November 10, 2000 - A

"Time Passages"

As I sat on the old sewing room carpeted floor, picking up a few stray pins before the house appraiser came, I thought about the years I'd spent there. I have good memories of listening to music, sewing garments and writing poems within those brown walls. A tranquil spirit was there, and I often found blessed moments in this area set apart from the rest of the house.

Now, someone else will be living in that house. I wonder who it will be. I wonder if they will sense the same spirit I did in that sewing room. I left a shiny penny in one corner, as a lucky token for the new incumbent. But I know that what allowed me to find beauty there, I have taken with me, and I find many beautiful things about our new dwelling, such as the way the sun kisses everything with stripes as it filters through the blinds at just the right moment of the day.

Yes, life goes on, and we must go with it. It's a good day for pondering the passages of time, as I've reached the 42nd anniversary of my birth today. Sounds like quite a pile of numbers to me, but as I get older, even forty two will seem young by contrast.

Contrast, everything we know is by contrast and relation to everything else we know. When I was very young, before I even went to school, I remember thinking the week had eight days, because it seemed so long. Now a week ends before it hardly begins. But when I was only five, a week was a very large percentage of my total time on this planet, and thus seemed very long. If one could be immortal, I imagine one would sleep through centuries without noticing.

But we are not immortal, and we take heed of each slippery moment. I have stacked up forty two years of my moments. Forty two years! While it didn't take that much effort on my part, I am nevertheless pleased to have made it this far.

 

November 10, 2000 - B

"Time Passages - Part Two

Laura, Julia and Serena and I went to Barney's, a steak and seafood restaurant here in Casa Grande to celebrate my birthday. We all enjoyed a fish dinner. My stuffed salmon was quite good. It had a breaded middle with subtle garlic and onion spices. The buttered and lightly sour creamed baked potato and green salad with Italian dressing were tasty, as well.

On the way back, I remembered to check the mail at the post office, thinking I may have a pleasant surprise waiting for me. Earlier, my Mother had mentioned a present was on its way to me, and had inquired of the best way to send it. By the time we were home, I'd released it from the elaborate packaging, and was admiring the lovely hummingbird watch pendant. The little hummingbird is the second 'hand', and travels around from flower to flower. Not only are those hibiscus flowers in the center, but there are also six sculpted hibiscus flowers on the frame as well, each with a tiny Austrian crystal center.

I wasted no time in passing the camera over it, and was busy getting the photo ready to place here, when it dawned on me that Time Passages again fit the title for this entry, as what had my Mother given me, but a watch to mark the passages of time?

 

November 11, 2000

"No More Leaves"

I did not know the writer and artist known as Ginkgo that took her life recently. I'd been by her pages a few times in the past, and marvelled at the pretty pages. But other than that, I'd given her journal only a brief scan. I do remember her mentioning battles with depression, hoped she would win, and went onto someone else's page.

Well, we do that, don't we? Her last entry was back in September of 1999. If the writer doesn't write, we don't visit their pages any more, and we sort of forget about them. It's sad, but it's true. Meanwhile, in the past year, her struggles grew worse, until one day she couldn't take it anymore. Her spouse wrote a memorial of her, and now the journalling community has taken notice.

My words seem trite, the poem a vain attempt, but attempt I must:

No More Leaves Who has heard the soft crying? Was it you, as you passed by? Was it me? Did we know from what depth those tears came? Could we have known the agonizing echoes, so deep a pain? Now, there is no more crying, only silence. I can't stand the sound of it.   Goodbye, Gingko. There are no more leaves from your tree. JAL, 11-11-2000

 

November 14, 2000

"Have To Blame Something"

''Mercury in retrograde'', the astrologers tell us, is the reason for all our troubles. From the confusion over who will be President, to why I have had a full bag of overring slips twice in two shifts, it's all blamed on the orbit of this planet. Well, we have to have something to blame, don't we?

But Mercury's orbit can hardly be blamed for what's been ailing Glen lately. He's not been doing too well. At first we wondered if it was a reaction to some medication that was causing his mental confusion. He began by becoming easily lost over familiar routes when driving. His depth perception is off, as well. He's had several near accidents while driving. The last incident, he slid into the car in front of him. Fortunately, they weren't going very fast, and there was no damage to the car.

But it's enough that Glen has decided to quit driving. He's also been suffering terrible headaches. It's possible that he could have had a small stroke. There's a third possibility, but we don't want to think about that one. He'll be having a CAT scan this coming Wednesday the 22nd to see if the cancer has returned and gone into his brain.

We will celebrate Thanksgiving this Tuesday, the day before his test, in case the news is the worst. One thing we can be grateful for, however, is the operation he had back in 1998, in which part of his lung was removed. It has given him at least two more years of good life. Modern medicine does have its benefits.

 

November 15, 2000

"Small Joys"

There are small joys of the moment that brighten our lives. Last night I had one while taking out the trash. The cold air was brisk, but the moon was a quiet blessing. I'm not sure this qualifies as a haiku, but it has enough of the flavor to suit me.

Load of trash lifted high,
I lift my eyes
to the moon low in the dark sky.

Another small joy happened when I was exiting the parking lot of Julia's workplace this afternoon, after picking her up from work. I always have the radio on and often sing to the songs. Ordinarily I just turn right, and head back home. But we needed to go the other way into town to drop off some videos. Usually I turn right and then left into a parking lot, and then right to go that direction. It's a hazzle. But today there was a large enough opening, and I managed to cross all four lanes of traffic in one easy path left. Just as I'd made it into the far right lane, I took notice of the lyrics I'd sung: On the boulevard, wild and free . . . I felt 'wild and free' to have done this rare stunt, and smiled.

 

November 18, 2000 - A

"Looking At The World With Quiet Eyes"

A gray emotional cloud has settled over the chill of my inner self today. I'm finding it hard to shake off. I try to remember to do deep breathing. When I do, it helps.

Also, I found the wonderful quote below last night, and it's a comfort. I need not to react so much to these inner storms. While it's true, there are things to worry about, (for one, Glen couldn't type at his computer yesterday), it is also true worry will not help these matters. Learning patience, oh what a gift that would be.

Anyway, I like that expression, 'looking at the world with quiet eyes'. It reminds me of what Laura suggested I do to avoid an anxiety attack. ''Relax the muscles behind your eyes,'' she said. I have never heard this advice from anyone else. It works, though. Since then, I've not had the sort of anxiety that turns something in the brain to a cold jelly. It remains instead an ordinary disquiet, rather than becoming something so overwhelming.

When we quiet ourselves and relax, we can handle any tribulation, small or large, better.

". . . One of my favorite expressions was coined by the theologian Howard Thurman, who said, ''Look at the world with quiet eyes.'' Isn’t that lovely? Just look at the world with quiet eyes. Usually when we are in life’s circumstance -- whatever it is -- we can be so reactive. It reminds me of those cartoon characters with eyeballs on springs that pop out when they see something surprising. But looking upon the world with quiet eyes, we can feel a sense of just coming back into ourselves and into that more receptive mode. We can be a little less grabbing or reacting. And that modality can extend really to every sense. What would it be like to see and hear and taste and touch and smell with that kind of quiet, just to receive. Let’s try it, shall we? Let’s go outside on this beautiful day and do some walking in just that way: When you are seeing, when you are hearing, when you are feeling -- see what happens when you remind yourself of that ability of receiving and watch your eyes. See what happens when they get on that spring and start moving forward, or you are leaning forward into space to grab the next moment. Remember: just continually relax and relax, and come back into ourself." Sharon Salzberg, from http://www.dharma.org/insight/mangala.htm

 

November 18, 2000 - B

"As The Mood Suits"

When Laura suggested going to a movie, I readily accepted. I was anxious to escape the glum mood I'd been in. However, once we were on the road, we couldn't decide on just what movie to see.

So we scrapped that plan. We'd eat first and then go to Bookman's and Border's. It's fun to look around in Bookman's, even if you don't buy anything. I gave the CD's a perusal, but there was nothing of interest. I then meandered around, stopping to look at a book of tattoo photos. These were from the last century. I was surprised to learn how many men and women from the 40's, 50's, and 60's had been tattooed. Some of the designs were quite elegant. Nipples were used as flower centers, in a bouquet, for instance. Other designs followed the lines of the body nicely.

After looking at that book, I went over to the Buddhist section. Nothing impressive there, but I enjoyed sounding some wooden chimes hanging nearby. Rather than the shrill tones metal tubes produce, the tones were mellow and pleasing.

Later, at Border's, I found the new album of the Dhomhnaill sisters, ''Idir an Dá Sholas'', and held it, while listening to the operatic pop of Ugo Farel. This male soprano was quite impressive. However, I'd rather gamble on the sisters, whose voices I've only heard separately on other albums, than Ugo. His voice lacked a certain warmth. There really is no one else like Russell Oberlin.

Afterwards, as I was driving home, I felt myself full of poetry. No doubt the tattoo book I'd seen earlier was responsible for some of this poems imagery.

A Little Just now, this hard edged beauty, (why it was for just such force that you've dreamed)   no caution here in the passion - I delineate these colors with a broad stroke. How good the pen feels in my hand. I will draw this way and that, just as the mood suits, draw it all over the skin of my soul. Tattooed thusly, still, I keep it covered. Shy, I reveal it here only a little. JAL, 11-18-00

 

November 19, 2000

"To Warmer Days"

To Warmer Days Of such a mood, I wanted to be taken out of myself. But to where would I go? There's not such a place that does not bring a trace of self-same mood. I'd better sit here and embrace my mood, all fears, all tears, each quivering moment. There are cold stars in the heavens without such life. So I will sit here, in this chill, hand on warm cup of tea, and drink to warmer days. The sun, too, was once so cold. JAL, 11-19-00

 

November 20, 2000

"Moods"

I was in a mood yesterday. By afternoon, it had passed, however. At work, after inquiring of a customer how he was, and he replied, ''Can't complain. No one listens.'' I had to laugh, as I answered, ''That doesn't stop ME!''

Truly, it may seem that it's a bit like that old song here, ''It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to . . .'' But, this is a place where I record what's on my mind, and I rarely edit out the yucky bits. I wouldn't want to seem all Polyanna Perfect, now would I?

Looking back at the archives, I can see an almost cyclical nature to these moods of mine. Wasn't I, about roughly twenty eight days ago (and twenty nine days before that), also inflicted with such a blue mood? Hormones could be a large factor. (For those not in the know, the female hormonal cycle is, on the average, twenty eight days.)

The important thing to remember, when I'm 'under the weather', is these unpleasant moods pass, and I'll soon feel more cheerful.

 

November 24, 2000

"Frustrations"

I have so much to say, and yet I have no inspiration!

Last night, after working late, I begged the 'Muse', and was 'told', ''Why do you wish to disturb the elements? GO TO SLEEP!''

This morning, the well is still dry. And so, rather than tell a story poorly, I will wait.

But I don't like it!

 

November 25, 2000

"Not At Our Best"

I'm blurry eyed. I feel shivery even though the house is warm. My throat feels a little scratchy. I'm probably going to catch the cold that has felled Laura. She wheezes so bad, it's scary. Julia has a milder form of it.

So much for all that brilliant story telling I'd planned. Suffice to say, it was very good fore thought on Laura's part to celebrate Thanksgiving early. Glen, indeed, had bad news after his cat scan. He has an inoperable brain tumor, one that is so large that if it gets any bigger, it will kill him instantly. They are giving him radiation in an attempt to shrink it. One doctor gave him three to five months to live at most.

As I was saying, it's a good thing Laura had Thanksgiving early. I didn't help much. In fact, I made her efforts harder. I came home from work late Monday night to find the huge turkey in the sink, with a stream of water flowing over it. I was afraid it would overflow. I turned the water off. Laura yelled at me, and I turned it back on. Only, rather than using cold water, I thought it would be better if I used hot water. After all, I reasoned, it would help it thaw better.

Laura got up at 2:30am to put the bird in the stove. Only it smelled NASTY. The hot water had partially cooked the bird, allowing bacteria to grow. We had to chuck a beautiful 23 pound turkey.

Laura controlled her fury as best she could and we went out to look for a grocery store that was open. I found a fifteen pounder that might possibly be cooked by the noon dinnertime.

Laura's efforts on that bird were positively heroic. Most of it was cooked by noon. There were, however, raw parts by the bone. Everyone did their best to be polite about it, and not glare at me too badly. Fortunately, Serena had brought delicious perfectly cooked baked salmon. I mostly ate fish, embarrassed of the large leg of unappealing turkey meat that remained on my plate.

But, as I've said, everyone was polite about it. Glen, however, looked kind of dazed and confused. He'd brought his camera as usual though. He took a few random photos, but Laura's Mom had to help him put the disks back in the camera case. I, with much less excuse, hadn't even thought about taking pictures, and at noon, the batteries were just put into the charger. I made the excuse to Laura and Serena that perhaps he wouldn't have wanted his picture taken when he wasn't at his best. ''But if you wait until everyone is at their best, you'll never have pictures of anyone,'' Serena wisely said. True enough, and how I regret that now that the news is bad.

By the time Laura took Glen and Mother home, the batteries were fully charged, and I did get some good shots of Laura, Serena and I. Julia would have surely been in on this feast and picture taking, but she sadly had to work. Actually, the first one I took was rather somber. Laura was better at getting smiles out of us, by encouraging us to laugh. The one she took of Serena and I bears saving to the web.

I might have told this story better if I waited until I was 'at my best', but then I thought, I'll get it out, now, while it's still fresh. Some things just can't wait 'until we're at our best'.

.