ok, ok, not *quite* this snowy this a.m., but i resorted to an old picture for the drama of it.

first, i welcome myself back~~! really, i'm happy about it. journaling, writing, thinking, letters, paper, cyberspace???????whichwhyhowtobest. mostly i love to write. additionally i visit with myself constantly. is there need to commit any of it really.....

i'm not sure but guess i'm re-appearing here. appear is such a bright good surprising feeling. even re *appear*ing feels significant.

so funny about the snow really. yesterday we also had cold and snow and about the same temps. yesterday i was resenting it and pretending it wasn't the point. kicked around with a sweater and hugged myself with a shiver at every turn outside. this morning however, dressed as i do for snow i was warmed and invigorated by both the temperature and the snow. funny about turning the page into a different beauty. me of all people who professes to dearly love our seasons; you would think that i would remember to embrace them. guess there is a small transition stage.

i pretended this morning that i was in CO. after that i pretended that i was in CA hiking as laura and martin did through the snow and without a trail. i didn't get lost though. the field road next to the field doesn't really get so very obscured you know. although........this morning as i had a cup of coffee in my bed, a train camoflauged itself. truly now, that is a bit of a trick. snowy branches in the window and white triple crown cars can do that. i even made ken laugh with the idea. we do regularly laugh at ourselves commenting in the morning that the kids would find it hard to understand that train watching in the morning rather entertains us. it is very close to having lawn chairs in an open garage and watching cars go by..... not something to pass around me thinks.

so, am a little blabby here this morn with my rearrival but i was inspired by the walk. in the beauty of the snowiness, anna sophie mutter joined me. i heard her way down in the woods past her tree and toward the airport. it's a tiny stretch in there, but a safe haven in many coats. we actually already had retreated in that direction because someone was hunting on neal ave. those voices mix uneasily for me: hawks and crows calling and gun shots. the only tracks i see ahead of me of course are deer tracks. i kept glancing about the field actually rather hoping not to see a deer fleeing but wishing that were happening. it's odd to walk as i do, pretty keyed in to all around me but to have shooting and death on the periphery. a day in life of course; almost too literal for me though.

this hunter has trespassed in several ways today of course. no one should have been on neal before me or even in addition as far as i'm concerned. his huge truck tires had already chewed up the soft snow and dug into the underlaying mud. another kind of painful analogy for me. *and* he will shoot the coyotes if he sees them and that makes me sad also. just what sort of balance to i think i'm about anyway... karen, karen, karen.

is every 5th person truly wired as ultraoverthetopgetreal sensitive? or is it just me.

i'm glad to write here again. i have more pictures to add too. and.....if i look back over my shoulder, i have much to write about it. i'm leaning toward opening this to just a few people who might wonder what's on my mind. we shall see.

rough places return

hard even for me to express today.

i'm uprooted and laying exposed on the ground. not once but twice.

the "keeper" of neal ave has indeed dealt with the downed tree. it's one way. no nuance, no intuition; brute force. some mammoth earthmover who leaves a deep and determined track, has bulldozed the felled trees. nothing tending or caring to be sure. simply in a giant stroke pushed to the side. two trees now, one fully clothed yet and one bare lay parallel to the road. they don't fit easily there; the foot and roots are exposed to all. to deal with them and force them to a new place the avenue itself is again changed. a new widened and hurt place; looks like a combat zone that has nothing to do with openings to the field, only a harsh dealing with obstacles.

my heart is so bulldozed. not only about megan and jeremy although they come today. there is such heartache in our family. fronts known and fronts unknown. young places and aged places.

depths impossible to share.

the smoothed, grassy straight path i wrote of a couple days ago? remember that one? it leads to devestation.

i'm so afraid that i can't help megan. i will see her today.
k

and he reminds me again

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

lee reminds me

"Even in our sleep, pain which can not forget,
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until in our own despair, against our own will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God"

Robert Kennedy – upon the loss of his brother

rough places made plain

completely the wrong picture but i'll change it, just as.......
neal changed this morning.

amazing really what a difference a day makes.
my encroaching sadness that the visual peace of neal avenue was more and more elusive, changed over night. the darkness lurks now only on the edges again and deep in the underbrush. a giant mower smoothed the way today. it's soft now, even cushioned by the long cut grass laying on the way. it's cleared only to the fallen tree for now, but i expect that the "keeper" of neal is aware than more attention is needed. he's not especially gentle with the fallen trees; *that* clearing is a little brusk and uncaring, but in the end more order is what i need to feel.
i hadn't realized quite so much that my open space, my verdent shelter, my most familiar of all paths is tended and managed. by an outsider of all things. and an invisible one at that.
the way to the bench is also smoothed and expanded now. next the corn will grow up to envelope the path. for now the vista is gorgeous and open. as a body of water, shimmering, wavy, vast. peopled of course. i often wonder how many corn stalks are there as my network. the new farmer, a renter and not the owner, has gotten greedy with the land i fear. corn is planted this year, as last. pete always rotated. the stalks are closer together than they used to be; can't tell about the rows until the corn is taller and i can walk there. no way through at the "hole in the wall". the planting is colored outside the lines of the field. pete sees the change. even more, the machinery is all mammoth and feels conquering not nurturing fm planting to harvest. nothing in between really either, no neal avenue tending, no visits to look over it.
but, the corn aside, today was a surprise. that is supposed to be MY part, being surprising. how lovely to be on the other end.
i had quit walking on neal ave you know.
was already needing more shade.
k

usually when i'm home i have a candle lighted.

k

usually when i'm home i have a candle lighted.

k

uprooted

there's a tree down on neal this morning. a big one. his roots show. this is one of the ents but not one of the norwegian bachelors. *and* some others went down with him. because they were entwined and near and sheltered.


neal avenue has become a significant metaphor for me. things happen out there, unseen then discovered. the facade is changeless in 20 years but underneath it's tougher and tangly.

life.

the familiarness is still calming and comfortable. i still feel sheltered but the polite distance from the "road" has disappeared. bushwacking comes to mind. but as always verdant, thriving, sprawling, transforming. Of course, the hole in the wall, the beautiful symetrical arching entrance to the field, was changed a couple years ago when one of the sentries fell. More, the people who "clean up" have no sense of the esthetic. parts and pieces are left everywhere, branches rudely piled sideways and the sky gapes through. i don' look that way anymore. the new farmer doesn't make that a field road cutting east to west as pete did, so there isn't the magical aisle that i once enjoyed.

past the norwegian bachelors, the south end now has more significance. the brush has established itself as trees now. the feel is still open, windy, warm but not exposed. the corner-of-my-heart tree has become a doorway now. guess we have three parts. *and* the huge offensive brush pile which brings us to a premature end is home for i think hundreds of things. i'm almost afraid to be near it.

i never make my way to the smith farm anymore. maybe some day when i don't take the dogs.

i guess, facade is right. fences, "brushing", fallen trees, encroachments everywhere. it's essence still?

shelter.
vigor.
grandeur, rough shod version.
change.
wonder.
company.

k

In community, in communion, in common....

the path we are given. would that one could pick a different one. aren't we inclined to think that we "choose"?

funny, especially first thing in the morning, how many angles go through my head, things i need to write *first*.

actually, *first* today i say to megan, that excepting you, i carry this with me the most i expect. Jeremy may be in league with me but I even still can feel myself pregnant with Megan. Amazingly the feeling I had in my head about being a new mom flood into my thinking without invitation. Not yogic enough to "notice" and let it go. But, how does that help really to think all the time about your current place? It only will help if any of my earned wisdom can express itself and be translatable as it is also *my* current place.

Wisdom seems a little cocky. Traveling it all to age 57 earns you something though. I'm calling it wisdom.

I have two copies of "My Grandfathers' Blessings" here to put in the mail to you and Jeremy. I'm deferring to Rachel Remen for words as one tack. I am re-reading this as a balm myself as well. In essence I am reminded how many other people also carry deep sorrow each day, how many others look constantly for understanding and strength. Her anecdotes in themselves are worth your time, but I have found her conclusions, the sentence or two summing up are sometimes profound to me. She has helped me feel in a silent community. There are many others putting one foot in front of the other, leaning on routine, making small talk, who also are on paths not chosen.

There are always places we all feel alone, likely to trip, walking somewhere unknown.
But each of us does our best to keep walking....
l,
k

I can't put my finger on it, but somehow my conversation with Megan yesterday felt the most relaxed and natural to date. I hope she might have felt that way. Jeremy called me too yesterday; he is calming even to me. Always sounds as if he has gathered and weighed what matters. Much of our talk was about Berkeley to tell the truth. He provided us all a distraction. Normal things *will* go on and being a little more present in the "stuff" we all do might be a good tactic. Concentrate on making routine interactions a little spicier or gratitying or surprising. Many, many people carry heartache around routinely. we aren't alone with that.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes meditation about weather was also helpful this morning. The weather is different for each of us, lessons different, challenges different but in the end we each travel a journey of the soul, regardless the weather. [he said it much better..;) ]

l,
k

I threw a mad letter through the window yesterday. It's the nature of letters I know that you can't take back some things. Words are the same. "Be impeccable with your words" is the Toltec wisdom I find very challenging.

Anger is part of grief even though I haven't read yet through all the steps. Yesterday I was angry at Megan for her reactions to the outpouring of others. Quit reminding me, quit sending notes, I just want this over. Quite sending text messages, quit writing that we should hold each other and kiss. She had each of my words to throw back at me. I had promised myself that she would be able to say anything to me and that I could forgive her given circumstances. When she doesn't want what I have to give though, then I'm mad. All I have to give is words. I can't touch her from here. She doesn't like that either; not from me. Wrap her Jeremy in your big arms for me.

Might I look *in* today. In to the child I birthed 29 years ago. I have always sung to her and talked to her, held her. What mother hasn't. There are other ways though. I've picked the ones fluid for me, seemingly not right. New eyes needed here. What are Megan ways.

Leaving her alone is what ostensibly she wants. I won't believe that is the way to face the next 2 1/2 months though.

nope, won't believe that.

Another idea today, this from a phone conversation with Arn.



"funny how as you embark on being a parent you think that you know what parenting will mean"



Guess none of us does know, we make assumptions.

My windows photos. Many of them were lost in the last crash of the computer which seems unfortunate because I had a good start.

This is Maynard's barn.

Now I need again to look for what might be a window, a way of looking out and in or through. [Ah, Herb's prepositions again. ] Each of us involved, loving Megan and Jeremy and that tiny baby, will need to look. Looking through and past these months is a simple wish, but the days and hours creeping by will force the inside part. Each of us goes to different inside places, digs up different questions and different strengths.

Would that we can complement each other. Hold when holding is needed, offer the right words, kiss. Likely that won't happen just as we'd like but I plan to use this place to try. I hope to think outloud here and in the process provide a window.

It's more me than you, I know.

Look here Megan if and when you'd like. I feel as if there could be some motherly wisdom and comfort here, but I won't know for sure about the conversation. Or about the timing. I'm also not sure that what comes to me as comfort or sense will seem the same from your view. Likely it won't. Perhaps. My fervent hope though, is that some small piece might feel helpful or optimistic or comforting or even distracting to you some day. You, Jeremy too, will be surrounded by the love of people around you. Every person you know will try to be helpful, consoling, encouraging or just near. We all offer you what we can for support and company. May you be strengthened and touched over and over in ways we don't even know.

In the middle of the night though, it's just you and this baby. When you awaken, think of me because I am also awake many times through the night and each time I imagine you with your hand on your belly. She is so very much alive and so completely surrounded now by your love and nourishment. That just might be her safest place and we all might need to try to understand that. Even then the two of you aren't as alone as it may seem..... Take Jeremy's hand.

In fact, let me tell you that I sing to you and Laura and Peter each night as I go to sleep. It's like a prayer and a blessing and a constant song in my heart.

Sleep, my love and peace attend thee, All through the night.
Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
Love alone her watch is keeping
All through the night.

I learned it first in Lullabies and Night Songs. Yup, same lullaby book that has Elephants in it. I memorized a bunch of things from that book so that I wouldn't always have to hum to you. Now I have the words I need at night.

These next months are a kind of night too you know. But love is on watch.

.


Looking and seeing; am always about that actually.

Waiting is not only acceptable, but pleasurable.

"wild patience" from The Knitting Goddess, Deborah Bergman

Wild patience is a particularly fertile and creative state. It takes a simple or scarce resource, applies it to way too much time to be accounted for rationally, and akes it into a whole lot of something. Wild patience is powerful, once discovered, it can be handily and easily applied to other areas of life.

I call it wild because it is innovative and traditional at the same time. On the one hand, it is entirely impractical, and can even cause hardship or inconvenience on the everyday level. At the same time, it is eminently practical to the long term sustenance of the heart and soul.

Kairn

I'm not sure that I should use this place for my stream of conscious writing. It may confuse the library types but perhaps i can mark my homework clearly.

this is "home" work actually. i so constantly struggle with what i do. and, might i seriously entertain the idea of "writing" in a formal way. people have said that i might. deborah tempts me to, but for what purpose? so very surprisingly, i was very upset with laura's criticism of my e-mail style a couple days ago. so disjunct that she didn't find it understandable. i felt it as real as a slap. enough that any thought through the day brought tears. not welling up tears, but slipping down my face tears. that surprised me.

should i think more about how i communicate. i see taking time to write as a large part of the "bringing beauty", daily intention. i can't really stand to see it as silly. other's have noticed a "style". "like a puzzle" i was told. i'll try to step back to see that. jan says too flowery, laura now says too cryptic. hm. i rather lean to cryptic.

my word for the day is "cairn" or "kairn". funny, i had completely latched on to the idea of this new word to me a number of years ago, having brought back small cairns to the kids from quebec. i like the idea of a path, i look for one constantly. only in the last few years do i know that i am following one and that there are options and crossroads more often than one would expect. lindsay, nate and laura left a beautiful goldsworthy type shoreline of cairns in the bwca and then peter commented, "is that leaving it as you found it". such a solid case in point. is our beauty what others see as beauty? how could it POSSIBLY not be????

until today though, i haven't entertained even once the idea that i am cairn. for this purpose i'll use kairn. variation on kaaaarin. amazing that i haven't thought of it. "a heap of stones set up as a landmark or a memorial". heap is an unglamorous, non-poetic word for a, if not glamorous, a poetic idea. perhaps it's a reminder to see the "journey" and the marking of the journey as concrete and real life, not just phoofy and poetic. i lean to the latter, not so good with the former.

susan's post about "just do it" is a good companion today to being "kairn". i will think also about landmark versus land "mark". what is it to mark the way. show where i have been.
try out a way? leave some evidence behind?

closing for the morning. trying out this space.
k

kneel and kiss the ground

ok, so i keep trying. just got a note from st. mike's that bringing a guest choir isn't going to work in Lent. sigh.



Is this kneeling thing really worth it to me. What do people get from the singing out. are we "giving" enough. Can the Artist's Life bring anything? Can we "get" more from our rehearsal time. For me, singing together on Tuesdays IS the enough. I don't really care if we make a church service happen. Rehearsing that beautiful music with singers I care about around me, lifts my spirit, feeds my spirit. I am kneeling. dare i say, kissing?

could someone else care with me?

thank heavens - or some intervention from heaven - i hadn't sent yet another poke to andy haase about at LEAST coming to sing at st. mike's. i'm a little sick of begging him to come. ok, susan the attraction thing. make it happen. being there in that gorgeous space felt like the best gig i had managed. I'll ask if we could rehearse anyway. I'll pay.

is designing a vesper service a direction.
shall i quit too?

i'm working on attracting talent and energy and beauty. now, that's a nice package~!
and, according to susan, there need to be some concrete actions to make that happen.
start the thinking again.....

does ken care?

how can trinity play a tape when the organist and choir is all there. this doesn't bode well, does it laura.

just how out of step am i anyway? a new walk?

k

these things i know. art is important. language can be banal or inspired. i take inspired and colored and live and lively and heartfelt and ancient and wordless and soulful anyday.

kathy webb are you out there?

take down the dulcimer..........

take down the dulcimer.....