The mother and father of all funky foods, Ray and Nancy Landfair, have once again shown their stripes. We went to visit their completely hand-built house today. Ray is the king of sourdough bread, Nancy the Pickle Queen. Their beautiful organic farm was resplendent, with a focal point- Nancy's exercise ball- upon which she weeds and cultivates in whatever position her uncooperative body will assume.
Sitting in the kitchen were two glass sun tea jars containing without a doubt, the funkiest food I have ever seen. It was their home-made kombucha, brewing its hundredth or more batch of tea.
Thrilled, I told Ray of my daughter and son-in-law's recent affinity for this semi-sparkly tart drink, and Ray immediately insisted that I take half of the mother back to Seattle with instructions on how to make the cheapest and easiest kombucha with Ray's hand-cultured "mushroom." So Ray's "mushroom" will accompany me on the plane Saturday, to be nurtured until the family returns from California. By then the well traveled microbes will have already brewed their first glass of K.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Light Show
For two hours last night I witnessed a fabulous light show, the likes of which I have only seen here in Michigan. A thunderstorm with lightening every 20-30 seconds revealed the silhouettes of the trees across the lake. The occasional wall-rattling thunderclap emerged from the constant low rumble.
It reminded me of such a storm many years ago when my little family of four was camping under the 100 ft. evergreens on the shore of Lake Michigan. We awoke and found ourselves sloshing as if on a waterbed in our tent, for the two inches of rain had filled in the soft pine-needle bed beneath us. I realized that those tall trees had become lightening rods connecting us in our waterbed to the electric bolts.
We scrambled our two soggy pajama-clad children into a tiny sportscar and drove the 70 miles to Grand Rapids at 3 a.m. along a flooded interstate lit by the lightening strobe. We were too young to even think of this as stress. We returned to the campsite the next day and resumed the weekend. Wet tent, puddled picnic table, but the bacon and eggs still tasted great.
It reminded me of such a storm many years ago when my little family of four was camping under the 100 ft. evergreens on the shore of Lake Michigan. We awoke and found ourselves sloshing as if on a waterbed in our tent, for the two inches of rain had filled in the soft pine-needle bed beneath us. I realized that those tall trees had become lightening rods connecting us in our waterbed to the electric bolts.
We scrambled our two soggy pajama-clad children into a tiny sportscar and drove the 70 miles to Grand Rapids at 3 a.m. along a flooded interstate lit by the lightening strobe. We were too young to even think of this as stress. We returned to the campsite the next day and resumed the weekend. Wet tent, puddled picnic table, but the bacon and eggs still tasted great.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Travelworthy
I have completely surprised myself with my travelworthiness. Maybe I have a few more trips left in me. I looked down from the peanut-jet that followed the northern rim of Lake Michigan all the way to Traverse City, and longed for another slow, leisurely road trip across the U.P. There are beautiful things to see along that route.
The view from "mission control" here in the Bass Lake cabin is just spectacular- the small lake is glassy much of the time, and it looks across to a tiny island from which a "ferry" commutes several times a day. The ferry is a beat up old pontoon boat, and it's pilot is another 60-year old crone. Her passengers are two dogs, and occasionally some jolly visitors. She lives on the island, making a life in this quiet green waterland. I have to admit, I am envious.
The view from "mission control" here in the Bass Lake cabin is just spectacular- the small lake is glassy much of the time, and it looks across to a tiny island from which a "ferry" commutes several times a day. The ferry is a beat up old pontoon boat, and it's pilot is another 60-year old crone. Her passengers are two dogs, and occasionally some jolly visitors. She lives on the island, making a life in this quiet green waterland. I have to admit, I am envious.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Things You See in TC
Here is one of the things you see a lot of in Traverse City MI. I will be seeing this every day for a week from my sister's front porch at her lakeside house.
I might still live there if the weather didn't freeze you right in your tracks for about six months out of the year. Apparently she has more cold-worthy Scandavian blood running through her body than I do.
But is is sunny and balmy there now, and so I will sojourn back after a long time away. I'm looking forward to it with great excitement.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Kabat-Zinn Speaks to Google
Jon Kabat-Zinn speaks to the Google organization. This is an excellent talk. Well worth taking the time to listen. To listen click here.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
The Muse
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Had a lovely dance with the muse in the studio today. The clay was very soft, lending itself to ever increasingly organic forms. This is my favorite kind of clay. It is on the verge of being unmanageable, and it provides me with some great surprises.
I got five hours of work in, and after about three, I was really in the zone. This is the thing I love most- to be in the three-dimensional zone, and to enjoy the rewards of thirty years of clay work. My hands can relax with even the most plastic of clay, and let it speak. I can let it be.
Only once did I glitch up and run the sequence of not adding more junk to the world. Paused, breathed, and returned to my mindful work. This work is not exploitive, it celebrates what I see and experience in nature, and it is a gift of my hands and mindful work to the recipient.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
God Speaks to All People in All Languages
A beautiful song, passionately performed. I heard it in the movie KITE RUNNER. The movie was excellent. The song is "Supplication," shared via YouTube. Different name, different messenger, same God.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Garage Sale
We're checking off the summer traditions. First camping, now a garage sale. This one trumps camping in goofiness by far, I feel.
I am standing out in the sun putting 50cents stickers on most of my stuff. Many of the things are things I picked up at another garage sale.
I will not make enough money to make my effort worthwhile, but there is something in the human psyche that makes trading irresistible. I read whole books about this in graduate school. I am sickened by the glut of stuff I have as I begin to thin it out, will not make a dent in it with this sale, will ultimately have to donate most, but still, I am out here pricing things. A move looms in our future, and this is just a nasty little preview of it. For my daughter, the planner of this sale, it is a serious purge. We just happened to have the premier location for the sale.
The best part will be hanging out with the neighbors, who will come and paw through my things, suspending for an instant, the wall of privacy that separates us. The kids will sell cookies and lemonade, recent immigrants and resellers will come early to try to beat the crowds for our furniture. I know the script.
Papa and I will have to work very hard to pace ourselves over this weekend so that we can continue on with our summer in good humor. His knee is hurting, and I am fatigued, but we are still enjoying life. Let the swap meet begin.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
"Warning: Habits May be Good for You"
This is a "must read and re-read" article for me as I continue to work on creating a better life by creating a better set of habits. It is an article from the New York Times on using the principles of advertising to create new habits. The title is "Warning: Habits may be Good for You."
The point is brilliant. I am considering the possibilities! Instead of telling myself things I should do, or even would like to do, I can just use my imagination as if it were the advertising I encounter at every turn. I could imagine the desired result, framing it as an ad executive would. I could play that "ad" in my head until I created the desire to adopt the new habit, all the while taking on new behaviors that would make the new habit possible.
I am the rat, learning from the trainer how to train myself. This is truly letting my brain work for me instead of me working for my brain.
The point is brilliant. I am considering the possibilities! Instead of telling myself things I should do, or even would like to do, I can just use my imagination as if it were the advertising I encounter at every turn. I could imagine the desired result, framing it as an ad executive would. I could play that "ad" in my head until I created the desire to adopt the new habit, all the while taking on new behaviors that would make the new habit possible.
I am the rat, learning from the trainer how to train myself. This is truly letting my brain work for me instead of me working for my brain.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Family Camping
Have just returned from a great ritual- the family camping trip. It is at the same time ridiculous and glorious. How goofy to bring duplicates of all your home conveniences, spend days preparing them, packing them, then unpacking and setting them up, packing them back up, filthy, and taking days to return the household to normalcy.
I have never escaped this thought in all my forty-some years of doing it. Yet, it is always fun, provided it isn't cold and raining. The outdoors invigorates. The sights and smells refresh. The quiet soothes. The family hilarity, particularly that provided by children, is joyous. The campfire mesmerizes. The appetite is piqued by the outdoor air. A bell on a buoy rings out the movement of the water, energizing. The wild animals join us, surprize us. There is room to get away from the group, and time to be close as well, breathing one another. There always ends up being a lot of stories.
It is a great chance to cleanse the palate, as it were, from the daily routines. Like coffee beans at a perfumery, or rice at a twenty course ryokan banquet.
Papa and I have begun to invest some of our time in things like this which we feel so strongly enable/create good in the world. Retreat centers and state parks, for example. We are daydreaming spending a month at such a campground, volunteering in ways that will enhance the experience for others as it has enhanced our lives over the years. In our daydream, our grandchildren, reaching sufficient age to be a real help to others, would join us in this industriousness. Our children as well, as their busy lives allow. It was a wonderful camping trip.
I have never escaped this thought in all my forty-some years of doing it. Yet, it is always fun, provided it isn't cold and raining. The outdoors invigorates. The sights and smells refresh. The quiet soothes. The family hilarity, particularly that provided by children, is joyous. The campfire mesmerizes. The appetite is piqued by the outdoor air. A bell on a buoy rings out the movement of the water, energizing. The wild animals join us, surprize us. There is room to get away from the group, and time to be close as well, breathing one another. There always ends up being a lot of stories.
It is a great chance to cleanse the palate, as it were, from the daily routines. Like coffee beans at a perfumery, or rice at a twenty course ryokan banquet.
Papa and I have begun to invest some of our time in things like this which we feel so strongly enable/create good in the world. Retreat centers and state parks, for example. We are daydreaming spending a month at such a campground, volunteering in ways that will enhance the experience for others as it has enhanced our lives over the years. In our daydream, our grandchildren, reaching sufficient age to be a real help to others, would join us in this industriousness. Our children as well, as their busy lives allow. It was a wonderful camping trip.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
A New Face on the Angel Wall
As I move through life, I am guided by the faces on my angel wall. This is my name for the gallery of pictures I have in my mind of those who have died. The gallery gets larger and larger as I go on.
It is an interesting experience. These faces are cues to all of the stories that make up my identity in this world. The older I get, the more stories there are, of course. This should weigh me down, but it does not. Instead I feel lighter.
Our loved one's passing adds another face to the angel wall. This one's passing was a time of intimate completion. The stories she generated during her lifetime were often troubling and contentious. She had many wounds, and often wounded others. But the physical and emotional intimacy involved in an agonizing passage revealed much, completed much, and brought great closure to the stories.
We are resting from the work, and rejoining our lives in progress. Our children and grandchildren surround us with youthful energy which sweeps us back into life. The angel wall on one side, the effervescent chaos on the other. Sample the summer energy by checking in on the blogs I have listed on this site.
It is an interesting experience. These faces are cues to all of the stories that make up my identity in this world. The older I get, the more stories there are, of course. This should weigh me down, but it does not. Instead I feel lighter.
Our loved one's passing adds another face to the angel wall. This one's passing was a time of intimate completion. The stories she generated during her lifetime were often troubling and contentious. She had many wounds, and often wounded others. But the physical and emotional intimacy involved in an agonizing passage revealed much, completed much, and brought great closure to the stories.
We are resting from the work, and rejoining our lives in progress. Our children and grandchildren surround us with youthful energy which sweeps us back into life. The angel wall on one side, the effervescent chaos on the other. Sample the summer energy by checking in on the blogs I have listed on this site.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Processing the Experience
The last tasks are being completed regarding our loved one's passing. These tasks involve summarizing her life in a few paragraphs, and sending letters to those who knew her. The writing provides a time for reflection.
My mind is on the bigger picture again. I am sad that death is not organic to our culture. We have no traditions which guide us through the dying. (Traditions, yes, but only after the death has occurred, and very commercially driven). We had to find our way through many obstacles during our loved one's passing, and we were operating in the dark. Conflict, confusion, and fatigue served to further alienate parts of our already broken family rather than to bring it closer together.
Earlier in my life, I had the experience of living for an extended time in a much more traditional (post tribal) culture in the Pacific Islands, and so I have known a life in which life transitions are surrounded by and guided by strong and unifying traditions. Such a life does not insulate one from exhaustion, fear, grief, or even anxiety, but it provides a pathway and guides, so that one does not have to experience these inevitable states in a blinding chaos.
In such a life, there is also ample time allotted to the telling of stories which result from struggles such as the death story of our loved one. We will be hard pressed to find time to relate these stories to our children in a way that can provide either completion for us, or education for them.
The hospice facility was a merciful refuge both for our dying loved one and for us. Both Papa and I were moved to think about volunteering at a hospice as we have volunteered at the retreat center in Tucson. The endeavors of these organizations fit the more wholistic vision of life we experienced during our time in the Pacific.
As I write this, I realize that these are abstract generalizations about very visceral experiences. Abstractions themselves are a symptom of the very thing I lament.
My mind is on the bigger picture again. I am sad that death is not organic to our culture. We have no traditions which guide us through the dying. (Traditions, yes, but only after the death has occurred, and very commercially driven). We had to find our way through many obstacles during our loved one's passing, and we were operating in the dark. Conflict, confusion, and fatigue served to further alienate parts of our already broken family rather than to bring it closer together.
Earlier in my life, I had the experience of living for an extended time in a much more traditional (post tribal) culture in the Pacific Islands, and so I have known a life in which life transitions are surrounded by and guided by strong and unifying traditions. Such a life does not insulate one from exhaustion, fear, grief, or even anxiety, but it provides a pathway and guides, so that one does not have to experience these inevitable states in a blinding chaos.
In such a life, there is also ample time allotted to the telling of stories which result from struggles such as the death story of our loved one. We will be hard pressed to find time to relate these stories to our children in a way that can provide either completion for us, or education for them.
The hospice facility was a merciful refuge both for our dying loved one and for us. Both Papa and I were moved to think about volunteering at a hospice as we have volunteered at the retreat center in Tucson. The endeavors of these organizations fit the more wholistic vision of life we experienced during our time in the Pacific.
As I write this, I realize that these are abstract generalizations about very visceral experiences. Abstractions themselves are a symptom of the very thing I lament.
