Snip , snip

One of the most challenging things to teach Beau James is impulse control. I have seen such improvement with consistent training. He is much more patient, and last night stayed totally cool and calm while I worked for a good long while in the garden. Might have just been the time of day, but I gave him lots of “good dog” encouragement because he was using self control.

Learning to control my own impulses is another story. Yesterday, I decided I needed to a haircut and because I am somewhat reluctant to sit down for a hairdresser, I figured I could just cut it myself. Or at least get a start on it. So , I watched a YouTube about how to put your hair up in a ponytail and snip off the ends. The girl had perfect hair, I sort of followed her directions – snip, snip – and hey not too bad, but maybe a little uneven. I regretted my impatience, and decided I better go to town and have a real hairdresser fix me up. The first place I called was full for the day. But once I was in Chelan, I looked up a few more places I could go. I didn’t have much time, as Beau was in the back of the car, and I don’t like to leave him for long. There was one place I found that was a combination Barber and Hairdresser Shop. The owner only accepted walk-ins, which was perfect for me… but when she opened up after lunch, I was fourth in line behind two older men and one younger. I found out she only accepted cash after the young man had to leave to get cash from Walmart. I realized I only had about 7 dollars and the cut cost $17. I thought about going for cash, but by that time I had lost my patience and just drove home. What the heck, I can just do this myself , I thought. This time I didn’t’ even consider watching an instructional video, just ponied up, and chopped off a little more. It actually turned out pretty good , which does not bode well as I will likely suffer the consequences of impulsivity in the future and not fare so well.

Lessons from the garden

Earlier this week, I came up with the bright idea of adding a design element of a trellis to a garden bed that is already lushly growing a sweet border crop of radishes, little red ones and daikon, a center section of mixed Asian greens, edging of onions, and little side planting of strawberries, oh yes, and an under planting of cilantro. My idea was to move an awkward piece of double hung piece of steel 4×4 fencing from one end of our garden to another. It weighs about 50 lbs. , judging by Pa’s and my estimate.` My thought was, well, if I move the fence over there, I will get it off of the lilies it is crushing, and also that bed might need a trellis for some plant , who knows? Pole beans maybe? Let me tell you, moving that fence over a fully planted garden, that I share with my neighbor, was challenging. Plus, my 11 month old puppy Beau James was in an off leash “stay back” command on the deck.

But “go ahead” I said to myself. Just the other day, I had used Pa’s industrial strength bolt cutters to bend approximately 75 little end pieces of that same kind of 4×4 fencing to make a nice edge string of bent iron loops to fit a bamboo pole into. ( see featured photo above ) The poky ends are scary and I wanted to make it safe for people to walk through. I also had hung a large sculptural piece of ironwork on our lovely steel arbor -made with remnants of fencing we brought home when Entiat used to have a metal recycling day, some iron mesh found at The Pines, angle iron and rebar. Both of those efforts were substantial, but gardening and dog rearing have made me stronger and more confident.

I managed to maneuver the fencing to the bed without destroying hardly a plant, but once to the destination, I needed to open the base of the two-sided trellis and stabilize is, which turned out to be impossible. I turned it around , leaned it over, and slowly worked all the angles using all the leverage tricks I knew. Nothing worked. I was stuck with a heavy weight leaning against me, and a delicate patch of young plants and vulnerable irrigation pipes beneath me.

Just as I was standing there stuck in one place, the meter reader guy drove up in our driveway. Naturally, Beau began his barking and I was sure that I would have to lay the fencing down and smash something to prevent an encounter between him and the guy. But miraculously, he stayed behind the “stay back line” (which is just an imaginary line drawn with a sweep of my hand as I say “stay back” ) ! I thought about asking the guy for a hand, but knew if he approached, Beau would lose it, and then I would have more to contend with than being stuck. So I just said “hi!”, and praised Beau for his self control.

Still stuck, I gave up, and realized my only option was to pick the fence up and move it out of the garden totally and decide later if and where to place it, next time with help from Pa, which I did.

This failed attempt brought to mind several maxims :

  • Be very careful where you step and what you step on
  • Trust your strength and stretch your limits, but take your time.
  • When you lose control over a situation, stay calm, and hopefully others will too.
  • Giving up on an idea is sometimes a good idea.

I came in for lunch and to read. This NYTimes article captured my attention, and perfectly expressed my sense of wonder and worry about out beautiful earth. It is somewhat unrelated to my experience, but then again, I feel that we need to listen carefully and intently to the wisdom of other living creatures and rely less and less on our human perspective.

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/05/13/opinion/united-nations-extinction.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share

Madison,WI 1971

Dolly and I moved into our efficiency apartment , in the fall just before school started. We decorated with what we brought from K.C., Mo, got cheap at second hand stores, or what Daddy sent us. It felt modern to have bunk beds. We draped “cool” aqua fishnet – imagining ourselves mermaids. We splurged on the purchase of a used record player and round speakers that had and 2 records: James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James and Moody Blues Days of Future Passed. Our exposure to the music of the 60’s and 70’s had been through TV or radio ( “WHB – the world’s happiest broadcasters” ). We watched Ed Sullivan, Laugh-In, Sonny and Cher, Hee Haw and Lawrence Welk with Nanny on her color TV. Like all in our generation, we were Beatles fans, but I was enchanted by The Carpenters. In October, ’71 Rod Stewart’s Maggie May came out and can still bring me right back to that time . We had gone through such a confusing time. Now in Madison, we were teenagers in a city of teenagers and 20 year olds and caution flew to the wind . Teri lived upstairs from us in the apartment building and introduced us to marijuana, Quincy Jones and Isaac Hayes. She had the coolest apartment with a glass covered wagon for a coffee table on a zebra pattern area rug. We smoked pot, ate ice cream and granola, chocolate cake and coffee, and went for rides in her car. I enrolled at West High , but spent many hours away from the campus , exploring my newfound freedom or lost in dreams. Leaving Kansas City meant leaving behind attempts to fit in with the “in” crowd. My junior year of high school at West was a chance at a new identity, but who was I ? Owning a bicycle in Madison was essential. Mine was a rickety three dollar three speed. We rode Lakeshore Path, canoed from the UW student union across Lake Mendota to Picnic Point, hiked and hitchhiked back and forth to the UW campus. We ate the legendary ice cream made at Babcock Hall, drank pitchers of beer in the Rathskeller, and raided the gardens we thought were experimental UW Ag gardens, but which were student housing community gardens. Nanny came to visit us that fall, and was initiated into all of our exploits. Somewhere there is a picture of Nanny standing in the gardens biting into a contraband tomato

That Thanksgiving, Dolly and I took the train to Chicago and the El Train to Evanston to share the holiday with Ruth Louise , who was living in a dorm at Northwestern. The dorm had one kitchen available to students. We were last in line and finally ate turkey and stuffing and all the fixings ( including green beans cooked in a coffeepot ) after midnight. Nanny took the train from Kansas City to join us for our first feast away from home. We likely slept in Ruth’s small dorm room, and Nanny on a couch in the commons area. Thanksgiving had traditionally been at Nanny’s home, prepared solely by her. Certainly the pain of losing her daughter, and then all of the grandchildren to locations far from home must have weighed heavily on her heart. She was willing to forego comfort and even dignity for the salve of being close to the children she had given so much of her life to raise. There have been many Thanksgivings and delicious meals since, but the pleasure of waiting for and sharing good food we had prepared ourselves began that night with our midnight meal.

Tofu

I am trying to remember when I first tasted tofu, and why I love it so much. I probably tried it first after hearing about it from my sister Ruth, and likely Gary and I first bought at the First Alternative Coop in Corvallis, OR in ’76 or ’77 when I was pregnant with my firstborn. Soon, we were making our own tofu from the basic elements of soybeans, water and nigari , a type of sea-salt used as a coagulant for the soy milk. It seems to have gone through an era of unpopularity which perplexed me. Maybe that reputation is fading, as the need for we humans to eat a more plant based diet grows more and more evident. And the association of soy with good health is surely evidenced by its long historical consumption in Asia. It has been consumed for over 2,000 years in China and at least a thousand in Japan. Those of us who know the tender freshness of just pressed tofu know it as a homey, delicious taste. I liken the difference between store-bought and homemade, to the difference between store-bought and freshly made bread. The use of nigari brings the aroma of the ocean to my senses. The process of making tofu is described best in The Book of Tofu, by William Shurtleff and Akiko Aoyagi My sister Ruth recently posted a pic of her own return to tofu making and I am inspired ( as I am so often by her good example ) to bring out the basic equipment necessary and to spend the early morning hours of a snowy morning to practice one of the best of my cooking skills.

Goodbye Kansas City, Hello World

Our house in K.C., Mo. was so overflowing with stuff that when visitors arrived the protocal was to ‘Quick, turn the lights off! Throw a sheet over the table!”, so that they couldn’t see the mess. We had trouble entering  our bedrooms because the doorways were blocked by clothes hanging on pull-up bars between jambs. Our home was a classic two story colonial in the school district of Southwest High School, which had the reputation of being one of the best public schools in the nation. Nanny had instilled the reasoning that housekeeping was a waste of talent in comparison to the more lofty pursuits of  education, music, drama and sports. When it fell upon us as children to dispense of all that accumulation it was a Sisyphean tempered with Bacchnalian escapes to Loose Park’s fountains after swigs of Boones Farm Apple Wine.  Jimmy’s request was to someday have only the barest essentials necessary to life – a clean bed and a checkbook.  And one day, near the end of the summer of 1971,  we made it happen. I remember his laughter when he discovered his wish granted.

In September, Ruth Louise left for college with the departing salute, “Goodbye Kansas City, Hello World!” .  Dolly and I packed our trunks, suitcases  and duffles and boarded the train for Madison , Wisconsin.  Train travel ran in our blood. Harley , our grandfather had been an inspector for the Santa Fe line.  Nanny  had a lifelong pass and all three of her children including Mama had extensively traveled the country by train when they were young. As kids , we made regular trips between Kansas City and Chanute, Kansas on the train and by car. Travel by train fills a sentimental yearning, comforting and exciting.  

What I had heard about Madison from Dolly was true.  It would be my first exposure to the exciting vibrancy of a college town in the lovely lake country of Wisconsin. In 1971 Madison was riding the youthful wave of dissension and experimentation. Over 40,000 students came to seek their future at the UW.  Everyone rode bikes and hitchhiked to their destinations. Riots protesting Vietnam on the UW campus were continuing  after the Dow Chemical riot and the Sterling Hall bombing of 1968. We were  bound  to join this explosive scene. It was a dramatic contrast to the more conservative midwestern lifestyle in which cheerleading, football, dances and high school plays were my passions. In our suitcases were all the things we imagined we’d  need for  beginning the rest of our lives. I don’t recall going to a store to shop for our wardrobes, because from under the piles of clothes that had mostly been rummage sale finds, there were dresses, fur coats, shoes and treasures from Mama’s more glamorous past.  We had tried on and divided the random and beautiful relics to outfit our new personas. Amongst our choices were  a black velveteen halter style one piece bathing suit,  several sheer embroidered peasant style blouses,  dresses from the 1930’s , a full length skunk fur coat, and some really lovely impractical satin night gowns.  We had impractically everything to  start our new lives and hopefully new romances.  Our cooking experience was really minimal , as Mama had skipped learning or educating us in that field. We filled our duffel bags with pots and pans we saved from the kitchen and as we dragged them through the Chicago train station we fell down with the strain and hilarity we felt as we drew attention to ourselves the clattering noise.

 

Beau’s Creed

Long ago, growing up in Kansas City, we adopted a little black dog with wavy fur,  a little white badge on his chest.  As we sat and played with this little puppy at the breakfast room table, thinking up names,  it was Dolly who came up with Boo Boo.  Fitting,  because it was certainly a mistake for our family to have a dog. If you lived on our block, you would have seen early morning dashes as one or two of us ran through your yard racing to catch Boo Boo, who had gotten loose from his chain.   Finally cornering, luring or improbably wearing him out we would fling our bodies on his and finally be able to head to school.  Coincidentally, my husband Gary had the same kind of experience, his dog was a sleek Afghan capable of leaping tall fences, and attaining speeds of 30 mph or more.  Upon Sparrow’s capture, school was probably out of Gary’s plan for the day.  What a strange rite of passage we shared. Surely there must have been some  gain from these early morning runs, if only to burn some teenage angst from our spirits.  Later in Boo Boo’s life , when tragedy struck our family, his life became the pattern our own lives seemed to be following. Mama had died, and we were set free upon the world. Jimmy, our older brother who had interviewed Jean Paul Sartre shared the basics of existentialism with us.  I thought I totally got it – the pointlessness of Life.    We made up the philosophy of the Boo Boo cycle as we sorted through the mountains of clothes, belongings, and the  accumulation  from years of Mama’s aching  need to find comfort in things and  thrill  in  rummage sale treasure hunting. As we packed bag after large garbage bag to be given away, totalling by the end of the summer to over a thousand, we considered the highs and lows of life, the mundane and the profound. That summer we were challenged to find meaning,  when life seemed to offer both nothing and everything.  For soon we would all at once scatter in 4 directions from the home we had grown up in.  Ruth Louise to college at Northwestern, Jimmy to law school at Yale, Johnny to Oklahoma with Daddy, and Dolly back to school at the UW Madison. I went with Dolly to live in a small apartment and attend West High School. Only  Nanny, our  maternal elderly grandmother who lived 2 blocks away would be left behind.   – to be continued.

Falling in love with a small town on the shore of the mighty Columbia

F486A7FB-A6E9-43F3-9E2B-7D7FF5CCD6A4  I remember well when our family first arrived at this very park in the summer of 1981. Gary, my husband and I with our 2 children Geoffrey and Ruthie were traveling with a group of young likeminded friends seeking adventure, camaraderie and work in the orchards.  As our caravan of 4 or 5 vehicles including trailers , a converted bus , and vans pulled into the north end of the park and came upon the view we see here now, my heart felt a connection and sense of wonder at arriving at this most beautiful place.. It was likely the magic of my heart finding home. I am originally a Midwesterner but had met the love of my life , Gary Dalgas in Corvallis Oregon. We had traveled with our friends from Corvallis, using CB radios to communicate along the way. Once past the magnificent giant bluffs of the Columbia River Gorge, we continued north on I90. We stopped in Yakima finding ash still remaining from the explosion of Mt. St. Helens from the previous late spring. At the juncture of Hwy 97 and 97A we took 97 on the east side of the Columbia intending on finding orchard work in Brewster where our friends John and Lynn Bain had worked the previous summer.  Somehow, we surmised , in error, that we were on the wrong side of the river, and we needed to turn around and take 97A. I have always been thankful for our fortuitous but confused sense of direction then, as it led us to fair Entiat , where the fates had meant for us to be all along.

I believe I share the curiosity many of you have about how of all places, people land here in Entiat. The question we often ask each other is “Where are you from?. There is always a story, each unique.  Once here, the elements of this small community’s life and the attraction of a river valley in the eastern foothills of the Cascades are revealed and if opportunity and desire converge, home is found.

Several books, most available at the Entiat Public Library, one of thirty branches of the North Central Regional Library system, extoll the virtues of life here. First among the collection that every interested Entiatite should have  access to is Under the Guard of Ol Tyee – a reflection of the early days in the Entiat Valley, by Shorty Long.

This comprehensive collection of stories, photos, and nuggets of history is where I turn when my curiosity about the history of  our river valley is piqued. It is a reliable reference about some of the early individuals and settler families who arrived here in the late 1800s and early 1900s, many of whose descendants  are here today and may have roads, streets and places named after them. These families are the ones who can claim to be authentically local. There is a sense that unless you were born here, regardless of how many years lived here, you are from somewhere else. As written by Beverly Woods Sage in a recently discovered text titled Roots in the Soil, “An undying affinity grows and binds together the hearts of those people who have pioneered a land. An outsider, coming at a later period, cannot comprehend this affinity. …It is at once a beautiful and terrible thing”

That Summer, when Gary and our fellow travelers were hired by Naumes Orchards to pick fruit  we undoubtedly were considered questionable outsiders, living in our gypsy fashion. But I recall many very welcoming and friendly encounters. I recall visiting the small Entiat Library, then housed in the City Hall building and run by Ruth Honey as a welcoming and friendly experience. She surely took to heart the mission of all librarians to be a link to  library resources for patrons of all walks of life. Amongst other books I read during that time was They Came to a River, by Allis McKay. This historical novel, rich in plot and character,  was instrumental in deepening the ties I felt with life here. The main character, Chris Hallowell is the daughter of the missionary pastor and builder and captain of the ferry boat transiting the Columbia between Orondo and Entiat. She embodies  the traits of one who is born here – deep internalized connection what was and still is a rough country, the sounds of the river and the rhythm of it’s seasons. From page 5, “ The sound of the river was not quite the same as at flood time; the gurgle and hiss, the eternal muffled talk of the whirlpools was in a slightly different key. Chris did not know that she heard it; it had been in her ears summer and winter since she could remember. Blindfolded, within hearing of it, she would have said instantly, “It’s July or August now,” and not have known how she knew”.

According to Wendell George,  in his book , Raven Speaks,  , the early Entiat people probably came from the aboriginal Ka-wa-chin who lived near the Rock Island rapids up to the early 1700’s. Wendell George is the great grandson of the last Chief of the Entiat Tribe, Chilcosahaskt, the meaning of whose name is “Standing Cloud” or more poetically “grabbing the sky” . The story is that the cloud led the original people to the Entiat Valley.. George speaks of the role stories played in Indian life. From his book, Coyote Finishes the People , he writes “ In the wintertime, they would gather around the fire after dinner for the story. They told many kinds, but Coyote stories were the highlight of entertainment during those cold winter nights. The children saw themselves in Coyote who was always in trouble but somehow got out of it.  The stories not only preserved the history of the tribe but also included a moral. “. Wendell George goes on to say, “Today our science enables us to see deeper meaning in old stories. Science is coming to agree with the American Indian that we are one with nature.” The passing down of stories throughout history is vital to our understanding of our role and the meaning of life here on earth.   

And this being true, perhaps the most important need for any community is a public library. According to this quote from Albert Einstein, “The only thing that you absolutely have to know, is the location of the library.”  There is a rambling history of all the various places the Entiat Public Library inhabited, and the people who helped it to grow. The importance of having a community public library was evident to the Entiat Women’s Club. The formation and maintenance of a community library began very humbly. In 1935, the library shelf was in the reception area of the Ranck Beauty Shop in the 2nd town of Entiat. A diverse collection of books including personal books from everyone’s homes, were gathered.  Now there’s a fun job, beautician/librarian! Actually, the first librarian was a high school girl who served from 12:30 – 3:30 in the afternoon. In 1941, new shelves were bought and put into the I.O.O.F. Hall . In 1946, the Entiat Library became a branch of the Columbia River Regional Library. Notes from a Women’s Club historical account tell that the library made several more moves in the old town, including to the City Hall building, and then to the basement of the Friends Church. Eventually, through the efforts of Mayor Will Risk and J.P. McDonald, local volunteers, and the Women’s Club, a building was dedicated to the library.  It is this building that is recalled by Marilyn McCord, “It was very well used. I got introduced to Grace Livingstone Hills books. I think I read them all.” Ronda Wood replied, “ I remember that Miss Jo Pardee would come in the summer and read books to whoever wanted to go down there. Great times in that old town!” Somewhere around this time, there was also a branch of the library upriver at the old Ardenvoir school. Peggy Long Whitmore recalls, “I remember the library at the old Ardenvoir school. Mrs. Edes and Berniece Schwinkendorf were 2 librarians I remember. “ While reminiscing, Peggy was reminded that Dorothy Thompson’s mom, Dean Van De Mark, was the librarian upriver during the 50’s and into the 60’s.  Dorothy also recalls Jo Pardee, who was the director of NCRL at that time. Ms Pardee would drive the bookmobile with a delivery of fresh stock of books to the branch. Going to the library was and is, a social activity as well as a place to find books. There was an active Summer Reading Program for kids. As the child of the librarian, Dorothy spent many hours at the branch, and her mom paid her for helping out. Conveniently located near to the Steliko Ranger Station, out of town Forest Service seasonal workers used the library then, just as they do now. . Phyllis Griffith mentioned that the librarian at one time would work morning hours at the library in town, and then travel upriver to the Ardenvoir school for afternoon hours. The Ardenvoir school building was used for many activities. Shelly Small, NCRL’s MOL librarian and my predecessor remembers the gleaming hardwood floors, and a beautifully decorated tree at Christmastime.  What I love about libraries and what they represent is that all are welcome, and accommodated – age, status, race, creed – all are irrelevant. If that building could be entered, and if walls could talk – we would surely hear some entertaining stories, and not just from the books! Many people think of the library as a quiet, relaxing, calm haven in which to spend time pleasantly browsing and reading. But those of us who work in libraries know differently!

With the relocation of the town of Entiat , the library building in town  along with most of the other buildings was demolished. In the new town, a building was constructed to house both the Chamber of Commerce and the Library. This is the building the library occupies now.. However, at some point , that building must have been sold to the North Central Credit Union , later to become Numerica Credit Union. When that happened , the library moved to the City Hall Building. That room is now the Mayor’s office. At one time, that room used to house our local jail. Entiat is nothing if not resourceful!  When I first visited the Entiat Public Library, it was in this very small space with Ruth Honey at the helm. Ruth Honey was a stalwart supporter of the library in many ways. She went on to work at the Wenatchee Branch, and following retirement to become a member of the NCRL Board of Directors. Her successor at the Entiat Branch was my good friend and traveling companion Lynn Bain. While Lynn worked , I was a stay at home mom with my own 4 children, and lynn paid me half her wage to be her kids after-school babysitter . She had 5 .  Following Lynn, Paula Lyons was hired as the next Entiat Librarian. I also babysat for Paula’s youngest boy Chris while she worked at the branch. Eventually, Paula also moved on to a position with the Wenatchee Public Library. Her successor in Entiat was Shelly Small. Again, I babysat Shelly’s son Mat, and eventually Shelly hired me as a Substitute Librarian. I yearned to work outside of the home, although I still believe childcare is one of the most important and challenging of occupations! I did work as a packer for about a month during harvest season at the Dovex Fruit Shed. But when Shelly told me about an opening at the Wenatchee Public Library, I applied with my fingers crossed.  And when I was subsequently hired, I knew I had found my life’s work. I cannot imagine anything more rewarding to me than being a link between books and people and helping people to access all that the library offers. After 5 years in Wenatchee, and Shelly’s move up the library ladder to become a Branch Supervisor, I leaped at the chance to work for NCRL as the Entiat Librarian. For the next 23 years, I had the best job in the /world. In the year 2000, with the generous support of the Women’s Club, the Entiat Chamber of Commerce, the City of Entiat, and the Community – we were able to move the library back, and fund an addition to the building the Credit Union moved out of when they built a new building.   

If there is one thing I believe, it is that all things change, and change can bring goodness to our lives. I am so thankful for the years my home away from home was the Entiat Public Library. And I am so happy to see our library  continue to thrive under the care of Suzy Nieto. She is starting programs with great success that I could never have accomplished. In addition to continuing the Wednesday morning Storytime for Toddlers and Preschoolers, she has added an afternoon Bilingual Storytime for school age kids. She collaborates with the Entiat Valley Community Service Organization to provide after school snacks. This summer along with a very successful Summer Reading Program, she hosted a Library Kids Talent Show, and an Adult Cookbook Potluck event. Coming soon, in October, Suzy will be hosting movie nights for families!  If you haven’t already, please stop by the library and welcome her as our most recent community librarian.

As this was written in the spring of 2018, much has happened, including the beginning of the tenure of our newest librarian Magi Clark! There is no one better to see carry the community through the doubtless growth and evolution our our town. She and her darling girls have been coming to the library and falling in love with books as long as I think she has been a part of our community. I am so thankful for the the brightness and warmth she brings to all who enter the Entiat Library. Best Wishes to you, Magi!!

Dog days

I am day by day accessing the untold benefits of this new pup. I have seen the dawn, heard and responded to the morning birds, gazed at the stars and moon more times in the last few days than in months, maybe years. Realized that being barefoot in the grass in the morning dew is pleasant. But that it is smart to place important things in place you will remember, because you might need things in a hurry. Also, the truth of this saying “You can lead a pup to grass, but you can’t make him poop”. Is that a saying? It should be.

I have cleaned the floors of my house more thoroughly and regularly than ever. Been shown all kinds of tunnels, caves and toys. Laundry was never so entertaining. I have met new people and taken time share more than just a quick greeting.

We discovered a full rainbow in the spray of the hose. ( did you know you can see the full spectrum and circumference of a rainbow if you position the spray in just the right angle in relation to the sunlight? ).

We have listened to my sister Ruth, (who has such a myriad of god-given and well honed talents) play our grandmother’s piano piece “Mountain Stream” composer unknown, our mama’s piece “Liebestraum – Nocturne in A flat”, a most lovely “Autumn Leaves” which she sang and played and a great jazz blues piece of Ruth’s own composition. Beau needed to be exposed , and it was not only he whose brain was enriched as we listened in rapture. ( on a side note, years ago Ruth pieced together in her mind and on the keys the full rendition of “Mountain Stream” as there is no sheet music for it to be found. )

Being responsible for a creature with needs to find pattern, to explore, to learn and to rest gives one reason to do the same. Taking care of one so loyal and dependent gives reason to be one’s best self. The rewards of kindness and praise are so evident. It would never have occurred to me how taking care of something could make me more thoughtful and productive, and that might not always be the case – for me or others, but somehow it has and it can. It is a mystery and one of many. A garden, a tree, a child, the earth, life, responsibility – so mysterious and grand. Stay humble, little ones.

 

A New Day

I’m baaaack! Having spent more than a few years away from this blog, and hopefully having grown and learned something about life since then, I decided it is time to return to writing this online journal. Many of you have heard and read the story that follows from my post on facebook, but I want to never forget the sense of urgency and transience the experience of receiving a warning of an incoming missile gave me that day. I also am posting here some of the very best of my photos from the beautiful island of Kauai. My hope is to stay curious, alert and appreciative and to spread love and goodness whenever I can.

C3D79356-B8C6-4851-A546-6EE0D3BDF6CE Continue reading “A New Day”