ride with me in a very small hotel elevator, which would have meant his face would have been plastered to my American breasts. Needless to say, I insisted we NOT ride in the same elevator.
Or hope was film clips of the Obamas visiting with armed services families and the infant who insisted on putting its fingers in Obama's mouth. The news clips of soldiers returning home to families after a too long war.Or our kittens with their lively imaginations rummaging around in my office wastepaper basket, delighting in their own little games.
People here have grumbled about the lack of snow this winter and what it might mean - and then they enjoy blue skies and record high temperatures. Suggesting hope is what we make of our world - from whatever we are given.
When I go for lunch or other places beyond the Internet world, I find an entirely different world in which people who are courteous and decent. People laughing together over a meal. Holding doors for each other. Smiling at folks they don't even know.
It is there that I find hope. In the basic decency of most of the people who make up our world. I remember before going to France for the first time. There were warnings of French snobbery, especially towards those of us with a small French vocabulary. Instead, I found the opposite to be true. Helpful, friendly people, who did not laugh at my attempts to use my meager French - or turn away from me with their noses in the air. The only rude Frenchman I encountered was a very short man who wanted to ride with me in a very small hotel elevator, which would have meant his face would have been plastered to my American breasts. Needless to say, I insisted we NOT ride in the same elevator.
Or hope was film clips of the Obamas visiting with armed services families and the infant who insisted on putting its fingers in Obama's mouth. The news clips of soldiers returning home to families after a too long war.Or our kittens with their lively imaginations rummaging around in my office wastepaper basket, delighting in their own little games.
People here have grumbled about the lack of snow this winter and what it might mean - and then they enjoy blue skies and record high temperatures. Suggesting hope is what we make of our world - from whatever we are given.
Monday, December 19, 2011
New Life This December
When I read the news near to the close of 2011, I think how easy it would be to become morose over the state of the world.
The short list includes the economic crisis in Europe, Arab Spring which has become an Arab Year, the death of the Korean dictator, and the fear that life in North Korea will become even harder, the continued suffering from the remains of disasters from tornadoes to nuclear meltdowns, Iran's mounting nuclear threat, and a dysfunctional and paralyzed US Congress. And when I look out the window at green grass in December instead of snow, I wonder how much distruction from climate change will have to happen before what is happening is taken seriously.
In our personal lives, the two of us have been grieving the deaths of long-term friends, while we watch others we count as friends struggling with much adversity. I am sure that each of you could add to this list, both in terms of the world and in your personal lives.
It is hard to see evidence of new life around me, even with the symbolic meaning of the Advent story. At the same time I have spent decades of my life as an optimist. When the going gets tough, it means I need to look a little harder in unexpected places for evidence of new life.
This year it has been the introduction of kittens into our lives. Our dear cat, Ramon, died this summer of old age. It has been just the two of us in a household accustomed to life with a cat. The day after Thanksgiving, we went to the Humane Society and came home with two kittens. Two little girl babies from the same litter. Seeing life through their eyes, if such a thing is possible, gives me another window to look at the world.
I know I could say that all of their antics are instinctive learning to hunt for survival - even though these two cats will never be allowed outside to roam the neighborhood. But this DNA explanation does not entirely "explain" their behavior Even though one of them walks with the loping movement of the three big male lions in Kenya, who came marching down the road to watch a female drive her adolescent son out of the pride and into the world to fend for himself. (We watched the action inside the protection of a van with our very alert safari guide).
Our kittens chase each other and their shadows and tails, carry new cat toys around the house, and are entranced by everything new they discover.Their capacity for curiosity, imagination, and play seems unlimited. When they tire of exploring their envionment, they curl up in our laps and purr so loud you can hear them across the room. I don't know the current research on play among animals, but in grad school I knew that the surest way to get a behavioral psychologist to change the subject was to ask what motivates play in animals.
Recent research reported on the capacity of rats to exhibit what only can be called empathy. Cage one rat in a confining cage. Put another rat in a larger space that also contains the poor confined rat. Leave treats out for the "free" rat, who has never met the caged rat before - and who does not gobble the treats down so the caged competition can't eat them. Instead, the free rat upon hearing the cries of the confined rat goes over and figures out how to jiggle the cage so the other rat can get out. and then SHARES some of the treats with the newly freed rat. This series of experiments gives me hope for humanity.
Growing up, I learned a long list of things that made us distinct - and superior - to animals. One by one these qualities have toppled. From the use of tools and language to the capacity to care for one another. And empathy, a quality we have up until now had assigned to humans, the "superior species."
New kittens with unlimited imaginations, curiosity, and play. Rats with empathy. Let us as humans, find these qualities in us and cultivate them! Now - and not wait to make New Year's resolutions.
The short list includes the economic crisis in Europe, Arab Spring which has become an Arab Year, the death of the Korean dictator, and the fear that life in North Korea will become even harder, the continued suffering from the remains of disasters from tornadoes to nuclear meltdowns, Iran's mounting nuclear threat, and a dysfunctional and paralyzed US Congress. And when I look out the window at green grass in December instead of snow, I wonder how much distruction from climate change will have to happen before what is happening is taken seriously.
In our personal lives, the two of us have been grieving the deaths of long-term friends, while we watch others we count as friends struggling with much adversity. I am sure that each of you could add to this list, both in terms of the world and in your personal lives.
It is hard to see evidence of new life around me, even with the symbolic meaning of the Advent story. At the same time I have spent decades of my life as an optimist. When the going gets tough, it means I need to look a little harder in unexpected places for evidence of new life.
This year it has been the introduction of kittens into our lives. Our dear cat, Ramon, died this summer of old age. It has been just the two of us in a household accustomed to life with a cat. The day after Thanksgiving, we went to the Humane Society and came home with two kittens. Two little girl babies from the same litter. Seeing life through their eyes, if such a thing is possible, gives me another window to look at the world.
I know I could say that all of their antics are instinctive learning to hunt for survival - even though these two cats will never be allowed outside to roam the neighborhood. But this DNA explanation does not entirely "explain" their behavior Even though one of them walks with the loping movement of the three big male lions in Kenya, who came marching down the road to watch a female drive her adolescent son out of the pride and into the world to fend for himself. (We watched the action inside the protection of a van with our very alert safari guide).
Our kittens chase each other and their shadows and tails, carry new cat toys around the house, and are entranced by everything new they discover.Their capacity for curiosity, imagination, and play seems unlimited. When they tire of exploring their envionment, they curl up in our laps and purr so loud you can hear them across the room. I don't know the current research on play among animals, but in grad school I knew that the surest way to get a behavioral psychologist to change the subject was to ask what motivates play in animals.
Recent research reported on the capacity of rats to exhibit what only can be called empathy. Cage one rat in a confining cage. Put another rat in a larger space that also contains the poor confined rat. Leave treats out for the "free" rat, who has never met the caged rat before - and who does not gobble the treats down so the caged competition can't eat them. Instead, the free rat upon hearing the cries of the confined rat goes over and figures out how to jiggle the cage so the other rat can get out. and then SHARES some of the treats with the newly freed rat. This series of experiments gives me hope for humanity.
Growing up, I learned a long list of things that made us distinct - and superior - to animals. One by one these qualities have toppled. From the use of tools and language to the capacity to care for one another. And empathy, a quality we have up until now had assigned to humans, the "superior species."
New kittens with unlimited imaginations, curiosity, and play. Rats with empathy. Let us as humans, find these qualities in us and cultivate them! Now - and not wait to make New Year's resolutions.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
WINTER
When the lemmings are scarce in the really far
north (in Canada) the owls have to move south.
So far I have not seen one . . . but, I have not
Just last week, the local news announced
that there is an influx of Snowy Owls into
northern Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan.
seen winter either. Isn't this an amazingly long
spring?
WINTER
In winter’s bright, slant light
crystalline snowflakes float lazily
to join the earth.
Snow Bunting flocks swirl
land on open prairie
strip seeds from grasses
before taking to the air.
Snowy Owls invade
from parts north
seeking preferred food, but
will settle for any small creature
that
moves.
north (in Canada) the owls have to move south.
So far I have not seen one . . . but, I have not
Just last week, the local news announced
that there is an influx of Snowy Owls into
northern Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan.
seen winter either. Isn't this an amazingly long
spring?
WINTER
In winter’s bright, slant light
crystalline snowflakes float lazily
to join the earth.
Snow Bunting flocks swirl
land on open prairie
strip seeds from grasses
before taking to the air.
Snowy Owls invade
from parts north
seeking preferred food, but
will settle for any small creature
that
moves.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Technology Dependence
You don't know how much you use something until it disappears from your life! For a week we had no Internet/email access. Our modem died of old age and it took until now to get back on the grid.
I will spare you the details of our saga - the week was not a high point in our lives. Except to say, there are those who provide support services who know what they are doing - and there are those who should find another way to make a living. Any other job will do for them.
In the meantime, we realized one by one, all of the things for which we use our Internet service. For starters - this blog (for those of you who follow us and may have wondered if the absence of new postings was due to neglect or some catastrophe in our lives). To you, we say we are back!
Of course, we could have gone to the library to gain Internet access. But doing so would have prolonged the crisis, because of long hours spent on the phone trying to get our system up and running with a new modem.
All out of our reach: directions to a friend's house, where to find a particular product, ordering on-line Christmas gifts, email, global news, FaceBook connections, the ability to email class proposals for the winter months, research for our writing, banking, paying bills. The list goes on and on.
The absence of instant connection led me to reflect on the place of technology in our lives. I thought about how I am not always "connected." An iPhone will not enter my life until sometime this winter. So my connection literally is grounded in my home study. And when I travel, I leave this connectivity at home and then I don't miss my Internet and email one bit!
Our family long ago drew clear lines between the need periodically to be completely gone from our busy lives. Other than leaving information behind on to how to reach each other (if possible) in case of an emergency, we all have appreciated this boundary. It has meant wilderness camping and trips to places where Internet capacity does not exist. Everyone needs "away time" to renew and refresh their spirits - something increasingly a luxury in the world of iPhone and iPads.
But there is another part of the story. Computer technology has overtaken us, like big cats slinking along silently in pursuit of some prey. There are computer chips everywhere, some very small and others more major in the size of their impact on our lives. And I wouldn't have it any other way!
As we used our car this past week, I visualized maneuvering a large computer down freeways and city streets. Vroom, vroom, here we go. It was an interesting image.
We bought a new car this past spring to replace an almost 8-year old van. We still haven't figured out all of this car's capacities - contrasted with our older simpler vehicle. Now, the radio tells us what song it is playing. There are seven ways to program how the doors unlock when we we arrive somewhere. The car tells you whether you are driving economically and what the temperature is outside. It is wired for satellite radio - and Bluetooth and . . and . . . and . . . While I remember the "good old days" when opening a window meant turning a crank. Would I trade our beautiful car for one the cars we drove when we were younger? Not on your life!
All of this technology enriches our lives in ways we usually don't realize until something doesn't function. And getting it running again often is a chore and takes time in lives in which we are conditioned to expect instant reward. In the tight economies of the world and the shifting of jobs globally via outsourcing, the lack of service has increased the problem of what to do when something doesn't work.
During this past week, I periodically moaned that all I wanted was for some nice man (in the past, computer maintenance was a male occupation) to come to our house and in an hour get things working. After all, years ago, it was a nice man who set up our DSL equipment for our computers . At the same time I marveled at how people at the other end of a phone line could burrow their way into our complex equipment and extract hordes of information to diagnose why we were having trouble getting a new modem to function.
The funniest memory I have about computerization was at the time of the transition from manual to computer banking. On a Tuesday evening, I had reconciled our bank account (using pencil and paper, which is how we used to do such a thing), so I knew exactly how much money we had in our bank account, to the penny. The next morning, Clem and I went to our bank at 8:00 am when the bank opened (a single bank in one location, before these giant banking corporations). Our intention was to make a withdrawal for a home project.
We were greeted with the news that we were over-drawn by hundreds of dollars. What?! As the morning unfolded, we were only the first in a long line of customers. The problem was traced to a computer with a mind of its own, which had been busy randomly taking money out of some accounts and depositing money in other accounts! Fortunately, computer-recording of bank transactions was in its infancy - and the bank had duplicate records on microfiche. At the end of the day, the bank gave us a pen with the bank's name on it.
Which reminds, I need to check my bank account now that I am back on-line. Of course my account needs me to check it every few days . . .
I will spare you the details of our saga - the week was not a high point in our lives. Except to say, there are those who provide support services who know what they are doing - and there are those who should find another way to make a living. Any other job will do for them.
In the meantime, we realized one by one, all of the things for which we use our Internet service. For starters - this blog (for those of you who follow us and may have wondered if the absence of new postings was due to neglect or some catastrophe in our lives). To you, we say we are back!
Of course, we could have gone to the library to gain Internet access. But doing so would have prolonged the crisis, because of long hours spent on the phone trying to get our system up and running with a new modem.
All out of our reach: directions to a friend's house, where to find a particular product, ordering on-line Christmas gifts, email, global news, FaceBook connections, the ability to email class proposals for the winter months, research for our writing, banking, paying bills. The list goes on and on.
The absence of instant connection led me to reflect on the place of technology in our lives. I thought about how I am not always "connected." An iPhone will not enter my life until sometime this winter. So my connection literally is grounded in my home study. And when I travel, I leave this connectivity at home and then I don't miss my Internet and email one bit!
Our family long ago drew clear lines between the need periodically to be completely gone from our busy lives. Other than leaving information behind on to how to reach each other (if possible) in case of an emergency, we all have appreciated this boundary. It has meant wilderness camping and trips to places where Internet capacity does not exist. Everyone needs "away time" to renew and refresh their spirits - something increasingly a luxury in the world of iPhone and iPads.
But there is another part of the story. Computer technology has overtaken us, like big cats slinking along silently in pursuit of some prey. There are computer chips everywhere, some very small and others more major in the size of their impact on our lives. And I wouldn't have it any other way!
As we used our car this past week, I visualized maneuvering a large computer down freeways and city streets. Vroom, vroom, here we go. It was an interesting image.
We bought a new car this past spring to replace an almost 8-year old van. We still haven't figured out all of this car's capacities - contrasted with our older simpler vehicle. Now, the radio tells us what song it is playing. There are seven ways to program how the doors unlock when we we arrive somewhere. The car tells you whether you are driving economically and what the temperature is outside. It is wired for satellite radio - and Bluetooth and . . and . . . and . . . While I remember the "good old days" when opening a window meant turning a crank. Would I trade our beautiful car for one the cars we drove when we were younger? Not on your life!
All of this technology enriches our lives in ways we usually don't realize until something doesn't function. And getting it running again often is a chore and takes time in lives in which we are conditioned to expect instant reward. In the tight economies of the world and the shifting of jobs globally via outsourcing, the lack of service has increased the problem of what to do when something doesn't work.
During this past week, I periodically moaned that all I wanted was for some nice man (in the past, computer maintenance was a male occupation) to come to our house and in an hour get things working. After all, years ago, it was a nice man who set up our DSL equipment for our computers . At the same time I marveled at how people at the other end of a phone line could burrow their way into our complex equipment and extract hordes of information to diagnose why we were having trouble getting a new modem to function.
The funniest memory I have about computerization was at the time of the transition from manual to computer banking. On a Tuesday evening, I had reconciled our bank account (using pencil and paper, which is how we used to do such a thing), so I knew exactly how much money we had in our bank account, to the penny. The next morning, Clem and I went to our bank at 8:00 am when the bank opened (a single bank in one location, before these giant banking corporations). Our intention was to make a withdrawal for a home project.
We were greeted with the news that we were over-drawn by hundreds of dollars. What?! As the morning unfolded, we were only the first in a long line of customers. The problem was traced to a computer with a mind of its own, which had been busy randomly taking money out of some accounts and depositing money in other accounts! Fortunately, computer-recording of bank transactions was in its infancy - and the bank had duplicate records on microfiche. At the end of the day, the bank gave us a pen with the bank's name on it.
Which reminds, I need to check my bank account now that I am back on-line. Of course my account needs me to check it every few days . . .
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
NEVER TOO LATE TO SAY THANKYOU
I Am Thankful For
clear blue skies and
spring fragrance of clove currant
and lily of the valley
snow that melts
for tulips pushing through
thawing dirt
birds and butterflies
resting in the
afternoon sun
sounds of children’s laughter
and their parents
joining in
the warm touch of
my love’s hand
a glance from her brown eyes
people who live peace
brave ones who
dare follow them
remembering places
where I have been and
with whom
I have journeyed
roads that lead nowhere
and time to
explore them
Monday, November 28, 2011
Clearing Out Life's Accumulation
The business section of the Minneapolis Star Tribune is a strange place to find spiritual advice. This morning's paper had an article about clearing out clutter. The writer, Liz Reyer, says that to "conquer clutter, you must first look inward." She talks about how important it is to understand your inner goals and values. Doing your "inner housekeeping first" makes outer cleanup so much easier.
She goes so far to as to say that "excessive attachment to material items often stems from a misplaced attempt to fill an inner need." Hmmmm . . .
After construction dust settled from our summer remodeling, it was time for a thorough fall house-cleaning. At least that's what we thought we were doing. but somewhere in the process cleaning out old files in the study, our cleaning became a metaphor for something far more significant. Our professional lives had "encouraged" us to keep files of everything from continuing education to workshops, retreats, and classes that we once led.
Garbage sack after garbage sack of our respective pasts went into the recycling. Construction materials we had saved, since we bought (and remodeled) our first house decades ago, just in case we "might need it." Extra furniture a family member might want someday. Talk about our lives passing before our eyes!
We joke that the house has levitated at least three feet off the ground, because it is so much lighter. But we are the ones who feel much lighter. And ready for where ever our full lives lead us next.
She goes so far to as to say that "excessive attachment to material items often stems from a misplaced attempt to fill an inner need." Hmmmm . . .
After construction dust settled from our summer remodeling, it was time for a thorough fall house-cleaning. At least that's what we thought we were doing. but somewhere in the process cleaning out old files in the study, our cleaning became a metaphor for something far more significant. Our professional lives had "encouraged" us to keep files of everything from continuing education to workshops, retreats, and classes that we once led.
Garbage sack after garbage sack of our respective pasts went into the recycling. Construction materials we had saved, since we bought (and remodeled) our first house decades ago, just in case we "might need it." Extra furniture a family member might want someday. Talk about our lives passing before our eyes!
We joke that the house has levitated at least three feet off the ground, because it is so much lighter. But we are the ones who feel much lighter. And ready for where ever our full lives lead us next.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The Long View
As a photographer, I find landscape images much harder to do well than close-ups. Somehow zeroing in on something right before me is easier. The key to landscape photography is creating perspective. A beautiful and moving scene requires something to give the viewer a context. For example, the Grand Canyon is probably one of the most spectacular places on this earth. But to aim one's camera straight at it often produces images that lack meaning - or even give any idea of what this majestic place is.
Reading the newspaper or listening to the news is much the same. It is much easier to focus on individual items. With today's instance Internet access, the news often smacks you "in the face," leaving you reeling as to its meaning. As one op ed columnist said recently, "Has Washington Gone Nuts?" in reference to the failure of the budget committee. There are the protests in Egypt and the Occupy protests that have spread so quickly, sexual abuse scandals, Iran's nuclear capacity, poverty rates, pizza as a vegetable, people suing people, and the "death page," as we call the newspaper page itemizing individual violence and death for the day . . . The list goes on and on.
After coming up for air, a person can easily wonder if the whole world indeed has gone crazy.
Then there is the long view. Clem and I were talking this morning about how to put day's news into perspective.We talked about changes we have seen in our life-time - changes no one even notices today. We remembered a friend from decades ago - a black man married to a white woman - and how dangerous their marriage was in some parts of this country. Or how when I first began working professionally, women were not allowed to own property in several southern states - and, as women, were virtually considered property. Who notices today? The past helps provide the long view.
Today's issues actually give us hope, precisely because they were not issues decades ago. Many of the world's current issues are about things that no one noticed decades ago. Who ate pizza, questioned the distribution of wealth, or considered challenging dictators? Sexual abuse "did not exist" unless it happened to you - and you never dared to speak up. And Eisenhower's voice questioning the military-industrial complex was "heard" only because he was a general. But we trusted our military leaders to know what was best for us - and the unholy industry of war continued pretty much unchecked.
Perspective is both about recalling the past and projecting our hopes into the future. A future where sexual harassment and abuse are greatly diminished. Where war is not a central premise upon which we spend our tax money and where human life is sufficiently valued that the killing radically decreases. Where our food is not a primary health issue in terms of heart disease, diabetes, and obesity.
The long view. , , it is the essence of all our current messy issues and news.
Reading the newspaper or listening to the news is much the same. It is much easier to focus on individual items. With today's instance Internet access, the news often smacks you "in the face," leaving you reeling as to its meaning. As one op ed columnist said recently, "Has Washington Gone Nuts?" in reference to the failure of the budget committee. There are the protests in Egypt and the Occupy protests that have spread so quickly, sexual abuse scandals, Iran's nuclear capacity, poverty rates, pizza as a vegetable, people suing people, and the "death page," as we call the newspaper page itemizing individual violence and death for the day . . . The list goes on and on.
After coming up for air, a person can easily wonder if the whole world indeed has gone crazy.
Then there is the long view. Clem and I were talking this morning about how to put day's news into perspective.We talked about changes we have seen in our life-time - changes no one even notices today. We remembered a friend from decades ago - a black man married to a white woman - and how dangerous their marriage was in some parts of this country. Or how when I first began working professionally, women were not allowed to own property in several southern states - and, as women, were virtually considered property. Who notices today? The past helps provide the long view.
Today's issues actually give us hope, precisely because they were not issues decades ago. Many of the world's current issues are about things that no one noticed decades ago. Who ate pizza, questioned the distribution of wealth, or considered challenging dictators? Sexual abuse "did not exist" unless it happened to you - and you never dared to speak up. And Eisenhower's voice questioning the military-industrial complex was "heard" only because he was a general. But we trusted our military leaders to know what was best for us - and the unholy industry of war continued pretty much unchecked.
Perspective is both about recalling the past and projecting our hopes into the future. A future where sexual harassment and abuse are greatly diminished. Where war is not a central premise upon which we spend our tax money and where human life is sufficiently valued that the killing radically decreases. Where our food is not a primary health issue in terms of heart disease, diabetes, and obesity.
The long view. , , it is the essence of all our current messy issues and news.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Being Unique
The newspaper is so full of necessary information and commentary. Now I learn that decorating your home with one of a kind objects is in danger of becoming a fad.
A fad? When I walk around my own home, I recall memories that brought each piece of art, each piece of furniture into my life. Momentos tucked in our carry-on luggage from trips to foreign lands. Flea market finds, some of them lovingly restored to a functional life. Art by local artists, local being where ever we happen to be, that supports artists' creative efforts.
A writing friends wondered out loud if people who write memoir surround themselves with objects that are memories. Perhaps.
But a fad? Does that mean we are all fads? I'd like to think of each of us as unique and precious, to be treasured by the people with whom we rub shoulders in our lives.
A fad? When I walk around my own home, I recall memories that brought each piece of art, each piece of furniture into my life. Momentos tucked in our carry-on luggage from trips to foreign lands. Flea market finds, some of them lovingly restored to a functional life. Art by local artists, local being where ever we happen to be, that supports artists' creative efforts.
A writing friends wondered out loud if people who write memoir surround themselves with objects that are memories. Perhaps.
But a fad? Does that mean we are all fads? I'd like to think of each of us as unique and precious, to be treasured by the people with whom we rub shoulders in our lives.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Border Transgressions
Reading the newspaper over breakfast sometimes gives me indigestion and raises my blood pressure. Earlier this week, I read that there is legislation proposed in Congress to allow the border patrol to bypass environmental regulations on federal park land along the Canada border. I almost choked on my English muffin. After I cooled down a bit, I began to imagine what it might mean.
Have any of these legislators ever been to Glacier National Park? Or driven on the engineering marvel named Going-to-the-Sun Road took years to build? The road crosses the park parallel to the Canadian border and is open only during the summer months. The rest of the year it is buried under tons of snow. Now the border patrol wants to consider other roads nearer the border to better enable catching terrorists illegally crossing the border.
Have these folks ever hiked trails through magnificent passes in Glacier Park and then set out on foot across country? This land is not casual landscape that is easily transversed. The idea of a fence is ludicrous beyond words, given the terrain, or even finding someone who tripped a sensor. If I wanted to illegally enter the country, I'd pick a place in eastern Montana where the land is flat and access to existing roads is far easier. This national park is remote land, land I love, where I go so that I can breathe, thanking the foresight of people before me, who fought to have this land preserved for public use.
Nor do I think Canadians would be thrilled at the prospect of such roads - or proposed electronic sensors or fences patterned after attempts to stem illegal immigration across the Mexican border. Glacier Park is contiguous with Waterton Provincial Park in Canada, with the two parks designated as Waterton Glacier Peace Park. Anyone ask Canadians how they would consider such "border control?"
Further west, North Cascades National Park and the Okanogan National Forest lie on our border and join several provincial parks in Canada. The same international issues apply here. Access to the US would demand a person have specialized mountaineering skills and be equipped to hike through the Cascades massive terrain. It is wilderness beyond my skill level to manage, even in the prime of my life.!Again, this beautiful land is buried most of the year in snow, with the only highway far to the south, a road often closed in the winter due to avalanche danger.
Then, there is Pictured Rock National Seashore in Upper Michigan. We were just there this fall as we circled Lake Superior and are well aware of how far it is from the province of Ontario. To slip across the border here would necessitate swimming across Lake Superior from Canada. Now I swam once in Lake Superior - just to say I had done it. I doubt I was in the water more than five minutes. The Lake's frigid waters would effectively prevent anyone from spending more than 15-20 minutes in the water before hypothermia would permanently end any possibility of entering the country. A boat would be more feasible, but does patrolling the border for illegal boats need roads, fences, and electronic sensors? I believe boating is done on the water . . .
Closer to home, who in their right mind would cross the border from Canada's Quetico Provincial Park wilderness into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (Minnesota's beloved BWCA) with mischief in mind?
I am sure there are any number of outfitters who would be glad to take these legislators on a little trip into the wilderness. And help them portage across the Quetico, where the portages aren't nice trails connecting one lake with another.
The idea of a road along the the Minnesota-Canada border is ridiculous and should send a person into spasmodic gut-retching laughter! How could be it would be possible to construct a barrier here between us and Canada. Most of the border here and at Voyageurs National Park (to to the west of the BWCA) is water, a chain of many lake that eventually empties into Lake Superior. Would building a bridge along these miles of lake water that separate us from Canada do the job? It certainly has the potential of being a tourist attraction rivaling the Keys in Florida or the bridge system that connect the Eastern Shore of Virginia with Norfolk. However I don't think the purpose of this legislation is to attract tourists to the border.
And while we are at it, what about the Great Lakes as avenues for illegal entry into the US? This great chain of inland sea is about as permeable as a border can be. And since water boundaries aren't conducive to roads or fences, electronic sensors would be the only possibility of monitoring the border.
We used to go to Texas occasionally in the winter to bird-watch along the border. Birds seem ignorant of national boundaries and there was always the possibility of seeing birds that have wandered north from Mexico. We don't go any longer. The last time we were there, we were warned to stay well away from the Rio Grande River. There are so many monitoring devices planted in park land along the Mexican-US border that we would be liable to have an little encounter with the border patrol.
Is this what we can look forward to along the Canadian border? Roads? Fences? Monitoring Devices? Or is this legislation just one more attempt to whittle away environmental protection policies? A smoke screen to hobble environmental protection of land set aside for people to enjoy - both Canadian and US citizens. Or is over-ruling policies that preserve our great national parks a way to set a precedent to make it easier for logging and oil drilling occur?
I'd call the whole thing border transgressions.
Have any of these legislators ever been to Glacier National Park? Or driven on the engineering marvel named Going-to-the-Sun Road took years to build? The road crosses the park parallel to the Canadian border and is open only during the summer months. The rest of the year it is buried under tons of snow. Now the border patrol wants to consider other roads nearer the border to better enable catching terrorists illegally crossing the border.
Have these folks ever hiked trails through magnificent passes in Glacier Park and then set out on foot across country? This land is not casual landscape that is easily transversed. The idea of a fence is ludicrous beyond words, given the terrain, or even finding someone who tripped a sensor. If I wanted to illegally enter the country, I'd pick a place in eastern Montana where the land is flat and access to existing roads is far easier. This national park is remote land, land I love, where I go so that I can breathe, thanking the foresight of people before me, who fought to have this land preserved for public use.
Nor do I think Canadians would be thrilled at the prospect of such roads - or proposed electronic sensors or fences patterned after attempts to stem illegal immigration across the Mexican border. Glacier Park is contiguous with Waterton Provincial Park in Canada, with the two parks designated as Waterton Glacier Peace Park. Anyone ask Canadians how they would consider such "border control?"
Further west, North Cascades National Park and the Okanogan National Forest lie on our border and join several provincial parks in Canada. The same international issues apply here. Access to the US would demand a person have specialized mountaineering skills and be equipped to hike through the Cascades massive terrain. It is wilderness beyond my skill level to manage, even in the prime of my life.!Again, this beautiful land is buried most of the year in snow, with the only highway far to the south, a road often closed in the winter due to avalanche danger.
Then, there is Pictured Rock National Seashore in Upper Michigan. We were just there this fall as we circled Lake Superior and are well aware of how far it is from the province of Ontario. To slip across the border here would necessitate swimming across Lake Superior from Canada. Now I swam once in Lake Superior - just to say I had done it. I doubt I was in the water more than five minutes. The Lake's frigid waters would effectively prevent anyone from spending more than 15-20 minutes in the water before hypothermia would permanently end any possibility of entering the country. A boat would be more feasible, but does patrolling the border for illegal boats need roads, fences, and electronic sensors? I believe boating is done on the water . . .
Closer to home, who in their right mind would cross the border from Canada's Quetico Provincial Park wilderness into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (Minnesota's beloved BWCA) with mischief in mind?
I am sure there are any number of outfitters who would be glad to take these legislators on a little trip into the wilderness. And help them portage across the Quetico, where the portages aren't nice trails connecting one lake with another.
The idea of a road along the the Minnesota-Canada border is ridiculous and should send a person into spasmodic gut-retching laughter! How could be it would be possible to construct a barrier here between us and Canada. Most of the border here and at Voyageurs National Park (to to the west of the BWCA) is water, a chain of many lake that eventually empties into Lake Superior. Would building a bridge along these miles of lake water that separate us from Canada do the job? It certainly has the potential of being a tourist attraction rivaling the Keys in Florida or the bridge system that connect the Eastern Shore of Virginia with Norfolk. However I don't think the purpose of this legislation is to attract tourists to the border.
And while we are at it, what about the Great Lakes as avenues for illegal entry into the US? This great chain of inland sea is about as permeable as a border can be. And since water boundaries aren't conducive to roads or fences, electronic sensors would be the only possibility of monitoring the border.
We used to go to Texas occasionally in the winter to bird-watch along the border. Birds seem ignorant of national boundaries and there was always the possibility of seeing birds that have wandered north from Mexico. We don't go any longer. The last time we were there, we were warned to stay well away from the Rio Grande River. There are so many monitoring devices planted in park land along the Mexican-US border that we would be liable to have an little encounter with the border patrol.
Is this what we can look forward to along the Canadian border? Roads? Fences? Monitoring Devices? Or is this legislation just one more attempt to whittle away environmental protection policies? A smoke screen to hobble environmental protection of land set aside for people to enjoy - both Canadian and US citizens. Or is over-ruling policies that preserve our great national parks a way to set a precedent to make it easier for logging and oil drilling occur?
I'd call the whole thing border transgressions.
Monday, November 14, 2011
I Used To Be 6 Foot 3 (and a half!)
Just outside my office window is a Mugho Pine with a thistle
bird feeder hanging out in plain sight. I need to take the time to
clean out last season's seeds and fill it with the new! Maybe
that's why there are no finches this year!? Or, just maybe, the
weather isn't just right . . . no snow . . . an abundance of seeds
elsewhere . . . or maybe (just maybe) I have not been looking
for them -
Here is a little Ogden Nash creation I recently received from
a friend.
I sit here growing old by inches
Watching the clocks instead of the finches
But sometimes I visualize in my gin
The Audubon I audubin.
If I have time this week . . . I may fill the feeder . . .
bird feeder hanging out in plain sight. I need to take the time to
clean out last season's seeds and fill it with the new! Maybe
that's why there are no finches this year!? Or, just maybe, the
weather isn't just right . . . no snow . . . an abundance of seeds
elsewhere . . . or maybe (just maybe) I have not been looking
for them -
Here is a little Ogden Nash creation I recently received from
a friend.
I sit here growing old by inches
Watching the clocks instead of the finches
But sometimes I visualize in my gin
The Audubon I audubin.
If I have time this week . . . I may fill the feeder . . .
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Loss of a Wonderful Man
We are mourning the death of a dear friend. John's death at 77 was about both blessing and grief. His grief and ours. John was diagnosed with dementia six years ago. Other than sometimes having trouble finding words, hard for this articulate man, John did well until these past months. During these waning days of autumn, he deteriorated rapidly. At the end it was if he was suspended between here and whatever lies beyond, until he simply stopped breathing.
Never one to deny reality, John knew exactly what was happening to him. With dementia, he knew dying happens twice. First with his loss of connection with what we call our Self, and thus with others we love. Until the final dying when he would breath no more.
John grew up in West Texas and retained some of the drawl of his childhood. It took me several years after we first met to understand what he meant when he said "how ya doin'" - that he did not mean he was asking for a report of my immediate state of being. It was simply a Texas hello! John lived in gratitude and celebrated life. His infectious laugh will remain with me forever.
John's mind was quick and he had a carefully honed ability to hear not only what was being said, but what was not said - or sometimes realized - by the other person. As a listener, he spent his life in the service of hearing others' stories - their pain and their joy. He gave so much of himself, but would be quick to say how much he received.
Death is always loss for us who grieve. Yet at the same time, it was a blessing that he did not linger at the end, when he moved into confusion and anxiety. I knew him for exactly half of my life - to the month. Life will be strange for some time, the knowing he is no longer here with us.
Never one to deny reality, John knew exactly what was happening to him. With dementia, he knew dying happens twice. First with his loss of connection with what we call our Self, and thus with others we love. Until the final dying when he would breath no more.
John grew up in West Texas and retained some of the drawl of his childhood. It took me several years after we first met to understand what he meant when he said "how ya doin'" - that he did not mean he was asking for a report of my immediate state of being. It was simply a Texas hello! John lived in gratitude and celebrated life. His infectious laugh will remain with me forever.
John's mind was quick and he had a carefully honed ability to hear not only what was being said, but what was not said - or sometimes realized - by the other person. As a listener, he spent his life in the service of hearing others' stories - their pain and their joy. He gave so much of himself, but would be quick to say how much he received.
Death is always loss for us who grieve. Yet at the same time, it was a blessing that he did not linger at the end, when he moved into confusion and anxiety. I knew him for exactly half of my life - to the month. Life will be strange for some time, the knowing he is no longer here with us.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Optimists and Pessimists
One definition of pessimists and optimists is the glass half-empty and the glass half-full.
This abnormally extended autumn has been a time for optimists and pessimists to declare themselves. The optimists make glowing remarks about the weather to strangers. They do things over their lunch hours they never bothered to do in the summer - like eat lunches on the company picnic bench and toss balls around to each other, while savoring each beautiful days.
The pessimists are waiting for the other shoe to drop. They search weather reports and bemoan the lack of rain. They are sure we are on the edge of impending doom, when climate change will wipe us all out. They are so busy whining and complaining they hardly notice the blue sky and the vibrant colors of leaves reluctant to fall from trees.
Of course there is an underlying reality to a very unusual fall - while Denver and the northeast are buried under damaging snowstorms while we enjoy balmy weather. At the same time each autumn day has been a reminder to breathe deep and enjoy the gift we have been given. Just like life itself - when we have no way of knowing which day will be the last for ourselves or for those we love.
Me, I fall in the optimist category. Growing up with a mother who was a pessimist, I resolved to embrace what ever goodness I can find in life.
Breathe deep. The snow will eventually come - and it too has its beauty.
This abnormally extended autumn has been a time for optimists and pessimists to declare themselves. The optimists make glowing remarks about the weather to strangers. They do things over their lunch hours they never bothered to do in the summer - like eat lunches on the company picnic bench and toss balls around to each other, while savoring each beautiful days.
The pessimists are waiting for the other shoe to drop. They search weather reports and bemoan the lack of rain. They are sure we are on the edge of impending doom, when climate change will wipe us all out. They are so busy whining and complaining they hardly notice the blue sky and the vibrant colors of leaves reluctant to fall from trees.
Of course there is an underlying reality to a very unusual fall - while Denver and the northeast are buried under damaging snowstorms while we enjoy balmy weather. At the same time each autumn day has been a reminder to breathe deep and enjoy the gift we have been given. Just like life itself - when we have no way of knowing which day will be the last for ourselves or for those we love.
Me, I fall in the optimist category. Growing up with a mother who was a pessimist, I resolved to embrace what ever goodness I can find in life.
Breathe deep. The snow will eventually come - and it too has its beauty.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Our New Book!
Our new book Why Breathe? has rolled off the press! It is a beautiful book - poetry by both Clem and Elizabeth. It is available from us directly - just email one of us. And it will be available in a number of independent bookstores in the area. We will keep you posted as to when it will be available and where.
We began talking about writing a book together last winter. This time, the title and the cover came first. Then we began the task of deciding which pieces of poetry we wanted to include. Some poems have been around for a while, but not yet published. Others are more recent, including poetry written as we were putting the book together.
One poem is the result of a merger of two poems we had written separately about Sandhill Cranes. A line or two from Clem, then several lines from Elizabeth, until we were satisfied with how we had woven it together. At this point neither of us remember which lines were whose - even though our poetic voices are quite different.
Then the task of editing and rewriting, until the manuscript emerged.
We think it is our best work yet and are eager for people to take a look - and hopefully purchase a copy, so that they might absorb one poem after another as it speaks to them.
A wise person said that when you are writing, what you write belongs to you. When you offer something publicly for others to read, you no longer own what you have written. Every reader connects what they read with their own experiences and derives their own meanings. That is the beauty of poetry particularly. Sometimes poets do not even realize what they have written, since profound poetry comes from someplace deep inside.
It's Why Breathe? A collection of poetry that asks the perennial, unanswerable questions. Why do we get up in the morning,when the world sometimes seems painful and chaotic? And it is Why Breathe! The celebration of precious life and love.
We began talking about writing a book together last winter. This time, the title and the cover came first. Then we began the task of deciding which pieces of poetry we wanted to include. Some poems have been around for a while, but not yet published. Others are more recent, including poetry written as we were putting the book together.
One poem is the result of a merger of two poems we had written separately about Sandhill Cranes. A line or two from Clem, then several lines from Elizabeth, until we were satisfied with how we had woven it together. At this point neither of us remember which lines were whose - even though our poetic voices are quite different.
Then the task of editing and rewriting, until the manuscript emerged.
We think it is our best work yet and are eager for people to take a look - and hopefully purchase a copy, so that they might absorb one poem after another as it speaks to them.
A wise person said that when you are writing, what you write belongs to you. When you offer something publicly for others to read, you no longer own what you have written. Every reader connects what they read with their own experiences and derives their own meanings. That is the beauty of poetry particularly. Sometimes poets do not even realize what they have written, since profound poetry comes from someplace deep inside.
It's Why Breathe? A collection of poetry that asks the perennial, unanswerable questions. Why do we get up in the morning,when the world sometimes seems painful and chaotic? And it is Why Breathe! The celebration of precious life and love.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Satellite Splashes Down Harmlessly
It has been determined that the 20 year-old, bus-sized, 6 ton NASA satellite crashed to the earth in pieces. And . . . since it landed in the Indian Ocean just northeast and southwest of Christmas Island . . . it “falled harmlessly into the ocean and caused no human deaths.”
Whew! That was close! said the Christmas Island Frigate Bird to the nearby sea turtle. I was just sailing along in the wave-troughs, minding my own business, when I saw my two frigate friends disappear in a tremendous cloud of foam and plankton. They just were simply gone. I will never see them again. There are not many of us frigates around anymore . . . unlike the humans. What was it anyway?
Beats me, said Sea Turtle, I know just what you mean . . . I was under the water at the time . . . just swimming along . . . and the the force of the impact was so great that I blew out all my ear wax that I was collecting for sale on the mainland. They pay a lot for it! The rumor among us few turtles is that the Christmas Islanders collect it and make Turtle Wax to sell for polishing their cars and even sell it abroad. And my ears aren’t all that large . . . it takes time to collect enough to amount to anything.
Something bothers me, Frigate, said Sea Turtle. What’s that Turtle? said Frigate.I can’t seem to find the rest of the turtles. They said that they were going, as a group, to find better feeding grounds. But, they were just here when we saw that chunk of something crash into the ocean. DO YOU SUPPOSE?! Oh, no! What will I ever do all alone? At least, it didn’t cause any human deaths . . . and maybe I will eventually generate more ear wax to sell to the islanders . . .
And what about all the endangered seals, dugong, and whales?
Whew! That was close! said the Christmas Island Frigate Bird to the nearby sea turtle. I was just sailing along in the wave-troughs, minding my own business, when I saw my two frigate friends disappear in a tremendous cloud of foam and plankton. They just were simply gone. I will never see them again. There are not many of us frigates around anymore . . . unlike the humans. What was it anyway?
Beats me, said Sea Turtle, I know just what you mean . . . I was under the water at the time . . . just swimming along . . . and the the force of the impact was so great that I blew out all my ear wax that I was collecting for sale on the mainland. They pay a lot for it! The rumor among us few turtles is that the Christmas Islanders collect it and make Turtle Wax to sell for polishing their cars and even sell it abroad. And my ears aren’t all that large . . . it takes time to collect enough to amount to anything.
Something bothers me, Frigate, said Sea Turtle. What’s that Turtle? said Frigate.I can’t seem to find the rest of the turtles. They said that they were going, as a group, to find better feeding grounds. But, they were just here when we saw that chunk of something crash into the ocean. DO YOU SUPPOSE?! Oh, no! What will I ever do all alone? At least, it didn’t cause any human deaths . . . and maybe I will eventually generate more ear wax to sell to the islanders . . .
And what about all the endangered seals, dugong, and whales?
Monday, October 24, 2011
What Goes Around, Comes Around
The heavy vise-like tool,
slips from an astronaut's grip.
Released to orbit.
Assumed
never-to-be-seen-again.
After three days -
a fifteen-pound emergency
looms.
Shuttle rockets fire to avoit
an insipient disaster
almost not seen.
What goes around
comes around.
Written on the day that parts of a bus-sized
chunck of space junk was to fall somewhere
to the earth. September 23, 2011
slips from an astronaut's grip.
Released to orbit.
Assumed
never-to-be-seen-again.
After three days -
a fifteen-pound emergency
looms.
Shuttle rockets fire to avoit
an insipient disaster
almost not seen.
What goes around
comes around.
Written on the day that parts of a bus-sized
chunck of space junk was to fall somewhere
to the earth. September 23, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Give Me Driving in Canada Any Day
After a near-death experience in our car earlier this week, I yearned for a return to Ontario - the place where driving remains a sane enterprise. We wondered if Canadian highways were heavily policed? Even though we did not see a single highway police car between Sault Ste Marie and Thunder Bay Are Canadians simply more civil than drivers in the states? It is a prejudice I freely confess I have had for years, ever since first traveling in Canada as young adults. Or are Canadian traffic laws that different than those in this country?
The highway across the eastern and northern shores of Lake Superior is part of the Trans Canada Highway system. It is a busy road and one of only two options to cross western Ontario. Yet there was never a sense we were taking our lives in our hands by being on this highway.No harassment by other drivers (can't imagine anyone giving the one-finger salute). No one trying to get somewhere yesterday.Road construction must be one of the seasons in Ontario (as it is here), but there was never any sense of it not being managed well.
The highway is a two lane road with a centre passing lane every few miles. Knowing one would have the opportunity to pass slower vehicles made it unnecessary (and foolish) to pass on hills and curves. There was no one exceeding the speed limit. Nor was there any tailgating or intimidation of other drivers. No tailgating. No semis breathing down your neck. No car drivers who believe that being right on your tail will somehow make you drive faster - or pull over on the narrow shoulder so that they might whiz by and preempt the road for themselves.
I thought it might be wise to be more informed about Canadian traffic rules. since this trip will not be the last we visit Canada.Thanks to the Internet, I found the Rules of the Road in Ontario Highway Traffic Act. It defines the proper distance between vehicles as "reasonable and prudent having due regard for the speed of the vehicle and the traffic on and the conditions of the highway " (R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8, s. 158 (1). Reasonable and prudent? Try telling that to Minnesota drivers!
When we crossed the international border into Minnesota, we traveled down the North Shore of Lake Superior, one of my all-time favorite roads. And the highway games began immediately. No question we were now in another country. Speeding, tailgating, poor judgement as to passing - and intimidation. You would think we were doing the Daytona Five Hundred. Please, take me back to Ontario!
The near-death experience? We were driving on a freeway, which narrowed to one lane - slowing the traffic down to a crawl. We were fine - until Clem looked in the rear-view mirror. A car was speeding towards us and the driver lost control. He (happened to been a he) apparently hadn't thought the highway signs included him - or he never saw them. He skidded, sliding down the highway sideways first one way and then another.. He regained control a few feet from us. If he hadn't, we would have been dead.
Perhaps US drivers have played too many video games and have lost the ability to discern between a car chase game and real life.
The highway across the eastern and northern shores of Lake Superior is part of the Trans Canada Highway system. It is a busy road and one of only two options to cross western Ontario. Yet there was never a sense we were taking our lives in our hands by being on this highway.No harassment by other drivers (can't imagine anyone giving the one-finger salute). No one trying to get somewhere yesterday.Road construction must be one of the seasons in Ontario (as it is here), but there was never any sense of it not being managed well.
The highway is a two lane road with a centre passing lane every few miles. Knowing one would have the opportunity to pass slower vehicles made it unnecessary (and foolish) to pass on hills and curves. There was no one exceeding the speed limit. Nor was there any tailgating or intimidation of other drivers. No tailgating. No semis breathing down your neck. No car drivers who believe that being right on your tail will somehow make you drive faster - or pull over on the narrow shoulder so that they might whiz by and preempt the road for themselves.
I thought it might be wise to be more informed about Canadian traffic rules. since this trip will not be the last we visit Canada.Thanks to the Internet, I found the Rules of the Road in Ontario Highway Traffic Act. It defines the proper distance between vehicles as "reasonable and prudent having due regard for the speed of the vehicle and the traffic on and the conditions of the highway " (R.S.O. 1990, c. H.8, s. 158 (1). Reasonable and prudent? Try telling that to Minnesota drivers!
When we crossed the international border into Minnesota, we traveled down the North Shore of Lake Superior, one of my all-time favorite roads. And the highway games began immediately. No question we were now in another country. Speeding, tailgating, poor judgement as to passing - and intimidation. You would think we were doing the Daytona Five Hundred. Please, take me back to Ontario!
The near-death experience? We were driving on a freeway, which narrowed to one lane - slowing the traffic down to a crawl. We were fine - until Clem looked in the rear-view mirror. A car was speeding towards us and the driver lost control. He (happened to been a he) apparently hadn't thought the highway signs included him - or he never saw them. He skidded, sliding down the highway sideways first one way and then another.. He regained control a few feet from us. If he hadn't, we would have been dead.
Perhaps US drivers have played too many video games and have lost the ability to discern between a car chase game and real life.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Autumn and the Great Inland Sea
Lake Superior is Minnesota's sea - and Wisconsin's, Michigan's, and Ontario's. For us, Minnesota's North Shore is a place to immerse ourselves in the north woods. Our dream has been to drive around the entire Lake. This past month we fulfilled our dream.
Trying to guess when the fall leaf-color would be in its prime was a bit tricky. Dependent on rainfall and cool nights, there was no guaranteed calendar time. We took our chances.We began in Duluth at the end of September, heading east along the great Lake's south shore. Trees were blazing with fluorescent reds and orange, with golds and yellows sprinkled in among the dark green of evergreens. The surreal light through the leaves was like being suspended in time.
Slowly, we made our way along sandy beaches on the sky-blue autumn days. Always the Lake stretched out on our left. When any of us travel, it has long been a family tradition to disconnect and live fully in the present. Such disconnecting created solitary time for us to take photographs and to write, giving us both needed time to rest from our busy lives.
It had been an upside-down six months. Spring was so delayed that garden-planting was postponed from its usual pattern. Soil too cool would not have been conducive to the germination of tiny seeds. July followed with too much heat. It meant a season not friendly to growing tomatoes and peppers. Many local gardeners reported no tomatoes at all, while we managed a few for the table. We have never been very successful with cucumbers, but this year our vines gave us state-fair quality and so many that we kept the neighborhood supplied. At the same time, the zucchini planted next to the cucumbers produced one lone zucchini. Go figure!
The disruption of house remodeling further contributed to the disruption of our usual summer patterns. We are still catching up with maintenance that usually would have been done earlier in the summer - such as scraping the peeling paint around the garage door, which is now is ready for a fresh coat of white. And we have been engaged in "spring pruning" of bushes and trees in our backyard woods. At least with no leaves, it is easy to see what goes and what stays!
I think we embody the seasons within us wherever we live. When weather (or other disruptions) alter year-long routines, it creates an undercurrent of dis-ease. Who could complain of an extended beautiful autumn like this one. At the same time, folks keep looking over their shoulders as if there has been a "disturbance of the force."
Yesterday, I clipped sage and oregano to dry for winter. Whether it does snow in the next couple days - or rain -or gift us with sunny days, at least I am ready for what comes my way.
Trying to guess when the fall leaf-color would be in its prime was a bit tricky. Dependent on rainfall and cool nights, there was no guaranteed calendar time. We took our chances.We began in Duluth at the end of September, heading east along the great Lake's south shore. Trees were blazing with fluorescent reds and orange, with golds and yellows sprinkled in among the dark green of evergreens. The surreal light through the leaves was like being suspended in time.
Slowly, we made our way along sandy beaches on the sky-blue autumn days. Always the Lake stretched out on our left. When any of us travel, it has long been a family tradition to disconnect and live fully in the present. Such disconnecting created solitary time for us to take photographs and to write, giving us both needed time to rest from our busy lives.
It had been an upside-down six months. Spring was so delayed that garden-planting was postponed from its usual pattern. Soil too cool would not have been conducive to the germination of tiny seeds. July followed with too much heat. It meant a season not friendly to growing tomatoes and peppers. Many local gardeners reported no tomatoes at all, while we managed a few for the table. We have never been very successful with cucumbers, but this year our vines gave us state-fair quality and so many that we kept the neighborhood supplied. At the same time, the zucchini planted next to the cucumbers produced one lone zucchini. Go figure!
The disruption of house remodeling further contributed to the disruption of our usual summer patterns. We are still catching up with maintenance that usually would have been done earlier in the summer - such as scraping the peeling paint around the garage door, which is now is ready for a fresh coat of white. And we have been engaged in "spring pruning" of bushes and trees in our backyard woods. At least with no leaves, it is easy to see what goes and what stays!
I think we embody the seasons within us wherever we live. When weather (or other disruptions) alter year-long routines, it creates an undercurrent of dis-ease. Who could complain of an extended beautiful autumn like this one. At the same time, folks keep looking over their shoulders as if there has been a "disturbance of the force."
Yesterday, I clipped sage and oregano to dry for winter. Whether it does snow in the next couple days - or rain -or gift us with sunny days, at least I am ready for what comes my way.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Need Some Good Fall Reading?
As the days shorten, it is time to curl up before the proverbial fireplace (whether you actually are blessed with a fireplace or not) with a warm blanket and lose yourself for a while in a good book.
I highly recommend my book, The is No Future in the Past: A Travel Memoir. Of course I am not prejudiced or anything, when I say it is well worth your time.
It is a book I never intended to write. I have always had a dim view of confessional memoir, spilling one's family history all over the pages in gory detail. I want to say to some of these writers that they should get a good therapist to work out their issues and not expect their readers to serve in that capacity. But when I began to look at favorite books I have read, I was surprised how many memoirs I have read and loved.
I was just playing around writing short essays and bringing them to a writing group whose support and critique I value. Somewhere in the process, the writing took over and the individual pieces began to acquire an order and direction. This book is the result.
You can purchase it direct from us. Just email us. Or at this point, we have begun putting it in some of the local independent bookstores: Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts in Fridley, the St. Paul Benedictine Spirituality Center, Loyola Spirituality Center in St. Paul, and The Bookcase in Wayzata. Gradually, the list of available places will expand (we will keep you posted). And eventually, I hope you can purchase it at Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com.
Remember - curl up some evening with a warm blanket and give it a read! Let me know what you think.
I highly recommend my book, The is No Future in the Past: A Travel Memoir. Of course I am not prejudiced or anything, when I say it is well worth your time.
It is a book I never intended to write. I have always had a dim view of confessional memoir, spilling one's family history all over the pages in gory detail. I want to say to some of these writers that they should get a good therapist to work out their issues and not expect their readers to serve in that capacity. But when I began to look at favorite books I have read, I was surprised how many memoirs I have read and loved.
I was just playing around writing short essays and bringing them to a writing group whose support and critique I value. Somewhere in the process, the writing took over and the individual pieces began to acquire an order and direction. This book is the result.
You can purchase it direct from us. Just email us. Or at this point, we have begun putting it in some of the local independent bookstores: Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts in Fridley, the St. Paul Benedictine Spirituality Center, Loyola Spirituality Center in St. Paul, and The Bookcase in Wayzata. Gradually, the list of available places will expand (we will keep you posted). And eventually, I hope you can purchase it at Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com.
Remember - curl up some evening with a warm blanket and give it a read! Let me know what you think.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Autumn Images
One of our favorite places is Carlos Avery Wildlife Refuge.
We head there to see what is happening from early spring to late fall.
Sometimes we go to ground ourselves,
to seek solitude,
or when the weight of writing projects
becomes unwieldy and we need to regain perspective.
As Clem says often, "May there always be wild places."
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Cycle of the Seasons
No matter where a person lives, the cycle of the seasons are embedded themselves in us. Disruptions in those cycles disturbs the soul - and complaining is likely to follow.
After several grey-sky days, people in checkouts lines in the grocery store and pharmacy declare loud and clearly their strong feelings about the sun's absence. When the weather disrupts our lives with drought, snow storms, or floods, our noticing takes on even more importance. At such times, meteorologists hedge their bets, even though their predictions often are more accurate than indicators regarding the rise and fall of the stock market.
Few of us lead lives anymore in which it really matters if the the sun shines or not, whether the rains come in a timely fashion, or the first snow fall comes at the "right" time. We go to work, engage in indoor exercise, and shop whenever pantry shelves are getting empty.
It is hard to say why humans are still so wired to the cycle of the seasons. The people who built the structures of Chaco Canyon in northwestern New Mexico have moved on, assimilated into contemporary cultures. But their engineering and astronomical skills remain an elaborate testimony to a time when the cycle of the seasons was essential. In my travel memoir, There is No Future in the Past, I describe how these people planted their calendars into a landscape "saturated with cosmological meaning. One wall of Pueblo Bonito is perfectly aligned with the cardinal directions and connects the heavens with the earth, predicting the spring and fall equinoxes. Other Chaco structures foretold the solstices, by situating them in relationship with distant sun-watching stations chiseled in the rock."
No matter where you live in the world, your ancestors depended on the regularity of the season's cycles. When weather patterns changed, they migrated to some place else - or starved. Diverse cultures resulted, giving us our rich human heritage. But perhaps we all share this connection to the seasons embedded in our bodies.
Of course it is possible to put your head down, go about your life, and ignore the seasons. Looking up occasionally when weather diverts your agenda. But how much richer it is to pay attention. Notice the sun - and the grey skies. Smell the differences in the air. And listen, if you are lucky to live where honking geese flying overhead are practicing before migrating.
Friday, September 23, 2011
What Goes Around
The heavy vise-like tool
slips from an astronaut's grip.
Released to orbit.
Assumed to
never-to-be-seen-again.
After three days -
a fifteen-pound emergency
looms.
Shuttle rockets fire to avoid
an insipient disaster
almost not seen.
What goes around,
comes around.
September 23, 2011
Written on the day that pieces of a bus-sized
chunk of space junk is to hit the earth somewhere.
The heavy vise-like tool
slips from an astronaut's grip.
Released to orbit.
Assumed to
never-to-be-seen-again.
After three days -
a fifteen-pound emergency
looms.
Shuttle rockets fire to avoid
an insipient disaster
almost not seen.
What goes around,
comes around.
September 23, 2011
Written on the day that pieces of a bus-sized
chunk of space junk is to hit the earth somewhere.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
BEING VIGILANT, HARRY WOULD LIKE THAT
Harry’s house across the street
stands empty.
I miss Harry.
He was only eighty-five. His dear spouse, Florence, died three
years ago. He was by her side so faithfully. They had both loved flowers and growing things. In recent years, a little more than
once, they walked together through our garden paths. At least,
that’s what Harry told me.
Up to just last year, Harry would predictably be sitting at a card
table just inside his open garage and read and write. He was an
avid student of words and ideas. He loved my poetry and I would
read to him. Often, something I read reminded him of some poet
of the past and he would spout off their lengthy poems from
memory!
Once, last fall, I saw him sitting at his table playing a harmonica!
I took my mountain dulcimer down from its shelf and crossed
the street to join him. As I got closer I realized that Harry was
eating ears of buttered corn with gusto! We laughed and I had
an ear of corn . . . and then played a tune.
More than once, when winter was just about to come . . . he would
start up his big self-propelled orange snow blower and, when I saw
him begin to leave his garage, I would start up my little, red Honda
Snow Pup and we would time it so as to meet out in the middle of
the street where our two snow machines would face each other, turn and twirl their rotor blades! A kind of ritual . . . never a word would be uttered.Then, back to the garages to wait for the first blizzard.
This morning, I saw billowing smoke coming from behind Harry’s
house! Neighbors have an unspoken pledge to be on the lookout for
problems. I quickly crossed the street, unlatched the backyard gate,
and saw that the smoke was from his neighbor burning yard waste.
As I turned to leave, I saw his abandoned flower bed along side the
back of the empty house. All that was left was a withered, spent hosta plant.
And a single, tiny, slender marigold in full bloom with its one bright,
orange blossom. Must have been self-seeded.
Wish Harry could have done the same.
stands empty.
I miss Harry.
He was only eighty-five. His dear spouse, Florence, died three
years ago. He was by her side so faithfully. They had both loved flowers and growing things. In recent years, a little more than
once, they walked together through our garden paths. At least,
that’s what Harry told me.
Up to just last year, Harry would predictably be sitting at a card
table just inside his open garage and read and write. He was an
avid student of words and ideas. He loved my poetry and I would
read to him. Often, something I read reminded him of some poet
of the past and he would spout off their lengthy poems from
memory!
Once, last fall, I saw him sitting at his table playing a harmonica!
I took my mountain dulcimer down from its shelf and crossed
the street to join him. As I got closer I realized that Harry was
eating ears of buttered corn with gusto! We laughed and I had
an ear of corn . . . and then played a tune.
More than once, when winter was just about to come . . . he would
start up his big self-propelled orange snow blower and, when I saw
him begin to leave his garage, I would start up my little, red Honda
Snow Pup and we would time it so as to meet out in the middle of
the street where our two snow machines would face each other, turn and twirl their rotor blades! A kind of ritual . . . never a word would be uttered.Then, back to the garages to wait for the first blizzard.
This morning, I saw billowing smoke coming from behind Harry’s
house! Neighbors have an unspoken pledge to be on the lookout for
problems. I quickly crossed the street, unlatched the backyard gate,
and saw that the smoke was from his neighbor burning yard waste.
As I turned to leave, I saw his abandoned flower bed along side the
back of the empty house. All that was left was a withered, spent hosta plant.
And a single, tiny, slender marigold in full bloom with its one bright,
orange blossom. Must have been self-seeded.
Wish Harry could have done the same.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Too Late?
Late spring this year,
an early fall followed.
Geese amassing,
maple leaves turning.
Yellow flowers of wild cup plant
gone to seed, now play grounds
for goldfinches.
Trumpet flowers of the climbing
honeysuckle vine are
finally out in force,
a favorite of hummingbirds.
But where are the ruby-throats?
A freeze is predicted for sooner-
than-later . . . did the little hummers
take off for somewhere
later?
Wait!
What was that?
an early fall followed.
Geese amassing,
maple leaves turning.
Yellow flowers of wild cup plant
gone to seed, now play grounds
for goldfinches.
Trumpet flowers of the climbing
honeysuckle vine are
finally out in force,
a favorite of hummingbirds.
But where are the ruby-throats?
A freeze is predicted for sooner-
than-later . . . did the little hummers
take off for somewhere
later?
Wait!
What was that?
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Politics and Home-made Jam
I have a pretty good set of boundaries that allow me to follow the political conversations of the day. But this morning, I am distraught.
It is my custom to check into the world every morning with several on-line news media that offer different perspectives. This morning one of my usual sources included an op-ed piece with some inflammatory statements regarding last night's CNN Tea Party presidential debate. I was torn about pursuing the reliability of this particular op-ed piece. I did not want to watch excerpts from the debate. If what this particular writer stated was true, the pain in my heart would only grow. Yet, my horror would not let me blow-off the possibility that what was referenced actually happened.
It has always been our policy on this blog to not spread inaccurate information. My dilemma: other than venting with close friends, I was unwilling to write my reflections in any public way. Finally I could not stand it and listened to video clips. Indeed, the op-ed writer was reacting to the televised debate as it actually happened.
What disturbed me the most was when a question was posed to Ron Paul about the hypothetical plight of a man, who opted not to carry health insurance, needing considerable medical care if he was to live. Now I know Ron Paul's position that in a non-socialist country, people ought to be able to do as they please and take responsibility for the consequences. It was the audience's response that horrified me. As the questioner pushed Ron Paul about whether the man should be allowed die and not receive medical care , the audience broke out in applause. Later, the audience booed Ron Paul for saying that not all Muslims are terrorists.
Compassion? What is happening in my country? Everyone for themselves and damn the rest? Have we taken down the welcome sign that greeted my immigrant grandparents? Do we let people die without treatment, even if they have made the foolish choice opt out of health insurance? Is our fear of everyone who looks different or worships in a different way sufficient grounds to call the whole lot of them terrorists?
When I back away from this segment of the population who advocate such extreme positions, I slowly regain my belief in this country in which I live. Another news article today described how a motorcyclist swerved to avoid hitting a car and ended up under the car, which burst into flames. People who observed what happened tipped the burning car far enough so that someone else could pull the man into safety. Split-second reactions on their part saved his life. Nobody asked him if he had insurance - or if he was a Muslim.
When I watched excerpts from the commemoration of 9-11, I was equally proud of my fellow Americans. The tributes made were not hate-filled or fear-filled. They came from people who have struggled honestly with the events ten years ago, some of them still missing loved ones who died.
Home-made jam? On my kitchen counter stand our latest batches of jam. Such a simple, homely tribute to ordinary life. Jam for the coming winter, some made from our own fruit. I remind myself that life is not about hate and fear. Life is about compassion. Compassion toward my neighbors. Compassion toward the people who live in my city. Compassion for people everywhere, who go about their ordinary lives. Some of us make jam. Some of us gather with friends and family. And some of us suffer terrible losses.
I think I need to stand in my kitchen for a while and admire our jam.
It is my custom to check into the world every morning with several on-line news media that offer different perspectives. This morning one of my usual sources included an op-ed piece with some inflammatory statements regarding last night's CNN Tea Party presidential debate. I was torn about pursuing the reliability of this particular op-ed piece. I did not want to watch excerpts from the debate. If what this particular writer stated was true, the pain in my heart would only grow. Yet, my horror would not let me blow-off the possibility that what was referenced actually happened.
It has always been our policy on this blog to not spread inaccurate information. My dilemma: other than venting with close friends, I was unwilling to write my reflections in any public way. Finally I could not stand it and listened to video clips. Indeed, the op-ed writer was reacting to the televised debate as it actually happened.
What disturbed me the most was when a question was posed to Ron Paul about the hypothetical plight of a man, who opted not to carry health insurance, needing considerable medical care if he was to live. Now I know Ron Paul's position that in a non-socialist country, people ought to be able to do as they please and take responsibility for the consequences. It was the audience's response that horrified me. As the questioner pushed Ron Paul about whether the man should be allowed die and not receive medical care , the audience broke out in applause. Later, the audience booed Ron Paul for saying that not all Muslims are terrorists.
Compassion? What is happening in my country? Everyone for themselves and damn the rest? Have we taken down the welcome sign that greeted my immigrant grandparents? Do we let people die without treatment, even if they have made the foolish choice opt out of health insurance? Is our fear of everyone who looks different or worships in a different way sufficient grounds to call the whole lot of them terrorists?
When I back away from this segment of the population who advocate such extreme positions, I slowly regain my belief in this country in which I live. Another news article today described how a motorcyclist swerved to avoid hitting a car and ended up under the car, which burst into flames. People who observed what happened tipped the burning car far enough so that someone else could pull the man into safety. Split-second reactions on their part saved his life. Nobody asked him if he had insurance - or if he was a Muslim.
When I watched excerpts from the commemoration of 9-11, I was equally proud of my fellow Americans. The tributes made were not hate-filled or fear-filled. They came from people who have struggled honestly with the events ten years ago, some of them still missing loved ones who died.
Home-made jam? On my kitchen counter stand our latest batches of jam. Such a simple, homely tribute to ordinary life. Jam for the coming winter, some made from our own fruit. I remind myself that life is not about hate and fear. Life is about compassion. Compassion toward my neighbors. Compassion toward the people who live in my city. Compassion for people everywhere, who go about their ordinary lives. Some of us make jam. Some of us gather with friends and family. And some of us suffer terrible losses.
I think I need to stand in my kitchen for a while and admire our jam.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Article in MinnPost: the Horrifc Cost of Violence
Go to http://www.minnpost/, "online high quality journalism," as they aptly describe themselves. They just published an article by me (Elizabeth). Click on Community Voices on their home page and go to the Thursday, September 8th featured article.
I have been haunted by the horrific abuse suffered by a nanny in the Qaddafi household. After reading a graphic report of what happened to her, I needed to write about it. And I needed to "give the writing away." As another writer stated once, what you write belongs to you until you finish it/publish it. Then it is not yours anymore. It belongs to its readers.
MinnPost was the best place I could think of to publish what I wrote. Although their greatest number of readers come from Minnesota, they are read across the nation as well as internationally. Its is satisfying to "have voice" and to be able to address issues such as this terrible abuse and the price we all pay for violence.
I have been haunted by the horrific abuse suffered by a nanny in the Qaddafi household. After reading a graphic report of what happened to her, I needed to write about it. And I needed to "give the writing away." As another writer stated once, what you write belongs to you until you finish it/publish it. Then it is not yours anymore. It belongs to its readers.
MinnPost was the best place I could think of to publish what I wrote. Although their greatest number of readers come from Minnesota, they are read across the nation as well as internationally. Its is satisfying to "have voice" and to be able to address issues such as this terrible abuse and the price we all pay for violence.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Grape Jelly and Pesto
Our garden is showing the first signs of autumn. The pleasurable days of summer were much too few this year between a cold June and a torrid July. But our garden has not objected. Hostas have flourished and we have raised the best crop of cucumbers ever. The cukes have been like the proverbial over-abundance of zucchini - the neighbours are glad to receive the excess and we have resorted to leaving them in little baskets at random homes.
And the grapes - what a mystery. I have concluded I do not understand grapes. The old vines, possibly wild, in the back corner of the garden produced lots of grapes - the first grapes we have seen on these vines in the fourteen years we have lived in this house. I had concluded the vines were all males and incapable of making fruit. What gives? Unfortunately the vines grew with abandon, attempting to choke off every thing nearby, including several trees. So Clem got out the long pruner - after harvesting the grapes - and cut the vines down to size. Probably means we will have wait another fourteen years to see a second crop!
The domestic grapes we planted at least five or six years ago are another mystery. I have long forgotten what varieties we planted.We've read the books on how to prune grape vines to be productive. We've admired vineyards in Europe and Chile. We have tried all the theories with the result of not a grape to be seen. This year our life was crowded with remodeling our house, teaching classes, and lectures. By the time we got to the grape vines, any pruning was out of the question. So the vines ran wild, threatening the bittersweet's existence on a nearby trellis.The bittersweet is no modest vine itself, but an aggressive variety. We usually have to keep an eye on it as it ascends up the huge white pine a number of feet away.
But guess what? Our uncared-for grape vines outdid themselves. What puzzles me is that we planted 3 vines on this trellis - and all the grapes we harvested are the same. Either two of the varieties are buried - or the three varieties decided to merge into one corporation. All of our precious abundance of grapes means Labor Day has been designated as grape jelly day.
It also is time to harvest our basil and make pesto for the freezer, which is already loaded with various batches of jams and conserves. I've learned the secret of growing basil is to not be impatient. Mid June or even later is the time to sprinkle the little black seeds in the raised bed gardens and rake them in gently with the fingers.
Jams for the freezer are a must in our house. We take advantage of available fruit when it is in its prime. I acquired a new cook book for canning while standing in the checkout lane at Home Depot - not the sort of place I would have gone looking for new jam possibilities. My purchase opened up wonderful new horizons in the jam-making department this year.
Any recipe seems amenable to half or a third of the recommended amount of sugar, producing a jam fuller in flavor than supermarket jams - and much better for us. Stashing it in the freezer means no worry about things like hot water baths and the like. And if the jam is a bit runny - no matter - it fills up the holes in Saturday waffles just fine. Strawberry margarita jam, complete with tequila and Triple Sec, anyone?
January will be good eating at our house.
And the grapes - what a mystery. I have concluded I do not understand grapes. The old vines, possibly wild, in the back corner of the garden produced lots of grapes - the first grapes we have seen on these vines in the fourteen years we have lived in this house. I had concluded the vines were all males and incapable of making fruit. What gives? Unfortunately the vines grew with abandon, attempting to choke off every thing nearby, including several trees. So Clem got out the long pruner - after harvesting the grapes - and cut the vines down to size. Probably means we will have wait another fourteen years to see a second crop!
The domestic grapes we planted at least five or six years ago are another mystery. I have long forgotten what varieties we planted.We've read the books on how to prune grape vines to be productive. We've admired vineyards in Europe and Chile. We have tried all the theories with the result of not a grape to be seen. This year our life was crowded with remodeling our house, teaching classes, and lectures. By the time we got to the grape vines, any pruning was out of the question. So the vines ran wild, threatening the bittersweet's existence on a nearby trellis.The bittersweet is no modest vine itself, but an aggressive variety. We usually have to keep an eye on it as it ascends up the huge white pine a number of feet away.
But guess what? Our uncared-for grape vines outdid themselves. What puzzles me is that we planted 3 vines on this trellis - and all the grapes we harvested are the same. Either two of the varieties are buried - or the three varieties decided to merge into one corporation. All of our precious abundance of grapes means Labor Day has been designated as grape jelly day.
It also is time to harvest our basil and make pesto for the freezer, which is already loaded with various batches of jams and conserves. I've learned the secret of growing basil is to not be impatient. Mid June or even later is the time to sprinkle the little black seeds in the raised bed gardens and rake them in gently with the fingers.
Jams for the freezer are a must in our house. We take advantage of available fruit when it is in its prime. I acquired a new cook book for canning while standing in the checkout lane at Home Depot - not the sort of place I would have gone looking for new jam possibilities. My purchase opened up wonderful new horizons in the jam-making department this year.
Any recipe seems amenable to half or a third of the recommended amount of sugar, producing a jam fuller in flavor than supermarket jams - and much better for us. Stashing it in the freezer means no worry about things like hot water baths and the like. And if the jam is a bit runny - no matter - it fills up the holes in Saturday waffles just fine. Strawberry margarita jam, complete with tequila and Triple Sec, anyone?
January will be good eating at our house.
Friday, August 26, 2011
No One Could Say the News is Boring
When I was growing up, the only access to news was newsreels before the movies - and the weekly local newspaper that detailed such important events such who poured at which gathering of women. My grandfather would sit at our radio console, more in amazement at being able to hear distant stations than any interest in events occurring beyond our small town. The big war was over and we all were busy trying to forget there was a larger world than where we lived. We wanted life to be predictable and dependable. Such blissful ignorance!
Now technology provides us with a kaleidoscope of images. We wait for the next installment from Libya to learn if its oppressive dictator has been found. Three major earthquakes shake the ground in the Americaswithin a few days . My beloved "castle" of the Smithsonian, the National Cathedral, and the Washington Monument sustained damages and the images play out in front of me. Now we watch as an unpredictable hurricane named Irene makes its way up the Eastern coast.
I expect there are people who continue to live in the kind of cacoon that I did when I was growing up. Some people are simply too poor to care about anything but their daily survival. Others find the news of the day simply too deafening and deliberately shield themselves from the constant flow of information. Still others reach "compassion fatigue" and turn their attention to manageable details of their personal lives.
Questions about the reliability of what we call news complicates our understanding of what actually is important or even truthful. Some of the distortions and outright lies come from people who have power and want to keep it. Syria's "official news" is that its protesters are a rabble with guns who therefore need to be gunned down and controlled.
Others are well-meaning leaders who think they have the truth, when all they have is the proverbial tail in the fable of blind men touching an elephant. Wiki leaks is one effort to expose what otherwise would remain hidden (whether you believe they serve a legitimate purpose or who are a gang of illegal hackers). This morning I read that they have released information saying that McCain in 2009 argued that we should supply arms to Qaddafi. How differently events would be playing themselves out today under a President McCain!
The unpredictability of this monster hurricane - and the accompanying barrage of news information - actually does a disservice to ordinary people trying to make decisions about their own safety. Scenarios range from 20 feet of water at JFK to a path straight through the heart of Manhattan. I ask myself what I would do if we were still living in NYC's "New Jersey suburbs. Would I be buying emergency supplies and be planning to ride it out? Or would I fill the car to the brim with what I deem most precious and head westward?
I chuckled at the comment on CNN online that you can always tell a New Yorker - but you can't tell them much. An apt description that a New Yorker might wear with pride. But if a couple of weeks ago, someone said Washington DC would experience an earthquake, would you have believed it?
Meanwhile, stay tuned and stay connected. Who knows what unimaginable surprise is in the wings for next week.
Now technology provides us with a kaleidoscope of images. We wait for the next installment from Libya to learn if its oppressive dictator has been found. Three major earthquakes shake the ground in the Americaswithin a few days . My beloved "castle" of the Smithsonian, the National Cathedral, and the Washington Monument sustained damages and the images play out in front of me. Now we watch as an unpredictable hurricane named Irene makes its way up the Eastern coast.
I expect there are people who continue to live in the kind of cacoon that I did when I was growing up. Some people are simply too poor to care about anything but their daily survival. Others find the news of the day simply too deafening and deliberately shield themselves from the constant flow of information. Still others reach "compassion fatigue" and turn their attention to manageable details of their personal lives.
Questions about the reliability of what we call news complicates our understanding of what actually is important or even truthful. Some of the distortions and outright lies come from people who have power and want to keep it. Syria's "official news" is that its protesters are a rabble with guns who therefore need to be gunned down and controlled.
Others are well-meaning leaders who think they have the truth, when all they have is the proverbial tail in the fable of blind men touching an elephant. Wiki leaks is one effort to expose what otherwise would remain hidden (whether you believe they serve a legitimate purpose or who are a gang of illegal hackers). This morning I read that they have released information saying that McCain in 2009 argued that we should supply arms to Qaddafi. How differently events would be playing themselves out today under a President McCain!
The unpredictability of this monster hurricane - and the accompanying barrage of news information - actually does a disservice to ordinary people trying to make decisions about their own safety. Scenarios range from 20 feet of water at JFK to a path straight through the heart of Manhattan. I ask myself what I would do if we were still living in NYC's "New Jersey suburbs. Would I be buying emergency supplies and be planning to ride it out? Or would I fill the car to the brim with what I deem most precious and head westward?
I chuckled at the comment on CNN online that you can always tell a New Yorker - but you can't tell them much. An apt description that a New Yorker might wear with pride. But if a couple of weeks ago, someone said Washington DC would experience an earthquake, would you have believed it?
Meanwhile, stay tuned and stay connected. Who knows what unimaginable surprise is in the wings for next week.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Honoring Norway's Month of Mourning
May Norway continue to embrace contemporary changes
to its country, the multiculturalism
that one terrorist tried to obliterate
with the deaths of Norway's future leaders.
May Norway remember its roots,
its hardworking people
and farms wrested from the land
wherever the soil would yield crops.
May Norway remember its resistance
to the Nazi invasion of its country,
its refusal to surrender to a right-wing political movement
that would rid Norway of everyone who did
not fit Hitler's vision's of purity.
May Norway gain strength from the beauty of its land.
High rugged mountains, fjords, and high waterfalls.
And its dedication
to not sacrifice their country's pristine places
in exchange for greed.
From the northern most reaches of small fishing villages
to its graceful cities,
may Norway always remember
those who died so tragically,
May Norway teach us all about the importance of tolerance
and that it is possible to grieve with dignity.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
If They Wrote Soap Operas Like This . . .
If they wrote soap operas based on the news of the day, no one would purchase the scripts.
Reason? Too unbelievable. The news is enough to make any person wonder if they have fallen down some Alice-in-Wonderland rabbit hole into an world so imaginary, you couldn't dream this stuff up in a month of Sundays.
The stock market's Dow has fallen almost 500 points this morning. Watching it gyrating around so much is enough to give you whip lash. Unspeakable poverty and children die by the thousands in a tragedy beyond words to describe it.The Syrian dictator continues to slaughter his own people. Gorbachev says Russia is sliding back into USSR days. One of the candidates running for president denys climate change - after all, his state produces more carbon dioxide emissions than any other state. And the Tea Party lady from Minnesota will bring back $2 gas when she is president. Need I go on with the list?
A trip to the grocery store restores my sanity. Fully covered Somali women push their carts pass products to please Hispanic shoppers. Background sounds of languages from eastern Europe and southeast Asia are reminders of people who have come here seeking better lives. Along with white folk who have never been in downtown Minneapolis or St. Paul, whose ancestors came here for the same reason. Every one is civil to each other. Tall people help shorter people reach goods from top shelves.No bumper-car wars with shopping carts. No protesters trying to hammer their particular ideology into people's minds. Just ordinary folks with families to feed, jobs to worry about, and young children to educate - too young to have heard they are "different."
If I were choosing, the world I would design would look like my local grocery store. A place where everyone is welcome and there is enough food to go around. A place where appearing different is not an immediate indicator that "they" are to be feared. And where "appearing different" has nothing to do with respect, decency, and honesty. Because all of us are ordinary people.
Reason? Too unbelievable. The news is enough to make any person wonder if they have fallen down some Alice-in-Wonderland rabbit hole into an world so imaginary, you couldn't dream this stuff up in a month of Sundays.
The stock market's Dow has fallen almost 500 points this morning. Watching it gyrating around so much is enough to give you whip lash. Unspeakable poverty and children die by the thousands in a tragedy beyond words to describe it.The Syrian dictator continues to slaughter his own people. Gorbachev says Russia is sliding back into USSR days. One of the candidates running for president denys climate change - after all, his state produces more carbon dioxide emissions than any other state. And the Tea Party lady from Minnesota will bring back $2 gas when she is president. Need I go on with the list?
A trip to the grocery store restores my sanity. Fully covered Somali women push their carts pass products to please Hispanic shoppers. Background sounds of languages from eastern Europe and southeast Asia are reminders of people who have come here seeking better lives. Along with white folk who have never been in downtown Minneapolis or St. Paul, whose ancestors came here for the same reason. Every one is civil to each other. Tall people help shorter people reach goods from top shelves.No bumper-car wars with shopping carts. No protesters trying to hammer their particular ideology into people's minds. Just ordinary folks with families to feed, jobs to worry about, and young children to educate - too young to have heard they are "different."
If I were choosing, the world I would design would look like my local grocery store. A place where everyone is welcome and there is enough food to go around. A place where appearing different is not an immediate indicator that "they" are to be feared. And where "appearing different" has nothing to do with respect, decency, and honesty. Because all of us are ordinary people.
Friday, August 12, 2011
A Sweet Encounter
It has been a week of blissful summer - the way summer is meant to be. Blue skys and fluffy white clouds. Decent temperatures and warm sunshine.The kind of time to spend every available minute outdoors.
To take advantage of this gift of good weather after a horrific summer, we decided to meander the gravel roads through our favorite wildife refuge. And received another gift - a chance encounter with a coyote.
I saw him first as he rounded a bend on the road ahead. At first, we thought it was a fawn, although late in the season for small baby deer. Alert, he (or she) stopped and looked at us, down the stretch of road that separated us from him. We turned of the car and sat motionless to see what he might do. Often wildife sightings are brief, before a surprised animal takes off for the safety of the woods.
Not "our" coyote! He walked towards us several yards, then stopped again and stared at us. He seemed as curous about us as we were about him. Perhaps we were his wildlife viewing for the day. We waited and he repeated the pattern - walking towards us a short distance and stopping. He came to six or seven feet of the car. Then made his decision to head into the trees. We let out a collective breath of awe.
Perhaps he was a young coyote, curious about the world around him, even though he was full size. No question, he was a beautiful animal and in no hurry. His alert ears pointed upward as if to hear who or what this strange apparition in his refuge might be. His healthy coat was a blend of rust and greys.
Not the first time we have seen coyotes, but never with such an opportunity in which time stood still. Usually they streak across the land, wary of the potential danger humans represent. Or we see them hanging on fence posts in the west, desiccated in the hot sun, the life drained from them. And we have precious memories of hidden coyotes singing to each other in the dusk. But never this creature staring at us as if he had all the time in the world.
A good reminder slow down enough to be curious and attentive. You never know what you might see.
To take advantage of this gift of good weather after a horrific summer, we decided to meander the gravel roads through our favorite wildife refuge. And received another gift - a chance encounter with a coyote.
I saw him first as he rounded a bend on the road ahead. At first, we thought it was a fawn, although late in the season for small baby deer. Alert, he (or she) stopped and looked at us, down the stretch of road that separated us from him. We turned of the car and sat motionless to see what he might do. Often wildife sightings are brief, before a surprised animal takes off for the safety of the woods.
Not "our" coyote! He walked towards us several yards, then stopped again and stared at us. He seemed as curous about us as we were about him. Perhaps we were his wildlife viewing for the day. We waited and he repeated the pattern - walking towards us a short distance and stopping. He came to six or seven feet of the car. Then made his decision to head into the trees. We let out a collective breath of awe.
Perhaps he was a young coyote, curious about the world around him, even though he was full size. No question, he was a beautiful animal and in no hurry. His alert ears pointed upward as if to hear who or what this strange apparition in his refuge might be. His healthy coat was a blend of rust and greys.
Not the first time we have seen coyotes, but never with such an opportunity in which time stood still. Usually they streak across the land, wary of the potential danger humans represent. Or we see them hanging on fence posts in the west, desiccated in the hot sun, the life drained from them. And we have precious memories of hidden coyotes singing to each other in the dusk. But never this creature staring at us as if he had all the time in the world.
A good reminder slow down enough to be curious and attentive. You never know what you might see.
Friday, July 29, 2011
WISHFUL HOPING
Wishful Hoping is:
Not to be confused with
wishful thinking,
but grounded in compassion,
prayer, thoughtfulness, reaching out
with a clear sense of
common good.
Late Spring (haiku)
A brisk wind, blue sky.
Cottonwood seed fluffs make friends
with scattered, white clouds.
Commontary
Sometimes things become clear. These two
pieces did that in a lull in my busy life. Gosh, it
feels good to write again!
Not to be confused with
wishful thinking,
but grounded in compassion,
prayer, thoughtfulness, reaching out
with a clear sense of
common good.
Late Spring (haiku)
A brisk wind, blue sky.
Cottonwood seed fluffs make friends
with scattered, white clouds.
Commontary
Sometimes things become clear. These two
pieces did that in a lull in my busy life. Gosh, it
feels good to write again!
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Norway, We Mourn With You
Our hearts reach out to you in your sorrow. Such a high price for Norway to pay for one man's intolerance and hatred.
To say the event is even more horrific, because it occurred in your beautiful country rather than elsewhere, reflects the degree to which such violence has become far too common in our troubled world. Whether it be Pakistan or Afghanistan, New Zealand or Japan, Argentina or Canada, such acts are beyond human imagination.
My memories from traveling in your Norwegian countryside are of your hospitality, your ingenuity and respect for the environment, and your quiet strength. The world is a better place for your existence among us. Already, I see you drawing on your communal resources to grieve together and to go forward. May we all learn from you in this tragic time.
As for all of the rest of us, the very personal question is "how have we contributed to the climate of intolerance and violence?" American bloggers, who share the same vitriolic hatred of anyone who is different in anyway from themselves. fostered this man's perspective. But even more, how have the little acts of bias committed by each of us fed the polarization that is so prevalent in our culture today?
Perhaps this tragedy in the Norway that has so many connections here will cause us to search our own hearts. Perhaps we will reclaim some of our belief in the importance of the common good that has been forgotten in the current political and economic climate. And perhaps as we grieve with you, we will come to new understanding of what it means to belong to our global community.
To say the event is even more horrific, because it occurred in your beautiful country rather than elsewhere, reflects the degree to which such violence has become far too common in our troubled world. Whether it be Pakistan or Afghanistan, New Zealand or Japan, Argentina or Canada, such acts are beyond human imagination.
My memories from traveling in your Norwegian countryside are of your hospitality, your ingenuity and respect for the environment, and your quiet strength. The world is a better place for your existence among us. Already, I see you drawing on your communal resources to grieve together and to go forward. May we all learn from you in this tragic time.
As for all of the rest of us, the very personal question is "how have we contributed to the climate of intolerance and violence?" American bloggers, who share the same vitriolic hatred of anyone who is different in anyway from themselves. fostered this man's perspective. But even more, how have the little acts of bias committed by each of us fed the polarization that is so prevalent in our culture today?
Perhaps this tragedy in the Norway that has so many connections here will cause us to search our own hearts. Perhaps we will reclaim some of our belief in the importance of the common good that has been forgotten in the current political and economic climate. And perhaps as we grieve with you, we will come to new understanding of what it means to belong to our global community.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Something in the Drinking Water -The End of Sanity?
I just finished reading the morning news. What a downer! Has the world gone mad? I would stop paying attention to the news except then I would become part of the problem - people who care only about themselves and their immediate families.
Minnesota's government remains shut down, and eventually will cost the state enough to more than balance its budget. After all, we mustn't drive business away from the state by increasing taxes. Eight years of a governor who boasts about no new taxes should mean that Minnesota would have no unemployment and be begging for workers and companies to invest in business in the state. Now would you decide to start up a business venture in a state with such an unstable government? I understand businesses are fleeing California because of its governmental instability. Get in line, Minnesota . . .
The Federal government stand on the brink of a great abyss while many legislators maintain nothing much will happen if the government runs out of money to pay its obligations. Using the family budget analogy that has been suggested in Minnesota as a budgetary model, I know what happens if you don't pay your bills. Mortgage foreclosure, they take your car away, shut off your utilities, and you can't feed your children. Nothing will happen if August 3rd comes and goes . . .
Europe debates austerity measures and people riot in the streets. Men like Rupert Mudoch and Grover Newquist wield more power than governments with illicit gross violations of privacy and pledges to control legislators' voting to conform to a particular ideology. Amoral corporations pay millions to lobbyists to protect their business goals. Corrupt dictators oppress their people. Drought forces starving Africans to flee to refugee camps in adjoining countries as their children die.
Meanwhile, extreme weather continues. and drought has done in crops in this country's southeast, fire rages in the southwest, the midwest swelters under tropical weather and the saturated ground from too much rain threatens trees and causes trains to derail. Makes me wonder if we the people elected a crew of ostriches to government positions of responsibility.
Or perhaps it is something in the drinking water - causing a large portion of the population to lose their sanity. Where is the EPA when we need them? What happened to the idea of the common good?
Minnesota's government remains shut down, and eventually will cost the state enough to more than balance its budget. After all, we mustn't drive business away from the state by increasing taxes. Eight years of a governor who boasts about no new taxes should mean that Minnesota would have no unemployment and be begging for workers and companies to invest in business in the state. Now would you decide to start up a business venture in a state with such an unstable government? I understand businesses are fleeing California because of its governmental instability. Get in line, Minnesota . . .
The Federal government stand on the brink of a great abyss while many legislators maintain nothing much will happen if the government runs out of money to pay its obligations. Using the family budget analogy that has been suggested in Minnesota as a budgetary model, I know what happens if you don't pay your bills. Mortgage foreclosure, they take your car away, shut off your utilities, and you can't feed your children. Nothing will happen if August 3rd comes and goes . . .
Europe debates austerity measures and people riot in the streets. Men like Rupert Mudoch and Grover Newquist wield more power than governments with illicit gross violations of privacy and pledges to control legislators' voting to conform to a particular ideology. Amoral corporations pay millions to lobbyists to protect their business goals. Corrupt dictators oppress their people. Drought forces starving Africans to flee to refugee camps in adjoining countries as their children die.
Meanwhile, extreme weather continues. and drought has done in crops in this country's southeast, fire rages in the southwest, the midwest swelters under tropical weather and the saturated ground from too much rain threatens trees and causes trains to derail. Makes me wonder if we the people elected a crew of ostriches to government positions of responsibility.
Or perhaps it is something in the drinking water - causing a large portion of the population to lose their sanity. Where is the EPA when we need them? What happened to the idea of the common good?
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Advertising and Childhood Obesity
You can discover so many interesting things reading the morning news. According to the paper today (Star Tribune, July 9th 2011), advertisers are up in arms over government guidelines aimed at encouraging children to choose healthy foods. They call such guidelines a "reckless" maneuver in light of the fragile economy.And they estimate 74,000 jobs could be lost this year if these voluntary nuitrition guidelines are followed by the food industry
Yup, that's what the article said. Seventy-four thousand jobs. Of course, I expect they did not factor in how many doctors and other health care persons would see less patients - which would make job loss predictions even higher. Pardon my sarcasm.
Since when does the sale of snacks, soft drinks, and other nutritionally empty products take precedence over children's risks for diabetes, obesity, and other disease related to diet? It used to be the "fat kid" stood out - and was teased sometimes unmercifully. Now the number of children who weigh too much has become the new norm, with an alarming increase in diabetes .
I make my way through the rest of the morning news, budget ideology battles, the dead, and my favorite comics. Then there it was again - on the back page in an article exploring the "its my way or the highway" mentality that pervades today everything from politics to marriage relationships.
You wouldn't think increases in ideology-driven mindsets and children drinking soda pop and consuming munchies would have much in common. Not so. As one person in the article comments, a focus on self-interest naturally leads to greed. The greed of misplaced priorities place sales of foods (and I hesitate to call them foods) as more important than the health of our children.
Whoa!
Yup, that's what the article said. Seventy-four thousand jobs. Of course, I expect they did not factor in how many doctors and other health care persons would see less patients - which would make job loss predictions even higher. Pardon my sarcasm.
Since when does the sale of snacks, soft drinks, and other nutritionally empty products take precedence over children's risks for diabetes, obesity, and other disease related to diet? It used to be the "fat kid" stood out - and was teased sometimes unmercifully. Now the number of children who weigh too much has become the new norm, with an alarming increase in diabetes .
I make my way through the rest of the morning news, budget ideology battles, the dead, and my favorite comics. Then there it was again - on the back page in an article exploring the "its my way or the highway" mentality that pervades today everything from politics to marriage relationships.
You wouldn't think increases in ideology-driven mindsets and children drinking soda pop and consuming munchies would have much in common. Not so. As one person in the article comments, a focus on self-interest naturally leads to greed. The greed of misplaced priorities place sales of foods (and I hesitate to call them foods) as more important than the health of our children.
Whoa!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The End is in Sight!
No, not the end of the world - although sometimes the news of the day suggests the distinct possibility we will destroy each other and the earth.
It is almost the end of the construction chaos in our home. Our choices were to stretch it out over the summer and fall - or to get it done as quickly as possible. Stretching it out would have enabled us to continue writing and engage in a semblance of normal life. But the downside was living in the mess a lot longer. The choice we made was to work seven days a week, fall into bed at night exhausted, and manage only to continue to connect with close friends. "Normal life" it has not been!
Rather, the suspension of the life we usually live has had its benefits. A time of reflection about what really matters for both of us. It is so easy to get "too busy." Then the calender and commitments run us, instead of us making conscious choices about how we live. And fasting from writing made me realize how much I love to write. I am eager to return to writing. This blog today is the first step.
There were some valuable learnings in the construction process. We both regained life-long construction skills, but realize our bodies do not have the stamina and strength they once had. Remodeling both bathroom and kitchen at the same time may have been more efficient. But I'm not sure I would ever recommend it under any circumstances! We have remodeled and built before, but never working side-by-side with a contractor, who sets the pace and arranges subcontractors such as plumbers and electricians.
It has been great fun living in the physicality of the concrete world - far different from our lives of writing, teaching, and photography. Planning construction design and having "1/32th of an inch conversations" requires intellectual input. But it uses other parts of the brain than the abstract intellectual world that is so important to both of us.
The hardest part was not the physical effort. It was the benign neglect of our beloved garden - necessary because we did not have the energy (or time) to both construct and garden. It literally hurt me inside to walk around and see things suffering because I was not giving them needed care. And it emphasized how important the connection with the natural world is to me. Fortunately, the crazy cool weather, the uncertain spring, and summer finally arriving here at the end of June helped.Perennials adjusted their usual rhythm to wait for warmer weather.
And yesterday I noticed something I'd never seen before. Field daisies bless us with their cheerful faces in early June and then we cut them back after they make seed for next year's plants. I had clipped back a group near the path leading into one garden. And they decided to bloom a second time this year, being equally confused about the weather as the local weathermen are. Daisies blooming in July? A sweet gift indeed.
How like all of our lives. We have our routines and patterns, so familiar and automatic that we don't even think of them. Then along comes something that disrupts our usual ways of being. In the end, may we be like the daisies - and bloom again in July.
It is almost the end of the construction chaos in our home. Our choices were to stretch it out over the summer and fall - or to get it done as quickly as possible. Stretching it out would have enabled us to continue writing and engage in a semblance of normal life. But the downside was living in the mess a lot longer. The choice we made was to work seven days a week, fall into bed at night exhausted, and manage only to continue to connect with close friends. "Normal life" it has not been!
Rather, the suspension of the life we usually live has had its benefits. A time of reflection about what really matters for both of us. It is so easy to get "too busy." Then the calender and commitments run us, instead of us making conscious choices about how we live. And fasting from writing made me realize how much I love to write. I am eager to return to writing. This blog today is the first step.
There were some valuable learnings in the construction process. We both regained life-long construction skills, but realize our bodies do not have the stamina and strength they once had. Remodeling both bathroom and kitchen at the same time may have been more efficient. But I'm not sure I would ever recommend it under any circumstances! We have remodeled and built before, but never working side-by-side with a contractor, who sets the pace and arranges subcontractors such as plumbers and electricians.
It has been great fun living in the physicality of the concrete world - far different from our lives of writing, teaching, and photography. Planning construction design and having "1/32th of an inch conversations" requires intellectual input. But it uses other parts of the brain than the abstract intellectual world that is so important to both of us.
The hardest part was not the physical effort. It was the benign neglect of our beloved garden - necessary because we did not have the energy (or time) to both construct and garden. It literally hurt me inside to walk around and see things suffering because I was not giving them needed care. And it emphasized how important the connection with the natural world is to me. Fortunately, the crazy cool weather, the uncertain spring, and summer finally arriving here at the end of June helped.Perennials adjusted their usual rhythm to wait for warmer weather.
And yesterday I noticed something I'd never seen before. Field daisies bless us with their cheerful faces in early June and then we cut them back after they make seed for next year's plants. I had clipped back a group near the path leading into one garden. And they decided to bloom a second time this year, being equally confused about the weather as the local weathermen are. Daisies blooming in July? A sweet gift indeed.
How like all of our lives. We have our routines and patterns, so familiar and automatic that we don't even think of them. Then along comes something that disrupts our usual ways of being. In the end, may we be like the daisies - and bloom again in July.
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