begin with Yes

Frankly friends, I don't know where the special effects for this photo came from.  It's a mystery. Yes, it's the view from my kitchen window, but the falling snow? Wow. Magic? At the same time that this appeared, the photos I was downloading disappeared. So. What does this all mean? It's been a difficult year and it is drawing to a close in many ways subtle and not so. I've learned that meditation helps, saying yes and breathing helps, knitting helps. In the midst of an anxious week I came upon a skein of cashmere yarn that I'd purchased a year ago and forgotten about.

It's from Lobster Pot Yarns and the name alone is compelling. Dyed in lobster pots, dried in the wind of east coast beaches. Lovely! So I began to knit a Colonnade triangle/lace scarf and more magic happened. The soft luxury of this Mongolian cashmere and the color called Shoreline Heather (lighter than the photo) seemed to bring an inexplicable inner peace. I'm loving it, appreciating it and very very grateful for the animals that give us their wool. To all the sheep, goats, alpacas, and silkworms, thank you! Thank you to the trees that produce apples in Christmas colors, too!

I'm writing a lot these days, filling notebooks, mostly with junk. Sometimes I have the greatest urge to consign them to flames, but haven't done so thus far. What I do know is that I'm not writing very often on this blog because too many other things are clamoring for attention. Therefore, I am going to take some time off. As Terry Tempest Williams said recently on her facebook page, I am going to take three months off from most social media and do what the bears do. They hibernate from now until the Spring Equinox. Tonight I meet with a group of women who will be celebrating the return of the light on this Winter Solstice night and then it's a 21st century version of hibernation. I'll be back in the spring. I hope you will meet me here then. For now, I'm poised and ready. See you when the robins are twittering and the meadowlarks are calling from fenceposts again

Life is a Hallelujah
Hallelujah when we're born
Hallelujah when we die
And Halleluljah when we rise each morning
           T. T. W.

afternoon beer

Many years ago, I was part of a survey team researching New Mexico quilts. The project was the brainchild of Dorothy Zopf, quilter and retired art teacher, who discovered that there was no data on an extremely important element in Hispanic New Mexican life: handmade quilts. The survey was conducted over several years, spread to Anglo quilts as well, and the result was Dorothy's book, Surviving the Winter. I was one of five women who helped with the research. My job was scribe and backup photographer and I loved toting notebook and compact 35mm camera on each trip.

Last evening Dorothy and I were invited to speak to an audience at the Taos Retirement Village Center about our adventures along the highways, byways and rural areas of NM. It had been snowing in Taos all day but I was able to navigate the roads into town from my perch in Des Montes at 7500 feet (Dorothy lives in the village and just walked over). The invitation prompted me to search through personal notes, photos, articles and poems I'd written at that time. A favorite experience was afternoon beer at The Rosebud Saloon in Mountainair. Although written long ago, it still resonates.

The Rosebud Saloon

Thursday afternoon
southwestern New Mexico
early summer beer
at the Rosebud Saloon
pool table fluorescent lights
guys in big hats at the bar.
I think about danger
something I read once
men and bars in afternoons
in remote towns. Here
it's only a TV rerun of
This Old House.

They take no notice
of five old girls who want to
carve their initials into the table
laughing in their beer
laughing with each other.

Maybe the sun's shining outside
maybe not, in the Rosebud Saloon
bright light illuminates fading hair
wrinkles, someone has arthritis
a guy at the bar tips his hat
red light blinks Budweiser's Best
and I wonder whose dream I'm in.

seeing more directly what is true

Beware of that determined slide to the worst possible, barely imaginable scenario. You don't have to go there. Let's just see what happens now.        (Sharon Salzberg) 

(facsimile of Emily Dickinson's handwriting with ED mittz)

Good advice, since I just spent the last half hour or more writing and whining about waking up at 3 am to impossibly strong winds blowing in a snowstorm that turned my mind to typical wee hours thoughts of disaster, loss, old age, disease, joy, worry and doubt. When I'd finished writing, all my too many words and photos disappeared. So that's what happened then. This is now. It's snowing. It's pretty. It's winter. The dark time is coming.

Now that I've gotten that out of my system (without any wi-fi connectivity issues), I sit at my kitchen table writing in mid-morning as the snow comes and goes and have faith that in a day or so the sun will return in a Taos blue sky. There is food in the house, my cup of tea nearby, a notebook, camera (just in case), and wool. Wool. Wool.

Completed this cheerful pair of socks that reminds me of alpine ski lodges, mountains and snow that is actually fun to romp in if one is so inclined (I'm not, although I live in the environment described). I immediately began another sock with colors that simply feel good. Joyous socks, flower garden yarn, faith-in-the-future socks....

We face the darkest time of the year and I admit to often having low feelings around the holidays that include losses and gains, memories and longings. I know others do, too. My antidote is wool, color, the act of hands busily moving to create something pretty while the mind goes off on its alpha journey and diminishes some of the darkness. It is my version of hibernating into the tactile pleasure of mostly silent knitting (and writing -- they go together).

Since I no longer do an annual craft fair, I am not compelled to create "inventory" and now only knit what I love and am in the mood for. Yet I am almost always working on something and once finished I can easily let go. It seems to be about the act rather than acquisition. Since I don't need as many pairs of socks (or sweaters or scarves or hand warmers) as I turn out, they generally disappear onto other feet, hands, necks, heads...because other people love these things, too. Strangers, friends, family. It gives me great pleasure when I see or hear of someone wearing socks or hand warmers I knitted, a granddaughter wearing the felted bag, a poet using the teapot cosy as she writes and sips hot tea.

readjusting

Away from this blog for a long long time, I will try to catch up. Back in Taos now after six weeks or so in the east with friends, family, and a writing retreat. Ron was informed that he is "cancer-free" and although he has to build up his strength and gain some weight, he managed to take care of himself in my absence. Actually, I think he was pleased to be free of my nagging him to eat! I walked a lot, knitted some, wrote a lot and did some shopping in the tri-state area. I found a couple of cool yarn shops and indulged in some Malabrigo Finito yarn for handwarmers and a shawlette (kettle dyed in Uruguay).

I (and my eager assistants) had fun "researching" the ubiquitous New York black and white cookie (the one shown is not the traditional version, but it will do). We had to give up the profject when our jeans got a bit too tight. But we will eventually resume for the cause!

I will post about this fun "project" soon. Back east I got to hang out with some new friends.  One friend, today, sent a photo of a Christmas tree trimmed with balls of cashmere yarn! So you see, besides cookies, they got to know me pretty well! Since my granddaughter and great grandson are planning to visit again in early December I may have to trim a Christmas tree this year -- and while it may not be all about cashmere, it could easily be about yarn balls. If they come though, I suspect I might be forced to open those boxes of old old Xmas ornaments stashed in the garage. We are a sentimental lot -- and I haven't seen those contents in many years. Which reminds me that a high point of my visit was being with my older brother Frank (and his beautiful wife Rita) for a whole day. He cooked for me and we reminisced and laughed a lot (also drank Scotch at 4 pm -- his daily prescription for good health (he's going to be 87 in January so manybe he's on to something).

Walking wooded paths, I encountered more dramatic huge mushrooms I still couldn't identify, colorful spiders, deer and cheerful graffiti.

The weather was generally warm and pleasant, but now "...winter circles and moves in..." (Charles Wright) and I need to wrap myself in wool.

At this time, on a dark night in November, I write, sip chilled Pinot Grigio and eat too many Pirouette Chocolate Hazelnut wafers. Not necessarily a good idea, but life is short and you only live once.

she returns

a different kind of beauty

Still in the northeast, I have spent part of each day (when it isn't raining) walking paths near woods. It feels safe and I'm grateful that there is no strenuous hiking. I have encountered interesting natural phenomena. If you are a regular reader you already know that I am not a naturalist, nor a forest ranger, nor particularly entranced by forging new paths through forests and mountains. And god forbid I have to camp out! That said, I thoroughly enjoy not only city sidewalks, but paths and parks that offer abundant foliage, birds and bees, waterfalls, and places to sit to enjoy them with or without my notebook. At this time of year there is also an abundance of strong color which makes me think I need to find a yarn shop around here and buy some new autumn inspired sock yarn.

This giant monster ear thing mushroom fungus along my path measures about 18 inches from end to end. I have no idea of what it is called or whether it's benign or poisonous. It is thriving at the bottom of a long decaying tree stump on damp soil.

As were the orange mushrooms at the bottom of a log. Now I'm looking for sock yarn that  color. It is so vivid and beautiful. Maybe I'll have to dye some yarn when I get home. I'll use packs of orange Kool Aid and Betty Crocker neon orange food coloring....it's worked before and it's fun.

Oh yes, and there is this colorful creature weaving its tangled web on the glass door of the place I'm staying. It's beautiful and scary and I'll use another door to go in and out. I've been advised to kill it, but I can't seem to do it (instead, I'm looking for sock yarn in that color and pattern).

Meanwhile, on these rainy and overcast October days, I'm trying to work on the manuscripts, listen to music on my iPad and do some journaling and knitting as the days and nights get cooler and cosiness sets in. I finally finished a pair of socks that were dragging along for months and I'll post pictures in a couple of days. I walk, embrace solitude and the occasional good company of other writers. Things seem to be going well at home in Taos where I get reports that the sky is stunningly and cloudlessly cobalt blue day after day and snow has already powdered the highest peaks. I wonder if the aspens have already spread swaths of yellow and salmon on those same peaks. Perhaps it's already past. One more example of impermanence.

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)