EAST and WEST at every turn...

And Life Is Good

2010-01-20T15:06:00.000-08:00

Jackie in Georgia

The four months of living since I last posted here contained many shifts along a sometime bumpy road, keeping us periodically a little off center. It has been a busy time in our lives. In September we celebrated our first nephew's birth. His family lives in a bedroom community a few miles north of Zurich, Switzerland and part time in Aberdeen, Scotland. The first young male in our family on either side, he is journeying at 4 months old through another continent, meeting family who are thrilled to welcome him to this world. We had fun shipping gifts across the sea and imagining his tiny arms and legs sliding into his fuzzy, warm clothes.

After we harvested apples from our tree in fall, we chose a new Brooks plum to replace an injured and dying Japanese Maple in our front rock garden. Told we could pick it up in November to insure a safer transplant in dormancy, we ultimately made 2 trips south of Seattle, enjoying the long drives and lovely orchards while we viewed Mt Rainier rising in the distance. Garden chores called loudly as we raced against the clock to get things done before winter arrived with her running faucet of cold, dripping rain. New bulbs and a shrub were planted, and a few transplants were done before the temperatures dropped. We are eager to see the blooms of our new mountain laurel in late spring and have great expectations for a full blooming Sappho rhododendron, now living in more garden space. We had to keep it severely pruned in its previously limited garden bed, and this significantly restricted its blooming.

Traveling along scenic Highway 2 beside the Skykomish River, past Stevens Pass where skiers busy themselves all winter and through part of the Cascades, we made our way to Leavenworth, Washington in late October. We enjoy shopping in open air markets where we buy pumpkins, fruit, and hand made soaps. Leavenworth's quaint shops and festivals greet visitors any time of year and add pleasure to our annual adventure of autumn leaf peeping. We always look forward to dinner with a friend we don't see often enough and had a delicious meal together at Viscontis.

Our November trip to Georgia started off as a reunion with friends from Miami who flew in to meet us for a few days before we traveled on to spend time with family. Along the way we saw my childhood friend and her husband, sharing stories, love, and deep laughter in the way only those who share long history can. Good food is always part of these visits, and there is a comfortable lingering at the table where chatting takes place over long-ago emptied plates, an activity I have come to believe may be more southern than not. Jackie, their daughter-dog, entertained us as she played soccer with her basketball and made us think a lot about adding a puppy to our own springtime home.

Family visits, at least for us, are splashed with emotional fire power which can shatter the continuum from A to Z. Considering my father's mental health we thought ourselves lucky that our holiday celebration went as well as it did. My father managed to get through 5 days with only one major flare-up, and my husband and I were happy to have missed his temper tantrum. Sadly, my sister was not as fortunate, but things calmed down rather quickly. Seeing my sister is always one of the biggest treats of our trips, and I leave Georgia with tear-tracked cheeks knowing it will be a long time before we meet again. En route to the airport for our flight back to Washington we joined 5 friends we had not seen in years for lunch south of Atlanta. A homecoming of good friends eager to see each other quickly became a mix of joy and sadness as we learned one had been recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She received bountiful love and words of support, assurance that she would conquer this serious challenge, but a buzz of fear traveled around the table like an electrical shock wave.

Within 2 days of returning home I fell sick with an upper respiratory virus, an ailment I frequently get following November air travel. We'd both had our swine flu vaccines and used Purell so often I was surprised our hands were not chapped all in hopes of avoiding a major viral infection, but it was not meant to be. Within 10 days of my symptoms, hubby had his own so we had to scratch all plans for holiday travel, meals, celebrations, and entertaining, opting instead for kleenex, Mucinex, antibiotics, neti pots, cough drops, and naps in our recliners. Not even a tiny bit of fun!

Each of us ran a 3 week course of illness, but hubby was able to work from home much of the time, a plan chosen to avoid infecting anyone else. He decided to cancel his vacation leave so he could take a nice break later. Our only holiday activity was a Christmas breakfast buffet at a nearby hotel and an outing to "It's Complicated" which was so hysterically funny that the entire theater was laughing loud enough for viewers to miss some spoken lines. Unfortunately, hubby's laughter resulted in his coughing so he had to zip it up and smile while sucking on cough drops and drinking water. Afterwards we were too tired to even consider a holiday meal so canceled our reservations at a glitzy Seattle hotel and restaurant and went home to take a nap. No tree, no lights, no wreaths, no decorations, nothing Christmassy at our home but red noses.

Shortly before Christmas my father decided to create one of his major trauma-dramas across the miles, coast to coast, something which caused both my sister and me much consternation and pain. This dance insured we would choose to have no contact with him during Christmas and for weeks beyond. We are weary of his disrespect, mental health issues or not. He has given us little rest since our mother died in February, 2009, and we need peaceful moments away from the constant courting of chaos.

January, free of paternal manipulation and verbal abuse, has been a much improved month for us all. The rainy weather kept us confined a bit and delayed weekend road trips, but we are feeling healthier and happier and grateful. Recent sunshine reminds us why we love the Pacific NW and teases us into thoughts of spring with daydreams of colorful explosions across our landscape. A new year is here, and we will soon be gardening and admiring the splendor before us, traveling along the rocky Pacific coast, cutting roses for vases, exploring Canada's coastline, whistling to our Steller's Jay, watching Orcas roll playfully in the Sound, waiting for a sighting of a black bear, and choosing where we will vacation in late summer. Now we eagerly await the first snowfall of 2010. None is forecast; it will be a grand surprise. And, life here in the Pacific NW is good.

Seattle Skyline Across Puget Sound
Pacific NW and personal photographs are from our private collection,
and may not be copied or used in any manner without explicit and written permission.

It's A Grapefruit Moon

2009-09-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

Moon Rising Over Canadian Rockies
South of Banff, Alberta, Canada
The light of a full, citron moon held the sky in azure blue long after darkness had fallen. Slipping into a creamy white, it lit our drive through the Canadian Rockies as we made our way to Banff from Kalispell, Montana. There we had toured Glacier National Park and had seen magnificent mountains rising into clouds, leaving emerald canyons and dales below the "Going to the Sun" Road. What a name for a road, but it is perfect for this road which climbs in elevation high enough to give your tummy a bounce. After 2 days in the northwestern corner of Montana we headed to Banff, Alberta, Canada, an alpine hideaway tucked into the side of the Rockies. We were excited as we ventured into the wildness of these mountains, hoping for a bear sighting the next day. As long as I rested against ice packs I could focus on the thrill ahead when daylight would invite us to explore. I began our journey with pulled muscles in my lumbar and sacral areas and the contractions where the hamstrings connect to the torso made my right leg ache as though it were too short for any thought of walking.

Just before the sun set we came upon a herd of big horn sheep crossing the busy road leading into Banff National Park. It was interesting to observe an entire herd crouched on a steep hillside as they watched one large male make his way among the cars in busy evening traffic. One by one they slowly came down the hill and followed his steps, each crossing the street. They had no regard for traffic and moved as though they instinctively knew the cars would stop and people would jump from their vehicles, camera in hand. This was our first exposure to the noble beauty of big horn sheep, and we were overjoyed at our luck on this summer evening.

After our arrival in Banff we had a late night dinner in our room courtesy of 24 hour room service in this grand, old hotel called The Rimrock where the chefs happily prepare what you request in addition to the menu's offerings as long as the ingredients are available. We began our journey into the wild the next day and started with Lake Louise where friends of ours had seen 2 bears ambling lakeside one morning in June. No such luck for us. Far too many people walked along the water's edge. Boaters were paddling in the alpine lake while children squealed and guests of the huge Fairmont Chateau Resort milled about in the distance. Too much human activity to bring bears out for play. The alpine lakes in Montana, Alberta, and here at home in Washington appear deep aqua and turquoise in color because they are fed by snow melt from the glaciers which carry rich glacial sediment. The water seems transparent; rocks along the bottom are as easily seen as if they lay on the water's edge. These lakes are stunning because the vivid colors contrast dramatically with the mountains which rise behind them.

Later we drove north into Jasper National Park to the Columbia Icefields to find the area where 100+ glaciers rise among these mountains, mountains whose faces are as varied as man's. Some look like rocky sculptures with intricate etchings while others, forested in many hues of green, host vegetation. My favorites were perhaps the ones which looked most like sand. Eroding stone showed the wear of the wind from so many years and now resembled sand castles with turrets and domes. The Athabasca Glacier can be seen at close distance if one wants to walk the trail to the area which still contains ice. For safety purposes it is cordoned off by ropes; huge holes can open with little warning. As we entered the parking area we noticed small roadside signs containing dates: 1948, 1992, etc., dates showing where the glacial area had once extended many years before. We were overwhelemed by the physical evidence of global warming. Our nieces' children will have no Icefields to visit here.

At every turn we found mountains of different color, different texture, different beauty, all capturing our attention and giving us a new perspective. Deer and fawns darted in and out of large wooded areas giving us new hope for sightings of moose, elk, and bear. Climbing 8,000 feet in elevation we found ourselves winding in S curves along a narrow paved road which hugged the mountainside and made me a bit dizzy when I looked out and down. Anytime cars were parked along the roadside we learned there was likely some nearby wildlife. We pulled off to find 2 big horn ewes with their 2 young lambs grazing on the side of a very steep mountain.

We continued to see wildlife during out adventures but never found a bear. Three times during our trip we learned we had missed a bear sighting by only a few moments. People near us would have photographs, but the bear had gone back into the brush as we arrived. We saw a young female elk grazing near a river in Jasper just before our last dinner in the Rockies. We had hoped for a moose but happily accepted this special moment in nature.

There was a grapefruit moon suspended over the Rockies, arresting alpine scenery at every turn, crystalline turquoise lakes, glimpses at wildlife we would not ordinarily see, sumptuous food prepared by award winning chefs, and the company of my beloved all to serenade me during my birthday celebration in our Rocky Mountain retreat. Even though the week was scattered with pain this special celebration, wrapped in nurturing love and majestic beauty, was splendid. Many adventures await us in these towering Canadian mountains, and I am sure a bear sighting is among them!

All photography is from our personal collection
and may not be copied or used in any manner
without written permission.

Powerful Stuff

2009-08-18T03:17:00.000-07:00

The summer has been very kind to me. I am almost fully recovered from my July surgery. I was uncomfortable for only about 6 days. I have been singing the praises of the high tech da Vinci Surgical System which made this all possible for me. Well, that system and 2 very skilled surgeons along with an excellent anesthesiologist who tolerated my cursing and threatening to leave the hospital when he tried to put in an arterial line prior to my surgery. This is NOT an IV line, but one that goes directly into an artery (deeper than veins) so blood pressure and heartbeat can be monitored in real time. Due to the length of my surgery he felt this was the best way to keep me safe. He finally waited until he put me under to finish since his 3 tries were unsuccessful.

I had 4 very small incisions and minimal blood loss (5 tablespoons, someone said). My discomfort was short lived. Within 5-6 days I was taking walks in the neighborhood with my husband, sitting in the gardens and, in general, resuming my routine life with a few restrictions. I learned from the pathology report in July that I had NO cancer anywhere. Yippeeeeee! After living with the threat of cancer for 2.5 years and having 4 surgeries during this time while opting for a conservative treatment protocol with medication instead of major surgery, I learned I had made a wise choice in delaying this surgery, afterall. If I'd had major surgery when I was first diagnosed I would not have had the option of this high tech da Vinci procedure. My da Vinci surgeon has only been doing the robotic surgery a little over a year. A couple of others in the area may have been doing it a little longer, but no one was ready when I was initially diagnosed. Da Vinci has 3-D vision with 10 X magnification. The surgeon and I both benefited. She had a better field of vision and a clean surgical area (without blood contamination). I had a much easier recovery with less risk of complications and very little blood loss.

Now that I can travel we will soon return to our favorite ocean refuge where we will once again climb into bed and listen to the music of the sea. We will awake to that seascape of water rushing toward us and leaving foamy bubbles and a zigzag pattern across the sand in its retreat. We'll roam a familiar coastline and find new places to explore. We will heal in the salty air. These long months of stress, months during which we buried my mother, navigated 2 surgeries for me, handled a failing economy and the continued threat of layoffs, learned my father had suffered 3 fractures during a car crash, and faced a myriad of other "cost of living" emotional expenses have been hard on us. We survived them, and now it is time to rest and play! After we say goodbye to the ocean we will drive northeast to the Canadian Rockies to adventures in Banff National Park. We will see Lake Louise's deep aqua water amidst that famous backdrop of mountain peaks rising behind her. We'll stand on the Columbia glacier in the Icefields, take a boat cruise along Lake Minnewanka, and keep our eyes perched for bears, elk, moose, eagles, deer, and any wildlife which deigns to grace us with its presence. We feel it in our bones - this is our year to see bears!

We finally saw Orca whales this past weekend! We have waited 6 years to see the Orcas while seeing every other whale that lives or swims through our waters: Minkes, Humpbacks, and Grays. In the warm Sunday sun we cruised around the San Juan Islands and headed northeast toward the Strait of Georgia. We saw so many Orcas we could not keep up with the count! It was amazing to see these whales rising from the water, flashing their dorsal fins. The naturalist told us which pod each belonged to and the name of each whale. They can be identified by their dorsal fin, by its size, shape, and color patches. Whale research agencies monitor this and know the exact Orca count at any given time in this area. Right now we have 84 resident Orcas which live here in pods J, K, and L. These resident Orcas eat salmon/fish whereas the transient Orcas which can sometimes be found in this area eat mammals like dolphins and sea lions, too. The Orcas found in Alaska are the transients, as are many off the Canadian coastline.

I became a bit frustrated Sunday not knowing in which direction to focus my attention. Just as I looked to the right I would catch a peripheral glimpse of a whale on my left! We rocked on the waters for a long time since the captain killed the engine to give the whales quiet space in their personal waters. There are regulations regarding distance boats must maintain. Twice Orcas swam directly toward our boat, and we all squealed at our thrill. There were times when we all shifted from one side of the boat to the other since the whales were swimming on both sides. Making a wise choice, my husband headed to the back of the boat saying he was sure a whale on our right was swimming directly there. He was right! We did not return to shore until 9:40 PM and were fully exhausted from a day on the water and the excitement that had stirred us. Many will never know the thrill of seeing whales swimming in the wild, and we are very grateful for our luck.

In early August we made a trip to Mt. Rainier to see her glowing face up close. The last time we visited her she was so covered in snow we could not get too near. On this perfect summer's day we were able to travel as close to her face as the winding road would allow and had a picnic lunch overlooking a valley where a green carpet was overgrown with wildflowers. Even in the heat of summer, her top is snow-covered, but there are glimpses of rocky terrain along her face. She glistens in the sun in beauty which is overwhelming.

The day before our Rainier visit we took a friend for a late lunch on Puget Sound and then headed north to Anacortes to see the sunset from Mt Erie, a mountain which climbs along the shoreline. We missed all photo ops of this setting sun because we were on the wrong side of the mountain for vista pull-offs as it descended, but we saw the red burst through the sky like a burning wildfire and caught sight of it through the tree tops. It was a similar sun that we saw on Sunday as we ended our whale watching, a sun rising out of clouds she had painted pink before spilling streaks of fiery red and then splashing them with a force that colored everything in sight! I don't think we have ever seen a sunset quite as red or piercing as this. The light was so bright it refused to be captured as perfectly as we could see it, a circle crisply shaped along its huge circumference, a very pale yellow set against the reds it threw across the sky and water.

As our boat rocked along the water, sometimes rough enough to cause me to reach for rails to steady myself as I stumbled and swayed, I thought about my summer. These rough waters had brought us the thrill of the whales and a sunset more exquisite than words or photographs can capture. My own rocky waters had found me unsteady and scared but had eventually led me to a healing of body and mind. I hope that I'll remember when I once again face a situation which contains such fear or risk that the journey ahead of me can also bring exciting and rewarding results.

Here are a few photos from our summer. Some of it we spent in our gardens, some of it on day trips. Some time was spent on the Sound having delicious seafood and watching sunsets, some of it was spent in medical appointments and the hospital. Some of our summer was spent being thankful for good friends and loved ones, both here in our real lives and in virtual space. We are glad for the good wishes and prayers, for the positive energy sent our way from all over this country, for the stuff that brings healing and comfort and love. It is powerful stuff, all of it - friends, love, family, wishes, thoughts, prayers, sunsets, gardens, whales, surgeons, technology, mountains, oceans, and the waiting arms of my beloved. Blessings, indeed.

All photography shown here is from our private collection and may not be used in any manner without our written permission.
To enlarge each photograph, just click on the image.

Healing Elements

2009-06-22T00:32:00.000-07:00

Sunshine summons me, and I find myself outside much more lately. The gardens give their splendid gifts of color and texture, saturate me with their emerald glow, give life a new dimension, and bathe me in serenity. It is what I need right now. My husband created these gardens from rocky soil which he had to work by hand, day after day for many months. My Mother's love of gardening is now his gift to enjoy. He creates magic with gloved hand, amended soil, correct light, and Mother Nature's blessings. Self-educated in this art, he has listened carefully along the way, has taught himself well, has paid attention in order to make the right decisions. It shows.

I will be having major surgery in 2 weeks. It is a bit complicated and scary, this 4 hour procedure I must undergo. When I come home from the hospital I will be recovering among these flowers and shrubs, sitting among these towering evergreens. I will be lounging in the sunlight on the courtyard, surrounded by roses and the exotic fragrance of sweet alyssum flowing from pots of red geraniums and white bacopa planted with deep purple petunias and light, airy lobelia, as blue as the sky. I will be looking out onto a landscape of magestic lilies, white and plum and mauve, at perennials cast across a canvas in hues that bleed together like watercolors, listening to the birds call and sing, and watching them splash in their garden baths. Their competitors at the feeder, the fuzzy squirrels, will entertain me hiding peanuts, even from themselves, and chasing neighborhood squirrels away. Windchimes make quiet music in the breezes here and will add more tranquility to these moments. Everything around me is conducive to healing and joy. My husband and his love, our gardens and their beauty, the wildlife and its mysteries, and nature's all consuming, exquisite magic. Just what the doctor will order.

In the coming weeks we will take some photos of the lilies which are just now beginning to open. Until then, please enjoy the photos we have of our May and early June gardens.

Thank you all in advance for your good wishes during my surgery and recovery. I need and appreciate all the support and healing energy sent my way. When I feel up to it I will post an update on Facebook for those of you who are there, and I will try to get some photos of the lilies posted here. Until later, good cheer to us all!

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to the body and soul.”

John Muir

Click on each photograph to enlarge for details. All photography shown is from of our private collection and may not be used in any manner without our written permission.

Springtime Hypervigilance

2009-04-30T01:31:00.000-07:00

Weeping Cherry Blossoms
Some people would call us addicts. We move through the gardens searching for a new bloom, checking the soil for new green tips crawling up toward the sun. We seem to always be looking for our next "fix," the moment when we spot that perfect assurance that spring is alive and well and is living in OUR gardens! Eyes move across stems and branches, always exploring, noting changes from yesterday. We scan our colorful landscape hunting for the new bloom or a bud which might have burst open in the morning light. We are often surprised at the magic which can happen between the darkening night sky and the morning's first light.

We were sorry to learn that our extremely cold and snowy winter brought the loss of a few of our plants and shrubs. We lost a tea olive we had planted in memory of my uncle. It was his favorite plant, a lovely evergreen with fragrant blooms several times a year. An escallonia, another evergreen, may return in time. It was lovely last year, huge and full and filled with pink blooms all season. Now it is reduced to bare stems with 3-4 leaves. One of our treasured George Tabor azaleas lost most of her leaves. We will pamper her back to health as one pampers a sick child. We ordered her and her siblings from Georgia and spent many, pretty pennies on them. Almost all of our purple wall flowers were killed. Two of our heavenly bamboo shrubs were significantly damaged, but both should survive. One daphne odoro is dead; the other, healthy and covered with blooms until recently, always fills the late winter air with exotic scents. One immediately begins to search the gardens to find the host of the intoxicating fragrance.

We are seeing the lilies rise up and begin to show their buds. The alliums are growing tall and making huge bulbous buds which will open into my husband's favorite early summer blooms. Tiny leaves are now showing on multiple perennial stems which always look like dead twigs until spring removes the mask of winter. The columbines are up and full - their blooms will follow soon. Some early blooming azaleas are in bud now. The viburnums are bursting forth in clumps of white buds which will open within the week. Candytuft is covering the bank in small, white blooms, but its companion, lithodora, which always dots that white blanket with tiny, blue blooms, was almost killed back by a late spring snowfall. Now it looks dead. It is beginning to show tints of green amidst the gray/black hue of its clumps, but we don't expect much show of bloom from it.

Right now in bloom we have tulips and daffodils; purple heather; blue and purple reticulata irises which are on their way out; white candytuft; pink, purple, sage green, and white hellebores; early blooming rhododendrons; the chartreuse green and red blooms of euphorbias; pink and white bleeding hearts; and yellow and white bucharica irises. The hyacinths are about gone, and despite the fertilizing we do some have become too frail in bloom to keep. These will be replaced. I have no photos yet of a huge clump of purple/magenta tulips which are now in bloom. When I remember that we need a few photos of these magnificent trophies which opened recently it is either dark or raining. When it is light and sunny I am too distracted to think of it. There will be many other photos of our gardens so it will be added later.

Here are a few photographs of our spring garden. We hope you enjoy them!

All photography is part of our private collection and cannot be copied or used in any manner without our explicit, written permission.

Click on each photograph to see the details of each image. You will find a spider happily enjoying the white narcissus in the last photograph.

Scenes from Spring

2009-03-29T21:54:00.000-07:00

Sunday was the first sunny day of the season for us Pacific Northwesterners. People poured out of their homes and the local coffeeshops to gather in the sunshine. Parks were filled with people lounging in the light, sitting on benches, hiking along trails, and standing in groups busily chatting in excited tones. The Sound was filled with boats of every size and type. We watched the huge state ferries come and go. A cargo ship from the oceanic fleet of Wallenius Wilhelmsen was likely headed to Tacoma as it moved past sailboats appearing to glide along the silvery blue water. All afternoon we were reminded that spring is on her way.

A bright sun falling in the late afternoon sky lit the waters
of Puget Sound in a blinding glare. I was mesmerized with
the way the light filtered through these trees and amplified
their wooden bones.

Sailors put their boats in the water along the Magnolia
shoreline just north of Seattle on this, our first warm day
of the season. Until Sunday a rainy chill penetrated the
skies and kept us all inside. It is the Pacific NW, afterall,
so rain will return for the entire week ahead.

Robins played along the banks of the Sound and pushed
their beaks into the grassy carpet looking for food.
Yes, it is spring - the robins say so!

Washington ferries traveled back and forth along the
waterways, sharing travel routes with cargo and cruise
ships, motorboats, and sailboats. It is fascinating to
compare the sizes of the various vessels which move
along the Sound.

A clever hummingbird made a nest and laid 2 eggs in a
large camellia which was for sale at Molbak's Nursery in
Woodinville, WA. A birder in a forum I belong to shared
this information, so we headed there on our only sunny day
this spring. There they were, 2 young hummers alone in the
nest. Staff have protected the babies by placing barricades
around the shrub and asking customers to give the
birds privacy. This was taken with a zoom lens.

In the evening of March 9th, my husband took his camera and tripod and headed outside to shoot this photograph of a full moon framed by branches of our bamboo trees. Even though it was not quite spring it was a magical sight, and the one with which I will end this exhibition!

All photography is from of our private colletion and may not be used in any manner without our explicit and written permission. To enlarge the photographs just click on each one.

Mother's Gifts

2009-02-28T13:51:00.000-08:00

My beautiful Mother left us on Wednesday, February 18, 2009. I miss her being here in my world. I am heartbroken that I will never hear her voice again or touch her soft face. I will never kiss her or remind her once again of how special she is.

She lives in my sister and in me, within our treasured memories, within our DNA, inside our hearts, within the gifts she gave us. Her love of reading and her love of gardening are two major gifts she imparted to us both.

In the early Seattle spring my husband and I will add a beautiful plant to our garden in memory of Mother, something which will remind us of her love of flowers, her enjoyment of putting new life into the earth. Today she rests under the branches of a crepe myrtle tree which will celebrate her life in its summer blooms which thrive under the hot, Georgia sun. We placed a beautiful JW Stannard windchime in the branches which sway above her. When we visited her grave before we left Georgia soft music was playing in the stillness of the late afternoon.

Rest, dear Mother, rest. You are deeply loved and remembered always.

An Observation

True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given to me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.

May Sarton
Originally published in A Private Mythology, 1966

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Jane Kenyon
From Collected Poems
Copyright © 2005 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon

A Photograph of Mother only 3 weeks before her death

Blizzards of Snow Geese

2009-02-17T15:07:00.001-08:00

Snow Geese in Flight on Fir Island
in the Skagit River Delta Region of Skagit County, Washington

Sometime in fall the snow geese leave Wrangel Island, Russia and other areas of Artic tundra to fly at speeds of up to 50 mph some 3,000 miles in distance to Washington State in North America. It is no wonder they can be referred to as a blizzard of snow geese when swells of them rise from the earth and fill the air with their fluttering white wings. These Artic birds can often be found on the Skagit River Delta between La Conner and Anacortes, Washington from early winter through mid spring. They winter here in our state feeding on vegetation in the rich delta soil. Their reddish stained heads reveal the high content of iron they have ingested during their stay, a condition which is only temporary.

These geese nest in the Artic tundra of northern Canada, Alaska, Russia, and Greenland, always returning to the same areas where they hatched to build their own nests. The female lays about 4 eggs which are incubated and guarded by both her and her mate. During these 23-28 days the geese eat little to nothing, losing about 20% of their total body weight. Shortly after the eggs are hatched the adults will molt and, like their goslings, become unable to fly. By the time their new feathers appear, their young are ready to fly. In the interim and during the remainder of summer they and their goslings will feed on the surrounding vegetation enjoying the long, sun-filled days of heavy feeding as they prepare themselves for their flight ahead.

At summer's end when the temperatures begin to to drop they are once again ready to return to their winter playgrounds on the Skagit River Delta or perhaps stop off a little north of Washington at the Canadian border and winter on the Fraser River Delta. In both places they find the water soaked farmlands and rich aquatic life of the bays which provide winter feasting and moderate temperatures which keep them comfortable during colder months. The Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife and local farmers in the county plant grasses and winter wheat for the purpose of providing a good diet for the snow geese. Winter feasting is critical to their survival during the nesting season. Since they go without food while nesting they must build up a good reserve of body fat during late summer and winter months in order to sustain themselves.

Seeing 30,000 birds in one place left me speechless. When huge flocks of them take flight the movement of wings blurs the vision. Nature grants us such privilege and provides amazing gifts. These geese, quite uncomfortable in human presence, allowed my husband within 3-4 feet of them for several photographs.

Click on all photographs to enlarge. It is worth it!

All photography contained herein
is from our private collection and
may not be used without
written permission.
Flocks Estimated at 30,000+ Feeding on Local Vegetation

Flakes to Inches to Feet

2008-12-21T20:20:00.000-08:00

Happy Holiday Greetings from our home to yours!

Our first snowfall of the season was late arriving. We all expected it last Wednesday so I called my hair dresser to change my appointment to Tuesday hoping to avoid a snowy traffic jam. Cars slide up and down hills near our home. Puget Sound is hilly like San Francisco. We live atop a small mountain so getting to and from home can become an issue when snow joins the scene. We had no snowfall last Tuesday night or Wednesday. I should have been picking up the last of my Christmas gifts instead of watching the sky like a meteorologist. I was too afraid to leave, afraid the snow would grab me like it did one evening last year when it had us sliding along Lake Sammamish Parkway, unable to follow any tracks because the snowfall was so heavy . Instead of doing my Christmas shopping I stayed home in front of the fire, keeping the pipes warm in the 20 degree temps we were having.

Thursday we awoke to a sprinkling of snow, perhaps 2 inches . Hubby can work from home so he set himself up in our office and began his day. I pulled open all the shades and watched the flakes fall, big hunks of snow swirling in circles and floating toward the earth. The branches of our giant Sequoia and its companion evergreens were draped in white sheets; the Autumn Joy sedum and the rock garden flora wearing white hats on their stems and flowerheads. Hubby purchased hand warmers to tape to the bottom of the hummingbird feeder to keep the nectar in liquid form. Hummers were waiting for their nectar in the icy weather, a deadly situation for them which threatened their survival. They moved straight to the feeder each morning to suck the nectar, one balancing on the perch around the feeding holes, likely too weak to flutter his wings and eat. We placed a heater in one of the bird baths, suet cakes in the suet cages, peanuts in the squirrel box, and plenty of nuts and seeds in the feeders. The wildlife was doing fine, and we enjoyed watching them feast from the warmth of our inside retreat.

By Friday we had several inches of snow on the ground, a pristine landscape which we watched from the windows and the covered entryway porch. Soon the postman would break the perfect white veil across the courtyard leaving his footprints as he delivered Christmas goodies from Swiss Colony. We decided to make a stockpot of chicken vegetable soup. Based on the weather forecast this may be our Christmas dinner, too! More snow fell over the weekend, and now more than a foot of snow hides the gardens from sight. Pathways and gardens disappear under wide white ribbons of snow while evergreens hold their lacy white branches a little closer to the ground. The landscape resembles a Christmas card; it is surreal - too quiet, too white, too perfect as snowfall once again covers the intrusion of any visitor.

It is all serene. There are no noises to interfere with the stillness accompanying these snowfalls except perhaps the sound of snow falling from a branch and crashing into a shrub below. Birds and squirrels scatter seeds, but there is a tranquility which hovers over the landscape and the wildlife. Serenity, always appreciated in the busy hustle of Christmas, lays across our land and feeds our own quiet, contemplative moods. We are looking forward to getting out again and doing some Christmasing, eager to see the magic of the city lights, ready to welcome the Christmas ships as they sail to ports on Lake Washington, anticipating the carolers singing to us on Seattle's streets. We hear we will be getting more snow each day until Christmas, but on Christmas Day the temps will rise above freezing and the skies will shower us with rain. It is winter in Seattle, after all, and if it is Seattle in winter, baby, the rain must fall!

"...One is Silver and the Other Gold."

2008-11-07T13:26:00.000-08:00

In summer the purple leaves of our smoke tree are highlighted by puffs of pink flowers. As fall approaches the purple fades to pinks and apricots when autumn takes up residence along her beautiful limbs.

Is there any tree more glorious in fall than a maple? Splashing oranges and reds throughout the landscape, maples hold me captive until the winds blow these boldly colored leaves through chilled air, sending them off to feed the earth.

An old barn in the Cascades has a story to tell about days long past as she stands among the aspens which tremble in the breeze. Until I saw my first aspen I had no idea what the word trembling really meant!

Off in the distance a bridge crosses the Skykomish River in the Cascades.

Aspens shimmer along Highway 2 where the road travels along several waterways as it winds toward Leavenworth, Washington.

The Cascade range seems to be striped in yellow, orange, green, and red as colors move vertically down the mountainsides where logging has removed evergreens.

This two lane highway tunnels through the rock of the Cascades on one side while the Skykomish River flows rapidly across river rocks and boulders on the other.

"...One is silver and the other gold." Actually the golden aspen gives the illusion of silver when its limbs are bare. The contrast here of silver and gold is pure magic.

All photography is from our private collection and may not be copied or used in any manner without our written permission.
Click on each photograph to enlarge it.

November 4th...It's My Choice

2008-10-29T17:03:00.001-07:00

Considered by some as harsh, this new ad speaks for itself.

In fact, it's totally honest.

Words quoted, choices confirmed - it is there for the reading.

Sometimes decisions we make bite. McCain's was a gamble.

It may backfire.

We all have the opportunity to change the direction of our country on November 4th.

Vote for Your Choice

Obama/Biden 2008

And...This One Knows Who's Best

2008-10-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

Image from Andrew Sullivan
The Daily Dish, The Atlantic Online

Sometimes words denote respect. Sometimes they don't.

As for this one - yes, I know who is best suited to lead this country. I like a candidate who is even tempered, not impulsive, able to look others in the eye and shake hands. I like a candidate who is more interested in discussing policy than throwing dirt, but who is not going to be bullied by a desperate man. I like a candidate who is concerned about the middle class, who knows from his own beginnings what it is like to struggle, a candidate whose belief in the truth of the American dream changed his life. I like a candidate who has worked hard to become the citizen he is, who has not expected others to pave the way, a candidate who is dependable and whose insight and vision are clear and deep. I like a candidate who is intelligent and articulate, whose words move me, who makes thoughtful choices and decisions which are in the best interest of the country. This is the candidate I will feel most comfortable knowing my country is being governed by, the person I think is best suited to international diplomacy, and in whose hands my life and the lives of those I love will rest.

Barack Obama in 2008

September's Song

2008-09-11T23:52:00.001-07:00

Hummer drinking from
the honeysuckle on the arbor
It is that time of year when the gardens begin to change, when perennials begin to slowly prepare themselves for winter's rest. Sunlight is now angled low across the woodland gardens. It is romantic light which illuminates the gardens in warm hues and throws shadows which camouflage imperfections like airbrushing the landscape.

I like to sit on my favorite garden bench in the late afternoon and study the light while the squirrels and birds play among the cedars, some looking for bulbs and peanuts they have long ago hidden. I am sure the squirrels are anticipating their next treasure hunt. Soon we will plant more groupings of hardy dwarf tulips, muscari, and crocuses. They view crocuses much like my husband views molten chocolate cake!

Last year we found ourselves deluged in early winter rains before we had finished planting the fall bulbs. Bags of tulips and daffodils were placed in the garage inside their darkened bags until late February when we remembered them. Sure that we still had 6 weeks of cold weather ahead we pulled them out and planted hundreds of bulbs in several huge garden pots instead of digging the cold winter earth. April brought masses of color and a valuable lesson - we will do the same thing this year. Using pots for tulips keeps the gardens from looking so messy when the blooms are spent. Pots are easy to remove to a secluded area in back where no visitors go. We still have daffodil bulbs in the gardens which have naturalized and return each year so the springtime landscape will continue to be sprinkled in gold and the spattering of red from the few tulips which also remain.

Soon we will be making an annual trip in search of fall color. Sometimes we drive along the Skykomish and Wenatchee Rivers in the Cascades where one of the rivers is only a few feet from our car; other times we travel along Puget Sound from Skagit County to Bellingham through a variety of elevations overhanging the water. One of our favorite drives is south to the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon where shades of yellow and gold seed the shoreline in shimmering threads of light. Along the winding fjords color mixes with the emerald fir trees as the river rolls across its rocky path between the craggy cliffs.

Until autumn splashes vivid colors throughout the landscapes of our city, I will spend a few more weeks enjoying the summer gardens, looking through the photographs of our summer bounty and recalling the moments when we welcomed every bloom with open hands and hearts. The rewards of hard work and our intense love of nature's mysteries keep us busy in spring and summer. In September we rest a bit, smell the burning wood, bake apples, enjoy the purple asters, take evening naps under warm throws, and remember...

"The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you
like the leaves of Autumn."
John Muir
Click on each photograph below to enlarge the image.

The Steller's Jay below, the cobalt blue bird with the black crested head,
has been summering here for 5 years. He was born on the property.
When he was young he rode around the gardens on our shoulders and heads and ate peanuts from our hands.He even knocked on the glass door to come inside, once slipping in and stealing something white which I could never identify!
Here is a photograph of his most recent offspring, not quite fully feathered.
We are always eager to see our Steller's Jay each spring!
While he is less tame now, he still follows us around the gardens,
sits with us when we are planting, glides low to get our attention,
and responds to our voices.

All photographs are from our personal collection and may not be used without explicit and written permission.

Just the Goldfinches and Us

2008-07-15T01:54:00.000-07:00

When I gaze upon the ocean and find the blending of color as water meets sky I often feel suspended in time and space. No other thoughts distract me when the ocean speaks her rhythmic language. I am completely still in that moment, content with the way my body responds to the soothing sensations moving through me. And so it is that we are compelled each July to make one of usually 2 annual trips to the Pacific Ocean. We need this retreat where we live only in the present, where life becomes simple again, filled with sensual pleasures. It is not often that we are guided so perfectly by sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch.

The central Oregon coast with her alcoves of natural wonder always delivers the ultimate visual pleasures. Driving south we explored old, familiar sights. Boiler Bay reminded me of our first trip to this central coast when my husband sat on a fence overhanging the Pacific while I photographed him. As we headed to Depoe Bay we noticed harbor seals lounging on the shore at Otter Rock. Sometimes they look as if they are smiling at us; other times a face will remind me of a shocked Casper, the ghost, the cute cartoon character from my childhood! We chuckled at these adorable faces seeming to express emotion. They lolled on this cloudy day, sprawled in all directions, each taking rest from the work of swimming and avoiding natural predators.

We crossed paths with our first Muscovy duck in a pond near the beached seals. Quite unattractive with his bright red wattle and large nasal opening in his beak this duck with black, blue, and white mottled feathers was nonetheless fascinating with his strangely textured red beak and head . We called him a turkey-duck for lack of knowing what he truly was. We hurried along. We had heard that Newport's Nye Beach planned a clambake, and we hoped to find clams covered in seaweed and baking in a deeply dug pit on the beach. Upon our arrival we decided to find a good seafood restaurant instead - the clams were being replaced by hot dogs! It seems in our lazy state of mind we were rather late for lunch! Sitting in a restaurant overlooking the sea I drank a frozen Margarita as we waited on our lunch and watched the fog dance across the elevated crags of the nearby shoreline. The deep mossy green of vegetation was easily contrasted by the orange raw edges of earth eaten away by wind and sea. Vaporous fog swirling across the tops of the headlands lent a mystical atmosphere to this scene and kept our attention until lunch was served. At that moment nothing competed with the grilled salmon covered in champagne butter over bay shrimp risotto (mine) and wild mushroom ravioli with a tomato cream sauce, reggiano cheese, and threads of basil (his). Freshly baked bread and butter and grilled broccoli with cheese sauce completed our meals.

Drizzly rain began to fall just in time for the 4th of July firework display, but we were happily ensconced inside a fancy restaurant on Siletz Bay, the area from where the display would begin. Dinner was delicious in this restaurant which offers a full view of the bay through its wide glass windows moving along the semi-circular wall. Residents whose homes also line the bay joined in the celebration and shot their own fireworks from locations all around us. Flaming colors lit the sky in every direction! Even the servers were mesmerized. When we returned to our room we found a few guests at the hotel busy shooting their fireworks across the Pacific Ocean from bunkers they had dug in the sand. This is a favorite beach activity every July 4th and never seems to draw attention or penalty from the local police even though it is against the law. Since tourists heavily feed the local economy we assume they ignore the infractions. I was glad the rain had come late in the evening. The smoke from the fires built along the beach were noticeable from our balcony before we left for dinner. By the time we returned everyone had gone inside but the firework enthusiasts.

Driving north the following day we followed the scenic drive of the 3 Capes leading us to Cape Kiwanda, Cape Lookout, and Cape Meares. We have driven north before but had only been along part of this coastal route once when we followed Hwy 101 from Tillamook to the northern beaches in 2004. This time we picked up the route much earlier and saw jet skiers splitting waves in the heavy white foam of an active sea at Cape Kiwanda and Tierra del Mar. Headlands of tightly packed orange, sandy earth jutted out into the surf, and beachcombers gathered for picnics, wind sailing, shelling, and dog walking. There was an empty beach volleyball court beside the ocean front pub at Cape Kiwanda. Further north we found Oceanside, a small beach town with no city activity, but there was a beautiful home overlooking the Pacific which I would love to own!

Cape Meares with its lighthouse and 2 vista overlooks catered to some serious bird watchers who eagerly shared their knowledge of the birds inhabiting the area and roosting on boulders in the sea. The true GOLDEN egg of this trip, however, was Cape Lookout at Oswald West State Park. We had not seen it since 2004 when I stood at the same overlook so stunned by the view I could not speak. In high elevation along a curved Cape jutting out into the surf, the vista overlooks seem to place the viewers behind the waves which move in foamy curls to the shoreline. A backdrop of mountains rise behind this coast, and Tillamook Bay can be seen off in the distance. This is one of two of the most beautiful seascapes on the Oregon coast. The other is just south of this place, a short distance from Cape Kiwanda where an overlook offers views north to Cape Lookout. (See photograph in header above.) Both of these magnificent scenes touch the senses in such a deep place that words become unimportant.

Seascapes were not our only entertainment. We did some bird watching on the Siletz River where American Goldfinches played along the banks. They are the state bird of Washington, but we always see more of them in Oregon than here at home! Often seals are seen swimming along these banks, but in the quiet of this early evening it was just the goldfinches and us. The morning skies were filled with colorful kites each day, kites which are difficult to fly. What happened to the ones of my youth, the paper ones shaped like baseball diamonds on light weight cross-bowed frames which were connected to twine we wrapped around a stick? Those flew with beautiful rag-tails sailing below them! They no longer exist! Now kites are high tech and require two hands and much steering! We had crashed ours into the sand more times than I could count during another coastal adventure so we are now kite-flying spectators. The beach always held surprises. In the stillness of a very early morning, long before the beach became alive with shell seekers and dog walkers, an artist sculpted a huge sea turtle from sand just outside our balcony. Creativity, nature's gifts, and playful strangers always kept our attention and brought joy.

Seafood became the delicacy of each day. In restaurants both old and new we ate salmon, halibut, petrale sole, razor clams, Dungeness crab, prawns, and Ling Cod, all prepared in a variety of delectable ways and served with grilled veggies. Never having eaten razor clams before we were surprised to find them the size of our palms! They were freshly dug in Tillamook Bay and our first taste insured we would eat them again! While in the Willamette Valley we stopped at the Tillamook Cheese Factory to buy several large blocks of cheese and to satisfy my husband's addiction to the freshly made ice cream they serve each day. My ice cream junkie made a 2nd trip to the area for a few more scoops before leaving Oregon!

As we drove toward Astoria where the great Columbia River spills into the Pacific I wondered about Lewis and Clark's trip, how they felt when they reached the mouth of this river and saw the ocean before them. Jetties divide these 2 bodies of water. They extend from the ocean's shore almost as far as the eye can see since the river is hugely swollen at its mouth. There is another place outside of Portland, the Columbia River Gorge, where I once wondered what Lewis and Clark thought as they paddled through the fjords. Mountains rise on both sides of the Columbia River creating a narrow, curving passage of extraordinary beauty as the river winds through the Cascades. I learned later that this 90 mile run of the Columbia was the most dangerous part of their NW trip and was filled with deadly rapids and wild water unlike anything they had ever encountered! There was little time to appreciate natural beauty with survival the central focus.

After we had delicious, grilled salmon (his blackened) in Astoria we crossed the Columbia River en route to Washington via the Astoria-Megler bridge, the longest continual truss bridge in North America (and perhaps the world). There was a break in Hwy 101 until it was built, so it completes the highway system traveling the coast from Canada to Mexico. Our drive along the river on the Washington side was lovely. It would have been even lovelier had we not gotten a speeding ticket (hubby) and a no-click seatbelt ticket (me) shortly after crossing! I had unbuckled to get some meds from my purse and had settled back in with my bottle of water, still unbuckled when suddenly we were hit by the laser. Guilty and caught in the act, a big, fat "two for one" for the nice, young state patrolman! We have applied for deferment, an option in Washington that allows you to pay the ticket but have the violation remain unreported to the insurance company as long as you have no other violation within the next 12 months. Fortunately, we let it go as we drove home watching a beautiful sun setting on the horizon where water joined the sky. Even a $240 fine was not going to ruin our glorious day.

All photography is from our private collection and may not be used or displayed in any manner without our explicit and written consent.

The last 3 images above in order from left to right:

Siletz River Snags, July, 2008

Sunset at Lincoln City, Oregon, July, 2008

Cape Meares Shoreline, July, 2008

That Yellow Balm Called Sunshine

2008-06-12T14:46:00.001-07:00

Ocelot Bearded Iris
It was the coldest spring of my life. Well, except for that Saturday in May when it shot up to 95 degrees and burned the buds of our bearded irises after it burned my face. Spring flowers do not thrive in temperatures that high. We were all stunned here in western Washington. After that day it was cold enough for shawls and sweaters, and if you are especially cold-natured like my husband you wore your winter jacket most days and nights. The positive side of a cool spring is that the flowers stay on the stems longer and the colors are more vibrant. The negative side is that the plants don't grow quite as large and everything blooms more slowly. If you add in the heavy rains we had in early June you can expect some plant and stem damage. The weight of the rain falling on large flower heads often bends the stems to the ground. As a result, our bearded irises quite often fell flat. I rescued several stems which still bring golden yellows and purples inside the house in a bouquet mixed with canary yarrow. I missed seeing all the irises open together this year in their expansive wash of color in different corners of the gardens. There was no spectacular show of tall stems bursting into color along the walkway. We have waited a full year to see the various colors of the new irises we bought in Oregon last summer. We are still waiting for many to open.

I had wondered if the tuberous begonias we planted would rot before they could rise above the soil line. These are lovely in shady areas as an understory to ferns. They were impossible for me to grow in the hot, humid weather of Atlanta, so it is a treat to live in an environment well suited to these beautiful flowers. In the woodland gardens the mauve California mallow has opened her petals and is thriving in her new home. We found her near Schoolhouse Beach along the northern California coast and decided to bring her back to the Pacific NW where she lives happily among new friends: ligularia, hydrangeas, and hardy amaryllis and orchids.

Having worked in the chilled spring air for several weekends puzzle-piecing flagstone into a pathway through the woodland gardens, we recently decided to take a summer's day break on a sunny June afternoon. We traveled by ferry along Puget Sound to a couple of islands dotting the waterway. The sun warmed our shoulders as we traveled southwest down narrow, rural lanes exploring unfamiliar territory. We revisited Seabeck Harbor along Hood Canal, a beautiful old milling village which was once a vibrant seaport. Little is left but a conference center and a couple of community stores. Homes, many in the several million dollar range, are now perched above the shoreline overlooking the Olympic Mountains, the majestic backdrop to the salty, lapping water of the Sound. This place is one of my favorites of the western Washington shoreline. Scattered sunlight formed a haze across the horizon where mountains meet sky, draping the Olympics in a film that forbade sharp, clear photography. The truth of this astounding beauty would have to be told another day. As we ferried out to yet another island we saw seals, sunning lazily on bright red buoys, reminding us that sunshine, in correct proportion, can be a healing balm for most living things. We turned our faces to the warm air and headed into our next discovery.

The Spring Garden

Click on each photograph to enlarge. All photographs are from our personal collection and may not be displayed or used in any manner without our written permission.Collage above from left to right on each row: Blue Sky Columbine, Lavender Rhododendron, Black Barlow Columbine, Sappho Rododendron,Key Largo Rose, Purple Sensation Alliums, Darcy's Choice Bearded Iris, Midas Touch Rose

Five Dollars Will Buy You a Rainbow

2008-04-29T06:27:00.000-07:00

Friday's sunshine lit my face leaving a warm tinge across my cheeks. I tossed my shawl across the back seat so the light could fall across my shoulders as we drove. We headed north into a beautiful spring day of blue skies, eager to reach the tulip fields in Skagit County. These fields are grown only for the bulbs which will be sold. One day they will be blooming in gardens across the country. We have been visiting these tulip fields for years, even before we married. It is a special occasion for us when we make this pilgrimage north.

This is the first year we could not have our annual picnic of delicious Dungeness crab sandwiches. The crabmeat is shredded across bread which has been drizzled with some kind of yummy relish spread. Plain, simple, and delicious. Reidel's, where we bought these sandwiches, has been torn down; the right of eminent domain toppled a store where we shopped every time we were in the valley. Yes, even Skagit county is growing. Busy lives demand wider highways for quicker access. Visitors to the tulip and art festivals in the area and those headed to Anacortes which sits west of Burlington on the water probably created traffic jams. Now we are unable to find the saltwater taffy, garden whirl-a-gigs, windchimes, homemade Chow-Chow, pepper jellies, and BBQ sauces. They are all GONE. Berry preserves, mustards, marinades, and salad dressings that once lined the shelves along the back of the shop can't be found in local stores. We must order Chow-Chow from Dillard, Georgia and pay for shipping. We had said Goodbye and were prepared for this void since we learned about the plan last year after a whale watching trip to Anacortes, but we were sad to see the stark asphalt now storing only highway equipment instead of hosting our favorite general store.

Even though it seems each year that there are less tulip fields than we once found in La Conner, we are always so stunned by the vivid colors which await us that volume seems insignificant. Snow covered Cascades rise in the background, and fields of tulips and daffodils dance lightly in the currents of air which move into the valley from the Sound. Flower pickers create bouquets for tourists to purchase at small stands near the fields. Five dolllars will buy you a rainbow. Photographers stroll along the paths, enthralled like we are with the colors and shapes. The way sections of color move into another is like waves in the ocean becoming one body of water. A wide pathway seems headed straight into the northern Cascades. Country barns decorate the distant fields, and large stands of trees and grassy meadows surround the purples, pinks, reds, and yellows. It is surreal. It focuses you on the magical gifts of nature. It compels you to come back each year.

Along the way we found a public garden across from one of the tulip fields and decided to explore. We were alone in the garden. In the stillness of the late afternoon we found a very old cherry tree with withered, tangled arms still pink with blossoms. Beyond it other trees leaned in odd angles to the ground, beautiful in their asymmetry. A wooden bench invited meditation and silent appreciation. Early blooming rhododendrons, tulips and daffodils were scattered about the garden. Pure serenity, a quiet treasure, this perfect gift of nature brought another perspective to the day's journey.

Springtime lights the country in magnificent colors, but the Pacific Northwest is remarkably radiant at the moment, and we love to watch her glow! Consider a visit and see for yourself.

All photography is from our private collection and cannot be reproduced or used in any manner without our explicit and written permission.
Photographs were taken in La Conner, Washington
in the Skagit Valley region of the state.

Before A Departure In Spring - Merwin

2008-04-13T01:23:00.000-07:00

Before A Departure in Spring

Once more it is April with the first light sifting
through the young leaves heavy with dew making the colors
remember who they are the new pink of the cinnamon tree
the gilded lichens of the bamboo the shadowed bronze
of the kamani and the blue day opening
as the sunlight descends through it all like the return
of a spirit touching without touch and unable
to believe it is here and here again and awake
reaching out in silence into the cool breath
of the garden just risen from darkness and days of rain
it is only a moment the birds fly through it calling
to each other and are gone with their few notes and the flash
of their flight that had vanished before we ever knew it
we watch without touching any of it and we
can tell ourselves only that this is April this is the morning
this never happened before and we both remember it

W. S. Merwin

W.S. Merwin was born in New York City in 1927. His mother was orhphaned and eventually lost her brother and her first child; loss was prevalent in her life. His father grew up in an abusive home where violence was displayed. Sentiments of these influences are found in Merwin's work, especially in his early poetry. He grew up in Union City, New Jersey, and in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Merwin attended Princeton University and traveled throughout Europe working as a tutor and later found work as a translator. While living in England Merwin and his second wife, Dido, were friends with Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath witnessing both the disintegration of that marriage and Sylvia's dissent into suicide. He has resided all over the world, finally making his home in the Hawaiian Islands with his wife, Paula, whom he married in 1983. Merwin now works to restore his land to its natural state of native forest and practices Zen Buddhism in addition to writing and making public appearances.

The recipient of many esteemed poetry honors, awards, and prizes, Merwin is a Pulitzer Prize winner for Poetry and a past Chancellor of the Fellowship of the Academy of American Poets.

Photograph of Merwin taken at the University of Arkansas in 2007 by Johnathon Williams.

Around the Corner

2008-02-19T22:25:00.000-08:00

February is always filled with surprises. Early in February chilled winds blow through our evergreens reminding us that winter is not finished with the Pacific Northwest. By mid-month we usually begin to see traces of sunshine again, days with bright, warm light filtering through the green boughs. Vitamin D in its natural form awaits me as I approach the courtyard of our home to bask in the light which for months has shone itself in someone else's gardens.

We spent some time in our gardens on Sunday, walking through to examine new growth, welcoming the green stems and leaves peeping through the mulch. A beautiful purple crocus had opened, the first of the season! Many others are close behind, and the lenton rosebuds should open within the week. Heather shimmers in pale pink and lavender throughout the gardens as it spreads in horizontal clumps.

We pruned the roses growing against the courtyard wall and were delighted to see the dwarf irises breaking ground in front of them. We love these tiny lily-like yellow flowers that bloom in profusion among hyacinths and tulips each spring. Our early blooming mauve rhododendron is budding. It blooms with the daffodils and the purple and rose tulips nearby making a beautiful lavender and pink swath across the front of the gardens. The silver gray leaves of the dusty miller, a perennial here despite our garden zone of 7, form beautiful contrasting color to the shades of pink.

I can hardly wait for the George Tabor azalea to bloom. I spent 1 full year trying to get this azalea along with its cousin, the purple Formosa, shipped here. They are grown in southern climates and are found no where here in the Puget Sound region despite the temperate winter climate we have. A local nursery was finally able to arrange shipment of both, a task made difficult by the strict shipping regulations mandated in the west in an effort to prevent Sudden Oak Death, a disease spread via woody stemmed shrubs. Only nurseries which have been physically inspected by the USDA and certified as compliant with regulations related to Sudden Oak Death are allowed to transport shrubs in and out of the area. I have enjoyed my George Tabor so much that I want 8 more and hope the local nursery can assist me once again. The blooms look like orchids, pink with magenta throats.

Our spring garden project will be to lay the flagstone pathway through the woodland garden area. We purchased the stone last year but found no time to lay it before the damp chill of late fall forced us to retreat to our recliners and fireplace. This pathway has its challenges since it winds among huge evergreens with tangled roots above ground in many places. Consequently, we will be unable to dig out the path and will have to lay it above ground and fill in around it with sand and mulch, raising the level of the gardens in that area. This pathway will lead to a bench on one side of the woodland gardens and to a seating area with a small table where we can have tea or late, summer morning breakfasts at the other end of the path.

Soon the palette of spring colors will splash itself across the landscape and move quickly through the cycles which bring summer to our home. Bulbs will burst open in shades of purple, pink, yellow, lavender, white, red, and blue. It begins with the L-shaped bank of the courtyard as the candytuft opens in white and joins the blue lithodora blooms. Beyond it a magical show will begin, first with primroses, lenton roses, daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips. Next we'll see the dwarf irises and hardy dwarf tulips open in yellows and oranges followed by the early rhododendrons. Daphne O'doro's fragrant white blooms will perfume the air as will the Tea Olive shrub we've planted in memory of my uncle. We are drawn to the aromatic fragrance and pause often to take it in.

Huge clumps of purple heather form a background to spring blooms,and later to the bearded irises. These irises, many 30 inches tall, will grab our gaze along the pathway as they line the walk along the sunny trail. In mid May the azaleas and rhododendrons will bloom in masses of pinks and purples throughout the gardens. One blood-red rhodie demands our attention, and we will admire it until its last bloom falls. In late May the hydrangeas will throw their huge mopheads along the pathway shadowing it in pinks, whites, and blues while tall stalks of Asian lilies reach 5 feet tall across the path. Finally the perennials, dressed in every color on the wheel, will burst open in a fiery colored river that moves along the rocks and fills in all the empty spaces in the gardens. These blooms mix with more silvery-gray dusty miller, clumps of blue fescue, and the silvered thin leafed lavender plants with their swaying stems of purple flowers. Rich, green ferns contrast the textures of the gardens and bring a lush, almost tropical look. No wonder we are gardening addicts! How could anyone resist such results? It is a quick fix for those of us who suffer the color deprivation of our long, drizzly winters. And, this show doesn't end until October!

Spring, we are ready for your renewal!

"Spring has again returned.
The Earth is like a child who knows many poems..."
Rainer Maria RilkeSonnets to Orpheus, XXI

All photography is from our private collection and may not be reproduced or used in any manner without our explicit and written permission.

The Liar's Diary - Patry Francis

2008-01-28T15:17:00.001-08:00

On January 29th The Liar's Diary, a suspenseful novel by Patry Francis, is being released in paperback by Plume. The hard cover edition was released February, 2007 by Dutton and was followed by a publicity tour which took Patry to various places across the country. It was my pleasure to meet her and her husband, Ted, in Seattle and to spend an evening with them. As delightful in person as she is in her blog posts at Simply Wait, Patry is a source of inspiration and remarkable story telling.

When a book is released the publisher and author design a publicity campaign for promoting the new book. Patry's book tour in 2007 was exciting and fun as she traveled to parts of the country she had never been, browsed interesting, new bookstores as she traveled, and saw her first novel being sold. She enjoyed meeting blogging friends and total strangers as she shared stories and promoted The Liar's Diary while doing readings and answering questions. Unfortunately, she is unable to promote the paperback release because she is recovering from cancer related surgery. Her prognosis is very good, but she is unable to travel about at this time and faces one more surgical procedure in March. Blogging friends have decided to join together to promote the release of the paperback, The Liar's Diary, by blogging about this fascinating book on January 29th. I could not possibly let the day go by without adding my two cents!

What fun it was to receive my copy of The Liar's Diary from Amazon in early 2007. I was unable to put it down once I opened the book. I reminded myself of those commercials about potato chips, the ones that say you can't stop eating them once you begin. Well, I just could not stop reading this seductive mystery with its twists and turns. I sat in my recliner for hours at a time turning pages and thinking, trying to figure out where the plot was really headed. Midway into the book I began to try to cast the movie in my head! I was enthralled with this thriller Patry had written about the relationship between two women who became unlikely friends, about loyalty, betrayal, secrets, and truth. I am sure you will enjoy it, too. The paperback edition is available on Tuesday, January 29th, at Amazon among other booksellers. Give yourself a reading treat. Then buy a copy for a friend!

Library Journal
"Kudos to Francis for this chilling study of a deeply disturbed, dysfunctional family, its crimes, and its fate."

New York Daily News
“Outright chilling.”

Bookreporter.com
"Patry Francis has written a great first novel. Completely pulling the readers into the storyline, this journey takes you through self-reflection, sensitivity and empathy....It's a cruel world out there, but the author excels at exposing the world within."

Patry Francis's writings, both poetry and short stories, have appeared in the Tampa Review, Colorado Review, Ontario Review, and The American Poetry Review among other national publications. She is a three-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize and has twice been awarded the Massachusetts Cultural Council Grant. The Liar's Diary is her first novel. You may visit Patry's website to learn more about her and read a synopsis of her novel. Her blog called Simply Wait is surely worth a visit. The Liar's Diary is available in hard cover, paperback, CD audio, Cassette audio, and MP3 CD audio.

Congratulations, Patry! Many good wishes for your return to good health
and more fabulous writing! Your public awaits you!

What Is Lost

2008-01-08T23:29:00.001-08:00

Since late New Year's day I have followed a local Atlanta story, one that became a national news event within 48 hours. Meredith Emerson, a resident from Longmont, Colorado who had graduated from the University of Georiga and was employed in a small community just north of Atlanta, was missing. She had taken her Lab mix pup, Ella, on a hike in Vogel State Park, a beautiful state park in the north Georgia mountains. Its lake and forested trails make Vogel popular with outdoor enthusiasts. It is here that hikers are connected to the beginning of the Appalachian Trail, a trail that winds from Georgia to Maine.

Eventually those of us who read the updates learned Meredith had last been seen walking along the trail with a 61 year old male whose dog frolicked with hers. They were seen walking and talking while their dogs scampered along the trail. He carried a backpack and an expandable police baton strapped along his leg. Several people noticed them and eventually reported these viewings to police. Soon this man, Gary Hilton, became a person of interest.

Time passed and searches continued for Meredith, none successful. Many volunteers and professional search teams scoured the area where her car was found; mittens, dog leash, a bottle of water, and a baton were scattered close by. Search areas expanded across a very large expanse of Vogel State Park, then switched again to a small, targeted area.

Over the weekend Ella walked into a grocery store in Cumming, Georgia, a small town in Forsyth County north of Atanta. She walked into the same grocery store where our friends shop each week. A shopper picked up the pup and took her to a Vet two blocks away hoping to find a place of safety for her until her owners could be found. The Vet identified Ella via the implanted ID chip she wore. Ella was now about 40+ miles from where she and Meredith were last seen. Police swarmed the area and found Meredith's wallet, UGA ID, a piece of bloody seatbelt, and 3 fleece tops like those Meredith wore, saturated in blood, all in a dumpster across the street from the grocery store. A telephone near the dumpster contained Hilton's fingerprints.

Within a few hours Hilton was spotted about 25 miles away within the Metro Atlanta area in DeKalb County. He was in the parking lot of a convenience store cleaning his van with a vacuum and a solution of bleach and water. A rear seatbelt of the van was missing. He was taken into custody and booked on "kidnapping with intent to do bodily injury" charges. GBI questioned him, but he did not cooperate. A surveillance tape in another GA county, northwest of where Hiton was located, revealed Hilton using Meredith's ATM card.

More search teams were dispersed, some near the grocery store where Ella had been found. Plans were developed to send other teams to the multiple locations now involved in the case. Another recent crime case, an hour from Vogel State Park, came to the attention of authorities, a case where an older couple, hiking in NC's Pisgah National Forest, went missing. The woman had been killed by a blow to the head; the man was still missing. A man wearing a yellow jacket like Hilton's was seen on surveillance tapes using their ATM card.

With a promise by police not to pursue the death penalty Hilton agreed on Monday to help them locate Meredith Emerson's body. She was found in a huge wildlife management area called Dawson Forest in yet another north Georgia county. Based on the autopsy, she had been killed by a fatal blow to the head on Friday and then decapitated. She had lived 3 days beyond her kidnapping.

I am grieving. I did not know Meredith Emerson. I did not know the killer. I grieve for a family who lost a young daughter with a full life in front of her, for a puppy who lost her mom, and for Meredith's friends and loved ones who will miss her always. I grieve for all the Georgians who no longer feel safe in a beautiful state park in the north Georgia mountains, a park where I spent many hours enjoying my youth through middle age.

I am sad that danger like this lurks in nature, sad that exploring the peaceful forests, walking the hiking trails, and taking in the beautiful mountainous landscapes now carry significant fear. This issue moves beyond the Georgia mountains. I have never been able to enjoy the Cascades alone for just such reasons. In October we found a beautiful spot in the Cascade Mountains, a spot perched by the river and perfect for summer outings. I thought how nice it would be to take my visiting girlfriends there for picnics on lazy summer days and show them the magnificent Cascades. Immediately I began assessing how safe the area might be, determining where I could park the car so we could easily access it if anyone came near. I resent the need to think this way, to plan and be prepared. I enjoy spontaneity. But, my husband and I try to remain aware of our surroundings and anyone who encroaches when we are out exploring.

We live near an area where Ted Bundy kidnapped 2 women and dumped some of his victims 30 years ago during his killing spree in the Seattle area. These are facts I keep in mind. After moving to the Pacific NW I wondered about the serial killers (Bundy, Ridgway, to name 2) who roamed this area. The topography, the evergreen wilderness and undeveloped mountains, provides a screen of privacy and freedom for the criminal mind. I grieve that this is part of the world in which we all live. When I was young we were not afraid in the forests except perhaps of stepping on a snake we might not see.

I am angry that violent death has come to the mountains I've loved in my home state, angry that violation and murder have splashed them with fear, eroding the tranquility which resided in nature's glorious home. I am sorry my nieces who are only now discovering this area will never have the same sense of safety in these mountains I have loved so much.

I grieve for what is lost.

Gifts to Ourselves

2008-01-01T05:24:00.000-08:00

Fireworks over Shanghai, photograph used with permission, courtesy of photographer,
Jian Shuo Wang.

Choose a word, or two or three. Make them yours. Give them to yourself in 2008. Let me offer them as wishes in this new year as we greet this day.

Passion, Joy, Peace, Adventure, Love, Insight, Happiness, Wealth, Luck, Endurance, Prosperity, Understanding, Patience, Balance, Laughter, Flexibility, Health, Strength, Courage, Compassion, Respect, Nurturance, Play, Temperance, Risk-taking, Wisdom, Growth, Discovery, Celebration, Triumph, Amusement, Inspiration, Pleasure.

Happy New Year!

It's Christmas Time in the City!

2007-12-13T21:32:00.000-08:00

Christmas weather is here, and we love it even when we fuss about being chilled in the night air. We have already had several dustings of snow, one which left a nice covering on the ground. I love having a white landscape but clear streets - a perfect combination! Today there were 2 snowfalls, but I missed them both because I was still dreaming in my bed. Hubby and I were up late into the night baking cookies for his staff. Later we filled Mason Jars with the Russian tea mix we had just made. Russian tea, a nice infusion of warmth on these wet, winter nights. We enjoyed our efforts and loved the fragrance permeating the house, but daylight came far too soon for his sleepy body to crawl into a morning of work. I simply turned over with my quilt!

Seattle's streets are busy during the Christmas season. It is one of the few larger American cities which has a very busy, active downtown shopping area, always filled with fast paced walkers and those who like to leisurely stroll as they browse the storefronts. It reminds me of a small Manhattan in that way. Carolers gather on street corners here and there during the season. Street musicians and street dancers entertain those passing by. The Christmas carousel turns in circles while lines gather for the next ride. We rode it in the early years before we married. Macy's star shines brightly in the skyline and guides the traffic to the heart of the shopping district. I like to roll the window down and listen to the voices as we drive past groups of people or someone singing to a crowd. Each street corner has a different kind of free entertainment. It is hard to decide where to go first. There is excitement and electricity in the air, a common joy about the season. Each time we visit the city at Christmas I remember the first Christmas we spent together in Seattle. How magical it all felt. I was surprised with new earrings before we climbed onto the carousel. Love was in the breezy air of Puget Sound that night. It still is.

We drive through the city and take in all the sites each Christmas season, drive through the University district and eat dinner on Lake Union. There are colorful trees in several of the waterside business areas where delicious seafood restaurants draw tired shoppers for rest and revitalization. We join them for alder-grilled salmon and veggies, a treat we never tire of giving ourselves. If we are lucky we will catch sight of ships and smaller boats decorated in colorful lights returning to Lake Union from their journey in the Parade of Christmas ships. These sail each night during December along Lake Washington to several eastside ports where people greet them at shoreline bonfires with free cups of Starbucks coffee. This year we are sailing in the parade; it is our first time. Choirs on the decks sing carols to those on the ships and to those who are there to greet the ships at port. We will have dinner on board during our 3.5 hour sail.

Before our Seattle night is done we will drive to Pike Place Market long closed but still glittering with colored lights above. The market rises on a hill ,
above Puget Sound and has become one of the most favored and celebrated landmarks in Seattle. I love to walk through the market and smell the breads and roasting nuts, see the beautiful colors of fruits and vegetables from all over the world, watch the vendors put on a show. There are the famous "fish men" who throw salmon and halibut like basketballs to each other before packaging them and giving them to their buyers. Such funny showmen they are!

When we return home, we sit a while by our tree, admiring its beauty. We remember aloud where many of the ornaments were purchased as we put them on the tree. A year's absence has us eager to see them again. We enjoy our quiet winter nights by these shimmering lights in the warmth of our home. With its ornaments from our travels and from other special moments, this tree tells a story of our life together. It is a good life, and we are grateful.

May love shine its soft light on us all and bring peace to this troubled world. I wish you all a happy holiday season.

What a Day for A Daydream...

2007-11-04T01:28:00.000-07:00

We drove into the Cascades, traveling along a winding road beside the Skykomish River. Suddenly the yellows and pinks joined chartreuse and mixed with golds and reds. We sighed at the stunning sights before us. Nature is so generous in her gifts!

I have never seen such vivid shades of deep pink among autumn leaves. I love the contrast of the pinks and reds with the lighter greens in this small stand of shrubs and trees.

A mountain stream splashed across the rocks, but the foliage surrounding the creek bed caught our eyes and held them tightly.

Along the path we chose to walk we found more dazzling colors mixed among the evergreens. There has not been a more beautiful fall in the Pacific Northwest since we moved here.

I say that Autumn is my favorite season. But, I know my fickle self. As soon as spring arrives and shows me her colorful bounty, I will be seduced.
Then I will be singing her praises!

A Blade of Grass

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise falling! You scatter all my winter dreams."

Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless, peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell the sound of singing."

Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when spring came she waked again -- and she was a blade of grass.

And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such a noise! They scatter all my winter dreams."

Kahil Gibran

Chapter 29, The Madman

All photography above is courtesy of our private collection and cannot be reproduced or used in any way without our explicit and written consent.

Hello Again!

2007-10-22T17:59:00.003-07:00

The Sun Sets On The Sierra Nevada

I am heartbroken to see the news of the California fires, to know that people must leave their homes and sometimes even abandon their animals to flee to safety. Fleeing, a word charged with so much emotion. I can only imagine but never fully understand the dynamics of this. I am always attached to my home, not especially to the physical structure but to the feeling of safety I have when I am in it. I don't adjust well to moving; it always takes me several months to begin to feel rooted, even minimally, in a new place. I shudder at the horror these people face, the leaving, the loss of everything but perhaps a few items in a box and a few changes of clothing. I am impressed by those who put forth a positive attitude, by those who are just glad to be alive and do not worry about the rest. They see the devastation around them, have nowhere to go and no concrete plan for long-term resolution. They stand breathing in the smoky fumes which hover over much of the land and yet they say their thanks for being whole and remaining together as a family. Brave, strong, positive people. We want to help, but don't know where to even begin.

We have memories of time along the southern and central coasts of California, from San Simeon to Santa Monica, and points further south. I recall the open land a bit north of Malibu, hills high above the ocean with sprawling estates, and how I wondered what celebrity lived here or there. We saw magnificent sunsets along the Pacific as we drove along that area of the Pacific Coastal Highway, heading south to Santa Monica one week and north toward Carmel another. I think back on those trips and feel sick inside, knowing many of the places I found beautiful are now charred and left in ruins.

We returned last month from a long needed vacation along the California coast. Natural beauty thrilled us at every turn in the road. Kite-surfers just north of Santa Cruz filled the skies with bright colors and billowing sails which grabbed our attention as we drove along that fabulous Pacific Coast Highway toward Big Sur. We have driven it many times now. It never fails to amaze us in its extraordinary beauty with huge, rocky boulders and headlands jutting far into the surf. All make fine resting stops for hungry gulls and herons, for pelicans waiting for the perfect dinner meal. Through my binoculars I watched them fish while my husband took photographs of the seascapes coloring the canvas before us. Occasionally he stopped to gather stones rubbed smooth from years of rolling in the sandy ocean, stones we would take home as gifts to our garden, reminders of these lazy coastal days when joy surrounded us and thoughts of schedules slept soundly in Seattle.

We drove along the Bay searching out locations for photo ops, places where we could shoot pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge when the fog lifted. Fog. My husband is fascinated watching it roll into and out of the Bay. We were unable to get many sharp photos during a previous visit because the fog blanketed the Bay for a week. We hoped for better luck this visit. He ran along the edge of Golden Gate Park, later chasing the view along Lincoln Blvd where we were delighted to find a remarkable view that brought the Golden Gate Bridge up close and personal.

We drove to the Marina and found San Francisco Bay hidden under a layer of fog. We sat for a while on a bench watching sailboats move in and out of the low hanging clouds while we fed seagulls. Later we admired some of the boats moored nearby. We wanted to find "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" and drove toward Coit Tower, hoping a miracle would bring these brightly colored conures into sight. How exciting when we first found Judy Irving's film about Mark Bittner's life with these birds, a film we gave away as Christmas gifts last season. Judy is an award winning film-maker. Mark's story is arresting, especially for bird lovers like us. Judy and Mark will be in Seattle in November. We can hardly wait to meet them.

Those of you who know us or who have read this blog know how much we enjoy our time with the sea, that we sleep with our doors open to the sights and sounds of the surf, that we eat our breakfasts listening to the waves slap against the shore, see them break against the crags. We are calmed by the sounds and smells of the ocean and always find our nights and mornings in its company the most joyous parts of our trips. This one was especially peaceful to us. We slept with the sea for 2 weeks, awaking to seascapes like this one outside our door. Seabirds flocked to our balcony each morning ready for the toast or crackers we offered. Fog sometimes covers the headland and the sea in this place where we stay, but by late morning the fog burns away and blue skies are filled with seagulls and sunshine. When we arrive home we are lonely for the sea, seasick in fact, wanting our own retreat by the great Pacific. It is always hard to leave this place we find so comforting, where our sleep is so deeply restful.

During a visit to the Pt Reyes peninsula we saw Tule elk grazing on hills rising high above the Pacific near McClures Beach. Deer share meadows and pastures with cattle in nearby fields just beyond this lovely vista of Tomales Bay. We found rabbits scampering across the narrow, winding roads, and my husband saw his first owl sitting on a fencepost at sunset. Pt Reyes juts out into the Pacific Ocean 10 miles further than any other point on this coast. It is considered the windiest and foggiest area on the west coast. The San Andreas fault runs through this beautiful area bisecting it from the California mainland. There are multiple ecosystems with different plant and animal life residing within them across the peninsula's sandy coastline, estuaries, grassy hills, dry brushy cliffs, rocky seastacks, and tidepools. Discovery awaits us each time we visit, and we are always eager to return.

We left the Bay area and headed north along the coastline across Pt Reyes and beyond, heading to Mendocino, California. A mandatory stop was Glass Beach, a place which was once a dumping ground for the area. Now the glass returns to shore, tumbled smooth by years in the sea and dotting the shore in blue, green, brown, orange, and red. Buckets are the implements brought to this beach. Some even come with wagons. We carried a canvas bag and 2 plastic bags for liners. We brought home a full container of sand and glass which we were eager to separate. Greens and reds are my favorite pieces. Eventually we will display it in the garden or in the house.

In Mendocino we visited the Art Center where an old roommate was once a potter. I saw the wheels she used to throw her pieces, lingered there thinking how happy she was in this place. I saw the trail which leads to the ocean, a trail she walked every day no matter what the weather. We visited the gallery, saw beautiful art for sale, bought Chinese shard and sterling silver earrings for my sister, strolled through the gardens enjoying the fun garden art and benches made from rusty metals and wooden seats. We saw John Fisher, an artist who had just returned from Italy, carving a huge piece of stone he had named "The 3 Stages of Woman." I had never seen a piece of stone being carved, had never contemplated what the blank stone looked like before creation. Later I learned John had been in Mendocino when my friend was there some 20 years ago. We found a fabulous seafood restaurant on the Wharf in Ft. Bragg where I had my first sole paupiettes, thin pieces of sole wrapped around a crab mousse filling. There we met a woman whose husband is a abalone diver. It is against the law to sell abalone shells so she gave me 2 large ones as a gift. We were excited to add them to our box of California goodies from the trip.

We have missed our 2 week holiday when nothing mattered but our hearts' desires and clocks were unimportant. Appreciating nature was the business of the moment. A trip to Yosemite, watching the African penguins being fed at the aquarium, seeing hang-gliders sail over the Bay off the San Mateo Bridge, exploring Stanford University, and playing at UC Berkeley were all adventures we enjoyed. Descriptions of exotic food from all over the world filled the menus in many Bay area restuarants. Our favorite one was Tangerine in the Castro district. Delicious appetizers (especially the stuffed portabello mushrooms, spicy corn fritters, and yam cakes) accompanied exquisite entrees in Pacific Rim cuisine and left us groaning in hedonisitc pleasure which tickled our waiter. I did some Pacific NW PR and pleaded for consideration for a Tangerine in Seattle! Until then I will daydream.

All photography is courtesy of our private collection and cannot be used without our explicit and written permission.

Just So You Know...

2006-09-02T02:58:00.000-07:00

Just a note to say I am very weary with the problems I continue to have with Blogger. These issues have been on-going for at least 3 months. I spend hours trying to get photos related to my posts to load into Blogger but have no luck whatsoever! I am inevitably left with a very sour taste and have little interest in blogging or in posting text without the accompanying photography. There have been beautiful flowers in the garden I could not share and wildlife strolling around our property. It took me weeks to get the Oregon post to load properly. I have no patience with these Blogger problems and have gotten no assistance from Blogger other than confirmation they are working on the issues. I may try to find a different host when I have more energy to direct there or close the blog entirely. The fun of posting has been lost in these efforts and frustration. :(

To Sleep With the Ocean

2006-07-20T15:57:00.000-07:00

The central Oregon coast, north of Florence.
Photography made available from our private collection.
See reference note at the end of this post.

My husband and I usually celebrate July 4th with a road trip, not only because we enjoy the summer holiday free from his hectic job, but also because it is the anniversary of our engagement. I remember the July 4th when he kept waiting for the perfect moment to ask me to be his wife. We had a picnic beside the lake at a monastery outside Atlanta where Trappist Monks had built their home 40 years earlier.

Enjoying a peaceful holiday as we talked about the future we'd dreamed of sharing, we watched ducks drifting in the currents of the warm lake that summer afternoon. We played a board game similar to Trivial Pursuit while we ate fresh fruit and chicken wings. We were lazy in the summer heat.

Later we sat quietly together inside the Abbey gazing at the architecture and design, aware of the holiness of this place and moment. We walked the grounds near the store where the monks bake and sell their breads and nurture their beautiful bonsai garden. Though neither of us is traditionally religious, we enjoyed experiencing the contemplative atmosphere in which the monks live their lives and the serenity which bathed us in light and love.

In the evening we dined atop a luxury hotel, watching fireworks through the glass walls as the restaurant slowly revolved, giving us views of the city from every direction. Several firework displays around the city dazzled us that night, all seeming to celebrate our love and the future we had moved toward for two and a half years. I went to sleep happier than I had ever been, wrapped in love and promises of our future.

Since that July, our favorite way of celebrating this holiday is to retreat to the central Oregon coast and sleep with the ocean. We find a room which has a private balcony overhanging the sandy beach, a place where high tides lap the rocks and drizzle sand just below our room. We forget tsunami warnings when we climb into the sound of waves as they tumble to shore. We are hypnotized by the sound of the water, the smell of the ocean air, and the flight of the birds outside our room as morning wakes us.

The gulls visit us each day and eat from our hands. At sunset campfires dot the shore beneath our balcony, and we eagerly anticipate the beautiful light display which will soon shimmer in colorful reflection on the wet sand. Many beachcombers bring along their own personal stash of fireworks to the evening’s orchestra of light. They'll give us our own private show of color glittering the evening sky high above the surf.

We drive the coast during the days, exploring familiar areas again, taking in the seascapes with new eyes, always struck with wonder at the magical hand of nature in some detail we never noticed in the past.

We see old trees hanging above the ocean, wondering how many years they have lived on this earth. We notice the sea stacks of rocks and earth positioned far into the surf, open invitations to breakers which pound them with foaming, salty water.

We watch the sea lather the shore where someone wrote a name, see each letter erased bit by bit in rhythmic motion. Birds travel between shore and rocks, some roosting far out on craggy ledges which overhang the sea. We watch them through the binoculars. We study the tides to learn our best chance for uncovering hidden treasures. We won't disturb tidal pools, but we will take home agates and beautiful rocks left in the sand, some washed smoothe; all beautiful. But, mostly we’ll take home memories of days and nights seasoned with love and tranquility, steeped in the comfort of the constant sea. We are already counting the days until we will sleep once again with the ocean – next month we will head to the northern California coast.

One day we will own property on this coast, a place to retreat each season. In spring, summer and fall we will sleep with the door open to the air, to the smells and sounds of the surging water. We'll watch the winter storms and migrating whales in colder months. It will be ours, the place where we can sleep together with the sea.

All photography from the Oregon coast is from our private collection. Photography from our private collection is protected by copyright and cannot be reproduced, published, or used in any manner without our written permission.
Enlarge each photograph by clicking on the image.

The photograph inside the Abbey, the Monastery of the Holy Spirit, is published
with the kind permission of James Behrens, photographer.
It demonstrates the soft light in the aisle which filters
through the stained glass windows.

My Life: A to Z Meme

2006-05-23T08:35:00.000-07:00

Grape Vines, Napa Valley, California
Photography from our private collection.

I was tagged by rdl to do the A-Z meme, so here are a few random facts about me and my life.

A - accent: Awwww…bless your heart, honey. Let’s see – as I sit on the veranda drinking my lemonade, I guess I can admit to a bit of a southern drawl.

B - booze: white zinfandel; sparkling white wines; Margarita: on the rocks with salted rim, and frozen with strawberries and sugared rim

C - chore I hate: I don’t like chores, so I don’t do them! ;)

D - dogs/cats: none at the moment – Sheltie and Terrier went to "pupppy heaven" at ages 18 and 15, respectively. :( Miss them very much and will be puppy parents again one day.

E - essential electronics: computer, cell phone and charger

F - favorite perfume/cologne: Carolina Herrera 212

G - gold/silver: gold most often, but occasionally silver

H - hometown: Atlanta, GA

I - insomnia: yes

J - job title: “the happy gardener” but once a social worker and even earlier an English teacher

K - kids: none

L - living arrangements: in a house with my man, surrounded by lush gardens, birds, squirrels, deer, and raccoons - with an occasional nearby bear sighting in spring.

M - most admired trait: sensitivity

N - number of sexual partners: married

O - overnight hospital stays: one at age 3

P - phobia: snakes, shots, germs – anti-bacterial wipes after shopping carts!

Q - quote: Be the change you want to see in the world ~ Mahatma Gandhi

R - religion: none – eastern philosophy

S - siblings: one sister

T - time I usually wake up: depends on what time I go to bed – I usually sleep in 4 hour intervals.

U - unusual talent: beautiful gift wrapping

V - vegetable I refuse to eat: none – I even like rutabagas now!

W - worst habit: interrupting people!

X - x-rays: lumbar, left hip, left leg

Y - yummy foods I make: rum cake, home-made veggie soup, spoon cornbread, curried chicken salad

Z - zodiac sign: Virgo

Just Outside Our Door

2006-05-08T14:25:00.000-07:00

All photography courtesy of our private collection.
As I witness nature opening her magical doors of color, shape, fragrance, and form I am filled with wonder. No matter how many years I have lived on this earth, it is always the same each spring. I am stunned at the intensity of beauty before me, awed by the design and the mystery of perfect creation. One window closes and another opens. The show is always choreographed in perfect harmony in this splendid season of spring.

This morning I heard the drilling before my eyes could locate him. There he was, red hat sitting high on his head met by the full red scarf draped around his neck, drilling for sap and the insects drawn to it. The red-breasted sap sucker was back in the same tree he sat in on Saturday when my husband went flying out in the chilly rain to get a better view and to try to photograph him. Today I got one shot, not close enough. We need a better lens for zooming. It is thrilling to see this bird's red head contrasting the green leaves, and I am happily content to observe him hard at work.

Yesterday I sat outside as night approached, watching my husband loading his wheelbarrow with his gardening tools, my eye searching for the bird who was singing loudly. Finally I found him on the top limb of our highest evergreen. He was too far away for me to even guess what kind of bird he was. I could only determine his approximate size. I listened carefully. He sang his song, repeating the notes in a rhythmic series. Silence....then he began again. In the distance another voice joined the concert with almost the exact order of notes in similar pitch. The repetition was so pronounced I thought at first an echo was resounding across the elevation. Suddenly wings met air, and I was left alone contemplating this extraordinary language which brings pleasure to my life as each morning unfolds and each evening closes my day. I instinctively move to the courtyard to sit and listen, to observe and take in these wonders which live just outside our door.

Each tulip, sunlit and glowing, takes me fully outside myself as I examine the way the light falls. The sunlight illuminates the petals from the inside out, making them seem almost transparent. The blue irises are blooming now amidst the carpet of candytuft which sprinkles the bank in white trails of flowers. My eyes move toward the ground through the tiny blue lithodora blooms, and I watch an earthworm working the soil, not yet mulched. I am glad for the turning and aeration of the earth that holds our plants and trees. I wonder if the robin will see the worm before he is once again hidden deep within the rich, blackness. I see the butterfly move among the tulip blooms under the weeping cherry and marvel at its beginning. I feel so acutely aware of every nuance of nature as I watch him flicker in the mauve and purple Angeliques. My mind wanders to Shardad Rohani's "Connie's Butterfly" in which the piano truly paints the butterfly's flight. I remember the first time I heard this music and how my body responded.

When I use the sprinkler nozzle to water the hanging basket near the large bird feeder I feel myself excited with anticipation. I know the chickadees will soon hear the water and come rushing to me. They fly directly toward the water and play in the mist, dodging the heavier spray but always getting their feathers wet. It is a game we play on warm days. We have 5 birdbaths on this property, yet the sound of the running water is the real lure for these playful birds. Sometimes as many as 40 chickadees dot the evergreen. Like tiny Christmas ornaments they sit above the feeder. They appear so suddenly I wonder where they were before the sound of the water caught their attention.

Above the magenta lilac bloom a bright periwinkle sky reminds me of other summer days when as a young girl I lay on my back looking up through the treetops. I was mesmerized then, making images of white clouds, watching my art change with the wind. It all felt surreal - my altered state of consciousness, though I didn't know the term as a child. So many "faces" looked down upon me as I gazed reverently above, always intrigued with shapes and movement. I've created a thousand pieces of sky art, each one different, uniquely mine.

Friday we saw our first hummingbirds of the season...3 at once playing in the top of a large cedar, whizzing and darting above the tallest branch, then lower and back up again. My husband was thrilled. He is always wistful to hear about my daily encounters with the tiny natural treasures, encounters which he misses as he busies himself inside an office far from nature's bounty. I see the hummers refuel their small tanks with sugar water in the mornings as I stand at the kitchen sink. Later in the afternoon they will fly in and out of the front rock garden enjoying the perennials we planted. It is a joy I never take for granted. Each sighting is as delightful as the first.

Wisteria hangs now on the arbor in clustered clumps of pale purple which fall in abandon over the trellis. The air is scented as I approach, and I react to the sweet fragrance by moving closer. Sometimes the sheer beauty of this garden overwhelms me. My eye catches the chartreuse blooms of the euphorbia behind the lavender laden arbor, the contrast making each more glorious. We will bring out the glass hummingbird feeders and hang them back in the rock garden since the perennials are not yet ready to nurture our tiny friends. We are happy the wisteria will serve as a temporary paradise during the coming days.

I love the way the oxalis is peeping out of an old tree stump. This clover-looking plant was a St. Patrick' Day gift I bought my husband a few years ago and is now living happily in the stump, rich with nutrients. It has never been more full or beautiful. The clematis at the edge of this bed is filled with blooms now as it winds its way up another arbor. Soon the vine will wrap the legs of the wooden arbor and by summer's end will hang overhead. We will nail a round wooden top to a very low, small tree stump here near the arbor. The stump is still strong and will serve as a base to the squirrel feeder we will mount. This will be a feasting table where corn and nuts are the breakfast buffet we give our precious squirrels. If we get too late a start on the day they place their orders by knocking on the door! Some were born here, none venture very far away, and one, a permanent grazer until dark, never leaves the bottom of the largest birdfeeder. He talks about the early bird getting the worm and laughs all day as he snacks heartily!

If I ever forget for a second the extraordinary beauty of this earth, one step outside our door reminds me that it is always near me, vast and omnipresent. Nature, the greatest artist of all, has painted this place where we live in every color on her palette. My heart sings.

Poetry Thursday - Carman

2006-04-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

All photography courtesy of our private collection.

As you read the poem I have selected and see the photographs I have shared, click on each one to enlarge it and take a walk with me through the gardens. The sunlight drapes the tulips in a glittering light which renders the petals almost translucent. See the Royal Star Magnolia's bloom of pure white splendor. There is a tiny spider climbing one of the pink tulip buds...can you see it? The weeping cherry tree is losing its blooms so that it can dress itself in green while the pink and purple tulips dance around it. I see the beginning of a bouquet my husband has planted for me when my eyes find the yellow tulip buds not yet open. The gifts of this garden await my eyes each morning, tulips singing to me through my kitchen window and shining gloriously, speaking to me of love and nature's precious mysteries.

Beauty is always there just waiting to be found.

EARTH VOICES

I

I heard the spring wind whisper
Above the brushwood fire,
"The world is made forever
Of transport and desire.

"I am the breath of being,
The primal urge of things;
I am the whirl of star dust,
I am the lift of wings.

"I am the splendid impulse
That comes before the thought,
The joy and exaltation
Wherein the life is caught.

"Across the sleeping furrows
I call the buried seed,
And blade and bud and blossom
Awaken at my need.

"Within the dying ashes
I blow the sacred spark,
And make the hearts of lovers
To leap against the dark."

II

I heard the spring light whisper
Above the dancing stream,
"The world is made forever
In likeness of a dream.

"I am the law of planets,
I am the guide of man;
The evening and the morning
Are fashioned to my plan.

"I tint the dawn with crimson,
I tinge the sea with blue;
My track is in the desert,
My trail is in the dew.

"I paint the hills with color,
And in my magic dome
I light the star of evening
To steer the traveller home.

"Within the house of being,
I feed the lamp of truth
With tales of ancient wisdom
And prophecies of youth."

III

I heard the spring rain murmur
Above the roadside flower,
"The world is made forever
In melody and power.

"I keep the rhythmic measure
That marks the steps of time,
And all my toil is fashioned
To symmetry and rhyme.

"I plow the untilled upland,
I ripe the seeding grass,
And fill the leafy forest
With music as I pass.

"I hew the raw, rough granite
To loveliness of line,
And when my work is finished,
Behold, it is divine!

"I am the master-builder
In whom the ages trust.
I lift the lost perfection
To blossom from the dust."

IV

Then Earth to them made answer,
As with a slow refrain
Born of the blended voices
Of wind and sun and rain,
"This is the law of being
That links the threefold chain:
The life we give to beauty
Returns to us again."

~William Bliss Carman~

"Earth Voices" is reprinted from April Airs: A Book of New England Lyrics. Bliss Carman. Boston: Small, Maynard and Company, 1916.

Bliss Carman was born in New Brunswick, Canada in 1861 with a maternal ancestry traced back to Ralph Waldo Emerson. He received undergraduate, and graduate degrees in New Brunswick, Canada, leaving to attend Oxford and Edinburgh but did not complete post graduate work there. He returned to New Bruanswick where he taught French and practiced law prior to leaving for Harvard. He did not complete post graduate work at Harvard but moved instead to NYC where he worked as an editor with several periodicals. He published books of essays and volumes of poetry, did notable editorial work on poetry anthologies, and was a successful speaker. He met Mary Perry King and her husband in 1896 and did collaborative work with Mrs. King, writing books on personality development, and work on masques, and intepretive dance. He relocated near this couple in Connecticut and worked with Mrs. King in a summer school program for many years. Carman was treated during the last decade of his life for tuberculosis and died in 1929 in Connecticut. Bliss Carman, the unofficial poet laureate of Canada, was buried in New Brunshwick, Canada.

Savor the Moments

2006-04-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
a cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
~Robert Frost~

All photography courtesy of our private collection.

The earth awakes and so do I. Spring’s cycle of rebirth stirs me into life again, just like the daffodils and the fragrant hyacinths scenting the air as they sway outside our door. I am drawn to the courtyard each morning like clockwork. Dawn breaks, and light slips quietly across the sky while I tip-toe down the rocky steps, made of natural boulders, and head into the garden’s secret room where bleeding hearts hang down in pink and white droplets next to ferns.

I move past primroses of every color and an early blooming mauve rhododendron which stands tall and stately between pink lenton roses blooming since February. My eyes move quickly. I check for new green tips, hints of life. The rock garden, only a year old but so full of life, bears witness to the lively movement beneath the rich, brown mulch. Every clump of earth displaced by growth pushing up catches my eye. Old stalks of last year’s treasures remain as markers for our keen observation of new life.

I walk past a mound of heather, full and fuzzy in its purple haze.I see the day lilies and their newly formed leaves, lavender stalks which will soon flower, small azalea buds next to open blossoms. Further down I notice sedum which is now high above the ground, happily transforming into the full succulent plant whose blooms will turn from chartreuse to mauve to cinnamon through the coming months. Stems of Asian lilies are rising now on each side of the Japanese Maple. Campanula is green and full and waiting only for warmer sun to burst into purple blossom. The Cape Fuschias surprised me with their evergreen foliage in winter. The greenery in the cold, wet months was a welcome sight. Soon they will be heavy with butter blooming tubes like honeysuckle. Just below them are the orange Hardy Fuschias which will glow like the tips of burning cigars in the summer light. Both will feed the hummingbirds all season. Beneath the outer limits of the apple tree’s limbs the Euonymous shrubs sit with leaves mottled in green and yellow, veined like marble. They move along the lower garden path and bring yellow light to the perennial garden when the daffodils finish their song.

Large boulders dot this landscape, anointing it with status as I move down the path past the rhododendron heavy with buds, beyond the azaleas about to burst into bloom. Along the trail of bearded iris, their foliage tall and green and pointed, I reach the sword ferns and hydrangeas leafing out now, soon to be huge balls of pink, white, lavender, and blue.

My heart is beating faster as I walk. It is thrilling to see the rebirth of this land we own, this land which my husband loves even more than I do. I see his long arms in each shrub, on every tree trunk that stands proudly, now clean and open to the light from its late winter pruning.
I see his sweat in the green flora peeping forth, remember his placing every plant in these gardens last summer. Back to our courtyard, I gaze out over the landscape and remember him creating these gardens from earth and rock, removing tree trunks long dead, digging out a concrete wall buried long ago under soil, unearthing and removing dead roots, pulling weeds, chopping, shaping. These gardens are the diligent work of my husband, his labor a gift to me. I see his love of this land, his pride in the home we have made where we share our lives. It is like a portrait he is painting, done with love and exactness, with design and purpose.

I am awakened by the birth of spring in these gardens and by the love of this man whose hands untangle the plants’ tightened roots to give them life. These are the same hands which hold mine close and safe and nurture me with tenderness. It is time for me to climb back into the warmth of our bed and savor the moments left for sleep.

Too soon the sun will rise higher in the sky and call him to leave our bed to begin this day.

Poetry Thursday - Hafiz of Shiraz

2006-04-06T00:42:00.000-07:00

Photography Credit: "In the Treetops"
from our personal collection

All the Hemispheres

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season
Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.
Make a new water-mark on your excitement
And love.

Like a blooming night flower,
Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving
Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence
Lie beside an equator
In your heart.

Greet Yourself
In your thousand other forms
As you mount the hidden tide and travel
Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven
Are sitting around a fire
Chatting

While stitching themselves together
Into the Great Circle inside of
You.

~ Hafiz~

From: The Subject Tonight is Love
translated by Daniel Ladinsky

The dates of his life are not exact, but it is believed Hafiz of Shiraz, beloved Persian poet, was born in 1320s AD in South Central Iran and lived until about the age of 69. Like Rumi he was one of the great Sufi poets belonging to a spiritual movement seeking truth and wisdom. The Sufi Movement focused on unity, balance, harmony, love, and beauty, with universal arms which were respectful of all religious teachings and beliefs. He used the ghazal, a strict poetic form of expression like the English sonnet, to create his poetry, but it is believed he may not have actually written any of his poems with pen in hand. He likely sang them or recited them aloud. He was the greatest of all lyrical poets but was not as well known in the western world. Hafiz may have composed as many as 693 poems during his life. According to Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Haifz is a poet for poets." His poetry was referred to as the Songs of Hafiz.

Hafiz image: Artwork from cover of
I Heard God Laughing - Renderings of Hafiz,
by Daniel Ladinsky

Mary, Spun of Golden Sunlight

2006-03-26T07:26:00.001-08:00

Mary is a classy woman in Atlanta – a smart woman in her 40s, an animal lover, gardener, a sensitive woman. Mary's life has been dedicated to healing others, and her work in community service and charitable organizations is praised. She is beautiful inside and out, flaxen hair falling about her face in its journey past her shoulders, and wide-open eyes which speak the music of the inner self she carries. When I am in her presence, I sense her heart as if it is a separate party in the room. She wears love on her face. It is liquid in her voice, and it languishes in her body. Words spill off her tongue in tones which soothe those who listen. Humor is her friend, and she uses it to change a mood when hope seems lost amidst pain and fear. Visits to Mary’s office are like trips for ice cream on hot Sunday afternoons – whatever is rustling your reserve can disappear with the first taste.

Mary became my doctor first and my friend as time passed. I went to her in significant pain, feeling hopeless to change the course of events which were playing roulette with my life. I wanted to be worry and pain free. Soon a bride-to-be with a lover who had turned my life upside down with joy and tenderness, I was stuck in a body screaming at me. The love which we shared was such a rich blessing, and I wanted to fully enjoy this time in our lives. I wanted to climb pain-free onto the private yacht where our wedding would take place on a warm summer's night on Puget Sound. I had a busy agenda during the next 6-8 months with a wedding and a relocation to Seattle to plan. My spirits were sinking, anchored somewhere between depression and my chronic pain which burned like a hot iron on tender flesh.

Mary came into the room of our first meeting, radiating cheerfulness with a huge smile that pulled her lips wide. She asked me many questions and carefully listened to every word I spoke. When I finished my tale with chin quivering and tears glistening on my cheeks, Mary put her arms around me, hugged me close, and said she had magic tricks and she knew she could help me. Within the hour she proceeded to move through several modalities of treatment bringing my rigid and ropey muscles to more flexibility. She and I began a treatment regimen that afternoon which continues. Even though we now live in Seattle, we travel 2673 miles twice a year to visit friends and family, and one of the first things on our agenda is to SEE Mary. Time spent with Mary is like revisiting a book you love or listening to a story which soothed you as a child. There is much joy, lots of squeals, giggles, squeezes, and snuggly hugs as soon as my husband and I arrive. He loves her as much as I do.

Since our relocation to Seattle, Mary and I keep in touch by e-mail correspondence, sharing the news of our lives. My husband and I have eagerly awaited her first visit to the Pacific NW. Shortly after we left Atlanta, Mary fell in love with another doctor we also know and love. This news sparked a big celebration for us who were both excited to hear of their joy. How thrilling it has been to see Mary happy and to know she is sharing her life with someone who values her, respects and loves her in every way that she deserves! The glow she wears could compete with the full sun on a beach at high noon as she talks about the rewarding blessings in her life and the joy she finds in each day. She now lives with love and devotion and the enchanting dreams and plans of their tomorrows. A mountain retreat, puppies shared and loved, mutual friends whose joy of this exciting merger could be heard all over town, and finally an office practice together – these things now decorate their lives.

Recently our electricity went out leaving us in total darkness on a windy, late-winter's night early in March. My husband’s cell phone also makes a wireless connection to the internet. I asked him to check my mail while he was online. "A letter from Mary," he said, and I asked him to read it to me. This letter brought the first news that Mary has a brain tumor, an inoperable brain tumor. The words stuck in my mind – eyes fixed upon my husband’s face, searching for some sign that this was not true, registering the words, then searching again. Stunned, I sat in my chair momentarily mute. Hearing that Mary was going through this very scary medical emergency, almost 3,000 miles away, made me long for the Atlanta I had not missed before now. Oh, I had missed the friends, but never the city. Now I wanted the familiar city, wanted to be close enough to feel like I was “close.” I wanted to be able to see Mary with my own eyes.

Since that night, she has had a shunt put into her brain to relieve the pressure. There is no definitive medical plan at this moment while she and her partner research the best alternatives and the best medical facilities to handle this situation. Friends, family, and patients alike have joined together to form a huge network of love and support. Mary is adored by people everywhere. She is a lamp of hope and love in so many people’s lives, a giver of health and promise. It is no wonder she is loved in such huge proportion, an amount that seems to surprise her as she is washed in it daily. She is basking in this love, finding solace when her heart is heavy, watching the detour signs, layering talk about tomorrow with medical terms about tumor shrinkage instead of simply focusing on the mountain cabin they are building. She is focused now on living. She is cared-for and caregiver. Everyone must be worried, but we keep a chin up and a positive attitude. All I know for sure is how my heart feels. It aches at the prospect of this extraordinary woman being in any peril, this woman who has been a savior to so many, whose loving heart has been given away more times than she can count, to so many of us.

Please add Mary to your prayer list, to your thoughts, to your wish list. Send her good energy filled with healing words and images. Imagine her head filled with joy and wisdom in such great proportion that this tumor is pushed away and reduced in power and mass. Join us please in sending loving thoughts and healing energy to this amazing woman, this healing force who has given so much life to so many. She is the wondrous face of hope and love – she is MARY.

Photgraphy, Digital Art, and Rendering shown above are from our private collection.

Art Courtesy of Photographer and Artist, Nguyen Ngoc Danh, Sacramento, California

Golden Threads
Memories of mornings when your blonde hair
shone lustrous, spun like you of golden threads and sunlight,dance quietly across my visits with the past,
when pain was constant
and you were there; always there.

Love dressed in such a tiny package then,
vibrant motion, healer that you are.
From every cell the healing trickled out,
while fingers kneading new life for the needy, coaxed broken bodies back to whole again.

You walk this earth, with sight projected far
to see beyond what lies upon the path
and let your intuition guide you forward to nurture spirits, cleanse the body’s chaos, remove the blockswhich keep the bones ajar.

You’ve been the hope, the dream, the gentle peace
for morning's comfort or in the evening's light that’s cast upon the glowing limbs, as redwoods bid goodnight to one more sun and bid a new one’s rise for dawn’s release.

With love we come as one to sing your praise
while you are fighting for your days ahead amidst us all whose livesyou have changed. We reignite the loving touch you gave and send it back to heal and light your days.

Poetry Thursday - Sexton

2006-03-23T13:27:00.000-08:00

Words

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.

Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.

Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.

But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.

~ Anne Sexton ~

1928 - 1974
Anne Sexton, acclaimed confessional poet, was the 1967 Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry. A close friend of poet Maxine Kumin, and a colleague and friend of Sylvia Path, Sexton wrote poetry about her life as a woman, her depression and torment. It was poetry that kept her alive: she suffered from mental illness and alcoholism for years, making 2 attmepts on her life. Despite her success as a poet and speaker, she finally did kill herself at age 46 in the garage of her MA home; death by carbon monoxide poisoning.

Photography Credit: Anne Sexton Photograph; Rollie McKenna, photographer;
University of Pennsylvania, Photographs of American Poetry Review Records,
1971-1998.

Words: How important they are...these utterances which keep us connected and give us language by which we speak, write, teach, learn, invent, search, collaborate, find commonality and differences, create community, share lives, and make love. These most enchanting of tools can become the most hurtful at the turn of a letter or tone. We are always charged with remembering how powerful words can be, how selection is critical to the moment, to the truth, and to the heart.

Poetry Thursday - Wordsworth

2006-03-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

Photograph: From our private collection

Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~William Wordsworth~

1770-1850
William Wordsworth, celebrated British poet and England's poet laureate in 1843, was orphaned by age 13 and was largely disinterested in academics. His friendship with Samuel Coleridge, in conjunction with a financial grant bestowed him at a friend's death, marked the beginning of his devotion to poetry. Around 1791 Wordsworth traveled to France and met a woman with whom he had an illegitimate daughter. He supported this child financially though he returned to England in 1792 and later married his childhood friend, fathering 5 children. By the end of his life Wordsworth, the most celebrated poet in the world, was considered primary to the English Romantic movement, characterized by writing which focused largely on relationships with nature.

Wordsworth is buried with his wife, who died 9 years later, at Grasmere churchyard, in Grasmere, Cumbria, the northernmost village in the Lake district of England.
Wordsworth wrote "Daffodils" in 1804, the first poem I remember memorizing as a young student.

Poetry Thursday - Levertov

2006-03-09T23:01:00.000-08:00

Photography: Rattlesnake Ridge, Washington,
From our private collection

Celebration
Brilliant, this day – a young virtuoso of a day.
Morning shadow cut by sharpest scissors,
deft hands. And every prodigy of green –
whether it's ferns or lichens or needles
or impatient points of buds on spindly bushes –
greener than ever before. And the way the conifers
hold new cones to the light for the blessing,
a festive right, and sing the oceanic chant the wind
transcribes for them!
A day that shines in the cold
like a first-prize brass band swinging along
the street
of a coal-dusty village, wholly at odds
with the claims of reasonable gloom.

~ Denise Levertov ~
© 1999 Denise Levertov, from The Great Unknowing: Last Poems

Denise Levertov, 1923-1997
Born in England, Levertov and her husband emigrated to the US in 1948 where she taught at Brandeis, MIT, Tufts, UW, and Stanford. A celebrated American poet, she published 20 books of poetry. Inspired by Mt. Rainier, she lived in Seattle from 1982 until her death.

© David Geier Photography

Poetry Thursday - Tagore

2006-03-02T09:06:00.000-08:00

Art Credit: MUON LA HU KHONG
Anh cua Nguyen Ngoc Danh

My Song

This song of mine will wind its music around you,
my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.
~Rabindranath Tagore~

Rabindranath Tagore, 1851-1941
He is the most revered Indian writer of modern literature. A poet, a novelist, and an educator, Tagore also became a painter late in life. He was a composer and set many of his poems to music. Born into a political family Tagore was an advocate of independence for India. Internationally acclaimed, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913. Although he wrote his most important works in Bengali, he often translated his poems into English.

Poetry Thursday - Sarton

2006-02-23T19:05:00.000-08:00

Photography Credit: "Man-Made Mist" by Terry Beebe

Now I Become Myself
Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before--"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted so by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!
~May Sarton~

Portrait of May Sarton, 1936, Polly Thayer Starr, Oil on Canvas,
Courtesy of Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University

May Sarton, 1912-1995, was a prolific writer of poetry, novels, memoirs, and journals, publishing over 50 books during her lifetime. Journal of a Solitude was her most popular journal, but I received the most pleasure and personal comfort from reading The House By the Sea. Sarton lived the last 20 years of her life in York, Maine, in a house overlooking the sea. She and I corresponded from the summer of 1986 until shortly before her death
on July 16, 1995.

Her books and her personal notes to me remain immensely fulfilling,
especially during times of struggle and challenge.
May is buried in Nelson, New Hampshire.

Short Straw - It's the Ferry!

2006-02-19T05:24:00.000-08:00

In these early morning, frosty moonlit hours, I sit sleepy-eyed inside my warm house looking out onto the frozen landscape now decorated with white tents. These tents are a feeble effort to blanket tender vegetation with warmth against the recent blast of winter weather surrounding Puget Sound. My husband, gardener of gentle spirit, designed them by hanging sheets on bamboo frames, working quickly in the freezing evening air. When he rejoined me after his garden soiree, his ears felt more like icicles than the globes of soft, warm flesh I love to kiss. He warmed them in the nape of my neck while we laughed and I screamed in mock horror!

Now our landscape sits frozen, eerie with its white pointed statues scattered about the front gardens, testimony to the trauma looming in the icy air. It looks more like a cemetery than the birthplace of a soon-to-be mecca of massive color.

Fickle are the sunlit days which lived here only a week ago when I had my lunch lakeside, watching ducks dive for their fishy noon-time meal. They, like I, had tasty snacks in the warm afternoon sunshine. Sailboats moved quietly in the distance while pups joined their human friends in a lazy afternoon stroll. Feet and paws moving in rhythm along the water's edge reminded me of how this place bustles with energy when sunlight shines its healing beams.

Yesterday my husband shared his pocket hand-warmers with his friends, the stellar's jays and squirrels and songbirds, who dine on seeds and nuts outside our windows. He added these packets of temporary warmth to fresh water bowls, hoping to keep the shallow water flowing so everyone could have a drink. Birdbaths nearby are now solid sheets of ice. We remembered that the tiny chickadees and other songbirds must have many extra seeds to survive the coldest nights so we added suet cakes for more energy-making feasting and gave the squirrels and jays their daily dose of peanuts. With tails arched high in the breezy air, the squirrels devoured most of their nuts as soon as we emptied the bag. Soon we saw a couple race across the rocky garden wall to hide some nuts for a future hungry day, then play chase in the afternoon's last light.

We will get lost in the Sunday Times and warm our bellies with hot chocolate before we amble into the morning's chill to hang orange slices from the evergreen limbs which protect our feathered friends. Then we'll draw straws to see if today is filled with a myriad of household chores or a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island!

Photography Credit:
Wolfgang Wander gave his kind permission for the use of his photograph of the Chickadee.
Please visit his website: http://www.pbase.com/wwcsig
and see his work and profile at http://www.nwpli.com/photographers/wolfgang/

Photograph of the Ferry: Courtesy of our private collection.

Awakening

2006-02-09T19:33:00.000-08:00

I sit by the fire tonight anticipating the new life which stirs outside. Just beneath the surface bulbs give birth to green fans and foliage, some tip-toeing through the soil reaching toward the sun's warmth. I took a walk through the remnants of winter’s unkempt gardens this week to examine the earth; to touch, to see, and smell. The sun warmed me as its rays touched my arms and face; a sun absent far too long from our lives. The earth was dry again. A few white candytuft blossoms greeted me among the buds on the bank. This bank will be magical when it is fully covered in white and sprinkled with blue lithodora. It will be the first to bloom. I observed it all carefully, searching for the flush of new growth, the promise of tomorrow’s bounty. I noticed one Lenton rose now open, and the primroses blooming in pastels. Little green stubble peeped at me from crowns indented in the soil. Short wisps of thin green stems moved gently as I passed. All was perfect in this NW garden’s life.

Irises are pointing their green fans toward the treetops, and new foliage is inching up to join. Soon the daffodils, now taller than my hand, will cover the landscape like lemons ready to be picked, and the perfume of hyacinths will float in the air. Tall stalks of tulips will dance lightly in April’s breeze, swirling pinks and purples around the cherry tree whose weeping arms will swath her in white. May will open the irises like a color box of crayons, some petals pointing up and others curling down to give the bearded flower its formal shape. Their Dutch cousins will mix creamy yellows with lilac and splash India-ink blue across the palette. It will be a stunning bouquet. Rhododendrons breaking the silence of their green winter nest will open in waves of lavenders and purples, whites and magentas. Pink azaleas will join in this celebration of rebirth, and in every direction I look I will see nature's glory. It will cause me to pause. Every time my eyes meet this landscape I will marvel that it is ours.

It is no wonder we love to garden. We paint a canvas with flowers instead of oils and then rest in perfumed air, drinking fresh lemonade as we admire our work. Spring cannot come too soon to this house.

The Rest of the List - The End!

2006-02-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

I am tired of feeling weighted down by the pending tag, so I am finishing this NOW and moving on!

4 Jobs I have had:

See previous posts for installments.
I could have added 10th grade English Teacher.

4 Movies I would see over and over:

Gone With the Wind
Midnight Cowboy
On Golden Pond
When Harry Met Sally

I have seen them all multiple times and will see them all again!

4 Foods that I Love:

Banana Popsicles
Bindi Masala (Okra Curry) & Kabuli Nan (Indian bread filled with cherries and nuts)
Sweet Potato Soufflé
Salmon Paté

4 Vacation Spots I have enjoyed:

Coastal New Brunswick, Canada
San Francisco Bay area, CA
New England - especially Maine and NH
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

4 Places I have lived:

Southern born, bred, and educated in various southern locations.
Atlanta, GA
Puget Sound area of the Pacific NW

4 Places I would rather be right now:

On the Mediterranean, somewhere off the coast of Greece
Sleigh riding, snuggled up with my hubby, in Lake Tahoe, NV
Looking out on the Pacific Ocean from our bed in Pacifica, CA
With my sister, giggling and planning our trip to the OR coast

4 Television Shows I Watch:

American Idol
CNN NEWS; news junkie here!
The Apprentice (don't like Donald, just his show!)

Big secret? Shhhhhh...Don't tell, but General Hospital (taped since 1981)!
Ask me about Luke and Laura!

Morning Glory, Morning Bright

2006-01-26T20:38:00.000-08:00

Tagged earlier by Tara Dawn, I have chosen to respond in installments.

Part Four of 4 Jobs I have had:

Medical Social Worker: Career ladder - 1st social work job

My favorite client was Henrietta, an older woman, small in stature with bright brown eyes that seemed to warm you when they rested on your face. She was raising her grandchildren, a young boy and teen-aged girl. Her granddaughter eventually gave birth to a baby girl, then disappeared leaving the infant with Henrietta. Soon we would learn this baby, whom everyone called Patty, had sickle cell anemia.

Henrietta and I would conduct our regular meetings at her kitchen table, usually early in the mornings in the roomy co-op apartment where she lived. The sizzling aroma of bacon and eggs floated through the house as we drank tea at the breakfast table shortly after sending her grandson off to school.

As soon as we finished our talk Henrietta and I would go quietly into Patty’s room, where I would wake her, and off we would go to the kitchen where Henrietta would set up her potty chair. Patty sat while we drank another cup of tea. Getting Patty up from her crib was something I always looked forward to. She seemed to know me, and I loved to hold her close and watch the sleep slowly drift away. Seeing that sleepy face shift into the curious, spirited 2 year old she had become was like a miracle each time it happened. Her face would infuse the room with light; her giggles were a magic potion. Patty was washed in love with every word leaving Henrietta’s throat. It was contagious; there was more than enough love to go around.

One morning about 26 months after we met I got a telephone call from Henrietta whose voice was broken by loud wails of raw pain. Finally I was able to understand. She was telling me Patty had died. I had not even known Patty was in an acute episode of her illness. Everything happened so suddenly. Henrietta begged me to help her understand this, to get information from the hospital, to talk to a doctor – anything, just do something! She trusted me, and she knew I was professionally connected to staff at the facility where Patty was treated.

Eventually I was able to get a copy of the autopsy report to review. By then Henrietta had been catapulted into a place of remoteness, jarred by deep pain that took her joy and seemed to hide it permanently away. She was withdrawn and deeply depressed. I studied this disease - this baby-snatcher and thief of childhood and future. I understood better its course, the way it crawled through the blood, changing red blood cells into crescent shaped cells which could accumulate and block the passage of oxygenated blood to the body’s system, much like beavers erecting dams in a stream. These crises, also called acute episodes, occurred when blood flow was severely restricted. Organs could be damaged, sometimes beyond repair, if they were deprived of oxygen too long. This disease seemed to prefer specific cultures of people, those of African, Mediterranean, and Middle Eastern descent. It had no preference for age – the genes were inherited and present at birth. I tried to teach Henrietta everything I had learned.

Henrietta and I finally made sense of this painful moment in life when a future was stolen, when an empty bed left a family broken like glass, in pieces on the floor. I was glad to help her understand this life-changing event, to support her through the grieving process, and to gently care about her and her big heart the way she cared for others. Henrietta eventually reclaimed her life, smiled when she remembered Patty, and thanked her God for the days they had spent in the southern sunshine.

We stayed in touch for many years, reminiscing about days long ago when we were both much younger, when a little child was such a morning glory in our lives. Later I would move into different areas of social work, finally settling in medical social work where I would eventually become the supervisor of a team located in the very facility where Patty had died. Patty guided me into my career as surely as if she placed my feet on the path.

Patty would have celebrated her 32nd birthday this year. Sweet dreams, sweet one.

*For purposes of confidentiality, identifying information has been changed.

Night Flight

2006-01-22T00:48:00.000-08:00

Tagged earlier by Tara Dawn, I have chosen to respond in installments.

Part Three of 4 Jobs I have had:

Telephone Magazine Salesperson: College summer break

What a deep dive into the real world this job was! I was 19 years old with no concept of dishonorable employment and only one summer job on my resume. I realized something was amiss, however, when the white-haired woman who hired me, usually walking gingerly on crutches due to an undisclosed infirmity, suddenly picked up her crutches and galloped like a derby-running gelding when she thought she was alone in the office suite. I was dismayed. Later, deciding she might be a "fraud," a colleague and I tried to find her house in the safety of early evening light. We were curious to see if she had lied about her address, too. Yep, no such person, no such place, at least on that street. What did all this mean, we wondered.

Our boss and the owner of this magazine sales business was a smooth-talking, middle-aged, friendly and mild mannered guy. He hired young women to sell magazines by telephone and to schedule appointments for the following day when young male staffers would go into the field to pick up checks for the subscriptions we sold.

We had a typed speech to follow, a script, we called it. We struggled to convince our listeners to subscribe, leaving nothing to fate along our way. Spontaneous discussion was not part of our skill set development; there was a written response to every kind of “No” one could anticipate. We would search our script to find it and then, like parrots, spill it out as sincerely as we could. As I conducted these calls I had visions of television commercial salesmen, doors pushed shut in their faces while they attempted to sell vacuum cleaners. Many telephone receivers banged loudly in my ear during my short term employment. My naivete was quickly being "slammed" out of me.

I never learned what kind of business was being managed in that office, but magazine sales surely may not have been the focus! One morning a colleague who sat next to me during these scrambles into the jungle of urban America joined me in the elevator as we reported once again to the dreaded solicitation shuffle. We exited the elevator, walked down the hall, and opened the door to our office. Peering into empty space we stood there speechless for a minute. The office was clean; not a desk or telephone was left behind. The old woman, soft spoken and articulate, was missing in action. No crutches stacked against a wall. No sign of life but ours. No young males planning field visits. No movement but our breath filling the empty space before us.

I felt sick to my stomach and curious at the same time. For a moment it was like I had dreamed the entire scene. I slowly came to realize the truth. This “game” had been played before and was likely headed to a new location. I gazed at the emptiness and wondered if the perpetrators would be caught. I hoped. Handcuffs seemed like a nice ending to this job. It didn’t happen.

There would be another time in my future, several years later, when a man using crutches would pull them up and sprint toward a bus he wanted to catch as it pulled away from the curb. I watched from a window in the office where his disability checks originated. But, that is another story for another time...

Long Ago and Far Away

2006-01-18T09:45:00.000-08:00

Tagged earlier by Tara Dawn, I have chosen to respond in installments.

Part Two of 4 Jobs I have had:

Office Filing Clerk: United States Air Force Base; Summer job

What a job - a dream job for a 17 year old! A few positions at a nearby Air Force Base were designed specifically for high school graduates who would be leaving for college in September, and I was the lucky recipient of an early appointment! Good salary and good benefits, especially for a "first" job with no experience in the working world.

I was offered an office assistant position with a team of 3 men inside a larger department regulating the purchase of Air Force vehicles. No one had ever managed the clutter or brought order to the filing system these men had developed. And, no woman had ever been a part of the team in this office which they called home for 8.5 hours a day.

This team of three, Lucas, Barry, and Jack, worked hard and enjoyed each other. They were excited about the arrival of the new office assistant and the balance of energy a female would bring to the team.

Lucas, stoic and sure-footed, a man in his late 30s, was the manager of this work group. Jack, the handsome and youngest man, was the comedian who painted the walls with laughter and charm. A fatherly type nearing retirement age, Barry was quiet but warmly inviting.

At first, I was a little intimidated by Lucas whose reserved demeanor met me at the door. He took charge with easy firmness, his quick aptitude waving flags as he spoke. I learned there was sensitivity lurking inside his detached manner, but he was a taskmaster who expected hard work and consistency.

Apparently, disorganization had never concerned Lucas since papers were stacked high across open spaces like fences marking territory. No matter in which direction I looked, I was staring into heaping drifts of papers piled haphazardly in front of me. First I would have to understand the function of the papers in order to organize them appropriately. I had my hands full.

These men treated me like a valuable gem they had just uncovered. They were respectful and always looking out for me. I was pampered while learning about office politics and being introduced to the massive paperwork trail of our federal government.

The equal rights activists a few years later would have frowned on the pleasure I took from being spoiled. Once, when the office A/C system stopped working, they sent me to the library to work, pushing a good book into my hands with verbal permission to leave early since they didn’t want me to get too hot! They doted on me and made my work life easy and fun. It was a mutual admiration society in which we were all thriving.

Suddenly Lucas was promoted and transferred to SAC headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska, and I was forced to get honest with myself. During the course of this assignment I had developed a huge crush on this man who was my supervisor, and I was as sad to learn he was leaving as I was relieved. He was married and 20 years older; I was innocent, afraid, and on my way to college in another city. It never occurred to me to share my feelings; they scared me too much. The tenderness I felt toward him would remain my secret. Nevertheless, the prospect of telling him goodbye was very painful, and I sobbed when the moment arrived.

Several weeks later at the end of my summer appointment when it was my turn to leave, Lucas surprised me and the others by showing up at my “going away” party. I never knew if he came back specifically for the party or if he had business on base or in the city that day; he had been in Omaha for 2 weeks. Crying as I opened the gift from the staff, a hematite and pearl necklace which I still have, I was sad to tell them all goodbye. Lucas stayed a little longer than the rest, and holding my face in his hands while thanking me for the summer work I had done, he leaned down and kissed me gently. Then he turned and left. We would never see each other again. He was gone in much the same way he arrived, quickly and without fanfare.

We exchanged one letter and had one telephone conversation during my freshman year in college. Both were casual and well-wishing without mention of our last encounter or the kiss. We never spoke or corresponded again.

Many years later when I was telling this story to a friend, I decided to try to call him. I didn’t know if he was still in Omaha. It was now 18 years later, and I was happily involved in my career and my relationship, but I remained curious about this man who had stirred such a whirlwind of confusion and feelings in my innocent heart so many years before.

Omaha directory assistance gave me the phone number, and I nervously made the call. His wife answered the phone, and I introduced myself as someone who had worked for her husband many years ago and asked to speak with Lucas. She was silent for a moment, and I was immediately concerned that she resented my call. She finally broke her silence and quietly said that Lucas had died of lung cancer several years before. Thanking me for calling, she shared a little about his struggle with this disease and the difficulty he had endured his last year of life. I listened to his widow’s story, and I cried.

His wife was a lucky woman. Long ago a very nice man made the right decision.

Red Clay in the Sunset

2006-01-17T07:21:00.000-08:00

Ok, Tara Dawn. I will cooperate with your tag, but I will do this in installments, making you work hard for the information, reading through post after post to finish it up! ~ smiling ~

Part One of 4 Jobs I have had:

Brick Cleaner: First job; approximate age 9

Coated with white cement, thick in places like hardened icing, these red bricks had been used as part of some structure somewhere else, and my father wanted them cleaned for the new patio he was having laid. I was assigned the job of cleaning the bricks for the wage of a penny a brick.

I was obsessed with these bricks, young entrepreneur that I was. "...Money makes the world go around, the world go around..." I derived the most pleasure from my painstaking efforts to clean each one smooth, knocking the white cement out of the 2 holes using a chisel and a hammer, and then cleaning the edges of each brick carefully so as not to break the clay. Over and over I hammered, hands becoming rough from my labor. I worked tediously at this job, each brick gleaming once again in its newfound red glaze.

Proud I was, standing by my pile of bricks, beaming when the day's count was made and the money changed hands. Counting as I cleaned, it was easy to decide how much longer I would work each day - I liked to be paid in dollar bills, big money for a young child in the '50s, so my goal was usually 100. Sometimes I made the count in two days. I didn't work 40 hours a week in those days, but I was, after all, doing hard labor – and I was a child of 9.

First jobs are important milestones. If life had just remained so simple...

Let Freedom Ring

2006-01-15T06:09:00.000-08:00

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.
Martin Luther King, Jr., April 16, 1963

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARTIN.

Photograph of M L King's gravesite at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Social Change in Atlanta, Georgia. July, 2003.
King built his peaceful revolution movement on the work of Mahatma Gandhi who led India to peaceful independence in 1947.

A statue of Gandhi was given to the city of Atlanta by the Indian government and stands outside the M L King Center in Atlanta, Georgia.

Where Are the Ducks?

2006-01-12T13:12:00.000-08:00

Disconcerting doesn’t quite describe the atmosphere or the feelings floating around in the puddles of the Pacific NW. Land sliding down hillsides and caves opening where earth once supported the roads are enough to frighten even the bravest of residents. I caution my husband to travel down our mountain carefully, taking a road which seems more likely to be held by firm ground. I worry that the narrow street winding around the back side of the mountain could end up in a pile of mud at the bottom.

All my life I have heard about rain in this part of the country. Until now I have seen nothing like this – 25 days of consistent rain. Past winters were drizzly, but it is the downpours this year which are creating the floods. It all began during Christmas with what they call the Pineapple Express which blew in from Hawaii and stormed the west coast. When we returned from our Christmas vacation we were met with rain and landslides in northern California and icy patches mixed with snow in the higher elevations of Oregon’s Interstate 5. Rain and wind slammed the coast and sent precipitation east. It never stopped.

I don’t usually mind the rains. They give me permission to lounge by the fire, read a new book, write letters, or take long, lazy naps. I like to listen to it tapping on the skylights and think about nature’s refreshment. But this is too much!

Now I worry that the many bulbs we planted in our gardens here will decay as they sit in pools of water. At least we know the evergreens towering high above us will have plenty to drink this winter. Usually the canopy made by their branches interferes. Now some are tumbling down in places as the saturated earth can no longer support their weight.

Come spring the gardens, deeply watered, will flourish in our emerald city’s sunlight. Until then, the ducks have free rain…oops…rein.

Some Leave Us Too Soon

2006-01-09T02:30:00.000-08:00

I was reminded recently of the poet Jane Kenyon and her husband, Donald Hall. Jane left us far too soon when leukemia came stalking and stole her away at the age of 47, almost 11 years ago. Donald is still writing at Eagle Pond Farm, their home in New Hampshire, a family home where his grandparents once lived. He spent childhood summers there in the same farmhouse which remains his beloved residence.

After years of crazed anguish in the wake of Jane's absence, he has created a bridge over this rocky chasm and lives more peacefully in his solitude. He is writing, and has made space in his life for companionship again.

Donald Hall said during an interview "What was the most beautiful thing in our marriage was when we weren't aware that we were going to die. And we just had our routine. You know you look back on it, and you think, 'Why wasn't I aware of how blissful that was?' But if you'd been aware of how blissful it was you would have been dreading losing it. Anybody who's been through anything like this knows what I mean." In a letter he wrote to Jane shortly after her death, a poem entitled "Letter With No Address," Hall wrote "four weeks/since you lay on our painted bed/and I closed your eyes." and "Your presence in this house/is almost as enormous/and painful as your absence."

Jane, younger by almost 20 years, was once a student of Hall's at Michigan, becoming his lover and eventually his wife. Theirs was an interesting life, separate during the day as they each wrote and worked in opposite ends of the house, yet connected in all ways. Lust would beckon them to make dates for love in the afternoon following mornings of hard work. This love affair endured until her death and captivated him long after she left this earth. I recently found Jane's poem, "The Shirt," fun-filled and spiced with her sensual sense of humor.

Hall chronicles this journey through leukemia, Jane's last days, and finally her death in his book, Without. I have just ordered The Painted Bed and The Best Day, The Worst Day. Both of these detail personal moments of this life which was blessed and rich yet tormented by impending death. Jane's posthumous book of poetry, Otherwise, is another one I shall order. Her poem "Let Evening Come" is a favorite of mine.

There is a fabulous essay written by Liam Rector who knew them both well and whose friendship with Donald and Jane offers a zoomed-in view of their life. His wedding to Tree Swenson, director of Academy of American Poets, was held in the back garden of Eagle Pond Farm. Swenson designed the covers of Jane's books, and only days before Jane died they collaborated on the painting which Jane wanted to grace the cover of Otherwise. Rector and Swenson had just gotten a puppy which they had named Kenyon when Donald called to tell them it was time to drive up to the farmhouse to tell Jane goodbye. Kenyon accompanied them on this sad journey.

My favorite of Donald's work is his prose, actually, specifically Life Work, which I have given as a gift several times. It was my initial introduction to him and this interesting life he lives. Through it I also found Jane and her beautiful poetry and later the PBS emmy-winning film, A Life Together. The film brought me their poetry readings and a glimpse of Eagle Pond Farm. It is a fascinating portrait of an intimate life lived and shared in love and poetry.

If you don't know these two exciting writers, be sure to check them out. It will be a delicious treat on a cold, winter's day.

The Spring of Winter

2006-01-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

What promise a new year holds. It is a time when many of us become mapmakers, formulating our plans for new directions to the new places we want to go, charting our courses, fantasizing about the prospects and idealizing to some extent, but most of all renewing our hopes and dreams.

This time of rebirth kicks off such energy in some of us. I find myself willing to examine the parts of my life which keep me tied to results which no longer work. I want a change. I want to find a different path.

Why do we lose our way in the forest a few months after making these life altering commitments? January is filled with vitality and zealous affirmation. In February the momentum wanes, and by March or April many of us are back to old habits or at best revised newer ones. I want to make a firm commitment to make a lasting commitment! :))

There is something about a new year which propels us into a modus operandi of change and which presents us with a pattern to cut the cloth. Perhaps it is buried in the process of saying Goodbye to the yesterdays of the past year. Perhaps it is bound in the tradition of ritual. Maybe it is simply part of the seasonal shifting of nature. As the year ends could it be that we prepare for spring's renewal and begin to design our internal gardens? We are, afterall, perennials in a variety of ways.

No matter why resolution permeates the early days of January, I have determined that the most important gift I can give myself and others in the coming year is an attitude adjustment! It is time for me to look more often at the abundance of my life, to give thanks for the joys which surround me, to be more grateful and always to be gracious. Bad habits can outlive their usefulness in our lives and my whining is late to its date with the guillotine.

I hope that the coming year will bring peace to every corner of the earth and that the energy we learn to focus on this, our tender earth, will calm its inner conflicts and churnings, quieting it and bringing internal peace. The natural disasters of 2005 spoke loudly to this need for attention, for relief and comfort.

May we pay careful attention to Mahatma Gandhi's words: "We must become the change we want to see." Now, imagine the cummulative effect of such change....

Christmas Scents and Senses

2005-12-17T22:57:00.000-08:00

Called by the scents of cinnamon and clove, I rush toward Christmas and the few shopping days I have left. These days are just icing on my cake since I finished all the necessary shopping weeks ago.

Wassail on a cold winter's night will warm the body and fill the air with the fragrances of Christmas. It is time to make this divine potion and my aunt's oatmeal fudge cookies. My husband is craving my sister's butterscotch haystacks so I will add these to my list of things to do. Good snacks for a road trip. Oh, if I could have his svelte body and eat the carbs he seems to crave. Some days his van resembles a rolling convenience store! :)

Our landscape is shining now with a lighted tree and tiny lights sparkling among the junipers and shrubs. Draped in ropes of evergreen garlands, the courtyard walls gleam in white lights while each post is tied with a red velvet bow. Poinsettias and gold grasses dress the entryway in Christmas cheer. A wreath I made 2 years ago accents the door and adds just the right touch. Mistletoe will complete the vignette and give us a place for stolen Christmas kisses and giggles.

We have lovingly brought home each ornament for our tree from places we have traveled or from shopping moments along the way when their beauty simply overwhelmed us. We began our collection long before we even married, when days and nights together were then bridged by Delta jets. Those days were hard ones. We had love and hate relationships with the airports and jets which brought us together yet were party to our cruel separations. It is more than a blessing for us to now enjoy our Christmases without the dread of each holiday's end. Instead we welcome winter's slower pace. We are eager for the cold nights by the burning logs where we will make plans for spring's garden while eating hot soup and drinking cups of hot chocolate and mocha. We are happy to see the New Year roll in. There is no "end" in sight - only beginnings ahead.

I am bothered during this season as I contemplate loss. I think of all the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, the children; think of the lovers and the friends, all those who no longer have the opportunity to share holidays with someone they love. I think of the men and women who have lost their lives serving this country, fighting a war which seems to have no end. I am angry and sad at such unnecessary loss. For all the loss, for all the unmet needs, for those who are lonely or afraid, hungry or cold, for those who ache with loss my heart is open and full.

We will find some blankets to carry to our Union Mission this week. I read an article that the natural disasters this year have created a deficit in local donations. Shoes, socks, blankets, gloves, jackets, warm underwear - all these are needed by someone who has nothing.

To all of you who read this entry, I send happiest holiday wishes. So, here is to wishing each of you a Very Merry Christmas!

Felix Navidad

An Unlikely Gift

2005-12-04T07:27:00.000-08:00

Sometimes we must let go and let those we love live the lives they choose, silently and with respect for the choices they make. Respect - not agreement or admiration, but an honoring of choice - is an understanding that we can never stand squarely in another’s shoes and can never fully comprehend the complexity of the life being lived, the motivation, or the needs. What seems one way may in all confusion be another; what seems pointed and straight can be crooked and circular; what seems one color may be a conglomerate of many; in fact what “is” may not be at all.

Oh, the challenge to let go when it is one’s mother – our first opportunity of real intimacy: the first person we come to know, need, and love. The one we thrive with and die without. The one we mimic, learn from, cry with, laugh for, coo to, feed from, and touch. This woman who teaches us about love and life, about men and relationships, about personal strength and choice - the woman who teaches us most about being woman. She is our heart, our role model, our protector, our strength. Letting go is made even more difficult when she is old, frail, unsteady, undernourished.

It is so painful to watch my mother continue to choose neglect and deprivation over joyful abundance and the nourishment of her spirit, mind and body as she holds on to her life partner of more years than I care to count. She is miserable in the wake of his wrath, miserable in the absence of him. This woman who said she loves my sister and me more than life itself once again remains in an unhealthy environment as we plead for her to leave, a plea we have made since childhood. We open our lives and homes to her; we push for her to tackle the conflict differently this time – to walk away. Walk away from the pain and torment and weariness, walk into love’s embrace where nourishment awaits her. Leave the chaos and choose tranquility. Do it differently, this last chance for life where she is now standing. It is down to the finish line now – and we are the cheerleaders, dressed out with pom-poms and megaphones. We sing support, call her name, dance in animated rhythm as we chant the refrain “Come to us, where you are wanted and loved!” We cry in our pain at seeing her so frail and virtually alone in these, her last days on earth. We hold her, comfort her, caress her, support her – reminding her there is another way of living. She has a choice – either coast, either daughter, both willing to nurture her to better health and provide her with a home and a life which has promise – even at this late age. Both eager for her, both awaiting her agreement, a commitment to life and to love. Sadly neither will receive her.

How in the world did my sister and I learn from this woman to choose men who are kind and temperate, who are generous and good? Men who are loving and sensitive, men who wear integrity and honor as comfortably as the skin on their backs, who share in our lives, nurture and support us, defend and respect us – these are the men who sleep in our beds each night and kiss us each morning.

With the role model she provided how did we learn that women ARE valuable? How did we learn that husbands can and should treasure us instead of abuse and neglect? With a father who has no inclination to nurture, no disposition toward gentleness or respect, no ability to discern what another might need or want – or for that matter even care - how did we understand the role of men in a healthy partnership, the true and fair counter to our femaleness? How did we eventually find the extraordinary men we married? Perhaps we were looking for exactly what was missing in our lives – the very man we both needed and could find NO WHERE as children. If the gift of this selfish, abusive, angry, hurtful man’s presence in our lives was a passive dedication in us to find everything he was NOT, then we have much to thank him for.

Who would have thought the pain of our young lives could have brought such goodness into our later years? My beloved is the richest blessing of my life. Would he have been my husband had I been anyone else’s child?

I must allow my mother to be who she is – choose the life she feels compelled to choose, while accepting in some way that what I wish for her is simply not the life she is meant to have. I am sad that she does not have the courage to make different choices, but her life is hers, and she is not a young and inexperienced woman any longer. She has lived many years on this earth - she knows what she is doing. She sees the options in front of her, acknowledges other possibilities are available.

I can’t change her life, but I can change my own. I can make peace with her choices in life by accepting her will. This will offer me powerful freedom to live in peace with my own choice - to let her go.

Red and Yellow, Green and Gold

2005-11-12T23:52:00.000-08:00

What is it about autumn that fills me with such comfort and sadness at the same time? I notice this most as I stand in our courtyard looking out over the gardens, eyes caught by the burnt red and apricot leaves of our smokebush, its spent blooms now looking more like pieces of hay than the pink puffs of mimosa they mimic in summer. At once I notice a feeling of longing inside, something on the verge of anxiety, but then all at once a feeling of satisfaction and comfort replaces it. Back and forth I seem to shift between sadness and a comforting sense of deja vu. Is it my youth I grieve, when schooldays brought me out into the crisp fall mornings much earlier than I would have preferred? Or is it something still unknown to me, an autumnal event which beckons my emotional memory but leaves my consciousness behind? No matter, autumn is my favorite time of year, passionate in its colors of hot flames and burning embers...seducing us into winter's long sleep.

Soothing Comfort

2005-10-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

The year has been a hard one; so much change to navigate. Threads which once kept me safely rooted were pulled and stretched as I stumbled once again down rocky paths. Settling into this new home kept me slightly off center. We have nested now with our birds; they feasting on seeds and nuts while we feast on nature. These evergreens shelter us all from unknown elements.

Getting ready for a long winter's nap our summer flowers sway in the breeze from the lake; dahlias taller than we are hang their heads in the wind. Tired from summer's push, the swirling butterfly plants rest their heavy branches on the ground. Our feathered friends search for manna to savor and store for the cold, wet days ahead. We do a similar ritual with vegetable soup - making extra portions for the freezer. The rains flirt with us as autumn greets these shorter days and longer nights; the drizzle of fall and winter keeping our flora lush and green in this, the "emerald city."

Growing new roots has meant vulnerability - trusting my environment enough to open myself. I must be nurtured through tentative beginnings. I watch my husband gardening, see his hands open the tightened roots to encourage attachment to the new soil which will host them. It is all the same. We must open ourselves to the nutrients surrounding us - so we can become our full selves and flourish.

The kindness of strangers is debatable, but not so the kindness of my beloved; he is always there. For 5 years now he has been as certain as the light of each new morning. Yesterday he painted my toenails because it hurt for me to bend my painful hip. Some days he dries my hair because my arms ache if I hold them in the air too long. He takes such gentle care of me, the way one does when handling a valuable treasure.

Burying my face into his shoulder keeps me plastered so close to him at night he sometimes senses he will fall from the bed. He worries that he might disturb my sleep so he tries to slide us over quietly instead of asking me to move. I am learning more about love each day. His is an unselfish attention. Will I ever be as generous and as kind as he?

We Merge and Separate and Merge...

2005-02-21T13:49:00.000-08:00

It is an ever-growing journey to intimacy, a place where we both become one and yet remain individual, coming together and moving apart, connected by a thread all the while. We travel like competitive winds in one moment and harmonic chimes in the next. Two wholes combining to make a separate and unknown union; east meeting west, cultures and traditions, habits and experiences, heritage and genetics all mixing into a fascinating portrait of loving embrace.

Here we go......east and west at every turn!