golden love

.

.
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cuter than garlic

.

Today is a good day. We harvested five dozen garlics. Now I don't need to worry about vampires for another year.....

Yes, I know this isn't a picture of garlic. These guys are cuter.
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gift

.

When my sons were pre-teens, something finally made sense to me. This. If somehow we live for eternity, forward and backward, then for only a very short time am I their mother, and they my sons. For most of the time, we are brothers and sisters. It is an honor to be entrusted with parenthood, having "power over" other souls in the physical realm. But mostly, I realized we are equals. Respect is a two way deal. I'd been taught to respect my elders, but now I understood that I must respect them just as much. Now, knowing this, I still have a "mommy" switch, much to dismay of all of us at times.

This also applies to my relationship with my students. Yeah, we have to act out our temporary roles in the hierarchical sense, but that's a temporary gig.

So then.

You would have seen two women sitting at a table in the local deli. We talked for four hours. At one time we were student and teacher, but now we are two souls, catching up on a twenty year break in our conversation. There is so much to speak of, but tonight I am exhausted. Tomorrow is her birthday (happy birthday, Jen!) and my gift to her is my love, my admiration, and my respect for this wonderful woman who was once a student.

And now, to sleep...
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Red Mountain

.

Magic is a state of mind, perhaps. Since I love the mountains anyway, there seems to be plenty of magic in them. Red Mountain would be one of those special places.
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wondering

.

I wonder if my wonder button is broken....
.
.

a simple walk in the woods

.

It wasn't the most interesting hike we've taken, but the drive to Ramser Arboretum was fine, the company was fine, and the weather was fine. A path alongside and through typical Ohio trees on slightly hilly land. That was it. On the other hand, the birdsong was wonderful.
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maybe, maybe not

.

I get email notices from Dennis Kucinich's office. Today he sent out a notice that his brother had died. His brother - age 60 - died suddenly and unexpectedly of a heart attack. We never know, do we.

Death is an interesting concept. Is it "something"? Or is it "nothing". Who among us really knows? Oh, I know. We believe. Or, some of us do. Then, we could explore the dynamics of "belief". Well, at the end of the day, I finish with way more questions than answers. The questions are my friends, ya know.

But back to Kucinich's brother who died. He was 60. I'm 65; an age where increasingly I'll be saying goodbye to friends, family, and acquaintances, and one day not of my choosing somebody will say goodbye to me. That's fine. The only thing that irks is this: if death is a "nothing", I'll never know how things turn out for our planet, our species, our universe. On the other hand, if death is a "nothing", I won't have a brain to be irked with. On the other other hand, if death is a "something", I'll just carry my little bag of questions with me and bug the crap out of whoever's job it is to guide me on to the next adventure.

Life is good. All of it. Whatever it is.
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conjoined

.

.
.

serendipity

.

All children are artists. The problem is to remain one when you grow up.

~Picasso

I love it when serendipity happens. This tree photo and Picasso's quote both appeared before my eyes from different directions. The tree? Who has ever seen a tree with such a tall trunk before any branches...branched? It is a tree a child would draw, seems to me. So I guess mother nature is a child and an artist.
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for you, too

.

stretch
reach for it
the sun exists
for you, too
humble clover flower
.
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January

.

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magnolia

.

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glow

.

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reflection perception

.

reflections
imperfect reflections
the straight is perceived as crooked
would a crooked building be perceived as straight?
why not just turn around and look at the reflected building?
except...the universe is a mirror
and reflection is all there is
.
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short list

.

people are more important than things

education is better than ignorance

Wisdom trumps all

this is my politics
this is my religion
.
.

dandelion memories

.

What'cha gonna do?

Dandelion yards are so pretty - so much more interesting than plain carpet green.

And dandelion greens - very yummy. The first time I tried them was when my mother-in-law sauted greens, then added eggs, and scrambled the concoction. Probably added garlic, too. I could have lived on that wonderful dish.

Dandelion wine? Not so much. Back when I was making wine, I sent my three young sons to a local field to make some money gathering dandelion flowers so I could make wine. There was also a law that prohibited women from making wine - only the male head of households could make it - and I ignored the law. So. While these three adorable children were loading their bags with dandelion flowers, a newspaper reporter saw them, took their picture, talked with them, and posted the picture and story in our daily newspaper. Front page, full color. Oh noes! I'm outed as a lawbreaker! I'm going to jail!
Nothing happened. I checked around and discovered that an 80 year old widowed woman challenged the law and won the right to make wine. I thank her.

But back to the wine. It was horrible. It tasted like the floor of a stable, or I assume if I tasted the floor of a stable it would taste like that. Down the drain. Years later I tasted some professionally made dandelion wine at a local winery. Same thing, only smoother. Yuck.

Ah, dandelions. Do you remember "momma had a baby and her head popped off"? Gruesome, but so are many nursery rhymes.

The stems were used to make chains.

We'd hold the yellow flower under each other's chin, and if there was a yellow reflection on our chin it meant we liked butter, or something like that.

And, of course, blowing the seeds.
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sunset

.

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dad

.

I miss you dad
as I dig out the dandelions
I remember how you used to
dig out the dandelions
I know now
the peace you might have felt
because I feel that same peace
as I tidy up the small space
of my yard

I think about you dad
when I follow the news
the wars, the fighting in so many places
what memories did you keep in your own heart
as you shipped out to Okinawa

I honor your struggles
doing the best you could
with the cards you were dealt

I think you played a damned good game.
.
.

personal rosary

.

another bead has been added to my rosary
the rosary of my own mysteries
mysteries to ponder
mysteries that invite us to wander
into the unknown

she was a student, I was a teacher
she had a depth I rarely see in one so young
or even among the old ones

and then the years did their work
as our paths diverged
sort of

She was told I had died. She didn't know I was alive, climbing the mountain range of multiple cancers, growing into my own depth.
She didn't know.
But she ran the Race for the Cure with my name on her back. Is there a greater gift? Perhaps not, and I am both joyous and humbled
honored
and saddened that she ran with a sorrow

and yet
this story doesn't end
a race ends
a life will end
but the story goes on

by chance...
chance?
we found each other on the internet
and that is its own story for another day

but back to the rosary of mysteries
ours have been linked, now

I hear the music of the rosary
singing of oneness
laughing at the illusion of separation
inviting us to dance

thank you, dear friend, for dancing

and running

to the music of this mysterious rosary

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.

courage

.


Watching and reading about the Iranian turmoil is very moving. I came across some lines written by an Iranian who will march tomorrow, understanding the state is threatening violence to those who disobey. This person has chosen to march anyway, and has written some final words, knowing he/she may march to the death.

I found the words here at Juan Cole's blog.

"I will participate in the demonstrations tomorrow. Maybe they will turn violent. Maybe I will be one of the people who is going to get killed. I’m listening to all my favorite music. I even want to dance to a few songs. I always wanted to have very narrow eyebrows. Yes, maybe I will go to the salon before I go tomorrow! There are a few great movie scenes that I also have to see. I should drop by the library, too. It’s worth to read the poems of Forough and Shamloo again. All family pictures have to be reviewed, too. I have to call my friends as well to say goodbye. All I have are two bookshelves which I told my family who should receive them. I’m two units away from getting my bachelors degree but who cares about that. My mind is very chaotic. I wrote these random sentences for the next generation so they know we were not just emotional and under peer pressure. So they know that we did everything we could to create a better future for them. So they know that our ancestors surrendered to Arabs and Mongols but did not surrender to despotism. This note is dedicated to tomorrow’s children…”

If I were Iranian, would I go out in the streets tomorrow?
If so, what words would I leave for others to read?
How about you?
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.

lemonade

.

We walked down the street and bought lemonade and cookies from three little boys at their lemonade stand. It was by far the best lemonade we've tasted in thirty years, when our own three little boys had a lemonade stand.
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point of view

.

In this photo, I see a demure damsel, head bowed.
My brother sees a space alien.
How about a demure space alien?
.
.

one

.

Aspens.
They only look like separate trees.
This grove is probably one single organism, connected underground.
I love that.
Ya gotta watch that below the surface kind of stuff.....
:-)
.
.

stories have their own time for the telling

.

I suggested to a friend that stories have their own time for the telling. She had a story to tell, and when she told it, it merged with my story. It was about both of us, walking our paths, each a memory to the other. Yet this wondrous universe, or God, or Goddess, or Source of all Love, whatever it is that nudges us to both our heights and depths, wove us into one cloth. Perhaps we always were. That's all I can say right now. Stories have their own time for the telling.
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beautiful friend

.

It was a nondescript photo according to my standards. Yet the ice on the leaf - I never noticed the design when I pointed my camera at it - is dancingly beautiful. Just a small bit of water transforming into ice, very quietly becoming a work of art. Perhaps never to be seen.

I look at you.
You are so beautiful,
whether anybody else sees your beauty or not.
That's what we're called to do, perhaps.
Simply (or complexly) cooperate with transformative creation and become -
be -
that bit of beauty in the small space where we live.

Because, there is no such thing as small
or large.
In a universe that has no boundaries,
you are the center,
wherever you are.
Such a beautiful center you are!
.
.

where is the courage?

.

I wonder what specifically are the laws against hate speech and inciting to violence? It seems there's a whole lot of hate speech going around, and now more violence. More than in the past? I'm sure any black person can talk about their elders and violence in the south in the past (and for all I know sometimes currently).
I guess more deeply than that, I wonder why the hate in the first place? A hatred that breeds on ignorance, and why do people prefer ignorance to knowledge? Is hatred easier? Maybe knowledge is scarier to them.
But why?
Where is the courage to open our eyes and hearts?
Where is the courage to grow up?
.
.

wordless story

.

This series was taken at the Columbus Arts Festival. The little girls weren't sure at first if the bronze man was a statue or a person.
.
.

getting it in gear

.

You know what's frustrating? I won't live long enough to learn all the things I want to learn.
Which is pretty much everything.
So I guess I'd better get my anatomy in gear and get to work. It's so good to have that kind of energy again.
.
.

remarkable

Today has been a remarkable day, and one day, over a bottle of wine, I'll share the story. But not this day. It is still settling into my heart. Life is so good.

But on another note...
I'm still reading "Guns, Germs, and Steel." It's big and ponderous, but certainly opens my eyes and answers some of my incessant wondering questions. Not all, of course, but enough to keep me reading. For example; Why does China, which is much larger than Europe, seen to be much more unified than Europe? And, why, when the Anglos arrived here and decimated the native Indian population with smallpox and other diseases, why didn't the Indians decimate the new settlers with their diseases?
Good stuff.

D-Day

.

President Obama gave another great speech today, D-Day. I was inspired to pay more attention than usual (high school history pretty much destroyed my interest in history, especially regarding wars). This evening on the History Channel a lot of D-Day footage was shown, with some of the veterans who fought there telling their stories. Their youthfulness then, their aged faces now, their courage, fear, determination, pain, their brotherhood.
What are we as human beings? Perhaps one day our spirits will evolve into peace loving spirits. Peaceful, but courageous.
.
.

In sickness and in health

.

In sickness and in health
2009
pat denino

I shared this photo with some friends, and one of them asked me how it came to be. This is my response:


thanks, marianne

I don't know how much background you need, so I'll be complete, yet try to be brief. I had breast cancer, I think you knew that. During that time, with some friends, we had done some photographic work, using me as my own life model, trying to portray the emotional and spiritual aspects of the cancer journey. Those photos were well received by those who saw them, and transcended the specific cancer journey, touching those who made their own difficult journeys. Some have suggested we turn those images and occasional poetry into a book. That has been difficult to get started, for a variety of reasons. There IS a book being edited now, however, that focuses on my cancer journey and the narrative, including poetry, that I've written. But that's another story.

As an aside, I'm a fiber artist, having done most of my work with art quilts. Soft sculpture dolls lured me, but I could never quite get the hang of what art dolls are about. Too much of that seems to be related to costumes, and that's just not my enduring interest. But AHA! I can make fairly realistic dolls, embue them with my own spirit, and they become life models in miniature! Very doable. The clothing I use, Grecian in concept, fits my idea of using clothing not as a focus, but as a way of adding to the emotional portrayal I'm after.

Enter George. He is my rock. He has walked the journey with me, and I learned that breast cancer is OUR disease, not mine only. This is how I show his steadfastness. This image that you like also shows the way he likes to hug me. I feel very safe in his arms.

I will do more "soft sculpture". That seems a better way of saying it than "dolls". We'll see what develops. My oncologist, who has his own building, and of whom I think very highly, has offered to let me display my work there. He, too, has been a rock. Though doctor, he is also healer. In fact, if you look at George hugging me, you might also see many people who have been strong witnesses and supporters in my journey.

and in a very large nutshell, that's the story. this art keeps me focused. I must remain healthy so that I can get these images out of my head and out into the world. I want to add to the beauty and deepening of the human experience.

thanks for asking. you made me think it through!
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.

false alarm

.

You know it's not going to be a good thing when the telephone wakes you up after midnight.

The nursing home called - they sent mom to the emergency room. She seemed unresponsive. Throw clothes on, drive to the hospital, a ten minute drive, especially at that time of night. I'm grateful that George always wants to be at my side.

Mom was OK. Fearful of stroke, tests showed no evidence. What happened? I still don't know, and neither does mom. After two days, she's back in her own bed, and the best thing that came out of this is that mom appreciates the attention the staff at the nursing home gives her. Tomorrow when I see her we'll track down the written explanation of just what happened.

Mom is 87. Though she gets through her days gracefully, she has no desire to prolong her life. Being told she was unresponsive at one point, she suggested the next time it happens they just let her go. We've talked at length, completed all the appropriate paperwork, and yet there's still a grey area. We understand, and we'll even joke about it - eventually.
.
.

hosting life

.

wondering...
viruses like smallpox, polio et al end up destroying their host
or maybe if the host lives, it lives weakened and with considerable scarring

how are we as humans any different
as our planet hosts us, and we scar it, weaken it
and maybe destroy life on it?

aren't all living things just trying to live?

it is what it is
we are what we are

and whatever it is, is cool
.
.

dream's shadow

.

the day was done
I lay down
wrapped myself in a blanket
fell asleep
and dreamed

the dream was done
I lay down
wrapped myself in a blanket again
fell awake
to remember both dreams
.
.

grandmen

.

Nick is eight years old today, and celebrated his birthday with a feast of boy presents. The best present is the one he gave me, though. He wanted me to take a look at his Lego model he was building in another room, and took my hand and said, "I'll walk slow for you, grandma." He is all boy, all noise, all impatience, and all gentleness and charm.
The other guy isn't too shabby, either.....
.
.

yellow rose

.

but not from Texas...
.
.

heebie jeebies

.


ticks,
and deliberate, self-righteous, malicious ignorance

both give me the heebie jeebies
.
.

someday

.

One day, I don't know when, words will return.
In the meantime, life is very, very good.
.
.

reply all

.

You know those emails that get fwded and fwded and fwded?
Here's the one I got today.....


The ' L I T T L E ' Things~

As you might remember, the head of a company survived
9/11 because his son started kindergarten.

Another fellow was alive because it was
His turn to bring donuts.

One woman was late because her
Alarm clock didn't go off in time.

One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike
Because of an auto accident.

One of them
Missed his bus..

One spilled food on her clothes and had to take
Time to change.

One's
Car wouldn't start.

One couldn't
Get a taxi.

The one that struck me was the man
Who put on a new pair of shoes that morning,
Took the various means to get to work
But before he got there, he developed
a blister on his foot.

He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today..

Now when I am
Stuck in traffic ,
Miss an elevator,
Turn back to answer a ringing telephone ...
All the little things that annoy me.
I think to myself,
This is exactly where
God wants me to be
At this very moment..

Next time your morning seems to be
Going wrong ,

The children are slow getting dressed,
You can't seem to find the car keys,
You hit every traffic light,
Don't get mad or frustrated;
It May be just that
God is at work watching over you..

May God continue to bless you
With all those annoying little things
And may you remember their possible purpose.

Here was my response, and yes, I did a "reply all".

I guess that means God wasn't at work looking after 2,974 people on 9/11.

How about this, instead...
God is looking after you regardless.
Regardless of whether or not you are having a good day.
Regardless of whether or not you live or die on that day.
Just...regardless.

Anything else, to my mind, is a dismissal of the spirituality and goodness of the people who died on that day,
or even perhaps an unintended judgment;
and a dismissal of the grief felt by those who lost those loved ones.
.
.

the security of truth, the truth of security

.

From a Bishop John Shelby Spong newsletter emailed today....

"The first thing you need to do is to recognize that for most people religion is not a search for truth, but a search for security. Security is not well served by opening up questions for which there are no answers. You must begin by accepting people where they are. A good pastor, however, does not leave them there forever, for that means they will never grow.
..........
Of course, when we say God is personal, we are not describing God; we are describing our experience of God. Since we are persons, we can receive the transcendent power of life, love and being only as "personal." There is nothing wrong with that. To move from these to a statement about what God's being actually is, however, is more than any of us should claim."

I wonder what it is that encourages some people to discard security concerns and trudge off in search of truth?
And how do we respond to those who say their religious inclinations are ultimate truth?
Truth has so many layers of meaning.....
.
.

May

.

The first batch of new ducklings has been spotted, lined up between mom and dad, taking a swim.
A mockingbird practices his songs during the night.
The garden is in. 30 tomato plants, 100 pepper plants, basil, oregano, and assorted flowers.
The garlic, planted last fall, is a foot tall. Six dozen. That's about right for repelling vampires.
Columbine is the first flower to greet us.
Our yard takes the prize on our street for the number of dandelions.
A local cat (probably) caught and ate a bluebird. We found the feathers.
Life is good,
and painful,
and sometimes tasty.
.
.

heavenly

.

Traditional Christians have a heaven different from the Muslim heaven. I'm guessing almost all fundamental religions ascribe to one kind of heaven or another. Nowadays for me none of them make much sense. It seems more like a human construct designed to keep the multitudes in line, obeying rules that, though presented as divine rules, are more likely rules designed to keep the power structure intact.
.
.

Inniswood

.

.
.

individual thought?

.

one stream
three waterfalls
innumerable droplets
returning to
one stream
one river
one ocean

perhaps individuality is a only a fleeting moment
perhaps it is an illusion

am I willing to shed my sense of individuality to become part of the oneness of the ocean?
do I have a choice?
.
.

whistling rose

.

.
.

Brown Palace Hotel

.

This is a glass ceiling in the Brown Palace Hotel in Denver, Colorado.
.
.

parallel universe

.

.
.

Cedar Falls trail

.

.
.

until they are named

.

Do you have a magical door?
A door that invites exploration in unknown lands?
Where there might be demons...
or angels..
and you won't know which they are until you encounter them?

They await.
They don't know which to be
until they encounter you.
.
.

always wondering

.

We live in interesting times. The public dialogue regarding torture is compelling. One justification is that torture of suspected terrorists has kept us safe. Safe? Safe from attack? Even if it were so, and that is quite doubtful, it would not keep us safe from falling off the moral high road. Do those who proclaim Christianity understand that?

The older I get, the more I read and understand, and often not understand, the more I wonder just what we are as human beings, and if we are anything more than just a swarm of one kind or another. Would that be so bad if that were the case? Isn't it a bit arrogant to think that our collective lives are the bright point in the universe?
.
.

welcome home

.

My friend is home from the hospital. Thank God, thank the Goddess, thank the stars, the sun, the dandelions; my friend survived and is home. Yes, I was worried. We have shared our lives over coffee for many many years. We have been ears for each other, listening to each other's stories of pride and pain. We put our problems out on the table, dissect them, then put them back together again, and return home with our hearts newly strengthened. Welcome home, Jo, my beloved friend.
.
.

orange and friends

.

.
.

theme and variation

.

Is it possible to read Tolkien's "Ring Trilogy" too many times? Or watch the movie? Nope. Not in this house. But tonight was better than that. The original Star Wars was also on television, so I watched the bomb drop into the death star, and I watched the ring drop into the fire. Two evil dominions crippled or destroyed. If only it were that simple.
.
.

dancing colors

.

both cataracts are out
the patch is off
and the colors I thought were true
weren't

will that happen again
when we shed our bodies
and perceive the world
we thought was real?

that's the thing
we don't know
we wish, and hope, and believe
and yearn
but we don't actually know

maybe when that time comes
we'll know nothing at all
or maybe we'll become the colors
that we yearn to observe
dancing colors
spreading throughout the universe
not remembering
the small bit of dust we now claim as our true self
.
.

targets

.

I saw the oncologist today. He graduated me from three month visits to six month visits. Nice! As we talked, he said my target was five years, and I've been healthy for three. I told him my own target was fifty years…
And tomorrow I get the second cataract out. Can you imagine how many visits it would take if we were spiders? Or maybe the spider doc would just do half the eyes at a time.
As grateful as I am for medical technology that improves my lifespan and quality, I'm nevertheless hoping I never have to walk into a hospital again. After tomorrow, that is.
.
.

Mirkwood Forest

.

This wooden spider sculpture, along with a dozen or more other larger than life "bug" sculptures, visited our local garden, Inniswood. The spider was my favorite, and if I imagined hard enough, I could picture being a hobbit in Mirkwood Forest. The web wasn't sticky, though...
.
.

I see, sort of...

.

Wondering again.....
Is the visible spectrum called that only because that's what's visible to us as humans?
Some insects see beyond the visible spectrum. I wonder if someday, with the help of engineers, there might be aids to help us actually see, with our eyes, wavelengths not visible to us now. I can imagine a lot of things, but my brain cannot imagine colors other than the ones I now see.
Colorblindness. Who do I know who is color blind? Is this a brain malfunction, or an eye malfunction?
Fascinating. I wonder if someday we'll be able to see what we cannot see now.
.
.

Kimono as Art

.

We viewed a stunning exhibit, "Kimono as Art" in Canton, Ohio. I knew little about it, but I hadn't seen my friend in quite some time, and that was enough reason to go. Four of us walked in, three of us absorbed the information first. I chose to simply walk into the exhibit and experience the art. Usually that works best for me; this time it didn't. Maybe. The kimonos were magnificent. You had to stand back and absorb the overall beauty of the finished piece, then walk in closer and appreciate the detail. Stand back, walk forward, several times before each piece. Thirty kimonos, hung side by side, lined up along three walls of a long exhibition room.

What I didn't realize until I saw the video was…the kimonos, lined up, created a panorama that could only be fully appreciated by seeing all of them together. My friend, following the suggestion of seeing the video first, knew what to expect. She walked into the exhibition hall, stopped, and wept. It was that beautiful.

A couple of the kimonos had a design element that seemed off to me, but once I saw them as what they really were - segments of a magnificent panorama spanning three walls of the room, I understood the reason for that design element. Maybe we're like that. Maybe? We can be stand alone pieces of art, or we can look beyond our individuality and see the panorama of "one."
.
.

too much wondering, perhaps

.

All the millions of years that passed before I was born…
Did my spirit not exist yet?
Or am I wearing the mantle of forgetfulness?
I was taught that I would live forever in heaven, so I would contemplate eternity in one direction, but it seems to me if eternal life is real, we should be able to perceive eternity in both directions.
Or maybe it's all directions.
I wonder how many directions that might be…
.
.

the grand adventure

.
Maybe I don't believe in death.
Maybe death is just a doorway
with a curtain across it.
I don't think the universe
has a trash heap.
So nothing ever disappears.
Things just change.

Wouldn't it be boring
if we existed for eternity
but never changed?

Even heaven would be a drag.

One day my ashes will be absorbed by the earth.
Maybe, someday,
They'll nourish a tree.
Or, after the sun novas
maybe they'll be flung out into space
waiting for a chance to help form
another star,
then maybe another planet.
Maybe trees will evolve on that planet.

I wonder if even now
the ashes of an extinct race
have helped to nourish my own life.

Isn't life/change the grandest adventure?
.
.

a glass full of tears

.

Tonight I raise my glass to my gay friends. Their journey isn't easy, and it certainly isn't finished.
However,
Iowa. Who would have thought Iowa!
Vermont. The legislature overturned their governor's veto and now they can marry there, too.
Progress. But it's progress I celebrate with tears. My friends have endured so much pain, and it's not finished yet.
.
.

the significance of insignificance

.

What an incredible adventure it is to be a sentient being.

Someone I love told me she feels so insignificant. We're all insignificant was my response, though I could have come up with a better one, in retrospect.

But I had been thinking about the insignificance of individuals in the herd, the flock, the gaggle, what have you. When I think of species becoming extinct, it's not about individual members of that species dying, exactly. All individuals die.

Let me back up a bit. Much earlier in my life, when subjected to mental or emotional pain, I'd go sit on the moon and observe the earth, trying to find my own footprints. From that seat, my experience was insignificant on the planetary scale, thus easier to bear. That was only a temporary fix, of course. I'd have to go back and slog it out, fixing or fighting or apologizing, whatever that particular experience required.

So I learned I'm not the center of any group, and in fact, am as insignificant as my toenail clippings are to the continuation of my body.

But that's not the whole story. I am a sentient being (usually...) and take great pleasure in pondering things that can't be understood with the configuration of brain cells currently residing in my headbone. I'll just have to let it go at that. Have a good day, y'all, and don't take yourself too seriously, but take yourself very seriously. Both.
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go forth and multiply

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dandelion elders
cutting apron strings
encouraging their offspring
to fly
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go with the flow

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Apparently it isn't necessary to understand life. We just have to go with the flow, even when the flow has almost stopped. Talking with mom today, she told me she thinks she's lived too long. There was frustration and sadness in her voice. Today she is so tired of the serious limitations imposed on her body. She hopes I understand. I do. One day she'll leave, and even now she yearns for it. Different traditions have the family "keeping watch" after their loved one has died, and hospice workers have told me of the great honor of being trusted to attend someone's dying. But I'm called to witness even now, as mom struggles with whatever portion of life is still hers to live out.
love
witness
compassion
dignity
when appropriate, humor
May she have an overflowing abundance as she contemplates and struggles through this last mountain she has been ordained to climb.
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wow

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The eye patch is off, and I've stepped into a more colorful and sparkly world. Wow. Because cataracts develop slowly, I never noticed when white morphed into cream. But it did. With my photos, I always had to work with the white correction function to get what I wanted. Was it my camera? No. It was my eyes. Now, with one eye "fixed", I walk around looking at things anew, first with one eye, then the other. In two weeks I get the other cataract removed, and I'll leave the dingy world I've been living in.

I wonder.
Is there an equivalent in our hearts?
Maybe we could find and remove the cataracts surrounding our hearts.
What would we then look like to each other?
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arrrrrr matey

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I had cataract surgery today, and since I had an eye patch, it made sense to go to Long John Silver's for lunch afterwards. They gave us an eye patch discount! The anesthesia, sodium pentothal, was given only so I wouldn't feel the shot in my eye. I was back awake before even getting into surgery. The nurse said I wouldn't remember the surgery. Well. That's a challenge if I ever heard one, being someone intensely interested in the fine points of consciousness.
I do remember the surgery.
I also remember my incessant chatter…
:-/

The patch comes off tomorrow. It's so nice to have a surgery to look forward to for a change. It was every bit as easy as my friends have said it would be.
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We've #2

This is another fiber wall piece (art quilt?), 37"x37", created from scraps from my workroom "floor". Prom dress hems, bridesmaid hems, pants hems, pieces from stage dresses, bits and pieces from clothes I've made for myself. In fact, there's fabric used to create make believe chain mail helmets for a bunch of singers! I love putting sequins, denim, madras plaids and seersucker fabrics together. It's like putting people of different cultures together. It works.

warming up for a rant

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There are so many rant worthy subjects in the news lately, and I'll rant a bit about global warming. One diversionary argument is that people didn't cause global warming...and their point is what? That since they believe people didn't cause it we should just shrug our shoulders and forget about it? Ahem. Hurricanes. Tornados. Blizzards. Floods (sometimes floods). We didn't cause them, either. Should we just shrug our shoulders in the direction of the Red River? New Orleans?

Polio. Smallpox. SIDS. pneumonia, and so on. We didn't cause them, either. I suppose those who found solutions, cures, vaccines, etc. were just wasting their time?

Come on, folks.
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tripartite goddess

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coming up for air

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I haven't had much to say because lately my fingers have been doing all the talking, meaning a lot of art is getting done. Here's the short story on that: at an earlier time when my business was really good, I was able to purchase fabric for a very good price. One day I'd have time to work with it. Well, that time is now. My fabric inventory has its own room, which is a clue to how much of it lives in this house. At my age, and considering my periodic health issues, it occurs to me that my fabric might outlive me. That is unacceptable. I would be eternally pissed if the dreams I had for that fabric went to my grave with me. So. I'm busy. The trick is to work fast enough to get to all the fabric but not so fast that I use it up before I'm ready to move on to the next incarnation.

Yeeeehawww! Life is good.

One more thing. We celebrated our granddaughter's birthday today. For her birthday meal, instead of going out, she wanted hamburgers on the grill. The weather turned narsty, so her second choice was her grandpa's fried rice. Now how cool is that? First, an eleven year old girl asks for grandpa's fried rice.
Second, it really is that good.

Our eclectic meal consisted of fried rice, wedding soup, and decadent cinnamon rolls. All made here.
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January sunrise

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hearing and listening

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It must be hard to be my mom these days. She can barely hear, barely see, and is confined to a motorized chair. She listens through headphones. One set of headphones at her television, another at her talking books machine, another at her tape recorder, another at her radio, and finally, one set she wears associated with a sound amplifier she wears around her neck for conversation. Why not hearing aids? She's had them for years, but headphones work better. Why not one set of headphones that she plugs into each piece of equipment? Because she can't see well enough to plug them in, and strokes have made her clumsy. So like I said, it must be tough being mom. She needs assistance getting into bed at night, and assistance getting out of bed in the morning. She needs assistance for almost every normal activity.

She called yesterday with some bad news. One set of headphones fell to the floor and broke. She thinks someone came into her room and stole another. I didn't think so, but it's not good to be confrontational and tell her she's wrong. She already feels helpless. So I sat on her bed untangling a jumble of headphone cords, and talking with her, untangling a jumble of fears and forgetfulness in her head and heart. Everything got sorted out, found, replaced, fixed, and understood.

I shared an embarrassing story of my own forgetfulness the other day. She giggled and accepted hers with a bit of resigned humor. I waited to see if tears were on the agenda, and when they weren't, we hugged, I saved a hug for her roommate, and returned home.

Please, dear God/dess Whoever Whatever you may be, may I always have my toolkit of patience, compassion, and humor with me as I shelter her from the storms. She has endured enough, and could use a bit of rest before her great leap into eternity.

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Denver windows

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a herd of two

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two kids
both from wounded families
both firstborn
both deprived of the the chance to hang out with their peer herds

they found each other
they figured out the falling in love thing
and quietly married

in the river of life
they carved out their own riverbed
and flowed through life
as the local version of the one River

here they are, now
a herd of two
and it is big enough

today we celebrate forty three years of marriage
of river work
of healing
of love
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painful lace

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Wondering...
When you have a random itch, and you scratch it, and it stops itching, exactly how did scratching the itch make it stop?
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peaceful brown

Currently reading "Guns, Germs, and Steel; the Fates of Human Societies" by Jared Diamond.
He noted the accepted phrase…necessity is the mother of invention. He points out that there are examples to justify the phrase, but the majority of time it's the opposite - invention is the mother of necessity. Curious and creative people who are tinkerers invent something that is interesting but initially useless at the societal level; then it is played with until something useful emerges, then society after a time "needs" it. He gave a multitude of examples. Interesting in that it changes the way we might look at the evolution of societies.

ignorance isn't bliss, it's dangerous

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One of my sons shared some information with me. The company he works for had to downsize, so the first thing they did was trim the workforce, letting the slackers and nonproductive personnel go. Then everybody took a 5% pay cut. Everybody from the top down, but not down to the bottom. The lowest paid employees took no pay cut, and would still get their raises according to whatever system they have in place. If more companies worked that way, we wouldn't need labor unions. If our country worked more that way, we'd be in better shape, but as long as the wingnuts believe the poor are where they are because of laziness, then labor needs to organize.
I wonder when we're going to take to the streets. Or have we had it bred out of us?

While running errands, I saw a yard decorated with political signs and slogans, all very conservative, and informing passersby of the evils of socialism. I suspect a lot of people afraid of socialism don't know what it is - and what it isn't. But I suspect the real problem is that most people are scared shitless that they might be asked to share their "wealth" with others, not realizing the others would also be sharing their "wealth" with them.  I suspect the CEO multinational big boys and girls have manipulated the ignorant foot soldiers into doing their dirty work for them, while those same big boys sit back and shovel in the money. 

 
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bon voyage?

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Where have my words gone?
Where is my muse?
Is she taking a break?
Well, why not? Thank you, muse, for visiting as often as you do. If you are on a sight seeing vacation to other planets and galaxies and times, I hope you can figure out how to share your stories and visions with me when you return.
In the meantime, life is good. Very, very good.
(but it always is and was and will be, world without end, amen, regardless)
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brief and temporary cloud

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Though I am healthy, sassy, easily amused, and full of creative ideas, the cancer will never leave the room. It will be silent, but I will always note its presence. Yeah. That's what I said after my first bout twenty some years ago. So you can imagine...

I cancelled my last check-up because it was two days after New Years and the weather was bad. It was just a check-up, and I knew I was doing well. Now it's two months later and finally I've rescheduled. It took awhile to screw up the courage to make the call. Why? Because if the blood work shows there is new tumor activity, I will be on chemo for the rest of my life, which averages five years for most cancer folks, and I would die bald. So how long would I live if I weren't on this last ditch chemo? I don't know. But today I made the call. Perhaps blood work will also show lesser things that might mean adjustments to current meds. i can live with that. If I ever hear recurrence, I can still decide whether to end my life on chemo or take my chances.

Sometimes you know how on a sunny day a cloud briefly passes over the sun? It's like that.
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ice, and, I see!

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This photo needs some explanation.
We had an ice storm. When finally it began to melt, I took a picture of a holly leaf, covered with ice that was beginning to slowly melt, yet it was still cold enough for new ice crystals to form.

All is very quiet around here with not a lot of wordiness. I'm deeply immersed in two creative projects, and within a month or so I'll be having cataract surgery. My alterations customers will be relieved.....
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remembering

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The ants going marching one by one, hurrah, hurray.....
Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro...
Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall...
This old man, he played one, he played knick knack on his thumb...
London Bridge is falling down...
The eensy weensy spider went up the water spout...
I'm a little teapot, short and stout...

(just remembering)
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peaceful moment

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two old birds
sitting across from each other
peaceful
finally, and maybe only temporarily,
but peaceful
resting from their battles
remembering without speaking
memories gently touching
battle scars
holding each other's stories
becoming acquainted with aging
peace
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finally

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Here's a bit of news. Hubby has finally started a blog, something I've nagged and whined about for a long time. He has a lot to say, and it's about time he got up on the risers and sang his songs publicly. Now he is doing that. Yay.

Of Mockingbirds and Sacred Cows
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stringing things together...

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you
friend
I'm grateful for who you are
where you are
when you are

I'm not sure about why you are
or
how you are.

How you are?
How do you do?
How-de-do?
Howdy Doody?
Oh lordy.
Are we just puppets on strings?
Is that what string theory is all about?
Or did I just pour too much wine?
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we can dream

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I wonder what our country (or even our world) will look like once this economic crisis has been resolved. Hopefully, I'll be around to find out. There are some personal dreams I have about what I think would be good.
For starters, can we find the antidote for greed and power lust?
Could we celebrate our differences rather than try to demonize them?
Could we get over our addiction to consumption?
Well, we can dream.
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decisions

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Steve, reminded of many conversations we've had, brought a book to my attention: How We Decide, by Jonah Lehrer. I responded with "this is right where my wandering brain goes".

Dilemma....
Shall I get the book?
Will the author have answers that are meaningful and truthful?
How will I know he's sharing facts and not emotional blah-blah? There are way too many people who are convinced of what they are convinced of and haven't a clue that "being convinced" is not the same thing as "knowing the facts." I get caught in that trap on occasion.
Does any of this matter?
How do I decide?
Dilemma...
Isn't that where we started?

Maybe the next layer down I'll have to figure out how to decide on what's worth deciding about.
Are you dizzy yet? Welcome to my brain.
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Dreams from My Father

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Dreams from My Father, by Barack Obama.
The book is compelling in its honesty, sensitivity, and respect for all people. As I watched him give his first address to Congress a few days ago, the image that played in my head was his description of his visit to his extended family in Kenya; sleeping in a hut, weeping at the unmarked grave of one of his elders, listening to stories told by an old woman. I'm very pleased that he is our president and is the spokesman for common everyday American citizens. Yet his awareness and compassion goes beyond our borders, as today I listened to him in his major address about the Iraq war; at one point he addressed the people of Iraq directly.

Obama is a gifted writer, and at some point the reader may find herself walking alongside him, seeing the world through his eyes, and perhaps finding deeper meaning in her own questions and wonderings of race, family history, and what we are as human beings.
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It was a long eight years...

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finally
we have a President
'nuff said...
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paths

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do you ever see a path in the distance
that you cannot reach?

have you ever walked into a gathering of people
who speak a language you don't understand?
even if the words are English?

have you ever walked at night
past houses holding parties
and laughter
and togetherness
but not for you?

have you ever seen a path in the distance
that you cannot reach
because it is not your path?
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oriental poppy

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We live in such interesting times.
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Life's Journey

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Life's Journey
George W. Jones
Collected Essays and Poems
edited by Dan Hardison

the heart of a priest
the garden of a priest
the faith of a priest
the community the priest nurtures
it is all one thing

I bought the book because I am acquainted with the editor, 

but I'll keep the book because the priest has touched my heart.

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Seminole sampler

This new work was too tall to take a single photo, so I experimented with another kind of piecing.
thirteen inches wide
sixty five inches tall

oh noes! the fence is melting!

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just some words

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Some time ago I was asked to write an introductory piece for a communal cancer related site. Here it is...

What shall I say to my friend who has just received a difficult diagnosis of cancer?
Do I say I'm sorry? Of course. The journey will be difficult with no sure guarantees of…anything, but it goes without saying that life itself is like that.
Oops. I said it anyway.

But you, friend, what can I say? I can't tell you anything for sure. I can tell you my story, but it won't be your story. I can tell you where to buy the most comfortable wig, which websites give dependable information, which hospitals have the most user friendly waiting rooms.

The thing is, I can't tell you about you. However, I can show you a few shiny pebbles I've picked up on my own journeys. Perhaps you'll find some of those same pebbles, and maybe you'll find some I missed. If you do, I hope you'll share them.

So here goes;

Cancer sucks. Say it. Both words. When I was young, people didn't say the word "cancer". They said the Big C. The word struck fear our hearts. Those who suffered did so much more privately then than now, for the most part. I know of one woman, though, who didn't let her husband see her without her hair. She took off her wig only when the lights were out at night. How sad. Unless she changed her mind, she never felt the love of warm hands on her head, or the gentle lick kisses of her cat, or nose snuffles of her dog. She never felt what it's like to let the breeze caress her head without fussing with her "do".

Relationships change. A couple of my friends have distanced themselves, and I do forgive them. Others have come closer. One dear friend became angry with me when I was excluding her from my healing rituals. She shared her anger as a loving gift, and we became deeper gifts to each other.

Forgiveness. Of others, of self, of life itself for being so friggin' unfair. Of course, first I had to shout out my rage.

Attitude. I'd like to say it's something I discovered on my cancer journeys, but that wouldn't be true. I've had it for a long time. Let's just say that dealing with the physical, mental, and emotional aspects of the assaults of healing provided plenty of opportunities for me to practice humor, courage, bitchiness, selfish stubbornness, and transcendent peace.

Well, there's a few of the treasures I've found. There are others. If you're nearby, I have a shoulder for you to lean on, and arms to hold you as you find your way.

Witness. It is the only and best gift we can give each other.
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it's not about me

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She is my friend, though we only know each other casually. More than acquaintance, but not much more. She is younger than me, and has just received a difficult diagnosis. More difficult than was my own. She may or may not know that; we pick up a lot of information on the cancer journey. We have shared ideas about hair - my dream was purple, she prefers electric blue. And other things that are really just private between the two of us.

I feel so lucky, and I feel almost guilty. Why should I still even be among the living after three cancer battles? Life is fresh and beautiful for me. I have to be careful with my assumptions. She may have even more spit and fight in her than I did, and who's counting, anyway. She is my friend. She is a sister. She is hurting. But it is her story to write, and it will not be my story. My place is to listen, and speak when needed, and have the wisdom to know when it is needed. It is not about me.
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not quite looking at you, kid

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or, maybe...
all the better to hear you with, dearie.

Seen, petted, and photographed at my granddaughter's science fair. I would have liked to hold him, but there was no need to transfer him from a set of arms that he was comfortable in to my own. I'd say from nose to tip of tail he might have been 18 inches long.
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parallels

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Parallel lines remind me of parallel universes. One I understand, the other I don't. On the other hand, parallel universes might not be real. But what if they are? Sometimes I feel trapped in the jail of my limited human brain. Ah but then I think of six leggers, who have eyes and brains sufficient to go about their daily lives. They look at us with no comprehension of what we are. So it is with us, I suppose. We have eyes and brains sufficient to go about our own daily lives (and more often than not screw up even that).
I look out at the universe with no comprehension.
Only wonder.
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awesome

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She designed her own halloween costume.
She's made her first doll.
She designed and created an awesome tote bag.
And now,
she's participated in her first Science Fair.
She speaks confidently of hypotheses, variables, data collection, and conclusions.
She is ten years old, and she is my granddaughter.
Way to go, Amanda!!!

(I'm sure she has a lot of accomplishments that I've neglected to mention, but these are accomplishments she's shared with me. Yes, I'm delighted to be part of her life.)


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pathways

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stairs

paths

back roads

a lover's eyes

air currents

rivers

cries of the wounded

silent music in the desert

daydreams and nightmares

pathways to wonder

pathways to truth

pathways to love

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losing and gaining

Another friend will lose her breasts. She will tell her own story, and it will not be my story, so I will listen. Can we do better than that? To be an attentive witness while another works out her own drama? Nevertheless, I know one thing. She may lose her breasts, but, if she chooses, will grow deeper roots.
Life is like that.

two stories

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In the past two days I've read two stories of things taking place in our country. We always read about the atrocities that take place in other countries, and though they are awful, they seem far away. We're glad we're not like that…
And, perhaps we're not like that. Not perfect, but working on improving things. Maybe. Maybe not.

Deadly Force

Briefly, a SWAT team terrorized an innocent family under the false assumption that the family's home was a drop off for drugs. A lot of mistakes were made, but for me two things were inexcusable. First, the SWAT team shot the family's two dogs, then lied about it saying the dogs were attacking them. The family had an autopsy done that proved the dogs were shot from behind. Second, the older woman saw the black masked team through a window and screamed. The SWAT team claimed her scream was what convinced them to break down the door for a forced entry - saying her scream was a signal to the others. The woman suffered thinking the attack was her fault. No apologies were given, no help was given to the innocent family. Apparently this could happen to anybody. A drug dealer will ship a package of drugs to an innocent address, hoping to intercept it before the people at that address go outdoors to retrieve the package. This happens more than we know - it's just that usually it happens to more maginalized people who don't publicize their problems. Oh. I should mention. The innocent family in the article was a town's mayor and his wife and mother in law.

But the fact that it happens al all
in this country.
This is terror.

Family Detention
This story explains family detention camps set up for immigrants and those seeking asylum. They are run like jails. Basically families with children are kept in jail, including being locked up. They have committed no crimes. What's amazing is that those who run the detention centers are given $200 per day per head by our government. There are three centers in this country, one of course in Texas, and more are being built.
Note: immigration violations are not crimes. Neither is seeking asylum.

gulags?
in this country.
This is terror.
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trees playing footsie

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I know what has to happen.
Something very good happened, yet I'm really down. It doesn't do any good to ignore the bad/sad mood. It must be acknowledged, understood, and I must make sense of it. Otherwise, it goes inside and festers. So. Bye for now.
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