Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I was somewhat disconcerted last night when the gratitude journal I'm writing in each night asked the question who was I more myself with.  I first felt that I didn't know what myself consisted of, and then that I am rarely myself with others, even my closest friends and husband.  To say I hold things close to the vest is an understatement.  I learned to do this because I got teased a lot as a child, especially within the family.  I don't want to be vulnerable.  I wrote last night that I'm most myself in my writing or alone in nature.  I avoid confrontation, which means I don't address my hurt feelings or even misunderstandings with others, because in the past the outcome has been so disappointing.  But I realize these days I feel most myself when I tap into my Buddha nature.  When I feel compassionate and do kind acts or speech, then I know I'm home true.  So the rest of it:  the grudges, hurt feelings and judging, is not me and I don't need to take it personally.  I am getting free of that delusion, and my relationships with others should be updated to reflect increasing trust and connection.  Something to work on, for sure.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm going with a friend to a symposium tonight about new research on breast cancer.  We've been going to these together since she and my daughter were first diagnosed with breast cancer, over five years ago.  I've had a lot of friends survive breast cancer, and mostly there was no reoccurence, but I've lost friends also.  My friend had a good diagnosis, and had only radiation, and despite some side effects from the surgery, she's thriving.  But her world has changed, and she has been in a support group and weekly also sees friends she's made who struggle with the illness.  My daughter had a stage two diagnosis and underwent double chemo and the maximum radiation,  and almost a year and a half ago it appeared again:  stage four with spots in the brain.  They did radiation for the brain then got her on a chemo pill twice a day that got rid of the cancer, but recently, she had one tiny spot on the brain and a one time radiation.  So she's fighting the good fight in a way that is ever present and worrisome.  I go to these talks and then write up what the doctors say about prevention, diet, treatments and cutting edge new procedures.  Then I sent it to my daughters, daughters-in-law and any other friends who might like the information.  I know researchers are working hard, and there is a lot of money for breast cancer research, and I pray that this scourge is eradicated.  And very soon.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I spent the weekend with the older of my two grandsons.  When it came time for Mommy and Daddy to leave Saturday night, I realized he had a fever and asked them to give him tylenol.  He wasn't hungry, and he complained about being babysat.  I listened.  He complained some more.  I asked about school, and he talked about his friends.  I suggested he get in his jammies, but no.  Finally, I brought in his pullup and jammies and said I'd help him get changed in the breakfast nook.  That got him hopping up because he didn't change in the kitchen, silly, so I lifted him onto the bed and quickly dressed him for bed, then we read from a book about Ruby the red fairy, and slowly his head drooped, he slid back and pretty soon his head was resting on my shoulder.  I read most of the little chapter book, then tucked him in and turned out the light.  He was like Little Bear, not tired, definitely not tired, then asleep.  His parents returned from their party, my son having won the prize as Haggrid (it was a Harry Potter dinner) and refreshed, because they'd had a night out.  Next day the fever was still there, so my grandson and I stayed home while his parents went to meet other family members for a brunch to celebrate Mommy's birthday.  They didn't take the cake with them, as my grandson was anxious about it leaving the house (maybe it would get all eaten up and he'd not get a piece) so when they returned we sang the birthday song and he and Mommy blew out the three candles (perhaps not accurate for Mommy, but my grandson is coincidentally three).  All was well with the world again, and I drove home cherishing my snuggle time with my extra warm little grandson.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I just finished a terrific mystery, by Jane Harper, an Australian writer.  "The Lost Man" is her third mystery, and the first two were great reads as well.  This one is so evocative of the outback and the life people lead there, and also who can tolerate that existence and who cannot.  It's in the third person, but the character the reader follows is Nathan, the oldest of three brothers.  They have grown up in isolation, and Nathan is struggling now with his plot of land that is too barren, his divorce, and his relationship with his teenage son.  When his brother Cameron is found out in the desert, dead from the heat, no one can figure out how he got separated miles from his vehicle, still able to start up promptly and filled with water, food, supplies and the means to send a distress signal.  As Harper peels back the layers of memory and interacts with his family again after years of separation, we slowly understand that something insidious is at the root of this family,  Each discovery for Nathan is like a revelation.  He pieces together the clues like a master detective.  I really cared for these people by the end of the book, and appreciated the window in to another world and way of living. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I went to the Oakland Museum White Elephant sale with a friend.  We go together each year.  She bought a wooden German Christmas ornamental candle thing, about three feet tall, and a box and jewelry.  I bought two baby fabric toys, a Noah's ark and a fire truck.  Also a pillow with a train on it and two sweaters and two pants for the three year old grandson.  I found two small trucks and a logging truck for the two year old grandson.  And a painting for my daughter-in-law's birthday.  A South American woven rug for my younger daughter. And for me, an elephant the size of my palm with tiny forks set in the back.  Strange but beautiful.  And a Spanish/Moroccan carved box with a replica of the lion fountain of the Alhambra courtyard.  I adore the Alhambra and so it will bring back happy memories.  I'm exhausted.  Nine tenths of the warehouse I didn't even see.  As usual, I drooled over the china, useless as I don't entertain and I have no place to even store any of it.  But there was a Turkish plate, small, in bright blue, orangey red and aqua that I desired passionately.  I resisted many "bargains" and though my goal was a street sweeper toy for the younger grandson and there weren't any, I did stick to the practical mostly.  Okay, the elephant is justifyible because I collect them and perhaps only the Alhambra souvenir is frivolous.  But there were so many things I didn't buy, all at mostly $1 to $5.  I would say I had admirable self control.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I mailed off some books to my granddaughter, who is a passionate reader, and a box for an in-law's new baby girl (a quilt, floorcloth, an outfit, two stuffies knit blankets, and a book for the older brother).  It was intended to all be completed before the birth, but you know how that goes.  Now I need to focus on a grandson to be born in April.  I have lots of elephant themed material, plus a quilt kit and a kit to make a cloth book.  Cutting out is almost the hardest part for me.  I am making these knit stuffed animals tiny blankets, because when I gave one each to my two grandsons, they were such a big hit.  The younger one sleeps with his.  The stuffed kitty has been abandoned, but his blanket is going strong.  This is the grandson who makes a nest to sleep, birdies included.  Both grandsons love Curious George and I've been thinking about what appeals.  I believe it is the sense that even if you get into trouble, or do the wrong thing, you are still loved and the situation gets resolved.  The naughty behavior does not affect how much you are adored.  The man with the yellow hat is steadfast in his love and loyalty.  This toddlerhood is the age of "no", hearing it, saying it, things breaking, climbing and falling.  The Curious George books embody total acceptance that the experimenting and breakage is normal and no big deal.  We all need a man with the yellow hat.  That's how we continue to be curious and open and thrive.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I read that tonight and tomorrow morning there is a Super Moon, huge and dramatic, and since it is visible during my awake hours, I'm planning on viewing.  Last night, I could not sleep, but nothing was running through my mind and I hadn't had caffeine or a large dinner or any of the usual culprits.  I was calmly reading before bed, a mystery by Jane Harper called "The Lost Man" which is the third book she's written and I'm devoted at this point.  She writes about the way outback in Australia, and she is so skilled that it comes to life vividly.  But nothing really has happened in the book yet to disturb me.  Something must have been triggered.  Maybe it's the sense of the main character's utter loneliness; living alone, being estranged from his family and his son, and the speculation that his brother, who has been found dead of natural causes, but away from his vehicle, which had all the supplies he needed to survive and was running fine.  Everyone wonders if it was a kind of suicide, and maybe I thought of my brother.  Suicide inevitably causes the survivors to wonder why, even if, in my case, my brother left a note.  My best friend in my twenties also killed herself, but we had talked and I'd begged her to see a therapist, and I told her husband to get her help immediately, but he didn't.  Plus there was suicide in the family.  I also had a friend who in her early sixties killed herself, but I felt I understood why, from what she'd shared with me.  But my brother, well, there are plenty of reasons, but I guess I can't accept any of them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We drove to one of my favorite gardens today, because I told my husband I wanted a hit of beauty.  Lots of daffodils were blossoming, though the big fields of daffodils are not out yet.  The fruit trees had buds and some magnolia trees were blooming.  There are the traditional yellow daffodils, but also ones with white outer petals and yellow centers, all white daffodils, ones with orange centers, tiny daffodils, every variety you can imagine.  They are in pots arranged by statues or benches, along walkways, and also in the fields between and among the fruit trees.  There were also pansies, and Iperions and azaleas and camelias.  It was cold and I was touched by the bravery of pushing up through the cold hard ground to burst forth in riotous glory in colors of the sun.  Daffodils are my favorite flower, especially growing up in Virginia, but also because when I was a teenager in California, my Methodist Youth Group took a ski trip to Tahoe, and spent the night in a church on the way up and back.  It was near Easter, and the chapel was flooded with daffodils, with their tart scent of spring.  That smell will be with me always. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My younger daughter, her husband and their son are headed up to our cabin to enjoy the snow.  I could have gone with them, but frankly, I'd just as soon they sent photos.  I don't like being cold, I don't want to fall on the ice, and hopping like a bunny on the snow is not appealing.  I've gotten to be a wuss.  I arrange my life so there is minimal chance of falling.  I'll stay home and be bored instead.  I do have fond memories but I was younger then.  We lived for seven years in Colorado, where the snow was ubiquitous.  Black ice was common.  Ground blizzards stalled cars.  We would be driving on roads where everyone coasted through stoplights, because applying the brakes was a recipe for ending up in the gully beside the road.  We once had the electricity out for almost four days, and I carried my baby around the house in a snowsuit.  Breaking the ice for the horse was a struggle, and the car heater on the VW van warmed the inside up to -5o from -8.  Some years we had spring, some years the last heavy snow was in May.  Often fall was about two weeks, then the first snowfall and winter descended.  I have no fond memories of our tires being stuck to the ice and having to use hair dryers to free them.  Pipes freeze.  Electric blankets are necessary.  No more lovely postcard winters for me.  Been there, done that.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We spent yesterday afternoon bailing out the basement.  It was looking pretty good this morning, but now a deluge is upon us again, and the sky is dark and pumping may be in our afternoon forecast.  Meeting with my dear friends last night for our writing group was a balm.  We stayed later to just talk, because we're all feeling the need of extra support for many reasons:  health issues, personal challenges and maybe just the season.  Yes, the days are getting longer, but not fast enough, and we're still in the midst of our winter, not as formidable as the rest of the country, but floods and mudslides and leaks everywhere are jumping out at us, like a nasty jack-in-the-box.  How do I cope?  One way, and what I did yesterday, is reorganize.  I sorted tote bags and put some in the animal shelter box for resale and the rest on a hanger meant as a belt holder.  I gave away every belt, because, well, I don't have a waist anyway so who am I kidding?  Then I took all my textiles from other countries and cleaned out a shelf in the hall closet, refolded them neatly, and viola!  The trunk in the guest bedroom where all of this mess had resided I then hauled downstairs to the living room as a coffee table, and filled it with spillover music sheets that had been dumped in a basket.  Satisfying!  And the "new" coffee table is not sharp, sturdy and hopefully more or less toddler-proof!  Though I'm knocking on wood as I write this.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

A torrent of rain is coming down right now.  Our front steps are the definition of "a river runs through it" and the basement has water.  It's almost as dark as night.  I'm worried about my kids commuting and the trees falling and the apocalypse.  Just kidding about the last.  We kind of already had that in 2016.  I have an excellent mystery to fall back on and sewing to tackle and my writing group is tonight.  We have a pond in the back yard we had to fill in, because our dogs got guiardia and were susceptible to reoccurrence.  My poor husband had built the pond, and a stream that recirculated the water and it was so lovely, with smooth stones in the bottom.  Now it is gravel, but when it rains like this, in ghostly fashion, the water rises over the gravel and for a brief shining moment we have a pond again.  Now that the dogs are gone, why don't we dig it out?  Well, we discovered that rats and squirrels and raccoons loved the water source, and that, coupled with our apple and persimmon trees the backyard made a spa-like environment for the little vermin, so that won't happen.  I'm friendly to all sentient beings, but not to the point of having a bed and breakfast for them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My friend's husband is having wrist surgery today, and my friend in Texas has hip surgery yesterday.  How did it come to this?  On the other hand, my childhood friend decided against surgery this spring.  She'd had two bouts last summer when her knee gave out, and has had shots since that relieved her enough she thought of the old adage:  If it Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It.  We talked about how the body doesn't just unravel with age; sometimes it quits a while then gets its gumption back and recovers.  When my knee gave out two years ago, I assumed I'd have shots down the line then surgery.  Instead, it slowly, very slowly got better, and now I walk and clump up stairs and am fully mobile.  Yes, when the rain or cold comes I feel it, and sometimes I put that stretchy thing on my knee like a sock.  But I'm careful what shoes I wear, if I hike I take my trusty walking sticks, and I ice it if it feels out of whack.  My knee got a second wind, strange to say.  My friends' surgeries are absolutely necessary but a lot of the time the situation is less black and white.  Prepare to be surprised.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I am getting to know my younger son's mother-in-law better, due to her having a baby shower up in Washington and another shower happening down here hosted by my daughter-in-law's friend.  The mother requested I send photos of my son, and I waded through crumbling photo albums to capture babyhood through college, and it took quite some time.  I sent them overnight, but then Mother Nature hit the area with a blizzard, and the shower was postponed, and yesterday my daughter-in-law requested photos of her husband for her friend to put together a presentation, and I didn't know whether to tell her about her mother's plan or not.  It was supposed to be a secret!  Today I called, got a call back, and her mother has spilled the beans to her daughter so I'm off the hook!  I was exasperated, then realized, well, surprise, surprise, I've actually had some delightful conversations due to the mix-up, and she's nice and friendly and I'm glad she's an in-law.  Somehow we made a silk purse out of a sow's ear!  (Gruesome saying)

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

At the art museum with my friend yesterday, a lovely encounter occurred.  We had seen the Eames exhibit, and my older friend told me she was in Detroit during the late forties and early fifties, when all this modern design was bursting on the scene.  She had been a design major and with a friend began an interior design business in their area of Philadelphia.  She knew all the famous people from that post world war II era.  We entered the cafeteria, ordered and were told it would be a 30 minute wait.  There were no tables.  Finally we saw two men at a table for four and asked if we could join them.  They were gracious and delightful.  We spent the next hour talking with them about design, mid-century modern furniture and then on to a bit about ourselves.  They were a gay couple, living in San Francisco, but owned a condo in Portland, Oregon.  Their place is near my son's and across the river from my daughter's so we chatted about the art museum there, the Japanese Garden, the Chinese Garden and other great spots.  We even talked dogs.  Their pooch Greta was waiting patiently for them in the car in the underground garage.  They were about the age of my older son, and so funny.  I recommended a couple of movies they hadn't seen set in Oakland.  They were enchanted with my 88 year old friend's "I was there" history of the exhibit we'd just seen.  She'd been to the show in 1949 that launched the Eames name into a household one.  The serendipity of it all beguiled me, and my friend and I got the the car grinning ear to ear.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm going to see an art exhibit with an 88 year old friend.  She used to teach my youngest in kindergarten and first grade.  She convinced me to teach art in her class, and then the principal offered me a job teaching all 13 classes and I had two years of creativity, fun and hard work.  Being enthusiastic about art has never been a problem for me.  And three of my four kids were art or art history majors as undergrads, and all are artists, though only one has a job in the art field.  I'm itching to enthuse my grandkids now.  The three year old likes art museums, the ten year old is very creative and likes to see art, and the two year old, well, he does do water color painting for 3 or 4 minutes at a time.  Art has been my spiritual advisor, soul balm and engaged me with history and cultures.  My art book collection attests to my passion.  So I will enjoy myself today.  And with a mentor by my side.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm home in my studio with all the quilt batting and yarn and needles I just bought.  I was supposed to see my therapist, but she got trapped on the bridge, with both ways closed, and is hoping to get released to head back home in the near future.  My husband looked it up online, and evidently chunks, big chunks of concrete are falling from the upper level to the lower.  Terrifying!  No earthquake, no event, but the bridge is coming apart.  Is this ever going to be a commute catastrophe!  I am upset, and since a big rainstorm is supposed to hit us tomorrow, I truly wonder what the world is coming to!  Nothing good.  So I'll keep sewing baby quilts in my nest here, and pray for everyone.  Chicken Little, the sky IS falling!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm very shy about asking for anything, so yesterday I had to gird my loins to look for a vintage shop that would donate an in-kind gift for an auction item for the organization's gala I'm volunteering with, and luckily, the woman, a young Eastern European immigrant, was kind and very interested.  I then realized I had no brochures or info with me to give her, so I will have to gather it and get back to her.  But I was happy I presented the organization in a manner that appealed to her.  Then I got a call back from a woman I hadn't had contact with in 25 years, but she was friendly and promised to check with the head of the business to see if they could sponsor the organization.  So that was painless.  But a neighbor who was in my religions of the world group for ten years has not responded, and her answering machine mailbox is full, so I wrote another email.  I'm surprised, except that she's very busy and travels a lot.  That person may be a strikeout.
I really don't like soliciting, even for a great cause, and I have to drink a lot of tea after and read to calm down.  But stretching myself once in a while is a good thing.  Like taffy, you need to pull it to make it do it's thing.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We received a call from our son, and our grandson wanted to switch to Facetime.  My husband and I reminded him that he runs away to another room and we never see his face when we do.  So he promised to sit still so we could see his face, and despite some squirming he keep his word.  My husband regaled him with one of his turtle stories, and the three year old was riveted.  It involved a snapping turtle and my husband at seven with his three year old sister.  I've heard this story multiple times, but every time I hear it I admire my husband's parents' more for their tolerance.  Short hand, it goes like this:  the parents and two kids were out in a rowboat on Eagle Lake and my husband and sister-in-law were searching for turtles.  They found a couple, then my husband saw a bigger one on a rock and grabbed it and swung it into the boat, as he parents screamed "NO".  It landed in the boat, and his mother yelled "Snapping" and all four of them jumped out of the boat.  The snapping turtle was pulled regally toward shore, and my husband got it by the tail and managed somehow to convince his parents to take it home with the other turtles.  The kids had a foot deep plastic pool in their back yard where they put the turtles, but the next morning the snapper had eaten half of my husband's sister's turtle.  So out Mr. Snappy went, into the river down the embankment in the back yard.  His sister was bereft.  My husband was remorseless.  But no more snapping turtles were collected.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I walked in the rain this morning with a friend.  I was as thrilled with my rainboots as my grandsons are.  My friend up north is sending pictures of the snow there.  It feels cold enough here to snow as well.  This is the time of year I dream about Hawaii.  Oh, well.  I'm going to sew this week and check out vintage stores for sponsors for a non-profit gala.  I can't wear vintage any more, except for the fact I'm often complimented on a jacket or sweater and I realize it's thirty or forty years old.  I have a Native American jacket bought in the Denver airport thirty years ago that still appeals to people.  All my coats are ancient.  But I can't revisit the 70's or 60's anymore.  I look like a derelict.  So goodbye purple swede fringed jacket and maxidresses, victorian high necked blouses and pioneer skirts and cowboy boots.  I can't pull it off, and sometimes I mean literally.  Miniskirts - I don't THINK SO.  But I still love to browse through memory lane.  Even as I wince at the stuff I wore.  When you're barely five feet tall, best not to ruffle or swirl, but stay tailored and plain.  I let my earrings and shoes go a bit wild, and scarves, but there's not as much fun to be had anymore.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The 50th birthday celebration went wonderfully, and the toddler grandsons only needed a couple of walks around the block to make it through.  I ate everything, and each dish was remarkable.  Now I'm up one and a half pounds just from last night!  Worth it, definitely worth it.  Even the rain was not as bad as predicted, and no thunderstorms.  Today began sunny but the rain took over and it's cold and gray now.  I finished a riveting mystery, hung two carvings in the kitchen, found a bunch of photos of my son for his wife's baby shower and will tackle repairing a curtain on a stairway window.  Then I'm beginning my quilt projects for my coming grandson.  I should have the time for it next week.  It will help if I can get my studio warm enough.  It has a cement floor and all windows on one wall, and it would make a better refrigerator in the winter than an actual room for humans. 
A friend's plans have just been thrown out the window as her husband had a freak accident and needs surgery on his wrist.  They were to fly to her mother's 90th birthday, and she has a book deadline and thesis to assess, and to top it all off, her computer is on the blink.  Those rugs just keep being pulled out from under us, and who is doing it, anyway?! 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today is my son's fiftieth birthday and we're all going up for a five course meal at a nice place at a ridiculously early time due to the two and three year olds:  five fifteen.  I'm kind of stunned I have a kid this old!  How did we all get here?  And thank goodness we did.  This man looks a lot like my Dad and also his father's Dad, and he has a son who looks like all of them.  He's given me great joy and pride, and his little family is very dear.  He's a good man.  This, in spite of early disruption and a father who left the country and then died.  He's come to terms with that heritage, and has many connections with people in that family.  They love him.  I'm glad.  He has a wonderful wife and this late in life son he adores, as do we all.  He has my heart and my blessings.
Yesterday my next oldest called to say she had a spot on her brain, and was having one time only radiation.  She called after the radiation again, and said she'll have an MRI in six weeks and hopefully this took care of it.  It's very small, so the doctors are keeping an alert, watchful eye, and the chemo is taking care of her body, but chemo can't cross the blood/brain barrier, so there are separate issues for the brain.  I wanted to hold her and be there for her, but she is brave and well supported, and I send my prayers every day and night.  Her daughter, she said, was waiting to hear how the radiation went.  She is ten.  It's hard, not being able to DO ANYTHING.  I'll probably make a weekend trip this month, and see them in person.  They're fine, I know, but it's all so unfair.  I know, such is life, but I don't have to accept it.  I won't.  She has my heart and my blessings.