Emerging

Cherry trees in March

March always brings in the new, the subtle tiny blossoms and delicate green leaves of spring, renewal after the long winter. This March holds the first anniversary of a year-long forced hibernation.  We all remember that fateful week in March 2020 as the new realities of a pandemic changed our ways of being in the world in one quick stroke.  I also feel myself emerging from the difficult years of elder care and the structures of academia and academic writing. I’m starting to imagine what I want to see bud and emerge in my life. 

Thanks to the miracles of modern science, bit by bit, we are starting to emerge from our cloistered lives. What will that look like? What are you longing to do? For me, I find that I still want to hold on to some of the things I’ve been doing the last few months.  I love cooking more and being more adventurous with food.  I love “time spaciousness” where the day expands and I don’t have to go anywhere.  But I do miss small groups of friends and going to live concerts.

What else is emerging is a desire to get going on new projects, new routines, new experiences. Spring is the time for sowing the seeds you want to grow and cultivate in your life. So I’m committing to growing ideas that have laid dormant until the right season, the right conditions. I think that is one of the best ways to let life flow—don’t force the things that are not quite ready to emerge– like planting flowers before the first frost. But when the time is right, the project will let you know it is time.

I often find that a synchronicity (meaningful coincidence) lets me know that the time is right.  The last few weeks, I’ve been listening to The Dutch House by Anne Patchett, this month’s selection for my neighborhood book club.  Read by Tom Hanks, the beautiful prose has washed over me like a warm wave. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a novel more. Rather than constant tragedy forcing an overwhelming story line, an old house is the container for lives, loves and sadness. There is a gentleness to the stability of the constant presence of place and history.  In the story, a large home with lots of history, is the catalyst for the lives of the individuals that live and work in the house, the Dutch house. Some people thrive, others struggle under its roof, but all are changed by the physical structure that holds their daily lives.

All of our lives have been shaped by place and its climate, culture, history and geography. We are also constantly influenced by the daily surroundings, big, small, extravagant, humble and everything in between.  I’m fascinated by how our place in the world reflects in our psychology and how we also influence place with our desires, interests and even neglect.  It is easy to see how friends, family and even enemies can influence us. But more than ever before we can see how our place influences our health and wellbeing.  For several years, I’ve been thinking about the influence of home on our psychology, our unique consciousness, and how our psychology forms the home around us. It is a special and important relationship. 

The Dutch House certainly reminds me to sow the seeds that I’ve been collecting and get to writing my ideas and experiences on “home”.  No more excuses or I will have nothing to harvest in the future.  What can you sow during this glorious springtime? What pieces have you been gathering in your heart and mind that you need to set into action?

Pandemic Winter

The morning sun on a winter Amaryllis.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey than the work of the stars—Walt Whitman.

It has been a long winter and I struggled to find inspiration for a blog post for February.  But, this morning I saw this lovely quote by Walt Whitman and it seemed to reflect the winter. Currently life is not about the big things but the small world I currently inhabit during the pandemic. I’m starting to dream of travel and lunch out with friends but it still isn’t yet time. So, I will continue to focus on the leaves of grass, wild birds and dreams of coming wildflowers for my inspiration during this quiet and dark time of the year. 

My winter has been filled with housework, paperwork and care for my elderly mother.  Not the things that feel inspiring or exciting but what needs to be done as part of life.  Winter is that hunkering-down time.  Every morning I would start “my assisted living job” and help my mother with breakfast and medicine, dressing and bathing. Throughout the day, I would tend more meals and turn on Mom’s favorite YouTube channel, a Russian piano prodigy Alexander Malofeev.  She would watch Alexander play Rachmaninoff and Bach on an endless loop.  Mom is very deaf now and any kind of narrative or conversation is difficult, but the repeated melodies of her favorite music lull her into an afternoon nap and I could go about my errands or day’s work.  This became the rhythm of the day and somehow we made it work.  By the end of February, it was time to move Mom to the assisted living building in the same complex as her independent living apartment. I packed up all her cherished memories and favorite furniture for the move to a smaller place with more care.  It was a challenge for her emotionally and a challenge for me physically and psychologically.  I am not sorry to see dreary February go and be replaced by the winds of March blowing in the spring.

We did take time for a few adventures in February when weather allowed.  Valentine’s Day always encircles Caroline’s birthday, the next day, and we celebrated with fondue and a homemade funfetti cake, because sprinkles make everything more fun.  Hamilton’s birthday the next week arrived with bright blue skies so he and I took our annual pilgrimage to Hot Springs, nearby on the border of North Carolina, to soak in the mineral water.  Individual hot tubs are filled with the naturally warm water in private outdoor enclosures with a lovely view of a little river. This day I enjoyed the cloudless sky and the waving bamboo trees along the river’s edge.  I always sleep well the night after a soak in the mineral water—a way to help release the burdens of the world.

One more small adventure in February brought back happy childhood memories for the family.  Alexandra wanted to go to the local zoo as a way to safely be out of the house and enjoy the animals. She loves animals.  It had been well over a decade since I had been to the zoo so there were new things to see and old memories to enjoy.  We loved the lions but also the less exotic armadillo and bat-eared fox. Hamilton and Caroline loved the owls. I enjoyed being with my family and seeing all the young families with excited children.  The girls recreated a photo on a bronze turtle when they were just toddlers at the same zoo—it seems like yesterday.

February 1992
February 2021

Here in Tennessee, when you get to the first day of March, winter starts to lose its grip and beautiful days start to outnumber the cold and dreary ones.  The dark days of the winter begin to recede and the spring frogs and willow leaves foretell the next season’s arrival.  Our world is a beautiful combination of life in the small, insular worlds of our pandemic pods and microscopic virus but also reaching for the stars as we see the dramatic, red world of Mars for the first time.  Our lives are enriched by holding the paradox of the opposites, large and small, joyful and hard, soft and harsh, earth and universe. 

Books of 2020

My one craft project–made from a flower fairy book.

Never has there been a better year for reading. Without travel, parties, outings, etc., there was a vast expanse of time to fill that didn’t involve human contact.  I don’t play games, I’m not crafty, I’m not much on movies, which leaves me my two favorite past times, walking and reading.  2020 not only had lots of time to read, it was the first year in two years that I chose my reading agenda instead of my professors.  Before I went to graduate school in 2017, I had become a rather lazy reader. Internet distractions took my time and my concentration and I am determined not to give these precious gifts away again.  I decided to keep up the reading pace I established during school, 50 pages a day. You get through books at 50 pages a day.  I didn’t always make my goal and gave myself grace to roll with the tidal waves of the year.

My reading generally falls into three categories and I like to read at least three books at a time. I usually start my day with something spiritual, inspiring and gentle. These books usually have short chapters to savor.  I allow the words to flow over me, I start my early morning hours with a cup of coffee in my current favorite mug, Timmy on my lap for a bit of a snuggle and sometimes a candle for atmosphere.  The Way of the Rose, by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn, was a gift from heaven. I read it slowly, a few pages at a time. This deeply loving book explores the feminine wisdom of the Rosary. I was raised a Fundamentalist so I come to this Catholic tradition with an open mind and heart. Other favorite books in this category: Alone Time by Stephanie Rosenbloom, The Tao of Ordinariness by Robert Wicks, and Pathways to Bliss by Joseph Campbell. 

The second category of books is usually something mentally challenging.  I have a book that I turn to after my first cup of coffee but before the house wakes up.  These books require my attention and usually get lots of highlighting and notes scrawled in the margins. I decided not to continue on to the PhD program but I did want the knowledge of the third year classes so I printed the syllabi and started to read through the list along with my classmates.  Technically, I wasn’t choosing the books but it certainly wasn’t required and I was happy to continue my studies–all the fun of school without research papers and tuition payments. It was a good compromise for me. Some of my favorites in this category: Synchronicity: Through the Eyes of Science, Myth and the Trickster by Allan Combs and Mark Holland, Psyche and the Sacred: Spirituality beyond Religion by Lionel Corbett, Ego and Archetype by Edward Edinger. 

2020 seemed to bring out reading challenges for many people.  Alexandra conquered all five of the massive books by Robert Caro.  Hamilton worked his way through several classic economic/political texts.  I took up the challenge of Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism by an anonymous writer. This 665-page book has been languishing on my shelf for several years, awaiting my attention. This was finally the time and I’m glad it waited for me.  Only now do I have the background to understand most of the book. I read it a half a chapter at a time and found it rewarding- a personal triumph. 

My third type of book tends to read faster and more just for pleasure.  I can read these books anytime of the day and any place.  Normally, I like travel books but with travel off the schedule for the foreseeable future, my desire to read travel went away too.  Instead, I’ve been reading about home.  I want to write about “home” the next couple of years so I started reading on that subject and taking notes in a special journal.  Some of my favorites: The Making of Home by Judith Flanders, Geography of Home by Akiko Busch, The Most beautiful House in the World by Witold Rybczynski, and my absolute favorite, On Moving by Louise DeSalvo.  I love everything I’ve read by Louise and was so disappointed that she had passed away and I would not be able to thank her personally for her lovely writing.  I also enjoyed Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May.  

I also joined a book club this last summer in the neighborhood where I walk.  I love having friends nearby and being part of the community. This book club reads novels, a genre I almost never read.  I didn’t read novels as a child and read them only in my twenties. I find it hard to keep characters straight, my mind tends to wander off the plot and I find the plot tragedies hard on my emotions. But it is good to stretch myself and I’ve enjoyed several of the books and the socially distanced meetings.  As you can tell my reading time is pretty full so I listen to the novels on my drive to town or while I’m working on a house project. For me, stories tell well in the spoken word and bring back happy memories of my father reading to me and my little brother.  Some of the books I’ve enjoyed:  What the Wind Knows by Amy Harmon, The Giver of Stars by Jojo Moyes and Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance.

What reading challenge did you finish last year?  What is on your book list for 2021? 

Time

For the last few Decembers, I’ve written about the gifts of this season of giving and light.   Music, books, people, fire, joy and silence are the wonderful experiences we associate with this magical time of year. But there is no debate that this year is different and although these gifts are still precious, wonderful and part of my holiday, this year has a different perspective and brings a very different gift.  This year has brought the gift of time. The dictionary defines ‘time’ as the “indefinite continued progress of existence” that certainly brings a heaviness to time and our experience.  Time is measured in rather abstract ways with calendars and clocks.  I’m amazed that I can look at a grid of numbers and orient myself in time and space by those numbers.  There may be scientific time that marches on steadily and orders the cosmos but what we really experience is psychological and physiological time which expands and contracts, ebbs and flows.

2020 certainly has been a profound marker in time. It has been time out of time when the world stopped, was reordered and we are waiting for it to start again.  This year has been indelibly marked into the psyche of generations of people, each experiencing life as it relates to their time of life.

For my daughter Alexandra it has been a time of displacement as she is still away from her California home.  Her job goes on but she is a bit of a refuge, arriving with just a carry-on suitcase in March for a week or so that has become at least a year.  For me it has been time out of time as I never expected my empty nest to be full again. I’m savoring every moment having my babies back home to nurture and love but also to grow deep and lasting adult relationships.  For Caroline and Hamilton not much has changed.  They already worked from home and the rhythm of their lives hasn’t been much different.

Time at home has expanded. Time for long walks, house projects, peacocks, books, etc.  I’ve expanded my cooking skills with the daily needs of the family. I’ve done sewing projects (and I hate sewing).  I’ve also wasted more time than I care to admit on YouTube and the internet—but we can’t be productive all the time, I justify.

In November, my time shifted once more as my 86-year-old mother came to live with me.  She needed more care and a bit of rehabilitation after an ER visit.  With Covid, more care at an assisted living facility means that she would be isolated during the holidays.  So I brought her home and set up a small bedroom on the main floor of the house and slowed my time to the speed of my elderly mother.  I’m giving us both the gift of time; to be together, to heal, to enjoy the holidays.  This is not a permanent solution, but we are making it work for now and this is a gift I can give my mother.

Time has been swinging back and forth to the extreme ends of the pendulum.  Too little time with loved ones. Too much time on our own.  Too much togetherness with our household.  Not enough time for essential workers.  Too much time for the unemployed. Not enough time with those who passed away.  As we think about our life on this earth, we need to give thanks for the time we have and realize that it expands and contracts, moves forward and stands still but it is ever with us, giving us the gift of life and the experience of this world. 

Whitwell, Tennessee

A few weeks after our biking adventure, Alexandra and I headed south to explore a few notable places in rural Tennessee.  It was a beautiful fall day, with bright blue sky and just a hint of “crisp” in the air.  We had a few goals and fortified ourselves with a latte and chicken biscuit for the road, we let life manage the timing.  About an hour later, we headed off the interstate, west to the Sequatchie valley, driving down the side of the mountain into a narrow idyllic valley that runs north and south through east Tennessee. On this day, it was picture perfect. 

Our first stop of the day was a bit of a whim, Dayton, Tennessee.  We had been there many years before so I knew the history of the town, most famously, the old brick courthouse of Rhea county.  This was the site of the big trial of the 1920’s, often called “Scopes Monkey Trial” that was the inspiration for Inherit the Wind staring Spencer Tracy, one of Alexandra’s favorite movies.  During the trial, William Jennings Bryan, a former presidential candidate, and Clarence Darrow argued for the right to teach evolution in school. Religion versus science was on trial. Two of the most famous lawyers of the day battled out the concept of free speech during the hot Tennessee summer where the proceedings had to be taken outside under a shade tree.  Today the courthouse has a little museum and statues of Bryan and Darrow to commemorate the great trial that brought the theories of evolution to a national debate and put this tiny town on the world stage. 

After our walk around the courthouse, we headed south and made a stop at a local fruit and vegetable market that was piled high with pumpkins and other joys of the fall season.  I ordered a fried green tomato BLT and we shared it on some haybales that were turned into a makeshift couch, everything you would want in an autumn adventure, beautiful scenery, local food and good company.

Our next stop was the even tinier town of Whitwell (whit-whul), Tennessee, population 1700.  This was the main reason for our adventure and a true pilgrimage to honor victims of the Holocaust and the young students who wanted to honor their tragic stories.  The middle school teachers wanted to do a project to teach their students in this isolated community the concept of tolerance and the tragedies of the Holocaust.  Over the course of the multi-year project the students decide to collect paperclips to represent each person who died in the Holocaust, a daunting project as they needed six million paperclips, an incomprehensible number.  The teachers were able to get national publicity and the support of Holocaust survivors to build a small memorial behind the school to remember the terrible consequences of intolerance. This story is told in the moving documentary Paperclips which can be rented on Amazon.  

Alexandra and I found our way to the outdoor memorial in the back of the tidy school complex. There was no one else there and the memorial was closed because of Covid but we wandered around an old railroad box car that originally took people to the death camps but now holds the millions of paperclips gathered by the students.  A memorial is inscribed with the names of children who died in the camps and a bittersweet poem by one of these lost children.  This rural town, many years and miles from the tragedy of the Holocaust, seems an unlikely place for such a powerful memorial, but inhumanity and intolerance are universal problems that can only be solved by changing society one person at a time, one school at a time, one town at a time.

We finished our tour with lunch at an outdoor restaurant, a real treat these days, and a visit to our favorite used bookstore as well as some coffee at a cat café with 36 adorable cats.  We headed home, back north towards the sunset and dusk with our own bittersweet memories of the day. We humans have so much work to do to fight our lower natures and find openness and tolerance of others. This year has reminded us that we are globally connected and what we do as individuals effects those around us. We need to find our own place, rural or urban, in the world to bring tolerance and open-mindedness to the experience of being human.

Virginia Creeper Trail

Several years back, I decided that I wanted to travel outside the US at least once a year. But in 2015, my life was overtaken by the needs of my elderly parents and I needed to stay close to home. Those next 18 months I blogged about the wonderful rural sacred sites of America, places that my life serendipitously lead me to.  Five years later, life once again has me visiting the world close to home and I’m enjoying delightful places that I would not have prioritized in the past. Just like hiking in the Great Smoky Mountains, I want to take you along with me on a few of my local adventures.  Here is a chance for me to share some of the wonderful and charming parts of Appalachia so that you might also enjoy a land that is often misunderstood and mischaracterized. I want to paint you a beautiful new picture of this remarkable region full of beauty and culture.

Alexandra’s birthday is early in October, so we planned an overnight trip to celebrate. I suggested the Virginia Creeper Trail just a few hours’ drive across the border in Virginia. This trail is an old railroad right-of-way from the 1880’s that runs through the rolling hills and low mountains of southern Virginia and is bisected by the Appalachian Trail which runs north and south.  The trains stopped running in the 1970’s and the Forest Service secured the land for a recreation trail.  It is now a 34-mile hiking, horse and bike trail from Whitetop Mountain to Abingdon, Virginia. But it is mostly used as a biking trail with outfitters who rent bikes and take riders to the end of the trail for a mostly down-hill ride back to the town and car. I’m not much of a biker so this was perfect for me.

The adventure started the night before when all four of us drove to the little town of Mountain City, Tennessee, to an Airbnb, stopping in Johnson City for some gourmet pizza for dinner. The next morning, we had a picnic breakfast and Alexandra opened some birthday gifts. We headed toward our next destination along a winding road beside a creek. The trees were just beginning to change colors and a few leaves were accumulating on the road. The narrow gorge is dotted with tidy farms highlighted with crisp white farmhouses and weathered barns. This was just the beginning of the perfectly picturesque “hills and hollers” of the gently rolling Appalachia.  We wandered a bit around the tiny trail town of Damascus. There are outfitters and hostels to meet the needs of the Appalachian Trail thru-hikers. We had coffee and loaded our backpacks with water and snacks, got our rented bikes loaded on the outfitter’s trailer and climbed in the van for the 30 minute drive to the top of Whitetop Mountain.  As the van climbed the narrow curvy road, the terrain transformed to steeper hillsides with perfect rows of tiny Christmas tress beginning a decade of growth before harvesting for their intended Christmas home.

The first few miles on the trail were a bit wobbly for me—it had been awhile since I was on a bike. The trail was wide and slightly down-hill through a rich canopy of yellowing leaves. The air was crisp and the smell of the dry fall air that is such a relief after the humid hot summer.  It was a little too crisp for Alexandra’s hands and she fashioned mittens out of shirtsleeves and socks and I gave her my jacket. We crossed tall trestles and stopped to look down the rocky gorges.  There are well over a dozen trestle/bridges to cross on the trail. We took a short break where one side of the trail had several men in a field loading pumpkins on a truck and the other side was a steep incline of Christmas trees—it was like being on a movie set of idealized American holidays.  The next short rest was by a hillside full of goats protected by a Great Pyrenees dog. It was my childhood dream of being Heidi in Switzerland.  Fortunately, a bit later there was a sign for coffee and gloves—Alexandra was saved. The sock fix wasn’t quite good enough and we quickly purchased gloves and hats from the small outfitter across a little bridge.  Warmed by coffee and a wood stove inside the old hut gave a renewed spirit of pleasure for the amazing scenery. 

We pedaled/coasted on for awhile until we came upon a little café with picnic tables for the tired and hungry bikers. A delightful menu of hot dogs, grill cheese and tater tots was perfect to feed us body and soul for the last third of the trail.  Over more bridges until the trail flattened out just before Damascus and our car, 17 miles from the mountain top and the half-way point of the trail.  We loved every minute but the last bit found us saddle-sore and rubber-legged. It was good to turn in our bikes and climb into the car for the ride home.  There was a quick stop for chicken sandwiches and iced tea in Abingdon and then just a few more hours home to hot showers and comfy beds.  I wanted to bottle up that day and save every breath, leaf and tree to store away for hard times. I wondered at the land, my family and the simple joys of fresh air and knew I had a moment of rest to enjoy life even if it was just for a day.

The Great Smoky Mountains

Rainbow over the Great Smoky Mountains

About a century ago—in January 2020–I planned to visit Ireland in September and Alexandra had reservations for Japan.  We all know what happened next: plans changed, life took a detour and staycations became the new way of life.  Fortunately, one of the major tourist destinations in the United States is in my own back yard so to speak.  Every time I drive to town, I’m treated to a perfect view of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  Daily, I get to see these ancient mountains in all their glory.  Many days they are clear with gradations from deep purple to lavender.  Then there is the winter with snow and clouds turning purple to pure white. Many days the clouds reflect the name “Smoky” and a misty haze covers the horizon.  I don’t often make the hour drive to the park itself but, when I do, I love the rocky stream beside the road, the dense tree-cover overhead and the sweet wet smell of the moss and ferns.  The Smokies really don’t have many vistas; it is more like being in a massive Zen garden where Nature herself has curated every inch to be perfect.  In the autumn, the Smokies put on a magnificent show when the trees are ablaze, and the air is cool and dry and the sky is bright blue.  I am so happy to have a staycation in this magical place.

When Alexandra was little girl, we would go play in the cold mountain stream on hot summer days but never hiked.  But ever since we walked the Camino in 2014, hiking has become such a joy and a priority. And we are very compatible hiking pals. We are also wanting to make the most of her extended time in East Tennessee since she will be working from home until at least next year.  We are using this time-out-of-time to make the most of our lives here and now. So let me tell you about our September adventures in the Great Smoky Mountains.

For our first hike, I chose “The Chimneys”.  This is a well-known trail that isn’t very long but very steep with hundreds of stairs up to a rock outcropping and a beautiful overlook.  The path starts flat and has several bridges over a wide, rushing stream that tumbles down massive boulders.  If we had just stopped there, it was worth the hour and a half drive. But then the trail starts the assent which means at least it is downhill coming back. Fortunately, we have a trail on the farm with a steep hill and so I’m use to the incline but it was still a big challenge.  Everywhere you look is a feast for the eyes—deep green moss, dark tree trunks, rock outcroppings and leafy canopy. The fresh air and rushing water fills in what the eyes miss for a full body experience.  We were tired at the end, but I was glad to get to mark that trail off in my hiking book as a trail well done.

Sunshine illuminating the path

As we were driving to the hike, Alexandra mentioned she would love to pet a deer as we love seeing the deer on our lawn feeding at dawn and dusk.  I had her google petting zoos and amazingly, there was a deer park and exotic petting zoo just 30 minutes from the trail in the next town over.  You know we had to go right then! Instant manifestation of desired deer petting, and did we have fun.  The Smoky Mountain Deer Farm and Exotic Petting Zoo is full of goats, deer, horses of all kinds, ostrich and emus and beautiful reindeer.  Most of the animals you could feed either a corn mix or apple slices.  We started in a big pen of Fallow deer. They loved the food and we were quickly surrounded. If you weren’t careful some of the deer would give a light nip from the rear so they could get some too—I must say a bit overwhelming but fun. We enjoyed the pen of goats with docile babies that love being held,  I loved cuddling their warm furry bodies. But our favorites were the Sitka deer and reindeer—so gentle and beautiful.  We were dirty and tired by the end of our day but so happy with our mini vacation. Plans are already being made to return to the deer park, maybe with some outlet shopping first.

Sitka Deer

Fallow Deer

A few weeks later I chose a hike on the famed Appalachian Trail that runs from Georgia to Maine, over 2000 miles. We did a four-mile section to a point called Charlie’s Bunion, an outcropping of rock with a magnificent view. This is the part of the trail that starts on the North Carolina/Tennessee line and is at 5000 ft elevation.  The trail is rocky and the rainy remains of a hurricane made the trail like a small stream.  I definitely had to be careful not to turn an ankle. This higher elevation had a special feel with dense moss and hemlock trees which smelled like Christmas, so we chattered on about this year’s Christmas plans. Unfortunately, the beautiful vista was a pure white cloud, so we hungrily ate our PB and J sandwich and headed back down. I did slip on the way back, my legs were getting like rubber by then, but fortunately there was another hiker right behind me who took hold of my arm which softened the fall so I wasn’t hurt.  We were happy to see our car and the vista from the parking lot. Some ibuprofen and a latte got us home to hot showers and beef stew in the crockpot. The hike was 8 miles of rough trail but I felt like I had a big accomplishment and a magnificent adventure in our beautiful world.

 

 

 

 

Peacocks

Brunhilde, Figaro and Mimi

I’ve always loved peacocks. There is something about their iridescent blue-green color and magnificent tails that calls to mind the exotic and extravagant.  Over the years I would be drawn to journals, pillows and clothes with peacock images.  I didn’t overdo it. I wasn’t a crazy peacock lady, just a reminder here and there of this beautiful bird. I also imagined having peacocks on the farm, wandering around the yard and making their haunting calls—it would be so beautiful. I worried about predators so I never investigated owning peacocks and peacocks remained a dream.  But things changed this year. I stopped traveling and Alexandra came home to ride out the pandemic. Suddenly, there was time and space for new opportunities I would not have otherwise and the dream of owning peacocks became a reality.

The end of June, I showed Alexandra a video of baby peacocks on my favorite YouTube channel, The Chateau Diaries.  She started to research peacock care and look for breeders and the next thing I knew we had reserved three baby peacocks to be picked up a few days later in the next county.  We already had plenty of space for them to roam and a shed that would make the perfect roost to keep them safe at night. It seemed like destiny, all with the help of Alexandra’s persistence and love of animals. We finally succumbed to the lure of farm animals, albeit vanity farm animals whose sole purpose is beauty and to make us happy.

Since Alexandra and I both love opera as well as birds, she thought it would be fitting that our babies have very distinguished names from our favorite opera composers.  We have hatch-mates, Figaro, a male and Brunhilde, a sweet dove-colored female.  Figaro is already turning green and struts around like he is in charge.  The third baby is Mimi, a white peacock, beautiful if a bit neurotic, so we are forever pleading “no no Mimi”. Caroline is the official bird wrangler and likes to hold and cuddle them. Alexandra has become a farmer with pitchfork and straw to clean their roost.  Every night, I fix them a lovely supper of lettuce and white bread. In a few weeks, they will be old enough to start exploring the yard and the bread helps lure them back into the safety of the roost at night.  We can’t imagine life without our peacocks.

The challenges of 2020 are bound together with the changes we make this year that become this iridescent experience as the highs and lows are seen from different perspectives.  For me, the loss and sadness has been inextricably bound with gain and joy. I mourn the loss of how life use to be when we could gather with friends and be in the world. But there has also been gain with time as a family and deepening connection with farm and home. I’ve been reading Life is in the Transitions by Bruce Feiler, a book that came out at the beginning of the global transition to an unknown future.  The book is a guide through the transitions in life that come more quickly and last longer than we would probably like.  Sometime, the big shifts in life come voluntarily, but most of the time, it is involuntary, and it is these big changes that make up the fabric of our lives. This year, I’m glad to add peacocks to my life tapestry and the lore of my family. We have also a new tradition born from our transition. Every Saturday evening, we gather on the patio for “aperitif” (also inspired by The Chateau Diaries). We have a glass of pink wine and some “sexy cheese” or other special foods and enjoy the end of the week.  We enjoy the planning as much as the eating, a mini-celebration of life and joy which has been the highlight of our summer and will sure to continue on for many years. Peacocks and aperitif are part of the new colors of our life that we will remember as part of life in transition.

 

 

Remembrance

This certainly has been the strangest year most of us have ever experienced. The unexpected has become the norm and seems like we are having to adjust daily to the unknown. Trying to find life’s joy isn’t easy with the constant grim news that comes flashing up on notifications. Not since wartime has there been a daily body count, the number of people who have lost their lives to the virus.

Death has been present in my life this year. My mother-in-law, Dusty, passed away in February after 17 years of Alzheimer’s. The family was able to be with her during her final hours and we are grateful for that would not have been the case just a few weeks later. Dusty’s ashes remain in our home awaiting burial that has already been postponed once. My beloved mentor Rachael died in the March and her memorial is delayed indefinitely.  This last weekend Hamilton and I attended a memorial for a cousin now buried with parents and grandparents under the shade of a tree.

The last few weeks, I’ve been working on projects around the house. Like so many Americans, with our lives restricted, we turn to our home to nurture us and, in turn, we are nurturing our homes.  I’ve been deep cleaning many of the rooms of my house that were neglected while I was in school the last few years.  It is hard work that must be done to keep my beloved home looking its best. In each room, I systematically wash all the woodwork, oil the furniture, clean the windows and wash the curtains. While I scrub and polish, I keep my mind occupied with an endless stream of podcasts, usually one just running into the next so that I’m not sure what I will be listening to for the next bit of work.

The last on the project list has been the library.  We are all addicted to reading and the library tends to overflow with read and to-be-read books as well as art projects and memorabilia from family members.  It is definitely the hardest room to clean. I needed to repair some of the paint and clean behind bookshelves that hadn’t been moved in several decades. As I worked, the podcast that started was an interview with Dr. Cedrus Monte who recently published a book about the death of her mother. The book launch was delayed so Cedrus was reading excepts as a virtual launch. The poignant words flowed over me as I worked and allowed me to reflect on my own losses. At one point, Cedrus speaks of the fear of disappearing into the unknown as death moves in and I experienced those words as the fear of being forgotten.  It doesn’t take but a couple of generation for our lives to fade and become a handful of unidentified photographs.

But in my library is a special place of remembrance, a secret compartment where the memory of a stranger continues on in my world.  I have a small antique writing desk that Dusty bought as a lovely end table for the library. A few years ago, I opened it and was investigating the nooks and crannies when I lifted a compartment that held a hidden space.  To my surprise it was full of papers of the former owner, Robert Lennie, a teacher at George Watson’s College in Edinburgh, Scotland. With these receipts, letters and cherished papers, I am able to piece together a snapshot of Robert’s life in 1920’s and ‘30’s Scotland. He was not married and was a lay preacher. But my favorite paper is a short poem written in pencil on a blue piece of paper by his students who obviously really loved Professor Lennie.

They’ve an excellent teacher, (his name’s Mr. Lennie).

He doesn’t have foes, and friends, he has many…

I have a picture with no names on the back so I can’t be sure it is Robert. But I cherish these hidden snippets of his life. This total stranger from another land and time has a place of honor in my home linking me to a magical land that I love. Robert isn’t forgotten and continues to live on in a way he could have never imagined, in a home far away from Scotland.

We too can’t imagine where our lives are going or what legacy we will leave.  The winds of fate seem to have much to do with that and our current whirlwind of life is sweeping us to an unknown world. The best I know to do is live life well and to the fullest, nurturing people and cherishing place. Hopefully that will be enough legacy for me to be remembered and leave a bit of love and kindness in my wake.

Mexico City

The Sun Stone

My blog posts got a bit derail by the pandemic but I wanted to tell you about our adventures in Mexico City last November, a chance for some vicarious travel.

After our time in Teotihuacan, we took two cars back to Mexico City, about an hour away.  Bowens are very tall people and we couldn’t fit into just one regular car.  Within an hour, we arrived at our beautiful Airbnb in Roma Norte. Alexandra’s earlier trip to Mexico City helped us locate the part of the city that we really wanted to explore.  After an ATM stop, groceries and a bit of gawking at the beautiful architecture, we took a rest, got some dinner and settled in for some Netflix. I suggested the girls watch Frida since we were going to Frida Kahlo’s home the next day.

I have known Frida Kahlo’s enigmatic self-portraits for many years but last summer several of her paintings were on exhibit in Nashville along with paintings of her husband Diego Rivera.  There is great energy in these glimpses into Frida’s fractured soul. Her pain and intensity shine through each painting like nothing else in that gallery or museum. I learned more about her life and was pleased to glimpse into her creative world. I made reservations a month in advanced and was able to skip the long line of people waiting for their turn in the small house/museum. Fortunately, her home is preserved as she left it and this shrine to a remarkable soul remains available to inspire me.  I have not known the physical pain that Frida endured but through her home and work I could touch the creative spirit that came through despite her difficult life. Frida was totally and completely herself in art and in life.  The beautiful, lush courtyard was painted a brilliant blue, an oasis in a bustling city. Everywhere you can still experience her creativity and personal style be it nature, art, clothes, furniture and books.  We wandered for an hour or so, soaking in the sunlight, imagining Frida’s life, both beautiful and painful.

Next on the agenda was the SUN STONE.  I had no idea it was in Mexico City in the Museo Nacional de Antropologia.  The Aztec sun stone was discovered in 1790. It has many interpretations including the one I was familiar with, the 2012 Mayan calendar predictions.  In the early 2000’s the sun stone was the center of the December 21, 2012 end of the Mayan Long Count calendar.  There was much speculation about the meaning.  Would the world end? Would we enter a new spiritual era?  I read a lot of books on the possible meaning of the 2012 date. I don’t participate in apocalyptic theories but I did find it all interesting and I liked the history of the Mayan people.  The sun stone was a major focus for many years.

The museum is big and beautiful with different rooms for each epoch surrounding a central courtyard with a big fountain.  Each room leads to a beautiful garden.  I could have stayed all day but I wanted to see the sun stone.  It is prominently displayed as the central artifact in the largest room.  I had no idea it was so enormous and breath-taking.  I savored all the artifacts and slowly wound my way to the stone I read about for so many years. But as much as I loved the sun stone the museum had another surprise for me. My friend Karen-who lived in Mexico City-told me that everyone she took to that museum had a mystical experience but the triggering object was always a surprise.  As much as I loved the sun stone it was not my trigger.  My experience came a couple of rooms later.  Hamilton went to sit on a bench in the courtyard and I went on alone and came face to face with the Olmec head, a giant human face carved from a basalt boulder. I can’t really describe my experience but it was intense and there was something about this Olmec head that rocked my world for that moment. There are 17 of these heads around central America and date from at least 900 BC. They definitely remind me of the Easter Island Moai statues and the faces of Brahman in Cambodia.  Sun stones, Olmec heads, pyramids to the gods—so much we don’t know but I love the mystery. I revel in the mystery.

Olmec Head

Sunday I wanted to see the cathedrals. You know I have to see the cathedrals. But travel always has surprises, especially when you don’t speak the language. The Mexico City Metropolitan cathedral is in the center of the city next to the National Palace.  The traffic was intense and the Uber driver said something to us and we just acted like we understood.  What he was probably telling us –giant political rally for the presidential elections.  We could not get anywhere near the cathedral. Instead were thousands and thousands of people, hundreds and hundreds of police all around giant screens projecting the loud speeches.  We had a long walk to get where we could get another Uber.  Finally, we headed to the Basilica of our Lady of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico.  More crowds lead the way up to the packed Basilica in the middle of one of several Masses that day.  It was the first day of Advent and close to Our Lady of Guadalupe feast day.  We watched a bit of the Mass and saw a group of young girls in white awaiting their first communion.  I didn’t see the relic or the rest of the Basilica but I experienced something special- the Mexican people’s devotion to their saint.  That day wasn’t about me visiting cathedrals but about experiencing life being lived with enthusiasm and devotion. Political rallies, venerating saints—it was real life in Mexico, so different from my world but so inspiring.

There was also good food, margaritas, craft markets and above all, family time.  We all loved our experience in Mexico and came away with wonderful memories and a deep appreciation for the rich culture and kind people of Mexico.

Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe