Canned Memories

This is the trash can I had in my bedroom when I was an adolescent. I recently pulled it out of my parents' basement.


Not so pretty, eh? The other side isn't much better. It has a painting of two grandmotherly red roses. I won't be telling you how old this thing is.

My old trash can has the names and phone numbers of friends from my past - phone numbers in the days before they became so long that a person could forget who they were calling before they got to the last number.

Barbara and Ken were our next-door neighbors. They really were perfect like Barbie and Ken. I babysat for them while they went out in their sporty white convertible. I was a little young to babysit, but I had my mom next door if I needed her. I got paid 35 cents an hour.

Notice in the bottom right-hand corner: the Beach Boys' address. Why the Beach Boys? They were certainly not my favorite group - or even in my top ten favorites. Sometimes there's no explaining a pre-pubescent...

See Leslie's phone number? She was my best friend in late grade school/early junior high. She had some kind of problem where she had to wear a full body brace all of her life. She died right after I turned 14, not long after I moved to Colorado. I didn't know that when I said goodbye before moving that it would really be THE last time. Forever.

Now that I think about it, after moving away, I never saw any of the other people whose names are on my pink, metal can, either. Many deaths.

Wow! I just googled the numbers and found that some of them still belong to the same families! After... a humongous amount of years!

Now that I know that valuable piece of information, I think that I should paint this can a color that complements my office and recycle the past.


"I don't think the human mind can comprehend the past and the future. They are both just illusions that can manipulate you into thinking there's some kind of change." Bob Dylan

"The past is past, the future not yet risen, and even the present thought, as we experience it, becomes the past. The only thing we really have is nowness, is now." - Soygal Rinpoche

Legend #2

This is the second legend from the Ode article, "Legends of the Desert".
Click here to see the first one.

A man knocked at his friend's door to ask him a favor: "I want you to lend me 4,000 dinars because I have a debt to pay. Can you do that for me?"

The friend asked his wife to gather together everything they had of value, but even so it was not enough. They had to go out and borrow money from the neighbors until they managed to get the full amount. When the man left, the woman noticed her husband was crying. "Why are you sad? Now that we've got ourselves in debt with our neighbors, are you afraid we won't be able to repay them?" she asked gently.

"Nothing of the sort," he said, "I'm crying because he is someone I like so much, but even so I had no idea he was in need. I only remembered him when he had to knock on my door to ask me for a loan."

Legends of the Desert

In the recent issue of Ode magazine, Paulo Coelho shares three tales about "generosity of spirit" that Yasser Hareb, Vice-President for Culture of the Untied Arab Emirates, told him. Here is one of those stories:

Two men were crossing the desert when they saw a Bedouin's tent and asked for shelter. Even though he did not know them, the Bedouin welcomed them in the way that the conduct of nomads dictates: a camel was killed and its meat served at a sumptuous dinner.

The next day, as the guests were still there, the Bedouin had another camel killed. Astonished, they protested they had not yet finished eating the one killed the day before. "It would be a disgrace to serve old meat to my guests" was the answer.

On the third day, the two strangers woke early and decided to continue on their journey. As the Bedouin was not at home, they gave his wife 100 dinars, apologizing for not being able to wait; if they spent any more time there, they explained, the sun would become too strong for them to travel.

They had traveled for four hours when they heard a voice calling to them. They looked back and saw the Bedouin following along behind. As soon as he caught up, he threw the money to the ground before them. "I gave you such a warm welcome. Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?"

In surprise, the strangers said the camels were surely worth far more, but the travelers did not have much money.

"I am not talking about the amount," said their host. "The desert welcomes Bedouins wherever they go, and never asks anything in return. If we had to pay, how could we live? Welcoming you to my tent is like paying back a fraction of what life has given us."

Why Wait? Let's Celebrate Today!

On my other blog I once wrote about Terry Tempest Williams' latest book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World. I am a big fan of TTW's. I love her books and the work she does in the world. After I wrote about Finding Beauty in a Broken World, I was contacted by TTW's publisher who asked if I would like to speak with Terry for my blog. Would I??? But it never happened. I don't know why, other than the fact that I am not a big-shot blogger. The three people that read my blog would not create a huge spike in book sales for TTW. I don't think of TTW as an opportunist, but publishers must be in order to survive as publishers. I don't feel the least bit sad about the fact that I didn't get to talk with MY FAVORITE AUTHOR. Just being asked was quite the gift.

BUT guess who I am going to see at the Botanic Gardens this summer! MY FAVORITE AUTHOR! She can't avoid me THAT easily! The Gardens just came out with their speaker schedule and we have already bought the tickets for TTW! Yippppeeee!

Another thing that I am looking forward to this summer (Insha'allah):

I kept hearing that Steve Winwood and Eric Clapton were going to be doing a concert here on June 21st. Well... considering that I've never seen Eric Clapton and considering that June 21st is my birthday and considering that we saw Steve Winwood a couple of years ago and it was a great concert, I STRONGLY hinted that this concert experience was meant for me. But Mr. Carol For Peace thought the money would be better spent on a get-away. I didn't agree, but just decided to let it all go. When I went to bed Saturday night, a piece of paper poked itself out from under my pillow - a print-out of the seating at the concert venue with arrows pointing to OUR SEATS!

Oh! I feel like it's already my birthday! The gifts have already been received.

Gifts are fun, spending time with someone special is wonderful. And the thoughts behind those things are priceless.

If A Tree Falls In The Forest And No One is There

We have had MONSTER winds! The trees have been having nightmares. We have to hold on to heavy things or we'll blow to Kansas.

Today we did a little hike at our most usual place - looking for this year's owl nest. At two points along the way, trees were down across the path, thanks to the mighty winds. That is why I don't like hiking on windy days. You never know when a grandfatherly tree might kick the bucket right on top of you!

(Sorry for the poor quality. I took this with my cellphone and this is the best I could do.)

My closest call came a few years ago when I was hiking on a windy day and a pine fell across the path not long after a friend and I passed it.

Funny that I don't put too much thought into getting into an accident while driving, but I stress about a random tree hammering me into the earth. That seems a little backwards when I consider the statistics. And the fact that if I had a choice, I'd choose to be one with the earth over being intimate with a hunk of metal.

Oh, and we may have found a nest. The problem is that it is very, very high, so we can't see into it. We could tell that owls are either living there or using the nest as a vacation spot, because at the base of the tree, below the nest... well, there was some fascinating owl poop!

Brave Enough to Fail

John Bramblitt lost his eyesight in 2001 and he says, "It wasn’t until I lost my sight that I became brave enough to fail."

Mr. Bramblitt has been painting without the ability to see what he paints. You can see his work here and read about him here.

I am almost afraid to ask the question, "What would it take for me to be brave enough to fail?"

Something to think about...

Plans

Yesterday I found organic spinach and swiss chard seeds. I bought lots.

Today I found many, many more types of organic seeds in the local health food store. I bought even more.

Bush beans (in honor of our recently de-throned prez), peas, lettuce, kale, chamomile, arugula...

On this cool February day, there is no guarantee that I will be here to plant those seeds when it is time. I have nothing to assure me that the necessary growing conditions for a healthy garden will occur this spring and summer.

Still, we buy seeds, we make plans, we say goodbye like there is always a tomorrow.

I like what the Muslims say, "Insha' allah" - God willing. I will plant my seeds this spring, insha'allah. And I will follow through on my commitment to others, but I will only be doing it if it fits with The Plan that is larger than my own.

I'm not saying that I necessarily believe in a "divine plan" or that I do or don't believe in free will. I truly don't know how this whole things works. All I know is that I planned to go to work two weeks ago, but my body had other plans, and a woman on the plane that recently crashed in Buffalo planned to dance with her nephew, but instead, she left this earth.

Just looking at these seeds, I feel a lot of joy. Thinking of how much fun it is to see them pop up through the ground, visualizing the beauty of the plants, and salivating at the thought of the freshly picked vegetables, I've got all of the happiness that I need right now. Everything else that may come along will be gravy, er, vegetables.



Insha' allah, in a few months, I'll be looking at plants instead of seed packets. For now, this will have to do.

To All, With Love

- From the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in San Francisco

Maybe today the whole world can be our valentine and we will recognize that to love another says nothing about their lovability and everything about the openness of our own heart.

To Infinity and Beyond!

I hadn't seen her for... two years? Three? We never call. We RARELY email. But, for some reason, a couple of weeks ago, we set up a time for me to go to her house for tea. Being with her is as comfortable as the big, soft sofa that I plopped myself into at her house. Effortless. Soothing. Familiar. Real. Free.

Then, today, in the mail, I got these from her:


Now, how fun is THAT??? Valentines and fruity teas. (I drank the Blueberry right away, because it's a blueberry kind of day.)

And I quickly regressed back to grade school and memories of white paper bags with red construction paper hearts. The valentines my classmates would deliver. And candy hearts with weird sayings on them. I like the pinks and yellows best. The greens... not so much.

Love you, Diane. You rule! Be my icon(???) Be Good. So Fine.

The Wind Beneath My Cells

The wind today!

Whew!

The trees were having violent dreams!

Or lots of excitement!

Or wild, uninhibited sex that would leave the best of us exhausted, yet smiling all over!

I sat in the doctor's office on the second floor of an old 1960s office building, waiting for the physician's assistant to tell me that I'm getting better (yes, I paid them $25, on top of the insurance company's payment, in order to obtain that valuable piece of information) and I watched a pine tree rocking and rolling outside the window. I've never seen the trunk of a pine tree move that much. It made me a little dizzy.

In a book I recently read, the author spoke about visiting that Biosphere dome thing in Arizona and seeing little spindly trees tied to the ceiling with string or something. When she asked what that was about, she was told that, since there is no wind in there, the trees don't get strong trunks. They need the resistance of wind in order to strengthen.

Well, we here in Colorado must have some pretty strong tree trunks, because they are surely given some heavy dumbbells to work with in the winds that we've been getting!

What is it about the wind that makes it so that I can't seem to separate myself from it? Sitting in a perfectly still room with only the sounds of the banging and yelling of the winds pounding at the walls and windows, my body gets all jaggledy. It's like the wind is the moon and its pull affects the waters of my cells. Wind is high tide for cells.

Wind gives my cells violent dreams, lots of excitement and wild sex.

I'm Looking At

I'm looking at my hand as it writes on lined, white paper. I'm seeing my grandmother's hand - the thin skin pulled taut across the bones.

I used to think my grandmother's hands looked like they had green worms; the blood vessels stuck up all gnarly through her paper skin. My hands were different. Soft. Smooth.

I didn't know that my hands would become my grandmother's one day, but today I can see that they are. Skin stretches across bone - and are those the hints of my own worms beginning to show? Hmmm... I'm so glad. I miss my grandmother. But she's slowly coming back to me. As me.

A Slowly Deflating Face

I wonder, when full deflation occurs, will I look the same as I did before all of this happened? Or will I look like a deflated balloon?

I need to gain some weight. If I do it, can I direct it to my face in order to fill out the balloon?

Beyond all of that, no matter what I look like, can I accept myself as beautifully as those whose eyes met mine at the hospital?

While the body was fighting all foreign invaders, it seems that the mental life got pretty simple: sleep, resist and cry, go blank like a zombie, sleep, try to stay with the program, go blank like a zombie, sleep.

But I did read some this week. Not much got through the muddy brain, but the poem below, written for the author's son, went straight to my heart. It's from the book, St. Nadie in Winter, Zen Encounters with Loneliness by Terrance Keenan.

Becoming the Mountain

- for Conor

They stood on a road in December.
Wind made snow ghosts among the trees.
The child asked, "Where does the wind
come from?"

It comes from the mouth of nowhere,
between day and dark
so the trees can talk together.

"But it's winter now
and the trees are sleeping."

Yes, so listen carefully
to their dreams.

"And suppose I am the wind?"

Then you are also the dreams.

Of Sweat and Big Faces and Things

I have been sick all week. It's been hard.

You know how it can be sometimes, when things get so hard that you are pushed to go beyond the normal, and you are able to find the smallest, most profound beauty amidst the pain? I know that can happen in the pain of childbirth or in recognizing the smallest act of kindness when one is swimming the depths of grief. Anyway, as I curled up in a pain-filled ball of sweat on Wednesday, I found so much beauty alongside the agony. At that moment, I not only found some love and compassion for myself - for possibly the first time in my life - but I also realized something about the human condition of suffering that I don't know how to explain at this moment.

Still, with all of the benefits that come from pushing myself beyond my limits, I was not sad to see that experience come to an end. But when it came to its end, I found myself with a new face. Remember this dumb kids' joke? "Does your face hurt?" "No." "Well, it's killing me!" Well, since Wednesday, my face has hurt and I'm sure that it might kill some people - it certainly could scare off little kids. The swelling is amazing and half of my face looks like it's on fire. The bridge of my nose is two inches wide! (I just measured it.) My eyes are little bitty slits. I have no peripheral vision, due to all of the swelling around my eyes. My cheek feels like I'm wearing a mask. Got the picture yet? :-(

This is my cheek on fire.

So, with pride and any ideas of the importance of my looks put aside (almost), I got myself to a doctor, thanks to Mr. CarolForPeace. There, they sent me to the hospital for blood work and an MRI of my brain. I walked into that place looking like I had elephantiasis of the face and all of those kind people at the hospital looked right into my eyes like I was the most precious person that had walked in the door. No pity, but also not a twitch of discomfort or a desire to look away. It was so... so... wonderful.

They did find a brain while doing the MRI - that was good news. And it's been decided that this face thing is angioedema, which is a very important-sounding word for an allergic reaction. How I could have an allergic reaction occur when I spent the previous 2 1/2 days sweating in bed, eating very little and especially not eating anything new, I'll never know. I don't think that I have all of the answers and I'm not sure that I need them. I've put aside my principles (or stubborness) and I'm on steroids for a few days. Better that than having the stuff move to my airways.

So that's my story for today. My face is still red and fat, but the rest of my symptoms are melting away like our leftover snow piles in this spring-like weather.

Love cures people — both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it. - Dr.Karl Menninger

B.E.'s Photo Meme

I picked up this meme from Border Explorer.

I am to go to the 6th folder of my photograph files and pick the 6th photo in that file, then write about it. Above is the photo and below are my thoughts.

I remember a time when I let my body lean in to my mom's, unapologetically snuggling up to feel her warmth and assurance. When my mom's arms were around me, the whole world was safe.

I remember, too, the sensation of my children against my grown woman's body. Somehow, their dependence on me gave me the strength and courage to be a mother even though I worried that I was inadequate at the task. Not much prepares one for such a huge responsibility.

I still have dreams of caring for small children. Sometimes in my dreams, I'm nursing my baby, and the feeling is as real as it was those days 20+ years ago when my body gave nutrients to my son and daughter. Those dreams are heaven on earth. No experience in my life has surpassed the beauty of the moments of breastfeeding my two beautiful miracles.

Maybe those dreams come because I no longer lean against my mother's warm body for strength. And no children are leaning against mine. And a part of me yearns for both of those times.

******

This photo was taken almost exactly a year ago. The sculpture is part of the Chapungu exhibit that was displayed throughout the Denver Botanic Gardens last year.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Carol For Peace!

I have celebrated FIFTEEN of your birthdays with you!

I remember the first birthday of yours that I spent with you. How could I forget???

Both people that make up every new couple should have to fill out a questionnaire pretty early on in the relationship. One of the many good questions on it should be: "Do you like surprise parties that celebrate your birthday?"

You had just moved in with me. I thought that EVERYBODY liked surprises, so I contacted your friends in Boulder - many of whom I'd never met - and we figured out a plan where everyone would arrive at our place at the same time. Remember the woman who showed up early, flowers in hand? She nearly ruined the surprise, but then she attempted to save the day with her story about how she just happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to stop by our house (where she'd never been before) - and she just happened to have a bouquet of flowers on her. Yeah...

Well, I guess that it doesn't matter that she kind of blew the surprise SINCE YOU DON'T LIKE SURPRISES ANYWAY.

Party pooper...

Oh yeah. I didn't stop there, though, did I? Was it your next birthday that I blindfolded you and drove you all over the city, turning this way and that to totally confuse you before we ended up at a nearby restaurant for your birthday dinner? What a good sport! You ate your dinner even though you were a little green around the edges from all of the blind rockin' and rollin' you did in the car.

But I learned! No more surprises for you! I'm living transparently now.

Anyway, I celebrate this experience of growing more and more in love with you. I celebrate that you have lived on this planet for SO MANY YEARS! ;-)

I love your generosity - that you would pay the fence people more than they charged because you felt they weren't making enough money for the amount of time they put into the job.

I love your patience - anyone who can live with me for 15 years HAS to have loads of patience!

I love your kindness - it just oozes out of your pores.

I love your memory - without your memory, there wouldn't be a memory in this house. You ground me in time (something that I don't often find important, but it can come in handy).

I love your intelligence - another quality that this home would be sorely lacking if you weren't here. Well, the Buddha dog would come close to making up for it. ;-)

I mostly just love being with you and learning and laughing and creating and going to work together.

I love that you love me.

There's much more that I love about you, but you'll have to ask for the rest of the list!

I adore you, Mr. Carol For Peace.

You are my partner for exploring life.

Happy Birthday! My life and the world are both better places because of you.



"The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along." - Rumi