SILENCE OF SNOW

Sssshhh. The sky is bluebird...tufted clouds rip across the sky ushered by a cold north wind. Winter is certainly here bringing her lacy frills and plenty of surprises. This has been a letting go Christmas for me. It is such a time of bitter sweetness and sweet bitterness. Everything seems stilled and hushed and silent under a deep blanket of snow. Transformation is never easy but this past year has presented more than the average year of challenges. I love our winter sits by the fire dreaming up what we'll do when winter is over, but I've come to feel a little suspicious. It is such a delicate dance in this life...the making of plans and the dreaming of dreams versus the hand that life plates up for you. Sometimes I feel like I went to the buffet table and helped myself to my favorite balance of dishes only to arrive at my seat with a plateful of something I don't recognize at all. My choices ...have the fairies spirited them away? And did I really want that stuff on my plate? Or is this unexpected work of elvishness a tasty nourishment that I don't recognize only because I haven't yet tasted of it? I have been unemployed for most of the past 2 years. My challenge has been to speak kindly to myself and consider myself a valuable human even though I am not piling up any ch-ching. After passing through many changes and a lot of spare change, I found myself growing a delight in not working for someoneelse. For the first time in my life...I have been commander of my own ship. Navigating my day based on my bodie's need for food, sleep and exercise, I have been quite productive...growing a food garden and putting up all the good veggies for winter...caring for my home inside and out...making sure to get into the woods for forage and frolic regularly...writing...entertaining friends and exploring new ground. I did not ask to be unemployed. And certainly not for so long. And I am not collecting from anywhere. I collected for 5-6 weeks after I got laid off but when I went away for a vacation in Antigua, I let my claim lag and never resumed...feeling like I wasn't bad enough off to stay "on the dole". It doesn't ever feel especially good to collect when you are an able bodied worker. Anyway...I grabbed up a job at Sunday River for the winter...part time but at least something.

So...I trained for 2 days and then after calling over and over for a schedule, finally started my job the day after Christmas. Then the snow came. My first day at work was 7-4:30 and I came home exhaustipated. There are so many layers of dysfunction and mismanagement that I can't begin to explain or defend my choice. But on Thursday...during the epic snow...serving lines of people who become rude and overheated while they get their private lessons booked...all the computers were slugging along and freezing repeatedly creating frustration for ticket sellars and customers alike. We are told to answer the phones in one ring...yet there are face to face people who want your attention. The phones never stop. The result is a broadbased stress and frantic anxiety with everyone freaking out inside themselves because they are in an impossible situation. Thats all well and good but the heat is turned up to what feels like 90 degrees and I've worn long johns because the day before it was so cold. Add an occaisional stress related hot flash...no time to eat or drink or go to the bathroom...and the usual flubs that occur when you are working with software that you haven't been completely trained on and you get a rather disgusting dish that you can't begin to digest. By noon, I quit. And thank the lord I did because I managed to make it through the day until I cashed out at 5 pm and went home totally baked.
Now I am feeling absolutely giddy with joy to be unemployed. What's most devastating though...is the realization that they are paying me minimum wage...and that after all the stress and bullshit...I realize I've made about 65 dollars. I'm just happy to be able to say...stuff that and lay it to rest under the deep silence of snow. May you rest in peace...you who thought dollars would increase your sense of value.
I am a bird in flight from a cage of dysfunction and I heartily embrace my new found unemployment. Huzzah! Somethings just are not worth the agravation.

If I ever manage to find my happiness at Sunday River...it won't be as an employee. Look for me on Ritestuff...practicing my wing extension...making shushing noises in the silent snow.

SILENT NIGHT HOLY NIGHT

Technology is toying with my heart. I have grown fond of keeping up with my friends on Facebook and yet, I often feel irritable after sometimes losing whole hours of my life to cyberspace. I love being connected to see the doings of my kids and their friends and yet the post Connecticut tragedy debate over guns and making schools safe gets under my skin. I'm not sure I enjoy the constant bickering of folks who think they have the answers...or better yet...those who think theirs are the only answers. I write my blog and wonder why I'm putting my heart out there for all to see. My quiet pen scratching under a warm blanket yields better writing by far and I vascillate between wanting to throw out the darn computer versus using it as a tool to express myself to those who might care. I don't like how Facebook makes you think your hanging out with friends while nearby social events go unattended. Between the TV media and the political rants, my Christmas wish this year is for silence. I wish for a deep prayer to rise out of the silence...a prayer of peace for the survivors and families of the lost angels of Connecticut...a prayer of healing for Barret Raymond's family and friends who are trying to wrap themselves around his likely death in the cold Hudson River this Christmas...prayers for Izzy...a local little girl who is losing her battle to leukemia and for her friends and family. My heart could cry a river for the depth of loss for so many this Christmas and yet...there is a hope. A hope for the raising of human conciousness and for the global human being to step up to the plate to begin to take healing action of behalf of our sad, sick planet. There is the bleak darkness of devastating loss...and yet the flicker of a flame of hope. Words cannot express the ache and yet deep beneath...a tinkle of joy that sends up a hope for a better future for mankind on this planet. I'll be lighting a candle tonight in my window...any spirits wandering the night are invited to stop in...sit by our tree and warm themselves by our woodstove. Please...you are all our hoped for Christmas Visitors...and our love for you lights our hearts.

DELECTABLE DAYS OF DARKNESS

The days continue to grow longer in their darkness, making daylight short but sweet. As I continue to be unemployed, I reap the great gift of experiencing the Season Of Giving without any rush or pressure. I do believe it is the first Christmas Season of my life where I do not have to squeeze the hustle bustle of the season into the few hours between work and work at home. What an incredible luxury to move into the Christmas season fully able to breathe. Even though this years' challenge comes from a non-existent cash flow, I have been savoring the sweetness of giving from my chest of hope. What's in my hope chest?

This year, I find my chest is full of time. I have time to make my wreathes. I have time to prepare my summer's worth of making medicines...tinctures, elderberry syrup, and a Native American muscle rub medicine made from the bark of the White Pine. I have time to offer my hands to help a local non-profit get a time-sensitive mailing sent out. I have time to prepare a gift for a local child challenged by her fight against Cancer. I have time to bring on the Christmas tree and enjoy it for days decorated only in lights. There is plenty of time to cook up sweet treats for the holidays and for the first time, I will be joining local folks at a Christmas celebration for the wisdom-seeking seniors of the Western Maine Senior College. After 12 years of living in this area, it is high time I spent the holidays investing my time being present here in this community.

My hope chest is also full of beanie babies. Years ago, when I was working at Abbott Library, my sister became obsessed with the beanie baby frenzy and she came up to visit me in the lunchroom and dumped a big bag of beanie babies on the table. Like a virus, the beanie baby germ spread all around the library. Beanie babies became the prize for the summer reading program. People were collecting them even as investments. I collected a crazy number of them and have kept them locked away in my chest for who knows what. I tried to sell some at my sister's yard sale this summer but every child who was drawn to an animal, I ended up giving them away. I gave away 4 or 5 and was surprised by the joy of making a childs' day. Decided right there and then, that it was time to free the beanie babies. One of my favorite memories of my sister Beth, was of a day we hung out together in Marblehead and bought little rubber animals at Hectors Pup...the local toy store. We were in our 20's but we played with those animals like we were little girls...making them dance and talk...laughing so hard we peed our pants. Beth was a gentle soul who loved animals and babies. Yesterday, I woke up and was writing my morning pages by the window. I was feeling very sad for a child who had spent the night in pain after her last dose of chemo. As I gazed out the window, an unusual winter rainbow appeared over the mountain to the northwest. I felt my sister and the Rainbow bridge appearing between worlds...and I set to work to bring that child some joy. I knew it would make me feel great but quite frankly, I had no idea how great.  I delivered a box full of beanie baby angels...each one offering an animal power to help her in her journey to healing her cancer...and each one had a matching teeny beenie to either keep or share. I read her mother's post on Facebook describing the secret box and went to bed feeling DELICIOUS! I also managed to deliver a bag to the Christmas for Kids here in Bethel and a bag full for my friend who's daughter-in-law is a physician for children with cancer. I slipped into bed last night with my heart al a tingle with bells and angels and for one very special night, I experienced the true deep Magic of Christmas...and it wasn't on TV.

This year, I dedicate my Christmas to releasing the wild animals stuffed in my chest, back into the wild where they can share their wild love with children who need a little extra hope this year. The idea makes my heart sing and the actual doing it makes my inner bells ring. Sure...I'm cash poor. But I have a heart full of animals hoping for love and plenty of connections to see that they do. ..time to put it all together and time to savor the gesture. I've crossed a Rainbow Bridge...held hands with the spirit of my sister and made at least one child believe in Magic.

The gift I have given myself? A heart filled with light. I am whole...and present. Halleleuia!

GRATITUDE-GO-ROUND

November means empty seed pods. The yard and the fields are covered with the white cottony down of the milkweed seed giving a foretelling of the white that will come and lay a blanket of softness over my whole visible world. I'm still deep in the mode of Thanksgiving. Gratitude lingers and underneath it a touch of melancholy. I really have lost the motivation behind my tendency to "put on Christmas" as a one woman show. The kids are grown and we all seem to live fairly close to the financial cliff. Material proof of our love for each other no longer makes any sense. I don't know if I'd even dare to buy clothes for the guys so often some greenbacks make an appearance in a poem or card but we actually tend to give what is needed rather than what is wanted.(Isn't that what tax returns are for?) I'm holding on to the gratitude because our society's traditions for Christmas no longer feel real or even sane to me. I fondly remember the frantic schedule of working and shopping and doing all the x-mas shows, walks, parties...the photos in Santa's lap...the feeling of never being enough and trying to cover every base including the cookies, the gingerbread houses and men, the homemade decorations...I want to go take a nap just thinking about it.  We always entered the New Year with a debt on the credit card that took months to cover. Now the nest is empty. The guys understand the value of money and the separation between being happy with less versus the neverending greed for more. I believe we all agree that just being together on the holiday is enough for us all. Exchanging random stuff isn't the reason for the season. So as long as I am focusing on the gratitude, it acts as a buoy for my spirits. The seeping sadness beneath is probably more about the end of our little family togetherness anyway. But I do think about the Christmas messages that we are assaulted with by marketing managers and commercials that try to tell us what we need...hiding the real agenda. That our ecomony is based on people spending money and therefore Santa is like the bellringer for the Salvation Army...only the Salvation Army is actually a litany of merchandisers like Macy's, Cabellas, JCPenny...and on and on. Children and parents are manipulated by corporations to need their products for their happiness. Such expectation breeds dissappointment. And it's sad really. People in my neighborhood are struggling to put food on the table and boots on their feet. Our family gave up on the stockings and gifts in a mountain under the tree many years ago. I must admit...it felt alot like detoxing from a drug complete with mood swings, drama and ancient dissapointments of unmade miracles.

Nowadays, as Thanksgiving and the spirit of gratitude subsides and the stirrings of the approaching Christmas season begin to quicken in my heart, I am realizing that one must pass through the sadness of old to reach deeper into the soil for what has true meaning during this holiday season. Our American culture doesn't provide anymore. Even the traditions of other cultures are fun to try on but like a fancy dress you only wear once or twice a year, it never feels wholly me because my life is a working life and I wear working clothes. I look to the seeds for inspiration...the seeds and the bulbs...and the garden. As the nights become cold and mornings frosty, I am constantly aware of what I planted and this time of the season for darkness, cold and rest. I remember my garlic bulbs under their blanket of oat straw and watch the milkweed seeds dance on the northwest winds being spirited away to a new sight where more milkweed plants can grow and bear pods and feed the hungry monarch butterflies in July and August. Nature has sealed everything in the cold and this is as it should be. The original seeds of Christmas came from human beings celebrating the Solstice...the return of the growing light and the end of the increase of the dark. Deep in my soul's soil is a place that remembers this season as a time of deep quiet, candlelight and the scent of evergreens...and always the music...beautiful music.

I go from giving thanks to wondering...what can I give? Because there is something about the season that beckons one to give. This year I've decided that it is time to open my chest and take out the mountain of beanie babies that I collected years ago and set them free...into the wild with all the animals. It tickles me. I am in the process of seeking places and people to give them too and as I release them ...more room is made in my heart. I loved collecting the animals and now I love giving them away. I am a spirit of giving. Invisible to those that recieve my gifts. Beanie babies. Seeds on the wind. An empty seedpod.  Life in the air. It's really exhilerating...and who knows what will come of it? It certainly makes me feel rich and generous and for that...again...I am grateful.

LESSON #103

This face swirls through my conciousness whether I'm awake or asleep. This is Bartholemew...or #103. I prefer calling him Bart because it makes me think of Bart Simpson...a 2 dimensional cartoon of someone's imagination. My all too human brain wants to distance myself...frame this face with something that makes me feel better about taking  life. Wednesday was Lamb Day. A first for me because it is the first time in my life where I am face to face with a four legged animal...a sweet gentle face full of innocence having learned only that day after day brings the joys of friends and family, good grazing and the pleasures of earth...mud, grass, sky, rain, sun and butterflies...and I (in the form of Stephen) am about to steal that life away and wrap it pound by pound for my basement freezer. A cold November thought...a chilly act of murder. The only food I've ever known personally were 2 chickens that survived a summer of predators to our chicken coop. I personally took those chickens to a community chicken day where locals could bring chickens that they did not wish to overwinter. 2 little hens can't produce enough heat to keep them warm for winter so the stock pot became their final resting place. I have learned to handle death. Mostly, I force myself to face it and the more I do, the more my life becomes vital and filled with energy. November sees me feeling gratitude for all the human faces that I have loved and lost over the years. I thank each and every loved one for being a teacher and for opening a window into eternity for me. But I also thank my animal friends. As I flip through my memory file, it occurs to me that every little death I've faced has helped me meet this moment now. The little turtle who burned in the sun...the chameleon my sister stepped on,   our first dog and at least 4 cats...a baby bird I tried to save...the more I reflect, the more I remember. But I was brought up being protected from death. It never occurred to me that the package of burger meat in the skillet was a whole animal once because it always came from the grocery store. The first time I had Sushi, I couldn't swallow it because it was raw and I could imagine that fish alive and whole. I had to warm up to the idea in my head because something in my brain wanted to deny that I was capable of eating life and therefore just like any other animal. I can face the death...but not the killing. Stephen sent me away for a few hours on Wednesday to do the deed. When I took Sadie and drove away, knowing this animal would be dead next time I drove in the driveway...it was tearfully and with a lump of bitter grief in my throat. I had a long moment with Bart as he stood in the back of the truck wondering what was going on. I rubbed his head...saw the sweet innocence in his eyes. We butted foreheads and I thanked him over and over. He obliged by pressing his head against mine...he looked into my eyes unaccusingly. That is the look that has been following me around for a few days...more like an angel than a ghost. When I returned, Stephen confessed that he too had wept when he shot #103. I celebrate his range of emotion and am so glad I am married to a man who has the courage to share his feelings and to feel his feelings where other men tend to deny them in favor of an artificial bravado. I celebrate the range of his feelings and his owning them. He opted to be the trigger man in this, our adventure of harvesting our food.

Intense...yup. To make a killing on a beautiful bluebird day...to stain the grass with blood. Interesting to watch myself mentally wrestling with me as killer. I actually feel it sometimes in my garden...at the end of the season when it is time to pull up spent plants, I feel their demise as they have shared their fruits with me all season. There is no eating at all for anyone without killing. That is the bottom line. There is no such thing as "cruelty free" food. No matter what you put in your mouth...you are killing it. And if you have bothered to grow it yourself...you forge a bond with the living thing before you eat it...whether it's lettuce, spinach, brussel sprouts or basil...deer, lamb or chicken. Every manifestation of life is a repository of light from the sun...stars and universe. And every creature on Earth is a consumer of light energy to stay alive. What better way to learn that I...and all humans...are simply creatures doing what they must to survive. And that it is gratitude...that attitude of recieving a sacred gift...that allows a human conciousness to thrive.

With Bart...I have entered into a holy union. It is the deep reverence and the ability to recieve Bart's life and death with an attitude of gratitude that puts me on the same wavelength with him. We are one. To be willing to open myself up to the experience of killing my own food is a gift I've given myself. Many people never experience that intimacy. It is WILD. The wild self ...the animal self...at it's most basic level tends to be something we humans defend against in our civility. And yet that wild instinct is deeply tender and kind. Behind the killing is a softness...a tender gentleness that runs beneath the act itself. How else do we grasp the deeper truth of life on this planet than by challenging ourselves to face our fear...and sometimes that fear is protected and defended by what we think of ourselves. One act of courage in the face of fear has the power to bring a deeper level of knowing. Under that cruel killer of innocent life is a wild animal doing what it must and even deeper than that is the sweet reverence for life in all it's diversity. Loving my wild self has been one of my fondest dreams. It's why I'm here...in Maine.

I'll spare anyone who reads this of the details of my experience as a butcher. It's definitely not a hat I want to wear on a daily basis and I have a new appreciation for how a person can hear this career as a calling. We can eat meat only once or twice a week and it is plenty...so one or two animals a year is all we need. It is important to my wild soul that the animal I eat had a good life and a healthy environment. I realize that by making sure my food has a good life, I am putting myself in the same environment...and exposing myself to a good, healthy diet of light. And I hope that when I am the harvested animal, that my energy brings light and sustenance to those who contributed to my life.

So I'll leave you with the syncronicity of my Killing Day as an example of how the wild universe provides us with support and affirmation when we most need it. As Stephen concluded the act of killing, I was throwing a ball for Sadie...keeping her focused and distracted from the bloodletting. I noticed a huge hawk circling above us. In my peripheral vision, I noticed two of our neighbors chickens had escaped from their chicken condo and were walking around oblivious...innocent to the circling hawk who obviously had his sights set on dinner. I am frequently the recipient of eggs from these particular chickens and I felt a responsibility for them as no one was at home. Sadie and I rounded them up and got them under cover. The universe gave us an opportunity to save life at the same time as we were consuming life. And I take that as an indication of karmic balance. I am grateful to be alive...grateful for my life and grateful to give my life when my time comes. Lets just say...I am gratitude this year...grateful to be me...grateful to be traveling through life with my Stevo and for being open to recieving our 2 wonderful male children...I'm even grateful for our lifetime of economic challenge because it has taught me...life supports life...even if you don't know how or where or why. Somehow...our needs are met and I am so grateful.

MAKING A KILLING...GRIEF AND GRATITUDE

The November chill has begun...though the commitment just isn't there. We're looking at 60's for Monday and Tuesday after a tiny slice of hard frosty mornings and even a frosting of snow that looks wonderful from the porch as we look up into the ridge where Mt. Washington, Madison and Adams stand white against the blue sky. Winter is coming. The harvest is in and even as I write I can feel myself backing away from where my heart wants to go with this blog. I feel the fingers of grief squeeze a little around my heart chakra as I look up towards the woods behind the house. Now that all the vegetable labor is done, I have begun preparing for the more intense labor..the harvesting of our year's meat. Stephen has gone hunting for a deer. And Monday, we will go to a farm to pick up our lamb. I feel the coming of the killing. There is a sense of dread...an empathy for one warm blooded creature for another. I imagine that one day, my life will be taken. And I hope it is taken for the enhancement of someonelse's life. But today...as I walked with Sadie in the woods behind our home, it was with a heaviness of heart. I feel intense grief and have myself a good cry among the trees. Our neighbor has been logging so she can put a new roof on her house and the removal of many trees has changed the appearance of the land. The logging combined with the the loss of leaves makes everything look strange. There are sheer clouds in the blue sky telling of upper level cold while a warm front begins to make it's way through. It is fitting that the work of death and killing be done in the dark days of November. Stephen is the one who actually does the deed. I have killed fish and chicken but have never summoned the necessary commitment to kill a 4 legged animal myself. I remember when I lived in suburbia, how horrified I was by the mere thought of Stephen hunting a deer and hanging it. 12 years have passed and my whole attitude to hunting has changed. I always believed that if I could face cleaning and dressing a fish or bird, I had a right to eat those creatures for food. I have always felt that if a person is going to take the life of a creature, it should be considered a great gift and reason for gratitude. But in the past 12 years, I have educated myself about factory farming and the irony of purchasing meat from a grocery store. Now that I know how American meat is raised, I can no longer eat it. For me...it's not about the depersonalized packages wrapped in plastic and never seeing the actual animals hanging in the butcher shop. I've heard many folks confess to preferring grocery store meat because of the anonymity between you the buyer and the meat you take home to roast. The killing of thousands of animals who have never lived to move or graze or enjoy the summer sky...that seems to be the most violent of all killing. If it was the only way to put meat on my table, I don't know if I could do it.

Take hunting. Stephen is out there waiting to meet up with his buck. He must move through an entire process of stalking, making eye contact and then prevailing over the animal with a sharp aim and quick pull of the trigger or the animal will prevail with his instincts and speed to preserve it's own life. When the moment for killing happens...a hunter can freeze or become all shaky and miss the moment. If he shoots...there is another whole process to go through. The deer can keep moving...run scared and wounded until it falls or God forbid, the shot isn't fatal...a further killing has to happen. Perhaps a hands on moment with a knife to the throat. During the process, a man and his animal are breathing together the same air...sweating together...communing together in a deeply personal way as hunter and hunted comingle in the November woods. Sometimes a hunter can get kicked. I guess the thing that makes this meat different is the soul's connection made during the hunt. It is met alive...individual to individual.

The same process will happen when we pick up our lamb. Stephen will be shooting it himself. Again...I probably won't be there for the actual moment of killing. He will share his story and I will shed my tears. I always do. Life that is taken is a moment for sadness. It is a time of deep grief. There is no getting around it. My heart aches for both the wild hunted creature and the creature who has been raised for food on a farm with others grazing under the warm summer sky. Both animals will have lived. They will have enjoyed their lives and their food foraging and their families. They will both meet Stephen's eyes before they die and they will feel my tears...and they will know our gratitude by our grief.

Growing my own vegetables has tenderized me to the subtle difference between eating store bought vs. eating my homegrown. I hugely favor my homegrown because it isn't just about eating that carrot. I made the bed for that seed...planted it and weeded it and watered and worked for it. That carrot, to you might taste the same as the one at the farm stand but to me, that carrot feeds my soul. It is the result of my labor and sometimes my tears. So to is the harvest of our 1 deer or our 1 lamb. There is a wild encounter in the plucking of the animal as there is in the picking of the vegetables. I welcome it. I welcome the grief. I welcome the gratitude. And yes, I will help cut up the meat and bag it for the freezer. But I'll cry first. And I'll give thanks with words written by an ancient friend...the poet Kahlil Gibran.

"When you kill a beast, say to him in your heart...by the same power that slays you, I too am slain and I too will be consumed. For the law that delivers you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand. Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."

Truly. I am that deer. I am that lamb. There is a killing moment and not only will our souls merge but our bodies will too...over the course of the next year. May all who are hungry be fed and satisfied.

TIS MY SEASON OF GRATITUDE

Happy November. I meant to get 1 more blog posted for October but yesterday just slipped by so fast that I rolled into November without even realizing it. October has been wild...yep! One wild month. I spent the first 15 days of the month sick with some kind of flu bug and I turned sixty. We then had an earthquake and a hurricane...mild though they were, they were enough to make my mother tremble and me kneel down on the ground in prayers of gratitude to live where I live. Two of our dear friends died of motorcycle related injuries and their void is huge. Mortality is a strict teacher  and I try to pay attention without losing heart. October saw me planting 220 bulbs of organic garlic and bedding them all down in compost and oat straw. The ground can freeze anytime it wants to but I  haven't yet had a killing frost in my garden and I am still picking broccoli, collards and kale. Now it's hunting season and in some ways I feel like the woods are taken away from me because there are enough accidents that it's rather scary to go walking in the woods even with hunter orange on but I do sometimes just because I need to NOT feel intimidated. Sadie misses our woodsy wandererings and so do I.

Hurricane Sandy did the job of removing all the golden brown and yellow leaves from the diciduous trees so once the yard dries out, I can do my last mow of the season. Then the mower gets sent to the back of the barn and the snow blower comes down to the garage. Our delivery of firewood is nearly all stacked and under the porch roof. This weekend we will turn the clocks back and our mornings will naturally start earlier. Stephen has been working on a remodel of our downstairs bathroom that comes to completion today or tomorrow. It is a huge change...a healing of sorts and I imagine it will have a wild effect on our psyche's over time. I've been enjoying long swims in the pool at the Bethel Inn, thinking about my Dad and the warm turquoise water inspired me to paint the bathroom the color of Carribean water. Perfect to show off a little water color my Dad did of the beach house we enjoyed our lives long at the beach we went to as children. Stephen and I wander around the house just loving it out loud. For us it is a perfect blend of old and new...a craftman's house that delights our souls with the slant of light, the placement of the trees and porches. Again...we are so grateful to be here where we are. We don't really need all the photos of Sandy's destruction to count our blessings and our hearts break for the pain so many are going through to see their lives upturned and their belongings destroyed. Just as easily as not, the hurricane could have followed a more northern route and our season of gratitude might have gotten off on the wrong foot. As I reflect on the month of October, I am amazed by the intensity of the changes wrought by mother nature. Nothing exemplifies it more clearly than the my experience of the earthquake on October 16th. What was an ordinary evening reviewing the nightly news turned extraordinary when the couch began to shake and the corner of our home vibrated to the sound of a runaway train. I thought there was a black bear on our porch shaking at the corner of the house. I kicked Stevo and told him to stop it. He thought an 18 wheeler went by with no lights. How we tell ourselves stories to explain reality...its a very human phenomena but all our explanations did was avoid the truth of the moment. That we were having an earthquake occured to us but only as a shared joke. When the ticker tape came across the screen and the truth was out...I went to bed in a state of awe. All I could say was...my mother trembles. We all tremble.

October was a good month for bringing out the true colors of our presidential candidates. It will be a re-leaf when it is all over. I've never been political. I just don't see the functionality of our government beneath the greed and lies and manipulation of the truth to make a political stand. I don't trust the government no matter who is in office...but I'll tell you this. I will always vote. And I will always vote for the person I percieve as being a human being with some integrity. Thank you to hurricane Sandy for showing us all one of the reasons for a good government...to come to the aid of people dealing with mass destruction. If the government wasn't owned by big oil and big Ag...there might not be a censure on the mouths of our nation's scientists and the general public might be able to see the truth of global warming. The biggest issue of all is the one the politicians are most silent about. What better way to create jobs than to deal with reality and begin the great work of saving our planet for our grandchildren.  Personally I hope Sandy has been helpful to Obama because as our choices stand...he is the man with a heart for the most diverse of American people and his word isn't changing every other day. The whole planet is at stake...and if the American people back Romney...say goodbye to the environment. We can't wait for big money on the issue of climate change. There has never been so much at stake in a presidential election. I may have my own private Earthquake if Romney gets voted in and I'll never believe the numbers...not when his son owns the voting machines of the swing state the whole election may depend on. October's political climate has been very like a cyclone.

Ah but now it is November...the season of gratitude. November is the twilight of the year...the river is swollen to overflowing and there is an unkindness of ravens in the hayfield across the street. All the trees are bare naked and stand against the sky like black lace. The huge orange moon has plenty of visibility even when you can't see the forest for the trees. I'm praying like a nun...on my knees yes I am for Obama to win the election...for the lamb that is readying itself for our table to have a good death...quick and sure...just the way I want to go...for jobs to come to our western mountains. but not too many...for the cold to come so the bugs die. The more I depend on my garden for sustenance, the more nature determines the flow of my days. The wild of October has worked it's magic and now I will give thanks for this one wild life.

Tonight I will put out a bowl of food for the souls who wander nearby. Maybe a weasel...maybe a bear or maybe a human...anyway...to me they are all saints. Happy All Saints Day.

ON FRED LEAVING

October is one of my favorite months. It's a colorful, sensual time beginning with the chill in the air, the smell of damp decaying leaves in the woods, the crinkle of dried leaves underfoot and the incredible freshness of the Maine mountain air. The clouds change and you are more likely to see a mackerel sky when there are contrasting air masses. This October came with a rough opening...a flu hit me that left me breathless and weak for about 15 days. Then, I turned 60. Talk about a chill...I guess it is hard to avoid the natural inclination to conduct a life review at the beginning of each new decade, and with the magnifying glass in hand and the questions pushing my gaze further and further back, I look back in hopes of discovering a new path for this stage of my life. I sometimes imagine myself as a brightly colored leaf drifting on the wind. Where will I land? And when I do...what growing process will begin? The sunny warm days push back against the cool windy days and frost nights. The wrestling match of air masses begins in earnest but the cold won't win out until November. October sunshine is special...golden, honey colored light that slants through the windows in the late afternoon. It has a dual nature like bittersweet...the parasitic plant that pops out bright yellow berries that burst into orange berries when the yellow jacket pops. Driving up the North Road the other day, we encountered a weasel. He seemed ambivalent about crossing the road and we got to watch him for a bit while he acted like he couldn't decide if he wanted to be on one side of the road or the other. The bracing chill of loss has visited several times so far this fall. There is a far away look as I gaze out the window and write...a bitter to the sweet. Lately, we have been experiencing a noticable increase in the number of folks our own age that are passing away. Most recently, a dear friend was taken after a motorcycle accident left him brain dead. This week we heard about a dear old friend from our past life in Marblehead who passed away day before yesterday out of the blue. All I know is, his brain started to bleed and he died Wednesday night. That was Fred. He was a good friend beginning in 1973-74...a jeweler who worked hard and steadily for all these years. I can see him now wearing his head gear eye piece that let him work on tiny things up close. He liked to smoke a cigar that, years ago, was a pipe. He loved to visit when I went in to his shop and we often talked about philosophy and the nature of life on this planet Earth. He came from a Jewish background, and I was brought up Unitarian and occaisionally we would discover big differences in the way we perceived what we believed to be our spiritual responsibilities as human beings alive on this planet. There was a quote that became our nugget of shared truth..."God loves an idle rainbow no less than a laboring sea." We talked about work ethic, duty and responsibility and I was taken by the image of God loving a rainbow because when we were first becoming friends, I was unemployed and exploring art...but feeling guilty about it. My puritanical roots just wouldn't let me have fun and Fred helped me to see the value in doing things that don't make me any money. Years later, when I left my first husband and just had to get out of Marblehead, Fred helped me escape by purchasing jewelry for a good price. He was kind and smart and a warm man who could also play a mean fiddle. His demeanor was humble and he always had a twinkle in his eye. The most juiced up I ever saw him was when he was working on some sacred Jewish artifacts...or a gorgeous sterling siver chalice that was for a local temple.

I let Fred into my heart. He put a few of my small dreams into jewelry reality. He made me a heart pendant that I designed when I first met my soulmate, Stephen. I had an idea and he made it a necklace. He also made our wedding rings. And when I had a sense that we would be leaving Marblehead, I had him set three small diamonds into my wedding band as symbols of my 3 men; Stephen, Sam and Will ...the loves of my life. That change in my wedding band was an effort to replace my grandfather's ring that was stolen from me when I moved to New York City. It made me feel whole again. But when my beloved father died in 1995, Dad gave me a sterling ring with thunderbirds on it. It was too big for me and Fred suggested I make it into a pendant. It has since become a sterling silver drum that holds a pinch of my fathers ashes inside. I was all nervous about making something with dad's ashes but after hammering things out with Fred in the realm of conversation, I made peace with my own odd request and love that pendant to this day. Fred took the time to know me even as he sat at that bench with his day's work ahead of him and his eye piece on his forehead.

Now he is gone. His life is a crisp orange leaf riding the wind to a distant strange ground and I will never again get to hug him. This losing of leaves is happening more and more frequently reminding me that I am now in the autumn of my life. The sacred wind is blowing...and some of those dancing leaves swirling in circles are members of my circle but only for a time. Every soul that leaves life on this Earth is another reminder that all we really have is today...this one wild moment in our one wild life. So...enjoy the wild ride on the winds of change and when your last leaf drifts slowly to the ground...let there be a field of garlic patiently awaiting the blanket of dying leaves to sustain it's growing once the bitter cold of winter is passed. Glory be. May you labor no more as you rest in peace FRED FINKEL...and may I count my blessings, my loves, my days as gemstones in a necklace linked by love.

ON TO THE SIXTIES

The sun is setting over the final hours of life in my 50's. At 4:25 on Friday morning, I turn 60. I keep saying these words to myself over and over and still they sound hollow and empty. But this change of decade seems harder than the rest. Oh, it's probably because I've never been here before and all the other decades are in the past. But when I say 60's, all I can imagine is free love, long hair hanging in my eyes, the fear in my parent's eyes, bell bottoms and beads and the change in the music. Woodstock was actually in 1969...so the images I have of the sixties are really the late sixties unless I care to recall the horrors in Life Magazine of racial tensions escalating as the work towards civil rights began in ernest. Strangely, I still feel like the same person...a shy, awkward, adolescent that cares way too much about what other people think and not nearly enough about how I feel. I can tap into her in a flash. She hovers around the periphery of things weighing out how it looks, how she feels, whether or not it's worth diving into and usually deciding that the risk of embarrassment is just too high given the learning curve to achieve mastery. Thank God we all get old. At least the wisdom of experience brings true learning and all that the nervous teenager carefully crosses out as weird, dull, old fashioned is entered gracefully as our children bring us up to our full human stature. I must say...my kids did more to make me the adult I am today than my parents did. It's almost like we are cartoon sketches of ourselves in adolescence with an emphasis on the defining lines...me/not me. But it takes your 20's, 30's and 40's to work out the substance and the colors and the facial expressions that reveal the heart truthfully. As a teenager, I smoked. It was part of being cool. Of pretending not to care. It was self preservation in a family of smokers because the smell wasn't nearly as bad as if you didn't smoke. So I couldn't beat em...so I joined em. I cared more about the looks of the package than what was inside. But that was a result of the focus of the times. For years, as a girl...it was all about looks. Looks and books. I had a need. From the time I was 10 years old, I had to have blank books for filling. I liked to write poems or jot down observations...or note a profound thought.  Something in me always reached for what was inside and if nothing was there, I'd make it up. Now there are three shelves of spiral bound, hard bound, cloth bound and even metal bound books hidden away in an upstairs closet. Because my mother was always busy with her 5 daughters...I tended to try to figure things out for myself. Besides...parents in those days usually focused on themselves. It was the era of children being seen but not heard...in other words, keeping silence. I spent inordinate time alone trying to figure things out by writing and by listening to music. Words have always been important and yet frustrating tools of communication. So what am I saying? I'm saying that I feel no different. I still feel that 18 year old perched on the threshold of adulthood. I still feel the awkwardness, self consciousness, judgements, doubts and hang-ups. Standing on the threshold of old age about to be 60...I am plagued with the same mental traps, knots and confusions. I am scared to enter old age as I was scared to enter adulthood as I was scared to enter motherhood. From this older vantage point I have the experience to know not to be defined by my fears and yet I still must wrestle the same forces that chew on my thoughts...sew seeds of self doubt...and try to convince me that I shouldn't care. I care. I care a lot. I care so much that even the candidates debates can send me to my room with memories of arguing parents and endless bickering about things that don't seem so important. I see the patterns. I see the growth rings. I see the spiral's upward spin and I know that each stage brings opportunities to become something more than we've ever been before and the stage always comes inconveniently...I'm never quite ready to jump when the time to jump comes...and yet I must jump. That is the only way to enter the flow...just jump and go with it. So here I am watching the sun go down on my 50's and still trying to understand what it was all about and in two day's I will turn 60 and another 10 year cycle begins anew. If I keep watching the sun set...will I miss the dawn. That is my fear...that my moment will come and I'll miss it because I'm so focused on a moment that happened last week or last night. They way it was always seems to could the way it is. You'd think knowing this would make it easy for someone to jump into the now...especially after practicing entering 6 decades. But it isn't easy. It is a daily challenge to be fully present to the present and yet it seems to be the key to being fully alive. So this is my birthday wish as I enter my 6th decade...I wish to be fully present to the now in looks and books, because I am still that cartoon teenager no matter how old I get and my 87 year old mother probably is too.  On your mark, get set....

IT ISN'T EASY BEING GREEN

On Wednesday night, the first presidential debate took place on the tube in my living room while I became sicker by the moment with some kind of disgusting flu that blossomed into a bronchitis and the feeling of an elephant sitting on my chest. (interesting image) I felt assaulted by the debate. It reminded me of my teen age years sitting up in my third floor bedroom listening to my parents argue. I distinctly remember the coldness of the house...doing my homework under my covers...wanting to barf because of the absurdity of my parent's repetitive arguments and the feeling of helplessness to offer something that might shed light and create peace so that I wouldn't be forced to choose between them. I felt the old pain in my ear canals, the pressure in my head...especially behind my eyes. The TV sound was noise assaulting my oversensitized mucus membranes. Perceiving the 2012 Presidential debate as parental disharmony is taking things just a bit too personally. Oh. But I was getting sick. This whole political polarity makes me sick. As if anything will change for a 60 year old unemployed woman by choosing either candidate. Sorry folks. You make your own reality based on the choices you make minute by minute...day by day. And so do I.

I'm going to vote for Obama because I truly believe he needs another 4 years to rectify the situation that Bush created and he is clearly making progress even if it doesn't fulfill promises made, he is moving in the right direction. But when Obama referred to "clean coal" in his debate, my jaw dropped. That and his coziness with Monsanto causes almost as much discomfort in my heart as Romney's pompous idiocy and his affinity for the big money. Of course Romney is bought and paid for and by people who could give a shit about me, or folks like me who work hard but earn low wages and care more about our quality of life than having intercontinental bank accounts. The value difference between Obama and Romney is the word "care". I want to vote for a man that cares...and not for a man who could care less. But every human that is handed the power of President Of The USA, is susceptable to corruption. I want a president that can address the big issues...the environment...climate change...protecting wildlife...keeping house for Planet Earth so that our children's children have a place to live. Unfortunately, I've yet to see a politician who is brave enough to get to the heart of the matter and strong enough to assume leadership in the environmental arena. Big oil owns them all and Romney was downright scary in his debate...he is a ruthless moneymonger and a threat to basic freedoms of press and broadcasting. Destroying public radio? Firing Big Bird? Come on. There are issues on the table here and now...why focus on destroying living things...like PBS? He doesn't care about the arctic..he doesn't care if Tar Sands pipeline covers the country. He wants more oil and gas and coal. His focus is on American fossil fuels and lacks imagination for safe sources of clean energy. He also lies and cheats. Did you see him using a cheat sheet at the debate? Not kosher.

I don't think it is Snuffleupagus that is sitting on my chest. It feels more like a circus elephant who is chained to greed going round and round in familiar circles because that is the known and familiar. When I can take a deep breath, I cough up green stuff and there is a whole feeling in my heart. I definitely empathize with Big Bird. I empathize with the oil slicked Eagles, gulls, dolphins,seals,and the polar bears seeking ice flows so they can feed. All of these creatures...like PBS...are living and offer every human who wants to partake, a piece of their wild magic as long as they have a place to live in peace of this planet. I empathize with the dying oceans, the crumbling reefs and dying habitat for more species than can be counted because we are destroying what we don't even know. And there isn't any time. The clock stops ticking soon on the ability to rectify some of the human damage done to Earth's creation. We are very nearly too late.

I'm going to vote. I'll vote for Obama. Even if he thinks there is such a thing as clean coal. There is a way for wildlife and people to live peacefully on this planet but only if humans care. At least he cares about people's access to healthcare, education...like any elephant worth her weight, the small and frail among the herd are protected by the big and strong. It's natural. Many countries provide healthcare for their citizens. It is not communism or socialism...it's CARE. So if you are one of my many Republican friends, do what you will with my blessing and I will try not to hold your choice against you. But someone please tell me what you see in that smug uncaring individual that is running against Obama? And please, don't try to change my mind. My heart is green and if you've ever planted a seed, you understand that growth takes time and patience to blossom and fruit...and if you neglect the seed that is planted, you will not find sustenance in it's fruit. It's up to all of us to care...about Earth and about each other...no matter what color we are...no matter what we believe...no matter who we love. We are all here for a reason...two legs, fourlegs, trunks and roots, fur, feather and we are all at the mercy of our human capacity to foul this planet to a farethewell. The least we can do is care.

Mister Rogers knows...there are many ways to say I love you...and here he tells the senate...you just have to copy the link and paste to your browser because I'm a techtard. Ooops. Is that politically incorrect?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXEuEUQIP3Q&feature=youtu.be

MOM'S HAND

Last weekend I went to Salem to hang out with my mother. It was a quick visit, just one night...and the time flew by. She has started at a daycare program which she refers to as camp. I asked her how she was enjoying the program and wondered what kinds of things she does and if she is enjoying any of the other folks who participate. She laughed and told me they do everything she used to do in girl scouts but true to her nature, she is not a joiner and she claims she enjoys it but does not participate. It's been a year since her fall. Truly, I had assumed she'd be long gone after seeing her face just after the fall. It was horrifying really...because she took the fall first with her cheek bone and gave new meaning to my visual of "face plant". I hear people refer to life as something fragile. Personally, I believe life is strong and tenacious and works tirelessly toward healing itself. Mom seemed more vital to me. Her movements were stronger and she even did the stairs with more confidence, one foot after another rather than one step at a time. She is getting up and out of the house every day so Susie can go to work and I sensed a more vital mother than I had one month ago. I'm amazed. Then I think of my sister Beth...she spent 41/2 years in a hospital bed after she coded at Brigham Women's Hospital and the team brought her back to life with the help of a respirator. There were at least 5 or 6 times where we were prepared to let her go because of respiratory issues that developed with various passing viruses. She seemed so frail for the second two years and had lost her ability to communicate verbally with us. But the heart beat on and what finally took her was a form of pneumonia. Again...the notion of life as something frail and delicate was a possible way of looking at the situation but more obvious to me was the message to the opposite...life was being hardy, tenacious, strong...a fire that didn't want to go out. For some reason, I was moved to take a photo of Mom's hand as we sat in the yard where Stephen and I exchanged our marriage vows. I spent most of the afternoon outside enjoying the sunny blue sky day, watching the squirrels and the birds and holding my mother's hand. Such a familiar hand...and it reminded me of dad's hand as well. Dad's hand was the color of cold roast beef on his palms and they were often warm. Mom's hand is mostly cold. I hold it in my warm hand feeling the exchange of energy pass between us. The love. Here is this woman who has taken me through the gamut of emotions...fierce love, admiration, fear, during the early childhood years and into the anger, hate, rebellion of adolescence. As I became a parent and worked to outmother my mother...to become a person "not like" her, I found I became more and more like her. Now in her elder years, I look at her hand. The veins are raised and blue...they remind me of a road map...the map of our shared lives...mother...daughter...mother to mother...even daughter to daughter. We chat about the people who were central to our family's life. We spur each other's memories. Hand in hand...we are two on the road
of life. I feel the miracle of her being still alive and I am so deeply grateful to my sister for stepping up to the plate to live with her during these tender last years. She has become a force of love. She weeps easily and laughs deeply. We laugh so hard together that we nearly pee our pants...that's a sure indication of friendship...something I used to do with my friends at camp...something Mom did too. I hold Mom's hand in both of my hands. All the intensity of adolescence is gone...the parental fear is gone...we've been through births and deaths...mournings and celebrations...this hand I hold is the first hand that reached out to touch me as I emerged to greet life on this planet. It is cold but it is still strong and can still bring tears to my eyes when she reaches up to brush the hair from my eyes. I don't know how to tell her how grateful I feel for the miracle of her continued life over the past year because we've journeyed together from the frail sick days when she felt "weak and puny" to the now...when we are roaring with laughter and fearful of the dribble. So I take a picture of her hand...so I can remember what it looks like and how it feels to hold it for a sunny September day in the garden while we ponder the wonder of LIFE...how it lives and breathes and wants very much to keep breathing...how it holds on for dear life. I thank God I can still give my mother a hand. And she can give me hers.

CHANGING RAYS

September's light changes the look of everything...the rays slant from a lower perspective and cast longer shadows with brighter hues of yellow and orange right at the time when the colors of the leaves begin to move through their changes in preparation for winter. I'm noticing, as the light changes, perspective changes...as it does for one individual standing on the threshold of the winter of her life. But just now...I feel lit up. There has been a male hummingbird feeding at our feeder...and I thought they had all left. It's September 12th. One year ago today, as my mother crossed the street on her way home from Steve's Market, she fell flat on her face. She had been working right up until her fall...two days a week at the Witch House in Salem. She managed to pull through a brain bleed that left her with some significant brain damage and has changed her life...she now needs 24/7 supervision. I am deeply grateful to my sister who moved in with her and has risen to the need with grace and humor...though I have moments of fear that she has given up too much to support my mother. But the heart will do what it must...and timing is not something I can control. For some reason, the hummers are enjoying a longer stay here in the North...and there is still growth in the garden despite the recent frost advisories. Today I celebrate the womanly strength of my mother and my sister. They amaze me and I feel proud to be one of them. It is the girls...the female hummingbirds who stay behind with the children to feed themselves and strengthen themselves for the long journey back to Central and South America. They males leave first. They don't have a choice. It's written in their crystals...the tiny navigating crystal that is in their brain, that is programmed with their journey map and their deepest instincts that preside over the choices that they make.

On Labor Day, Stephen and I took a motorcycle ride to "Wrinkle In Thyme Farm" to explore the possibility of raising our own lamb for food and fiber. For me, the motorcycle is a challenge to drop my fear and allow the wild and free wind to blow my hair, to ride under the open sky...to be brave and trust
that what will be...will be. I choose to take this risk...this day and I choose to accept the consequences whatever they may be. It is a form of meditation...to let go...to trust Stephen...to love the wild ride. At 4:30 pm we were riding home. So was our friend Raymond.

The wild can be anything I guess. It doesn't have to be out of the forests or the skys. I think anything that happens out of the blue is a manifestation of the wild in my life...like the sudden spotting of an eagle riding the air currents above the lake. You never expect an encounter with the wild...it stalks you.
At 4:30 on Labor Day, Raymond crashed his brand new motorcycle as he headed home from a ride to Erroll. We learned of the details from John, who was riding just ahead of him and saw the event unfold in his rearview mirror. The crash was treated as a fatal accident. Meanwhile, Raymond had sustained some significant head injuries after being thrown 100 feet or more...and his leg was broken and a shoulder was dislocated. Ray was still on lifesupport last Weds. evening when we talked to John....and medical procedures for his other injuries were on hold until he could breathe on his own. We learned last night that the family had met around the life support issue and a decision had been made to take Ray off lifesupport. In other words...the family put their trust in Raymond to make his own decision. If it is his time to go...let it be. If it is his time to seize the day and face the long journey to recovery...well so be it. Today...in my wild heart, I ran on my treadmill for Raymond. I find when I dedicate my workout to something greater than myself...I am better at fulfilling my promise. Running with Raymond...today, he and his family and all of us who love him...all are in my prayers. I usually put rock and roll on my Pandora Radio for my workout. The music...the beat...the rhythm lightens my feet and I run with a lighter heart. As I hit my 25 minute threshold, my old friend Brad Delp and his band Boston are singing..".I understand about indecision..."and tears spring to my eyes as I experience a sense of Raymond's indecision at this moment of his life...suspended with a life/death decision on his plate. I don't know what is acually happening, but in my heart I am with him and I am for him...what ever his decision may be. And as I slow down my pace for the last 5 minutes, I am listening to "Knocking On Heaven's Door". Why that song? Why now? A bubble of grief passes through my entire being as I let go. The tears flow. The ache in my heart is speaking to me. What is my story of Raymond?

I met Raymond at The Grizzley when we first moved to Bethel. He is warm and easy to talk to. His short stature made hugging an adventure and we became hugging buddies. I think every time I saw Raymond, I got a big bear hug, or gave one. He told me the story of how an eagle tried to grab his pony tail as he rode his motorcycle in Canada. The image of Raymond riding the motorcycle with an eagle on his back never once left my imagination and it was there when Stephen told me of the Great Blue touching his head with a flap of one wing as he rode his motorcycle just after his heart surgery..this is the magic of the wild...the wild medicine that touches a soul and brings life in...wild free life. Raymond had that kind of life and he had a joy that he shared wherever he went. Raymond made our floors shine and laid our magic carpet in our new bedroom. His presence is part of my home. He loved to ski and he sought out the Western Mountain on many occasions and he was part of our Locals Challenge ski race group. He was a friend and a comfort when Stephen and I had a rough patch in 2003. He was a person I never felt awkward with. I can't say I knew him that well. But I knew him like the fox that shows up every winter at the outskirts of the meadow. I knew him like the hummingbirds that feed from my nectar feeder. I knew him like the eagle that flys the river at 5:30 daily during the summer. Today I honor Raymond who lives in my heart whatever his decision will be. So be it. That is all out of my control. But what can I control? My own heart. I get it beating good and strong...send my love to the whole situation and pray he does as he sees fit. I love Raymond. Blueberry...as he was fondly called by some of the locals. Whichever you choose, Ray...Welcome Home.

This morning we were awakened by the beep, beep, beep of the school bus backing into our neighbor's driveway. Labor Day has come and gone and the young world is returning to the fall ritual of school schedules, new starts and fall sports. I haven't even looked at my blog since June 14th, so I've had a nice long break. I find it difficult to sit at the computer when the weather is gorgeous and a body just wants to move, so rather than force myself to blog, I let it go. I've missed it. I enjoy the connection it gives me to folks who say they enjoy reading what I write. It somehow completes the whole purpose of writing to have an audience and when I consider all the spiral notebooks sitting in a closet full of my daily rants and ponder the purpose of writing it all, I can only imagine that it took that much writing to develope my confidence to come out as a blogger. I am back. Resuming my blog is my return to school or my fall sport...my ritual walk into fall. I've decided to start a whole new blog to celebrate my 60th year and the beginning of the rest of my life. My focus is clear. Although I can become easily sidetracked by pop culture, the November election and several pet causes...like the Tar Sands issue and the melting of the Arctic icecap...I see my purpose. As I set out to seek my bliss, or redefine it for my new decade in life, I keep coming up with the same answer...The Wild. Where do I look to restore my soul? The wild. Where do I seek adventure and explore the unknown? In the wild. Where do my mentors live? In the wild. Where does my inspiration to keep on keeping on come from? The wild. Where do I find my favorite foods? Foraging in the wild. What stirs my deepest anger? The useless desecration of our wild lands for the continued use of fossil fuels that WILL run out and the abuse of aboriginal peoples who know how to live in a peaceful harmony with all of nature. I have no faith in the American political system. In fact I have lost faith in nearly every American system. It's unfortunate, but perhaps the first step in getting down to the truth. The truth is not very pretty either but I prefer basing my life on what is rather than on myths that are a source of brainwashing...so I am staying out of politics. I've had my fill of commitees and meetings where people talk one thing and do another. They are boring and hardly ever achieve any kind of forward motion. The bottom line is money, greed and profit...these are the things that drive politics and government. Nope. Not for me. And you won't find me putting my trust in the rich male ego either. Thanks but no thanks to the priests, politicians and government officials with shady values and questionable motives. When I decide to get involved in a cause, it will be something I feel deep in my soul...something close to home. In the meantime, I offer myself up to the trees, the birds, the chanterelles and black trumpet mushrooms...the moose and bear and deer...the garter snakes and toads...the weeds and the wildflowers...and the shy inhabitants of the edges of things. I want to live with the brave heart of an individual who listens to the silence and hears of realities beyond the human perception...how is it for you, old stump in the brook covered with moss and alive with mushrooms? How about you Mr. Pileated Woodpecker? What would you say to "legitimate" rape? Mrs. Squirrel? If I sound mad...perhaps I am. Perhaps I have finally realized that the human world is full of betrayal and ruthless intent and for the most part...I dislike humans. And I certainly don't trust them. But the wild? Well...there is something you can trust. The Hummers will be gone soon...the males have already headed toward South America, leaving the females and the kids to grow stronger for another week or two before they too head south. Like clockwork...they arrive in May and leave in September. I can trust that. I can trust the September rains to nourish the blossoming fall mushrooms and the changing colors of the deciduous trees. Winter will come. The ways of Mother Earth and her creatures are trustworthy even in their whimsy and unpredictablility...you can trust Mother Earth to be full of surprises.

So...I'm dedicating this blog to celebrating the wisdom of the wild...whispers though they are, the music I hear in the woods, from the weeds, and the trees...this will be my focus. My discipline will be to write weekly of the wild messages that come into my life and to celebrate the mystery and magic of the wild. I am that wild woman on the edge of the world and I want the heat of the Earth's core to fuel my words and inspire my life with meaning and purpose. And I can express what I hear without fear or paralyzing self doubt because I know who I am. I am that wild girl slipping her kayak into the still waters of indian summer...sliding noiselessly along like a turtle...moving slowly, quietly...listening to the birds, the fish and the pond lilies...happy to be part of this neverending stream of life and not willing anymore to be fully engaged in the ways of the world. Lucky me. At 60, I can be that tomboy child foraging for wild mushrooms...because at 60...I am wild and I am free.