Category: Seasonal Musings

Bird Report

The birds are up early these days and on a recent morning, so was I. At least long enough to open my Cornell Merlin app to identify who was trilling away at 4:30 AM. (Robin.) I easily identified a Crow-cawing in the distance. These days there have been an abundance of Crows and sometimes Ravens flapping and gabbing dramatically around the neighborhood. They seem to like the dead trees and look particularly fantastic high up on the bare branches. Ravens are larger than Crows and have a different pitch to their song – if you can call the noise they make a song. One expert describes both birds as having complicated lives and I translate that to mean interesting and welcome them and all feathered creatures. Cats sometimes wander through my yard on hunting sprees and I tell them that they can go after the rodents (chipmunks don’t seem as cute as they used to) but please leave the birds alone.

I don’t judge the eating habits of the natural world as us humans have nothing to brag about. Still, it made me sad to find a swirled cushion of grass on my lawn. As I got closer, I saw the nest wreckage of blue eggshells nearby. I doubt these were hatched. There’d recently been lots of Robin screeching and wing flapping drama as momma and poppa Robin fended off a Blue Jay. Either the same Jay or a Crow or some other culprit ultimately succeeded in breaching their defense.

More joyously, a few weeks ago I was standing on my porch surveying my estate (haha!) with a cup of coffee in hand, when a huge bird flapped low across the yard directly in front of me clutching a snake in very large talons. I stepped off the porch to follow this massive bird and… wait — does it have a white head? It landed on a high branch in a neighbor’s tree and I saw clearly – it was an American Eagle! Gobsmacked, I walked closer but it took no notice of me at all and seemed only mildly annoyed with the Crows squawking and circling madly above. Did they want the snake? Was it territory they were defending?

I knew that there were Eagles around these past few years but had yet to see one in the wild. And here it was! Regally, as if showing off for me, it let me admire its perfect profile. Twice it let out a high pitched, gull sounding-screech in answer to the harassment of the crows. I whispered my exclamations to nobody. (I can still conjure the thrill!) I have no pictures – not wanting to miss a moments sight of this beauty to retrieve my phone from the porch.

I’m currently on my porch on this overcast Sunday afternoon. A teeny song Wren briefly stopped by to sit so close I might have touched it. House Sparrows boisterously tweet from some nook I can’t spot and a pair of sweet Cardinals are silently popping in and out of the hedge. I can hear a Mourning Dove sounding lazy and sweet. My app notes a Gray Catbird – one of my favorites – but there’s no sign of it. Catbirds, like Blue Jays are fantastic mimics. According to my app just now I was listening to an Osprey and then a Hawk – but the app was fooled by Mr. Blue Jay trying to impress us or scare the smaller birds. Or just for fun? Are they mean? The rich lives lived in the leafy summer branches of my trees is mostly invisible to me but I listen to them. I don’t feed them much in the summer, but every day I fill the bird bath and I think they love me for it although not as much as I love them.

Happy Summer!

Listening to the Universe

I woke at 4 AM unable to sleep so I surrendered to the day and turned the light on. If needed, I could nap later – no need to struggle for more hours of sleep like I might on a work day. Was it worry about money, health or work that kept me from slumber? No, the burning question keeping me lit was how and where should I build a wattle fence. Yes – a wattle fence – a simple, handmade structure created from branches. Mine would not be woven like ones I referenced online at 4 AM. My plan was to sort by size and then simply layer the pruned branches of my fruit trees.

After contemplating different corners of my property, I decided to build it beside the deck in place of a broken step I regularly needed to warn visitors away from. The whole wattling (can it be a verb?) process took less than 2 hours. I yanked out the wooden step, pounded in stakes and stacked the branches. I proudly sent pictures of my crude structure to Molly who said it reminded her of the story of the Three Little Pigs. The wolf would certainly make short work of blowing down my wattle fence but I’d found such pleasure in the creative process. And why go to the dump with those lovely straight branches?

When Molly was home for a short visit in February I recruited her to help me prune our 4 fruit trees. We mercilessly removed branches, some up to 5 feet long. My electric Saker handsaw made the project go quickly. The results were initially shocking. Had I butchered the trees? There were barely any branches left on the peach. It had to be done. In past years, I had not cut these dwarf trees back far enough and they were growing way too tall. So far the pear trees are happily full of blossoms and while the peaches still look traumatized, they are alive, bravely pushing out pink blossoms on the stubby limbs. Ultimately, I know that these harsh cuts were necessary if the trees are to thrive.

And so it is with me. I am working on doing the same in my life. What is necessary to live and thrive in this cycle of my life? These are my questions. I know there is much ‘pruning’ to be done. For a start, I tackle my garden. The to-do list sometimes feels overwhelming but ultimately, if I wake at 4 AM because of what needs to be done outside, it is with excitement. This week I spent some evenings after work clipping at the long hedge, pulling out dead wood from shrubs, yanking out ivy and weeds, picking up fallen twigs for kindling. I’m trying to grow grass again where the pipe was dug up in November so I hauled the hose out of the garage and now have the daily routine of filling the bird bath and spraying the seeded dirt while breathing deeply of the cold morning air. Most mornings, my exhales are no longer visible as it warms into spring.

And remember the branch that fell a few posts back? It’s still there. I need to get a new chain for my electric chain saw – so it’s disappearing a bit into the growing lawn. Nature will take care of things in its own way if I don’t manage to. I try to make sure that the ‘way’ is compatible, that I am doing right by the earth. I am content outside with the birds, the family of squirrels running through the oak and maple branches above me. Breathing fresh air after being in the house all winter, the sun warming my face – this is where I belong.

The universe is speaking to us with earthquakes, eclipses and wild storms. Reminding us that we are a part of something larger than ourselves. We need to pay attention. In the garden, on my knees in the dirt, I listen.

Paradise (Really)

My writing muscles are very out of shape but the rest of me feels great after my recent week at Sivananda Ashram Yoga Retreat in the Bahamas. Other than notes in my journal, I’ve never written about my trips here. Maybe I’m worried writing about it might mess with the alchemy of this magical place. Silly, I know. My intention is not to gate-keep. I love for good people to know about destinations I love in case they might too. See what you think…

An ocean of so many shades of greens and blues, palm trees and a taste of warmth in winter – who wouldn’t want to return again and again? I’m not talking about a fancy Caribbean hotel with cocktails by the pool. At this place, I sleep in a tent, wake to the gong of a bell at 5:30 AM, share a bathroom with strangers, line up with a tray for vegetarian meals and often help with the dishes. I know that doesn’t sound fun to many of you but this remains one of the best vacations I have ever had. Rejuvenating, centering, inspiring.

Last week I returned from my 4th visit in 33 years. It took a search through decades of journals but I found my entries from the first two times I went – in 1991 and 1992 just before going to my posting in Bosnia. After a lifetime (and one child!) I returned in 2018 to the same yoga ashram. Each time, I was loathe to leave and the internal peace I found there lingered for weeks, even in war-time Bosnia.

This 4th visit, I worried the spell might be broken that something would go wrong. Nope – it was amazing. I returned feeling centered, refreshed and rejuvenated. The routine there has not changed in the years since I first visited. Wake early (yes – gong at 5:30) to join other sleepy-heads in the temple for silent meditation and then chanting. The chanting initially feels awkward but then, what feels like muscle memory kicks in and I raise my voice with the rest of the group. It’s a kind of sing-song repetition of Sanskrit words I don’t know the meaning of but it feels like a praise of life and awakening. There are words available for those who want to follow but I found it easier to close my eyes and fumble my way along in repetition. After a few days of morning and evening Satsangs, the chants come easier. I think not understanding the ancient words actually makes it easier for me to join in. Maybe if church were still in Latin, I would find comfort in prayer? I am moved by the joy in the music the tabla beating like a heart and the harmonium like a human wailing voice, not quite as ominous as the huge church organs of my childhood.

The first yoga class of the day begins at 8. I am no expert and cannot twist myself into an inverted pretzel but yoga has long been a constant in my life and often, a conduit of spiritual connection with meditation and breath-work. I went mostly to beginner’s classes held on the bay rather than ocean-side of the island. I was glad for the slowness, happy to embrace beginners mind and poses. A set of movements not changed since forever, are generously punctuated by Savasana – corpse position with time for rest and meditation. Even the racket from the cruise ship’s docked in the bay loudly broadcasting announcements, failed to wreck my peace as I lay on the wooden platform, birds singing and breezes rustling the exotic leaves around us.

I arrived on this trip feeling discombobulated and bone tired, wondering if I’d ever quiet the chatter in my head. It took a day of the Ashram’s daily routine to feel back to myself. Yoga is twice a day – at 8 and again at 4. The teachers vary and while we had our favorites, all were wonderful and brought something different to the class. I say ‘we’ because on these last two trips, I went with my friends Helene and her dear husband, Paul. Helene and I have been pals since being tour guides at the UN and remains one of my favorite people in the world. Connecting again with my friends – who I see way to infrequently, and sharing this leisurely time with them, was a gift. Everyday, we made more friends from other states and countries. My phone is full of new bright and thoughtful people discovered over good meals and shared spirit.

After yoga, we joined the line for meals, meeting more vacationers like ourselves, earnest yogis doing teacher’s training or working as Kharma yogis – like the volunteers who cooked and dished out each glorious meal. The food is always incredible across 30 plus years. I think the magic ingredient must be an abundance of love stirred into creative dishes. Always a soup, different vegetable dishes, a huge helping of fresh salad with interesting dressings, scrumptious fruit and herb tea. (I snuck some PGTips tea bags in to avoid caffeine withdrawal!)

After brunch, time is free for napping, beach lounging, walking, reading, lolling about in a hammock or swimming in the pristine Caribbean water. I did a little of each. Helene and I and sometimes Paul or another new friend or two, walked barefoot down the mile or so stretch of incredibly soft and mostly empty beach. The big (ugly – I think) Atlantis Resort is down at the point and the usual lounge chairs, kiddies and fruity drink scene gathers in front. Otherwise, the Ashram is the only place along that bit of beach so there are long stretches of empty sand. While Atlantis wasn’t there back in the 90s, Club Med was right next door to where my tent was set up and every night I regularly went to sleep to the beat of dance music and drunken revelry. At least now, I heard only the sound of waves.

The routine, the structure, the community and obviously, the beautiful setting – suit me. And I know I’m not alone. I’ve yet to meet anyone – either coming or going – that didn’t hate to leave. A spiritual vibe in the purest sense – that’s welcoming and without judgement, permeates this tiny plot of land in the world of resorts. There’s no one checking on you (even the yoga classes are pretty hands-off) or taking attendance. I rarely thought about work or what I need to do at home. Being present becomes effortless as during yoga and in meditation we are reminded about breath. It’s all so simple. A quick walk down to the waves in the dark or along a teeny jungle path, voices chanting through the palms, the smell of salt water and a warm, humid breeze in March – tonic for the soul and spirit. I’m trying to stretch the memory and peace of this time for as long as possible. And plan for visit number 5. I know it will be wonderful.

If this sounds appealing, go!

BiCoastal Beach Walks and a New Year

While not a fan of the rushing and crazy expectations of the holiday season, I have long embraced January 1st as a kind of goal post for new beginnings. Reflection and letting go, dreaming and aspirational planning – I like all that. If nothing else it is an exercise of hope even as the world feels like it’s falling apart. We get to imagine and try to commit to a future that is better than ever.

Birds of Paradise!

Last year was a happy one for me – largely because my kid is happy and because we are both healthy. And I’ve gotten better at living in the present. I’ll try and keep that going in 2024. Of course, there’s some planning involved in life especially when it comes to trips and I took two last year. After hunkering down during COVID, it was nice to get out again. The adventure of Greece and Italy this summer was incredible and I just got back from California where I spent the Christmas with Molly.

At the Getty Museum

It was a perfect shake-up of how we usually celebrate and a nice lead up to what I’m imagining for 2024. While I enjoy the wood stove and cozy home traditions of our holidays in Connecticut, not getting a tree nor going overboard on presents was liberating. My time in LA was spent marveling at exotic flowers in bloom, smelling all the roses on long walks with only a sweatshirt for warmth. Hummingbirds seem to be everywhere and palm fronds rather than brown leaves litter the sidewalks. Writing this back in grey Connecticut, the memory of the weather and landscape and time with Molly is like a dream.

Rufus isn’t crazy about the waves.

Less than a week ago, I tramped across the very long stretch of beach to the waves of the Pacific Ocean pulled off my shoes and wet my feet in the waves. That vast ocean is daunting and mysterious, exciting and terrifying. Thinking about Japan on the other side of all that water gave me comfort and a pang of longing to see friends and corners there that I adore. Maybe that will be in the cards again soon.

Brant Geese wintering in Connecticut

Since returning home to Connecticut, I’m back to walking on the short rocky beaches of the Long Island Sound – a tame Atlantic tidal estuary. Better for bird watching. A huge flock of Brant geese have been hanging about and today there were a few Long-tailed ducks splashing too far for my phone camera to capture.

So what is next? This is the year I get healthcare without working so my plan is to step off the hamster wheel. I’ll figure out the nuts and bolts of surviving and thriving as an oldster. This almost 2 week break I’ve just had over the holidays has been a great taste of what it is to have time. I am ready. For 27 years I have been a good soldier for the same company. Bless them. It’s been good, providing support and stability while I raised my beautiful girl. But I want to find out who I am again without a job claiming my time. More on that as I get nearer to the cliff edge.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep my toes in the water and an eye out for birds. What are you dreaming about? A happy and healthy New Year to you!

Clearing Out

Maintaining and fixing old things is sometimes daunting. Cars, appliances, hearts not to mention minds. Today I’m referring to my house built in 1938. The Queen of Denial, I am expert at ignoring problems. I’ve lived for years with knobs that came off when you tried to open the door (the front door to boot – and we lived with it that way for years!) a leaking shower head, a broken porch step. You get the idea. I call these quirks so they seem charming.

I try and tackle most things on my own. Recently that meant cleaning my gutters including digging up, clearing out and putting back together two buried downspouts. But most plumbing and all electricity issues, are beyond me. When these things become big problems, I reluctantly call a professional.

Does doing that scare you? It terrifies me, imagining the cost – thus my avoidance. For years, my basement has periodically flooded usually after doing laundry. For a long time this was temporarily solved by getting my waste-water pipe snaked every year or so. I have a nice guy who charged me a reasonable amount to clear out the roots that regularly moved into my old cast iron pipes. I figured this was just something to live with because of all my beautiful trees. Occasionally I’d buy that expensive root killing powder and flush it down the toilet but now I have a commode (replaced by my daughter with me assisting) that doesn’t use as much water and I didn’t like the idea of all those matter-eating chemicals lingering in my house pipes.

About a month ago I had to call back my snake-guy after he’d been here only months before. He suggested that the time had come to figure out what the big issue was. Fixing it was beyond the capability of his machine.

And thus began my night terrors and house-anxiety. How big, how expensive would this problem be? Was there a broken pipe somewhere under my lawn or worse, would it require digging up the city road, surely costing me the value of my house to fix? I started waking at 3 in the morning to torture myself, imagining scenarios about all sorts of catastrophes. What was I thinking to imagine I can stay in this old house on my own? Etc, etc. What-ifs ran through my head until the sky turned pink with sunrise.

The problem has been fixed, could have been much worse and was solved for a very fair price and worth every penny. I do have a little PTSD so when I do a load of laundry or take a long shower I go down to the basement to check all is dry. It will take time to realize that in fact, the pipes are clear and waste moves out and far away through the city sewers.

The worst part was, as it almost always is, the not-knowing. I can concoct some terrible demons. And I did. I stressed for weeks. So I now embrace the metaphor and visualize my clean pipes taking away ALL the physical and psychic accumulation – the WASTE I’m guilty of hanging onto for too long. That includes worry and fear about so much old stuff. It’ll be okay and so will I, vintage and all!

Fallen Branch Not Sky

Broken Branch

Rot and recent rains downed this large branch from a gigantic oak tree in my yard. It fell just to the side of the driveway, most of it landing on the patchy lawn, the leafy, smaller branches barely missing the blueberry bushes. The catbird who eats all of the berries before I can get a single one, has already perched on a fallen twig, enjoying the new perspective. The branch is big – the size of a slender tree – not something I can kick off to the side to ignore until it turns to earth. Hot and humid as yesterday was, I was determined to tackle clean up.

Mighty Oak

My mighty oak looks fine. Hopefully there aren’t too many more damaged branches. The house is a safe enough distance and while my driveway could get blocked and there’s a chance the car could be hit by future falling limbs, I’m not very worried. Oaks are good old trees with deep roots – as my undulating driveway illustrates. Unlike some of my neighbors, I embrace the beautiful shade and oxygen producing trees and do not see them as a threat. Knock wood. haha. Still, I’ve been peering up at my trees more than usual.

Chain Saw

Oak is a hard wood and this branch will be good burning in another six months but getting it cut into logs is a challenge for my little electric chain saw. I don’t often feel overwhelmed by these tasks that in the old days the man in my life would take care of, but yesterday, I did. I don’t know how and really don’t want to attempt to sharpen the chain on my chainsaw but I am pretty sure it’s because it’s dull that it got stuck twice while I was cutting. Thanks youtube – I managed to get the well cursed out chain dislodged although the second time (use one ax as a wedge while knocking it with the back of another ax – yes, I have two rusty old axes.) brought me close to tears. And for a flash, I thought, this is all too much for me to take care of.

Don’t worry, that passed. At least for now. My house is old and I love it even if that means it needs lots of work as does my yard full of trees and shrubs. I love the sweet habitat all these leaves and branches lend to a myriad of wildlife and birds providing enough pleasure for me that I don’t begrudge them my blueberries and strawberries. I look up at the trees regularly watching birds and the squirrels do crazy gymnastics or just marveling at the fractals and leaves while I listen to the breezes and rain. Still, sometimes, after a big branch falls, I have a moment of catastrophic thinking.

In all aspects of my life I’ve been trying to resist a knee-jerk reaction of worst case scenario. Whether I am looking upward or inward, I want to go to the marvel part of my brain not the lurking disaster. I’m hoping this thinking is like a muscle and I can build it up and strengthen it, to edge out the shit-thinking. I lived through some crazy times in my life so it’s no wonder that I go to that place where my heart races and hands shake. I still need to remind myself that insane days are gone and I need to resist the stress and gloom and embrace small challenges like this. I want to be like the catbird and enjoy the different perspective that a fallen branch can bring.

And I bought a new chain for my chainsaw.

The Hedge

An old photo

Photographs remind me that the privet hedge surrounding the house was once no more than waist high. Now, the long stretch of it is taller than my late husband’s 6 foot 4 height. Despite my diligence in trimming, the size of this bush has become unmanageable. Entire sections grew beyond my reach even with the extension pole on the clipper. Last summer, after a few sweaty attempts at taming, I surrendered and let it grow rogue – some shoots growing to 10 feet.

Pruning in Progress

Years ago, a friend advised me to cut it back before it buds but I never shook winter’s torpor in time until this year when February felt more like March. Not wanting to look any more like the crazy house on the corner, I began tackling the massive job of pruning 2-3 feet off the top. It’s been more than 2 weeks and I’m still at it.

I bought a new handheld chain saw that I thought would have me zipping through this job but, chain saws are not great for shrubbery. It helps with the thick branches but the speeding blades turn the sprigs into whips dangerously slapping around my face and snagging in the chain. It chews at the unsteady branches like an attacking dog, resulting in ragged, splintered cuts. No, this job requires laborious, slow, hand-cutting, branch-by-branch. With lobber in hand and small clipper in my pocket, I start at the top of the driveway moving to the middle, then out to the street side – all the while, looking at the whole, as if I were working on a sculpture.

Turns out, I mostly enjoy this slow process. The job is meditative and memories flow. I remember how I learned to do this work from George – a tiny man who I’ve long described as old but now being there myself, I wonder what his age was. Probably younger than I am now. I was 18 and working with the university’s landscape crew the summer after my sophomore year at UCONN. He showed me how to prune vines and yew and privet. “You have to feel it in here,” he said, touching his heart. I was an art student frustrated with my teachers but George spoke to me, inspiring me more than any of those professors.

So, with my heart and increasingly achey arms, I snip, lob, snip, leaning out into the scratchy branches to reach a sucker a foot higher than the rest. It’s tough to cut and I’m at a bad angle and my foot slips on the the dry leaves beneath, but I shift my grip and squeeze and the blade breaks through and clicks as if in satisfaction. It’s hard to believe that once our neighbors could easily hand us a cup of sugar over this now gigantic bush. I need to bring it down low enough so I don’t have to get up on a ladder to prune.

The Hedge in Snow

This part of the hedge is where our Cairn Terrier, Tetley, used to dash through into the street to bark and otherwise greet passing dogs. A little to the left there is still enough of a hole to slip through as a short-cut to go to our neighbor’s house – something Molly did for years. Thanks to a volunteer oak tree that insists on growing back each year to lay claim to this space, the hole remains.

The Fallen Tree

Every inch of this property and house is dense with memories, and this hedge is a tangle of them. As I pull out a thick growth, years of images come with it. Here’s where the bird’s nest was one year – lots of screaming and horror as a momma came squawking out at me and I worried I’d killed her babies but no bodies were found. Here’s where the dead elm tree fell in an early autumn snow storm, blocking the road and knocking the privet branches down, leaving a gap like a missing tooth. Once the tree was taken away, Molly and I pushed the roots back, straightening the section as much as we could and by late summer, the space had filled with new growth. It’s easy to spot the damage in winter but luckily, even at a 45 degree angle, the branches bloom in Spring covering the evidence.

Molly has memories of her own around the hedge. When I told her about my new chainsaw she remembered the summer her dad cut himself with the hedge-clipper, resulting in lots of blood. Joking about childhood trauma, she urged me to be very careful. Yes, the hedge has experienced all sorts of drama. My roughest memory is pushing aside branches in a section we never crawled through before, guiding my 8 year old ahead of me through the thick snarl of wood to the street. This was on the morning of Neil’s death, and I knew I could not let Molly see what I saw.

Our privet gives us privacy and has hidden sadness and even terrible things but within its green boundary, there have been more scenes of joy and laughter. Watching my daughter play and grow and run and swing across our lawn, joined by two of the sweetest dogs, first Tetley then Rufus – both blissfully chasing an abundance of squirrels. This woody shrubbery surrounds a place of love and good memories, including most of the years with Neil and then Rob. Despite the heartbreak of their stories, I also recall the love and sweetness and that they both made me laugh more than cry.

Published as a surprise in Molly’s high school yearbook. The community that help raise her.

I thought I could just zoom through this make-over with a fancy tool but it’s a gift to take the time to trim, pare down, decide what branches to take out, where to cut so new growth will sprout easily. This scramble of fractals encompasses my life. I am not only preserving a boundary but creating space so I can accept the sugar offered my way.

Ohm and Other Options

During these winter days, sky heavy with clouds, I have to remind myself that I like four seasons and appreciate this time of hibernation. I welcome the nudge to go inward and further into darkness although sometimes it feels a fine line between rich reflecting and just holing up. I’ve been trying to find some balance and peace in all the gloom rather than just wait for a sunny day.

Beach grass in winter turns inward too!

In that spirit, I’m attempting to revive whatever scraps of past meditation practices I can remember. There were times in my life when I began and sometimes ended the day in meditation but like many a good habit, this one fell by the wayside. I’d like to start again. Too often my mind takes off like a racehorse. Or more like a tornado – twisting and turning, whipping up dread, catastrophe, chaos with a little nonsense mixed in.

The benefits of sitting, focused, breathing are clear. Conscious breathing alone calms and quiets. Sometimes I catch myself in a day, not breathing deeply or even at all. Try it. Check yourself right now – are you breathing well? Filling your abdomen, chest, lungs and then releasing completely? I was not, I realized after I wrote those words and checked my own breathing. I tend to take shallow breaths, sometimes holding my breath in a weird pause.

These Brant geese spend their winters here.

Breath is so expressive. Deep breath. Sigh. Gasp. Breath is life – the beginning and end. I remember when premie-baby Molly came home after 3 first weeks of the hospital looking after her. Now she was mine to care for. Holding my own breath, I watched for hers.

Thinking about my breath leads me back to something bigger than the chatter in my head about what to make for dinner, bills to pay, people to call, work issues, or something that happened 40 years ago. Random thoughts spinning through my mind endlessly. Breath and mind are amazingly linked and breath is a good boss to keep things in line.

Thoughts of Rufus in this ridiculous sweatsuit definitely distracts me. Although laughing is good!

With so many schools, techniques, philosophies around meditation, it’s hard to know what’s the way for me and if I’m doing it ‘right’. And of course, what IS right? I watched a promo pitch for Transcendental Meditation online. I had to sign up for the promo session and when I did, promptly began receiving texts and phone calls from Fairfield, Iowa. And that made me think of Tony from 40 years ago who hitched rides on freight trains from Fairfield, Iowa where he went to Maharashi University (home of Transcendental Meditation) to Cincinnati where he would show up at crazy hours and toss pebbles at my window. I lived in a converted school building in the middle of a derelict neighborhood. There was a closet in the hallway converted into a shower. Thinking back, the common spaces were pretty creepy as was the neighborhood of burned out buildings. But our studios were amazing. Hardwood floors, blackboards and light pouring in all day through old wavy panes of glass. Tony never talked about TM or Maharashi but he played guitar and sang really sweetly and while I’m not usually a sucker for that kind of thing, he was good and did I say he was cute? I wonder if he’s still alive (we’re all getting old and he used to jump on and off freight trains after all) and if he still meditates? Interesting and creative people do TM like the director David Lynch, Jerry Seinfeld, Mick Jagger. Still, I’m not sure I want to pay over $700 to learn the secrets.

See how my mind goes off on a spin any chance it can get? Sitting quietly for more than 10 minutes takes practice and I am out of practice. I try setting a timer and still end up cracking open one eye to see if time is up, kind of hoping that it is. Why? So I can get up and go about my day working for the dollar? Maybe I’m hungry. Or I feel like I have to get started on something else. What’s so important that it can’t wait 5 more minutes? 10, 20 even? Nothing. I know that if I can train myself to do this regularly, I’ll feel more peaceful, calm, less crazed. It’s worked before. Maybe I should cough up $700. That’s a lot for me. I tried some online guided sessions but found most of the voices annoying. I prefer the quiet although I signed up for something called a sound-bath session in a neighboring town. Sound is important. I do like saying ‘ohm!’ either alone or in a group. There’s a nice vibration that’s settling and centering. We’ll see.

Do you meditate? What works for you? xxx

Raptors and Me

Birds of prey have been appearing and soaring and flapping around me so much this past week that I have to think they’re trying to make a point. I searched ‘significance of birds of prey’ on the internet (this site was the most interesting I found) and what’s been happening recently definitely feels meaningful. Tell me these encounters in my city of over 90,000 people aren’t wild!

Red Tailed Hawk near the river.

Yesterday, within an hours time from when I took Rufus on an early afternoon walk, I had 4 raptor sightings. I watched one hawk hovering in the same spot high up in the sky. A few blocks later I spotted another one sitting in a tree near the river. I filmed the video above catching this red tail hawk fly from one branch to another. About 10 minutes later, as I neared the house, I saw another huge hawk – more than 18 inches long sitting in the big sycamore tree across from our house. Shortly afterwards, Molly and I sat talking in the living room over coffee when her gaze shifted outside. Balanced atop our hedge was what we think is a sparrow hawk. We watched it eyeing the bird feeder and Molly spotted two squirrels flattened against the trunk of the maple tree looking very nervous. It hung around for minutes, moving on to a branch not far from the squirrels before moving on.

Sparrow Hawk (?) in the front yard.

Yesterday was incredible but not quite as amazing as my two experiences with another recent visitor(s?) earlier in the week.

It was still dark when I heard Rufus’s muffled bark summon me for a dawn walk. I got out of bed reluctantly and bundled up in a sweater over my pjs, a scarf looped around my neck, a wooly hat and a puffy coat. In the breezeway I shuffled out of my slippers into ugly old clogs I only wear for short dog walks. I opened the door and Rufus pulled, hoping to catch sight of a squirrel or the resident rabbit so he could bark and wake all the neighbors.

No barking this morning. We meandered down to the end of the driveway, me carefully stepping between rotting crabapples. The sky bloomed pink in the east and the blurry softness of grays and blacks of the small wooded area came into focus. I was mid-yawn as a large bird flapped by so close I could hear a whoosh of wings. It landed on a low branch not ten feet away from where it sat and stared at me.

Holding my breath, I stared back. An owl! Rufus was quiet. I whispered – hello you gorgeous creature, almost feeling an impulse to bow to its magnificence! My heart beating double pace with the thrill, I tried not to blink lest I miss a moment, my vision and mind still fuzzy in the dawn light. After what felt like minutes but still too short, the owl lifted off and flew a few yards to the mulberry tree, attention back to its hunt, head turned towards a scrubby corner of my yard. But for those few minutes it had stared directly at me. I felt like it wanted to tell me something. I watched until it lifted off and out of sight, marveling how such a large body can be moved through the air on wings.

The next day at dusk, still early by the clock, maybe 5 PM but in December that’s almost dark, Rufus pulled on the blanket I cuddled under with my book, an insistent request for a walk. So we repeated the ritual – this time dressed slightly more acceptably to be seen in public. We made it to the middle of the driveway when I looked to the left and froze. An owl was watching me. Again, I gazed back as if we were picking up on an unknown conversation. The same owl? I don’t know! Molly was working up in her room and I looked down long enough to text her to come out quickly. She quietly crept out of the house and joined me. The owl stared at us both and we whispered our wonder back and forth. She captured the photo above.

Meeting wildlife in my city neighborhood can feel like gentle prods into a spiritual place but these recent ones are like more substantial kicks! What am I missing? What should I know? Pay attention to? Face-to-face with owls twice in two days? And all those other raptors practically following me around? Magical and uncanny. I’ve had other creature encounters – like my morning meet-ups with a fox a few years ago that I wrote about here. And this is Molly’s second owl visit this year – her previous one in LA that I wrote about here. Maybe Neil is checking in on us again? I can’t yet report on any insight from these extraordinary visits other than an incredible joy and awe. What do you think? I’ll claim them as harbingers of a rich and wise new year. And I wish the same to you!

Dog and Other Walks

My daughter brought Rufus home for Thanksgiving and when she flies back to California later today, he will remain with me. Molly will return for Christmas and will bring him back to his west coast life in January. Meanwhile I have the pleasure and responsibility of taking care of this sweet dog.

Rufus smiling

While I haven’t missed his 6 AM demand that I take him out, I don’t hate being forced to see the sunrise. While he angles his leg towards the hedge to pee, I yawn and look up at the sky. This morning the sky was glorious – a deep navy blue in the west as night moved out and a glowing yellow of a new day in the east.

Getting outside also gets me out of my head when I am more inclined to retreat to full hibernation mode. Especially in winter, I get lazy and I don’t love the cold and there have already been days when I barely step out of the house. That’s not good. Even a short walk around the neighborhood gives me a spark of energy along with a fix of fresh oxygen. Having Rufus around with his multiple required outings each day, reminds me that I need to fan these sparks into flames.

Rather than letting the days simply pass, I want to savor each as precious. Even the physical movement of opening the door changes the energy, creates an atmospheric shift reminding me that I am part of something bigger than myself. Walking through the neighborhood, exchanging a few words with a neighbor or venturing down to the river to note the tide and maybe glimpse the great blue heron who seems to be wintering nearby, all give me a sense of well-being.

Stepping outdoors with no other intent than to follow this pup around in his wander, no matter how self absorbed I was minutes earlier, the wind against my cheek, light in my eyes, crunch of leaves under my feet, keeps me present.

Rufus surveying the estate

It’s not that I don’t go for walks when Rufus isn’t here. I’m pretty disciplined about getting up and out and there are advantages to doing this solo. While I like the purpose a dog brings, walks alone are easier. Without him, I walk at my own pace instead of being pulled along, stopping abruptly so he can sniff every few feet. Alone, I can drive the 10 minutes to the beach and walk where dogs aren’t allowed but the views are spectacular. I do like the freedom of not having a pet – but I miss the rituals, the weight of him on my lap, his sweet devotion.

No, I do not want to adopt another dog right now. But I do love having him visit and I do love him. But right now I am learning who this new me is that need only take care of myself and it’s very interesting and a little luxurious. Today it is rainy and Rufus, not a fan of getting wet, won’t want to venture further than the yard to do the necessary. I may just have to leave him at home and go for a walk by myself. (Or not!)

Pets or no pets?

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