Confession #1: I think I’ve been harboring a witch in my house, for the past month.
Confession #2: I’ve loved every minute.
Confession #3: that “witch” is…a bouquet of flowers.
Who me, my pretty?
Specifically, this bouquet. Gifted to me by Son Two when he picked me up from the airport a day after my birthday. I took this photo a day after that: October 27.
Pretty, right? There’s even a rose, which I manage not to show in this snapshot. But nothing out of the ordinary. Just lovely flowers from a lovely young man who happens to be my son.
A week later, the bouquet was still going strong, except for that one rose, which I removed. I send Son Two this photo to share my pleasant surprise at his gift’s longevity.
Nov. 3. Who misses a rose? Still vibrant!
Two weeks later, when the bouquet continued to stay glossy and bright, I started having my suspicions.
Nov. 9. Ok, that one yellow flower’s getting a little mussed, but it’s been TWO WEEKS!
Week three began. We’re talking the first weekend after the election; hell, half the country needed flowers! But I had these, still giving their weirdly ageless joy.
Except for adding a little sugar to their water when I first got them, and changing the water once a week, I did NOTHING to these flowers. It’s all them.
We didn’t even need those extra dahlias. Doing just fine.
Granted, I freshened them up with a couple of dahlias rescued from a different bouquet, gifted by my Ironwoman Goddaughter Allison, but really…they were just bonus. Son Two’s bouquet was holding its own after THREE WEEKS.
That’s when I decided it must be a witch. But SUCH a good witch.
Finally, FINALLY, I made the decision today to liberate my lovely witchy companion to the compost heap. But not before taking its picture one last time.
***not…dead…yet!***
I seriously think I might have repurposed that bouquet one last time, in a smaller vase. But we’re coming up on Thanksgiving; counter space will soon be at a premium…and let’s face it: ONE MONTH is more than twice the joy I’d expect to receive from any bunch of flowers not planted in dirt. Why be greedy?
Unless somebody wants to bring me a new bunch. As witchy as possible, please.
No, scratch that. I’m writing this BECAUSE it’s Election Eve in America. And even though I went back to my home state of NC a couple of weeks ago largely for political reasons, I’m feeling the need tonight to celebrate a bunch of non-political stuff from my time there.
Herewith, in no particular order: WONDERFUL THINGS IN NORTH CAROLINA.
Red leaves in October. We do have fall color, here in Washington State: gold, yellow, and, uh, yellow-gold. Not red.
Maples!Dogwoods! OK, you get the idea. I miss red.
2. Rolled ice cream. What the heck is rolled ice cream? is what I asked when one of my fellow canvassers in Greenville started raving about it. So I had to find out.
First, they pour your choice of flavored syrup + mix-ins onto a super-cooled surface.Next they add cream…chop and stir……flatten and spread to the width of that circle, and then–voila!–use that spatula to scrape curls…of ice cream into rolls of yum, with toppings! Didn’t get the proprietors’ names, but I was so impressed with their delicious innovation. Look them up in Greenville, NC!
3. NC-style BBQ. This place in Greenville is such an institution, the road is named after it.
Turns out eastern NC “cue” is about as good as the Triangle’s…
…but those weird-shaped hushpuppies got NOTHING on Allen & Son’s in Pittsboro.
Back in 2022, in what became the last post for quite a while, I described the program as a switch from hiking to rock climbing. Now, having reached a comfortable ledge called “graduation,” I’d love to linger for a minute and talk about it before climbing on.
As the kids say: this happened
…So?
These past two weeks, I’ve been noticing the balance of my upward climb. Finding a rhythm between “But I’m not DONE yet–my book is only about 2/3 finished!” and “Look at all I’ve accomplished!” Real rock climbers could probably help me refine that metaphor, something about tension vs. slackness of belay ropes perhaps?
But that’s between me and me. What I’d really like to do here is celebrate LA a little–more accurately, Culver City–and the urban experience I benefitted from, which was 100% more lovely and positive than what I’d feared coming in (country girl and small-island woman that I am).
Example #1: this car.
Zoom in on that window decal to see why this was my LA poster vehicle
Two years ago I took its picture–“LA as car!” But this summer, I realized two things: A, I walked past this zippy jalopy every single day for all five residencies. Clearly it lived on that street, so it became a friendly neighbor rather than a symbol of glitz.
And B, this particular car wasn’t the silver of the one I’d photographed in ’22. This one now matched the beautiful jacaranda blossoms of its street.
Is that sweet or what?
Speaking of matching trees: how about one more shout-out to Culver City’s amazing tree-themed streets?
This one’s magnolias
Culver’s a lot closer to nature than you might guess from its situation at the edge of a megalopolis.
Make way for ducklings!
And the vehicle Mama Duck is leading her brood past also surprised me. “Ugh, it’s one of those lawn-spraying trucks,” I thought, but then:
Organic fertilizer!! Good job, Angelenos.
Then there were the Little Free Libraries. Often those are stocked with throwaway books, but I was so impressed with the quality in this one:
all very readable
Finally, the Antioch LA campus itself: two years ago, I noted its corporate ugliness (housed near such artistic fellows as Norton Security and TikTok).
No ivied halls here
I even took a photo of a madrona tree chained to its concrete planter:
SYMBOLISM!
But this time around, feeling mellow and grateful, I focused on the beautiful touches added to that soulless architecture, giving it…
…soul. Thanks, Corporate America.
Because it was my final “Rez,” I took advantage to visit my writing mentor in Pasadena for a hike. Finding a writing mentor was probably my #2 goal in my program, and…
Found her!
Goal #1 = finding a more diverse critique group: check! I’m not going to violate their privacy by picturing them here, but this photo captures how I feel about them:
But maybe you’re still wondering about those cookies?
and these: chocolate-chunk spice w/ cranberries (not pictured: lemon-rosemary-corn cookies)
I hauled three containers in my carry-on: for my mentor; for an incredibly helpful Writing Center tutor who walked me through all the ghastly formatting issues of final requirements, plus an entire PowerPoint presentation; and for our WONDERFUL FRIENDS who shared their home with me, FIVE TIMES over the course of two years. And their car, their bike, and their cats.
Love you too, Joey. Now get off me, I have to finish this edit!
THANKS, Y’ALL.
And while I’m saying my gratitudes: BIGGEST thanks to my Lopez Island writing group, which got me to this point, especially Iris Graville, whose own MFA foray lit the spark for mine.
Lopez Island: home of the Women Writers of the Salish Sea
And to my wonderful Mate and Son Two, who had this waiting for me when I got home:
The mug depicts my AULA graduating cohort–we’re the Goldenrods!
Gratitude for this wacky beautiful community I get to call home:
Just your average mailbox-guarding owl
And biggest gratitude of all for the inspiration and guidance AULA will provide me as I take a deep breath, look up that literary cliff, and continue the climb.
There is a word…but not in English. Here’s one to add to your list, along with Schadenfreude and Cafuné (Portuguese for running your hands through the hair of someone you love, according to 41 Fascinating Words From Other Languages We Should Definitely Import to English) :
Dayenu. Or, as it says on our refrigerator magnet,
right there where I’m sure to view it 100 times a day 🙂
Jews and other folk who participate in Passover will recognize this word from the Seder ceremony. In Hebrew it means, roughly, “It would have been enough…” with the added connotation of, “…and yet, God did even more! Wow!”
Passover may be behind us for this year, but the season of Dayenu is just getting going, at least here on Lopez Island. Our normally gorgeous woods and fields have somehow become even gorgeouser (hey, I just invented Word #42 for the list) with wildflowers.
Like our woodlands even needed decorating–let alone by hot-pink orchids that look like something invented made by fairies…
possibly why they’re known as Fairy Slippers
…or golden-blooming succulents whose leaves want to get in on the color wheel action themselves:
And those are “just” the wildflowers. Then there are the lilacs planted all over our island, some 100 years old. Don’t get me started on lilacs. Or better yet, do–then read about them in this blog post I wrote some years ago on that heavenly-scented topic.
Like I said, “some years ago”. Note the stolen lilac sprig in the pony tail. Not sorry.
Extra color, extra scent, in a place which makes daily work of overloading our senses, year ’round? What else is there to say? At a loss for ways to express the feeling, I wrote this song–again, “some years ago.”
Dayenu, Dayenu
Had the rising sun not overwhelmed me…Dayenu.
Had my humble daily bread not filled me…Dayenu.
Had your arms not simply held me…Dayenu.
Dayenu, Dayenu.
Had the lilacs never breathed so sweetly…Dayenu.
Had the wild fawn not leapt so neatly…Dayenu.
Had you not loved me so completely…Dayenu.
Dayenu, Dayenu.
It would have been enough,
It would have blessed us to the core.
Had this morning been our only gift,
We would not have needed more.
Dayenu…Dayenu… Dayenu.
Dayenu…Dayenu… Dayenu.
Had the sunset not shanghaied my breathing…Dayenu.
Had the starlight not adorned the evening…Dayenu.
Had you not promised never leaving…Dayenu.
Dayenu…Dayenu
Dayenu…Dayenu.
So my “Dayenu” these days–apart from my Mate–is spring flowers, wildand tame. What are yours? What’s better than sharing a cup that’s runnething over?
I’ve been doing New Year’s Intentions, a.k.a. Low-Resolution Resolutions, for some time now. Rudder-like, they help center and steer me.
More recently, I’ve broken that habit into several steps.
1. Read back over last year’s Intentions (I write mine in my journal notebook, easy to find)
2. Give myself appropriate head-pats for success, or encouragement for less-than-success
I said I’d incorporate a yoga/stretching session into my daily life, and I have! Thank you, back surgery.
3. Write new ones. This year I have seven, several of which are riffs on last year’s. Example: When your coauthor needs to pull out of your book project…turn the book into an article and get that published. Some are brand-new: Find myself a new “mentee” to mentor in our community mentorship program, since COVID effectively ended my previous mentorship.
‘Cuz I need a kid in my life to do this with!
And a couple of my Intentions are secrets. Not telling anyone till I understand them better myself.
But in this time of worldwide COVID uncertainty, when the word “plan” seems downright outrageous, I’m finding my Intentions less “what” and more “how.” Sure, I want like crazy to go to Costa Rica next month, as my Mate and a friend help Son One inaugurate his new ecotour company. But do I have my heart set on it? No–I’d be a fool. Instead, if our trip gets cancelled, I will pivot to the next thing.
Ditto with Road Trip XI, which the Mate and I have been SO looking forward to, after staying home in 2021.
I promise: whether Road Trip XI brings this…(Palo Duro Canyon, TX)…or this (southern AZ sandstorm on I-10)
…or doesn’t happen at all, I will be grateful just to be safe and healthy as possible.
And I’ll focus on what I CAN control, like Intention #3: I will play and sing three times/week for 30 minutes, EVEN IF I have no group gigs to prepare for. (I can hear my guitar gently weeping from here, and not in a good way.)
With Beth Geever, Ann Palmer and Lance Brittain last June. Oh, for more o’ that! But that’s not up to me.
So that’s me. How about y’all out there? Any Intentions for 2022? I might even borrow one of yours.
Here we go. This horrible year, 2020, I am thankful for…
…being able to feel thankful. (Will that become the new meaning of “2020 hindsight”?)
…a friend who sent me the link to the podcast, “A Way With Words,” where I learned, just in time, of the word “respair,” which means to have hope again. Seriously!!!! Yes.
…flowers.
…mushrooms taking the place of flowers when flowers are not available. (Could there be a lesson here?)
Beautiful local veggies also filling that flower-role, and way tastier.
…Zoom (can I get an Amen?).
Say “Happy Birthday, Dad!”
Beauty close to home.
Thanksgiving dinner made of leftovers, and no pie, because–the Mate’s birthday cake is the queen of all!
Happy Birthday, babe.
Togetherness in any form, even masked. Health. Democracy. Music. Things I will never, ever, ever take for granted again.
As always, I would love to hear some of the things floating to the top of your list!Still standing? Let’s give thanks.
Note: this post is NOT intended to elicit sympathy toward the author. If you notice any indications to the contrary, please feel free to slap her, remotely (there must be an emoji for that)–or just close the page.
These past couple of weeks I’ve been forced to think quite a bit about positions. Not political ones; I mean physical: lying down, sitting, and standing. Injuries acquired in the service of democracy* have me no longer taking these simple options for granted.
*turns out when you spend hours and hours and hours writing letters and making phone calls to voters, sitting at a table which is just SLIGHTLY the wrong height, your back takes its revenge.
Still worth it. I think.
Before my back started hurting, I was all about sitting. Like many jobs, working as a baker is about 98% bipedal, but I took every 2% chance I got to set my butt down, between rounds of butterhorns. (That doesn’t sound quite right, but you know what I mean.)
OK, these are not actually butterhorns…but gooey enough to be close. (photo courtesy Holly B’s Bakery)
Now? Sitting is the enemy. Even perching makes me pay a price. So what the heck. Let’s celebrate some of the gifts of the other positions, shall we?
LYING DOWN. Good for:
Sleeping–duh. And sex. And reading–like my latest recommendation,Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. If you’re looking for short, lyrical pieces that fill you with the desire to go sit (or lie) in your favorite woods, and bring those woods to you if you’re stuck somewhere un-woodsy–this is your book. Get two copies, one for yourself and one for someone you care about.
Bad for:
Zoom. I really, really dislike seeing my future, double-chinned self staring back at me when I Zoom horizontally.
Not my favorite look.
STANDING. Good for:
When someone hands you a puppy.
Though in fairness, I would also have accepted this gift sitting down.
Appreciating sunsets.
Ditto.
Locomoting–which brings you to places where people might hand you a puppy, or to places of extra beauty. (It’s not impossible to locomote from a horizontal or sitting position–just harder.)
Pictured: place of extra beauty.
Bad for:
Knees. Also dizziness induced by drugs taken for back pain.
Which brings us back to…
SITTING. Good for:
Knees. (At least mine.)
All social situations where lying down isn’t quite appropriate (even if you wish it were).
Just sayin’–burgers while reclining could end…badly.
Bad for:
Me, right now. Which is why I’ve written this all on my back (not literally; now THAT would take some dexterity).
But–that fact, above? It’s actually a “good for,” because…well, look. What better time than a global pandemic to start appreciating things as basic as Sitting, Standing, and Lying Down?
Like probably most people in the world right now, my sense of the calendar has gone all wonky. I’m frequently not sure what month it is, let alone the date. Day of the week? Forget it.
Fortunately or unfortunately, I know all too well what year it is.
The arrival of fresh cherries and strawberries at a fruit stand took me by surprise. Wait–it’s Solstice already? Since then, I’ve been trying to pay more attention. Salmonberries have helped.
Salmonberries are a huge thing around western Washington. Whether battling them as ferociously scratchy pests around our yards or admiring their bright pink flowers in Spring, we probably spend more time thinking about them than we even realize. And then they make berries!
If looks could taste…
I used to make fun of salmonberries for being so un-delicious: The only reason anyone even thinks about eating you is because blackberries aren’t ripe yet.
But (again, like a lot of folks) I’ve been walking even more than I usually do, and trying to pay even more attention to things besides the global pandemics of COVID and racism. So I’ve been nibbling salmonberries again, as part of my noticing–and guess what? Turns out if you wait to eat them till they’re so ripe they’re juuuuust about to fall off their thorny ol’ bushes, they’re actually pretty tasty.
So what else merits my noticing, and my thanks?
The tide. Twice a day. EVERY day. Talk about essential work!
I know this isn’t exactly a glam shot, Tide–but this is you your work attire.
And some of the humblest of flowers–look at these ones here, engaging in a socially-distanced Easter bouquet!
C’mon, guys, it’s June, not April. Shouldn’t you be decorating for wedding season?
That’s more like it.
What basic, REGULAR things are you feeling grateful for right now? Postal carriers? Baby birds? Marshmallows on display shelves? Let’s celebrate the regular where we can find it!
On Thanksgiving morning I found myself walking through a cemetery, thinking about aging and mortality.
Not, initially, because of the tombs. No, I was feeling old because this cemetery, huge and scenic, used to be a favorite run of mine when visiting my Bay Area cousins. And lately I’ve been struggling with a knee injury and have pretty much given up running while I let my meniscus heal. And I slipped on a steep driveway and whammed the hell out of my tailbone. And I turned 56 and found a bunch of grey hairs nesting in the under-layer at my temples.
OK, that last one doesn’t count as an injury. Or even an insult. I don’t MIND the idea of aging…as long as it stays an idea. The reality, I’m discovering, is not quite as easy-peasy.
And that’s what I was thinking about on Thanksgiving as I walked through the cemetery. Which is why these fallen leaves brought me so much joy. “Look!” I could imagine the leaves saying. “Color! Let’s celebrate our impending demise!”
So much was I appreciating my own personal discovery of the “when I am old I will wear purple” approach, that I nearly walked by this startling tombstone:
Well, hello there!
Wing, you see, is not a common last name. In fact it’s quite rare. And it’s certainly not Jewish! So seeing this stone with its Hebrew letters in the Jewish section of the cemetery (anyone else find denominational cemeteries ridiculous?), well…it gave me pause.
And then, like the colored leaves and petals, it gave me joy.
Because I’m mortal, I appreciate the beauty and the time and the health that still remains for me. If I weren’t, I’d take it all for granted. I’d walk right by those leaves and petals. I would forget to cherish the non-splendid, ordinary moments that are the equivalent of leaves in a sidewalk.
You know what I mean: those thanksgiving moments—with a small “t.” The ones that count the most.
Getting sick sucks. Getting sick on vacation in Estes Park, Colorado, gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park? That’s a bit harder to sound-byte.
Pretty sweet spot for a town, right?
On the one hand, I couldn’t do my usual racing-around-seeing-things stuff. Hiking? Noooo. Biking? Also a no, thanks. Shopping–nope. And it’s hard to get excited about discovering restaurants when you’ve lost your appetite.
But on the other: I’m on VACATION. I get to lie around and not feel pressured about all the work I’m not getting done! What could be more fitting?
Even better, attitude-wise: getting sick when you’re vacationing with a friend with a scary heart condition.
The one hike I did manage, at 9,000-ft. altitude, had me gasping for breath and walking in slo-mo. Which is exactly what our friend does ANY day he hikes at altitude.
Pretending I don’t feel like curling up for a nap
So, Gretchen’s pity-party was swiftly cancelled. I spent the rest of the weekend soaking up scenery from the car or the window of our rented cabin, and soaking up friendship.
Long’s Peak–a LONG way away, thanks to the miracle of telephoto
Wing's World 