Good morning, friends! This morning I’m struck by how many amazing things there are to create, and how hard it is for me to corral the time necessary to get to them. Some people manage their lives much better than I can: they play in a jazz band on weekends, write a book a year, AND work their day jobs as astrophysicists. That’s not me… but that’s okay. I am very, very lucky to be in a position where I don’t have to go to a day job (though everything surrounding that statement warrants a post in itself, and may get one, as I grow my way into and through it), so I have the freedom to order my days at will.

I may not have an occupation, but I have a definite vocation, which I’m beginning to embrace fully AS vocation, with a capital “V”, and not simply as something I like to do in my spare time. Everything else is what I do in my spare time. I’m only just now forming a definition of said vocation, but in essence it is this: the pursuit of conscious personal growth, and I bring it to life by setting my mind, almost constantly, on the study of it, the practice of it, and the expression of it. I study it by reading the books that serendipitously appear just when I’m ready for them; practice it by paying attention to all the clues my subconscious sends me, particularly in dreams but in every other aspect of daily life as well, and then writing it all down; and express it through my art, which is–to my great delight–varied and broad. I am not a master at anything, but I’ve accepted that fact and am learning to pour myself wholespiritedly into whatever I’m doing without hyperfocusing on end results.

In my last post I complained about frosting my buddha (which makes me smile, because it sounds like an euphemism for something else, which would make it the least thing to complain about), but yesterday, after I blended another batch of paper pulp, adding the flour, adding the glue, stirring it to the right consistency, and after I found just the right tool for spreading it (a small, truncated rubber spatula, a baby one, hidden in the back of the gadget drawer), and after I discovered that I got a better result by using my fingers after all, I worked the pulp onto the armature and noticed, suddenly, my heart and breath slowing, solidifying, becoming even and distilled. My entire being had dropped into a warm, comfortable space outside of time and was hanging there, suspended. Timeless moments are magic, aren’t they? I listened to my breath, my fingers gently swirling the pulp onto my creation, and I felt the most profound love for this object that I had made, that I was still in the process of making. If you believe in God, or God as Creator, this is such a great picture of how it must be to see us through his-her perspective. Artists are gods in their worlds… in fact, each of us, whenever we create anything, which we are always, always doing in some way, even if it’s just thoughts, are gods of our worlds.

This morning I was looking at my buddha, slowly drying there on the table, and thought of all the pulp that’s left in the bowl in the fridge. I still need it for the second, sculpting layer, but there’s enough left to begin a sculpture for my daughter-in-la Amber, while this one dries. She and I share a love of primitive statues, especially the great fat female goddesses with pendulous breasts, the eternal divine earth mothers offering nourishment to the world, so I’m going to make one for her. I can already see most of it in my mind’s eye, though I’ll flow with whatever emerges as I work, even if it’s different from what I’d initially thought. I’m very excited to begin another sculpture! I believe I may put a baby at her breast and give her a mermaid’s tail, both significant symbols to Amber.

Something along these lines, only seated, with a face, a nursing infant, and a mermaid's tail!

Whenever I reenter an art medium, the others that have given me pleasure fade into the background, but never disappear. I still draw occasionally in my art journal, am going to crochet a balaclava for a friend, and will undoubtedly, at some point, incorporate painting into the papier-mache I’m doing now, if it stays at the forefront. I like that my interests undulate like the waves of an ocean. They’re the waves of my particular ocean, to continue the God analogy, the seascape specific to me. We all have our own worlds to order, to make into whatever we will. There are video games now that allow you to create your own worlds! You can choose to become evil or good, based on whichever action you take–each decision, even if it seems insignificant, even if nobody else is around to see, decides your path. I think that’s marvelous; a great illustration of how life is. Of course, that’s only scratching the surface, because life is not that simple. Instead, it’s a matter of shades of gray, not black and white extremes, as nobody is evil and nobody is good. There are no devils or saints, only degrees of both in each of us, and it’s up to us to maneuver along our paths the best we can. It’s occurred to me lately that being human is equal to making mistakes, but it’s very difficult for us to accept this. We’re always expecting perfection from others, always expecting it from ourselves–always expecting the sheer impossible, and then suffering myriad disappointments and deep pain as a result of our misunderstanding.

It’s cold today, almost freezing, so I’ll keep the heat cranked up to ‘toasty’ and wear my wool socks as I work. Sometimes I like to work in silence, but most of the time I have a television show going on in the living room, something I can listen to, like people did the old-timey radio shows, since I’m in the kitchen where there’s no TV. Obviously I can’t watch my beloved foreign films that way (though yesterday I got bored with Allegro, the Ulrich Thomsen movie I was watching, and simply listened to the beautiful Danish language being spoken as I journaled), but that’s okay; my interest in that arena has waned anyway and I’m now on to British police procedurals. I can’t get enough of them. My favorite lately is Midsomer Murders, the show that has been airing for, I don’t know, is it twenty years? It has a million seasons and when I first started watching, it was just one of those wonderful background shows: two-plus hours of country village sounds, birds twittering, pots clanging together, teakettles whistling, dogs barking, the occasional scream (it IS murder, after all), and always that terrifying bird shrieking in the distance (what is that anyway, a peacock? Edited to add: it’s a red fox! Listen here…) Above all, the lilt and lull of English accents, so comforting to my ears. But over time I began to feel invested in the main characters, the interesting storylines, and the increasingly creative writing, and now I love it. In fact, it’s a bother that I love it so because it’s hard to only listen without wanting to see what’s going on.

Time to do grab some breakfast (bologna sandwich, natch) and do some reading. I’ve been reading Leaving My Father’s House by Marion Woodman, one of my favorite Jungian analysts, so I’ll spend some time on that, think through what I’ve read, and then record and makes notes on the dream I had last night in my journal. After that, some light housework and then sculpturing! I have the car today so I may toddle out to the grocery store and library, or I may not. I can catch a glimpse, outside the window, of the swaying cedar branches as they part to reveal a gorgeous lavender sky. Looks like another rich and beautiful day. Love to you all! xo

* The post title is from the subject line of an email I received from Lulu.com, the self-publishing site I’d used to make Stir the Sky. It made me laugh. If you’re not sure why, look up “tool” in the Urban Dictionary. :)

Aloha, friends! It’s a cold and sunny day here in Oregon, and I’ve been up since six doing my thang, reading, journaling, recording last night’s dreams, writing emails to friends, and this afternoon, watching the last two episodes of Stephen Fry in America, which I’ve been enjoying piecemeal with Scott.

I like Stephen Fry, and have ever since I first encountered him in Jeeves and Wooster (though I vaguely remember him from Black Adder days). I learned a lot about my country from seeing it through his perspective, which was very affectionate and discerning and witty and erudite, of course, this being Stephen Fry. His claim at the beginning of the show was that he had almost been an American; it seems his parents-to-be had the choice of where to live at one point, and chose England instead of here; honestly, I’m glad they did because could you imagine little Stephen not growing up to represent the quintessential modern English gentleman? Inconceivable! I was a little bit disappointed by the shortish shrift he gave Oregon, however, as he focused mostly on tree-hugging, the spotted owl, and, ahem, Bigfoot… but ah well. That’s okay. Those are all elements of life in this beautiful state, and I’m willing to take even misguided passion (sigh, Sasquatch) because passion for something is the best fuel for life. And passion for trees and spotted owls is the type I wholeheartedly support because it saves our ancient forests, which we don’t have many of anymore. One thing the show generated in me was a renewed excitement to explore the westernmost part of the country, the most spectacular, stunning, staggering landscapes in the entire United States, and I include as part of the ‘west,’ Alaska and Hawaii. From North Dakota on down to New Mexico and all the states to the left of those… Scott and I will be planning many motorcycle vacations in future. Then there’s Canada… not to mention Mexico, and South America… I could spend the rest of my days riding two-up across the Americas and die happy.

Actually, I’d die happy today too, not having done those things. Do you ever think about that? If you were given a week to live, or only a day? There truly is nothing I would do differently from what I’m doing now, other than spend a little more time with my family. It’s a wonder to feel this way after a lifetime of vague discontent, of always wanting a sneak peek around the next corner at something, anything, that might be better. I’m very grateful to feel this way now.

So, I’ve been craving bologna sandwiches for about a week. I do this with hot dogs, too. About twice a year I crave the junk meats and eat them every day for as long as it takes to sate my desire and then don’t touch them again until the next time. It’s funny, living here, when it comes to junk meat. In North Carolina, where we lived for eleven years, when my bologna craving hit I could find, literally, a dozen varieties to choose from in any grocery store. We generally shopped at the Food Lion. However, here in the Pacific Northwest, even in giant Safeway, I found only two kinds of bologna. Two! Both the same brand, in ‘regular,’ and ‘light.’ ‘Light’ being lower in calories, or maybe in sawdust content, I don’t know. I chose ‘light.’ Thankfully, Oregon still believes in lots of hot dogs.

On the spiritual front, two things, one tangible and the other, well, tangible in another way. For the longest time I’ve wanted a large buddha for the mantel, not because I’m a buddhist (or adherent to any other religion for that matter), but because the buddha symbolizes peace and the inner journey, finding divinity within, respect for all living creatures, and so many other positive spiritual messages that resonate with me. When I look at a buddha I breathe a little deeper, a little more easily; it calms me. But I decided, rather than spend increasingly stretched funds to buy one, I would make one instead! And what’s the absolute cheapest medium of art? Seriously, the dead-level cheapest? Papier-mache of course! That’s what I’ve done. Unfortunately, it’s my curse that I detest taking photos. I’m forever making excuses like, “Oh, I don’t have a good camera,” or “Oh, I can’t find the charger for it,” or “Oh, I think I broke my index finger” or, “Oh, my eyes hurt,” but the bottom line is that I just really hate taking pictures. So I don’t have a record to show you of what I’ve done so far. Suffice it to say that from an ingredients list that included wadded tissue paper, plastic grocery sacks, old christmas gift wrap, empty cereal boxes, three varieties of masking tape, a length of thin wire, and a completed word puzzle magazine, I created a very likely semblance to a buddha holding up his right hand in the ‘fear not’ mudra. It really is cool, you guys. Instead of using the paper layering method this time, I made a paper pulp out of egg cartons, flour, and glue, and it’s beautiful; it goes on like plaster, and once it dries, I can sand it down and even sculpt it, which I’ll do on the hands, ears, face and even to make his robe. I’m about halfway through the plastering part. The only pesky thing about it is that I hate double hate frosting cakes, and that’s essentially what I’m doing, but it’s worth the pain and bother. When I’m done with it, I promise to endeavor to try to attempt to get up off my reluctant lazy ass and walk across the room and dig out the camera to take a picture…sigh…okay? I want you to see it, anyway.

The second thing is that I’ve been doing TONS of rich and amazing dream work, and am gaining the most wonderful insights from my subconscious nearly every night. I bought a little tiny round-headed halogen lamp to put on my bedside table so I won’t wake Scott up by turning on the larger one, and at least a couple times per night I roll over to scribble down my dreams as soon as I have them. By now I’ve mastered the art of pencil scrawling while half asleep, though occasionally I do miss something.

One morning I saw that one of my notes was simply the word “blue.” That one went with the dream in which I was wearing a turban and was called Mr. Tom Julia (no kidding, laugh if you want, but it actually applied to something I’d been wondering about), but was the turban blue? The sky? Was I feeling blue? Yeah, not a clue.

In the mornings I flesh out the dreams in my journal and jot down whatever comes to mind regarding them. The point to working with dreams, I’ve learned, is not to interpret or analyze them, but to observe and live with them, and take them into active imagination if they’re especially puzzling. “Active imagination” is a Jungian concept wherein you quiet your mind and reenter the dream, in your imagination, consciously interacting with the people and situations you encounter as they unfold. It sounds a little wacky, but it’s remarkable what you can learn from doing it. I won’t get into details in this post, as there are too many of them, but I will tell you that I’ve been dreaming a lot about babies, so many babies, as well as great green gobs of couples in various stages of romance and mature relationship. These two elements reveal this about me, right now, in this particular phase of life: I am entering into a time of fresh new beginnings (the babies), as well as a time in which I am reconciling the masculine and feminine aspects of myself (the couples). It’s the inner work equivalent of Jerry Maguire’s “You complete me.” It’s me taking back the daddy and mommy complexes I’ve projected onto men, and getting in touch with my own little holy family, where I’m mother, father, wife, husband, and child, all wrapped into one beautiful sacred package. This is the surprising, joyful work of the middle years, and I’m so encouraged as I trundle along my path to wholeness. Love, Mr. Tom. xo

And now here we are, nearly at the end of the Mayan experience, as far as their imagination and scientific understanding could reach. Of course, the only way the world will end on December 21, 2012 is if a bunch of important people suddenly go berserk and start blowing significant shit up, etc, which my daughter is convinced could happen if only in fearful response to Mass-Generated Collective Media-Induced Apocalyptic Fear (and she has a point). However, that’s not going to happen. I prefer to think that the purported change will be in consciousness, as in a higher version of. However, that’s also not going to happen… at least not in one fell swoop. I believe it is happening, slowly, because we humans are finally realizing that we’re dependent upon the earth for our lives, and we’ve been abusing it and it’s starting to buck and snort at us. It’s like parents who beat their small children, completely blind to the bald fact that one day those children are going to be bigger and stronger than them, and really reeeally pissed off. Okay, it’s not exactly like that, but you get what I’m saying. I think if there’s any shift of consciousness that 2012 is ushering in, it’s that, and more power to it.

I like to hope that, in addition to more awareness of the earth, we are becoming more aware of each other as well, more respectful of differing beliefs and lifestyles. This is just one tiny little thing I’ve noticed, but I’ve been loving the fact that we’re including England more and more in our television shows and movies. There’s almost an amalgamation going on. I love England… it was the jumping off place for our country (and me ancestrally, a-way back) and I’m happy that we’ve finally put aside our stupid animosity toward it. It’s weird to think how long that acrimony lasted–long past the point of appropriateness and effectiveness–and how comprehensively our inflated and entrenched patriotism pushed people away. Of course, not just Britishers, but everyone who wasn’t Us. I feel that we’re letting people in now, inside our lives not just our borders, even that they’re wanting to come in… and I don’t mean because of the promise of a better life materially (and honestly, that’s almost a fallacy now, as even most native-born Americans are really struggling) but because we’re not such flaming arrogant assholes. At least most of us aren’t. Some of us are really trying. You know, for the first time since Dubya I’m genuinely feeling happy to be an American again. Not proud, because that’s a nonsensical off-putting concept–just, I don’t know, affectionate toward us and more importantly, not mortified. I like us again.

So, last night I watched Bridesmaids. Lord, it was hilarious and oh SO awkward. Did I say hilarious? I did? It was! I was actually thinking of this movie when I wrote the above. I’d read somewhere that Kristen Wiig (LOVE LOVE HER) is good friends with Simon Pegg (LOVE him, too) and it seems there’s kind of a combined-forces thing going on with comedians from both sides of the pond. I started paying marked attention to it with the movie Paul, which wasn’t fantastic but had its moments. Pegg wasn’t in Bridesmaids, but Matt Lucas from Little Britain was, and Rebel Wilson (she’s Australian), and Chris O’Dowd (LOVE him-he’s Irish, from the IT Crowd, and there was a great little segment in the movie that directly pointed to how ridiculous it was that an actual Irishman could be an American cop–I like those occasional winks at the audience).

Oh good grief, as I’m writing all this I’m remembering a ton of movies that feature an assortment of actors from all over the world! As much as there is to complain about popular culture–and unfortunately there is–it has been a key player over the past decade especially [note: I say 'past decade' because I'm too lazy to think any further back right now; maybe it's been going on for a hundred years; it just sounds more authoritative when I put an exact time on it] in bringing about a more unified global alliance. Go, 2012! Expand that consciousness!

Okay, since I’m on the topic of movies now, we watched a comedy last week that had us rolling. It was a spoof of college kids-slasher movies called Tucker and Dale vs. Evil and it starred Alan Tudyk (yay!) and Tyler Labine, whom we had just seen as James Franco’s assistant in Rise of the Planet of the Apes. He’s great, and I’m telling you, the movie was so funny. It helps, of course, whenever you watch a funny, to be watching it with a group of like-humored people, and that night it was Scott, me, Torie, Jess and Amber, a kind of spontaneous gathering of moths to the big blue television flame, and the energy was palpable. And loud! Then Sunday night Van and Jess stopped by and we watched The Pineapple Express again, another funny movie and great night of laughter. I love watching comedies with my family. It’s rewarding to see the many ways in which I have infected my children with my own sick and twisted brand of variegated stuff. This is one reason you have children. This, and to slave for you until they’re big enough to beat you up.

I’ll leave you with a video from another really funny show called Portlandia, a spoofish take on the fair city I call home (or close to home). It’s honestly right on in its portrayal of Portlanders and this song does a great job of encapsulating us, while at the same time gently mocking us, while at the same time dishing up a tasty tune that’s hard to get out of your head even for days after. It’s fantastic. Love to you all! xo

Hello, jujubes. How are you? Has everyone recovered from Christmas? I know that for some of you it continues on until at least New Year’s, but I have to admit to taking down all the decor–what little there was of it–the morning of the 26th. I was done and ready to get back to my regularly scheduled program.

You know I try to take life very positively these days, for the sake of emotional survival, but also because it makes life way more palatable than when I have a negative outlook, right? Well, sometimes things happen that make the positive approach incredibly difficult (as you all well know, I’m sure). On Christmas day someone said something to me that hurt me very, very much. I won’t tell you what it is for the sake of the other parties involved, but I will tell you that it’s had me reeling ever since. It’s one of those things that can’t even be confronted because there’s nothing that can be changed about it: it’s the way the person(s) think and I have absolutely no control over that. It’s like begging someone who doesn’t love you to love you. It simply doesn’t work. So all I can do is figure out how to deal with it myself, and that’s what I’m doing. But I feel a little gray and sad, like most of me is sunny and bright except for a hollow empty spot that I can’t ignore for long, a constricted throat, a heavyhearted space, a loss, that looms large whenever I turn my head in its direction.

Another thing that continues to niggle at me is how inadequate I feel in giving gifts, in giving enough to the people I love, in knowing the answer to the question of what IS enough. It bothers me immensely that I’m still running over these scenarios in my mind, thinking “if only I’d given this instead of that, or paid more attention, or had more money, or or or…”–all of which leads me down the path to the huger questions of what I’m doing with my life. You can see why Eckhart Tolle’s message of living in the Now is so appealing to me, whose mind tends to explode in a million different directions all at once. Paying attention only to the present moment sweeps the pieces back together again, gives me peace in the resulting clarion silence and space, helps me remember what’s ultimately important to me. There’s nothing like it.

Well, except for the other way I’ve found of dealing with difficult circumstances, the Jungian way, which is to pay attention to my dreams. The day before yesterday, my word, I dreamt all night and during a three-hour nap I took during the day. I ended up remembering five major dreams and two smaller but significant segments of dreams. After every dream, or R.E.M. phase, I woke and scribbled enough detail to help me recall the dream when I was fully awake, when I could work through it. I spent I don’t know how long with my journal, reliving and writing the details I could remember and then going back to make observations about them. It was amazingly eye-opening, the stuff my subconscious had to tell me through its creative use of symbols and repeating patterns. I was blown away. I have more understanding about the Christmas day situation than I had before, which, while it doesn’t ease the pain, does lift me up out of the darkness. Being in the dark and in pain sucks. Being in the light and in pain opens us up for healing, because light heals. We don’t even have to do anything more than be in the light, or in other words, be awake and aware, in order to be eventually healed.

So my challenge today is to accept What Is–specifically that 1) I can’t change anybody’s mind but my own and 2) I’m doing my best, and making mistakes/corrections is the way we humans are meant to roll. By accepting what is, just as it is, half of my burden is lifted. The other half is me learning to deal with what I know, coming to terms with it, deciding how I want to respond to it. The ball is back in my court, in my own hot little hands, where I can dribble it, or throw it, or take it and go home. Whatever I want to do.

I’ve been watching the third season of In Treatment, the show in which Gabriel Byrne plays a psychotherapist, and I’m telling you, I am comprehensively mesmerized by this show. This is the one show I drop everything to watch without interruption, I fondle it like Midas does his gold, I save it for when I’ll be alone for long stretches so that I don’t have to take my eyes off the actors’ faces for even one second. It combines two things I adore: watching excellent actors embody their roles; and human psychology–the intricate turnings of our minds, the walls we erect in order to protect ourselves, the devices we invent with such skill to deny, repress, or circumnavigate our painful shadows and unlived lives, and finally, our desperate attempts to find clarity and healing. Human beings fascinate me; I am in love with us, with our complexity, our simplicity, our ability to live with paradox and make it fit as comfortably as we possibly can in an increasingly overwhelming world. I’ll be watching the last two discs of the season today, sigh.

I also plan to finish my own balaclava! By the way, one of the things that DID go extremely right this Christmas was the cowl/scarf/balaclava giving. My kids (which include Amber and Ben) especially loved them and wore them both on the Eve and the next Day, without prompting, and they all looked great. This made me really happy, natch. I had planned to take a group photo but lost my heart for it; I’ll see if I can rustle something up to show you sometime. My balaclava is a soft earthy orange, a color that keeps cropping up in my life and dreams–it’s the sacral chakra color, the color of creativity, of regenerative new life, so fitting for where I find myself now. It’s felt so good to hold the color in my hands, to rest my eyes on it, as I crochet, and I think of it a lot while I’m going about other business. I just remembered that I bought a long sleeved knit orange top yesterday too, completely unaware of the color significance, only that I liked it. Which color have you been noticing most lately? After you remember, you might check out the colors of the chakra and get some idea of a particular message your subconscious is giving you, to help you sort out some sticky problem–and that’s just the beginning, if you’re open. Our subconscious talks to us all day long, if we listen. We really do take care of ourselves in the most marvelous ways. Love to you today! xo

Happy Winter Solstice and….

Hello, friends! I had already published the following post, but just now, as I was in the kitchen making dessert for tonight, I got to thinking about people who are suffering this Christmas, who are not having a merry one at all, and my heart went out to them. This year is a good one for me, but who knows what next year will bring? Difficult circumstances rise around us whether we invite them or not: loved ones leave or die, we lose our jobs and houses, go through divorces, and suffer a thousand other hardships. I’ve had significant losses over the course of my life, even over the last couple months, so I’m no stranger to sadness. In fact, sadness and I have been very good friends. I try to choose a positive outlook–to be grateful for everything–but it isn’t always easy, and sometimes we just can’t because we’re buried too deeply in grief. So, take a few moments to consider the grief-stricken people this year, those who are lonely or depressed, and send out a prayer on their behalf. If possible, if you know someone who’s struggling, invite them to share the holiday with you. Every little bit helps to spread more love in the world. Now on to the original post. :)

My sis-in-law Sherrie ends most of her emails to me with a list of things she’s thankful for, and I’ve adopted the habit because it’s just so immensely wonderful. Here’s what I’m grateful for this very minute:

~ A warm home

~ A thick, soft robe

~ A loving, close-knit family

~ Enough of everything I need

~ Enough of everything I want

~ Parents who are open and generous with their time and resources

~ A supportive husband who takes time to listen and continues to love me after all these rollercoaster years

~ Contented, unique, creative, apple-of-my-eye adult children who are also some of my best friends

~ Good health

~ A youthful spirit and an old lady soul

~ More laughter than tears

~ Twinkling amber and colored lights

~ Fragrant candles

~ Hot apple cider and egg nog with rum

~ The library

~ Netflix

~ People to love and being loved

~ The ability to make sweet lemonade out of any old sour pile of lemons (one of the most helpful traits alive)

~ Amy Sedaris, Janeane Garofalo, and Stephen Fry

~ All “my” authors

~ Bright, sunny, freezing-cold weather

~ A crochet hook, a skein of yarn, blank paper, colored pens and pencils, paints, canvases, flour & water, newspaper and a vague notion of what to do with them

~ An active imagination and rich dream life and a vague notion of what to do with them

~ Being back home in Oregon where I belong

~ Peace. Peace. And more peace.

~ The prospect of a beloved-full and feast-full weekend ahead, with loads of incredible food, board games, gifts, and LOVE.

There. Writing that list helped shift my focus… there’s still quite a bit left to do in preparation for tomorrow and Sunday–grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning the house, finishing a cowl, wrapping a few gifts–but now I remember all that I already have and am feeling a lot less stressed. May you also enjoy a beautiful weekend with as little stress as possible, and with as much love as you can bear!  Love to you all. Merry, merry Christmas. xo

Good morning, all! It’s one of those mornings when I’m bursting with the desire to get my thoughts down on paper (so to speak) but don’t really know how to corral them into anything cohesive. Here’s hoping I can do them at least a little justice–for my sake but also for yours, you wonderful longsuffering readers. I appreciate your willingness to wade in with me.

I’ve discovered a new author and as is the case whenever I discover a new author, I’m flabbergasted that I was able to get this far in life without ever having heard of him or her. In this case, his name is Robert A. Johnson, a Jungian analyst whose books–written with the assistance and additional wisdom of Jerry Ruhl, another Jungian analyst–have been exploding into my arid mind over the past week like fresh cool water. We always get what we need when we need it and I’d been feeling pretty dry.

I’ve been reading two of his books: Living Your Unlived Life, and Balancing Heaven and Earth. The first is what I call a ‘help’ book; the second is his personal journey and while the first book is great, I’m finding the most delight in the latter, which he wrote when he was seventy-six. I love–LOVE–memoirs when they’re written by old people who have truly learned from their life experiences, when they’ve moved through the ambition and stress and ‘doing’ of the householder stage in their thirties (and sometimes forties), the suffering and disillusionment and gradual backseating of their middle years, into the beautiful glow of wisdom that comes when life has slowed to a relative crawl and there’s time and inclination for reflection. Not every old person is wise, as we know. Some are mired in the past, in bitterness and sharp regret, or fear of the future, and these toxic emotions only get worse if they’re not acknowledged, brought up into the light. We’ve all encountered unattractive old people, those who over a lifetime accumulation of painful experiences have been unable to stop externalizing everything and blaming outside forces, who have never been able to take responsibility for their own inner growth. Thankfully, this isn’t a terminal state. Everyone gets the chance to encounter the warm golden light of God, of spirit, of inner reality at some point, either in this lifetime–sometimes even on our deathbeds–or the next. We learn at our own pace, and we’re not in a race, as there are only winners.

One thing that I’ve been realizing as a result of my reading is how much energy and time I’ve given in my life to projecting both my shadows and my gold onto significant others. Our shadows are the repressed socially-unacceptable parts of ourselves, our gold is the good stuff we’ve also repressed. When we can’t bear the weight of either in our own hands, we foist it upon others… our shadows onto enemies, our gold onto either gurus and mentors or romantic partners and best friends, or any other typically idealized relationship. And then those idealized relationships, once we’re disillusioned with them, which we always are eventually, become the recipient of our shadows as well. Most of us, well, all of us until we become conscious of it and even then for a long time after, are like movie projectors casting ghostly images onto external objects and people and then calling them real because that’s the way we see them. It takes a lot of conscious effort to begin the process of differentiating, of individualizing, of separating our selves from the selves of others, of releasing our teachers and lovers and friends from the grip of our sweaty, grubby little fingers so that everyone can grow straight and tall and whole on their own.

The person who carries our gold has enormous power over us. A smile from her or a frown from him can send us to the heights or the depths in an instant. If the process continues, you can grow enough so that eventually you can stand to carry your own gold. You develop the capacity to take your gold back, and you realize that this highest value originated in you and rightfully belongs to you. It is very good to take your alchemical gold back, to realize that it was brought up out of the unconscious and that it was awakened by someone else but that it must be returned to your own personality. This should in no way diminish the other person in stature or beauty. The other person also has his or her own gold. To exchange a love for another person based on one’s own gold for an appreciation of the other’s true being is a sublime evolution. One stops seeing a reflection of oneself and, instead, sees the reality of the other person. Reality is always far nobler than any projection. Robert A. Johnson

I believe this is my number one most important lesson so far. But then, I always think that’s true whenever I discover one of my life lessons, and this makes me excited to live because… what’s next? Certain deliciousness. None of this inner work is to reach perfection, by the way. I’m not interested in perfection and it isn’t possible anyway. I do it simply to bring whatever’s hidden inside of me, cramped and curled and dormant, into the bright sunny field of awareness in front of me, where it can be rained on and shined on and nourished. Once it’s out, airing in the field, all I have to do is wander around touching it every so often and delighting in its healthy growth. It’s no longer inside controlling my thoughts and actions without permission; it’s outside where I can keep tabs on it, make my own decisions about it. We have to mine for our shadows and gold before they can benefit from the sunshine, or we can wait for them to emerge on their own, because they will. If we wait for them to come out on their own, it can take awhile to recognize them, but as soon as we see them for what they are, they’re no longer able to scurry back into our dark corners and stunt us. Once our eyes are opened in a particular area, the cat is out of the bag for good. We can never go back to our previous degree of unconsciousness, though it can takes years upon years to unlayer each area of potential growth. But we’re always progressing, always evolving, and that’s happy-making news.

Now, to come back down to earth (hello, earth!), I have almost all my crocheting done, well in time for Christmas! Huge relief. I had mentioned to you that we’re doing only stocking stuffers this year but I can’t resist buying small gifts to include among the candy, magazines, and other treats. Scott and I went shopping on his day off Monday and got the bulk of the stuffers, and I believe I’ll go out today to look for a few little specific thises-and-thats. My mom had surgery a couple days ago so on Sunday I went to help my dad and her decorate their house; though I’d been congratulating myself on avoiding the hassle of a tree this year and an overabundance of other Christmas decor, the tree and decor were the focus of all our efforts, and I enjoyed our time together. Their house looks beautiful. Ours is pretty too, with just enough ornamentation (and lights!) to remind us of the holiday. It’s so nice to feel only a modicum of stress this time of year instead of the huge scratchy hay bale of it that I’d carried on my chest in previous years. I keep thinking that when grandchildren roll around I’ll jump back into it with both feet. In fact, Scott and I couldn’t resist walking through the toy aisles with twinkles in our eyes and barely restrained excitement over all the fun little gizmos and gadgets and classic toys available. We have to be cool, we keep telling ourselves and each other. But we’re ready for babies! The grand kind that you can spoil rotten and then hand back. I figure that we’re probably going to get the first batch of grandbabies all at once, but barring accidents, that may still take a couple years. sigh. BEING COOL. sigh. :)

I hope you’re all having a wonderful season. Take lots of moments to rest and reflect. Remember to breathe! Be reasonable with your eating, of course, but give yourself permission to indulge a little, especially now when there’s so much yummy stuff at your fingertips. Enjoy your life. Enjoy it! En-joy. Set out the milk and cookies and invite it in. Much love to you, friends. xo

When you woke this morning, did you look outside to find a sheen of ice crystals covering everything, like I did? I lay in bed, first trying unsuccessfully to retrieve the quickly fading remnants of an important dream, and then running over a mental list of things to do, so by the time I rolled out from under the covers and opened the curtains I was already feeling a little stressed. The icy frost and the absence of our car told me two things: one, that Scott had had a warm safe drive to work and two, I will have another lovely day at home to crochet and finish Christmas decorating. Shopping will have to wait.

Yesterday I crocheted a small cowl and almost an entire balaclava; that was only a few hours’ of work, so Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I’ll easily meet my goal of finishing cowls/scarves/balaclavas for everyone on my list before Christmas. When Susan was here last week she mentioned the yarn shop in Sandy, which I’d seen the sign for but had never paid attention to because I was immersed in other non-yarn-related projects. Mom and I popped in the other day and it is a wonderful shop; I’m so excited that it’s only a wink and a skip from my house. At the time I picked up only enough yarn for one balaclava, which I finished, so I visited the shop again two days ago for more yarn–yarn yarn yarn, I’m in heaven. It’s slightly more expensive than it is at Michaels, where I would usually go, but it’s well worth it for the quality, which is superb by comparison. Jess wanted a wool balaclava to repel the rain and I found gorgeous soft wool there, many many kinds, from relatively inexpensive to lots of dollars per skein; there’s even amazingly soft sherpa wool in a variety of deep rich colors, sigh. They also hold classes so when I’m ready I may take one on knitting, to broaden my horizons. Besides all that, it’s here in town and I’d rather give my money to small local businesses than big corporations.

An example of the balaclava cowl I'm making, with minor alterations like a drawstring around the face

The busyness of the past few weeks–the bustle of holiday preparation and more social interaction than I’ve had in ages–has been really fun; I’ve enjoyed it all. But it’s also kept me skimming along the surface of my life. As long as things are going well with no glitches, the surface is a welcoming glittery place to spend my time. It feels like enough sometimes, but it’s interesting–when I’m skimming along I tend to unwittingly get caught in eddies of negative thought. Anger and sadness and fear and worry swirl around me and take swipes at my heart. Most of the time I can bat them away, but sometimes they grab hold for a few minutes (or an hour… or a day) and I listen to what they’re whispering and end up feeling, I don’t know, squidgy. Just under a pall of negativity. When I’m surface-skimming and caught in negative thought, I chase activities to take my mind off the pain– turn on the TV, fire up the computer, try to read, go shopping, whatever. But worse (for me), I begin to believe that what I see with my eyes is all there is. I lose my wonder, my sense of magic, my faith in God and the spirit realm.

I think it’s funny when people with faith in God criticize those without it, thinking it impossible for them to be genuinely happy, because it’s not true. It’s completely possible to hum along just fine without faith. I did it for several years and could easily do it again; in fact, to my surprise, it seems to be my natural inclination. Here’s the thing: if there is a loving omniscient creator God, then why in the world would we think he/she is reliant on our belief in him/her? No, if there is a God like that, then we’re in good warm hands whatever we believe, and in fact, we’re free to explore anything we like, to go on wild adventures of thought and experience, to run after the heights and depths and breadth of all that’s available, without fear of abandonment or retribution. We’re in a wholly safe place, each one of us. We can believe or not, it’s all the same. If the above is true, it all comes out in the wash.

So I have absolutely no criticism of anybody who doesn’t believe in or explore God, none at all. We each have our path and I totally understand. But I’m at a place in my life, in my own unique experience, where it’s become important again. At first I returned to faith in God in order to assuage intense emotional suffering, but now it’s because I don’t feel at home without it; without it I see myself skipping over the surface of my life, yanked around by negative emotions, vaguely unfulfilled. I can go for a long time without realizing this, especially if I don’t seek out reminders from spiritual books or meditative processes or practices. If I stayed busy I might never have to look at it, could live out the remainder of my days averting my eyes and swerving out of its way, feeling vaguely squidgy; lots of people do. I could avoid silence and space, the doors to awareness. But I suspect that the inevitability of loss, failure, rejection, sickness, hardship of any and all kinds, and finally, confrontation with death, would force the issue eventually–as it already has a few times. I’d rather become familiar with my shadows and cobwebby nooks and crannies before that stuff happens so that I’m neither tempted to close off my emotions in certain areas nor thrown completely out of my depth. If I’m drowning I want to have already memorized the location of the nearest bobbing lifebuoy and the emergency number for the Coast Guard.

That’s just me. As I said–this is my experience; I don’t know if it’s true for everyone else. It’s important you know that. I think you’re golden no matter what you believe or don’t; I’m learning to appreciate each diverse perspective that’s brought to the table, even when it veers wildly from mine. What a spicy feast! If we could all see that, we’d be able to eat together in peace. Wouldn’t that be a trip?

All right, time to get back to the tasks at hand. Breakfast first, then I’ll tackle the nativity scene and lighted garland for the living room dresser. After that, more crocheting! It’s a beautiful slickery day and I hope you’re enjoying yours, too. Love to you all. xo

I already love today. Early up, a cup of perfect coffee, a new book (Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, reviewed by Fence), and the anticipation of a few hours of work at my parents’ and later, shopping for yarn.

Wait, I suddenly hate today. I was sitting here writing the above paragraph when I heard the familiar blub-blub-blub of the motorcycle in the distance and thought, “Uh-oh, not good”–as Scott had ridden off to work only half an hour earlier. Apparently the brakes are frozen (it’s 30 degrees at 5 a.m.) and not working properly so he has to use the car. Damn. This means Torie will need to scrounge for a ride to work at 7:30 a.m. I will need to call my mom for a ride to her house later, and unless she wants to go yarn shopping, that will have to wait until tomorrow. Well, adjustment. Let it go. Breathe.

Everything will work out.

This reminds me again of the concept of detachment, of how much peace it brings when I can manage it. It’s perfectly fine to look forward to something, but when I get attached to the idea of a day to myself, frolicking around doing my own thang, then when a monkey wrench gets tossed in the works I’m thrown for a loop and can sometimes get positively enraged, or at the very least extremely pouty. If, on the other hand, I hold my plans loosely, circumstances plucking them away won’t ruin my day.

Remember me telling you about Susan, the artist I met at the craft fair awhile back? The one I exchanged phone numbers and email addresses with, something I don’t usually do (see: never) with strangers? Well, she contacted me the week before last and I invited her to my apartment this past Wednesday. It was really super great. She’s a very dynamic person, animated and energetic, a self-proclaimed gypsy (I can see that), and we sat on the floor drinking coffee and eating apples with peanut butter dip and talking about everything. Or as near everything as you can get in four hours. The best thing is that we’re in almost perfect alignment personally and spiritually, though of course our unique experiences aren’t the same; it’s the way we’ve landed and the perspective we’ve gained from them that’s the same. We’re also the same-ish age. I’ll be heading up to her house in Brightwood next, where she has a small stack of books waiting for me.

I’ve been discovering how little I need in order to be happy. Warmth, running water, enough food to keep my tummy from rumbling, hot beverages, the library, regular interaction with my family, a couple friends to talk to, something creative to do, my cat Horatio…Netflix… but Netflix is negotiable. Also negotiable but dearly appreciated are: the little grove off the back patio and the patio itself, a large safe neighborhood with sidewalks for taking long walks, writing in my blog, further friends who pop up occasionally like little lights, having the car for the day, small thoughtful gifts…

There are other things on the list but I want to tell you about one of those thoughtful gifts, which I was able to enjoy last Monday. Our friend Rod, whom we’ve known for forever, manages the Title Wave Used Bookstore in Portland, and for my birthday this year he gave me a $100 gift certificate. A hundred dollars! This is no skin off his back because he’s The Boss and can merely wave his hand and his will is done, but imagine my joy and anticipation. So for the second time (the first time was around two months ago), Scott and I took a trip to the bookstore and loaded up with anything that looked interesting, which amounted to about fifteen books, and I still have almost $50 left! This kind of thing is extra, but what a lovely extra.

It’s funny, but after really dreading the holidays, as was my wont, I suddenly took an inexplicable turn and got excited about them! This happened the week before Thanksgiving and I honestly don’t know why, but I’m not wasting any time trying to figure it out. I’m simply enjoying the phenomenon. Well, part of it is that I’ve been practicing being myself more and not hiding behind any masks… boy, did I have about a million masks, or the few I had felt like that many. I was thinking the other day that it’s been a huge relief to not have to follow any rules other than the intrinsic ones of common human decency. This alone has stripped away most of the masks because I simply no longer need them. I can be myself. I’m discovering who I am for the first time, really. And when you can be yourself, life takes on a brightness and ease that it didn’t have before. People seem friendlier, they smile at you more, make lots of eye contact. Stuff that once lay heavy on your chest tries to alight but has to hover now because there’s a big “No Trespassing” sign where it used to land. I’m learning what I want and am making the hard choices necessary to get it, or keep it, and am finding that the difficulty of choosing is lessening all the time.

The mack-daddy of all holidays, Christmas, is always the biggest challenge because of the cultural leviathan it is! But I believe that this year as a family we’re finally going to wrestle it to the ground and make it our own. One thing we’re all going to do is pitch in to help a family in our community have a happy Christmas, and that will be good for our hearts. Regarding our own celebration, we’ve collectively decided that the emphasis will not be on presents because we’re tired of the pressure this puts on already-stressed pocketbooks. We’ll fill stockings with goodies and have discussed doing a white elephant exchange of dollar store sundries and thrift store finds. (Each of us is an avid thrifter, so this is less of a concession than you might think.) There’s also the possibility of a few theoretical crocheted cowls thrown in. This could be really fun. Also, no tree this year! This is a personal decision because our fake tree is huge and takes up an entire corner of our small apartment, and as far as a fresh tree goes: 1-I am philosophically opposed to cutting down a living tree for a month of fleeting pleasure, 2-I can’t keep the tree from turning brown and shedding its needles all over the carpet and becoming a fire hazard, 3-with a lower emphasis on gifts, there’s no reason to have a tree, which functions, in my mind, as mostly a repository for said gifts. The ONLY way I’ll change my mind on this is if we stumble upon a tall narrow fake tree but, it doesn’t matter. Really, garland swags on the mirrors and twinkling lights and the small Christmas village and the Nativity scene and a bunch of white candles on the mantel will suffice nicely. And on Christmas Day, maybe there will be a movie we’ll all want to trudge out and see, after the feast!

See? I’ve already talked myself into a better mood. :) I knew everything would work out… Torie called a coworker and has a ride to work. My mom will have no problem picking me up, as she lives three minutes away, and if she wants to go yarn-shopping, it will be infinitely more fun with her along. Scott will have a warm drive to work and back. I’m going to believe everything is all the better because the bike brakes froze up. It sure beats being bitter and cranky all day. Love to you all!

Apple Slices and Peanut Butter Dip

 

1 or more crisp apples sliced, depending on how munchy you and your guests are

 

Dip: Several spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter, a healthy dollop of honey, enough dry oats to give it a stiff consistency. Mix together, put in pretty bowl. Yum.

 

Enjoy!

Hello chiclets. How is everyone today? I hope you’re great.

I’ve been having SO much fun searching online for patterns for crocheted cowls, which I’m planning to give for Christmas this year if I can manage to finish them in time. At first I was going to crochet one pattern to fit all, but as I’ve perused sites I’ve seen varieties that would match everyone uniquely, and I’m excited to give them a go! I love having something to do with my hands as I watch TV, and crocheting is perfect, especially if the pattern is simple or repetitive and doesn’t take a lot of concentration. Or if Scott’s watching some noisy shoot-em-up bangarang action flick (ugh) I can focus on a tougher pattern, because, as I said, ugh.

At Thanksgiving I said to my family, “Say I was going to crochet some cowls (*short pause to explain what a cowl is*) for everyone for Christmas. You know, theoretically. If I were going to theoretically crochet some cowls, which colors would you theoretically prefer?” Oh, it’s going to be fun. White, green, autumn colors, black, gray, navy, purple, red, teal–people had definite ideas for their favorite color, so with different colors and different patterns, I’m going to have a ball crocheting my little heart out. It’s hard for me to mass produce something artistic; variety keeps things fresh.

I stopped at Michaels last night to check out the yarn selection and there are some truly gorgeous colors and textures out there. I’ll buy a huge bundle of them soon, so I can get started! After Christmas I think I’ll relearn to knit because, in my opinion, a knitted finished product is infinitely more attractive than a crocheted one. I tried my hand at knitting years and years ago and it just didn’t take. Maybe this time I’ll be ready for it. Winter was made for yarn. Well, and egg nog, but that’s beside the point. There are about a trillion bazillion amazing yarnwork sites online too, wow. It’s heartening to see so many people creating!

How was everyone’s Thanksgiving? Ours was really wonderful. This year it was my parents, Scott, me, Van, Jesse, Amber, Torie, and our family friend Ben, a Canadian from North Carolina, whose parents, Paul and Karen, are good friends of ours. We’d always spent the holiday with them when we lived in the south, so it was nice to have one of their family with us here in Oregon.

At my folks’ house, with football droning homily on TV in the background, we played board games at the table before dinner, lots of board games! My mom picks them up whenever she runs across one that looks interesting. We tried a new game that quickly became a family favorite–it’s called Quirkle, a strategy game of brightly colored shapes painted on chunky black wooden squares, so it’s visually striking as well as challenging enough to keep our interest without requiring too much brainpower that cuts into conversation time. And dinner was amazing. So many people contributed delicious dishes, even exotic ones like the pumpkin macaroni Amber brought, and every single item my mom made; we were just in culinary heaven for the hour we ate. Afterward, more games! Then, around eleven, after everyone left, Jess and Amber came over to the apartment to watch the movie It with me, since I’d never seen it, and they had but wanted to watch me getting scared watching it, ha! Though it wasn’t scary at all, so there. Even so, I’m glad to have finally seen it because it’s a classic. It was two before I got to bed. That’s two weeks of late nights and I’ve loved every minute of it!

Sooo, I’m thinking of putting my hair in dreadlocks. I’ve wanted to for ages but have been reluctant to take the leap because it’s fairly permanent, in that if I wanted to get rid of them it would require cutting them off. You can’t really comb those babies out. When I was cultivating curly hair by twisting it with gel and not brushing it, I would tend to get one fat dread on the back of my head and lots of little ones, and I did like the look. When I mentioned my idea to the fam, everybody agreed that I should do it, and I’m thinking, yeah, good grief, why not? Seriously. Since I’m the only one living my life, I need to live it the way I want to, and I’m trying to do that in every other area so why not also with my hair? That’s why I’ve begun practicing dreads in temporary ways to pave the road for the Big Plunge. Scott even said he’d do the actual dreading for me when I’m ready! No, he doesn’t know how, but he said he would learn, that’s how motivated he is. Gulp, but also, kind of fantastic! And if something were to go wrong, it’s only hair. It would grow back, and even per the unlikely chance it didn’t, well piff. I’d crochet myself a cowl with a hood.

Or make myself a hair helmet.

Man, I’m fading fast. Last night was another late one because I got the bug to go over to Jess and Amber’s apartment and have dinner with them and Josh and Torie, who were also visiting. We talked, and ate, and watched 28 Days Later, and played a subdued, if heroic, game of Phase Ten, since by that time it was already eleven-thirty and everybody (but me) was tired. When I got home I couldn’t sleep right away and then I thought, “Bugger it. If I sleep now, I’ll sleep until noon tomorrow, and I hate sleeping in!” I feel like the entire day is wasted if I sleep past seven. So I stayed up, and I’m still staying up, and plan to stay up until I stumble into bed around eight o’clockish tonight. That way I’ll be back on my regular schedule and all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. I hope all you things are well, too! Love. xo

I won’t endure these half-filled human masks;

What a beautiful day. Ahh, I love days like this, relaxing at home after a full and interesting weekend. Actually, it’s still the weekend for us because it’s Scott’s day off, and since it’s raining (again, hello to Oregon winter…and autumn, and spring…and, well, most of this past summer, too) we really don’t have much planned. Over the last couple weekends Scott’s been adding shelves to our mini storage unit so our one outside chore was to head over to my folks’ to get a few of the boxes we’ve stored there for two years. That was our big event for the day. Now we’re ready to cozy in and watch movies. On ‘movie days’ we generally take turns choosing.

I had first pick, which we watched while eating lunch. It was a Norwegian thriller called Zero Kelvin, about a poet who takes a job as a professional hunter in Greenland, living with two seasoned hunters out in the middle of Godforsaken nowhere, and of course various horrible incidences of mayhem ensue over the course of the movie as the three men progressively lose their ability to cope with each other. Yyyes. While Scott didn’t like it much, I really did. I adore psychological thrillers, for the same reason I love supernatural horrors: both genres explore the human shadow, the soul, the cobwebby corners we cower in until emotional trauma forces us out into the open. Maybe it’s the cold bleakness of the landscape, but Scandinavians sure know how to explore their shadows–I can’t get enough of their movies right now, or their books. I spent a happy half hour this morning exploring new Norwegian and Swedish authors via the library site; I’ll be neck deep in thrillers for as long as my fascination holds.

Early on Saturday I bundled up in a scarf and heavy sweater, since it had snowed the night before, and went out to breakfast with my mom, one of our favorite things to do. This time we went to the Blackberry Cafe in Welches, off the freeway heading east to Mt. Hood. The drive up was spectacular. Though the snow had melted down in Sandy, where we live, it was still quite present in the higher elevations, and the hills surrounding Mt Hood itself were absolutely gorgeous blanketed in snow-frosted fir. I love Oregon. The cafe was warm and inviting, and it was one of those days where everybody just seems happy. Or maybe I was happy and that’s why it seemed that way–probably both! The waitress was friendly, the chef came out to ask how we liked our food (delicious), and my mom and I had a wonderful time talking and eating together. After breakfast we went to a small bazaar in a building next to the restaurant. It was sparsely furnished with only a few tables and vendors but it was well worth visiting because I met a woman, one of the artisans, that I really liked.

Susan is probably a little younger than me, very genuine and open, an artist who loves the same type of media I do, meaning just about all of it. She used to teach elementary school and had an art studio back east, but since she’s lived here she’s worked as a long-haul truck driver and does her art at her kitchen table. We discussed some of the paintings she had on display and how she did them; I learned a lot, stuff like: watercolor painted on gessoed canvas and then sprayed with a sealer comes out looking almost like oil, how to use watercolor pencils, the best poor man’s choice of pens for ink drawings. She showed me her art journal. We talked a bit about our families, and even touched a little deeper on who we are as people. We exchanged phone numbers. All in the space of about twenty minutes.

Meeting folks with whom I experience a genuine connection is rare for me these days because I’m around people only hit-and-miss. I’m not involved in any organizations, no church or work or club that has me socializing with the same group consistently, so it’s not as easy as it used to be to make friends. My sister-in-law Sherrie is a wunderkind at this; I have never met anyone who can make friends out of thin air as easily and well as she can. If she likes someone she meets, be it restaurant owner, candy shop clerk, neighbor (or all the neighbors), whomever, it doesn’t matter, in no time they’ll be at each others’ homes, going out to eat together, shopping, spending holidays together, being genuine friends. So, taking a page from her book, I’m going to give Susan a call after Thanksgiving and ask if she wants to come over for tea. I hope she does.

After our excursion, I had a few hours at home before we drove to the AntFarm’s fundraiser in Clackamas that evening. That was fun, too. Dad bought a table for eight and we filled it up with our family, plus Torie’s new beau Josh, whom we all stinking LOVE. Aside from bluegrass music that was really great but way way waaay too loud for the space, the evening was a huge success and they made lots of money, go AntFarm!

That was Saturday. Last night, Sunday, Van stopped by for awhile, though he couldn’t stay long–he had to get back home to Vancouver because of early work the next day–and Torie, Josh, and Josh’s brother Cody came over for homemade pizza and the Stephen King movie Pet Sematary, which I’d never seen. Oh my gosh, what a howler, and I mean it was cheesy in the extreme, but it was really fun to watch with a full house. Then Jess and Amber came over and Jess told us a bit about his trip to the Redwoods in California, which he’d just returned from earlier that day–it had been a weeklong trek along the Lost Coast with his Wilderness Leadership classmates and instructors, and one of the best experiences he’s ever had. They stayed until one a.m…. three hours before my usual waking time… but I didn’t care. Last night was a blast. I love being surrounded by these vibrant young people–they’re all so positive, literally zinging with enthusiasm and passion for life. They’re good for me.

And Thanksgiving is coming! And coffee out with my friend Linda the Friday after! It’s been, and will continue to be, a wonderful week for relationships, and I really needed that.

Well, time for the next movie. What will it be? (Scott picked The Jackal.) On the way home from my parents’ we stopped at the library to pick up my two books on hold: The Woodcutter by Reginald Hill and The Inverted Forest by John Dalton. I’m not sure which I’ll read first. I just read Heaven’s Lake by Dalton and really enjoyed it; unfortunately he’s a new author so he only has the two books. Ooh yes, I’m once again in the mood for fiction. Lots of novels! Lots of yummy Scandinavian movies! Must be winter all right. I hope everyone is having a wonderful day. Love! xo