a rose is a rose

After more than a year of uncertainty, medical concerns and treatments, things are much better and Ron's doctors are encouraged. So while he regroups before the next round of appointments in Albuquerque in early November, I am taking the opportunity to give myself a long sabbatical from caregiving and creative inertia and am heading east for an extended stay. This has been an exhausting year for everyone and since now there's an open window, I'm jumping out of it! (figuratively, not literally). My granddaughter's old Bert (he emerged from a dusty box when she and Dante visited recently) is sitting on the bookshelf and represents how I feel at this time.

But Bert usually keeps a positive attitude and, taking my cue, I'm packing and getting ready to leave on the midnight flight to New York tomorrow. Will see friends and family before heading to a hideaway. The challenge is packing (is there room for one more sweater?). And figuring out how to stuff one more ball of yarn into the smallish suitcase. I dislike huge heavy luggage and try to avoid it even if it means I have to leave lots of clothes behind and wear pretty much the same things for several weeks. Of course that means blacks and browns and items that can be dressed up or down. But the yarn. How much do I bring, where will I buy more if needed? For me color reigns supreme in sock yarns -- the wilder and brighter the better. I'm currently working on the second sock in this pair which I intend to keep for myself (unless someone looks longingly and asks nicely).

It's another wonderful Opal sock yarn from the Le Petit Prince collection (The Rose of the Little Prince) and it reminds me of summer and watermelon, sunsets and...roses.

Part of my escape involves continued work on my other GIOs (guilt inducing objects) also known as manuscripts. My publisher has given me three months to get a completed/edited manuscript to her (or else) and I intend to meet that challenge. Meanwhile, I look forward to autumn in the northeast. It's been years since I experienced that seasonal transition in the tri-state area. And it seems there's already a plan afoot to pick apples on Sunday with a 3 1/2 year old.

september again

A fine Sunday, playing with my new camera. It is a Panasonic Lumix G and even though I've had it for a few weeks and have experimented with settings (mostly auto and manual), I only began exploring the image effects today. So now I'm hooked on taking highly saturated (by choice) photos. In this season when the air seems naturally color-saturated, it's double the fun.

So many things to be sad, joyful and grateful for these days. The weather, health, the color yellow, love, family visits to NM, the camera, my upcoming visit back east with family and friends, followed by a long writing retreat to complete the final edits on the manuscript I planned to work on starting in January. The plan that was derailed due to life interfering. Funny how that happens. And not necessarily funny.

homage to Barbara...and then there were three...
I learned two days ago that an old friend unexpectedly passed. I'd been planning to see her in a couple of weeks in Connecticut. I knew she was ailing since I'd last seen her in July 2013, but she was holding her own at home and planning to buy a new wardrobe for her grandson's barmitzvah at the end of this month. When our first sons, now in their 50's were toddlers, they played together.  We were all newly married, living in the same garden apartment building in NY and became best friends. Our second sons (now in their late 40s) were best friends when we all lived in the same town in CT. Barbara inspired many of the paths I chose over the decades that altered my life's direction. But most of all I remember the endless summer days when she and I and three other women friends sat in a circle in our sand chairs on Bailey Beach in Rowayton and had our own consciousness raising sessions (otherwise known as bitching and dreaming) while our kids (a dozen in all) played in various configurations around us. Gayle, who moved to Taos around the time we did, and whom I've written about, was one of those women. She left us four years ago. Her daughter recalled those beach days and said: it was the original Sex in the City! How true. We were all young and attractive and it was the early 1970's after all! I intend to visit Bailey Beach when I'm back there. I'm sure the sand is still imprinted with the circle of our chairs.

Barbara Kiley Posner 1935-2014

celebrating the present

I have just emerged from a three week period with various family members visiting. So wonderful.

Granddaughter Kira arrived with our great grandson Dante (3 1/2 years old) -- he's the guy in the BIG Mexican hat above...

Kira was 3 1/2 when she first visited New Mexico and stayed with us every summer for a few weeks until she was a teen. It was such a trip to have him here -- she unearthed her old toys (still stored in the box we put them in 10 years ago -- a bit dusty but serviceable) and he played with them (even Barbie)! Whew! talk about deja vu!

Brigadoon
One day we drove up to Victory Alpaca Ranch in Mora (the place I once called Brigadoon -- so remote-feeling and unchanged), through gorgeous mountain roads and areas where, since I moved here I've wished I was a geologist -- I want to know what those dramatic striations represent (next life maybe) and we arrived in time to feed the alpacas. I'd also promised myself to visit the ranch several times (usually around Wool Festival time in October), but never made it, so I was as psyched as Dante. He is a precocious child who knows a lot about every animal and was terribly excited to see actual alpacas. We arrived, waited in the registration/yarn shop area until the guide came for us. His mother and I talked about his affinity for animals and speculated that he might be a veterinarian someday. As soon as we stepped through the gate with cups of feed in our hands, about fifty or more alpacas started moving toward us like a high tide. Dante freaked out (so did I), dropped his cup and yelled, "I want to look at yarn!" Now how's that for a knitter's great grandson? I scooped him up and we headed for the exit and I said to his mother, who stayed on for awhile, forget the veterinarian idea!

Once in the yarn shop he happily touched the soft yarns and items made from it, commented on each and every color and feel and seemed to have no regrets that the "mean" alpacas had so surprised him. His mother admitted that among the gentle alpacas there was one white one who bared its teeth and looked mean. I think it was the one she later took a selfie with...he seems to be smiling...doesn't look mean at all...

While she was here, she totally reorganized my kitchen and helped me declutter. Now that she's gone, although I can't seem to find anything, all I have to do is channel her and it guides me to what I'm looking for. I'm grateful for her youthful energy and caring. Both visits perked Ron up considerably and we were all pleased that his oncologists reported, after tests earlier this month, that they are encouraged.

This was my birthday month and even at my advanced age, I consider birthday months special and celebratory. This one was. Kira and Dante went horseback riding and prior to that, the neighbors' horses showed up -- all much to the delight of my city-dwelling family.

"If I knew that this would be the last time I hear your voice, I'd take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I'd tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already."
     Gabrial Garcia Marquez

bright moon musings

I can hardly believe that's it's been over a month since I last posted on this blog. A had another writing retreat in July and other things have happened, some good, some ifey (is there such a word?). The horses came back. That is good.

And they are super-friendly, hanging out at our wall.

Especially after my son and his granddaughter fed them apples and carrots and chatted them up.

They visited with us for a week (Chris and Megan, not the horses, they're gone already) and it was a lovely week. Good weather, good food and company. We did some sightseeing at Taos Pueblo, The Rio Grande Gorge Bridge (600 feet down and the site of yet another suicide three days before we were there).

I tried to post a photo of the Gorge but it won't download so you'll just have to take my word that it's a long way down.

they're coming! they're coming!
Tomorrow my oldest granddaughter Kira arrives from NYC with great grandson Dante. Can't wait to see them. It will be his first visit to New Mexico. She came out every summer from the age of 3 1/2, until about sixteen and it was the happiest time of my year. Time marches on and a new generation will be here soon. He hasn't yet figured out what to call me and as far as I know I'm still greatgrammieinnewmexico. He and his cousin sang happy birthday (on a video post) to me recently using that long appellation. Maybe we will figure it out in the coming week while they're here. I'm thinking, GG. What do you think?

health news
Ron had a full body scan in early August and his doctors are encouraged. He's slowly gaining weight and spending more time in his studio every day. A very good thing. And I've had the help of a lovely man who has stepped in to do all the stuff around the property and the house that Ron hasn't been able to do for more than a year. Sean is a real treasure and managed to subdue the riot of weeds and grasses that had taken over the entire driveway and surrounding area. He removed a dead pine tree that we learned died after seven years because the plastic rope that held the burlap in place around the roots was never removed. We literally strangled the tree. Hopefully, we will plant another tree with a bit more knowledge this time. 

retreating more each day
I managed to get away to the New York area for a writing retreat in July. Also got to see the new Trade Center building and, in my opinion, it's beautiful. I was in Manhattan on a hot, humid, crowded day. I think the whole world was also there for the same reason.

I hope to get away again in September or October to visit friends and family and take a couple of solitary weeks for myself. I'm still aiming for Spring/Summer publication of my collection of essays and I have to get to work! The thing is that I really have to resume editing and rewriting or it won't happen. I don't seem able to do much at home at my desk where it is impossible for me to put aside diversions and things that have to be taken care of daily which include, among many other things, coffees and lunches with my friends! That's the good part and I won't list the bad ones. Ever hopeful, I'm expecting a general easement this Fall. And I will try to get back in the blog groove. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

On particularly bad days when I'm sure I can't possibly endure, I like to remind myself that my track record for getting through bad days so far is 100%.
           anon.

a gathering of nations

Last weekend was the 29th Annual Taos Pueblo Pow Wow - I hadn't attended for a few years, but this year I felt compelled. The Grand Entry was the most glittery and spectacular I'd ever seen. Feathers and satins, beads, bells, fringes, moccasins, gorgeous shawls. Traditional garb has acquired lots of bling since the last time I was there. The sun shone down bright and hot as hundreds of spectators watched Native Americans from locations all over North America dance and drum. When the drumming began it brought tears to my eyes. There is something deep and profound in those archetypal sounds. The beautiful drums are as large as tables and up to eight or ten men drum and sing traditional and new songs in their languages.

I stayed for several hours searching for patches of shade as I ate a Navajo Taco, drank fresh cold lemonade and tried to take photos over the heads of people much taller than me.

The man in a wheelchair very far in the background of this photo is Tony Reyna who was honored as a former governor of the Pueblo, a WWII hero, and a 98 year old elder. I remember way back in 1986 when I first visited the Pueblo village and stopped in his shop, looking for film for my camera. He asked me where I was from (I didn't look like a native Taoseno then and still don't. I'm often still mistaken for a tourist). We talked for awhile. Tony asked me what I did back east. I said "I write." His response: "then you don't need film, your words are all you need to remember what you see." I've never forgotten that comment even though I've taken thousands of photos since. He was a handsome man then, he's a handsome man now. I wish him many more years of life and many more Pow Wows.

As the afternoon wore on, clouds gathered over the Sacred Mountain, the temperature dropped about 15 degrees and a lovely dark sky rainstorm ensued.

when I am silent
I have thunder hidden inside
           Rumi

"don't mind the sparks"

Yesterday's walk in the park seemed to be all about summer color. There was something about the clarity of the light. Cool air, hot sun, the craft fair that I avoided. I woke too early with low energy so decided to allow myself a lazy day with as much solitude as I could find. No grocery shopping, no Fourth of July fetes to attend at various friends' homes. The drive to the park revealed how crowded our small town is during this holiday weekend and I wasn't up for that. As for fireworks, I planned to ignore them or watch from my second floor deck just as I have in many years past. I remembered about halfway through the display and decided to try for some pictures with my zoom lens. I grabbed the camera and barefoot, in PJs, basically unprepared, began shooting.

The photos are mostly a washout but the challenge was fun and it was wonderfully chilly in the night air. Accompanying the far away sparkling blasts (I couldn't hear the booms over the thunder), lightning regularly lit up the whole sky, instant brief daylight, mighty competitors. I tried to capture nature's sudden lights but they were just too rapid for my equipment to handle. Earlier, on the phone, my daughter and I reminisced about the many times when she visited or granddaughter Kira stayed with us and we sat on the deck wrapped in blankets and sweaters and sipped lavender tea with honey (wine for me) and watched the display from our very own private perch. My thoughts were all about those long ago days as I watched alone last night, remembering that last year's holiday was spent with them in Connecticut.

I had no idea last year on the Fourth of July how my life would soon change in many ways over the next year. There were major losses and gains, inevitable change, inflation, deflation, joy, despair. I published a few things, did a couple of readings, stopped writing for awhile, refused workshops and invitations, knitted more, knitted less (still working on this one sock), started filling notebooks again and had many deep talks with best friends and family.

Those talks with more objective beings helped get me through this time without stabbing myself in the eye with a knitting needle. They're still helping and I am more than grateful. I'm not afraid to cry out when I need help and those that care hear and come knocking at my metaphorical door. And speaking of objective beings, the horses are back! Six!

There are two young ones among the adults (I think they're all mares): the two year old who was born on our land and her mother who birthed another foal last year while I was away. The grasses are very high in the fields as you can see from the photo and these lovely creatures (also known as eating machines) are enjoying it immensely. As I am enjoying watching them. They exude tranquility and decorate the landscape. All but one were taken away yesterday for the Arroyo Seco parade, but they will be back. The one left behind spent the day neighing loudly looking in the direction in which she'd last seen them. When I went outside to see what the noise was all about, she immediately came trotting to me. Unfortunately, I was not who she was looking for.

Lightning is not guidance.
Lightning simply tells the clouds to weep.
Cry a little. The streak-lightning of our minds
comes so that we'll weep and long for our real lives.
     Rumi (trans. Coleman Barks)

flanerie

"the photographic shot is one of my sketchpads"
Henri Cartier-Bresson compared his camera to an artist's sketch book. I remember these words at the beginning of another summer and how many summer days I've had in my long life, the season of the first time of my existence. How many beaches and bathing suits, sandy walks, sun tans and waves breaking on shore? Inevitably, I wonder how many more I'll have -- and muse about how photographs end up being all that's left of a time and place.

This one is from the early 1920's. My mother (the pretty one on the right) with her brothers, sister, friends. The young man on the far left (wearing that improbable bathing cap) would become my father more than two decades later. In their bathing costumes they spent summers on the Bronx beaches of Throggs Neck and for as long as I can remember my mother reminisced wistfully about those days.

This may have been the only time of her long life when she felt joy and freedom. Beautiful, young, she bobbed her hair, drove a Tin Lizzie, was sought after by handsome young men and hadn't yet stepped into what was for her a paralyzing role. Marriage, children, not enough education, caregiver to her parents, a life mired in quotidian details. She was rarely happy when I knew her and there was often a faraway look in her eyes. Not uncommon among women of her era and milieu.

In my life I've erroneously stumbled onto some of the same paths my mother took. The difference is that I know I don't have to continue walking them -- thanks to the Feminist movement of the1970's when my eyes were opened once and for all. Thanks to something inside of me that has been described by Buddhists as a river of longing and by others as a refusal to accept things as they are.

what I am looking for, above all else, is to be attentive to life
          Henry Cartier-Bresson