a mad world

It's been a difficult time,  a long time, since I wrote anything on this blog. And when I do, now, I'm influenced by the incredible imagination of Frida Kahlo who suffered a great deal in her life. All I did was take a foaming lavender bath the night I was alone, when Ron was in hospital being cared for.

Candles, incense, a glass of wine. I am not suffering in any way as she did, but I am watching the suffering of others. We are living here in Albuquerque in a comfortable place called Casa Esperanza (House of Hope) which helps cancer patients and their families from out of town to not have to spent their life savings on lodging. We certainly can't commute 280 miles round trip from Taos every day and we can't stay in a hotel for six weeks, so we settle in at the Casa. This is a city. Not Manhattan, not San Francisco, not Chicago, but a city nevertheless, with an airport from which you can go everywhere (and I wish I were heading east).

A couple of weeks ago a wise friend asked, "what are you supposed to learn from this experience? What is your journey?" What I have learned in a little over a week is that everyone I encounter is kind and helpful.  I've also learned not to judge. I hadn't realized how judgmental I really was. We're all in this together and we are all human beings, whether we're from Mexico and don't speak English, or from Colorado or Ohio. We are all equal in every way. I knew this intellectually, but now I know it from my heart. I think I have part of the answer now, or at least the direction in which it lies.

I try to find the beauty around me. It is spring here, many weeks before spring hits Taos. Trees and flowers are in bloom. The air is gentle, the wind sympathetic. I try to walk the path that begins just a few steps outside of our room. A roadrunner accompanies me but won't let me take a photograph - it zips away. My daughter asks: does he go "beep-beep"? The hilltop path overlooks part of this city, young runners whoosh by (the university is near), I don't know enough yet about this location to know what it overlooks. I know it is a city, but so different from the New York I grew up in. This is a desert city. There are mountains! And people who are not rushing about. The university is a big influence and I hope to get there before this is over. A reading, a performance, just a few hours in the library with my notebook. This may be, as Richard Hugo wrote, my triggering town. We'll see.

Pigeons rapidly strut in front of me on the path, don't fly away, at least a dozen at a time, as if I'm herding them. Little Bo Peep and her herd of pigeons!

And that pile of rocks deliberately placed. A cairn? Who knows? I just take each day at a time now, allow for magic or pain, and X them off the calender. A path of X's that will lead to the end of this situation we're in now and into new territory.

Outside tonight the mountains are hazy with dust. 
A child crying runs through the hallway outside my door. 
Her family speaks only Mexican Spanish. 
Her cries are fluent in all languages.

 

age defying

Sometimes a little joy and laughter can come from unexpected places. Like yesterday when old friend Ted drove up from Santa Fe in his new car, to visit with us.

Since he and Ron are car guys there was a lot of admiring, and sitting in this car's interior that smells (as it's owner says) like a Gucci loafer. Yes. I have to agree the smell of that leather interior was special and, of course, they went out driving for awhile. I sat in the driver's seat and although it adjusts about 18 different ways, I'm just too short for a luxury sports car. Oh well. There are worse things in life, which we are quickly learning about.

Ron was pleased to have this car sitting in his driveway and now he's considering his own Bucket List and how he might fulfill his long-standing Porsche desire.

This morning I read this quote from Dr. Kelly Flanagan (clinical psychologist) that turns around fashion magazines' meaningless and superficial headlines into something else. He took some of the headlines on the covers of those mags and wrote about each one to his young daughter (check out his blog). This is one I especially like:

Age Defying: Your skin will wrinkle and your youth will fade, but your soul is ageless. It will always know how to play and how to enjoy and how to revel in this one-chance life. May you always defiantly resist the aging of your spirit.

Both car guys are in their 70's (as I am) and they still revel in driving along a desert highway at high speed. As for me, I know there is joy and new life to live, no matter one's age.

mingled by one wind

from the vast
Just another ordinary day dawns in northern New Mexico. I couldn't figure out which direction to shoot with my little camera, so once again I was out in the 35 degree temp (not bad for the hour), on the deck (wearing shoes this time) -- slowly I turned.... Days' beginnings and endings are mostly spectacular here and in more than two decades I've never quite taken them for granted. Each one holds its own enchantment or drama and I continue to relentlessly try to capture it with a small camera lens. I am a possessive type. Want to own the sunrise and the moon and flowers, keep them in my knapsack like Basho did -- his within his poems -- mine within my camera (and poems).

Those are the big dramas of our planet in one small location in the Southwest. The aurora borealis is lighting up the skies in another place and I hope someday I can see that, too. But for today, I'm here and the clouds are swollen with moisture that we all hope and pray falls upon our so dry land. NM is in its worst drought since 1898 or so.

to the small

These feathers were part of what looked like a bird slaughter in the park. There was no body, only many feathers, beautiful and sad at the same time. Just like the short video posted on facebook that I watched this morning. It shows a gorgeous Midway Island in the Pacific: seagulls, ocean, mist, hatching birds on the beach being fed by the adult birds. And then we see another reality, dead and dying birds, bellies slit open to reveal the detritis of humanity. Plastic rings, pieces of metal, pencils, bottle caps...I don't need to go on...you can see it for yourself at www.trulymind.com. Please check it out. I don't know what can be done to stop this destruction of nature. What will be left for our great grandchildren if this continues, except pictures in books and displays in museums. Also, please read Moby-Duck: The True Story of 28,000 Bath Toys Lost at Sea, by Donovan Hohn. There are groups of people trying to clean up the seas, but it's a huge task and needs to start at the corporation and consumption level--what are the odds for that?

I certainly never expected to join the crew 
of a fifty-one-foot catamaran captained 
by a charismatic environmentalist, 
the Ahab of plastic hunters...
         Donovan Hohn (from Epigraph (Moby Duck...)

control? lol

Due to the warmish (and very dry) weather we've had recently, I'm back to walking in the park almost every day and I never know what I'll run into. Like the child's sock hanging from the branch of a bush resembling an alien spring flower in the otherwise umber foliage. I long for color and in many ways it comes to me. The pairs of angora blend hand warmers that I knitted and sent to two very special daughters. Mine and a friend's. The yarn is Rowan's Angora Haze. Sumptuous! (the one on the right is actually a warm olive, not gray as picked up by the camera).

my excuse
Because I've been away from this blog for so long and so many friends check in regularly, I feel I'd like to tell you some of what's happening in my life at this time. My husband has been diagnosed with a rare cancer called nasopharengeal. It strikes about 1 in 100,000 people in the USA and is more prevalent in China and Africa and people of those ancestries (Ron is Sicilian-American!). He has been told the condition is treatable and is taking steps to prepare for it. Because the cancer is located in a very difficult place to get to, surgery isn't possible and he will have to endure specifically targeted chemo and radiation. He is not a young man and the preparation itself has been difficult. As in all diagnoses of this kind, both of our lives have turned upside down. New obstacles have been thrown in our paths. I have not been able to work on my book(s) and he has certainly not been able to work on steel sculpture in his studio. We have many supporters out there who care, send positive energy, prayers, and offer help. Our family is far away and that makes things a bit more complicated for all of us. But we endure and find ways to help each other. What other choice is there? I'm working on letting go when things get overwhelming. Meltdowns aren't pretty. I came upon this great, simple, quote recently and it's become my mantra:

As for color, I thank a dear friend for coming by with cheerful flowers to brighten up our lives for a brief time.

islands in the sky

After all these years, after all the thousands of photos I've taken of sunsets, there's always something new. These clouds, like islands in the sky.

The moon rising, in and out of pink clouds, over The Sacred Mountain.

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me
suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed
in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.
          Rainer Maria Rilke  (trans. Stephen Mitchell)

a sense of time

My beautiful landscape as seen from the second floor deck off the kitchen. I grab the little camera and step out into a surprisingly mild evening. On my long walk in the park today I heard songbirds somewhere in the trees. It will come. The thing called Spring. Meanwhile the tiger stripes on the snowy mountain mesmerize once again -- how many years have I seen this sight? How many photos have I taken -- and each one slightly different? Will I ever be able to leave this place?

Too many things to do these days. My husband dealing with a serious medical condition, decisions to be made, myriad details to pull together, places we have to go. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed. I've stopped pretending everything is fine to him or anyone else and just allow myself to be who I am at the moment. I met up with my friend Joan for lattes yesterday morning. Joan  is a serial knitter a hundred floors above me who is designing and teaching. She surprised me with a gorgeous skein of mink yarn. Mink! 100%! (Trendsetter). It was so thoughtful -- and the yarn is amazing. It's brushed from the undercoat of the minks twice a year -- apparently the minks are treated well ("with respect") because an unhealthy animal's hair won't make a beautiful yarn. So no animals were harmed in the making of this yarn. This particular skein is hand-dyed, making it even more delicious to work with.

As soon as I got home I immediately began knitting a Colonnade shawl/scarf (Stephen West Designs). There is just enough yardage for it (if not I'll finish the lace edging with some cashmere that I have in a similar color combo). What a pleasure it is to work with. I realized that I haven't done much knitting in the last couple of months. A pair of hand warmers for a friend, a pair of socks for another friend. A couple (or more) UFOs will, hopefully, be finished soon. But when I touched this yarn I put everything else aside and remembered, as I worked, that this kind of knitting is therapy for me. A meditation that takes up a piece of my overactive mind and forces me to let go as my hands do their thing and I have to count stitches or purl, or yarn over.... It's what got me through a couple of intense sessions recently. I've only been able to blog about once a week lately, and will continue to do so until some space opens up in my life. Soon, I hope. Meanwhile, I'll just enjoy the view, the yarn, a good book, and allow love to envelope me from many different angles.

mountain high

After a day and a half of wind and lowering skies, the clouds lifted yesterday late afternoon to reveal new snow on the mountains. It's always a stunning sight, no matter how many times I see it. I'd just returned from a lovely afternoon. First at Moby Dickens bookshop for Phyllis Hotch's reading and talk and then a small group of women friends walked to the coffee shop and we talked and laughed non-stop covering every subject from illness, creativity, midnight poems, love, loss, weather. Just the thing I needed as my husband is about to begin treatment for a rare cancer. I came home inspirited and was able to convey some of that to him and mitigate his concerns for a little while. For the next couple of months we will probably be living somewhere else as he receives treatment so there's lots to do to prepare for that -- one reason why I haven't been blogging more than once a week. But we're hopeful and have tremendous support from family and friends near and far.

For now, I look up at the solid glowing mountain and something of its strength and light emanates down toward us to tell me that the future will be bright. In spite of the turmoil and "startling changes" for the world that feng shui experts are predicting for the Chinese Year of the Wooden Horse (which is apparently marked by considerable fire -- fire and wood? uh, oh).

And in honor of the Chinese New Year of the Wooden Horse, Issa's poem:
     Hey, sparrow!
out of the way,
     Horse is coming.