Reverb 11 -- Day 11

#1 Prompt: People: Who surprised you?

#2 Prompt:  What do you wish you had done more of in 2011?

#1 -- I really can't think of just one person who surprised me this year, but I have been surprised and humbled by several people. Compliments are hard for me to accept, I guess, and I am always surprised when I'm told how much I mean to someone, or how I've helped them, or how 'wise' someone thinks I am. I am so grateful for the friends that I have, and those whose actions I so admire and aspire to, so when someone tells me that I am a good friend to them, or I have offered advice that helps them, I sort of look around to see who it is they are talking to! 

And I guess that says more about how I regard myself than anything else. Maybe I need to work on that, hm?

#2 -- I wish I had played more, done more things that were just plain fun to do and worried about people and situations less. I wish I had done more writing in this blog, and also in planning what my book is going to be. I wish I had worked more outside in my garden and on landscaping for the yard. I wish I had done more theater. I get another chance in 2012.

Powerless over others' actions

A recurring theme in these now years of blog posts has been letting go of issues that are not mine to deal with: acknowledging that we are all powerless over people, places, and things, and then letting them go, putting the responsibility where it belongs -- which is not on ME.

I keep working on doing that. And I keep working on not worrying about the outcome of others' actions, and to not feel (or act on) the great need to step in front of that speeding train to keep them safe.

Some days I am more successful than others.

According to one astrology site, a change is coming this week. Hard as change can be, it needs to happen for me.

Not that I want drastic, awful, horrible death-in-the-family change, please, oh please not. Just a shift towards the positive, towards good growth and constructive actions.

And more letting go of things and situations that I am not responsible for, that I cannot cure, that I cannot control. Trying to manage my own thoughts and actions and life is enough: I am not responsible for the outcome of others' choices.

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Spring is springing. Our harbinger tree began leafing out this last weekend (right on time) which means that the other trees will soon bud into green life. We've had daffodils springing up here and there for a couple of weeks now, and many flowering trees (some of which lost lots of blossoms in the cold and wind we've had recently) but the little tree that unfurls its greenness first has always been our true indicator of spring.

While I do enjoy the lovely mild temperatures and the pretty green grasses that make this area so beautiful in the spring, I can't help thinking about the heat that I know will follow all too soon, and I confess that I prefer the woodstove, the rain, and the green grasses -- even the weeds -- to the crispy brown fields and searing 110-degree days that are always a part of our summer.

Our weeds are definitely thriving too -- we have not yet done the spring RoundUp blitz that beats them back from the house and along the driveway, and need to do so. If I can just go out for 10 minutes each day and pull weeds, it'll help: we're now past the stage where they are little sprouts that would hardly be seen once hit by the weed killer, and into full bushy mode, where they'd lay in dead heaps on the ground and REALLY look crappy.

Rhubarb is coming up in the (also weedy) garden but I'm not ready to think about getting into the garden just yet, nor about the plants in the pots close to the house. Later.

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I'm not doing well on my intention to write a book so far; some better on taking care of myself. I'm loving my weekly yoga class and can feel strength building in legs and core -- I only wish we had it twice weekly but am grateful for even this. Loving the monthly massages that so slow me down and release the bad kinks.

It takes time to break bad habits too, and I'm working on that -- most especially the one about letting things go. I'm grateful for time and security to do that. It will come, just as those hot days of summer will come. Meanwhile, we take things one day at a time -- doing all we can, where we are, with what we've got.

Living in Wonder - Reverb 10

Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

I didn't cultivate wonder this year, alas. So much of my year was spent in just living one day at a time, getting through the muck and the worry and the fears and the gotta-dos. It was not a year of depression and angst, mind you (and I've had those), but it was one of just getting through and making do.

But there were wonderous moments nonetheless.

As I have for many years, I did plant a garden again this year. It was not the biggest nor most prolific I've done, but I never fail to marvel at how those tiny, shriveled-up seeds result in little green shoots poking above my rocky soil, and then how they grow into bushy, big-leaved zucchini plants that offer slender green fruits, or into leafy vines that wander where they will and give me long, pale ribbed cucumbers, or bright orange marigolds that not only protect the veggies but survive the early frosts and keep their perky bright heads nodding in the wind and despite the baking sun in our hot summers.

I give them dirt (fed by compost) and water, Mother Nature gives them sun, and they grow into food that sustains me. That is miraculous. That never fails to thrill my soul.

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I am my best self when I'm by the ocean, that rocking cradle of life that has lapped at shores since earth was formed and will be there long after my essence is returned to the Universe. I know where I am when I'm standing on her wondrous shore; I feel her heartbeat inside me. More than anywhere else, the ocean awes me, calms me, stimulates me, scares me with its power and feeds me with its changeable constancy.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Well, I did better with a meme, didn't I, as far as posting regularly goes!

Tony has gone on and come home from his first trip to China, thanks to his company's being purchased by Alibaba, and shot lots of video and stills which he still needs to edit. He's still jetlagged a bit but that takes time and sleep to get over. The purchase will certainly create change for him and others. While he's told me lots of stories already, his main takeaway is that China is not what he'd thought it would be and is far more capitalistic than he'd ever imagined.

I'm sure he'll eventually write about some of his experiences on his blog, Cat-E-Whompus, and I'll link to it when he does.

In the meantime, if you're interested, you can read about the trip here, and soon there will be post-trip entries from him and others. Check back often -- new entries will be added.

I'm glad to have him home. China is a 14-hour trip at best, and a 15 hour time difference. I was always aware of what time it was there and looked forward to the 15 minute phone calls I'd make every afternoon around 4-5 pm; early morning there.

I did spend time getting things organized in the home office and finally moved my jewelry bench into position and put away all the tools I bought nearly a year ago. Just a few more piles to deal with and it'll look and be easy to come in here. I have lots of old jewelry to recycle into something 'new' and some new beads and baubles to play with too.

This stemmed from a class I took last fall given by Troy Hawkins, artiste extraordinaire, who has some truly unusual pieces that he's made from recycled bits and pieces. This weekend he's teaching a two-day class on jewelry-making -- last year's was a four-week, one day a week, class and included a field trip to some of his favorite thrift stores.

Like so many people, I have lots of costume jewelry that I never wear anymore. Partly that's because of the far more casual life we lead in California; partly it's because the styles change. The jewelry I own is from my life in Indiana and Alabama, both of which also involved jobs which required a level of professional dress. What's stylish also varies hugely from region to region: Alabama, for instance, was the home of the big earring, at least in the early-mid 1990s. I have some danglies and big pieces that I'll never wear like that again, unless it's dressup at Halloween.

So I'm looking forward to creating and mixing things. The project I began in class is to create a necklace incorporating all of the charms from my high school charm bracelets plus a few other meaningful pieces -- an honor brooch from an organization I belonged to, a very old charm from my mother, an enameled pin from my junior high days, my high school ring.

Don't know if all of that will make it into the necklace -- it might evolve into a zipper pull or a pin too. It'll be fun to play, though.

Of course in cleaning out, throwing away and filing tons of papers -- I am such a paper hoarder -- I've also realized that every drawer and cabinet and closet in the house needs cleaning out. We've been here for nearly eight years -- the longest I've lived in any house as an adult -- and it's either move (because everything gets sorted out as you pack) or clean. So my next ongoing project is to move through the house, taking a closet or drawer every few days and reorganizing, recycling, or donating what's there. I know there are expired meds; I know there are sheets that no longer fit my beds that someone else can use. It's time.

And then there are the ginormous cucumbers I've been blessed with in the garden: I'm giving them away, but I'd also like to make a vat of pickles -- refrigerator or freezer pickles -- which I've never done. Tomatoes are in a bit of a lull; the zucchini are coming just enough to be enjoyable; peppers also. Our days are currently warmish -- in the low 90s to high 80s, but nights are cooling into the low 60s and even 50s, which is wonderful. We're to get rain this weekend and much cooler temperatures: still unusual for this time of year in the Sacramento valley. I'll take it though.

I love this transition from hot summer into fall, with hints of winter rains now and then. While we just don't get the fall color that rainier areas do -- we are brown and crunchy -- we do have the falling leaves, deer munching on acorns, and the cool evenings that speak of change. I'm hoping for another wet and cold winter: last year's replenished ponds and lakes and water tables so well, and we need another like it. I'd even be up for a few flurries.

Sumer is Icumen In

It's an old English round, according to Wikipedia, and means "Summer has arrived," basically -- "loudly sing, cuckoo."

And summer indeed has arrived this weekend. Oh we flirted with 100 degrees a couple of weeks ago, but the temperatures quickly slid back down to the 80s and low 90s -- very uncharacteristic for these parts at this time of year. We've had a fabulous June, with warmish days and cool nights, and some occasional unusual humidity, but there's not doubt that we're into summer now.

The solstice was last Monday -- the longest day of the year, which is greeted in Scandinavian countries with long holidays, bits of greenery decorating everything, Maypoles dotting the countryside, and long, long days of sun.

It gives me some comfort to know, when it's sweltering outside and the electric meter is spinning dollars every moment, that we're on the downward slide now to winter -- the long days where it really isn't dark until 9:30 or later are slowly, minute by minute, decreasing. And in six months it will again be the shortest day of the year.

The north winds have helped things heat up, too, and one of our regional blogs explains why. Unfortunately, the north wind also dries things out and increases fire danger -- the downside to summer in these parts.

My tomatoes have little green orbs that will ripen nicely in the heat, and blossoms dot both cucumber and zucchini vines. I'm hoping aphids stay far away this year -- so far, so good.

And we're not stuck with endless days of heat for now, anyway. Temps will dip into the low 90s-high 80s mid-week, and then start climbing back to normal for the July 4th weekend. That's a nice respite and one I could live with this summer, although I'm still expecting the thermometer to get stuck somewhere in the 108-115 range for weeks on end later this summer -- retribution for the nice wet winter we were blessed with.

I'm trying to think cool meals: salads, grilled meats and fresh veggies and fruit. My sweet tooth gets fed every so often with ice cream, though, when I go out for lunch with girlfriends at the Tremont Cafe downtown. I usually have a salad, water with lemon, and a scoop of either Java Mashup or Chocolate Peanut Butter Chunk. Nothing low sugar or low fat about either. As long as I don't have that stuff in the house, I'm okay. Once in a while is not going to hurt much.

The days will pass quickly -- this much I know. Time goes more quickly with each year, and I notice a little more gray in my hair, a few new wrinkles in my skin, a hesitation in my step where there used to be none. I am grateful for each day, for the love I have in my life, for friends near and far, and for possibilities, because it's never too late for change and growth. And I try to be very intentional about gratitude, even for small things -- like watching the hummers sip their breakfast while we eat ours every day. Waking up to a cool bedroom and a snuggly cat. Enjoying the shower streams cleansing hair and body. Tasting the first cup of hot coffee made for me by my honey.

Much as I don't like hot weather, I'm grateful for the change of seasons and the abundant growth and promise of harvest that summer brings. "Lhude sing cuccu!"

Tending the internal garden too

Another 'hump day' although I no longer am tied to a Monday-Friday schedule with two days of frantic catching up on Saturday and Sunday.

What it does mean is that the weekend is approaching and that means time for my honey to rest and rejuvenate -- always seeming to be a day short, of course.

This weekend that likely will mean climbing on the tractor and mowing down the tall grasses on the property, at least much of it. We handmow the stuff closer to the house since we have learned from expensive experience that the tractor throws rocks and breaks windows and tears screens. While handmowing and judicious weed-eating reduce the chances of a stray missile, it doesn't guarantee it.

My garden still remains untilled and unplanted -- nearly the latest I've been, I think, in this climate. I'll get in some tomatoes and squash and chard, but there may not be much else. I've got lettuce in pots on the back patio. Frankly, it's been a bit cool for tomatoes -- we had a fire in the woodstove on Monday, all day.

I'm just not very motivated to get out there, although it nags at me. I need to take care of the internal garden first, I think, and the rest will follow.

I've been thinking a lot about words and friendships and expectations and disappointments. This week I've heard from two long-time friends: one relationship dating back to the early 1980s which has survived two long distance moves, two divorces, various health issues, and some icky stuff involving her ex-spouse and his penchant for molesting youngsters (including ours). We try to see each other face to face every three or four years for about a week, and it's always as though we were never apart. We e-mail frequently and call less frequently. But she's got my back, always, and I have hers.

The other grew out of a job relationship from the mid-'90s and has grown in spite of divorces, remarriages, long distances between us, and an age difference of some 23 years. I don't know as much about her day-to-day life as she does mine, but there is a bond between us that I believe will always be there. We've visited in person only a few times since I left the South nearly 13 years ago. But I trust her completely and I believe she trusts me as well. We have a comfortable friendship that I treasure.

I am a very loyal friend, and I go into a friendship with the idea that it will be a long-term one, although I have only a few close friends and many acquaintances. I am honest -- actually, I don't play mind games very well at all and never did, much to my detriment in corporate life -- and sometimes more blunt than I intend to be. I try to be kind and thoughtful but don't know that I always succeed -- I get distracted sometimes, and unintentionally wound, I think.

When I think that a friend is unhappy with me, I want to know why: I want to clear the air, or at worst, at least put some closure to it if there are no amends that can be made. I always, ALWAYS, blame myself: that is the unfortunate people-pleasing part of my personality, a part of which I am aware and work on. It is hard to please people when you also usually say what you think, although I don't think I am unkind, or not intentionally so at least. And I've learned to hold my tongue much better over the years. Not everything requires my unfettered opinion!!

Lately I've picked up vibes from some friends that all is not well, and rack my brain as I may, I cannot think why. No one is saying anything, but I'm not often included in activities, and there seems to be a coolness towards me.

It could be just me -- I have certainly been a little down lately -- but I don't think so. I'm fairly perceptive usually, and it has felt for some time like something ain't quite right. It nags at me, though, I'll confess...

And then there is a big part of me -- the one that is slowly, finally, coming into full acceptance of who I am, warts and all -- that is done with that kind of behavior. Life is just too short to spend time worrying about whether or not you've done something to offend a 'friend' (especially when you're pretty sure you haven't), and it is too short to tiptoe around and feel stressed when you're supposed to be enjoying the relationship. It takes two to make a friendship, and if one of them isn't interested, it's not a friendship any more.

I am 62 years old. It's time for my long people-pleasing behaviors to be over. I mostly like who I am, and the parts I don't like I'm working on and tossing them out or changing them. That is going to have to be enough -- and if it isn't, then I'll continue to cherish the friends I do have, near and far.

A week ago or so on Faceboook, many people were re-posting the following: A true friend doesn't care if you're broke, if your house is a mess, about your past, or if your family is filled with crazies...they love you for who you are. A true friend can go long periods of time without speaking and never question the friendship. REPOST if you are blessed enough to have at least one true friend. They will know who they are.

Thank you, my dear friends. I am blessed to have you.

Living it -- all we have

I received word last night of my friend's death yesterday afternoon -- "swift and painless" is how it was described, a blessing in such illness. She's been on my mind so much, she and her family, and the hole she will leave in the world.

I also received news yesterday of another death, the handicapped son of friends, who simply died in his sleep. An accident long before I ever knew him left him in a wheelchair and with brain damage; yet he had ambitions and dreams, some of which he tried to fulfill. I know his passing will leave a huge hole in his mother's heart.

I always, ALWAYS say gratitude prayers morning and night for my wonderful husband, for the blessings of friendships, and because we have "enough" to sustain and nourish our minds, bodies, and spirits. But I also am so aware of our fragile natures, and how quickly things can change.

A recent post in "Getting Past Your Past," a blog about relationships that I read daily, reinforced that yet again.

The author, Susan J. Elliott, writes: "We must live life the best we can for as long as we can. Because you never know when it all stops.

Long story short: Your life is now. Live it."

It's a fine balance between responsibly planning for the future and living your life here and now. Tony and I were talking about that just last night, and I have no answers -- other than just doing what you see needs to be done until the Universe presents other options. The trick, then, is to be aware of what you are seeing.

I'm seizing the day -- taking advantage of unseasonably cool temps to replace the soaker hose in the garden and do some weeding, and maybe even some planting for fall (and I think the black junk that's sapped the life out of my pumpkin, watermelon and a cuke plant may be aphids....) I like digging in the dirt, feeling that earth energy, seeing life come out of earth and sun and water and seed. It rejuvenates my spirit.

Life is short. Plan accordingly.

I was reminded again last night that life is unpredictable and that it can be so fragile. Every single day is a gift for us to use.

I received a medical update on a friend who unexpectedly had a heart attack about three weeks ago, but other issues have been uncovered during the course of treatment, and she is not expected to recover. This is a woman who acknowledged to me a few months ago that her life had been all about miracles. I don't know that there is going to be one this time.

I still have a message on my voice mail from her.

We seldom know when something is going to change our lives forever, be it an illness, a death, an event. Oh, yeah, there are predictable things that will change lives, like marriage, divorce, pregnancy, but I'm talking about things largely uncontrollable that happen.

I am so grateful for what I have, for the people in my life who I love and who love me back. Once again I am trying to make the most of every day, to do what I can to move things in a good direction and to expand my horizons, to provide for 'the order' of our household. I try to actively practice gratitude and right living.

That's really all I can do. All anyone can do. Just be aware.

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It's just been too hot to even think, much less write. July temps shot up to 116 on our front porch recently, and we had a streak of 100-degree-plus days where I felt like a mole with blinds drawn and the air conditioner running full tilt. Because the humidity was more than 20 percent and the temps were over 105-106, the swamp cooler just wasn't adequate to cool things down in here -- that happens most every July and into August.

But we've got a rare cool snap right now and my windows are open. It's not even supposed to make 80 tomorrow, with a good possibility of storms -- which, of course, bring with them the fear of lightning-started fires.

It is a welcome respite and a reminder that summer is on the way out. It'll be October, likely, before things cool and rain comes back, but come it will, and there are reports of an El Nino year, which would increase the likelihood of adequate rainfall this winter. I don't want floods, but rain would be great.

My poor little garden doesn't much like the heat, and has really struggled between deer-munching, water service employees not turning the water back on, and a broken soaker hose, and also some sort of black bug or disease that leaves a black, sticky residue and kills the plants. My cost per tomato may be pretty high this year! But I'm already planning to cover the garden in manure and newspaper over the winter, which should give the soil a boost for next year. The rhubarb is looking great -- but the rest of it seems stressed.

I've gotten things cleared out inside, mostly, and have been walking at least a mile most days on our new treadmill -- yes, once we realized that 6 a.m. was going to be pretty dark in the winter and during our heat wave was still pretty warm for exercise, we broke down and bought a treadmill. Actually it works well -- Tony gets on it before he goes to work, and I walk sometime during the day. I've watched a dvd and also listened to some podcasts, so it goes quickly. And it's helping. My hips, back and knees don't hurt anymore and I don't feel so creaky. It also is helping my poor balance. (and how I hate to admit that exercise DOES help...)

Now to just keep it up.

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I don't feel very profound these days. I'm just focused on each day, doing something for the good of the order, tending the things I need to do, meeting the few deadlines that I still have, cooking good-for-us food, doing something to sort out the clutter most days. The girls still have their individual issues, but largely I'm uninvolved, since I know I can't really do anything to either move them ahead or solve them permanently. I've cut way back on asking questions (pat on my back!), partly because it does me no good to worry about things I can't do anything about. I'm trying to be open to new possibilities, but mostly I'm just taking care of old business. That's okay for now, I think.

I still read every day, but nothing that just grabs me by the throat -- newspapers, magazines mostly. I want a couple of books that capture me with their plots and make me want to read all day long, and I can't even find anything on Amazon that seems to meet that criteria right now.

We're watching movies and tv series most nights -- but the series are on HBO and Showtime, mostly. Mindless stuff, tv, for the most part, especially the stuff we're watching. That too is not necessarily bad.

I don't like summer very much -- never have. It's hot, it's sticky, it's something to get through until the weather turns cool again and we can be outside without feeling so uncomfortable, and the nights call for blankets to snuggle into. No, I don't want snow either....

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A year ago this week R and I were driving from Alabama to California. She said yesterday that it didn't seem that long ago, but when I think about this year, it has been a long, hard haul for both of us, and some of the issues are still very present. I hope this second year will be better.

And moving ahead, with gratitude

Definitely a new beginnings-second chances sort of week....

One of last week's blessings was reasonably, unseasonably cool weather -- by that I mean highs in the lower 90s, as opposed to this week's 100+ temps. I did a lot of work inthe garden, hacking and pulling the stupid grasses out, although they spring back overnight almost. Got in three new tomato plants, a Japanese eggplant, another bell pepper, and put some mint and cilantro in pots to go with my back porch herb garden -- I have basil, thyme, sage, parsley, oregano already.

We loved sleeping with windows open and cool breezes. That's gone for now, but the swamp cooler -- good until it hits around 106, usually -- adds moisture to the air and cools very well. Right now outside temp is 104, but humidity is only 9 percent....

Tony built a great cat food protective box for the porch -- the deer were helping themselves all day long to the cat food, and I'd juryrigged a maze of string, scrap posts and plastic fencing to help keep them out, which really made the place look classy.....NOT. Can't say that the big box exactly adds to the outdoor decor, but it serves the purpose and allows the cats to eat, but not the deer. Let's face it: we live in the country. Our lawn is red dirt and rocks. There may eventually be some landscaping, but it won't be green lawn: we get too little water for that and it's too hot.

And I've gotten out of my ennui and am getting off my ample posterior and moving it. Yes, I'm actually getting up an hour earlier and we're walking on weekday mornings, around two miles. It's helped with the achey-breakys quite a bit, actually, and I feel very righteous. It's right out of bed and into the tennies -- I fix breakfast when we get back. But it's cool (as it's likely to get) at that hour, and quiet, and I usually wake up by the time we get back. Tony, the morning person, is tolerant of my unresponsiveness during the walk. It will help.

The universe has, once again, taken care of us when we've asked for 'this, or something better,' and we are very grateful for the fortune and blessing. Actually, we are grateful every day for each other, for our home and our kitties, for our friends, for so many things. Lunaea Weatherstone wrote such a wonderful post about that subject yesterday -- and I'm adopting her slogan as my new mantra: "All this, every day."

The bedroom remains to be dealt with; I'm slowly shredding accumulated office papers that then go into the garden as mulch, and have been cleaning off my incredibly messy desk. But I'm moving ahead, not standing still anymore -- literally or figuratively. It's a better place to be in.

Perfect

Our weather is simply perfect today: high projected at only about 83, humidity only around 25 percent, sunshine. Breezes, not wind.

Unusual for June. Last evening on our way to our final Steel Magnolias performance we ran into a deluge: water poured over the car and the Interstate. We ran out of it fortunately, but this June has been wetter than many, and also cooler. Next week we head upwards into the 100s -- far more typical summer pattern.

The garden likes it, though, and I cut a bunch of lettuces yesterday, including the arugula that is my current favorite. Soon as the temps head up, it'll all bolt, so we're enjoying fresh greens. The RB Farmers Market yesterday has cukes, zucchini, mounds of green beans, and melons -- I have blossoms but no fruit yet, although the tomatoes have clusters of little green orbs that will ripen nicely in the heat. If it gets too hot, however, the blossoms won't set...so I'm hoping for reasonable temps.

We're being very lazy today, this Father's Day. I'm thinking a nap might be good, maybe some steak on the barbecue later, a big salad, then watching our favorite Sunday night shows and even catching up on some of those we've DVR-ed and saved.

It's back to life as usual tomorrow. No rehearsals, no performances, no lines. It will seem odd, I know. And I've got a couple of deadlines, plus many areas that need sorting and cleaning out since I've put stuff off over this last three months.

But I will enjoy today -- the summer solstice, with the longest day of the year and the shortest night. I remember being in Sweden for the solstice many years ago, seeing Maypoles everywhere, sprigs of green adorning cars and boats and homes and even people, to celebrate the return of the sun.

Hope yours is good, wherever you are, whatever you are doing.

All will be well, and all will be well....

The Steel Magnolias opening was spectacular. We had a great audience, helped, no doubt, by the wonderful food that Riverfront volunteers had prepared for them, and free champagne. They laughed at everything. They cried. One person said she'd been coming to openings for 30 years, and ours was the BEST (of course she could say that to every cast and we wouldn't know).

Nonetheless, we were pleased. Tonight starts the round of buy-out performances. We'll be doing the play five times a week -- three for the public, two for groups who have paid for private performances. Until June 20. I expect we'll all be sick of the characters by that time. I can't imagine doing a play for years on end.

But I do like Miss Clairee. I rather think there is more of her in me than I'd once thought.

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My brother and sister-in-law celebrate their third anniversary today. I wrote about it here, although not nearly as indepth as it might have been, but I was still reeling from both my mother's and my uncle's deaths and hadn't written much of anything since the previous October.

But it was a lovely day, a blessing in the midst of all that pain. And they've gone through some hard times since, with health issues and concerns over work that are the result of the recession -- just like so many people.

It's not the good times that make us strong, it's the tough ones and how we handle stress, pressure, uncertainty, fear. The good times may give us the knowledge that this, too, shall pass, however, and that there are still good things to come. But it's in the fire that we are shaped and tempered and glazed.

Today's Daily Om has a wonderful meditation on marriage. Among other bits of wisdom and observation are these:

"If your relationship is not secure, marriage will not make it so. Likewise, if your partner is not as attentive, loving, or kind as you would like, your becoming spouses will not change that. Marriage has no power to permanently fill any emotional or spiritual gaps in your life. Before you choose to marry, ask yourself whether you and your partner are adept at resolving conflict, can speak openly to one another, and fully respect one another."

In this day and age, it is common to live together before marriage -- indeed, my mother surprised the heck outta me in her later years when she proclaimed that she thought living together was a good idea! Even a committed relationship is not marriage -- although people stay in them for years and years. It changes things somehow, in addition to the legal matters -- or at least it did for us. It brought the sacred into our commitment, I think, and expanded our relationship.

(Maybe I haven't had enough coffee to wax eloquently this morning! I seem to be struggling for adequate words....)

At any rate, I wish them a happy anniversary and hope that "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. " -- Julian of Norwich

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Summer is here, no matter the calendar. Triple digits forecast for today; swamp cooler is in full blast mode; north wind is keeping the humidity well below 20 percent. The garden grows measurably each day (as do the grasses in it, blast and damn). Memorial Day always marks summer's grand entrance, and the groceries were full of hot dogs and hamburgers and watermelon. Next is Independence Day. Time goes so quickly.

Playing catch-up

Damage to the garden was not disastrous as I'd first thought. Most of the plants are coming back, and the deer nicely thinned the seedlings. I should have lettuce by the end of the week, although with the hot weather we're having now it may bolt before I ever get it to the table.

So we planted tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, and are experimenting with cantaloupe, watermelon and pumpkins. I've replaced soaker hoses and hung prayer flags which flutter nicely in the breezes. We'll hope for a generous bounty.

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Mother's Day came and went without a post from me, although I'd started a draft. I'd put a photo of mother, my brother and me on my Facebook page that was taken just three weeks before she died in 2005. It is hard to believe she's been gone for going on four years now, and that this winter, my dad will have been dead for 10 years.

But I see them in my own reflection: in my fine, greying hair, in my hands that show a delicate network of aging skin and a few arthritic lumps, in my smile. I hear them in my head -- how mother always said she liked listening to the silence rather than music or television (as do I these days), how they preferred ice water to sodas or lemonade, for instance.

I think of them at my age: mother retired at 60 from teaching because daddy had retired at 65, and they spent the next 10 or so years traveling and playing. More than that, too, but those were probably the prime years, although even those saw some health issues for both of them.

That's not quite in the cards for us yet. Tony is in full hammer-down mode as he goes in early and stays late working on a new product release. I've finished up a few stories, but so much of what I was doing has dried up, at least for now, for various reasons -- the main publication I was working on has ended, and I'm just not sure what I want to do next. This last week or so the play has begun to take most of my energy, although that will ease some with opening on Saturday night.

But I'm trying to stay open to opportunity and possibility. I need to make some money doing something, whether it's selling on eBay or pursuing more writing. Doesn't have to be a lot of money -- although I certainly have no objection to money, mind you!

I've asked the universe yet again to provide and to help me be open. We shall see where this next step takes us.
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Summer is upon us, early this year. We've already had triple digit temps, much to my disgust. I just didn't get enough rain this year, and the early heat had me scrambling in my closet for something that wasn't long-sleeved and cozy. I'm still organizing everything, but at least the linen and cotton things are readily available now.

The last few nights have been wonderful, though, with cool breezes making for sound sleeping conditions. I do love our location, but the early heat is a little frightening: it will be with us well into October in all likelihood. We're all fearful of another summer of fires and unhealthy air because it is so dry.

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We celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary yesterday by going out to breakfast, since I had rehearsal last night and he worked late again. We'll go to the ocean for a little R&R later this summer.

But we always remember that day in the Bay Area -- which was unseasonably warm for San Francisco, but gorgeous. We laughed, we cried through parts of the ceremony (which we wrote) and at which my Uncle Tom officiated, aboard a yacht on the Bay. We ate. We played and talked and enjoyed the boat ride all around our favorite landmarks, and there were Oracle and Kensington colleagues as well as family with us to mark the day.

We both feel incredibly blessed to have found each other, and to continue to be so much in love at this age. It's not that we don't have trials and some hard stuff to deal with -- but it's never with each other -- it's issues with the girls or with work or health or property or something like that. How rare that is to have such a relationship! I am so grateful.

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In the midst of all the busy-ness it is sometimes hard to remember that THIS is our life, each day. Time doesn't stop because we are too busy to notice what is happening every day, every moment. When the product is released and the play is over, our lives will change again -- not really back to what they were a few months ago, but to where they are going every day with every moment and every experience.

It is essential to find even a few moments to appreciate what we have THIS DAY, to ask for what we need, to reflect on and remember how precious time really is. One thing that becomes increasingly evident as we age is that everything can change in a moment, with a heartbeat. it is up to us to choose how we spend our time, who we touch, what we do and say, how we express our gratitude. We have that choice every day.

Steel Magnolias is in preview tonight and we open Saturday. The play is about the fragility of life, I believe, and the relationships with others that can help us deal with the uncertainty and the choices we all have. I'm grateful to be in it once again, for the third time, to be forging a bond with the five other actresses who are in the cast. I hope our audiences take home with them the blessing of friendship and the appreciation for each day we are given.

Garden gone

The bad news: either the wind of the last few days blew open the garden gate (which has a sometimes tenuous latch) or I didn't close it properly -- or a combination of the two. The deer enjoyed a lovely salad luncheon, including the almost-ready-to-be-harvested leaf lettuce and swiss chard, radish sprouts, cucumber plants, a sweet pepper plant, delicately tendriled sugar snap pea plants, and even the new mesclun and onion sprouts.

Most of the yet-unpotted flowers -- although they're not fond of marigolds nor lantana, I discovered. And a good helping of rhubarb leaves, although they left the stalks, mostly.

I hope they got sick. Not fatally, just uncomfortably. They've been spending their days under the carport, in little beds they scrape out from the gravel there. Watching the garden grow, probably, and waiting for their chance.

So Monday I will be back out there, replanting lettuce and chard and cukes and peppers. Planting the rhubarb and hoping that it will survive. Salvaging the flowers. And making sure the damned gate latches tightly.

I also have new prayer flags to top the fence. Let's hope the rising prayers will protect the new plants from the deer, but also from moles, bugs, and other things that like new veggies.

Catching up

Did you know that more than 50,000 landline phone customers lost service on Thursday in parts of the SF Bay Area? AND cell phones. AND Internet. More here....

Sounds like we need Jack Bauer, Tony says. The news article says it was not terrorism and wasn't disgruntled union members, but it sure sounds like the perps knew what they were doing. A little disconcerting, I'd say.

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We finally got two burn piles taken care of today -- one big one that's had brush and branches and old wood heaped on it for at least three years, and a smaller one with garden debris. Beautiful sunny day after some nice rain the last couple of days. The garden isn't planted yet, but I've tilled deep and dug up all sizes of rocks. I swear this soil grows 'em. I rake out and pick out hundreds both spring and fall every year, but the tiller just pulls up more.

I'll plant early this next week -- lettuce, spinach, chard, maybe even peas, although I'm a little late for that -- but I'm not putting in tomatoes yet. Everything I read tells me that 'maters like warm soil, and that ones put in May 15 will soon catch up to those put in two or more weeks earlier. I'm also going to refresh my pots -- I think one of rosemary has seen better days, the lavender is not looking good, and I need some new herbs too. It'll be trips to Walmart and Home Depot for me this week.

I'll have some extra time on my hands too, since one of my regular freelance gigs is coming to an end with tomorrow's paper. That was a story every week, at least, plus photos, sometimes more. I will miss doing all those interviews, though -- I met some interesting people and learned about so many new things.

But I'm thinking about doing some selling on eBay -- stuff we have, but also looking at doing some bargain hunting and reselling, or maybe some consignments. Maybe not quite as steady an income, at least at first, but I know people make money doing it. And I do like shopping for bargains!

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I'm also driving to Redding five days a week for rehearsals! I'm going to play Clairee in "Steel Magnolias," at the Riverfront Playhouse. It opens May 23 and closes June 20, with performances Fridays, Saturdays and Sunday matinees.

This is the third time I've been in the play -- once as M'Lynn, the mother; once as Ouiser, the rather crotchety millionaire; and this time as Clairee, the 'grand dame' of the town and somewhat more elegant. I like her, although I'm still working on how to play her, and trying to recall all the Southern women I knew in Birmingham, especially some of the ones who were in my book club there -- they were "old money," many of them, and lived in the ritzy area of town, and we often met at country clubs. It was fun, they were very interesting women, and it certainly was a social sphere I wasn't in.

But the play celebrates women's friendships, and I love it. I like the movie too, but the play is better. I'm excited about being in it, and also excited that my daughter R is playing Truvy, the hairdresser! She's a little young for the part, but the director liked her, and I'm very pleased to be in another play with her. We did a few things together when I lived in Birmingham. She hasn't been in a play for maybe 10 years -- her job in Alabama was not conducive to other activities -- and while I did The Vagina Monologues just a few months ago, it's been a while since I was either.

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It's Easter weekend, so I always think about lots of church services and Easter dinners -- good memories. One year my friend Julie hosted dinner, and I brought stuff too, but for dessert she had made a bunny cake using a mold, with the whole bunny, not just the face. It was frosted and sprinkled with coconut, on a bed of green coconut grass with other little candy eggs and maybe even some flowers, but at the rear end, she had placed little black jelly beans. We laughed until we cried, and even now, some 20 years later, we always talk about it.

Blessings of rebirth, renewal, and spring to all of you. It is always a miracle to witness.

Springing!

We "spring forward" this weekend to daylight savings time -- an hour later. Always throws off my body clock for about a week, but I confess I like having it stay lighter longer.

And reluctantly I'm admitting it is spring. Our harbinger tree -- the one that pops its leaves earlier than the others -- has been out for several days. Our neighbors' daffodils are dotting their driveway with their cheery yellow heads. We have hummers at the feeders -- although I've actually kept the feeders full all winter too. The deer are fat and happy.

And thanks to a month of rain, we have about 76% of what we need, according to the weatherman. I'd love to see more of it though, even into May and early June.

We're planning to tackle weed abatement this weekend. We bought a large sprayer and will RoundUp the heck out of the weeds that are EVERYWHERE all of a sudden. It's been too windy or rainy to do so earlier.

And I'm also beginning to think about what to plant in the garden this year. I'd like to get out spinach, lettuce, and sugar snap peas in the next few weeks, and then think about what else to plant.

And then there is landscaping to be done with the front area, buoyed up by a lovely new retaining wall now, but liberally sprinkled with rocks and weeds already. A trip to the garden center is in order to find plants that are drought-resistant and also deer-resistant.

Everything inside looks a mess to me too, and I'm wanting to clean cupboards, sort through stacks of papers, dust, clean, toss. Minimize. That's spring's clarion call to renew, reuse, recycle!

But I confess I enjoy having woodstove fires in the evenings when it cools way down, and watching movies in the snug warmth of our great room.

Spring's arrived, no matter the calendar. It's a good time to evaluate what to keep, what to toss -- both externally and internally.

Snippets here and there

Those of you who are observant will note the addition of my photo at the top of this blog. My honey was actually the catalyst for this: his photo now adorns his blog, and I figured if he was gonna put it out there, then I could too.

It's not like I'm not already visible: the photo also appears in Enjoy magazine, a wonderful north state glossy magazine for which I've had the privilege of writing for more than a year, and a similar shot also has appeared with my some-time real estate column in the Redding Record Searchlight's Sunday Homes section, although the column hasn't been in there lately for various reasons.

But it's a decent photo of me, taken by Tony on our back porch, before the wonderful ivy geraniums got nibbled to nubbins by the deer, and before the scorching north winds of a couple of weeks ago blew down the other plant that was hanging from our porch roof.

"Why no -- there hasn't been ANY retouching," she said guilelessly.

So now you know the face behind the words.

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September 11 came and went although not without ceremonies of remembrance. I wrote about our experiences on that horrible day a few years ago.

I don't believe we've ever recovered from it, although I think that our collective attitudes have reverted back to the largely self-centered ones that preceded it. I so clearly remember the connectedness that pervaded the country in the days and months after the tragedy. I wish there was some way to regain that without another disaster.

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And I re-read last year's September posts: it was not a particularly fun month, and this hasn't been either. I always am interested to note the changes, however.

• We are happily communicating with daughter #3, and in fact, have a 3-month-old grandson who is a charmer. She is in a better place, I think, although this year has been hard for her health-wise. She and her boyfriend are in the process of making some changes to their lives -- again -- and we hope it will be better for all concerned. She has matured tremendously over this past year, and it is indeed gratifying to see her emerge into a mostly sensible young mother -- she even described herself the other day as a "soccer mom" -- she also is "stepmom" to his three children, a huge undertaking all by itself. We're proud of her and grateful for the improvement in communication.

• No change as far as communication with daughter #2, and we only hope that she is okay. One day, perhaps, we'll know more. Until then, she is in our prayers and has our love around her, even if she doesn't choose to acknowledge it.

• The biggest change is that daughter #1 is living with us after a difficult year and some very scary events. She is trying to adapt to small town life after living all her adult life in a substantially-sized city; she is enduring medication changes and subsequent side effects that have mostly sapped her natural energy; and she is adjusting to living with mom again after being independent for years. We're in a one-day-at-a-time existence, all of us. I am so grateful to have her where I can touch her and talk to her, and to know that she is safe, fed, and that she has resources to help her. Mostly those ice weasels have gone quiet, but I'd sure like to help her find some friends around her age who share some of her interests. It's just a huge, hard life change for her, on top of all the other issues.
  

We've just completed a couple of major projects for our property -- a start on some landscaping with a beautifully engineered and finished retaining wall, and an enormous shop-garage that will shelter not only the vehicles but also provide lots of work room and storage. It's being wired at this writing, but with all the lights and outlets, I'm sure you'll be able to see it from space -- sort of like "Deck the Halls," the Danny Devito movie of a couple of years ago. I'm told it's a "guy" thing. Whatever.

I'm still working on getting back into the full writing swing though -- the cross-country trip and settling in took a lot of energy and time, and I'm just now beginning to come back up to something like normal. I'm trying to get enough sleep and take a little time for me, but so far what that's involved is eating a lot more candy than I have eaten in months. I'm going to Bunco this month, however, and that will give me a really great girlfriend fix. I'm also hoping the Cowgirls will get together again soon -- I miss that connection.

This is our surgery month, too -- both Tony and I get cataracts removed and new lenses implanted -- he on one eye, me on both. We're both looking forward to better eyesight and easy recovery from this very simple procedure. That's coming up...

Last year's note about 57 degrees and rain on Sept. 22 gives me hope: it's been over 100 for days, although nights are cooling to lower 60s-upper 50s, and we keep windows open then. But I'm so tired of dust and heat and sweat and crispy crunchy grass, and the garden is just pathetic -- fruit doesn't set well with very hot temps, so the tomatoes look worn out and ready for the compost heap on top, although there's green at the roots. We're nearly at mid-September though, and it won't last too much longer.

We all long for change, don't we, at this time of year: the bountiful harvest of our hard labors in our homes, our jobs, our gardens. We long for new opportunities and fresh starts, for cooler days and renewing rains, and for the feeling that the great wheel is indeed turning as it should. It doesn't feel like that yet -- it feels stuck in place, like a little pebble is preventing the wheel from moving much -- but yet I know that it soon will move on. Life is short enough -- I don't want to waste my days and wish them away -- and yet, I am ready for something to change for the better.

One day at a time

Thanks to my honey, I was able to make that paragraph a normal font. ;>@

I'm living one day at a time, sometimes a few hours, trying to stay in the moment and keep working normally. It's taking effort that I haven't expended like this in a long time, trying to do what I need to do without getting wrapped up in the what-ifs and going out in the ozone, as we like to call it, picturing worst-case scenarios. Some of those are pretty awful and scary.

Details will come, but not for a while. Just keep positive energy flowing, please, for both me and my daughter.

Meanwhile, the garden is yielding good zucchini but poor tomatoes. Better green and other peppers than I've had before, but green beans aren't great. The grasses from the manue topping we gave it last spring are growing like what they are -- weeds -- and I pluck handfuls every time I'm there and toss it over the fence for the deer, but it comes right back. Because of the soaker hose winding through the garden, that won't stop until I disconnect the hose this fall. Otherwise I'll lose my marigolds and beans. Maybe I can reconfigure it better though.

I have sunflowers that finally caught on and are reaching high -- I do love seeing them when they're in bloom. We've gotten some good chard, but not nearly as prolific as previous years. I think that side of the garden needs more compost and manure this fall.

The days are milder -- only in the 90s this week, mostly -- and it's swamp cooler time since there is no smoke, thank god. We open windows at night, and by morning we've pulled up the covers and are chilly. It's great, and I'm very grateful, especially for blue skies and no smoke.

Abrupt change and worrisome stress are unwelcome intruders these days -- I am a little surprised at how much I love the relatively routine days, the same-old, same-old patterns we have fallen into over this year. I appreciate going outside just before bed and saying thank you to the starry skies, listening to the rustle of the kitties as they investigate night sounds, and the quiet footfalls of the deer as they go across the property. I can't see them, but I know they are there.

Sort of like faith, I guess. I can't see clearly in this darkness, but I know that I am loved and supported, and I trust that I will place my foot squarely on the right path for me.

You know it's July when the temp gets over 105

How about 115 on our front porch yesterday?

With 7 percent humidity.

Now, I realize that those friends and family members who live in the midwest and south have absolutely NO CLUE what humidity that low feels like. It's desert dry. It's watch-your-skin-shrivel-right-up-and-wrinkle dry. It's nearly nosebleed dry.

If you hung wet clothes on a clothesline, you'd be taking down the first ones by the time you'd finished hanging a basket.

Today brought smoky haze from the southeast: Paradise is burning up again, and evacuations are again in place for this little community near Chico. Tony said ash was falling on his truck in the parking lot. Air quality there is unhealthy for anyone. And it was supposed to hit 117 here, although it only got to about 110 because of the haze.

Only. 110.

I'm back in mole mode -- blinds drawn against the sun and I try not to go out after noon. The kitties are flopped on the front porch near the front door where presumably there is a trickle of cooler air. I've got a fan on them and bring them ice cubes and water periodically, and I even rubbed the twins down with ice this afternoon -- they liked it. The water evaporates so quickly that it is cooling, albeit briefly.

The garden is doing well, although fruit won't set this hot, I think. I've had lots of squash and zucchini, and some nice cucumbers, a few green beans, and tomatoes are coming. I've been trading squash for tomatoes, though, and tonight we had fresh tomato, turkey bacon and lettuce-leaf basil sandwiches on whole wheat. The lettuce-leaf basil is just wonderful -- not as strong as the regular stuff, and big leaves, and very tender. It's going on my list to plant next year.

I put up prayer flags atop the garden fence this morning -- on a trip Sunday to the Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm, my girlfriends and I stopped at a street festival in Mt. Shasta City where it was tie-dye hippie heaven, and found the prayer flags in one of the booths. So my little flags, in the traditional Tibetan colors of yellow, green, red, white, and blue, are flapping prayers all day long. I like that very much. The garden is a spiritual place for me anyway -- I love working in the earth, watching things grow and thrive, and then harvesting the food to nourish our bodies.

One delightful movie we watched this weekend: August Rush. It's improbable and totally stretches credibility, but the music is wonderful, the story is heart-warming (and sad too), and Freddie Highmore, who plays little Evan/August, just makes you want to scoop him up and love on him. It was a nice escape from heat and gas prices and sick children and stress.

Stay cool. Check everything twice. Be patient. Drink lots of water in non-plastic bottles (I just bought them for us). Say thank you to the universe.

Salt air is a cure for smoke and haze

We escaped to the ocean over a long weekend -- escaped smoke and fire news and heat, and just soaked up the moist, cool salt air in Bandon, Oregon.

We'd planned to go to the Lost Coast some time ago and had made reservations, but the fires in Tehama and Shasta counties closed both main roads to the coast, and the alternate way, far south of us, led to more fire issues with some of those roads. So rather than cancel altogether, we remembered Bandon, a spot we visited more than eight years ago when we were on our honeymoon.

It was some miles and hours longer to get there, but probably not by a whole lot, since Bandon is accessible from here mostly via I-5, and then cutting over to the coast on reasonably good road.

We drove through smoke and haze until we got well north of Redding, where the smoke from the Shasta Dam fire billowed over the roadway and we could see smoke plumes much more closely than we really wanted to see them. By the time we came back yesterday, the air had cleared a lot. The fires are more under control, although by no means out. And the air quality is better, but far from good.

It was a lovely getaway. I read a whole book -- okay, an appropriate beach read -- the second in Nora Roberts' Blood Brothers trilogy and hardly requiring much brain, but perfect for the weekend. We ate fish, we watched a lovely sunset, we walked miles on the beach, we slept and watched some mindless television. Mostly we watched and listened to waves and sea birds. The constancy of the waves is reassuring, endless in its repetition. I love it. Tony said I was like a puppy sniffing the air. I took great gulps of the air, even filling my lungs full several times just before we left to come home in hopes that it would sustain me until I get back. When I close my eyes I see the waves, hear the waves. It is a good place.

The kitties missed us. McMurphy was all over us last night, wanting to be petted, and Ches just watched nearby, although he let me pet him and love on him later in the evening, but didn't climb into Tony's lap until just a few minutes ago. As long as the outside kitties are fed, watered, and petted daily, they're fine. And they were.

The garden is bountiful with squash -- zucchini and yellow. Tomatoes are ripening slowly, green peppers are appearing, and there are a couple of Japanese eggplant. No green beans. Lots of foliage, but no fruit. I've gotten some cucumbers and there are more out there. I still would like to plant more chard. I have a little plant -- the seeds didn't all come up -- and need to just plunk more into the ground. It's good -- all is tasty and fresh. Herbs are good too -- basil, chives, oregano, thyme, mint. Cilantro never does well, though -- I don't know why.

Time to fold clothes and try to relax a bit. It's been one of those days where I tied up loose ends and putzed, but didn't do some of the things I now HAVE to get done. Ah well. Such is the nature of a deadline-driven writer, I guess.

Lightning welcomes summer

Summer came in with a bang: thunder and lightning crashed and flashed around us late Friday night, moving quickly to the east, and then another round made yesterday -- the first day of summer -- mostly overcast and a little damp, with more thunder and lightning.

In fact, that lightning torched fires throughout northern California, and by last evening, smoke flavored the air all around us, although we coudln't see anything, and it continued all night, although it was cooler than it's been.

A combination of winds and, I hope, successful containment, has pretty much eliminated the smokey air today, although it was hanging in the trees earlier this morning.

I was in Redding, where the skies opened up and dumped water on the dusty ground several times. I don't think we got much more than a little taste here, though, and it dried quickly.

When I lived in the midwest, summer thunderstorms always cooled things off and freshened the air, and I liked watching the lightning -- as long as it was past tornado season. Here, it is frightening at this time of year because of the fire danger. The cats don't like the thunder at all and stay close to us.

And yesterday was the longest day of the year -- more than 15 hours of daylight. In six short months we will be in the midst of rain and cold temps, and planning for Christmas. Fire will heat our home and we will enjoy watching the orange flames dancing behind the glass doors.

I hope you had a chance to enjoy this week's full moon and honor your summer spirit. This return of the sun has been celebrated for centuries with religious ritual and ceremony. Years ago I was in Sweden at midsummer -- one huge party all over the country, marked with maypoles and flowers and green branches everywhere, and business pretty much stops for about a week.

We've celebrated the sunshine by enjoying zucchini and yellow crookneck in various ways this week, and the cucumbers are nearly ready for picking. Green tomatoes are finally appearing, but the lettuce and spinach are done. Swiss chard is taking its time. I need to plant more...

Remember that each season, each day is a gift to us. Give thanks for what the day brings to you.