My Life...Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow!

Christmas Memories

2011-12-14T18:37:00.000-07:00

Christmas is around the corner and living in the desert it’s hard to get in the mood. There are no, no real cold days although we consider 70 cold. I’ve not been in the Christmas mood until I started baking cookies yesterday. I continued today, wanted a friend to have some like I make every year.

I thought back to what Christmas used to be like when the girls where small, back when I lived close to my sister and I remembered many of them going back to my Childhood. We had a real tree with candles on it. Being next to the youngest we had to go to our parent’s bedroom on the 24^th when the tree was put up. Our presents were cookies Mama had spend weeks baking, perhaps an orange or some chocolate, that was when we were back in the city.

I remember telling Audrey to take her sisters for a walk on the 24^th, that’s when we open presents. When they came back Santa had been there. The youngest asked me year after year “where were you when he came”? I was in the bathroom I would answer year after year.

I remember going to Church Christmas Eve with Audrey, Jason and Alexander, we did not know that we were late and that our paper had the wrong time. We arrived in time for Communion, they passed a platter with Wavers and Jason said “oh goodie, Matzo crackers”, who was I to correct that. Later “wow that’s a little glass of juice”…After Communion the Pastor blessed the offerings ending with “Jesus Christ, Amen!” When four year old Alexander piped up and said “Mommies, the man said a bad word”. We didn’t exactly flee, but we left as fast as we could.

Christmas in Evergreen the year Pedro our 29 year old friend from Venezuela decided to come spend a month with us. He was overjoyed being knee deep in snow and couldn’t stop making snow angels. We had a great time celebrating the Season.

Norris, Tennessee our our "Ghost Crossing" house with Christine, Frankie and Joey, we’d moved from Colorado and I couldn’t find the ornaments. I sprayed leaves of Holly and any other leave I could find, pine cones silver, gold and copper. It was the best tree ever.

I remember when Nikki, Eric, Ella and Riley visited us here in Lake Havasu City. The twins are now fifteen they were six at the time. After opening their presents they were not happy and my daughter wondered why. I pointed out that all they got were educational toys and not much in the way of fun stuff. We had a great time with them.

Most of our Christmases though were spend with Audrey, Jason and Alexander. We always had the Menorah up as well remembering what no one should forget. They often made the trip by train and I will be grateful until my dying day for the wonderful time we all had. It was a privilege for me to be with the boys from the time they were small and this tie is still firmly in place and always will be.

I remember the year Nate gave me a hand made Dulcimer when we lived in Tennessee, he said lessons came with it but an hour and a half away. I was too scared of failure, tried it when I was alone and in the end I gave it my son-in-law Eric who I hope plays it now and then. There were other great presents from Nate and as life winds down there are still great times ahead and today, remember all this and more I am thankful for all of life’s blessings.

from the Rubyat by Omar Khayyam

2011-08-22T15:07:00.002-07:00

Every now and then we look back on our life and remember things. I remember getting the book "The Rubyat" by Omar Khayyam as well as "The Prophet" by another favorite poet from long ago Khalil Gibran. I cherished those books, read them over, took life lessons from "The Prophet". Life happens, life changes and on a snowy day high in the mountains of Colorado I tore the books into tiny little pieces and burned them. I could buy them again, but it wouldn't be the same, for one thing there would not be an inscription inside. However, I remember the voice that read the poem below, the voice has stilled, the poem still speaks.

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread-and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness-
O, Wilderness were Paradise renown!

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

Look to the blowing Rose about us-'Lo,
Laughing,' she says, 'into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.'

And those who husbanded the Golden grain
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

II

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter-the wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean-
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

Ah, my Belov�d, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow!-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend-ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust unto Dust, and under Dust to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

III

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side....

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again-
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look or us
Through this same Garden-and for one in vain!

And when like her O Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One-turn down an empty Glass!

Khalil Gibran's the Prophet - memories of the 60's, 70's

2011-08-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

"Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."
— Khalil Gibran (The Prophet)

The Story Of Daniel

2011-08-09T09:24:00.001-07:00

In school we learn that a story has a beginning and an end, this story has neither, it starts somewhere in the middle.

About six weeks ago I noticed a dark haired, bearded man walk down Main Street mumbling to himself, he had a backpack and a drink cup in his hand. He walks loose limbered, but can't exactly call it lumbering. From then on I kept noticing him, always walking, always muttering.

Two weeks ago he sat in front of "Scoops", an ice cream shop on Main Street. He clutched his backpack and had a drink in front of him. He laughed and had a good time with whatever story he saw in his head. I walked by not noticing him until I heard the merry laughter. I turned around and looked and he met my eyes still laughing. His eyes were light colored, and clear as a bell, the whites a healthy white and his complexion where the beard didn't obscure his face, was clear and had good color. It is not the face of an alcoholic.

Last week I noticed that his backpack was gone and he no longer carried a drink in his hand, he also seemed to have lost weight. For some reason he kept crossing my mind. He must have a family somewhere, a mother and father, siblings did they know where he was, did they miss him and why was he on the street?

Yesterday I went to the police department to inquire about Daniel. They are aware of him, had many calls from shop owners who did not want them in their shop because he smells. The police officer said they had no complaints about him so they can't do anything about him since he had not broken any laws, and that he is not dangerous. I asked the officer where/how Daniel got food; he said they have seen him look in garbage cans. The officer had heard that he is from Kingman and that friends had driven him to Lake Havasu and dropped him off. The officer also said he is not dangerous.

After I talked with the officer I drove down Main Street and sure enough, Daniel was sitting on a bench 20 feet from "Wired" a cafe on Main Street. I approached him casually and kept my distance "Daniel I said, are you thirsty would you like some water"? He answered in the affirmative and told me they didn't let him in their shop. I said it was probably because he had no way to get a shower. He smoothed back his hair and asked me if he should try and get one somewhere. I told him it was not necessary.

I went into Wired to buy a bottle of water. She asked if there was anything else and I told her no, it was for this homeless man, "in that case I won't charge you" she said. I thanked her and went back to Daniel to give it to him. He thanked me and wished me a nice day. His voice was clear and polite. He must be hungry I thought, turned back to ask him and he said yes he was. I told him to sit tight I'd get him a sandwich from Schlotzki's. I asked if he wanted anything in particular and he said anything was fine. I got him a sandwich and a large drink and went back to give it to him.

I sat at the other end of the bench and handed him his food and he thanked me. I asked if he was on any medication and he said no he was not. I noticed his clothes up close, his short pants were once a light color and they were filthy. I left Daniel to his food and he thanked me again. I told him I am Karin, and he said "I am Daniel".

Today I called Interagency and talked to someone. I was told they have tracked Daniel for four months, they offered him shelter and he refused, they don't know where he comes from or what is wrong with him, clearly something is. He said that Daniel sleeps in a culvert and that people are very kind and give him food and water here and there and as long as people did that he would refuse help. I told the man at Interagency that my fear was we'd find him dead in a doorway one day and he said quite calmly "most likely". So, one day we'll find this bearded man who up close did not look older then twenty-five dead in the culvert and we'll all remember that we did nothing, if his parents are still alive and turned him out without getting him help, damn them.

Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones, old stories from Taos

2011-07-18T13:22:00.002-07:00

In 1992 I spent a week in Taos at the Mable Dodge Lujan house in a Natalie Goldberg writing workshop. We used her book " Writing Down the Bones" Freeing the Writer Within", we were sixty eclectic people from all over the U.S. I loved this workshop so much I went back that fall for her "Wild Mind" Living the Writer's Life.

To this day "Writing Down the Bones" is the best book ever written on writing, it truly frees the writer within and is used in many University writers’ classes.

Yesterday while wondering how to spend the day, trying to make a choice between cleaning out my office and doing nothing? I am a great fan of doing nothing, Buddha tells us "doing nothing is doing something?" Who am I to argue with Buddha?

I decided to read old stories I wrote in Taos; one of them was "Coming into the Light". It was written when our topic was “what is in our baggage”, meaning the emotional baggage we carry. In this writing session I remembered being three years old and refusing to say "Heil Hitler" to the Kindergarten teacher. In Germany Kindergarten is like the nursery school in the U.S. I remember the day, don't remember what I wore, but remember that my arm would not rise up, perhaps I got out of the wrong side of the bed. I don't think it was a conscious decision.

The teacher grabbed me by the neck and hauled me down to the root cellar of this old building, during the war years it was the village hall where the Buergermeister resided or made his decisions, today it is a private residence again. She told me "the black man will get you", it was a threat used by many parents to make the children mind. It did not mean a black person would get you, just some evil undefined, we had never seen a black human being. She left me in the dark, I don't know for how long. The farmer who owned the cellar found me and carried me into the light.

I was impressed that I remembered the story and only through Natalie's writing method did it come up out of my subconscious. Natalie and my group mates thought it was a great story. To me it was just a memory, not a good one, but after that whenever I saw a child who was approximately three years of age I cringed. That was I, refusing to say "Heil Hitler". I was a baby and this damn Nazi bitch locked me in a cellar for not raising my arm and clicking my heels.

I sent the story to my oldest daughter via email and didn't hear a thing; finally I asked if she got the story, she said she did. "What did you think of it?” I asked. Her answer was "it's not very exciting". To say I was offended is putting it mildly and I wondered if she ever looked at a three-year-old child and remembered it was the age her mother was locked in a dark cellar for refusing to say "Heil Hitler"? She is older now and has a one year old granddaughter and I will remind her of this story when the child is three years old. Have I forgiven her? Yes! Have I forgotten it? No!

So much for old stories and whether to burn what I wrote in the past or keep it for those that follow me, will they be interested? I am still undecided.

2011-07-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

Summer in Lake Havasu City, to say that it's hot would be an understatement, it's blazing hot and humid to boot and we are not used to humidity. We've had rain a couple of times, nothing to brag about and yet we are grateful for any drop coming down.

Summer turns me into a slug, I'd be content to hang on the couch with my nose buried in my Kindle, reading yet another trash story for the umpteenth time. Summer reminds me of winter in other places, where they celebrate mother earth sleeping, here mother earth just gets scorched. My garden looks like a dried out mess and I refuse to clean it up until the last plant has dried up. I find some small animals like lizards hiding there and later on birds will come out and harvest the seeds leaving me enough to grow new plants in fall and winter.

Summer is a time when I can't get over being a slug and I ask myself if I am depressed? I don't think so; on the other hand ever since cancer stormed into this family on my sister's side I find nothing much to leaugh about. There is the guilt that my side of the family was spared, but then there is the guild I feel over World War II and I sure as hell didn't start that. Are some of us born feeling guilty about everything or do we make the choice to feel guilty, I haven't a clue.

It's July now and I'm wishing the time away until we reach October, what am I, stupid? It means I get older faster and I'm in no hurry to do that. So, I wile away the time until we reach cooler weather.

Multiple Endocrine Neoplasia 2 (MEN2)

2011-04-26T18:58:00.000-07:00

We all hop along life's path doing our thing, we read and hear of people getting that dreaded disease called "cancer" and some won't even say the word. I've lost more friends than I can count on one hand and sat with a few friends as they drew their final breath. However, never would I have thought that it would hit my family, but it has, we are after all, not immune to tragedy and disaster. Since December of 2010, four of my family members have been stricken with MEN2 cancer (Multiple Endocrine Neoplasia 2), which from what I have learned is passed down through your genes. Why, after all these years, three women, one girl were struck with it within such a short period of time. If you have the MEN2 gene, your thyroid has to come out, if your Calcitonin level is high, it also means that lymph glands in your neck are cancerous and the affected ones have to come out as well. MEN2 is a rare form of cancer and peculiar because there is no treatment for it, MEN2 rejects radiation and Chemotherapy. Very little research has been done and the information isn't that current either. Even though not much is known and less about life expectancy, everyone is living life with hope and laughter and yes, occasional frustration, tears and I assume rage. I was tested as well and am asking myself why did I escape having that gene? It's not that I am not extremely happy that I don't have it, from what little we know it means that my children are safe. Do we know if it can skip a generation, no clue. I feel guilty that I got away with it and told my Oncologist, he's a Roman catholic and told me he knows about guilt, he climbs a mountain in Ireland barefoot every year and he assured me that it's a rocky path. I believe he said it's a seven hour trip, either that or a seven mile trip. I wanted to beg him to tell me where the mountain is so I could climb it myself, but reality and perhaps cowardice intruded and reminded me that there is no way I'd climb anything without shoes. Remember, I am not a professional, what I have written here is what I have gotten from the Internet and the family members who are affected by MEN2. If you want more information, the Anderson Cancer Center, has some good information, I suggest you check it out. Until it happened in our family, we never heard of MEN2.

Candle of Hope

2011-03-07T21:17:00.001-07:00

In 1992 I attended Natalie Goldberg's writing workshop in Taos, once in February and once in August. I remember most all of it, the people and their stories. We were to prepare for the workshop by reading several books. The one I ember best was a book by Pat O'Brien called "The Things we Carry". It is still today one of my favorite books. We were to read it because he writes with such detail, it was a lesson to be learned and I did, perhaps too well. What impressed me also was "the things we carry" not meaning the physical burden of a knapsack, but the stories we carry, the emotional scars and burdens. But we also carry good memories, things we carry forward from our childhood and so I carry the story of the candle of hope. At least it is what I called it only recently; in days gone by I'd refer to it as lighting the candle. It didn't mean the latest scented one or one in a fancy glass or pot, no, just an ordinary candle.

Way back in my childhood, I'd say sixty years ago, I would spend much time at my grandmother's. She was my father's mother and one of my favorite people. She was funny and kind and covered up for me when I read way into the night and couldn't get up the next morning.

When a thunderstorm blew in and the sky grew black, lightening struck the sky and the lights in the house blinked a couple of times. She would get out a candle and light it. I, in my childhood memory interpreted it as a candle to chase the fear away but don't remember if I was afraid of a storm. My grandmother was catholic, but I don't ever saw her slide rosary beads through her fingers, nor do I remember her ever going to church. So I know it was not because of religious reasons.

Lighting was one of the things I carried with me when I came to the United States in 1959. I was nineteen years old. I don't remember when I started to light the candle, perhaps when I was homesick. I would light the candle when someone was gravely ill and believed that it would make things better. I may have lit it during a thunderstorm in the early days. My former sister-in-law laughed at me until her son, born with water on the brain faced yet another surgery. She felt it helped because he lived. I realized that miracles like that don't happen, but realize that it helped her that someone outside of herself shared her hope.

Once again it's time to light the candle, I did so a few days ago and it has burned for three days. Tonight it will finish burning so I sent my husband to the store and told him to buy several more. I didn't tell him I'm afraid for it to burn out, but he knows. He knows my candle lighting in every Catholic Church in every town we came to during our world travels. I have made trips to the Santuario de Chimayo just to light a candle for a friend when he went to Iraq during the first war there. I lit it for my grandson when he went to Iraq during the second war there and he came back in one piece. I finally named it the candle of hope.

My husband came back and found three as backup so the light won't go out after all. I lit the new one which will burn for three days, and nights and I feel better and have reason to hope.

While I was worried about the candle burning out I realized, at the age of seventy, that my grandmother probably lit the candle so she would find her way in the dark if the lights went out and it had nothing to do with helping to assuage my fear or prayer.

I guess I'm not a fast learner, but despite my realization this late in life, the habit of lighting the candle is too ingrained and I'm not letting go with it. In my life, as long as it burns there is hope.

Dandelion, Hope, Joy, Dance

2011-03-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

I remember the meadows of my childhood, wildflowers galore, daisies, bellflowers, dandelions and many more, some whose name I have forgotten.

I love and admire dandelions, some think it’s the strangest thing they’ve ever heard, most try to kill them every which way, but they never succeed. When the dandelion is through blooming it forms this wonderful balloon, the wind comes along and these tiny umbrellas fly into the sky and let the wind carry them. They dance in the air, children try to move them blowing at them and eventually they decide on a landing place to plant a seed for another flower. It doesn’t matter where in the world you are, sooner or later you will find this wonderful, joyful flower bloom and the cycle begins again.

Credit Card Thieves

2010-12-14T08:44:00.000-07:00

The holidays are here (duh!) and with it dishonest people. This morning we got a call from American Express, seems like someone bought a Coach product to the tune of $500.00 and then another charge through Yahoo. I didn't know you could buy anything from Yahoo or through them, does that make me an idiot? I used the card last on Amazon.com and at the grocery story because we get airlines miles. I wish these people worked half as hard at a real job as they do being dishonest and criminal.

2010-12-10T14:25:00.001-07:00

The Thanksgiving Coyote Killer

2010-11-23T14:32:00.001-07:00

Thanksgiving to me is a time to reflect on what I am thankful for. For me it is the time to say thank you for a healthy family and an abundance of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and thank you for the unconditional love of friends.

It is a time to hope for peace in the world, wishing for enough food on the table for everyone, especially the children of the world. It is a time to share joy as well as sorrow, a time of storytelling of days gone by.

Thanksgiving is not a time to be confronted in my own front yard with a dead Coyote. We live three houses away from open land, eleven years ago I used to hike the trails, no longer, it is too dangerous and too sad. ATV’s has destroyed the area; the ground is littered with garbage people feel justified to dump, as well as empty shells.

It is widely known that I do not believe in owning a gun or using a weapon of any kind. However, it is also well known that I believe in leaving the choice up to the individual whether to own one or not. It is utterly stupid of me to expect these people shooting on the open land to pick up their empty shells, they don't and they poison the land.

What I expect of the gun owner is not to shoot innocent animals and not having the skill or decency to at least shoot to kill. This inhuman shot the coyote to wound, not kill and the animal suffered. I am sad that I did not find the coyote while it could have been helped. What kind of hateful person did this?

I'm not a bible thumper, but I remember from my religion classes in Germany the sentence "as you sow, so shall you reap", some call it Karma, I call it what goes around comes around and I hope that this inhuman will get his in time.

James Muhlbauer passed away in March 2010

2010-10-23T16:37:00.002-07:00

In 1991, I was stuck on a mountaintop in Colorado. We lived there in literal isolation. I belonged to a Haiku group on the Internet and at the time I was involved in volunteering in the VA Hospital's Writing program "writing in the therapeutic process". I wrote a lot of other poems and one day received an inquiry from another Haiku writer.

I just had surgery and was laid up for nearly two months. My husband traveled and I was alone more than I cared to be. James, Jim or Jamo as he wanted to be called also just had surgery and we began to write, both of us being bored to death having to stay home and mostly in bed.

He was a blue collar worker and appeared to be a rough and tumble guy with the heart of a Saint and who was loyal to his friends whether he had met them or not. From him I learned a side of life I had no clue about. He was passionate in his beliefs and wanted you to know.

Through our email exchange and his stories and words, I met his wife and children. He and his wife moved from Massachusetts to South Carolina where they bought some acreage. He improved his land, did some work for others when they were not able to, bought a pontoon boat and fished to his hearts content. In 2007 he and his wife drove west to see the new outlook at the Grand Canyon, they stopped by to visit us. It was wonderful to meet them both, and he was as he had presented himself in his emails, real and no bull about it. When they left we knew we'd be lifelong friends, he hugged me and said "kid, I'll probably never see you again". I didn't believe it, because I knew I'd come to visit them but sadly never did.

He had more health problems than any human ought to suffer and through it all, he remained what he always was, a tough guy who could handle life's rough spots. Earlier this year I stopped hearing from him, wrote a couple of times, asked that he tell me what I did wrong so I could apologize and thought it strange that he would just disappear, it didn't seem like him.

Today, October 23rd, I decided enough was enough and called him. Inez his wife answered and told me that he passed away in his sleep in March. She said she called here, but I never got the message.

I'm sad to have lost my friend, but I celebrate the fact that I got to know him in the first place and got to meet him, his wife and family.

At my age I have to celebrate the good things and not the fact that more and more friends will pass on. And so I am thankful to have known this astonishing individual.

Jessica's wedding on October 9.2010

2010-10-18T16:20:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful wedding. The bride was gorgeous and her mother who gave her away was more beautiful than I have ever seen her. This photo shows from left to right her brother Joe, Mom Christine, bride Jessica and groom Gary with brother Frank on Gary's side. It was a day to remember.

Souls

2010-09-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

I'm sure that I'm not the only person in the Universe that has thoughts coming out of nowhere, thoughts that need/want answers. This morning I thought of the "Soul", does it really exist? Like all the Gods who are invisible, is the soul really invisible? People will say, "you are such a good soul, you have such soul, you were born with an old soul."

We are taught that when we die the soul leaves the body and only our shell remains. I thought that the soul is damn smart, I'd leave a body too if it was about to be buried six feet under. If you put the choice on a scale, on one side "buried" on the other "flying free" which would you select? I'd definitely taken the "fly free" choice.

I spent several days at the bedside of a dying woman in Rio Rancho, New Mexico. On her final day the usually flawlessly blue New Mexico sky was overcast threatening rain. She was in a light coma already, but I think she was aware of what was going on around her. Her son had flown in from Chicago, he was trying to reconcile with his mother, he had not spoken to her in several years. I had kicked her drama queen daughter out trying to tell her that THIS was not about her.

I kept murmuring to the patient that she should follow the light, walk toward those who had preceded her, that they were waiting for her with open arms. He breath kept getting shallower and at times it was hard to tell whether she was still breathing. At my final "follow the light, it's okay to go" the sky opened like an upturned trumpet and the sun shone through and I could feel her leave. She drew her final breath and quietly slipped through the light. I looked at her and it was the first time in my life that I saw a body without the soul, an empty house, a shell. I felt that I had seen her soul slip through the light and her son and I hugged each other. I told him that I am so sorry, he said "no you are not, we both know she suffered too much and too long." I knew that the soul had left, but certainly didn't "see" it, it was a light and happy moment, and the end of suffering and the release to what many say is a better place.

Words to live by

2010-09-13T13:46:00.000-07:00

"The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly." Buddha

The Old Gray House On McCulloch Avenue

2010-09-03T14:09:00.004-07:00

The Old Gray House On McCulloch Avenue

Written on September 1. 2010 in Lake Havasu City, Arizona

There is something about old houses that draws me like flies to cow pies, fascinates me, lets me spin stories about the people who spent their life there. Were they happy, was there tragedy, did someone burn it down on purpose? In all the years old houses have caught my attention, I have never solved the mystery of the occupants within.

In the late 80’s in Evergreen, Colorado I watched a house and the grounds around it slowly deteriorate. I was told that the wife left her husband and he was just letting things run down, I imagined that grief could do that. As the years went by, the upstairs windows caved in as well as part of the roof, but still the man continued to live there. Our children came to visit and I would point it out, year after year and they told me that every time we drove by there I would say the same thing. I think they wondered if “mother” was losing it. I pointed out that the next time they came I would drive them by there and say the same thing until I had solved the mystery. I never did.

A few years ago my daughter Audrey and I drove around in downtown Chicago. On one of the corners stood a huge brownstone, it stood empty and a "for sale" sign was posted. I don’t know how old this house was, but it was an architectural masterpiece. We got out and looked around, the wooden front door was beautifully carved and we wondered why it stood empty.

At Christmas a year later my daughters Audrey, Christine and I drove to the Chicago Zoo to see the Christmas lights at night. On the way back we happened to drive by the same old house. There was no way that we would just drive by. We got out and looked around, we noticed that there had been a fire, the first floor windows were boarded up, the once magnificent, carved front door was boarded up as well. Another mystery remained unsolved.

In 1999 we moved to Lake Havasu City, Arizona. The city is new, has no history but boasts to be the proud owner of the “London Bridge” which once spanned the Themes River in England. There are no old houses here, no mystery and no history.

About two years ago on the corner of McCulloch Avenue and Landau Street I noticed a gray sided old house. It looks neglected and has kept me fascinated for nearly two years. I’m not sure it’s “old”, but it is certainly in shameful condition. What first caught my attention was the fact that the backyard was filled to overflowing with furniture. At first I thought that someone was being evicted, later it looked like it was being renovated. The yard was filled with stuff for sale, old computer monitors, two old trucks, stove, refrigerator, washer and dryer and a endless rotation of junk for sale and it still goes on.

At first, two younger looking men sat on the front stoop and after a while only one man was left. He could have been in his twenties or thirties, it was hard to tell. In summer he sits there half naked, a dark blue recliner sits inside the front door which looks like it is fairly new. Once or twice two policemen stood there talking to him and the mystery of it was eating me alive. I drove my husband crazy with my incessant speculation about this man, this house and what was happening there. There is no electricity or any utility services and the lights are never on in the evening.

A month or more ago his front yard was littered with soft drink cans, bottles and fast food wrappings, now and then I see him walking to the gas station/convenience store at the corner of McCulloch and Jamaica and I assume that’s where he buys whatever food he needs.

In the last two years I have seen a wild haired woman there twice. She sits with him on the front stoop and smokes, is she his mother, sister, someone he picked up for a night of comfort, but who would follow him to this dilapidated shack?

A few weeks ago the front window looked like a rock was thrown in, or something thrown at it from the inside, the "for sale" sign vanished and the hole remains.

Now that we have entered September there is new activity, today, a white pickup truck is parked in front of the house and it looks like there are boxes inside, the front yard is once again littered with soft drink or beer cans, carelessly tossed aside a white ceiling fan rests atop another pile of junk, other debris has been added. Sometimes I take another route to town just to avoid my endless wondering. What drives me craziest is the question, how can someone sit there from morning to night without at least reading something, tapping his foot to music only he can here or just staring straight ahead. Will this writer’s questions “Who, what, where, when and how” ever be answered? Unless I finally stop and just ask, I doubt it. Another mystery unsolved and new ones just over the horizon.

September 16.2010....the mystery continues....

The white truck is gone, once again the front yard was littered with empty cans and garbage in general, more junk appeared. Now the junk is more or less gone, as is the "for sale" sign in the window and the front door is no longer open from morning to dusk....it's driving me crazy, I need to know the story, how/where it began, and where is is going and how it will end.

Becoming a Crone, what qualifies one?

2010-08-17T21:12:00.000-07:00

Tonight at dinner friends and I discussed qualifications to become a Crone. Here are some that I found in the book "Celebrating the Crone" by Ruth Gardner.

Learn from past mistakes
Admit errors (a hallmark of wisdom)
Be practical (a skill that helps solve problems)
Be empathetic, understanding, and caring
Use knowledge and experience to help others
Trust your own instincts and hunches
Avoid seeking strictly right and wrong answers
Tolerate ambiguity as life knowledge expands
Manage your own life effectively
Create harmony with those around you
Accept challenges to your views and use them to examine opposing points of
     view
Enjoy satisfaction gained from helping others
Accept the feelings that accompany experience...

Also from her book: Choosing the name "Crone" is an deliberate act by women to undermine the biased belief system that is so prevalent in our culture. That system devalues old women by ignoring the experience, knowledge, and wisdom they have acquired through living. By bringing the term "Crone" into common usage, women survivors defy those who disparage them. Crones champion their right to be recognized as contributing members of our society, as strong and valuable resources entitled to respect. With full awareness of the word's current negative connotations, women choose it to confront issues facing aging women. They choose it to raise important questions about attitudes and feelings toward those issues, and to bring those concepts into the light where values can be revealed and strengths acknowledged. From the insights gained through their efforts, we can all learn to honor women's experience.n
Women have many reasons for deciding to formally announce their passage. Many women the author (Ruth Gardner) interviewed spoke of their need to overcome the traditional negative associations ascribed to old women - and to the word "Crone".

It's a great book and worth buying................

Turning 70 and entering the year of the Crone

2010-08-08T10:48:00.002-07:00

This is MY year and no, I'm generally not a me me me person, didn't grow up that way, don't live that way and am not going to die that way, but then who knows what my last thoughts will be, perhaps "damnit, it shoulda been all about me"...

This is a significant year; it's the year in which we will celebrate thirty years of marriage. It's a year that will prove everybody wrong that "they'll never make it". It is the year I will acknowledge that I will officially become a "Crone" in other words turn seventy. I've read that one can become a "Crone" at the age of fifty already, but I would never have been ready for it then, I felt and was young and vigorous with so many adventures yet ahead of me. At seventy, with more years dying behind me than I'll have ahead of me I am ready. I am ready to live my life however I damn well please, the year in which I will celebrate that you can pick your friends, but not your family and sometimes it is better that way.

It is the year in which I will have buried yet another dear friend thanks to cancer and it is the year that I will count my blessings of things I have and things yet to come.

It is the year in which I will part with possessions and in which I am ready to acknowledge that I have too much stuff and the year in which I'll start to try to live more simply, remember I said "try", it is not always possible.

It is the year in which I thought I would need to celebrate big and I mean BIG in the biggest way possible. It is now that I realize that I won't have to celebrate at all because the celebration is inside of me and doesn't have to be an external thing. I will get some calls, will get some cards and we'll take three of my closest friends to dinner, the friends who have walked with me through thick and thin, the friends who like my husband love me unconditionally. It is the year in which I will start dancing to my own tune, whatever and whichever way I want and need. This is my gift to myself and my celebration to seventy years of living the best way I knew how with the resources I had at the time I needed them. It is the celebration of myself to myself and to entering the life of the Crone.

A Rose and Lie

2010-07-28T14:31:00.001-07:00

Today I met a friend for coffee at Java Rush one of my favorite hangouts. She told me she'd been to Albertson's and got a rose from the checker. She said he grows them and I should go there and and ask him what to do about my pathetic rose bush. While standing in line the man in front of me struck up a conversation which got a little peculiar. He had false teeth and Emphysema and what that has to do with this story I haven't a clue. He finally asked me if I was married and before this conversation got any weirder I told him yes, 52 years, five children, fourteen grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. His mouth is probably still open. Should I feel bad that I lied? I only did "sort of", I've been married for thirty years, have three daughters and two stepsons who are too old to have ever thought of me as dear old mom, fourteen awesome grandchildren and six cooler than cool great-grandchildren. When it was my turn to get my rose the checker told me he didn't grow them, just now and then gives them away.
I should have told him that he made my day and should have given him a hug. I think he must be very lonely and probably lost a wife. He made my day and so did the guy with false teeth and Emphysema, gave my girlfriend and I a good laugh as well as my husband. I'm not sure I should have laughed about that, but hey, I am human and I did.

Delete Key

2010-07-25T11:58:00.002-07:00

In the 80's an acquaintance turned into my stalker, I never figured out why. She used to come to the house and look into the first floor windows, which reached ground level. I closed the shutters and hid in back of the house. Then letters started to arrive, I opened one and pitched into the fireplace as well as any that came after that. My daughter asked me why I would throw letters into the fire without reading them. I explained to her that just because you get a letter in the mail does not mean you have to read it. Then flowers started to arrive which I asked the florist to take back, and finally a funeral wreath was delivered. I didn't accept it and asked both florists in town never to deliver anything to our home.

With the arrival of the computer I often find myself getting unwanted email. I used to open it all and my reward was a computer full of worms and viruses. After paying for repeated computer repair I decided that I didn't have to open email from people I don't know. That's when I fell in love with the "delete" key. When I open email whether from friends or family that begin with "how dare you" I read no further and just click my beloved "delete" key. There is a certain power in that or perhaps it is called "Self-preservation"? The positive thing about that is that at least you can't get funeral wreaths through the computer.

Salute to a friend - Lee Breeding Billips of Norris, Tennessee

2010-07-20T12:42:00.003-07:00

Lee passed away on July 16th 2010 in Georgia, she was with her family.

Lee was a daughter, a wife and mother, a grandmother, a teacher, a potter, a passionate gardener and a good Christian, and to me, a very good friend. Lee loved to travel and spent a month in England a few years ago where she admired English gardens. She installed a stone garden in her own garden, and I was lucky to be allowed to pull some weeds under close supervision. Throughout her struggle with cancer she maintained a positive attitude and never gave up hope. She was a warrior for the underdog and a friend to everyone she met. Lee lived with grace and humor and she will be missed by all who knew her, young and old alike.

(Lee is the person on the right in the photo. Judy Bocknek in the middle, above Deborah Taylor on the left. In the bottom photo I am on the left)

Grandmother, a poem by Paule Gunn Allen

2010-07-16T14:43:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest joys of my life have been my grandchildren 14 in all as well as 6 great-grandchildren. When I found this poem "Grandmother" by the Native American Writer Paula Gunn Allen I could relate, don't ask me to explain the how of it, I just can.

Grandmother

Out of her own body she pushed
silver thread, light, air
and carried it carefully on the dark, flying
where nothing moved.

Out of her body she extruded
shining wire, life, and wove the light
on the void.

From beyond time,
beyond oak trees and bright clear water flow,
she was given the work of weaving the strands
of her body, her pain, her vision
into creation, and the gift of having created,
to disappear.

After her,
the women and the men weave blankets into tales of life,
memories of light and ladders,
infinity-eyes, and rain.
After I sit on my laddered rain-bearing rug
and mend the tear with string.

Grief, it's personal...............

2010-06-22T14:53:00.002-07:00

Grief sneaks in like a thief,

Ties your gut in a knot,

Cuts you like a Sorcerers sword

Turns the sky black…

Makes you deaf to sounds around you,

Steals your heart, takes your breath.

One again grief has entered my life,

not grief for myself but for my sister

who has spent the last few months

at the bedside of the man she has loved most in her life,

though all hope is lost he is still among the living, barely.

I grieve with her and for her and lit the candle six days ago,

when we knew it could be any second now,

the three-day candle still burns, and his end of life struggle continues.

June 23, 2010 - RIP

Favorite Quote by Gloria Steinem

2010-06-14T08:45:00.002-07:00

- Each of us has an inner compass that helps us to know where to go and what to do. Its signals are interest, excitement, the joy of understanding for its own sake, and the sort of fear that is a sign of being in new territory—and therefore of growth.

Facebook.......

2010-06-11T09:16:00.001-07:00

Ahhhh Facebook.............in my continued Quest to live in the here and now and at the invitation of one of my daughters I joined Facebook. It's where it all happens I was told by several sources and so I did. It's where I got to view photos of my grandchildren's lives, which they never sent to us through email anymore. That's where I learned that two of my granddaughters are gun and rifle enthusiasts despite their mother being raised in a home where not even rubber knives were allowed, nor water pistols or any weapon plastic or real. That's where I learned that some of my grandkids party until the cows come home and use language that shouldn't be put out over the internet because colleges and prospective employers check Facebook, and that not only can you be "friended" but you can also be "unfriended" and I am sure that's not the language used. It is also sadly where I learned that on May 26. our new great-granddaughter arrived, rather than receiving a phone call to share this awesome event. It's also where I received a private message from a grandson to open something and when I did four viruses by-passed my AVG protection program and that's when I finally decided to say good-by to Facebook. I'd like to stay current in technology but it's moving too fast and I refuse to text, have a blackberry or stick a phone in my ear so I can drive with both hands. I figure people, kids, grandkids friends know how to contact me if they have something to share and if they want to send photos there is email or Walgreen's where they can send them direct. I'm going back to pretending it's a nicer world than it actually is and appreciate what I have and not waste further thoughts on what isn't.

I'm no Martha Stewart

2010-01-31T10:27:00.001-07:00

I spent Saturday afternoon clipping words and pictures out of old magazines. By old I mean going back to the fall of 2009. I have a collage piece in mind and need to cut out stuff. The first two magazines were Martha Stewart Living I did not subscribe to that, someone must have given it to me as a gift), recipes I'd never make because they sound like too much trouble, colorful ways to brighten up the home, wreaths out of apples, nuts and other edibles and that's where I got hung up and I'm still hung up. Why would you use edible things in wreaths and bouquets and assorted other things to brighten the home, it's a waste of food. With so many hungry people in our country, children, the elderly I just get mad.

I grew up in World War II, our house was bombed and we were evacuated to a small village in the Swabian Albs (different from Alps). We had no stores; whatever we needed we picked from the wild or grew in the garden plot the government gave us in a farmer's field. We gathered nuts for food, picked wild strawberries for jam, picked up beech nuts, which were made into oil. We crawled on hands and knees in wheat fields after the farmer had harvested his fields. We poached new shoots off pine trees, which gave us syrup, and the list is endless. I know that it was a long, long time ago and I'd shut up about if it were not a fact that in this country of supposed plenty there are people who don't have enough to eat, elderly who eat dog food because it's cheaper and supposed to be nutritious. It's time I jump off the soap box, but everybody knows that sooner or later I'm going to be on it again yammering about one thing or the other.

Bra sizes, enhancers and shrinkers

2010-01-29T11:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I just returned my "this will shrink your girls honey" bra yesterday and thankfully there was no problem with it. I paid 15 bucks more and got the one I usually wear. I told the clerk I'd seek a reduction if they didn't want more than seven thousand bucks to do it. A gorgeous lady who confessed to having her 60th birthday this year told me "be proud honey you're looking good, don't change anything". I thanked her and looking at her wished that I'd have my 60's birthday instead of hitting 70, but since she assured me that I was still lookin' good, I'll deal with it in the best way I know how....party 'till the cows come home.

Quote by Edgar Allan Poe on his birthday.

2010-01-19T14:49:00.000-07:00

Were I called on to define, very briefly, the term Art, I should call it 'the reproduction of what the Senses perceive in Nature through the veil of the soul.' The mere imitation, however accurate, of what is in Nature, entitles no man to the sacred name of 'Artist.'
by Edgar Allan Poe

Of Bras and Getting Older

2010-01-16T16:07:00.001-07:00

Today I went bra shopping and since I'm loyal to one brand I knew it wouldn't take long. Wrong! Today there was an employee who insisted it had to be the right kind so "the girls" as she called my boobs wouldn't put a strain on my back. She explained why the one I was wearing (lacy one) wasn't the right fit, it didn't support me well enough and would put a strain on my back. So she brought an array, stuck around lifted, shifted and tucked me in and told me to raise my arms above my head. See how much slimmer your sides look, oh yea like I will walk about with my arms high over my head. She explained that she wasn't just going for the most expensive one and decided I needed one that made me look smaller. I finally caved in and bought the one she recommended simply because I could no longer look at my ageing flesh in the mirror. Safe at home, new bra in the washer I brought in the mail and found a new Orvis for women catalog. I've never really bothered with an Orvis catalog, just tossed them in the garbage but today I just had to look. After seeing my flabby, wrinkled self in the mirror at Dillards, I decided that old age is when pants with elastic waists are starting to look good. I am still resisting, but I know the day will come when I just cave in and buy them.

The end of 2009

2009-12-28T13:50:00.001-07:00

Each year at this time I wonder if I should make a list of things to achieve in the next year, and as each year nears the end I come up more or less empty. Now is "more or less empty" like being a little bit pregnant? It's a gloomy, humid day today and I can't get warm. I should welcome gloomy days since we have 99.9% sunshine where I live. I need to get two things ready for January 10th when my daughter and daughter-in-law both have a birthday. I said I should, but so far I am doint nothing and the date is moving closer. Buddha's writings will tell you that doing nothing is doing something in which case I am doing a heck of a lot of something, but it's just not tangible. Windows 7 is throwing me for a loop, nothing is like the old laptop which had XP and was easy to figure out, not even the computer guy is that familiar with it, but he was able to get me on line again so I could get going, just haven't figured out get going to what, when, where, why and how? Okay so here is a partial list...get stuff to mail for the birthday girls, enter data in the new Brigitte Calendar Bernd sent from Germany. Straighten out the Christmas address list, exchange a jacket in Las Vegas and get some new clay and glazes, chemicals as well. Try to figure out Windows 7 and figure out the new photo program, the old one was simple and just right for my needs. At the top of the list should be "get going already, time is wasting".

World Peace Cookies

2009-12-19T16:12:00.002-07:00

Today, five days until Christmas I decided to bake cookies. I'm not good at it, don't have a passion for it like my daughter does and only do it because it seems the thing to do. I stuck to some successful recipes from the past then called my daughter who is a terrific cookie baker and asked for some easy recipe. "World Peace Cookies" caught my eyes. She said I could use a variety of chocolate, and I searched the freezer for some. I found some white chunks and took the hammer to them and added them to the cookie mix. I thought they looked tasty and tried one, it didn't taste right and I couldn't figure out what it was. I looked in the garbage where I had tossed some papers that came with these chunks and realized that I just mixed Encaustic wax into my World Peace cookie mix. I tossed the whole thing out and started over using chocolate chips. Tomorrow I'll bake them because today my patience is at an end and I figure next year I'll buy them in the store.

Mothers, Memories

2009-12-16T19:42:00.004-07:00

Something happened yesterday that reminded me of my mother, it brought back one of her habits. She would visit us here in the States from Germany where I am from, and I would offer her a Pepsi or whatever, she would say no thank you. That to me meant she didn't want one and I'd go on with what I was doing. She'd sit there patiently until I noticed that something wasn't quite right and I'd ask her. She'd say "you offered me a Pepsi" and I'd tell her that she declined. "You didn't ask me three times" she'd say and I would tell her there was no need to since she said no the first time. She had to explain to me more than once in the more than 30 years that she visited, that when she grew up it was impolite to say "yes" the first time one was asked, she had to be asked three times and only on the third time was she allowed to say "yes". It did not matter that 80 years had past since she had been taught that, she stuck to the old set of manners. What happened yesterday reminded me of that. I dropped a friend off someplace, he left the car in a hurry and I sat there waiting to be asked to come out and greet the other people, perhaps come in for a minute or two. I waited, nothing happened so I turned the car around and left. I got the impression today that it was not the thing to do and today I reminded myself of my mother, I've been in the States fifty years and I can't abandon some of the old manners, makes me smile, makes me think that change is not always an easy thing.