Letting Go

I'm thinking of potatoes again—yes, they are a soul food and this time of year when we're losing our light, more spuds are a good thing. Today I will celebrate the Jewish New Year with several friends and we will eat traditional food and let go of our "sins". With me, it is the preoccupation with the ex that gets me going inside, all worked up, etc., that I want to let go of. I don't want to think about him. I want to imagine all the new things I want to accomplish and head toward them. I want to learn to be close with others without being afraid. And I want to be in love again some day.

For this evenings dinner, I will roast potatoes. I grew a few in the garden, so will dig them today. I used to grow heaps of potatoes and eat them through the winter. Now, I eat fewer potatoes per my naturopath's recommendation. He says that eating them with protein denies the use of the protein to the body. Thus, I'm only making myself more cholesterol. Eek! But I have been eating my meals this way for some time. I have greens and eggs for breakfast, greens or broccoli and meat for lunch, and same-o same-o for dinner. Oh well. If it lowers the cholesterol, that will be great.

Yesterday I went to the beach with Brenda and Abbe and the grandbaby. My grandson was having a great time throwing rocks and picking up seaweed and walking into the water—he had on his little boots, and then at one point, out of the blue, he ran into the water, fell face forward, and of course there I was grabbing him out. We were both soaked. And he was crying. I didn't have extra clothes with me, but I did have an extra diaper. So stripped him and changed his diaper and put him in the cuddly pack. It surprised him more than anything and taught me a lesson. Got to watch them like a hawk.

We went to Larrabee State Park and Brenda showed me her favorite rocky places. There were some very nice gnarled trees I'd like to paint. And the day was glorious, one of our last summer days I imagine, as the rain will come again soon.

Libra New Moon

I mentioned the other day that the new moon was coming and now it is here, today around 8 degrees Libra. I've been thinking a lot about how to be in relationship and find balance, happiness, give and take, love. Libra is about balance. Being overly on one side of the scale would mean being co-dependant, giving everything to another and nothing to oneself. All the way on the other side, Aries: everything is for the self, nothing for the other. Balance in the middle, this is best my astrologer always said.

On the dock yesterday at Diablo Lake, I read an article in Shambala Magazine. Thich Nhat Hanh was talking about relationships and using the hands as a metaphor for two people. When the right hand gets hurt, the left hand is there right away. Helping. The right hand doesn't say, look at all I'm doing, I'm drinking tea, I'm doing calligraphy, and you do nothing. The hands are not punitive. The hands work together and relationship should work that way. This is balance, I'd say. Don't you think? More from from the Zen Priest True Love: A Practice of Awakening the Heart

We, participants at Diablo Downtime, all worked together on a peeling garlic project on the deck of the dining hall Saturday evening. The sun was low on the water, reflecting bright light, and it was a little chilly, a breeze coming up the valley, but beautiful. And we peeled garlic, a good thing to do since the peeled garlic you buy comes from China—warning! There were about eight of us and we talked about memoires and food and cattle drives. It was a good chat. And we peeled a gallon and one half of garlic cloves. Chef Charles suggested we buy local, even if it isn't organic. It is better to have broccoli from a neighboring farm than from China. Again China comes to mind—danger! This is the way I was raised, although then it was about unions and commerce. This is about where our food comes from and what goes into it—and the expense of shipping.

And of course the best is to grow your own. In your lovely garden.

Happy day,

Flower

Diablo Lake

At the North Cascades Institute, the mountains rise up like sentinals, rocky and patched with snow. The buzz of mountains, have you felt it?, is grounding and wonderful. I live by the water, a floaty place to live. In the mountains I breath differently, not so hectic, not so swishing about. This weekend is call Diablo Downtime. You can hike or do yoga, read, sleep, canoe. And the food, it's fabulous. And the night sky, pitch black with stars, a gazillion of them. Fabulous.

Here's where you can go to see learn more about this fabulous place, www.northcascadsinstitue.com. There are many art classes and nature writing classes. Your children can come for events. It's in the foothills of the cascades--lovely. And you should see the buildings. Fabulous--good in snow.

I'm here with two friends. We had a snoring event last night, some restlessness and loss of sleep. All in all, it was not the best, but okay. And everyone is happy this morning. Ahhhhhh!
Later,
Flower

Libra New Moon

Monday is the new moon in Libra. My favorite astrologer, Stephanie Austin says: "The next New Moon forms on Monday, September 29 at 1:12 AM PDT at 7º Libra. Libra is the sign most concerned with balance and equality, partnership and peace. Its shadow side is codependency and mistaking appearance for substance. This New Moon brings our attention to what we really want and whether we are being motivated by fear, fantasy, or truth."

So I guess where we are giving too much, we can find balance, being sure of our motivations for giving. I had a husband of many years who gave to me out of duty, not out of love. Well, if it was love, it was convoluted love. I guess for my own healing, believing it was love would be a good thing. Then I could settle into my heart in a different way. A satisfied way--afterall, it was a long marriage.

Today the garden is melting, it does this in the fall, twists and browns and melts. I'm not going over there for awhile, as I have so much work to do in getting it ready for winter, I just can't face it. My cold is mostly gone, thank you for your concern, and I'm on my way to the North Cascades Institute today for a down time retreat. I guess it's a beautiful and majestic place, with high mountains and a lake, Diablo Lake. I always wonder why things are named after the devil. That is what it means, isn't it?

I'm doing the The Artist's Way again. I've done it twice before, once for me and once with a group of women. It is a good process to see where one wants to go but stops oneself. To let go of perfectionism around art. Just this morning I was reading about shadow artists. Perhaps I've been a bit of a shadow artist for most of my life, why, I think because I was told I'd never make any money at it. You have to do work that makes you money, that was the credo in my house. Not work that you love and feel passionate about. No, money, money, money reigned. Well, it feeds you but doesn't buy happiness, that's for sure.

Okay, I'm sore today from Pilates. Do any of you do that for exercise? I've just started. It's hard work, all those tiny inner muscles—yikes. They're me biting today.

See you soon,

Flower

Cow Farmer Says Early Winter

The Farmer's Almanac is probably where he got his info. That's how a farmer would know it will be an early winter, wouldn't it? Well, natural signs can be read, of course, in the environment. I've heard that when you see the geese flying south early, when you notice your animals are getting their winter coats early, and not because it is cold outside, it'll be an early winter, that these signs tell you about coming winter. It's in the air, the bite, you can feel it. Yesterday I bought a new winter coat. That's a sign. I need to get my car in to have the antifreeze checked too. I thought of snow makes me shiver. But there are already reports of snow on Mt Baker. Sheez!

Well, the good news is that I've been asked over for dinner by a new friend. And he just went to the mountains and said he hiked in snow. Wet snow of course, but still, snow. When I was growing up in Spokane, we frequently had snow by Halloween. I'd like to see snow this year, maybe even enough to cross-country ski. I have old skis. They are practically embarrassing, like they could be nailed to the side of some building in the alps, a decoration. They are wood skies that need to be waxed. I'm not sure you can even buy wax now. Jack was good at waxing the skies. He would pick just the right stickiness, and dab it on the length of the wood, then heat is slightly, smooth it out. He was talented at many things, later his talent became tipping back a bottle. It's a sad story, we needn't go there.

The Farmer's Almanac also suggests when to pick vegetables and when to plant them. Sometimes it says how to measure them for proper growth. I haven't seen the magazine in years, but perhaps having a guidance chart for when to plant would be a good thing. Peas by a certain date, potatoes on Good Friday. Are there other holiday dates, corn knee high by the Fourth of July. I'm on to something here. Maybe dried beans by Halloween. Maybe…

Well I'm still in bed nursing this cold. Hot tea, a snuggy blanket, my cat. I can hear the wind howling outside the condo. The way the buildings are built here in a grouping causes the wind to howl through them. It's agonizing at times. Nerves, loss of sleep. Everyone complains. Nothing you can do about it, except maybe, a big sheet of cloth. Yes, stretched from building A to the parking lot. A sail. That's it. A sail to catch the wind.

Peace,
Flower

Potatoes

I love to dig potatoes in the fall, turning over the soil on a sunny day, gleaning from the rich darkness the white or red jewels. Oh, so poetic. But it is like finding treasure, those yellow fin and reds and you know of course how to find the new potatoes to cook with your peas in the spring? You find the flowering plants and reach carefully beneath, sort of like reaching beneath a hen for a newly laid egg. I've done that, the egg is warm, the hen cackles a bit--and the potato plant has all these tiny potatoes growing along the roots, they can be snapped off and the plant will continue to grow. New potatoes are the size of a plum and when cooked with new peas, ah, what a treat. I used to make a sauce of cornstarch and water and salt and blend it in with the cooking water--always I use a minimal amount as to not waste vitamins--and when creamy, salt and pepper to taste. I could eat that now, new potatoes and peas for breakfast, add an egg, viola, I'm in Heaven.

Soon,

Flower

List

1. Turn over soil.
   
2. Clean out boxes of stuff hauled from other house
   
3. Haul manure
   
4. Pack for Diablo Down Time
   
5. Brush Sid
   
6. Vacuum
   
7. Fill out Hedgebrook application
   
8. Eat
   
9. Write
   
10. Sleep
    
11. Recover from cold
    
12. Watch for snow
    
13. Buy warm coat
    
14. Buy warm hat
    
15. Buy new shoes
    
16. Pay bills
    
17. Earn money
    
18. Ha, ha, ha
    
19. Meditate
    
20. Sleep
    
21. I know I already said that.
    
22. Shower
    

Flower

Apples

My first husband loved old apple orchards and would take me on the back of his Bridgestone motorcycle and we'd wander through farmland on old dirt roads and find the gnarled old trees laden with apples, apples dangling over the road or already fallen in the ditch. Frequently we'd come home with bags of apples and cook them up into sauce. Delicious, tart and flavored with cinnamon. Or I'd make apple butter, cooking the apples down for a long time then putting them through a fruit sieve. Yesterday I gathered some Gravenstein in my friend's backyard. They cooked into a lovely sauce that didn't need any sugar.

When I was a kid, canned fruits and pickles were thought of as an awesome thing. They had a special place on our shelves—being of real value and respect. When food was put by, it wasn't some little kitchen project, it was the real deal, this was the food for the winter. Canned fruits and pressure canned meats, dried meats and fruits, pickled and salted items. See Putting Food By for more recipes.

If you have an abundance of apples, you could try making apple butter. The easy way is to peel and core apples and chunk them up in a baking dish. Add the cinnamon and sugar, not too sweet, and bake (350)until it cooks down thickly. You can stir several times during the cooking process. You'll be able to tell when it is a nice spreadable consistency.

Last night I attended an Equinox event. We celebrated with a great meal of chicken and vegetables and a dish of baked mushrooms and pecans and orange slices. It really is fall, colder, darker, and I have a little cold. Yes, almost on Q, the cold came with the cooler weather. Perhaps there is an apple remedy for colds, there is a honey and lemon one, I know that, and tea, of course, always lots of tea. And for the heart, seeing things in a new way. A new perspective is appropriate at this time. Well, that's what turning points are for.

At both Equinoxes and Solstices, we can set new intentions for what we want in our lives. I want to be happy running my own life. And of course I want my heart to heal. And I want my garden to flourish. Also a metaphor. Enjoy the abundance of fall and keep at that garden. It's good for you and for the earth. What are you intentions?

Peace,
Flower

Cheating

I downloaded the book from Oprah's website about Why Men Cheat, although I haven't read it yet. Has anyone else? I heard there was fallout from the show, the jest of it all being that men don't get enough attention to at home, and then they cheat. The women in the audience said they didn't always get sex either, and they didn't cheat. Well, some women do cheat--but generally speaking, they didn't. My husband was getting what he wanted but he just wanted something different. He felt we were in a rut.

I'm very comfortable with the same, with variation within the same, but I derive comfort from knowing what to expect, from having routine, from waking up next to the same person year after year. Unfortunately the last part of my marriage became a roommate situation, and then under the guise of a marriage sabbatical, separation. Now divorce. Everyday there are periods of time when my heart hurts like it's been tromped on by a herd of buffalo. It is unfathomable to me that the heart can hurt this badly. After all, it is just emotion creating this pain. Does emotion come from muscle, the brain, the emotional body—whatever it is, it is potent.

I learned in a class explaining emotional well-being and difficult emotions, that there is more information going from the heart to the brain than from the brain to the heart. This is an important fact that little of us know. As my husband and came closer to the end, the more he accelerated leaving behind his hunt by finding a new honey. And the more I tried to hold onto him, the more he shut me out. I realize he was dealing with his pain in his own way—finding a new honey was a solution, as valid as any, I guess. I feel sorry for her, however, because he couldn't possibly be finished with the grief--at least from my point of view that would be true.

Well, this isn't supposed to be about me, it is supposed to be about the garden. The garden—ah blighted tomatoes. Yes, it is rainging. I just don't have the stamina right now to go at it, build little tomato houses, keep things going well in to the winter. But I may have a burst of energy soon, who knows. I may get to that kale planted instead of pining away, my heart mending bit by bit. I have a meeting this morning, so have to get going. More later about the saga of the divorcee.

Flowering Flower

PS At the Unitarian service this morning the minister spoke about the healing properties of music. This I have forgotten, so a solution, a medicine for the ailing heart. I will take it for however long it takes. That and my hands digging in soil.

A Small Disaster

Once I had a garden that flooded one black night. The water came from the stream just beyond the barbwire, creeping across the field in the dark in a slithery manner. I stood in the yard with my husband and listened; it was so dark that night, we couldn't see the water reflecting moonlight, but I suppose we had a flashlight and we aimed it at the shiny predator moving slowly toward the dry side yard where we stood worrying. That was the only flood I've been around, and it wasn't a raging thing, it was a creek after all that had gotten jammed up with sticks and limbs and small logs. We'd stood by it one day while walking, taking in the debris and thinking nothing of it. We were young, in our late twenties. It was the oil embargo of the late 70s. We had never been in a flood. Really, we were city kids trying our hand at country life.

The flood had been more severe earlier on in that property's history. Once We'd had our own flood, then we heard about it from a neighbor. It had taken off the top soil of our garden, that is why the soil was bad, the friend said. She rode cut horses. She was the one who herded the cattle out of my garden the day they broke down the fence. She wore cowboy boots and walked a little bowlegged. She took up pottery because of me and became my competitor. Eventual we were no longer friends.

Well, that has nothing to do with lost top soil. When the wind blows on the Palouse, the topsoil blows away. Top soil can't be replaced, well not in rolling hills of acreage that is. However, it can in a tiny plot like I have. I could have someone haul in topsoil. A neighbor said my current plot was scraped clean of topsoil because the lot was sloped and they scraped it from the top to the bottom to make it level. That explains why the bottom plots are so lush So topsoil—come hither. Come to me lover.

It's raining today. I'm still hacking, so even though my friend left potting soil on my plot, I won't be there to do anything about it. This is a day for resting.

Peace, Flower Power

Rock and Roll

A new friend of mine said he grew up in an era of rock and roll, sex, and drugs. I grew up during that time too, all that free love, all that weed and loud music. Now it is kava kava to sleep and the drug I'm always trying to kick—sugar, and the music Be Good Tanyas, Everything But the Girl, Shirley Elkhard, Diana Krall, Senate, etc. A little different than the Stones, Beatles, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, etc.

But the theme that we had then, back to the earth, be natural, etc, is still a worthy theme. Practicing organic gardening is a way to vitalize the soil and the food. Practicing recycling is a way to use less, so to pollute less. And of course we all have the new fangled light bulbs so we save on fuel; what is it, one bulb saves 800,000 cars of fuel a year. Is this really true, and if it is, why not participate?

And did you know that folks were never healthier than when sugar and white flour was rationed during WWII. Our weight problems can be attributed to excess empty calories. Like I said, sugar is the drug I'm always trying to kick. It was originally brought to the US for the rich. A fancy drug that was very expensive. Now we consume sugar in just about everything.

I didn't set out this morning to preach. The fact taht I'm recovering from a little cold could be attributed to the binge I went on: sugar and wheat and dairy over the weekend. I lost control—yes, there were three birthday parties and each had sweets; ah I love cake. I friend of mine once said, There is no better food than cake." Well, if it's made with whole ingredients and sweetened with stevia or date sugar. Huh, not the same as the pure stuff—but if you want to make changes you can try some of these things. A good cookbook for natural foods is A New Food,

Peace!

Flower Power

Sounds

The sound of crows, lazy at times, frantic at other times, calling from above the garden, flocked in the maple trees as I garden. When I was a child, the crows sat in the pines outside my window. To me there gulk gulk gulk sound was soothing. And still, it makes me laugh. Here I'm awakened by the sound of gulls, loud cries coming early in the morning, and the terns, which have a scratchy screechy cry, settling in over the water.

In the city and the country, there is the sound of the train whistle. Here in Fairhaven, the train, not far down the road wails musically, reflecting off the water in waves at times, and at other times it is forceful and obnoxious. I can stand in the garden and hear not only the whistle, but the rumble of the cars on the tracks. My first husband loved the train. He said everyone should ride the train because eventually folks won't be able to. Trains will go by the wayside. This isn't true, of course, as we can see more folks are riding the train than ever. He rode the train with his father across the U.S. from Spokane to New York. His father was a buyer for a department store. The rocking, the rumble, the whistle, the train-crossing bells, sleeping in the berths with all this going on, things he reminisced fondly of.

I picked up Walden this morning and opened the old copy to a highlighted section, the chapter title Sounds. Thoreau says "The whistle of the locomotive penetrates my woods summer and winter, sounding like the scream of a hawk sailing over some farmer's yard, informing me that many restless city merchants are arriving within the circle of the town, or adventurous country traders from the other side….Here come your groceries, country, your rations, countryman!"

I don't think of the train as moving goods, although the freight trains do, I think of it as a loud noise that wakes me in the night. But Henry is right, it is commerce at work. Noisy commerce. And when the train whistle comes in the night, the gulls and terns lift off, squawking. They are awakened too, and then they riot with discontent.

Well, this morning, a fall cold has me down in bed. There will be no gardening today, not much of anything in fact. Reading in bed, drinking tea, listening to the sounds of the village, sleeping. It is all good, this life.

Peace! Flower