You Say That Now

Snowy Sunday January 15, 2012

2012-01-15T16:29:00.000-08:00

January 15, 2012

The snow has stopped at 12:09 pm after falling all morning.I woke at 8:30 am, happy to have had the sense of being in a cocoon of bedness, thedark and closed box of my room muffled by the soft outdoors. It was lovely, first to have slept so deeplyand late, and second to come into the bright living room and open all theblinds to the white world, full of falling flakes of snow. And then several couples and kids came out early to sled down thehill outside my windows with whoops and screams. One father particularlytouched me as he took his daughter, about 4, in a pink coat, farther up thehill, trudging up closer to the mailboxes, to try the run again and I tried toimagine what Lucy may be doing at the same moment. The landing spot for thebrave, after the two curves of the road, was about 4 parking spots below theclubhouse, just across from my unit. Theoutward force flung some sliders outward which got them stuck on the near side. They all tried several times to get theperfect ride.

I sat computing on the couch, but had tojump up to the window whenever I heard a scraping of snow or a shout. That theywere turning the slope into a sliding hell for my car mattered not a whit forthe moment. The view was good and Iloved watching the fun, warm and foot-stable inside. Flakes falling, childlikeexcitement, parental sharing of experience, the clear, crisp air, the pleasureof a warm home, what a wonder is Nature!

Sad after-note: a hugepickup with a plow mounted on his bumper came. He made several passes around the curves downthe hill, shoving the snow aside, and the sliding was over for the kids. Luckily from one angle, the father with the pink jacketed little one hadjust returned with heavier coats to climb slowly up the hill and slide on their plastic orb from the mailboxes all the way down, twisting and whirling around beautifully. Moments later, down came the truck, chasingthe sliders home. From a recently retired Grandmother viewpoint, that was very sad.

Sewing A Straight Seam

2012-01-04T12:39:00.000-08:00

My current bliss is sewing. I am a novice again, having left the hobby for a long while. Trying to find new pastimes after selling my house with its large, interesting garden, I decided to hem up some napkins from pretty quilting fat quarters, and soon found myself suddenly grabbed by fabric, sewing notions, how-to books and patterns. It's all familiar, as I was trained to sew as a girl. (Thanks, Mom!) I made skirts and blouses and shirts, and eventually little dresses and shirts for my kids. My old Kenmore sewing machine from my husband of 1967, is still around. It weighs as much as a bag of cement, but that is a good indication of its sturdiness. Sitting in the closet for about 10 years, it nevertheless started right up after a small drink of oil. Re-familiarizing myself with sewing details seemed a little daunting in the beginning, but I know, finally, at my age, that sometimes one only needs to go forward a little and leave the rest for the next day, to get anywhere. Now I find new pleasures in putting the Kenmore through its paces, though my skills are still basic.

Here's why, so far: 1) It's grand, in my jet speed world, to complete a project--get it done! 2) I like the challenge sometimes presented by a seemingly indecipherable pattern, or a balky sewing machine, to test my patience, my mind, and determination to emerge victorious! 3) I love the appreciation I feel from people who look at my productions. 4) It seems to be a great diet program. When I am sewingly engrossed, I don't snack. At all! I have to remind myself to drink water; to watch the clock for lunch time! 5) When NPR tells one more story of financial disaster or failure of our many US wars, or I start to worry about the high price of peas, or the tread wearing thin on my tires, I can retreat into my "workroom" and bring back a sense of control. Fabrics and notions seem to be continually on sale so that prices are more like 1970 than 2012. 6) Learning more about color and fabric is something I find fascinating, along with the sound of the scissors on the material, the sound of the machine, the steam that rises from the iron in pressing down a seam. Kind of a BB zen thing, I guess. 7) Holing up in my workroom where one wall heater keeps me cozy on the coldest winter days, meets my need for home economy. 8) With sewing, you see immediately what the results are, and you can always rip out and do something over. 9) I kind of know what I'm doing, though my eyes and steady hand are not that of my younger self. 10) And best?! Lucy's eyes full of excitement when she came over with her Mom to try on her new dress!

My Sister the Chicken

2011-10-10T19:40:00.000-07:00

Jeanne C Hardy was an amazingly unique person. Yes, she would have been proud to be remembered as a chicken. She paraded through town that way, as a matter of fact. She clucked down the main street of her small town purposefully one summer, marketing her newsletter and her many other writings. She put together the costume, prepped her handouts, then laughed when a neighbor dressed up as a rooster and chased her down the parade route.

Jeanne was a professional writer. She did everything she could think of to support her passion. She made her living from writing, although it didn’t make her rich. She lived her life with such amazing energy, creating truly rich story after story. She hit on the concept of group journalism in the ‘80’s..... She created a newsletter called The Spotted Chicken Report and solicited memberships instead of subscriptions. Members were a part of her marketing plan. They sent in items to publish, from all over the country, and publish them, Jeanne did. She was interested in her members and shared news about them in the letter. She celebrated their victories and raved about their accomplishments. She ended with a personal piece. Over and over, the readers would say, “when I get my “Chicken” in the mail, I sit down immediately and read it. It makes me feel wonderful.” Not “the chicken,” but “my chicken.” I felt that way too, and opened them eagerly. I was every bit as thrilled as any member when she put in a bit about me.

What was it that attracted people to her writing? Well, it was simple and personal and funny. She had a sense of humor that glorified common experiences so they became poetic and important. Everyday occurrences, well there was no such thing. Every event, or nearly so, was food for fond elaboration. She loved a funny story, and found them hidden where no one else could see. Her simple theme mesmerized folks living in a complicated world. She was not a country hick, she had been born and raised in a large city. She was earthy and practical, honest and good spirited.

The motto of the Spotted Chicken Society was No Chick Kicking. The intent was to save the world, one spotted chicken at a time. What is a spotted chicken? was the question. A spotted chicken is any chicken that has been observed, she answered. Of course it was kindness she was peddling. She wrote and quoted articles, recipes, quips and poetry that followed that theme. She had Spotted Chicken Conventions for her members at her cabin in the country. She thought up activities to foster ideas on protecting Spotted Chickens. She had chicken paraphernalia up the ying yang, gifts from readers. She had more than one chicken costume.

There’s much much more to say about my writer sister and her fabulous trek through life, now after nearly 10 years without her. She died of lung cancer in 2002. (She said she thought that was a good year to die. Even, balanced. The digits kind of looked like a bra, fostering her feminist inclinations.) I miss her all the time. Her odd viewpoint, her interest in every possible subject, her resourcefulness, her intelligence, her love for her 4 sons and her granddaughters. Her interest in every relative and each and every person she met. But mostly I miss her love. Her great endless capacity to love. I don’t have to feel selfish in that yearning, for I know that others are missing her too, still. The world is just a bit cooler without her wacky, heart warming chicken perspective. Fill her shoes? Never. Conjure up her wit? Nope. Impossible. Love her and miss her? Yes. That’s it. Sometimes, and my family all will concur, desperately.

Orchard Memories 1986

2011-10-10T12:29:00.001-07:00

These apple polishers and tractor driver (Tasha) searching for her hat gathered one day at the Canyon Park Orchard. Apple maven Susan on the right was directing operations for her sister in law Barbara and niece Holly in rubbing the bloom off the gorgeous orbs. The farm held 5 acres of apples, two houses and a large pond in front of which sat the apple stand where customers bought from the selection of 37 varieties of apples from 2000 dwarf trees. The action was quick and constant. Apples were harvested, sorted, polished, boxed, labeled. Earlier in the year there was much ado about pollinating, fertilizing, mowing, thinning, watching the weather. The first row of trees was right outside Susan’s kitchen window and the beautiful apple blossoms filled her whole view........

The whole apple production process was great for kids and visitors who only got a glimpse of the incredible work it took to take care of 2000 apple trees that produced giant, crisp apples. Selling season was very quick in October. Boxes of apples flew off the hill into the hands of waiting customers. In the beginning both farmers Susan and Tom worked outside jobs to help support the fledgling business. The work was hard and wearing but they loved it. They loved seeing the fruits of their labors! The unusual varieties of apples attracted the attention of scientists and media and they had more than one story done on their operation.

Making apple cider was an October celebration. The honey from the bee hives was delicious. Tractor rides for the kids was a regular feature, and 25 years later, new grandsons get the privilege. The orchard is gone, pulled down by the problem of apple maggots, and the trees rotted in piles and are now only a memory, and part of the earth. A pretty pasture and vegetable garden anchor the hillside. Two weddings were conducted there. Little kids still run through the property which farmer Tom has rigged with places for pushing toy dump trucks through dirt pathways, a fort in a wagon with a pulley and basket, a swing on a stage that has held musicians and diners. The farmer couple like to sit on their wide front porch, in a house constructed so many years ago by their nephews, and watch the vines creep up one tree and across to the others, making a quiet, secluded place for contemplating life and its surprises.

A Quick Primer on the Basics of Our Rights

2011-10-10T08:28:00.000-07:00

The American Constitution: the 1st Amendment from the Bill of Rights: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press, or of the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Thomas Jefferson said: Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his god, [the people, in the 1st Amendment,] declared that their legislature should make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof, thus building a wall of separation between church and state.

He also said: ... no man shall be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship, place, or ministry whatsoever, nor shall be enforced, restrained, molested, or burthened in his body or goods, nor shall otherwise suffer, on account of his religious opinions or belief; but that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or affect their civil capacities.

The original Constitution, Article 6, at the end of the third clause: ....but no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.

When the Constitution was written, the individual states were writing their constitutions too, and included references to freedom of religion. The men had lots of different takes on the subject. The Declaration of the Independence for the country says: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

Some Empowering Inspiration....?

2011-10-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

When soldiers opened fire on a crowd that was taunting them over government tyranny, five men were killed. This became known in the press and forever as The Boston Massacre. It was 1770. John Adams, a lawyer fighting for American independence, defended the British soldiers, at great peril to the success of his own career. The only American lawyer willing to take the case, he said he was firm in the belief that no man in a free country should be denied the right to counsel and a fair trial. He was convinced, on principle, that the case was of utmost importance. He would be hazarding his hard earned reputation, and in his words, “incurring a clamor and popular suspicions and prejudices.”

David McCollough wrote the above in John Adams, Simon and Shuster, 2001. ........ I often wonder about the principles that led to our American Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, since I read such a wide variety of opinion about how our Constitution was formed, and about our current loyalties to that document. McCollough has unearthed detailed information about the original ideals, through the writings and letters of John Adams, who later became our second President, 1797-1801. It appears that much of the dignified, respectful resolutions toward freedom and individual liberties came from John Adams. At least, he was best equipped and disposed to collect the ideas and write it all down. But the thinking on the Boston “Massacre” was his own. The words compel, given the current growth of the Occupy Wall Street movement. Protesting crowds, however high the intentions, can lead to violence. Much depends on the police:

John Adams: “We have entertained a great variety of phrases to avoid calling this sort of people a mob. Some call them shavers, some call them geniuses. The plain English is, gentlemen, [it was] most probably a motley rabble of saucy boys, Negroes and mulattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish jacktars. And why should we scruple to call such a people a mob, I can’t conceive, unless the name is too respectable for them. The sun is not about to stand still or go out, nor the rivers to dry up because there was a mob in Boston on the 5th of March that attacked a party of soldiers…Soldiers quartered in a populous town will always occasion two mobs where they prevent one. They are wretched conservators of the peace.”

He described how the shrieking “rabble” pelted the soldiers with snowballs, oyster shells, sticks, “every species of rubbish,” as a cry went up to “Kill them! Kill them!” One soldier had been knocked down with a club then hit again as soon as he could rise. “Do you expect he should behave like a stoic philosopher, lost in apathy?” Adams asked. Self-defense was the primary canon of the law of nature. Better that many guilty persons escape unpunished than one innocent person should be punished. “The reason is, because it’s of more importance to community, that innocence should be protected, than it is, that guilt should be punished.” (To me, this translates to innocent til proven guilty and if there’s a doubt let them go. So why are our prisons so full?)

“Facts are stubborn things,” John Adams told the jury, “and whatever may be our wishes, our inclination, or the dictums of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.” The jury remained out two and a half hours. Of the eight soldiers, six were acquitted and two found guilty of manslaughter, for which they were branded on their thumbs. John Adams later said the defense was “one of the best pieces of service I ever rendered my country.”

I support the Occupy Wall Street movement. Who wouldn’t? Federal Reserve Chairmen Ben Bernanke said "Like everyone else, I'm dissatisfied with what the economy's doing right now. They blame, with some justification, the problems in the financial sector for getting us into this mess, and they're dissatisfied with the policy response here in Washington. And at some level, I can't blame them."

My investments are shrinking with everyone else’s. But I’m not ready to hit the streets, because of the potential personal danger. I am an old lady, not very strong. I don’t know if this is cowardice or not. Thought I’d write about it first and see what happened next. I find the words of John Adams most inspiring and practical. They make sense. He said: “The preservation of liberty depends upon the intellectual and moral character of the people. As long as knowledge and virtue are diffused generally among the body of a nation, it is impossible they should be enslaved…” That’s us, folks. Not a mob, but intelligent, moral people. I do have a Bank of America account I can close.

Old bones and smart phones!

2011-10-05T20:42:00.000-07:00

I have long cherished my smart phones, and before that, my PDA, for remembering tasks and schedules. I'm 68 now, and as I get ever older, my memory sometimes frustrates me. If I let a mental request set for a bit, the needed piece of information always appears, though sometimes beyond the time of usefulness. Smart phones seem a perfect tool for older (or younger!) people when they begin to forget names and tasks. That can be embarrassing. I love my smart phone; I refer constantly to the brain in my back pocket. I can look up pretty much anything I need. But there are even more advantages.

I have been reading 1776 and John Adams by David McCullough , and told son Scott how exciting it would be to see the places in Boston mentioned in the books.......... Scott called this morning and used Tango on his smart phone to show me, between conference meetings, the Boston streets as he jogged along the Freedom Trail. I got on my laptop and looked at Google maps to follow his course. When he could give me street names, I could see his exact location on my map and give him tips to navigate. My IPhone doesn’t allow data searches while I talk, as his Droid does, but tracking him on my computer w Google maps, and talking to him on my cell phone worked fine. I love this. The technology gets more fun all the time. My IPhone told me he was 2400 miles away, but we talked as though he were across town. I saw the State House, Bunker Hill Monument, Paul Revere’s house.

On Scott jogged through the heart of the historical city, and came to the Atlantic Ocean. Just two days before he had been at the Pacific Ocean near his home. And now the Atlantic. It seems pretty darned remarkable to this jaded techy granny, that I could be there electronically. My smart phone buddy keeps my grocery list and reminders for paying bills, has my schedule, the up to the minute stock market report, weather report, all my photos in gorgeous high resolution, Google maps, my IPod contents, a compass, a flashlight, a dictation app, a bar code reader, some kids’ games, Google Earth, Netflix, all my contacts, and a lot more. I can watch movies or the news on it. The images are clear and crisp. It’s a gol-darned computer. There’s nothing missing that I can see. And when I want to look up any fact or detail about any topic, I have an Internet search app. Oh yeah, and it’s a phone.

And the kids and technology! Oh my! My 3 year old grandson is very well acquainted with his parents smart phones. Tech is part of his life. And this morning my grandson and I had story time via Skype and my laptop and his Mom’s laptop. He is only 3 and he knows how to stay on screen, and how to put his show and tell item within camera range. Today, story time over, with him in CA and me in WA, we “blew” good bye kisses to each other. I’d blow at the screen and he’d “fall” off his chair, and he’d blow at the screen and I’d “fall” off mine. This worked an adequate number of times. Now what part of the brain, heretofore unaccessed in all of human experience, was awakened in us? Blowing kisses to a screen and reacting as those we were together. Mind you, this little boy is 3! For the granny side, I’m thinking those new tech synapses, heretofore lying dormant, will fill in the gaps for those poor fading connectors in the deep byways of my noggin. Hope so.

October: time to work and play smart!

2011-10-02T10:11:00.000-07:00

Little Lemon Cakes

My 401(k) just dropped thousands of dollars. (Aug-Sept 2011) I refused to look at my account until the end of September and had a wonderful birthday month! (I’m now 68.) It was full of friends and excursions, swims in the pool, creative cooking, hosting one graduation party, sewing projects, massive room rearrangements with the help of nephew Gregg Hardy, a trip to Mt. Rainier, some overdue furniture repair, and great good life changing news from relatives and friends. The weather was calm and warm, with only mild hints of the Fall to come. I really settled into the retirement thing this month.

One major inspiration for all that energy was a birthday present from son Scott and daughter-in-law Kimberly, Gretchen Rubin’s The Happiness Project, a #1 New York Times best seller....... Gretchen’s (I feel I know her!) writing style grabbed me and held me til I just had to get up and try some of her ideas. In a way it’s hard to finish her book because her ideas take me away from reading her book! Her credentials as a lawyer and published writer inspire my respect. She does not profess to be an expert, however, just a detective in finding what really brings happiness. She tries this and then this, and takes note and proceeds. The creativity is immense and rubs off on me. And she collaborates with her readers, an attractive to me method.

Find handy baskets for storage of sewing items? Buy a comforter on sale? Get rid of unwanted stuff? Finally get a new bicycle helmet? These things all lead to larger projects via the energy created from simple accomplishments. And the projects and rewards are endless.

Gretchen’s discussion of the rewards of creating her blog http://www.happiness-project.com/ brings me back to mine. The effect of imagining others reading my words makes me take myself seriously, a very good thing. I don’t like being wishy washy in public and a potential observer brings me increased drive for clarity. I come to better know my own mind. Also, as I looked around in Blogger, my blog creator, I easily experimented with a new template. I want to make a good looking blog. And what the heck, if it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else!

I’m poorer now, but still ok with the finances. And October is a blank slate. The challenge of being more cost conscious in October and November will bring its own creative aspect. I intend to work and play smart! (Read Gretchen’s book—you’ll talk like this too.)

Letters From Grampa Joe - excerpts 1972

2011-06-04T16:07:00.000-07:00

My grandfather wrote letters to his large, extended and wide spread family for years. A retired Yakima hop farmer, he had taken up the task after my grandmother died. He used carbon copies on his typewriter. Some came pretty faded but readable. He was faithful--every week the letter came. Written in his 70's and 80's they are pure Grampa Joe. Here's one:

Grampa Slavin's Family Letter January 6, 1972

Grampa Joe's house on Slavin Road

My Dear Ones:
Family letter writing has come around again. I always feel a little closer to my family when I communicate this way. Why? Because I feel my letter lingers longer about your homes, visiting with other dear ones about the house. I keep a copy of these family letters. In a way your could ask me the second time, just what I wrote, if you should lose the letter down the sink.

My, my--24 hours later. 1AM Sunday. To St. Josephs for confession with Ted. Of course I did not need to go. But as long as Ted needed to go I felt it would not hurt me either. Confession is always a beautiful heart warming experience. Ted then treated me to a Sambo low calorie supper. We then drove to Uncle Tony's for one hour of talking mostly about Sister Jean's memoirs. At 8:30 evening we also visited Aunt Laura, talking about all our Grandchildren; also the changing of Sister Nun's dress styles. I found Laura and Ted old fashioned along this line. Aunt sputters over this idea, while Ted, squints his eyes, pulls his ear and drops a tear for a goodbye-yesteryear.

Ted has gone to bed 2 hours ago. I suppose cuddled under a new electric blanket. Ted told me, never to cover over an electric blanket. It felt so light and comfy. How about that? Is Ted right? Let me know. There are a few times when I do not know everything. YES?

Wind just started to blow. Light warming winds has been the last three days ---has been chasing cold blasts back north over the mountains. I hope Spokane and Plentywood will soon enjoy some of this warming weather too.

The kittens think Ted is a little queer yet. They do a little more rubbing on his pants leg now and then. In a way Ted has charmed the Kittys. Now if the Kittys can charm Ted, tomorrow, this household will be one big contented foursome. 1:30 Saturday nite. Must say goodnite, until tomorrow afternoon.

Goodness and the way we go. At 1AM Tuesday morning. Ted goes at 7pm. Monday evening. and such a pleasant 3 days we had together. We discussed probabilities, possibilities and successes and failures in Grange and basked in the glory's of its successes. As Fred Yahn, Chairman of the 1972 Annual Convention Committee said "This turnout today at Broadway Grange Hall is fantastic. It seems like every one is anxious for June to come to show off Yakima Grangers brand of hospitality." Sure, WE pot-lucked that day at Broadway. Thanks, TED, for all the meals you treated me to at Sambos. Your coffee tasted so good at breakfasts, I couldn't put it down.

April 14, 1972

.......Here I am Tuesday, 2AM 24 hours late and off schedule. Never to catch up, never. I know you won't mind for an 80 year old pal to be a little slow when he tells you how lost he was in happiness with Ted and Neita here to enjoy -- just 30 hours and they were gone. Back to their nest farther West.

When Ted and Neita left the house for Seattle they were stopping at Fruitvale Grange hall to a banquet honoring the State Grange Executive Committee who had spent the day familiarizing themselves with the convention facilities........Neita had on the dress she wore at my 50 year surprise party. The dress looked delightful in its simplicity and Neita looked beautiful in the thing. No wonder I married her Mother. There is no difference between the girls, except Neita has a more talented husband. I don't envy Ted. I do wish my Anna was around too. I'll confess up. Neita has a prettier neck and shins. 2AM Better go to bed. I could talk all nite about my two Girls - Neita and Anna, and all next day about my Sunrise Montana Sweetheart in Plentywood. (Joanne O'Toole)

Love, Your brother Joe

Oil by Joe Slavin

I’m Retired. Go Around Me

2011-05-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

After almost two months of not working, I still feel like I have been set free!!! I retired on April 1, 2011 after 33 years at my job. The job changed over time, but the company was the same. It was a grand place to work, serving the elders of our community, and because of the modest pay, fulfilled my need for community contribution 100% of the time. But now that is done.

I could have worked longer to bolster my nest egg, but wanted to retire and improve my health in order to still be alive to eat the egg! Well, fine. The days now are so….peaceful and satisfying. I have had outings and talks with friends and family, started classes at the Y, started writing my memoirs, enjoyed walking at whim along the creek below my condo. I have done an uptake on my appreciation for line drawing and music, the domestic arts and creative writing. I feel like a different person!

I keep wanting to pinch myself, (I don't--that would hurt) and trying to form words to describe the way in which I look at the world in such a different light. I wonder every day at my new ability to 1) not rush to the next thing, whether task or play, 2) be able to stop doing with such heartfelt relief paid work that was so much a part of who I was, 3) change course in random activities, ignoring efficiency, at a moment’s notice, 4) sleep as much as I want; the feeling of being tired all the time going away, and 5) spend little money with no problem! I don’t know how long this attitude will last. I know my activities now bring me happiness. Being busy with just the common occurance gives me energy.

Although I managed a computer department and liked the digital world very much, I also have enjoyed, over my life, the pleasures of homemaking. Studying home economics was always a treat, particularly when a link was made to the way my ancestors were domestic. Fascinating! It’s been years since I could find satisfaction in doing really excellent work. Time constraints associated with computers and probably my brain power or diminishing enthusiasm eliminated that pleasure. But homemaking is slow-making. Ahhh!

There is a fine line between resting and busy-ness to create satisfaction. I don’t have a sense of contributing to the world in the way I had imagined I did at work. But I contribute to the lives of people in my life. Maybe that has as much or more impact. So I must recognize that as contribution. Last night I watched Oprah's last show, in which she said with wonder that she could stop at Starbuck's on the way in to work and enjoy that simple pleasure. She said it twice, awed by the difference in perspective. I understood exactly what she meant.

My financial adviser says I might take a year to decompress. My daughter says that was true for her too. People ask me questions that sound to me like they worry if I’m keeping busy enough, and here’s the truth: I’m not!! How I love to go slow, and putter, and meander! Maybe later will come a craving for a faster, more productive pace, but the end of 33 plus years of marching to someone else’s drum must be bringing me this great pleasure of release. Filling my days with the imagined needed activities just seems like more insistent drumming. Now I don’t have to cut corners to meet a deadline. I can pretty much let life happen at its own pace. I have ideas bubbling gently in my head about ways to make some extra money, but for now, ahhhhh!! I am just enjoying it for what it is for as long as it lasts. (Smile)

Editor's View

2010-01-19T13:22:00.000-08:00

Backers of Initiative 210, for statewide daylight saving time, are making triumphant sounds over the filing of "an avalanche" of signatures, virtually assuring the measure a place on the November election ballot. It's no wonder, of course, in view of the large sums of money that have been spent to obtain those signatures. It's reliably reported that the sponsors had a war chest of $75,000 with which to "sell" fast time this year.

Can the state's voters be "bought" or brainwashed into the idea of reversing their long-standing preference for standard time? We don't think so, not yet. But the issue is forced upon us again. The Grange and other friends of standard time must accept the challenge and counter-attack on a wider scale than ever before.

It's an odd thing that so many big city dwellers still ask the same question: "Why are farmers opposed to daylight saving time?" The obvious answer seems to be that we've never had enough campaign money to offset the heavy barrage of propaganda emanating from radio and TV stations and metropolitan newspapers.

Facts which are common knowledge to farmers seem to be as remote as the stars from your big city dwellers. If they ever do get off the pavements, it's only after the heavy dews of morning have long since evaporated.

All you have to do, in their view, is to "milk the cow an hour earlier."

The reasons for maintaining standard time are just as urgent, just as true as they ever were. How are we going to get them across to the ever-increasing voter populations of our big cities? That's the $64 question, not only in 1960 but for future years.--B.

Ted F. Berry, Editor
Washington State Grange News
Friday, July 22, 1960

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Empty book of life…

2009-02-16T11:11:00.000-08:00

My granddaughter is pregnant. It was a surprise (they always are, aren't they?) and I am excited for her and wondering if I can be helpful. She's still just getting used to the idea, thinking of blue versus pink, researching infant bath tubs and changing tables, anxious for the sonogram in a little while, getting used to the terms Mommy and Daddy. I sit and watch and see the future in what I hear, the whole thing—diapers to baptism to sandboxes to kindergarten to school friends to buying a car to attending college or getting a job, then perhaps comes another generation! It's pretty amazing to be able to sit and imagine the whole thing a little. What a life this is! I try to imagine a book that would hold all the nearly infinite details. Would it be a 15 volume set? Like an Encyclopedia?

I am at the same time in the thick of producing a 160 page book of sayings and amusements for my 12 year old grand niece. It's a traditional family project, written by older female relatives to a younger one. I look at the "Empty Book" and try to imagine, in 12 years, writing sayings and comforts for the little girl my granddaughter could give birth to. That child does not even have a title page yet. Boy or girl, blond or brunette, etc. What will be written in the Empty Book or the whole book of life for my granddaughter's child?

Help and amuse. It's a motto for what to write in an Empty Book, from an old woman wanting to contribute to a young woman's life. For I know that is what I can offer to both these young women, no matter my long view. My mistakes are not lessons to my descendants—that's been a hard lesson for me. We all have to make our own mistakes, and there's a limitless variety of those!

Truth is–I really have no expertise in raising a child in 2009. My skills are decades old. I can read books on the subject, but beyond the basics, it truly is like a different country of customs. I used cloth diapers. I introduced solids at 3 months on the dot. I followed Dr. Spock and let the baby cry sometimes. And raising a 12 year old? Fugedaboudit! I too often tried to protect with stern directives instead of reasoned conversation. I lacked patience. We have come out of ignorance on so many issues and many of the old ways just don't work. This is something I celebrate with passion. Education helps everyone. Wisdom and peace can come from knowledge and experience.

In 2009, all I can offer my grand niece is some silly sayings and suggestions that at best will hopefully show her I care for her well being and understand. All I can offer my granddaughter is support that has love behind the offering, not ideas in current trends in parenting. I do know how to hold and burp a baby and change a diaper. I know that time will pass and the first few months are not endless as they appear. I know a baby is soothed by a light touch but is not overly fragile. I know that support from friends and family is critical to the health of the baby and parents. I know the poignancy of the very first time you leave the little one with relatives to go for a walk alone. I know that calling the nurse with worries is a privilege worth a King's counting house. I know that the absolutely most blessed feeling is looking in the eyes of a tiny baby, wondering again at the miracle of it all.

Help and amuse. The Empty Book writes itself. And I look forward to the chance to be on the outskirts of helping my granddaughter and welcoming this new baby person. Support and encourage. A light heart. As requested and needed. I'll bet I'm up to it!

Cooking Can Be A Page Turner

2009-01-03T06:33:00.000-08:00

At 6 AM outside my door I found a 12" square box sitting beside the Seattle Times. It must have come after I came home from work. Poor UPS and Fed Ex--working at all hours catching up after our 10 day region-wide snow-in. I looked at the return address: Fulfillment Center. Yay! I am going to be fulfilled! Whomever thought of that moniker must have known she'd bring smiles to many many recipients of doorstep boxes.

Then I noticed "COOKING" on the box and remembered a certain gift giver's response when, after Christmas had passed I asked her hesitatingly about the Christmas package she had said I would get: "I lied." she said. "You don't get the little cutting boards. I forget that I went over budget and there was a cutback. There might be a government bailout at some point, but the legislation is stuck in the house so you're out of luck for now. But the cookbook holder is on its way! It got stuck in the snow. Projected delivery date is Friday."

I had laughed my head off at that one, clever comedian gift giver! I opened the box and indeed there was a cookbook holder--a sturdy kitchen helper that I, with aging wisdom (and eyes) know I will really enjoy.

I've tried all kinds of book propping methods and the closest I have come to this gleaming metal beauty was a bent coat hanger. Usually I just bend to the page to see. But now a visual bail out! There's also an equivalent chart for liquid and dry measure, and weight, in the transparent cover--been hankering for one of those ever since I came back from LaJolla, where resides said item in that esteemed kitchen.

And frosting on the cake, so to speak, butter on the muffins, cinnamon in the stew, comes with knowing my new holder will do double duty as a novel holder at meal time. Yes, I read at dinner, something my Mother would have frowned on, but she is not here to suffer through it, so we can all relax. I'll enjoy being able to continue at mealtime (no cutbacks there!) with the good part of the story, hands free. Now I'm enjoying a personal massive rally and projected long term fulfillment!

10 Year Journal - The Final Page

2009-01-01T07:18:00.000-08:00

For the last 3,650 nights, I have written in my 10 year journal. Just a line to two. A friend recommended the journal as a way to track major events and doctor visits, and I added home maintenance milestones and a phone call log for people I didn't call often. Live a life and remember it, I heard a long while back. Well, I've filled the book.

Now I'll use my PDA to record events. It has the advantage to be search-able, a helpful thing for a forgetful person. Some decade-end remembering and excerpts from the last 10 years:

Off early to receive new Amana frig; old one to Holly. Hamburgers at H's and saw Joe Black. (3/21/00) Dug hole for steel barrel. Too many roots! (3/22/01) Cleaned woodshed. Mouse do. Ugh. Had to total shower. (9/1/02) Read all Range of Motion. Sooo good. (12/6/06) GREAT song by HC Seattle Unity "Operator." Long talk w JC re retire and San Diego (7/28/02) Scott says they'll have to wear bootees re mad cow disease in Paris; Mary here w new Goldie Honda. (4/1/01) 8:15 haircut by Donna. Bought 2 patio chairs for entry w HC at Pier 1 Lynnwood plus cushions, slate table and rug, mirror w doors; lovely!! (7/28/01)

Fighting cold w garlic & hot water successfully (11/16/04) Pat Olsen quitting (3/22/05) Wore myself out-bike w Mary to Magnuson-lovely. Put chicken & chips on front east half. Bed at 9pm! (5/10/03) Zoo with Tasha-all but NE corner again! TC drove Jetta on Perkins & to mall (8/10/02) Visited Mom at 7-she called me! Maybe Hillary got her to do it. (10/8/04) JB here for practice Hanalei-giggles gigantic. (4/19/04)

The older entries interest me more --they are history, and seem to come from some other, very interesting person. The later entries are still too much just me talking. Here's one I like from this year: Obama elected! 11/4/08

My 10 year written journal keeping experiment is over. All that time. All those days. What I'd really like is a Blackberry to record major events. Should I try to make the entries more interesting? Like times I stepped out of the mold? On July 10, 2006 I tried to watch Conan the Barbarian because it's so famous, but couldn't endure. Is this news? Only time will tell.

Chicken gods

2008-12-26T07:54:00.000-08:00

6AM on the 9th day of being snowbound: I bless my IPod, Skype and my cell phone for keeping me in touch with the world all these days. I have cleaned cupboards, watched DVD's, worked at my desk, conducted business for my job, improvised ways to exercise. I've eaten well because the gods took me to Costco to stock up on frozen chicken, shrimp and salmon just before the storm hit. I do take personal credit for buying toilet paper in bulk.

My most frequent non-electric entertainment is watching the maneuvers of my co-condo dwellers navigate the steep ice and snow encrusted road to our buildings that has a curve thrown in at just the wrong spot for bad measure. No matter the intensity of my heavenly beseeching, I will not suddenly become 15 years younger and get out there and take a shovel to the snow on the road so I can get out of here. I wait.

I just think the gods must be crazy for sending about a foot of snow to us living here in this marine/mountain climate. What possible purpose could they have in tethering us this way?

Shalom Auslander on This American Life just gave me a huge hoot on Day Nine in describing Chicken, the god beyond understanding. He describes an out of body experience where a guy floats to see -----------Chicken, who is gee oh dee. Gasp! But when he gets back in his body, he doesn't have the heart to tell his loving, grateful to god family that they are grateful to a Chicken.

Isn't that great!? What if all those people who won't talk about their out of body experiences share that guy's reluctance to share and spoil it all?! Well......Over and over we try to figure out what the heck the purpose of all this is, and some of the ideas are terrific! This one's just perfect to tease out a smile and warm the heart of a snowbound chicken. Wait. does that mean I'm............?? Back to waiting....

Thunder Snow Leftovers

2008-12-20T14:40:00.000-08:00

Stuck indoors because of the Thunder Snow storm that slickered up every square inch of the Northwest and was coming back for an encore. Called that because some reporter heard thunder during the snow storm. Got food, got heat, got all the comforts. But I want out. Gotta send Christmas packages. Call with Tom: he said use a walking stick to take you over the icy sidewalks. Good idea! How about my long handled scrub brush sans brush--I used to clean the outside of our old house with it in the Spring--screwed a screw into the tip of the pole--wa-lah! I'll get the pro version from REI Tom mentioned later. Off to Staples/UPS in a 3 legged trot to send the Christmas gifts that weren't going to make it before Xmas because of the storm.

Surfaces along the street for walking: 1) dirty ice resembling what leftover lumpy oatmeal would look like frozen. 2) Mini snowy mountain tops you had to balance on or walk between covered with a thin layer of ice. 3)Broken up ice that looked like what a shattered windshield looks like. 4) Then there was that lumpy souffle, rigid with defeat that I made in '66--that stuff is what the thrown up snow at the curb edges looked like. 5) Predatory ice covered with a thin layer of lacey snow--a trap.

I had new warm boots with furry tops to keep me connecting to the earth. Sticking the washing I mean walking stick in the snow at the edge of the sidewalk helped transport me over the sheer ice. I paused at every driveway to wait for cars that might turn and not be able to stop. People did seem anxious to stop for a 3 legged woman, that is, with a walking stick walking in a hesitating fashion wearing little round sunglasses. The two miles went by quickly. Package delivered to the heroes at UPS, I took the long way home, carrying a new surge protector for my new laptop to meet the next wind storm coming after dark. I abandoned the snow cement on the street for the sweet powder on the creek trail. The ducks clustered in the middle of the iced over lake I passed, their bodies warming just enough water for the clan. What keeps them warm?!

The sun did not have much of a point of view from behind that gauzy overcast lid. Hard to imagine it's radiant beams from Heaven above. Easy to imagine the insides of a freezer full of beef and corn, some frozen oatmeal, cookies. Hmm. The brisk air at 20 degrees put a spring in my walking stick and I got hungry. Thought I'd turn on the holiday music on my IPod when I got home and make some old fashioned Christmas cookies to eat when the power went out. Food and snow and little adventures, that's what I'm thinking about. And, back at home, the joy of a challenge met, with the help of my bro. Merry Christmas.

The WPA Built Grand Coulee Dam

2008-12-15T18:27:00.000-08:00

Fast on the heels of my publishing the 1950 editorial on the Coulee Dam, the Seattle Times brings the subject to the present in today's paper: Monday, Dec 15, 2008: Northwest may blaze U.S. path to green grid. Reporter Les Blementhal writes that the WPA built the Grand Coulee Dam and other public works projects during the depression, a possible model for another major public works project for the Northwest, delivering green wind power to the region through the Bonneville Power Administration. The BPA, a not for profit federal utility that Ted Berry editorialized on 50 years or more ago, may provide 50,000 local jobs. Keeping public power public was a subject that often appeared in Ted Berry's editorials. Blementhal writes that US Representative Jay Inslee is emerging as a leader in the green energy issue. Washington State may become a model for such projects around the country. Pundits warn of comparing the Great Depression to current events, but this news is more than deja vu. Handled well, it would be a good idea, one I know editor Ted would relish.

The Heart of America

2008-12-07T19:55:00.000-08:00

Riding with a presidential motorcade to Grand Coulee dam last week, we noticed a little girl standing beside the road with her mother. In each hand the youngster held a tiny flag and we wondered how long she had stood there, waiting for the President to come by. Of course little kids like that couldn’t be allowed within the roped off areas surrounding the President at each stop, nor to mingle with the photographers, Government brass, Secret Service operative and local welcoming committees.

The whole show is cut to fit an exact pattern of time and space. The President and all the supporting cast must move strictly according to plan. The press must be given priority, for the eyes and ears of America are waiting to see and hear about this visit to Grand Coulee. The President obediently follows the instructions of the photographers to “look this way, Mr. President” or “raise your head a little, Mr. President.” The procedure must have become exasperatingly monotonous through endless repetition on the 10 day trip.

The little girl at the crossroads wouldn’t know about that. She probably was waiting for the United States of America to come by, her little heart swelling with pride in her country.

Among all the newsmen and cops and soldiers, the congressmen and high Government officials were a dime a dozen. Sometimes you would see them standing alone, with nobody paying any attention to them. But the photographers were everywhere, taking enough pictures to paper the White House. Sometimes the flash bulbs created a continuous, prolonged light—there were so many being fired at once. The President had not much opportunity to talk to anybody, outside of the Governor, the former Governor and a few other officials who rode with him or sat beside him on the platforms.

The little girl with the flags saw them go by in the open car. Perhaps the President saw her and smiled as she waved her flags. We hope so.

Your country correspondent wishes that this little girl, and other kids, and a few working men and farmers could somehow get inside of the roped-off areas; that they could talk a while to the President of their interests and problems, and what they think about things.

Seems to us as if our institutions would be safer that way, and maybe the President would be too. -- B

How long did it take you, reading the editorial above, to realize how dated it is? Ted F. Berry (AKA Dad) wrote it as Editor for the May 20, 1950 issue of the Washington State Grange News. The President was Harry Truman. Some things have not changed in 58 years....some have. Little girls still wave flags. But Presidents need those Secret Service more than ever. Was my Dad right? If our Presidents were more accessible, would we now live in a friendlier world? Too simple a conclusion. Never mind. I just want to put this article out there because of its connection to history and to my Dad.

Truman said in a speech at Grand Coulee that "the Columbia River is the greatest source of power in the Nation. Today we are well on the way to harnessing that power. The Northwest is no longer a backward colony. Its population has increased more than 30%." Mr Truman went on to tell of 11 new major industries that had been established, bringing $135 million in payrolls and $50 million in new tax revenues to the Government. They are new enterprises, he said and did not "hurt the East." In fact, he continued, these industries have created bigger markets for producers in other states. The aluminum mills produce nearly half of the national output which in turn supplies materials for some 600 factories across the country.

Progress.

Violeeeeeeeeee!

2008-12-07T13:16:00.000-08:00

My cheap violin leaned in its black case against the hutch in my living room, chastising my neglect, like neighborhood dogs coming out to bark a while at my passing. The mental rocks I threw at their voices defended my position--I play horribly, like the neophyte I am at age 65 with all of 6 violin lessons under my belt, and I abhor inflicting auditory pain on my condo co-dwellers. I am a singer and can recognize fine notes.

So I carried my violin outside and walked in late evening to the valley below my condo along the path to the creek to whom I am grateful for singing me cheery ditties on my mandatory health walks, forgetting for the moment that it might be possible to torture a creek as well.

Later I thought better of that and sat to play on the grassy knoll by the freeway away from the creek so the traffic noise would drown out the strident A's and G's, the not quite on the note notes, the grating squawks and crashes against the ear drum.

Later I played at my brother's country house because he has a big field with no other houses in sight and he promised he and my sister-in-law wouldn't listen.

Later I played with no caution at my friends' farm and stayed too long in their pasture of gold and pink and purple blossom-topped grasses, lost in each slide of note to note, senses awakening moment by moment under puffy clouds in a vast sky the deep blue color of a shirt I stole from my daughter 20 years ago.

Later I played boldly on my own hillside so that my violin, now coming to live, tail wagging, as a being in my world, would have a view.

I think it may have been on that hillside that I played one fine note.

Most of this is not true. Most of it is a combination of fact and fiction I stumbled upon whilst thinking of my violin and letting my creative juices simmer a while. To embellish what’s real with what could be—now that is super dreaming! I slide from taupe to gold and red on theoretical strings of imagination that may be connected to….who knows what?! Yehudi Menuhin or a violin on a dump heap.

Old gods

2008-11-09T05:44:00.000-08:00

James Mitchener described the Hawaiian culture over 11 centuries. My dog-eared copy of Hawaii, read and reread when I was 16, is long gone. The paperback binding was broken apart and the cover was elsewhere, by the time it left me. I looked for it years later, not remembering I had finally let it go. Occasionally now some snippet of Mitchener's story comes to me - like one main Chinese character, Char Nyuk Tsin, whom I can rediscover on the Internet! In 1959 the idea of the world of information at my fingertips on my laptop, including the very passage from the book that I needed, would have sounded like science fiction. We only had TV and radio.

But on the net I find Wu Chow's Auntie to help me craft this essay. One of Mitchener's main characters in a long saga, her devotion to the lepers of Molokai despite the dangers of contracting the illness herself amazed me. It revealed "her loyalty and compassion to her fellow humans. This experience begins a habit that will last until her death the night she achieves American citizenship at age 106; every night she examines her body for signs of leprosy, and when no such signs are found, she can continue on her hard working way." (Hansen's disease is now curable, but only since the mid 20th century.)

I was interested in Hawaii at age 16 for two reasons: my friend Gail's grandmother lived in Hawaii and she talked about the place with affection. In a time when trips to Hawaii were taken maybe once in a lifetime, Hawaii became more real to me. Then I met a boy from Hawaii and my study of things Hawaiian became a passion. I married the boy and had two children by him, one born in Hawaii, both children blessed with the grace of the royal Hawaiian characters in Mitchener's book. I'm not kidding. In 2004 I toured the Hawaiian island of Molokai as part of my trip to my son's Kauai wedding.

Now I am 65. A few years back I found Moloka'i by Alan Brennert. The story of the lepers came alive again - of Father Damien, who spent sixteen years ministering to patients before he himself died in 1889 of leprosy. At 16 I had no concept of the many things that happen in one long life. Char Nyuk Tsin showed me that. Then Brennert drew out my sorrow for the ignorance that causes such suffering.

A new Mitchener memory popped up recently and is the reason I started to write this essay. Where all that other stuff came from, I don't know. I recalled that when the Christian missionaries convinced the people that their old Hawaiian religion was barbaric, there were a few stragglers who still worshiped their old gods in secret--because the old gods were more comforting! (Never mind that the "new" god also had some strange ideas about punishment.) I love this secretive bent of some of the old Hawaiian people, given my current hesitant affection for the teachings of Eckhart Tolle and The Power Of Now. My old "god" I turned to when I was upset and got immediate comfort. Now Tolle says I don't ever have to be upset! And he is right, given my so far limited but impossible to deny spiritual growth from his teachings. But leaving the familiar? I'm working on it.

Oh, what a comfort it was, to turn to what never failed me in my usually self imposed but nevertheless miserable case: my own brand of "god". Now I find myself on the edge of what appears to be an evolutionary movement. I'm trotting along with the others, wondering if we are either lemmings or brave warriors, sure only that we are leaving the old gods behind, only occasionally slipping back into that secret comfort. Well, time takes time. And persistence. 'And bravery because it's getting a little, um, unusual out there. I've heard Chuck Yeager quoted twice with the same quote in the last week: He was the first person to break the sound barrier. When he landed from the flight the media ran to him and asked what he had to say. His first comment was “just before you break through the sound barrier, the cockpit shakes the most.” On Tolle and the world in general right now? I can hear a kind of escalating vibrating hum, can you?

Humming away, I push the past into the present and try to figure out what the heck this essay is about: well, if I live to 106, I now have 41 more years to perfect my spiritual growth, checking myself nightly to see if I'm still aliiiive. I need every minute, let me tell you. Rather, every current moment. And with so much personal history- well it's not a saga, but 65 years is a lot for me to keep organized-- I am living what would have amazed me at 16. If I make it-- and my age is the age you really begin to wonder, I bet I will gasp- agog at the constantly accelerating evolution of life. But in this moment--gotta --wanta!! ---live in the now. Get out the meditative eraser and wipe away the random thoughts to let the more creative ones show up. Now I know what I think, just for now. What's next?

Geez. What was all that?

Sweet Melodies

2008-09-01T15:38:00.000-07:00

From my iPod, my daughter’s voice blends in perfectly with the harmonies created by her friends Michael, Erin and Rick. I listen again and again, enraptured, loving that they are improvising yet know exactly when to add their voices and when to pause and be silent, when to sing the words, when to hum, when to tag on a repeated end line. This music “Deep in My Heart, Oh Great Spirit” brings me such sweet gentle fascination…could it be the genetic recognition of my cellular structure as a Mother?

Whatever the call, the notes and words come to me as sweet sadness for our struggles in this life. The phrasing combines melancholy with hope, with regret, like a kind of high spiritual blues that cries to show how hard life is…..and yet….oh, and yet….! Like parallel pendulums, the voices fly though time and space, brushing each other at each apex with perfect timing. The low male voices mourn and rejoice; the women fling their high notes into a peal of hope born of anxiety and weightless energy. Giving voice to the perils and intensity of living, the singers draw me in again and again. Hmmm hmmm……..

You Like Roller Coasters?

2008-07-26T07:47:00.000-07:00

I drive a 2000 Acura Integra that gets 37 miles to the gallon on the highway! Electric sun roof, low to the ground, it's a sportier model than I've ever owned. Acura ad: "Makes any driver feel like a hero." Yes! I am the most heroic 64 year old female computer department admin grandmother in the West!

This car is pretty much a departure from my previous choices. I have the Acura because I have a son who brilliantly thought of me when his Dad's wife was ready to sell hers. I would never have picked out such a sporty model. I was going for a used Subaru Forester or a Toyota Camry. At 64, economy and reliability were at the top of my list. How many more cars does one buy in the last half of life, anyway? I wanted a car to last! I was ready to choose reliability over coolness.

But here I am driving around in this little gem, getting great gas mileage at a time when it's needed not just by me but by the country, enjoying plenty of accessible storage, parking in tiny spots, enjoying the electric sun roof and leather seats.

It took a little getting used to the new body style, for I sold a 2001 Nissan Frontier pickup for it. Spying the truck on the car lot, it was an immediate done deal because it was the same model my brother had picked out for himself. It was pre-researched and tested. That's all I needed. I got occasional envious looks from teenage boys that would have revved my jets much higher 30 years ago. Now it just kind of tickled me. There was lots of back seat room for bringing my son and his wife from the airport. I could take naps in the back seat and enjoyed the smoky windows for privacy as I snoozed for 15 minutes. (Naps are big with me.)

My daughter and I used the truck for hauling bark and boards and furniture and garden supplies to our suburban house. I liked sitting up high, looking tough. (ha ha) But here at the condo, I have other needs. Like looking cool driving to the nature trail. Best part is I traded price-wise straight across. No more car payments. At least for now. Yes!

Before I had the Nissan, I really had fun with a 1984 Volkswagen Westphalia. That vehicle came to me on a moonbeam! How I loved the Westphalia! My family has always enjoyed VW buses. I went back and forth over the mountain to visit my sister, camping in her back 40 by a stream. I camped with my daughter and granddaughter and hauled stuff around. I took naps in it too--an auto-immune disorder laid me low for a while. The stove worked, the tent worked, the sink worked, the back heater worked, the upper bunk was cozy and fun to set up.

I bought it from a gravestone carver from Denmark who was staying at the YMCA downtown. Very handsome. Just a little extra effort needed in keeping the engine in top shape. Actually I could have bought a new car for what I spent on the cost plus repairs, but I never could have found anything like my Westfalia!

When ready to sell my wonderful Westfalia, the buyer turned up in the form of my nephew who seemed to love it as much as I had. He's still tooling around in it in the summer; 'ol "Punkin" is enjoying the music of the bands that my nephew plays in around the state, like with Panda Conspiracy at the Summer Meltdown every year in Darrington. Lots of stories still to come for the 'ol camper. She even sat right next to the stage in the summer concert he staged on the other side of the mountain! Title: star dressing room.

Before the Westfalia was a 1986 Ford Tempo, a twin to my daughter's car. We went off one day to the south end of the city and bought identical Fords, one white, one red, from the Hertz rental outlet. $7500. Seems like a lot. How could we afford that!? Well, we did.

The Fords took us to work and around town for a while. Not the most beautiful cars in the lot, but pretty reliable. It was a lark having matching cars. I kept the Ford for a few months after I bought the Westfalia. I liked having two cars. The internal prestige waned and I sold it. My daughter went next to the auto love of her life, her Mitsubishi Montero.

Before the Ford, I bought a 1979 Honda Civic 3D hatchback. It was a Lemone. I took it to a mechanic who had a home shop and he took me for what I was--no experience to know what end was what. All I know is I spent a lot of money on the silly thing and still dislike the whole memory.

But for now I'll stick with the thrill of the first real independent auto purchase in my new life. I made the deal on my own and that was really exhilarating! The car had a little style compared to its predecessor and so felt like success. It took me to work and parties and to get haircuts. Ha ha.

The Civic's predecessor was a 1970 Dodge Dart Swinger slant 6. A sweet little car that my friends and family raved over for its quality and dependability. I got it at 35, a particularly self generated hard time for me, when my Mother rescued me by selling me her old car. She had stored it in a friend's barn after my Dad's death, and wanted only $50/month until the $500 price was paid off. I am still grateful for her generosity 30 years later. Maybe she was relieved to get it off her hands, but still.

I don't think that in 1970 "Swinger" meant anything except someone using park play equipment. Dad was a rowdy guy in his day (the 30's) but more conservative as he got older. Pretty sure that "Swinger" got its bad rep later.

The Dart always felt like a rescue mission to me, a gratuity from the Universe, and I didn't like the idea of selling it but my advisers said I ought to upgrade and get rid of the aging Queen. Which I did. For the Civic! Oops.

After musing over all this car buying and selling, I do feel kind of like a hero. It's such a pain in the patooka to buy and sell cars. They cost so much and so much is at stake, if you don't have extra money to play the game and lose. But here I am where I am and enjoying a few years of Acura happiness, courtesy of my son. One thing I observe: the cars I relied on other people for, turned out the best!

I am settled into the Acura's zippy factor now. My niece, however, apparently was not, for when she rode with me last week, heading down the hill from the condo, she actually squealed and said "This is fun! Boy!" I looked over and she had an ear to ear grin on her face. I loved her reaction, enjoying the feeling again myself. Down on the flats I sensed I was talking to air, looked over and there again was that eyes wide, ear to ear grin. "Fun, huh?" I said. "Do you like roller coasters?" she said. "No!" I said. "Me neither," she said. Yet there was that marvelous grin, just shy of a roller coaster squeal. I grinned with her.

Maybe I like the roller coaster syndrome. Looking back at life's constantly changing and challenging courses, I can say it's a good life, requiring constant heroic responses--a squeal, then action. One goes on and on, buying the next vehicle to get to the future---this time an Acura courtesy of my son, a hero to me.

Windy Flats

2008-07-19T10:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I found myself at 8am, crouching to yank weeds from the fertile brown earth at Windy Flats in the Skagit Valley in north central Washington State. I have the gardening gene, from my Mother’s side, for which, because of some fool notion, I only became grateful as I turned 45. Mom died last year at 85, and I smile now to think that I, at 64 ¾, love forcing out the weeds as she did, roots intact, with a satisfying thonk. Ahh! Next one!

I was at Windy Flats enjoying a friend’s recently purchased gentleman’s farm…..or hobby farm one might call it. The tired farmers in training were still sleeping after a long day in the sun the day before. I didn’t want to wake them, hence the trip out to their new corn field.

A few weeks earlier, my friends had planted 3500 seeds of corn specially selected to germinate and produce ears quickly, in 10 rows 200 feet long. They had had the ground plowed by a neighbor, but with no tractor of their own yet to speed the planting work, the dropping of each seed into its row and covering it with the rich loam was truly a labor of love. Now 8 inches high, the corn stalks needed the rows between them freed of a dozen kinds of weeds, or native plants, as my friend calls them. I weeded energetically in the cool morning air. Looking back I was astonished to see how little progress I had made. It was as though the rows lengthened in front of me and shortened behind me. Standing at the end of the patch, I recalled the lesson in foreshortening from my drawing classes. Far end narrow, near end 5 times as “wide”. And in the middle? Still confused! Fascinating!

There is often a marvelous wind at Windy Flats, hence the name. It is surrounded by 5000 foot high mountains, snow capped, stunning. Looking at the valley from a nearby mountain on a summer day, one neighbor described stillness over all, except for the waving branches of trees in the flats. The earth in which the trees and plants live is incredibly fertile, lying next to the river as it does which has been known to flood, bringing along with the worries of too much water the rich, loamy silt that produces banner crops with no extra fertilizer.

But worry was far from my mind as I enjoyed connecting again with Mother Earth. It has been one year since I moved to a condo from a house with a garden that I loved. I miss the guaranteed pleasure that comes from making a landscape beautiful, trying new plants, watching leaves sprout, plants flowering on queue. It is a remarkable pleasure I’ve only enjoyed in the second half of my life. In addition to rekindling the pleasure of gardening, the setting for the corn field astonished me in the way it brought back memories of my childhood visits from Seattle to my grandfather’s hop farm in Eastern Washington.

As in the 50’s in Yakima, I loved the sighing of the wind in the giant trees, like the wind across the corn field that could make me grab at my hat. As in those long ago days, I took the time to watch flocks of barn swallows swerving and diving, changing their minds of a piece, landing on the fence and then rising over and over against the blue sky. (The birds at my condo are rugged individualists, like me I guess.) I loved the still, dank smell of the empty barn, sturdy at its base but full of future projects for making it a working barn again. Two stories tall and twice the size of my condo unit, it’s dusky interior holds odd bits of lumber, a ladder, a loft that needs shoring up and dust motes floating in thin shafts of light.

Perched on the barn’s cement foundation, I looked beyond the corn field to watch the wind play the field grasses, like a visible manifestation of musical notes of harmony. The grasses sported six or more hues of tan and brown and rose and blue and amber, as restful to the mind and eye as sweet music is to the ear. At the far corner of the pasture, I saw the flashing of red from a 15 foot tall heritage rose bush straining to escape the background shrubs, covered with old fashioned deep pink and pinker roses.

These pleasures of the awareness of the natural world were all as they happened to me when I was at my grandfather’s farm. My friend of the corn field too, had a similar vision created when she, as a girl, visited her aunt and uncle’s dairy farm in Kansas. Oh we are lucky to have such memories! The pull of the land and the quiet is so strong, but it is more than that. It is unhurried talks on the front porch, the slow way of moving, but accomplishing so very much, the willingness, no the desire, and sometimes the courage or patience, to stop whatever you’re doing to talk to a passing neighbor. It’s the strong pull of the cool dim parlor and kitchen, when it’s so very hot in the field, and the sense to come inside for a rest in mid day.

It’s the steadiness of working with Nature instead of ignoring it or denying its existence. It’s using your body and mind to create beauty and order, and wanting to learn what farmers have learned for centuries. It’s a desire to acquire the practical confidence of our grandfather and uncle mastering the tools of farming, to learn to care for what feeds us and gives us health, to complete the circle of the land feeding the body feeding the land.

My friend’s vision does not stop with the corn field. She can imagine more crops and animals gracing the ten acres that she and her husband have already come to love. At 60, she is no fool, but very much the realist, and knows that challenges, sometimes great, will become part of their time at Windy Flats. But she can see them abandoning their city home and moving permanently to the country. She sees plants and trees making the place a real Paradise. She can see different buildings, driveways and connections to the local community. I love drifting with her visions, sparking my mind and heart. Here she is in her corn field. ---->

It is 8am now, and I am back in the city at my computer, writing these words, because I don’t want to forget this gift of finding peace in a corn field. I have more to say, but for now I am stopping at being grateful for time created by gracious friends who are following their dream and have asked me to come and enjoy it too.

In The Now

2008-05-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

When I was 18, it was important to be In The Know. To be up to date on the latest ideas, fads, clothes, and activities. Living in our heads was the norm. What a person thought about was primary. The left brain was in charge. 47 years later, in my world, it's important to be In The Now. Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now and The New Earth are on sale at Costco for $8.95. It's becoming common. Or it seems to be from where I sit.

I am delighted by Eckhart's teachings because of their effect on stilling the 36 plus voices I've been carrying around in my head all these years. I realized they were there 30 years ago, and our means to quiet them worked short term. We called the voices "my committee" and we could could conjure up a new committee peopled with those we fancied could give us unconditional love. I chose my sister, a dear friend named Roxie, artist/author Barbara Berger and feminist Gloria Steinham. Whenever I got low, I'd imagine them standing in a semi-circle all telling me in turn "you are doing so great! I can't believe how strong you are! Go for it!"

It helped. It made me laugh, to play like that, which was good and lifted my mood so I could get back into action. But Eckhart's books describe something much deeper. Ever hear the phrase "become the chair", or "become the flower"? I read about that years ago when dabbling in Asian wisdom--and getting nowhere. My writer sister treasured her Zen learnings. But it was all Greek to me. Well, now I think (!) I get it. I'm not sure I could explain it to you, but I tell you I have been there. It's unforgettable. And easy. Is this making sense? Hah!

I understand that my mind/ego is out to get me. A majority of my thoughts are repetitive. Blah, blah, blah. Over and over. And that quieting the mind, dwelling on the now, throughout the day, brings me to a place of quiet presence. No past, no future, just now. The chair, the window, (if I'm indoors, as I am now) the air, the table, the sounds of traffic and birds, the energy pulsing throughout. It's there. It can keep my attention, bring stillness within. It's in the pause between breaths, which I can hold for moments on moments. It's in concentrating on the space present in my body and in everything. We are all mostly space.

The still part of my consciousness, which I am deciding at the moment is "located" in my right brain, has a mysterious energy. When I give attention to the stillness, or non attention, however you want to say it! -- it follows that I am calmer and more creative. Later, ideas fly into my mind so fast I am stunned. I stop worrying about my aging body, or my retirement, or regretting any action I've taken. I'm letting the world be, surrendering to what is.

My mind becomes a useful tool. I say to myself, "wow, where did that idea come from?"

The best part is I don't have to sit down and meeeeeditaaaaate....altho I don't mind that. But I love meditating, or staying in the now, in moments all day, knowing that probably 75% of my thoughts are repetitive. Clearing them out throughout the day leaves room for so much more.

My adorable grandson just had a temporary little blip in his growing up scenario. This is a challenge for his parents and us supporting cast of characters. Living in the now, as I am certain babies do, he will handle this challenge better than everybody else! And I want to transmit my surrender, that is, acceptance to what is, to him and his parents. What is, is always what is, most imperfect and unexpected. Today's challenge is always what we do with what we didn't plan on. I fancy I can affect the presence in us both from afar. So I put it in writing here to give it life, for myself and maybe for someone who reads this. Probably the truth is that I will help baby G by being like baby G!

2008-05-01T22:06:00.000-07:00

Graham and Me on the Punee

Soft Spring breeze on our cheeks

Solid chunk of baby boy in my arms

Out on the patio, bamboo screening on the roof above

The whole house empty except for one lady, a boy and his dog

Soft rhythmic rattle of wind through the banana and palm leaves

Patterns of dappled shade playing over us on the punee cushions

Little white dog napping on the sunny deck

Songs of a dozen kinds of birds from all sides

Water fountain gurgling as the flute section

Sparrows, finches, towhees flying about in an air show

One hovering hummingbird observing us from both sides

The whole hour soft and supporting

Nature’s heart disguised as breezes ruffling our clothes

Like a show performed for just us two

We talked--

4 month old Graham: “ouh ouh bl bl aaa”

64 year old me: “boo bah boo pa oh oh tu tu”

G: “bl wa ouh nn aah”

Me: “tut ah pa pa pa mm oo oo”

G: “wuh uh wa ehhhh”

We were considerate, waiting for the other to complete their thought

Our conversation covered many things

With words of peace and connection

I could never have imagined such a scene

Yet it was there for us, with my full presence as perfect as an infant

Languid, quiet, the moments of stillness lived perfectly

Nothing to seek or change or be off to do

A few moments sublime, unbidden, a gift.

I can be there now and wonder at it again.

April 18, 2008

2008-03-15T21:17:00.000-07:00

The Empty Book

Would you like it if, when you were a girl, the older women in your family wrote a little book of hints and tips for life and gave it to you? Well, that is what my family is now doing for our youngest cousin/niece. It is an adventure in writing for all of us, the idea created by my writer sister. My sister wanted to give something that would last to the niece’s she enjoyed so much, as balance to her own four boys. She wrote what she called an Empty Book, or Nothing Book, for my daughter when she turned 12 in 1986. My daughter was instructed to buy the next empty book, empty, for the next girl, who was her cousin. My sister filled the book and gifted it. That cousin bought the book for the next in line, it got filled and so on. My sister passed away the October after she wrote the fourth book. There were two more girls to go.

The family encouraged me to organize the project to keep it going and I did so. Together we women relatives wrote the 5^th Empty Book in 2005. That cousin got her Empty Book and has purchased the new book for the 6^th and last book. Next year my young grand niece turns 12. We have a year to do the writing.

My sister’s journals and letters are a source of material for what I put in the empty book. Our version includes pithy sayings, a little advice, some silly jokes and stories, tales of our family she should know and love, pictures of the rest of us at 12, what we liked at that age, on and on. Since the now 11 year old impending recipient lives in a very different world than even the younger cousins, I want to stay close to the origins of the project, yet write in a timely way. We want to have the book honor the vision of my sister who, with her journals, newspaper columns and newsletters, inspired so many women to be brave and daring and gentle and thoughtful and fun loving. Reading through her stories of humor and social comment and rural life and family tales I go back to those years we all lived, larger than life as it’s said, in her stories. My, the descriptions were fun! Full of the best or funniest events, always with passion and wisdom, the writing is still usually timeless.

Tonight I chanced upon the story of a time I hold closely in my heart and often think of when I am missing my sister. She described how one time I visited her when I was ill—with a non-communicable ailment that had me very low in spirit.

“….she came here to the farm and I made her an old fashioned pot roast, with carrots and potatoes and onions. I didn’t eat beef usually, but it felt like the right medicine. I made her bed with sweet sun-dried sheets because I love them so much—and she has never forgotten. She mentions it, time to time. Once in a while I wonder: if all of us women made soup or pot roast or chocolate chip cookies for each other, and massaged the backs of our necks, right where it’s tense…would the world’s cruelty be healed? Would men, as well as women, gather wisdom from our growing strength, and be healed too? My sister nurtures me continually. She sends me articles she knows will be of interest, and goes around telling people I’m special and gives me great gifts, like Magic Mikes and when only a few local people showed up for the party, she drove 230 miles to be here. We women can care for each other when we are sick…..and show up on each other’s doorsteps with pots of soup and bright smiles. ‘You look so cute, honey…’ “ 1995

I can still taste that pot roast, smell its heavenly aroma, marvel at her love and attention, sun-dried sheets and all. Having a writer sister was always a pleasure. I guess we were a mutual admiration society and I always peeked ahead in her newsletters first to see if she talked about me to the world. Then I started back at the cover and devoured her ideas, word by word. Now I cherish these old stories and smile to think our lives are in print for us to enjoy forever. She tantalizes me still.

I regularly swing from acceptance to sorrow to irritation, 5 years after she died. I suppose it will always be a little like that, despite all my efforts to stay “timely” and let her go. The Empty Book project brings it all back again, and I can marvel at her ability to stay with me in this way, and this way she had of gifting her ideas and spirit and love to her descendants.

We women will put in our 6^th Empty Book the imprints of our minds as they are this year. And our young cousin/niece will have them to keep as a cherished possession, just like the other cousins treasure their gifts from our gone missing, but with us in print, writer.

Ski Trip Via The Frontier

2008-02-29T07:21:00.000-08:00

I followed the young man who was buying my truck up the hills east of Everett, climbing ever higher. I saw the snow topped Cascade and Olympic mountains lying like immense parentheses around his neighborhood. I was mesmerized by the view. Under that immense blue sky, he pulled into his driveway, collected some things from his old car and brought them over to the truck. I had his bank check in my pocket and happy thoughts of closing the deal. During a few days of negotiations with him, we came to know and trust each other. Tales of disaster in these transactions nipped at my consciousness. But he was the one to first suggest meeting in a public place for my safety. Pretty quickly I could tell he was “ok”, a person more rural than urban. He ferried me to repair shop, bank, his home and mine, to make the transfer, all with good manners. I admired his ability to think the thing through as he went along. At my condo to get the title, he said,

“You have a great view.”

“Yes, but no mountains.” I said.

Later that afternoon, son Scott, who had given me tips on the sale along the way, asked me: “So how do you feel now about the selling experience? Would you do it again with more ease?”

I haven’t ever had a dream of victory that I can recall, but I did on the night I handed the truck keys to that young man---

“It’s a pleasure to hand these to you,” I said.

Though I have never down hill skied, I dreamed I was in the snow smothered mountains. I skied/flew down the paths and glaciers with the expertise of an Olympics star. With narrow misses down curving channels of snow, I was exhilarated by the whole thrilling journey. I came to a swishing stop. I looked over the front of my skis to see a 2000 foot drop. I had known without thinking to end my decent with my ski tips at the edge of the snow cliff. Chuckling with pleasure, I admired the view.

Waking, I remembered rushing to my window to watch my old truck drive off down my hill and onto the road and thought,

“I can see the mountains from my neighborhood; all I have to do is climb to the top of my hill.”

What I Find Renewed in Obama's Views

2008-02-20T06:12:00.000-08:00

Barrack Obama has my attention. To me he is someone who, like Hillary Clinton, has a platform I like, advocating reform in our American policies, but who has more: the ability to inspire Americans to change our thinking, as John Kennedy did for us in 1961. JFK got us into physical fitness and sent us to the moon and more. In 1961, I was 18 and had to take PE in college. Having never thrown a ball or run a race I hated the physical fitness, but now only a fool would disparage physical fitness. At first reluctant, I eventually watched with my family and friends every move of the astronauts, thrilled at every stage of discovery. President Kennedy's ideas affected us on a very personal level. He inspired us and changed our thinking. In two plus years, he churned things up. He and Jackie gave our emerging media based culture something to look at. Nothing wrong with that—we had a soothing role model for classy behavior. Perhaps with some limits in our understanding and his intent, we woke up a little, remembering.....we the people....

The stuck, depressing 50's became the turbulent 60's. We continued to look at things differently. Historians say JFK was not unflawed in his policies. To me, at his best, he got us interested in politics, the first step to social progress. That is what I hope Obama can help us do. He speaks of our constitutional rights as protection for our hard won freedoms. My understanding of freedom is I make decisions about my life, not a King. Now freedom is what corporations have, for they determine our actions. Many of us have been beaten down to hopelessness about political change concerning health care, education, and the environment. Could that change? I want to hear more from Obama on the definitions of freedom and democracy. What I am so very encouraged to observe is that he seems to understand the powerful human need for contribution, which, recognized and encouraged, gets problems solved so that human progress can inch forward. I am excited to think of the possibilities arising from this new viewpoint!

I know there's never anything new under the sun, and the situation is complex, more than I can address in 4 paragraphs. But here's my take: I have a sense that the message of other politicians is: let me help you get what YOU want. For YOU. And let's beat those other guys. Obama's ideas seem to come from a different place—a place of collaboration and contribution, with a focus on democracy to make the politician the employee of the voter, not the other way around. He said he will rely on the people best able to help make decisions.

Obama speaks firmly in support of the US Constitution. I agree that democracy is not perfect, but is a highly evolved social effort, its principles protecting individual rights. World views change—this is not 1961 and the challenges are new, but I look with hope to Obama for taking us to the next level of our education--he's already started. Heck, after listening for just a couple of months, he got me puzzling out my ideas in this blog. Although my heart skips a beat in considering I may have to change some core beliefs---I got through PE....will I have to stop using plastic or attend political rallies or study democracy.......live more simply?---so be it. I want to support him as he challenges our thinking, in his hero’s journey.

Giants Manual

2008-02-18T18:39:00.000-08:00

How To, Step by Step, for Brand New Boys

Section I: Introduction
Welcome, little boy, to the earth. We are all so incredibly pleased you are here. And it is such a beautiful place; you are going to have a really great time here. I know, there’s a lot to take in, right at first, but trust me, you’re going to have some fun. Let me give you some of the basics. You have two handsome and beautiful giants at your command who are called parents. They love you more than anything they have ever loved, akin to their love for each other, which of course you may not know about yet, but you will see what I mean soon, and so you can feel safe as you discover your new place. They will protect you and care for you while you are here on Earth.

Section II Sounds, Dogs and Boys
There’s a lot for you to get used to but, there, there, my little one, everything is going to be just fine. Your new place has light and temperature changes and textures and tastes to learn about. It has soft fabric and warm liquid called milk that’s really delicious on your tongue, flickering shadows at the window and the sounds of little creatures up high called birds. They sound sort of like a little chirp. But, well, you will see. It’s really a beautiful sound. I think you will know it when you hear it.

You have in your middle some feelings that are really going to take precedent for you over a lot of stuff at first, and those come from what’s called a tummy. It’s ok, just remember that whatever’s going on there changes constantly, so don’t get too upset about it, honey. Your handsome and beautiful giants will help you with that. In fact they’ll help you with everything.

You will be amazed at what you learn every day. You know what your giants have? A dog! A dog is a little creature, a breathing creature like you, but different, sort of in the same category as the chirping bird, only he’s furry and wiggles and loves to play with little boys. Play means throw a ball and the dog catches it. A ball is a round thing that rolls. Ummm…...round is a shape. Catch is when the little dog gets the round thing in his mouth. Little boys are what you are.

There are more little boys! Isn’t that great? Play is what you will like best. Best means how you feel when your mouth goes kind of wide which is called a smile. Your mouth is what goes for the milk I mentioned earlier. Your giants have mouths too which they use for what we call kisses, which you will like to feel on your skin. Skin is the package you came in.

Section III Water
This section is about water, because there’s something I want to tell you about your giants. They are nuts about water. They like it like you like milk and kisses. Water is something you know about---you came from it not too long ago. This water that they like is very much the same but in a different place. Your giants like being in the water and on the water in, um, things kind of like bassinettes (the thing you sleep in) you’ll learn about later, and flying over the water and just gazing at the water. Water that makes a sound like what you heard before you met them.

There’s a place called beach that has a lot of that sound and they will take you there when you are no older than a minute. They will show you water that waves and moves just like the water music you knew before. And now you will learn about this new water in a place called a city that has weather that is very soft. Soft is what your blanket is. Blanket is what you have over you in your bassinette. Weather…..let’s wait on the weather for now, ok? This all might seem a little complicated right now, but believe me, you will know and love the sound of water when you hear it. And I mean forever, beyond 10 million giant kisses.

Section IV More Sounds and Noises
Your giants might surprise you. Heck, there’s no might about it. Sometimes they’ll come close and wiggle and you’ll think they look pretty goofy, but its ok, go ahead and laugh by making your mouth really wide, because oddly enough, that’s what they’ll want you to do! Then you’ll see some really fun stuff happen! You’ll wonder some days what they’re doing. But don’t worry, just look at them steadily and they’ll do something different. They never met you before either, see —and you are the first little boy they have ever had, so they will take some time to get to know what you like.

Your giants will teach you little by little what stuff is for, and how to do stuff, and they will really like doing that. Isn’t that the coolest? Really, you have got it made. And you’ll like it when they make lots of noises with their mouths as they look at each other and then they’ll come together and look at you, over and over. When they look at you together, you will be so happy you will wiggle. Wiggle is what your dog does, remember? It will be very nice. Oh yes, and sometimes you will hear your giants make their noises from far away, like behind something called a door, hum, hum, mmm, hum, and it will remind you of the same gentle, familiar sounds like the ones you heard before you came out of the water, and you will smile and nod off. That is, close your eyes and go dreaming. And if your guess is that the hum, hum, mmm, hum is them talking about you, bingo!

Section V Giant Eyes
Boy, there’s a lot to learn all at once, but just remember that, when you enter earth’s atmosphere, if it seems a little scary and bright and noisy, and stuff happens that you never knew about before, just look for the eyes of your two handsome and beautiful giants and you will feel much better. You will see something in their eyes (look near the tops of them—their eyes won’t be hard to find because they’ll be holding you near them a lot, looking in your eyes) that looks like the happy dreams you had in the last few months, full of stars and joy and peace and delight in all that is seen and unseen. Just look for the light in their eyes and that memory will be yours again. Your mouth will go a little wide and all will be well.

About the Author of This Manual
Well, there’s more to be written in this manual, because there’s a lot to tell you, but that’s all for now. Welcome, little one, I love you before I know you. That’s the magic of a grand giant, me, which I will tell you about when I see ya. We will have to fly over the water and the waves to see each other but we can be together in our minds any time. See ya.

For Graham, Born December 4, 2007

BBGran

Connecting with compassion

2008-02-10T19:08:00.000-08:00

A man I met at a party today likes to walk in peace demonstrations. He was musing over the fact that the peaceful peace demonstrations got no attention. But violent peace demonstrations got a lot of attention. He was not unaware of the irony of demonstrating violently for peace. He said it could be his imagination, but it seemed to him that the police were acting more quickly in violence to the demonstrations he attended. Their peace group had discussed this and some of them decided to attend classes on peaceful demonstrations. ( Creeeeek! Did you just hear our old world evolve a little? )

I have been listening to an interview of Thich Nhat Hanh today and joyfully listened to him describe walking meditation --- his phrase on looking at the miracle of "the blue sky" reverberates in my mind. He says that we cannot possibly effect change unless we change ourselves. We all know this. But somehow his gentle voice, and at 80 plus years of age he has been at this at least since before Martin Luther King nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize, penetrates my busy busy mind.

Thich Nhat Hanh describes mindful meditation as a way to increase compassion for ourselves and others. He says that when we are attentive to our own suffering, we will know that of others. That knowledge can break cycles of suffering and violence in the world around us. If we are mindful, we can transform the suffering within us and around us.

This experience for me included the marker of my daughter's image of an open heart that she described in her blog. I have been noticing myself noticing my responses to stimuli with a gesture towards my heart. I move my hands to my heart, as she said, and then open them and notice the change in perspective. A simple thing, but somehow as soothing as the voice of the monk.

Thich Nhat Hanh presented his ideas at a retreat for police officers. One woman police officer was the one who brought the retreat into reality, after having the practice create remarkable interactions with people she had to arrest. When she had doubts about sharing the idea of compassion with fellow police officers, who have to carry a gun, she was told by Nhat Hanh's assistant: who else would we want to carry a gun except one who will do it mindfully?

What had happened in her own case was that with Nhat Hanh's practice, her heart began to soften --she had become very mechanical about her job. She had had no idea that she had shut down that way. And she realized that as her energy changed, the energy of the people around her began to change, even the people she had to arrest. She realized she was witnessing crime that involved misplaced anger because people are in incredible pain. And giving that pain a voice transformed it.

I am loving the heart symbolism as our popular national holiday comes up next week--Valentine's Day. Shall we transform it to Hug A Cop Day? More realistically and practically, training on compassionate listening for police officers would be money much better spent than money spent on bombers for war, which break the hearts of millions. Demonstrators training in compassion and police officers training in compassion. Maybe they will meet them there.

The Anatomist

2008-02-02T21:34:00.000-08:00

“They're transparent...” I said to myself, looking down on my spread fingers. I could suddenly vividly visualize the tendons and muscles, the connective tissue.

“This is a fabulous new view for me of the human body” I thought. I just finished reading The Anatomist by Bill Hayes. In telling the story of Gray’s Anatomy, Hayes writes in detail about med school dissections he audits to make his book more poignant. Phrases like “Leaving one side of our cadaver intact, we carefully dissect the other, exposing the intermediate and then the deep back muscles….” changed from abhorrent to fascinating. My ghoulish viewpoint became an observant one. Mr. Hayes described in words the amazing techniques of dissection, making them interesting and easy to imagine. I could not believe how clear his descriptions were.

The author says that after the gross anatomy experience, “You see life with a kind of picture-in-picture feature..” And I agreed.

I read half the book, then put it down for a few days. Picking it up later, I was surprised to see how low my retention was. What was so fascinating had become a little hazy. But then on page 172, an anatomy instructor, concerned about fewer anatomy classes as part of the MD curriculum, tells Hayes,

“…..there wasn’t really much new to discover in the body. It had all been found………but the real deal is, you can’t do medicine without it. ….Of course, you can make it a lot more streamlined. Teach it in a much more focused way. Doctors don’t remember any of this stuff. Ninety percent of what we throw at them doesn’t stick.”

Comforted, I read on to the book’s fascinating conclusion, boldly identifying with the student doctors' forgetfulness! And then I was entranced to see how all that anatomy on cadavers only helped a little to understand death. That death was still a mystery. I have seen two loved ones die and I have witnessed the shifting of consciousness that occurs at death. Like a light going out. Or happiness leaving the material world…Or….and oh yes! How the experience of the loss of a loved one is what you most anxiously want to share with……oh! but the one you want to share it with is gone!

I admire Haye’s attitude of respect for the cadavers and the people they used to be. I know a little more about anatomy now, and The Anatomist brought me a new view of the work of doctors, physical therapists and other medical technicians.

Education as Inspiration

2008-01-27T11:57:00.000-08:00

Education As Inspiration

The Rev. Father Stephen Sundborg underscored my view of education on a personal level today. In a Seattle Times editorial, he said this:

Never underestimate the power of education. A university education yields the best "return on investment" of any investment a person can make. Graduating with a $20,000 debt pales next to a working-lifetime earning power of $1 million or more compared to that of a high-school graduate. This doesn't account for the inestimable return on investment in the reflective and intellectually engaged quality of one's life. Even more important is the multiplier effect our graduates have in bettering society. One of the most satisfying parts of my job is knowing the significant things our alumni are doing and realizing that the university contributed to the human beings they are. This is the greatest return on an investment.

Having begun a community education class at Cascadia Community College, above, after a couple of years of not attending classes, I am again happily reflective and intellectually engaged! Also his ideas on mission:

Say who you are, then live by it. There is nothing more important for a healthy university than a president's clear articulation of its educational mission. The catchphrase is, "No money, no mission." But equally true for a complex, values-oriented university is, "No mission, no movement." The most important thing I've done in 10 years is articulate and embed in all we do our mission of empowering leaders for a just and humane world.

Again on a mini-local level, I influence my small world, and education helps me stay on track with my own developing mission.