Wllderness Quest 2011 - Part 10

Can I Call This A Solo If I'm Not Alone?

Background


We questers are only responsible for one thing while out in the desert on our own:  to report in to our buddy circle once a day, and if our buddy has not reported in, to try to find out if he/she is okay.

Before we set out on the first day of our solo, we find out which other quester has a solo spot nearest our own.  That person will be our buddy.  Because of how the various solo locations were situated, I ended up with two buddies.  I love that!

The buddies are to find a spot where they will then make a circle, usually out of stones.  In a three buddy system, one of us is the morning buddy (me), one is the afternoon buddy and one is the evening buddy.  Every morning, I would walk to the buddy circle, take out the rock left there by the evening person, and put in my rock. 

Worst case scenario, if I were to put my rock in at 8:00 a.m., then promptly fall off of a cliff, someone would begin to worry about me somewhere between 30 and 32 hours later.

Comforting, huh?

What happened

Happily eating my "dinner" of nuts and dried fruit, enjoying the beautiful, peaceful evening on my second day of solitude, I turned my head to see Karen, one of my buddies, walking toward me.  Strange.  But I instinctively waved.  Honoring the space I was in during this sacred solo, instead of talking with me, she presented me with a note that said our other buddy hadn't gone to the buddy circle that day and Karen didn't know where his solo spot was located. 

Shit!  Here is what the mind does in these types of circumstances (and I'm sure you know this well):  "He may have fallen off a cliff!  I bet he just forgot to go to the circle.  He could be injured and he's been lying somewhere for hours.  Nah... I'm sure he forgot.  But what if he didn't forget and he needs help?  If we have to round up a search party, we don't have many hours until dark."

Karen and I set out to Joe's solo spot - a perch high on a cliff.  Joe is very tall.  I'm not.  I tried, but I couldn't climb up to his spot.  But I could throw rocks up there, and nothing signaled sign of life.  What to do?

We wrote a note and posted it on a dead little plant at the bottom of the cliff.  "We are worried about you because you didn't go to the buddy circle today.  If you don't come to find Carol at her solo spot by 7 p.m., we will come back to see if you have returned.  If not, we'll head up to base camp."

Oh, man.  I had to dig through my pack for my watch.  I DO NOT DO TIME ON A SOLO!  But I did do time on this solo.  At 7:00, I found Karen and we went back to the cliff.  The note was still there.  We headed up to base camp.  Worry.  Know he forgot.  Worry.  Know he forgot.

We were almost to base camp when Joe ran up to us.  Hallelujah!  Whoo hooo!  He's okay.  Tears.

We all walked back together.  Very few words, since *ahem* this was a time of solitude and silence (unless we chose to talk with little 4-leggeds or the stars or the winds).  The few words uttered were mostly made of "I'm sorry.  I spaced it."

And for the first time in my life, I realized how okay everything is even when someone appears to cause an unnecessary inconvenience.  No need for apologies (even though they are sweet to hear).  No one did anything to me.  My solo presented this awesome opportunity to just love.  Things happen.  Sometimes we forget.  Sometimes we give up our valued alone time because we care about each other.  I felt so much compassion for our human-ness.  It's all perfectly beautiful.

Whatever appears during a solo is a teacher (true all of the time, but we are sometimes more profoundly aware when we've slowed down this much).  One of my best teachings while I was alone came through not being alone.

Previous Wilderness Quest Posts:   1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9

Wilderness Quest 2011 - Part 8

After the life review where I visited each five-year segment of my life, things just started to flow out of me.  I could blame the strange yet beautiful events that occurred on my lack of caloric intake, or maybe on the desert heat - things had heated up since our arrival.  Maybe my actions were caused by a lack of interaction with my own species.  Most likely, it was all due to my willingness to let happen what needed to happen.

So, with no warning, a series of events regarding my grief about my dad unfolded. 

First, this eulogy/obit came out on paper:

John __, my dad, was raised as one of seven boys by Robert ____, a poor farmer, and Mary ____, a schoolteacher.  He and his family lived through the depression and dust bowl years in Kansas, Oklahoma and Arkansas. The story I heard was that Robert, my grandfather, was constantly looking for greener grass at time when there was no such thing, thus the constant uprooting and poverty.

Dad joined the navy in World War II and was a radio technician on the submarine, Cero.  He traveled the South Pacific - New Guinea and Australia.

After the war, Dad met Cleo ___.  They married and started a television/radio sales and service shop in a Kansas town of about 40,000 people.

Four years after their marriage, their darling daughter was born.  :-)  Two years later, they were blessed with a son. 

Dad worked long, hard hours at the shop.  Mom helped with the office work, and my brother and I spent a good amount of our days at there watching television or entertaining ourselves in other ways, most of which didn't cause too much damage. 

In 1968, our family moved to Colorado.  When we first arrived, Dad went door to door to motels and hotels to see if they needed a television repairperson.  From that initial investment, he drummed up a nice-sized clientele. 

Our family took two unforgettable vacations while I was growing up.  In the mid-sixties we drove to New York, Canada, D.C., and Nantucket.  Later, in the early seventies, we drove west to the San Francisco area.  In addition to those great adventures, we also traveled to Colorado a few times, staying at my great-aunt's mountain cabin.

Dad was a good man.  Kind.  Patient.  I was not an easy child for him much of the time and I don't think that I ever thanked him for working so hard so that I could have all that I needed.  I don't think I thanked him for those vacations or for the times he worried about me.  I hope I made up for it somewhat by growing up into a good person and raising two great kids.  I hope I took on his kindness and patience as a base to grow from.

Thank you, Dad, for all you did for me. Thank you for the numerous things you fixed for me, for calming me when I worried.  I will miss you.  And remember the line you told me so many times when I would get worked up about something - a line you attributed to some man in the navy with you:  "It don't make no difference no how."

Dad, you made a difference.
 

My dad and mom, photo taken September 26, 2008

Previous Wilderness Quest Posts:   1  2  3  4  5  6  7

Wilderness Quest 2011 - Part 7

The desert began working its magic.  No, that's wrong.  The desert magic is always working.  I was finally able to be aware of the magic taking place within me and around me.

Before we went our separate ways for our solo time, and as we were learning about different rituals which could help to deepen our quest experience, one fellow quester shared a ritual that he thought was useful.  The idea resonated with me, and that was one of the first things I did on my second day of solo time.

A wash (kind of like a dry creek bed) bordered my solo area.  In the wash, I placed a stick every five feet until I had enough five-foot-long sections to represent each of the five years of my life (let's see now, if I'm getting close to 100 years old, I need almost 20 sticks...)   ;-)

I sat next to the area that represented the first five years of my life, and I visited with it, remembering stories I had heard about my birth.  (I was born with black hair and since there is no black hair in our family, my mom thought she was given the wrong baby.  It took a few months before I became a blondie.)  As I sat on the dirt in the wash, I conversed with my parents about what it was like to have their first child, about my dad's work, and about the appearance of my baby brother who cried incessantly, due to colic or something painful with his stomach.

After I felt complete with that era of my life, I moved on to ages five through ten.  On and on I went, listening to the stories of my life, trying to connect with my experiences and the experiences my parents were having at the time.

And when I was done, I realized just how self-absorbed I had been for much of my life.  I knew very little about what my parents were doing, feeling, and thinking through many of my years.  That was profound for me, and I knew that not only could I not go back and do things differently, but with my dad's dementia now, I wouldn't be able to ask him about his life.

The realization wasn't a catalyst for beating myself up, but a piece of the mosaic of my life.

I sat with that a while, then gratitude for my parents and for all that they did for me rolled out of me like the waters that flood the washes in spring.

A little while later, I wrote a eulogy for my dad.



Previous Wilderness Quest Posts:   1  2  3  4  5  6

The Aftermath

If you live in the U.S., I hope that you had a magical Thanksgiving holiday today.  And if you don't live in the U.S., I hope your day was magical, too.  Each moment of every day is so full of life, beauty and vibrancy, I can't figure out why we need a special day to remember gratitude, but I guess it always helps to have a little boost. 

Thanksgiving dinner was here at the PeaceCarol house today.  Master Chef Carol, along with her trusty assistant, Mr. CFP, whipped up the huge spread.  Family came by, and we ate together.

Cooking and pre-dinner cleaning time:  10 hours.
Narshing it down time:  about an hour.
Post-dinner cleaning:  still in process.

After making three kinds of potatoes - mashed, steamed, and sweet... After making three desserts...  After making what smelled like scrumptious stuffing, of whose flavors I could not partake...  My Thanksgiving resolution (why wait until New Year's?) is:

From now on, when Chef Carol makes the Thanksgiving meal, she's not going to try to satisfy the world.  If she can't taste test it, it won't be made.  That means all dishes will be dairy-free, sugar-free, and gluten-free.  Trust me, no one will miss those things.  I've got gluten-free/sugar-free/dairy-free down!

Whew!  What a relief!  Glad we got that out in the open!

Even though I miss my Buddha dog, profoundly noticing his absence when it was table scrap sharing time, I am getting some kitty-lovin' in while house-sitting a HUGE,white Main Coon kitty who sports the polydactylism that is common of the breed.

And, because of a lack of doggage in our yard, foxes are no longer avoiding us.  Today I looked out to see one napping in our backyard.  So darn cute!

I am thankful for CRITTERS!

I Didn't Go

Yesterday my friends (most of whom I'd never met before today) left for Crestone without me. I went to the Conoco station where we always rendezvous on the way out of town and I got to see them off.  (Hey Dancing, one couple was from England - delightful people.)

There is some sadness here, but I'm mostly over that.  I feel like I grew up a little.  My decision was a 100% selfless, going against what I wanted for me.

There will be other times that I can do what I want.  This is the one time that I can be here for my parents as my dad is born into his next stage.

My new friends are taking a piece of me with them.  I am so very lucky to be so loved and supported.

Amazing.

The Amusement Park

It took me until I was fourteen to begin to LOVE riding roller coasters.  My friends and I would go to the old Elitch Amusement Park or to Lakeside Amusement Park (which still exists, I think) and roller coaster until we were sick of it.

These days, I don't need to go to an amusement park in order to ride a roller coaster.  Roller Coasters R Us (how do you make a backwards "R" on this thing?)  I am Roller Coaster.

It's been a little over a week now and my dad has been on a roller coaster whose high points have gotten lower and lower and whose low points have done the same.  I'm pretty much okay with that - it's what happens under these circumstances - but it's my mom's emotions which get to me as they go along on the ride.   I mean, think of it - over 60 years of never being apart.  She was just a baby (not yet 21) when this story began.

Wednesday:

On the way to qigong class, I made a left turn onto a side street.  A big, dark truck was coming from the opposite direction and was turning west like me.  It turned first and I followed.  I don't really know how it happened. All I know is that suddenly a man about 60 years old with a long beard and a skateboard (yes, that's what I remember) was right in front of my car.  I slammed on my brakes; he stopped in his tracks.  I mouthed, "I'm sorry."  He motioned for me to go on.

That was my last straw.  I parked and sat in the car and bawled.  And even though I didn't want to, I had to go to qigong because Mr. CfP would be there and would wonder if something happened to me.

Something DID happen to me.

For two days, I was a little girl.  Previously, I had been trying to hold everything up, but I now could no longer do that.  That is, I could no longer even try.  The truth is, it's impossible to hold things up anyway.  It's all bigger than me.

In many ways, it was a relief.  And in some ways, it felt like grief.  And it was about time.

Sometimes I wonder if that man was really an angel sent to help me become more real.  I had been trying to be the one in control of herself.  What a crazy act!


Today:

Months ago, I signed up to do my 4th retreat in Crestone.  If I could only do one nice thing for myself each year, it would be to go to Crestone and spend a week mostly in solitude and silence.  This Thursday is the day we retreatants are scheduled to head south to the San Luis Valley and the tiny village of Crestone.  Over the last week, the roller coaster has given me views where I saw myself going, but it has also gone so low that I couldn't see anything - there was no view.  Today I will clean my house (I have a guest coming before the retreat) and pack - after all, I only have four days until I leave.  If I leave.

The Rolling Stones are playing in my head:

Time waits for no one, no favours has he
Time waits for no one, and he won't wait for me

Men, they build towers to their passing yes, to their fame everlasting
Here he comes chopping and reaping, hear him laugh at their cheating

And time waits for no man, and it won't wait for me
Yes, time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me

Drink in your summer, gather your corn
The dreams of the night time will vanish by dawn

And time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me
And time waits for no one, and it won't wait for me

One reason I love Crestone

Ever notice how, when you learn a new word, all of a sudden you see or hear that word everywhere?  Or you hear a song and then that song seems to haunt you every place you go?

That is how it is with me and purple now.  Ever since Goodnight Gram posted about purple, purple has been following me like a dust cloud around Charlie Brown's Pig-Pen.

Yesterday, in honor of Goodnight Gram, I put on a purple sweater.  I thought that a couple of sweaters were all the purple that I owned nowadays, but when I went to put on a light jacket for our spring-like day, I saw my PURPLE silk jacket. Oh yeah!  I had forgotten!

So, of course, I put it on!

Feeling rather purplish - and proud of it - I walked into the hospital only to see that the volunteers at the front desk all had on purple vests!  I visit this hospital so often they have almost named a room after me.  They will soon give me and my family frequent patient discounts.  And I have never before registered the fact that the volunteers wear purple!

Soon, I was noticing purple people all over the place.  If someone volunteers in a different part of the hospital - not at the front desk - he/she gets to wear a purple shirt rather than a vest. In the halls, in my dad's room - purple people everywhere.

I felt like a member of some exclusive club.  It was great!

Maybe I've been around sick people too long...

Couldn't resist.

Beauty #7

There is so much beauty in the world.  Everyone could post about it and never run out of its proof. 


We had to call an ambulance (again) for my dad Sunday morning.  He is still in the hospital, but they will probably release him today, even though he may not be able to ambulate.  I feel like we are walking on the razor's edge of a cliff.  And we may or may not fall off. Well, of course we'll fall off.  It's a matter of when.


Anyway, that is not the point of this post.  The point of this post is 1) to talk about people in elevators, and 2) to share the last rhododendron photo of this series. 


First, the elevators.  You may already know this:  People in hospital elevators are some of the nicest people in the world.  A thirty second hospital elevator ride and ta-daaaaa!  Instant connection.  Talking, joking and "Have a Nice Day!"-ing.  We are family, united by the illness of someone we care for.  It could make one think that the world is a very friendly place!  (Well, I already knew that, but some people just want, through their behavior, to try to prove otherwise.)  I bet even those people would be friendly and sweet if we were to meet them on the hospital elevator. 


Maybe hospitals spray Nice Juice in their elevators. Maybe we could find their source and spray it all over the world...


Below is the last rhodie that I'm going to post.  I love the drops of water on the stems and petals.

The beauty of the heart

is the lasting beauty:

its lips give to drink

of the water of life.

 -Rumi

Beauty #6

This one (the last rhodie I'll share) is for GoodnightGram.  (She'll know why.)  My purple rhodie photos didn't come out so well, so I played with Photoshop on this one.  I didn't do it justice, but it's kind of fun. 

"A flower's fragrance declares to all the world that it is fertile, available, and desirable, its sex organs oozing with nectar.  Its smell reminds us in vestigial ways of fertility, vigor, life-force, all the optimism, expectancy, and passionate bloom of youth.  We inhale its ardent aroma and, no matter what our ages, we feel young and nubile in a world aflame with desire."
 
-   Diane Ackerman,  A Natural History of the Senses


G.G., check this out:  The Purple Store  I think I could have fun there - how about you?

Beauty #5

I think that this rhododendron from Whidbey Island has been a previous visitor to this blog.  I love the "rhodie bouquet" that this plant created.

How did the rose
Ever open its heart
And give to this world
All its beauty?
It felt the encouragement of light
Against its being,
Otherwise,
We all remain
Too frightened.
 
- Hafiz

Beauty #3

Another pink one.

Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.

- Rabindranath Tagore

Beauty #2

Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Beauty #1

A couple of years ago, we visited with a woman who lives on Whidbey Island.  An important aspect of her life is her love affair with rhododendrons.  When I first heard of this love of hers, I was a bit bewildered.  How could anyone have a love affair with a type of flower?

While we were on Whidbey, the woman took us to Meerkerk Rhododendron Gardens and then to a private garden.

Oh, my!  I got it!  I could see why someone would be in love with rhododendrons.  Well, sort of...

Last night as I went through my photos looking for some Buddha shots to send to a friend, I got so much enjoyment out of looking at the beauty of these graceful flowers that I thought I would share some of them over the next few days.

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.


 - Rumi

My New Profession

Somehow Mr. CfP decided that I would be his new barber.  I am not quite sure how this all came about.  I must not have protested loudly enough and sincerely enough, because last week, an expensive pair of barber scissors arrived at our house via UPS.

Those scissors sat in a drawer for a week while I searched the intertubes for instructions on how to cut a man's curly locks.  Hair Cutting For Dummies arrived from the library one day but that book did NOT inspire confidence.

I hemmed and hawed and read and thought.  Meanwhile, Michael's blossoming 'fro was starting to resemble Linc's from the Mod Squad (if you're too young to know what I'm talking about... well, never mind...)

(photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

Finally, we decided that today was going to be the big day.  The haircut was long past due.  Today would be the THREE MONTH anniversary of Mr. CfP's last haircut and my hair-cutting debut.

And, well, my worst nightmare didn't happen (or at least not THIS worst nightmare).  Mr. CfP will not have to make a hair appointment in order to get his wife's mistakes fixed.  There are probably MANY mistakes in his 'do, but none appear to be noticeable enough for the untrained eye to care about.


Ta-daaaaaa!

Too bad I didn't take any "Befores".

I think that I'll wait until I've cut his hair a couple of more times before I open up my own salon.  You'll be invited to my Open House.

What I Love About This Time of Year

I love ice.

I love perfectly smooth ice

and artful ice.

I remember a time when I was hiking next to a pond and the ice started singing.  I'm not kidding.  It sounded like angels were humming all around me.  (You may say that it was all in my head, but I had a hiking buddy who heard it, too!)

I am not a cold weather type of person, but I have to say that I love this time of year (don't ask me about January and February).  

I love that people come together, they think about each other more, and sometimes they out-do themselves with kindness and giving.

I love the sounds of bells and laughter and music.

My favorite Christmas song is O Holy Night.

This little girl does a beautiful job of singing it (and I like her little girl faces and moves).

What do you love about this time of year?

What is your favorite Christmas song?

Winter Solstice Lunar Eclipse

Yesterday evening Mr. CFP drove me and the Buddha dog to the park for a little walk. I almost caused a heart attack and/or accident when I yelled out "Look at that!!!!" as I first viewed the full moon rising over the city.

In Colorado, the beginnings of the eclipse took place about 11:30 p.m.

I slept for about an hour and a half before getting up to watch.

We put a blanket on the sleeping garden bed and, lying on our backs, we witnessed the most astonishing show.  

 

I couldn't help but think about how, even though we know it's not true, we on this planet live, not only individually, but collectively, as though we are the center of the universe, .  

You and I are a part of one celestial body in a universe beyond imagination.  

We are as beautiful as this rusty red moon, as sacred as every planet and star, and yet, we are barely a fleeting breath within the whole miracle of it all.

No One

Jason Shinder died of cancer at the age of 52.  According to Wikipedia, he had put off going to the doctor to get the lumps in his throat checked.  Then, he was negligent with his chemo and meds.  In his poem, Company, he wrote:

I’ve been avoiding my illness
because I’m afraid
I will die and when I do,
I’ll end up alone again



I wonder if in his death, he realized his deepest fears of aloneness or if he found that those were only stories made up in his mind.  Or, did he vanish into the big, beautiful nothingness where no beliefs are real?

I found out about Jason after reading this poem that was sent to me yesterday:

Alone for the Fifth Day

When I look at the ocean for a long time, the blue

and restless driven waves, I keep looking, I keep looking,
I keep looking at the waves swaying in the wind

like a metronome, wired for the sound of a sleeping heart,

and I keep looking with the silence of the sun
on the windowpane, and I keep looking and do not stop

looking deeper into waves as if into the middle

of a woman's body, where the soul and spirit
have no human bonds, and I begin never to turn away

from looking though I am frightened but keep looking

beyond what I know until I can hardly think or breathe
because I have arrived, with the need to be me disappearing

into the beautiful waves, reflecting no one, nothing, no one.

 - Jason Shinder

Letter To Blog

Dear Blog, you are falling down on the job.  Blogs are supposed to have words and photos posted to them on a semi-regular basis.  You have been slacking lately.

I would help out, but I am too busy and wordless.  You are on your own.  

Right now, my darling daughter is in town.  This is a busy week with time spent with her, time spent celebrating my mom's 81st birthday, and hours needed in preparing the Thanksgiving dinner for my phambly.  


Other reasons that I can't help you do your job:  

I really don't have a lot to say even though I'm having a great time.

I've started knitting another preemie baby cap - it should be done by the time it's too hot for hats, if I keep going at this snail's pace.

I'm reading Ram Dass' newest book, Be Love Now.  It's nice spending time with Ram Dass - such a sweet man.

I think that I'm needing a good warm beach experience... 

...because I'm here in cold Colorado bundled up and trying to stay warm with a thermostat turned low as we aspire to be good stewards of this earth.

If I don't find a warm spot, I will have to stay snuggled in my travel bag until the spring thaw.



So be a good Blog and take care of things until I can get my mojo back.  'K?

At What Point Does Someone Who Paints Become a Painter?

And when does someone who (sometimes) knits become a knitter?

I don't know.  All I know is

Whooooohoooooo!  

I just finished knitting my first hat! 

It's a preemie baby hat.

 I'm going to donate it to some sweet little baby girl who I'll never know.  I smile just thinking about her.

This is the first three-dimensional piece that I have knitted.  Before this, I was limited (by my beliefs) to only creating dishcloths and simple scarves. 

SLOWLY, the intimidation factor is being unwoven.  I still can't imagine creating patterns like G.G.  In fact, I can't imagine following most patterns.  But a year ago, I would have said that I could never knit a hat.  Sooooo I guess I am reminded once again to never say never.  I may someday be a knitter 4 peace!

Far Out!

I guess I'd better post something today so that we can all forget yesterday's Halloween post...

Mr. CfP and I just spent four days in the mountains at a quaint little dog-friendly getaway destination in Frisco.

Scene:  Quaint, little dog-friendly, wooden complex of buildings with giant mountain backdrop.  A dusting of snow remains from the previous weekend's snowstorm.  Mr. CfP gets out of the car to go into the office.  A man who appears to be in his late 50s/early 60s walks up to Mr. CfP.

Man:  Are you here to check in?
Mr. CfP:  Yes.
Man:  Right on!

Right on!!!  I LOVE it!  Haven't heard that since the early 70s when I used to hang out at the park wearing my bell bottoms and playing Frisbee. 

Whooohooooo!!!!  Honey, I'm home!

It was LOVELY.  Other than exploring the area by walking among the aspens and pines every day, we were kind of lazy.  Well, actually, that would be VERY lazy.  It was renewing.

I didn't even take a single photo!  Lugged the camera up there and left it in its case.

But we did watch the Rally for Sanity and/or Fear.  (Which couldn't have happened at home, considering the television here is solely for videos and has no cable or dish or any of that other stuff hooked up to it.)

The highlights for me:

Yusuf Islam (because I love the man)
Kid Rock's new song, "Care"
Jon Stewart's closing speech


Since I don't have any photos from our little trip, I'll just have to post a photo of a piece of one of our homegrown beets. 

I dedicate this beet photo to the DUDE at the quaint little dog-friendly getaway destination.  I think he'd like its tie-dyed look.