Category: Seasonal Musings

Changing Gears: A Writing Conference

It’s been 4 months since I stopped working and I still marvel that every day is all mine. I was a responsible employee and 8 AM to 5 PM belonged to the company. I could have been a goof-off since I worked from home but my boss trusted all of her team and I honored that faith. I confess I cooked up the occasional soup and definitely scrolled through my phone too much but I did not go shopping or have lunch with friends on the clock. My time felt owned. I needed to stop working to reclaim my consciousness. It was time to find my own rhythm to the days before there are no more left.

I’d been doing advance planning for a year or so before my last day of employment. Like riding a bicycle up hill, a biker needs to anticipate the slope and shift gears as pedaling gets harder. Before I stopped working in December, I did a lot of adding up income vs bills, I joined the YMCA so I’d have an exercise routine, planned trips and read a lot. 

I read for inspiration on how to live a rich and creative life over a certain age. This is how I found Oldster Magazine (https://oldster.substack.com/) – an online publication created by the writer and editor, Sari Botton. Oldster includes a great interview series with interesting and off-beat people I can relate to, about what it’s like to age, to be – old! Sari was one of the instructors at the Southern Vermont Writers’ Conference (https://greenmtnacademy.org/pages/southern-vermont-writers-conference) that I just attended. She had posted in Oldster about scholarships for writers over 65. I applied for and won one! What a gift! I returned a week ago Friday, from a nourishing and inspiring 5 days in Manchester VT. I’m still processing the experience but here are some thoughts –

There were two other workshops on offer but I signed up for Sari’s 5 day workshop on Writing Compelling Personal Essays. I struggle to describe what feels like a time of alchemy, especially in that windowless hotel conference room of our workshop. Sari asked big questions and used prompts to get us to go deep in our writing. And we did. In those 5 morning sessions, our little group grew braver by the day, writing pieces that made everyone else cry. Hearts were shared in all their broken beauty. The writing was superb.

Initially I wanted to shy away from writing about what I think of as old pain as if sadness and sorrow can be packed away in the closet like clothes that no longer fit. The 8 of us in Sari’s group wrote about profound losses, heartbreaks, struggles – and created beauty. Pain cracks us like nothing else, opening our senses up to the profound, the stuff of life. This is what interests me and what I want to be doing – mining the riches that live even in the darkness. There, like the bottom of a compost pile, is where fertile material lies.

By the end of the week this group felt like a tribe and remains a goal post for me to be honest and go deep. Being open, seeking and truthful feels like resistance these days and I’m all in on that. Each paragraph of writing shared, set another stone for the way. Comments were insightful and generous. We listened to each other carefully, honoring and following each others voice. There was humor, sass, sexiness, gentleness, tears spilled for ourselves and for each other. A kind love grew in our mornings together under Sari’s gentle, smart guidance. 

I didn’t arrive or leave with a specific intention about writing, I only know that writing compels me and a day feels better when I do it. I don’t want to write in a vacuum. Having readers and getting comments, (thank you!) enriches me as does working with other writers. Life might feel solitary but we are not alone. What reader doesn’t find that to be true after reading something that resonates? Perhaps, someone will find comfort, solace in my writing, may feel less alone.

Caren and Kim, who launched the Southern Vermont Writer’s Conference, created something wonderful by bringing together this group of writers and instructors – weaving together a community of strangers, many becoming new friends. If you write, check them out – they’ll be doing it again next year. You’ll want to be there!

Pruning Fruit Trees and Intent

Peach and pear trees in New England should be pruned in late winter while still dormant. The trouble with this schedule is I am also still hibernating. However, I recently managed to brave the cold and tackle my 2 pear and 2 peach trees. I waited until most of the snow melted to avoid injury. Other than the odd branch poking me in the face, I came away unscathed.

Even after giving away cut branches to other hopeful souls willing to gamble on blossoms emerging from sticks, plenty remained. The wattle fence from last year turned out to look a bit ragged but was useful and effective, not only in preventing visitors from stepping off the front deck onto dangerously wobbly steps, but also providing me with kindling all winter. I just burned the last of it and have prepared the new branches to create another natural barrier. Hopefully this one will be pretty as well as practical.

Still to be cut are a few higher branches that require a ladder to get to. Last year it crossed my mind that I’m getting too old to be climbing my trees. This year I intended to enlist a pal to stand by in case I fell while swinging my handy little electric saw around. But who has time for that? I felt safe and stopped at the first glimmer of self-doubt or weariness. I’m stubborn but careful. I did wait for the snow to melt, after all.

I wrote about pruning and making my wattle fence last year (click underlined link above to read) and maybe I will again next year. Maybe the trees and I will both be around. This is a wish and a hope. I think it’s important to send hope out to the universe while also nurturing it in our own hearts.

Pruning is a kind of hope and commitment towards the future. Otherwise everything goes to shit. Cutting off what’s not needed requires attention and care and can’t be done willy-nilly. I’m hanging on to that. Sometimes I feel the darkness encroaching so I look for light. Sometimes that means forcing myself out in the cold to trim my trees.

Amazingly, as hard as last year’s cuts were, more branches grew back even longer. I have 7 foot pieces in my pile. Last year I wrote: “I know that these harsh cuts were necessary if the trees are to thrive.” While true, that sentence now makes me a little uncomfortable. We hear some version of this from the liars as they gut our government. One difference: we don’t hear the word ‘thrive’. They are not interested in us thriving or in some cases, even surviving. These guys are in it only for themselves. They are not doing this for you or me. We are the serfs.

I recognize the importance of cutting back. I am all for getting rid of waste, increasing efficiency and finding fraud but skill and best intentions are required for making cuts. Fraudsters should not be doing that job. These are nefarious men driving us deeper into debt as a country and individuals as they scheme and get richer and richer. It’s obscene. We’d get rid of the deficit and pay for health care, education – basic human rights – if these same creeps would pay even just their fair share of taxes. Nope. That’s not in the cards. We need a new deck of our own.

We cannot give up hope, nor stop speaking up. Make sure your representatives are really representing you and let them know if you think they’re not. It gets easier to make calls and the young people answering the phones are great.

I suggest signing up for daily emails from the link below. Craven is a very smart activist who suggests different simple acts of resistance. It took me less than 5 minutes to make calls working off easy scripts provided in this beautifully titled site: chopwoodcarrywaterdailyactions@substack.com

By the way – the peaches and pears mostly get eaten by the wildlife. It’s nature’s way and there is enough to go around – we need to share.

Keep the faith, make the calls and don’t lose sight of your joy!

An October Saturday Report

Chickadee Breakfast

Wrens, sparrows, robins, blue jays and the rest of the gang stopped by all summer to splash in the bird bath but for the first time since spring, I’ve starting filling the bird feeder again. For months, there’s been no shortage of berries and bugs for them to eat but now that cold weather is creeping back on us, I want to them to know I’ll be here for them.

Saturday was a glorious warm October day and I spent time sitting on the front porch watching the feeder action and soaking in the sun. A few squirrels foraged for seeds in the fallen leaves with the mourning doves, who prefer the ground for eating – their unwieldy bodies challenged by my vertical feeder. A blue jay noisily announced it’s arrival before gorging on sunflower seeds. Nuthatches and chickadees skittered about joining in with lots of peeping, other jays squawking and squirrels chattering – when they all suddenly quieted. After the audible mass flutter of wings as everyone took off, the yard was silent. There must be a bird of prey around, I thought and briefly looked up at the sky and through the branches. No sign of anything. I returned to staring at my phone and drinking my tea. Whoosh! On the lounge chair a few feet away from me, landed a gorgeous and very large hawk – facing me – both of us wide eyed.

We gazed at each other in shock before it took off with a few flaps across the yard. No hunting in this neighborhood, at least for now! The moment was thrilling and I’m glad none of my feeder-friends became lunch. And what a fantastic cooperative security system they have!

Sound and Seagrass

Around 3, I took the kayak out for what might end up being the last paddle of the season. The sun, still deliciously hot, warmed the wind that made paddling tough but caused no chill. While the water looked relatively calm on the surface, the current was pushing me in directions I didn’t intend so I abandoned my intent to go straight across to the island about 20 minutes away. Instead I lingered near the sandbar that disappears at high tide. I floated, listening to the wind rustle through the sea grass. That was enough.

Sunday Worship on the Isthmus

While driving to the beach on Sunday, a trio of young women caught my eye. They were hurrying towards St. Thomas church, I suspect, a little late to 9 o’clock mass. I glanced at my dashboard clock – 9:10 and the church doors were closed. I was a child the last time I made a dash for mass. My relationship with organized religion ended shortly after my confessional encounter with a ‘father’ whose priest name I forgot along with the prayers he’d assigned me as penance for my venial sin. Nothing from that religion ever stuck again.

When Molly was about 6, Neil and I explored a few churches in the neighborhood – me grasping at straws in search of a miracle or at least guidance in navigating the tortuous road we were on. Also, I figured my daughter should get some religious exposure in spite of my own ambivalent faith. We landed for the longest period of time with the Unitarian Church – about the least churchy of all churches. Molly went to religious instruction celebrating the fun holidays of all major religions and that was enough for her. Neil and I both adored the minister who grappled with questions and peppered his contemplations with poetry. The walls were glass and in the warmer months, opened to bird songs and the rustle of leaves, scents and breezes wafting through. There were some fleeting moments of healing there.

Photo courtesy of Molly

I am no longer quite as church-averse as I used to be. I appreciate the value of community and a gathering of like minds toward a peaceful end can be powerful. I feel rich in friendship from different times and circles in my life and treasure shared meals, walks, adventures, laughter, tears. But for contemplation, I have long been content to retreat to my own space – loving the solitude of a kayak on the Sound. But that might be changing. Perhaps it’s my recent yoga-camp stints that opened my mind about finding a community for shared reflection. And prayer? Maybe. But not yet. I will wait to explore this when I’m done with working. For now I have freedom only on weekends and am loathe to sign up for anything that feels required. Yes, that Catholic stuff is hard to shake.

Another by Molly – taken on her recent visit!

I started this with the intention to write about being on the water, not to plunge into my spiritual journey! And yet, as I paddled away from the shoreline across the calm water with only the odd early fisherman speeding by in a motor boat – I exclaimed – this! This! THIS is my church!

Working on my miracle skills. photo credit – Molly

My paddling was strong and the sun felt good – not yet the glaring heat forecast for the afternoon. I quickly made it to a favorite sandbar. An isthmus of rocks and shells. It’s here that the start of the Norwalk islands begins for me and usually as far as my paddling ambition will take me. This morning, as I reached the sandbar, I pulled my plastic boat over the slippery rocks, took off my life-vest, glasses, hat and plunged into the cold water. After a few underwater strokes, the hum of the Sound in my ears, I popped my head out of the water with a gasp as much to express my elation as to gulp in air. This is my baptism! My first swim of the season out there on my own little beach for as long as the tide stays out.

Within hours, this isthmus disappears, rocks and shells clicking and clacking against each other in the waves as the water shifts. The sandy spot and others like it, will emerge and vanish, over and over again, the land shape and me changing with the tides.

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.

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