A Chair in My Heart

There is a chair in my heart

that will forever be yours

soft and comforting

enfolding and embracing

that fits your body perfectly

and sits you up

for all to see

as lover and best friend.

Within the circle

this patterned chair

of red and gold

braids you into my heart strings

twining like a vine

full with fruit

pouring to the

overflowing cup.

A bit like the Friendly Giant’s

living room complete

with fireplace

and a chair here for Rusty

and another here

moved close to the warmth

big enough for two to curl up in.

There is a chair in my heart

that will forever be yours

room enough for two.

When the Eagle Cries

The morning before your 58th birthday

you called me from bed;

I heard your call

and knew you were close by,

it was time to rise.

I watched your gaze

from the tall Fir tree,

and then you called again,

long and with meaning.

You looked well

healthy and ready for the day.

A single small feather

from your chest fluttered down,

curling toward neighbouring

Cedar and Fir;

I watched,

wondering if I could

see where it landed,

if it made it to earth.

You lifted your wings

gathering brown body under you

tucking strong legs up,

and flew west.

I watched you fly away

and thanked you for stopping by

to call me into the day and

remind me you are well

this dawn before

your 58th birthday.

Title borrowed from Joanne Shenandoah:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUYKWSf7UDo (music starts at 23 sec.)

Yes to Yachats!

Still my favourite spot on the Oregon Coast! Arrived here at 4 PM, checked in to the Adobe Resort, and walked the 416 trail to the beach. Flooded with good memories. Saw whales very close to shore, blowing and showing their tails. An enjoyable beverage in the loft of the lounge and then clams with drawn butter in the dining room, with a fabulous sunset out the window. Does it get better than this? There is a part of me that is steeped in romance.
If I do a 'south in the late winter' again on the Oregon Coast, it will be no further south than Yachats. My heart is here in so many ways and it is a part of the Oregon Coast that makes my heart sing.

Tomorrow morning is a walk on the beach . . .       the seven mile beach . . .       at low tide, then to the Green Salmon for the best Chai Latte anywhere, hands down. Eventually into the car and up the coast, stopping to stock up on my favourite cheese choices at the Tillamook Creamery. Maybe even an ice cream cone!

Goodbye to southern Oregon

We leave Brookings this morning to head north. We are going up to Yachats so that we can enjoy the long stretch of beach there which I have really been missing. I'm hoping a walk tonight and in the morning will help stretch the legs for both Lucy and I. The last two days have been wet, with the rain yesterday relentless and very heavy at times. This morning the skies have cleared a bit and I am sorry to see fresh snow on the hills close to here! It's pretty enough but we are in the 3rd week of March. . .
Connectivity and router problems, along with the weather, have dampened my enthusiasm a bit for this area. And the 2 weeks has gone quickly and we have managed to do some exploring on side roads and find a few new beaches.

On the road again . . . .

And as we all look forward to spring flowers, here's a link to a delightful 2 1/2 minute clip on the magic and mystery and wonder of creation that so soothes and feeds my soul:
http://vimeo.com/38265369

Signs, signs, everywhere are signs . . .

I have been impressed with the urgency of doing.

Knowing is not enough; 

        we must apply.

Being willing is not enough; 

        we must do.

Leonardo da Vinci

**********************

Seen on a sign in Brookings, Oregon:

When all is said and done,

more is said than done.

Thoreau continues to inspire

We do not commonly live our life out and full; 

we do not fill all our pores with our blood; 

we do not inspire and expire fully and entirely enough; 

 We live but a fraction of our life. 

Why do we not let on the flood, 

raise the gates, 

and set all our wheels in motion? 

Henry David Thoreau

Stones of warmth

Wave after wave runs toward the shore, some being blown apart as they meet immovable rough, black rocks between them and the waiting sands, white tails of water spraying high, then breaking apart to join the water all around.

A few fishing boats, bright lights on the horizon, have come and gone. Fishers experience a way of life on deck that few of us can imagine, or cope with. I suspect it’s a bit like living constantly on the edge, anticipating the next crash of wave. The ocean is seldom calm here and the weather seems to change on a dime, or weather system driven from the west.  The fishing boats, if successful, will return to the harbours with any of these delights for eating: shrimp, crab, steelhead salmon, lingcod, rockfish, spring chinook, and bay and razor clams.

I continue to expect shells on the beach here but it seems few are to be found. I’ve actually found none I needed to tuck into my pocket which is unusual for me. I have managed to find a few rocks that called to me and those will find their way home to the many bowls of collected rocks that are scattered throughout the house. My ‘rocks’ were one of the first things I recall Rita commenting on so long ago. As soon as she realized they came with the package, that I couldn’t explain what it was that spoke to me from these various rocks, and that our home would always harbour treasure-rocks, she let it go. In fact, I believe one of the first ‘gifts’ I gave to her was a small pocket-sized stone with shell attached. Perfect for running through the thumb and index finger while one walked the beach, trails, or street. A pocket stone provides a meditative focus, as well as being a reminder of whatever we have attached to it.

stones  . . .

precious memories

caught in the polished

surface

holding reflection

fascinating in their

colour and lines

that shape

our hold

stones  . . .

holding our warmth

of hands

given in transformation

from beyond

our reach

connecting us

to earth

each other

to. . . stones.

No silence

rain pelted against
the glass of windows
holding at bay
the wind that whipped
up from the ocean,
screens rattled in tracks
pulled and pushed by
air seemingly unsure
of its direction or purpose,
the tide moved out
dragging gritty, black sand,
ivory and cobalt-blue shells
emptied of their owner
tumbled to chase the froth,
kelp and sticks tangled
in the swirl of dark liquid
all jockeying for position
in the undertow.
beyond the reach
or calming
of a smoothing hand,
this tempest raged
lashing at cliffs
cutting away at the base
taking and leaving
all in the same wave wash.
i waited
but the silence never came.

Rilke speaks to my heart

I beg you...
to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves 
as if they were locked rooms 
or books written in a very foreign language.
Don't search for the answers, 
which could not be given to you now, 
because you would not be able to live them. 
And the point is, 
to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps then, 
someday far in the future, 
you will gradually,
without even noticing it,
live your way into the answer.


Rainer Maria Rilke

rudder in the water

She called me rudderless

as she languished

on the banks

of the muddy stream

I was trying to navigate,

as if she could see

below the surface

where truth lay open

like a filleted fish,

she, tossing her head

in the spring breeze

hair flying

legs unmoving

rudder steady and still.

She was right,

of course,

about the rudderless-ness

of my time in the water

as the water carried me

from bank to bank

pools to falls,

ducking willow branches

trailing in the water

and stray fishing-lines

surely not intended

for me.

I thrust my right hand

into the water,

fingers tight together

fashioning a rudder

of my own,

my course straightening,

water behind me gone

the flow ahead yet to

disclose.

Photos and Info about Oregon

Check this link for some great Oregon photos:

http://ouroregoncoast.com/photos.html

Waves of Water and Pondering Ruth

Wow – here we are into mid-March, almost! The days slip by like leaves in a gentle stream, twisting this way and that, touching the bank for a moment, then sliding on, leaving only the slightest ripple in their wake.

The view out the bedroom window is awesome and calls my attention frequently. The waves are breaking over rough black rocks, cut by water and wind, tossed haphazardly along this part of the coast, as if dropped from a broken string-bag. They protect the coast from the continuous crash of water, as well as entry by boat. Both Native Peoples and European explorers would have had to have their wits about them trying to make land here. There is a large rock probably a ½ mile out from shore here (aren’t binoculars helpful?) with what looks to be a lighthouse; a helpful guide amid the ocean mists and rolling ocean.

We will do some exploration of Brookings today and some reading by the fire later. The weather has turned from sunny skies to misty rain – a bit more than a smir. We stopped in a thrift store yesterday in Crescent City and found books. 

The Song of Ruth (Frank G. Slaughter) was a great find for me and I started reading it last night. The 317-page novel consists of 3 ‘books’, each based on a verse of the biblical Book of Ruth. I know some in the GLBT community wonder why other GLBTs use readings from Ruth in their wedding vows, citing that it has nothing to do with same-sex relationship and is misused. I’ve often wondered why myself. Slaughter’s comments in his preface shed some (possible) light, suggesting some biblical authorities believe the Book of Ruth is fictional, written by a Hebrew writer about 500 B.C. “Its purpose was twofold: first, to place a foreigner in the ancestry of David, in this instance Ruth, broadening the appeal of the Israelite faith to others; and second, to teach a lesson of tolerance and love which might lessen racial antagonisms and intense nationalism”.

While I toss the word ‘tolerance’, which does not sit well with me, I consider the source and time (1953). Perhaps the Book of Ruth is really about crossing boundaries, following your heart, accepting differences, and drawing the circle wider, rather than adhering to man-made (intentional use of ‘man’) borders and rules.

California Cruising

Resting in northern California after 3 days of driving through amazing countryside. Desert landscape dry with  tan-coloured sands, sculpted dunes, and plants coming into bloom  gradually transformed into acres, and acres, and acres of farmland, some posted with brand-names familiar from my local grocery store in Wilson Creek. A few stops to purchase ripe strawberries, red with taste and freshness; a tasty summer treat 4 months early for our BC mouths. Then on to rolling hillsides of avocado trees, fields of artichokes, hundreds of workers, and sprinklers splashing the ever-important irrigation to the fields. Coffee enjoyed on a small, protected bay just north of Monterey, Lucy digging furiously in the sand for a rock-treasure. The California coast never fails to impress and is a fabulous drive. . . especially on sunny days.
California poppies in their bright colours, alongside daisy-like blooms, punctuate the greens and rusts of succulent plants that pattern the roadside. The rolling hills, especially near Santa Barbara, look like the Great Seamstress has thrown bolt after bolt of sage green suede, draping the hills in soft colour, a fold here and there darker as the material dips into valleys.

Our last night before tucking in to our rental in Brookings for a few weeks. It will be good to unpack the car, set up house, and wiggle the toes in the beach close to the house. If only Lucy knew what was awaiting her tomorrow . . . .

Rita is with me here, and then there, in this memory, and that recalled story. Always with me as I journey on.

Sunday notes

Day 3 of being chased by an unknown bug; so it goes. Hopefully it will move along sooner than later. Temps hit 87 here today - I am truly not in Kansas at the moment. Starting to briefly sketch the trip to Brookings, Oregon. We'll go through Ojai and up the Coast. Back by the ocean for two weeks by Friday. Love the heat and warmth here, the palm trees and endless blue skies. . . . and my heart is by the water.

Rita has been with me a lot this day as I rest and flip through the pages of 7+  shared years. We had a great trip here in 2006, along with so many other memorable holidays. What a full relationship we had! Still wishing she was here with me, wherever 'here' is. . . 

Softly you move

between the blues and whites

of the wispy veils

threaded lightly with your smile . . .

The curtain flutters

with your laughter,

then hangs

still again.

La Quinta Doings

First-ever pedicure - what a kick that was! Imagine me with burgundy toenails.
Night market in Indio where the clientele is predominantly Mexican. I purchased 3 leather belts for $10 and 3 pairs of garden gloves for $5; a bag of oranges (20 or so in the bag) for $2.
A visit with my Mom for the afternoon and early evening. Took in the Palm Springs Night Market; bought some fun rubber ducky soaps and Challah bread.
Two hour walks with Bucky and Lucy (except not today).
Today has been spent mostly in bed with a bug I've picked up. I'm hoping it is starting to settle. Reminds me a bit of my time in MX when I got so sick. Not so much fun, but I am resting!
Temps to go to the 80's this wknd. We are going to watch Polo on Sunday, as we did last year. On Sunday afts you can go watch for free (sitting on the grass). Last year was the first time I ever watched polo. Also planning on going over to watch pickleball tomorrow morning. They play 8-11 every day, according to a woman in Sechelt. Tannis and Ann are coming along to see what all the fuss is about.

I think I can leave the house long enough now to take Lucy for a short walk; she's been very attentive while I have rested and stayed close to facilities.

Shabbat Shalom.

Head and Heart

February is about to be ushered out the door this leap year, March rumbling in with winter coat and mittens in many places south of the 49^th. Slushy roads reported in Vancouver underscore my delight in sitting here in shorts and a t-shirt, temps in the 70’s and climbing to the 80’s by the weekend. As Ellen’s ads write it, “. . . an easy, breezy’ holiday unfolds here in La Quinta. Morning walks with Bucky and Lucy set up the day; I even managed to walk off the berm yesterday and closer to the Santa Rosa Mntns. I was introduced to Trader Joe’s yesterday – a fun, organic foods grocery store. It reminded me of Whole Foods.

Lucy is enjoying the long walks and 3 people to play with her and provide the attention she loves to receive.

Reflecting as I do, I realize that the putting one foot after the other has become easier (most days) as I journey. That, interestingly enough, allows for more thought about who am I, now? This is a deeper question that trips me up on occasion. Some days it’s an exciting prospect, other days a wide, daunting expanse of canvas needing a stroke of paint.  More canvas than I know what to do with a lot of days.  I guess this is a one-stroke-of-colour at a time opportunity (yes, that last word was intentional). Colour choices are mine, as well as the basic underlying sketch that guides the application of paint. Who knows what might reveal itself?

Box of Crayons

We could learn a lot from crayons... 

Some are sharp, 

some are pretty, 

and some are dull. 

Some have weird names, 

and all are different colors 

- and –

they all have to live in the same box. 

Anonymous

La Quinta

22+ degrees greeted me as I turned off Interstate 10 on to Jackson, roadside hedges and shrubs and beds flush with colour and perfume. Was it really a year ago I left here? Feels like yesterday, but then, a lot of days feel like that to me. The edges blur some days between then and now, what was, what is. So it goes.

A beer on the patio, sun warming me in my shorts and light top, a hummingbird flits in to the feeder, not so sure about Lucy. The breeze is strong and scattering dried purple blossoms across the tile, keeping Lucy on edge.

The 5-day drive was long and I could have done it in 4. If I do it again, I'll shorten it. The drive was enjoyable, and I am ready to stay put for a few days. Time to yak, relax, and be on holidays.

Red Plastic Gas Can

I saw her as soon as I pulled off the highway. She was standing on the corner of the frontage road into the truck complex where you can buy coffee, meals, clean laundry, and Lord knows what else. Oh, and gas or diesel. She reminded me immediately, for some reason, of the woman who catered our wedding, as she stood looking at vehicles driving by, a hand-lettered cardboard sign at her feet, ‘Need money for gas’, and a battered red plastic gas can on the grass beside her.

Parking the car, my travel mug in hand, and going inside to use the washroom first, I thought about her out there. Should I give her some money? And how much? I pulled the US bills from my pocket and looked to see what cash I had. A few ones, a five, and a twenty. Well, I knew 20 was more than I was willing to offer, and a dollar seemed a bit skimpy. Maybe the five. I went out to the counter and bought a coffee. Back to the car, grab the garbage from my breakfast – a banana peel and a wrapper from a granola bar – and walk it to the nearest garbage bin. Before I sat down in the driver’s seat, and couldn’t easily retrieve it, I pulled the five dollar bill from my pocket and tucked it beside me.

When I drove by her there was no traffic in either direction; I rolled down the window and caught her eye – not that she wasn’t watching for mine. I held out the five, saying, “I expect there’s a story here’, but not really expecting her to share it, and not so sure I wanted all the details. She walked over, took  the money, and thanked me – at least 3 times, telling me how much it meant to her, and finishing with a ‘God bless you’. She really did look like Lawrence, our caterer, and I said, “God bless you too,’ our eyes connecting. I glanced in the mirror to ensure I wasn’t holding up traffic, looked at her one more time as she stepped back off the road, home next to her brown cardboard sign and red plastic gas can. I turned on the blinker, rolled up the window, and drove on to the on-ramp for 99.

She stayed with me, off and on, for a few hours. The price of gas has just jumped in California, to just over $4/gallon. My fiver would buy her a teeny bit of gas. Did she really even have a car? Maybe it was a scam. No car, no gas. Just for . . . for what? Food? Drink? Drugs? Did it matter, really? What does it take for a person to stand on the corner of a frontage road and ask for money? Could I do that? Would I ever have to do that? Had she ever thought those questions? 

Myss Nuggets

I was listening to an audio on-line last night of Caroline Myss. She noted that we generally vision a different-than-accurate picture of ourselves when we are working toward healing and change. Most of what she said made a lot of sense to me. We tend to vision ourselves as 20 years younger, or that we will regain all that we’ve lost when we heal. That we might see ourselves at the gym daily becoming fit, and eating well. While what she said makes a lot of sense, and I can certainly relate to it, this morning I wonder if some of that isn’t necessary to help facilitate change. If I continue to see myself the exact way I am, where is the room for change? Isn’t creative visualization about visioning what could be, what might be, what is possible? True, the vision does need to be possible. But we tend to put so many restrictions on what we think is possible, caveats at each corner, that surely our visioning is light compared to what truly might be available to us. I agree that I won’t be 30 again, a rocket scientist, a famous athlete, or a rock star. But I do see myself as re-balancing, centred, and moving forward, open to adventures, possibilities in creativity and relationship, trying new things, and embracing life. This visioning, imagining, helps propel me forward.

Myss also spoke about us asking for answers when there is no ‘reason’. We tend to expect a reason for everything. Why did that happen, and that? What was the point of this, and where is the logic in that event? Given that events happen based on a multitude of choices over a period of time (possibly many events over a long stretch of time), it is often impossible to determine what one thing precipitated an event. We continue to move within the age of reason, seeking answers when there may well not be any. We . . .  perhaps I . . . need to truly get that there are often no answers to life events. They happen. They are what they are. A myriad of choices have come into play, many outside my realm of knowing, perhaps even understanding. The ‘why’ of an event is not the point. There’s the 2nd nugget.

Feather Touch

You fly overhead 

my hand reaches

palm upward

to touch

your feathered flight -

slight warmth spreads

across the face

of my outstretched hand

as we connect

through time and space

breaking through

a thin weave

in the veil

between here and there

for a moment. . .just.

Adele

Well, I know I'm not the fastest kid on the block, and way late out of the gate on this, but Adele has an incredible voice! It's been a long time since a singer got my attention like she has. I bought her CD (I  actually started to write 'album' - yikes!) yesterday and listened to it twice through driving today down the highway.
She rocks!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ri7-vnrJD3k

My Oregon Trail

I've traveled from the north end to the south end of the Oregon Coast this day and the car was full most of the trip with all those that I have driven the road with in years gone by. Two partners, my mom, and a handful of friends were all present to me this day as I recalled trips made over the last 18 years to the OC. Snapshots of adventures, cottages, discoveries, many special moments, beaches more than I can remember, laughter, and good food. As I looked back I realized that it's been almost 40 years since my Mom started to journey this route with Jimmy and Esther. Wow -that made me sit up and take notice. Forty years.
I enjoyed lunch and  a Chai Latte (the best ever, still) at the Green Salmon in Yachats. I spent a month in Yachats last February, before heading to La Quinta. Of course, I had to drive by the fire station to see if the goats were there; they were.

I've thought a lot in the past 2 years about 'what is the point' and today, with tunes on, the ocean to my right, and the highway unfolding, mile after mile, I thought to myself, "Well, if I died tomorrow, what will the point of this trip have been?" I'm not recalling what promoted the first thought, but nothing scary. Just a random thought. More to the point: there is no 'point' to my trip. There is no prize at the end, no reward, no great 'aha'. The trip is what it is. . . in the moment. The trip is delighting over the yellow flowers of the Oregon Grape in bloom, and the few sprigs of Broom flowering, redeeming itself from its otherwise rather scraggly looking clothes. The trip is seeing more new-born calves and lambs in the rolling fields, smelling freshly-cut lawns, and choosing my favourite cheeses at the Tillamook Creamery. The trip is glancing at Lucy cuddled up on the front seat with my purple fleece vest, her head poking through an armhole. The trip is pulling over at a view-point to marvel, still, at the curling surf running toward the sand and rocks, green and blue and white, frothy, and translucent - one of the liminal, or thin, places for me. The trip/my life is about noticing what's in front of me, and what I am in front of. It truly is about seizing the moment, being true to one's self, and being in right relationship. Perhaps it's not about 'the point' but about how I am. . . in the moment. My life is a gazillion moments, threaded together on a life-string.

Entreprenuerial

Seen out front of a local business fronting the Seaside Promenade:

Box of firewood: $10
Smores Package: $10.00
Fire/Roasting Sticks for 4: $5.00

Truly - this is the best example I've seen yet of looking at the possibilities for marketing, what's in your front yard (in this case, the ocean and wide expanse begging for a beach bonfire), and walk-by traffic. All presented on a hand-printed sign.

A Way Opens

Seaside remains a delightful rest-stop with a fabulous beach and promenade, and Lucy and I have enjoyed a good romp on the beach. I even found a complete sand dollar which I left resting in the sand.
Earlier, while still driving, we passed jet-black new-born Angus calves pressed up against their Moms, striking against fresh green pastures. Not much later we drove by a field full of sheep, complete with teeny ivory-toned lambs. Surely Spring is on the loose here! I even saw daffodils in bloom along the promenade.

My day's start at 3:30 (who can sleep the night before a big trip) is catching up with me now as I am starting to tire. But since they have an indoor pool here, I will pop down for a quick splash. Hopefully Lucy won't bark while I am gone!

And here's a decidedly Coast moment: I was in the washroom on the ferry and noticed a bag on one of the chairs just inside the door. I assume the owner was using the facilities. I looked at the bag on my way in, and it was still there as I was washing up. I thought to myself, "Where else could you (or would you) leave your bag on the chair and be confident it would still be there when you came out?" It was a perfect reminder of the great place the Sunshine Coast is.

Off tomorrow early, with a stop at Tillamook for all things related to milk and cows. Moo. . . .