Marmot & me

I feel sort of gritty and dark for daring to be melancholy on this first day of 09, but there it is.  Whether it was MSG on my grilled salmon or the fact that being in unfamiliar crowds draws me deeply into myself, I woke this morning feeling restless, unrested, morose.

I can’t blame what I drank… water.  I can’t blame my companions… they are the sweetest souls ever, and are effervescent in their extroversion… it’s fun to watch them.  And I can salvage the evening in knowing that they had a great time. 

I can’t blame the year.  My dad was released from his body (yes, of course I miss him, but I would rather he not be in so much pain and confusion as he was), I learned ins and outs of handling his estate, I experienced deep love and support from countless people through it all, my kiddos and grandkiddos are brilliant and in good health, we have a daughter-in-love to be, I finished my masterwork stained glass and got her delivered into the family that is hers, I have had abundance of hospice massage work to do and compensation to do it, we have been blessed with a new kitty, Meara, to fill the mouser gap Mo left behind, I have snorkeled with Honu, I have skimmed over dolphins playing in the waves, the warm sun on my back, all of these things and more, shared by the exuberance and support of my heartmate, BiL.

I know this, that winter is a time of deep sleep, turning inward, drawing energy downward.  So maybe the dark underline of heaviness is nothing more than that, enhanced by the “other” that was so prevalent last night.  I look at the birds at our feeders.  It is the darkness against the snow that sets off the bill and wing of the Clark’s Nutcracker, the cap of the chickadee, the eye of the nuthatch.  My wisest friends would counsel the balance of things, that the inward, down times are to be as cherished as the jump-up-and-down ones. 

My goodness, how much of my life has been wasted with self-scolding.  Ok.   This day, I will release that.  This day I will accept the extreme groundedness in me.  I will also giggle if prompted and not feel like that was what I should have been doing all day. 

Balance, light and dark, comfort and sorrow. 

Now to top off my enlightenment (thank you for helping me work through this… I do feel better), I will go chop wood and carry water.

 

I am freshly back from a Nebraska journey, and my thoughts are still swirling like the snowflakes outside our window.  So while I let them settle, I’ll share a few with you.

The pine siskins and chickadees were flying up to the windows this morning, as if they knew that getting our attention would assure a refilling of their empty feeders.  It did.

And that brings to mind some of my thoughts retained from that long drive.  Right now I can safely say the majority of US  population is preoccupied with the idea of presents.  Getting, giving, buying, creating…. it’s all about the gift.  Or is it?  I got to thinking about the homonyms.  I love to play with words.  ‘Want to join me?

Present…. pre-sent…. present…. present…… what is that all about?  I send forth something, but what is that thing coming ahead of?  Me?  My thoughts?  My love?  And is ‘coming ahead of ‘  referring to priority or to time?  All potentials are inherent in the act, don’t you think?  My presence of mind determines much.

Presence…. (oh I love this one) pre-sense!  I might be present, but am I really pre sensing?  What might I pre-sense?  Might I know the soul I face in a better way?  Might I intuit the depth behind her words?  Might I offer a pre-sense, a knowing of my self, opening my vulnerability to him? 

I determined to keep all of this in mind to give more life to each present as I gift, by also offering true presence along with it.  Some folks in my bonus family are a real challenge for me to offer true presence.   They walk in realms in which I am such a foreigner.  From what I call veteran shopping to sports minds, I struggle to relate, and feel myself something of a stranger to their worlds.  My excuse is that I am not wired that way.  But there are things I know we can speak the same language on, narrow as those margins are. 

The veteran shopper is also devoted mom (been there… still am, just older).  The sports junkies care that their bodies are strong, and of course, that opens up nutrition, and the downright thrill of the artistry of muscle, bone and nerve collaborating for the result. 

The birds are pre-sent, seeking opportunity to feed, to survive, to thrive. 

Aren’t we all?

My better intentions tell me to stay in thankfulness, but some days it becomes a struggle.  It is usually when I am trying to live in the future.

When will we get snow?  Should I cut my hair?  Will I get the glass finished and will Kitty like it?  What’s for dinner?  Will I still feel antsy tomorrow?  Do I feel antsy now because I ate a roll and stuffing yesterday ????

Crazy, the things I allow to steal my peace.

Yesterday BiL and I helped serve at a local community Thanksgiving dinner.  Before we went there, I got to talk to David and Matthew and they sounded so good.  In the evening, Josh came out for dessert and I got the luscious joy of sitting between BiL and Josh on the sofa, watching a great Thanksgiving episode of NX.  A true gift, if ever there was one. 

Yet today I have all these little mosquitos of what might be buzzing in my ears.  It is exhausting.

I apologize, world, for failing you this day.  I’ll try to do better tomorrow.  The glass is coming right along.  Snow?  I have to be patient.

Mo has yet to return to us. 

Yesterday, I did a little glass, still feeling quite scattered.  When I took a break I headed out to walk the hills one more time, partly to restore my center and partly of course in hope that Mo would be out there and come when she heard my call. 

She did not appear.

It was one of those gray days, loaded with clouds that promised at least a drizzle, and maybe more, and the sun was setting by the time I got to one of my praying places, a high sage field ringed with old pines.  As I walked across the late summer gold grasses, a flock of small dark birds rose from the stems and gathered in a near tree.  Thoughts toward Mo gave her my love, wished her happiness and promised I would never take her away from that, and one more plea to come home if she missed us.  I found the rocky backbone of the hill, the one where I like to sit in prayer. 

I stilled myself, my thoughts exhausted with the searching.  My butt and my feet on the rock and earth, I began to feel connected.  I looked at the ground and saw some small whitened bones, too thick to be those of a cat, but carrying a message of order.   My mind and heart went blank and I had a sense of ‘download’ and I just let it happen.  A red tail hawk floated up over the ancient pines from below, circling over where I sat and coming to rest at the top of a lodgepole not too far off.  Within the next few breaths, the birds returned, sifting down into the grasses that I had passed. 

The wind rising, I stood up and resolved to not be sad anymore.  As soon as this though had come, I felt like I could breathe again.  I knew this did not mean I would not feel Mo’s absence, or shed more tears.  But I also knew this was a turning point for me… a choice to come back to life again.

I also realized the intention leads, the body follows.  I was not expecting a resurrection right away. 

Today, we went to church (first time in weeks), and on the way in, I drove… BiL had a rare sighting of a cow moose on a ridge off the interstate.  We enjoyed the company of the other members of Unity, shared the baked potato meal (a monthly fund raiser for the Sunday Schoolers), and then had a sweet afternoon of browsing the Country Bookshelf followed by sharing reading a story from a new Annie Proulx over cups of hot chocolate and a latte.  Within a couple pages the story included references to kestrel, marmot, and ‘riparian’, all terns that have special meaning for us.  It seemed to me like an acknowledgment from all that is, that it is listening.

I know, I know… I see perhaps more meaning in all the little things than the average hiker through life.   That’s how it is. 

‘Got home and I had a productive session with my stained glass.  A good meal, a good fire going.  The blessings are not forgotten in the missing.

My summer has been non-stop and multilocational (I like to make up words… is that one?).

Late summer here, all the growing things are beginning to droop down with the heaviness of life.  Even good life can grow heavy and the time comes to put it down and release.  I respect this time and honor it when it comes for others, but I also admit to my selfishness about the ones I love.  No matter what, release for them does not come from me in purity. 

We came back from a lovely trip to Hawaii to find our cat had taken to a gyspy life.  We don’t know if she is still out there or not, but she is not home and I hold to hope that she will return soon, tail high and happy.  I realize we live in a place of coyote, hawk, and cougar, but my logic tells me that she is gone of her own volition and no other’s .

This time of her absence has plunged me into a very strange state ….. so far I keep dreaming I am still on the islands, next to water or in it, and even when I wake, so far, I don’t realize I am home.  This strange dynamic has me wondering if I am paralleling her.  She must know she is not home.  She may not be concerned about that, especially if she has quick mice to chase, grasshoppers to lift up for, dewy grasses to lick. 

BiL and I are the ones who are troubled.  But he could not stay long to look… he has gone to be with his daughter and grandson for their birthday celebrations.  I bless him on his way…. he’s doing a good thing and something happier for the moment.

Together we had walked the land around us on veiny paths, calling her name as we go.  We must sound like some odd fowl.  Mo….. Moeee…… Kittty …. good girl…….
No response.

I am encouraged that I have not found any sign of struggle or blood or soft tufts of her fur.  It supports my hope.

For about 24 hours I went into a dark time of fret, unable to sleep or settle, no appetite, a state of quiet aimlessness.  It ended last evening, when I ate a plate of spagetti and launched into a night of furious cleaning and laundry.  Maybe I learned cleaning as therapy from my mom.  My housekeeping usually is pretty poor as long as I am in a good mood. 

Today, I woke very late but felt rested for the first time in days.  I continued my search with the 5 mile walk to the mailbox and back.  Still no sign of her, but I can tell anyone where she has NOT been anyway.  That narrows it down doesn’t it?

Yesterday my very good friend celebrated her 50th summer, but I was too spent from the week to join her. I wish her well.

I have friends who understand the mesh that loosing a parent weaves. You get stuck, you find holes, you find support, but you make your way across it no matter what, the best way you can.

Not judging myself, not attmepting to steer or route, manage or step my adjustment to Dad’s death has been a good thing. I do the work each day, and on the days of rest, the inward turns come in their rhythms. Dad and his generation did not measure the progress of grief. My generation pays it perhaps more mind than it needs. Each relationship is unique, as is each parting. I wonder, sometimes, if there are niches of connection that I searched for in his life, that Dad never had. I have said in reflection that our family was as if a United Nations experiment of tribes…. each one of us separated out finding his/her own tribe, mid life or later. I miss him in ways mostly unexpected.

While I was in Nebraska, staying with my son’s family gave me a sense of balance that I needed desparately. Now that I am home, the hills, greenery, deer and countless birds, bugs, n small mammals provide it here. Yet my thoughts still swing with their own relentless timing and unpredictability. I let it all happen, let the waves push and pull me, let my moods turn inside and out. I feel like I am floating in a rushing stream, and I keep thinking .. it’s ok, I’m going to be ok……

I’m not very good company these days.

I suspect this is all too weary for anyone to want to read, so you have my apology here, and my thanks if you did.

Today I hiked up to the high sage field across the creek from where we live. It was a day so beautiful it could not be denied. ‘Ever have one like that? I hope so. And I hope you said ‘yes’ to it in the best way you could

As for me, my week has been monumental. I mean, I started off a few weeks ago, banning Ruffles potato chips from my diet. That has continued to show itself a great decision, and this week a domino effect set in. I decided, as I ate a fish fillet (sans bun) and fries at BK on Tuesday that it would be my last fast food dive. I guess my liver was telling me it wanted even less heavy fats if possible. Anyway, I began bringing a salad with me each day I went to work, and if I had time, I was finding such things as a fresh salmon salad or a little shrimp to add to the greens. And I feel great!

Today, I woke up, knowing I would take the peak hike. What I did not know was that I would be able to do it with no inhaler! Wahoo!

I am convinced the diet change has been a part of this restoration of my lungs. I also have been taking Quercitin, fish oil capsules, Chinese herbs, and adrenal support, but I have a long standing habit of supplements, considering my diet restrictions. I don’t understand the ins and outs of my lungs and nasty fat intakes, but I am witness to the results and with each breath I am liking them!

Clarity of intent is present for me now, too, as if my intake of air has made way for clear thinking. I am not having problems with getting distracted when I set out to do something. I used to wrestle so much with ‘housework’ vs doing stained glass or taking a walk, that housework won out nearly all the time. But now, I am having little problem with leaving housework till after the more important things. I like this. The housework gets done, but it does not become a monster, looming over every moment.

So today, I did the important thing. I hiked up the hill and had prayer time and renewal from one of the high places near our home. I brought dried cherries and birdseed to share, and the chipmunk you see at the head of this piece was one of three who kept me company as I basked in the air and sun. I listened to wren and maybe thrush song. I savored the view of the receeding snow banks from our little creek area north to the Bridgers.

Are you wondering about the marmot sighting?

It happened after my 3 hours on the hill. I had just come down to the road again, and as I walked over to look at the creek, rushing along with it’s spring ‘white water’, I saw marmot’s golden flash of tail as she whistled and dove into her pile of rock.

She was too fast for me to get photo of her, so I tossed a few peanuts her way, and wished her well.

Peace to you!

By the way, I did get a kayak… an early Mother’s Day gift from my beloved BiL. So the urge to get out on the water is stonger than ever.

With snow still 3 feet deep over much of our neighborhood, at first glance you would not believe it’s spring. But the longer days, the easing temperatures (sandwiched between the snow squalls), and the returning nesting pairs tell the truth. These pine grosbeaks are regulars at our feeders this week.

Something in me is waking up along with the birds, bears, and berry bushes. I am feeling empowered these days, doing things like cleaning out my body… well,nothing drastic…. I just realized that I was paying a tad too close attention to Ruffles Reduced Fat potato chips. I had begun to wonder if my nibbling had any bearing on my returning asthma symptoms. So I stopped, cold turkey, despite the two bags I had on the pantry shelf. I am at the 48 hour mark now, and I will tell you my asthma has retreated, and my likelihood of being hungry at mealtime as well as choosing a fresher option (when thinking about fast food in town, I just go home and have something I actually like) is increasing. Yesterday I got back to doing my yoga. My arms are sore from all those downward dogs, but happy.

Our neighborhood is stirring, too, already thinking about noxious weed management. This year we are looking into weed eating goats. A lady in town manages a herd she hires out for just that purpose. We’re going to have her come give us the lowdown on the deal at our next road association potluck. I can hardly wait. I love the wildflowers, but I understand the dynamics of invasive plants taking over like Bush on an oil agenda, and I am all for a bio-friendly way of controling them.

I find myself daydreaming of the kayak I have yet to meet, the one I will skim across the lake before snugging down into my mummy bag, tenting out that night. I wonder if I will be able to grow anything this year successfully. Lettuce worked for a while last year, in big pots on our deck. The tomatoes were not so happy. Growing things takes time and daily attention, which does not always work with a mate who loves to travel when not teaching. Well, there’s always the local farmers’ market to support. I am daydreaming about that, too, looking forward to eating as fresh as I can this summer. Managing my appointment schedule to accomodate being in town for Farmer’s Market days as well as not being committed on camp out days will be this woman’s way of changing activitiy to a season more sunny and warm.

As the dark earth circles that birth from the roots of the pines grow into one another, the deer will return and the marmots will play. I’ll keep you posted.