Tuesday, October 30, 2007

From time to time I write here about . . .

. . . weight-loss. I've been stalled lately which is pretty typical of my weight-loss efforts. Fortunately, my stalled has been more like a holding pattern. I didn't put on much more than a couple of pounds and that is gone now.I'm on my way down again and feeling very positive. I've been to Jenny Craig every week for a weigh-in except when I was out of town and a couple of times I slept in. Since sleeping in is a rare event for me, I just laid back and enjoyed it.

This past Saturday I walked in feeling expectant and sure enough, I had lost a pound. That puts me at 23.8 lbs lost since March. It could have been a lot more but I'm not beating myself up over this. It is 23.8 lbs. I will NEVER see again. I am looking forward to Saturday and another loss. I would love to see a solid 25 gone. That number has been eluding me since August. I think Nov. 3rd will be my day.

In fact, I think that just as October was a difficult month for me, November is going to be a wonderful month. This is the year I turn 60. Hard as that is to imagine, it really is going to happen. This morning I was thinking about turning 60 and how I've been dreading it. Then I found myself acknowledging that 60 was going to get here whether I dreaded it or not. SO - I decided to celebrate it.

Like weight loss, my attitude is something that is completely under my control. My birthday present to myself is to lose 5 more pounds between now and the 18th. My first gift to me will be reaching the great 25 lb. number this Saturday. After that, I'll tackle the rest and get rid of 3-5 more by the 17th (just in time for my birthday the next day). Yeah!!

Remembering George in prayer

Monday, October 29, 2007

Writers Island - Haunted


Hallow's eve embraces
All Souls who sleep
Under earth and graces.
Nature enriches and heals
Those who reach and rise to
Everlasting life on the
Day of the Feast of All Saints.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Writer's Island - The Stranger

This past year an unknown person rose up and saluted me. She looked around - casual and relaxed. The chain that held her back had snapped. It wasn't the only chain holding her back but what she learned from working with the binding links taught her the lessons she needed to deal with the remaining chains.

The stranger who emerged wasn't entirely unknown. Many of her aspects were familiar and not unwelcome. But beneath the padded exterior, the stranger reared up and demanded admittance to the light, whispering words shouting, "Listen to me. Hear me." The stranger revealed her hidden sides - poet, artist, dreamer, gatherer.

The stranger appeared seven months ago. In that time layers of fear and doubt have eroded and dissolved. Protective padding has slipped away. harping voices have come, gone, come and gone again and always the stranger gained strength.

She looked through my eyes and examined the world in a newer way. The gentle prodding and urging of the stranger helped to release, to let go of the chains of material possessions. The stranger's mission - to show what is important, what to keep and what to say good-bye to. But most importantly, what to say hello to and welcome.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

The Journey Home - Part II

October 20th
A week ago I had a long talk with Fr. Sal. Much musing and journaling later, I discover that I can see a sort of timeline in my Catholic life.

1947-71 Actively church-going
1971-75 Slipping to nothing
1975-76 Nothing. I'm divorced. This is no place for me.
1976-81 Baha'i Faith is my new home.
1981-85 Nothing

Catholics fall away from their faith for countless reasons. I've always thought that leaving the Church had to be much more traumatic then say a Methodist moving to Presbyterian or Lutheran. Based on comments from my last post, I've discovered that this is not necessarily true but there is something very wrenching and mind-altering when a Catholic goes in another direction. The phrase "Once a Catholic, always a Catholic" in deeply ingrained in our psyche.

I grew up with an Italian Catholic mother and a non-Catholic, once divorced dad. Mom and dad, of course, were not married in the Church because of his divorce. It was this shadow, this hurt, that I grew up with and it influenced me in ways I did not understand until divorce visited me in 1975. But still, I grew up Catholic and dad was there with us at Mass whenever he was home. Mom was always at Mass even though she did not receive the sacraments. Dad would always make sure I was at religious education classes whenever he was home from overseas. By the time I was in high school, he was more often there but even then, this post-Navy job with Corrections would take him away firefighting in summer and fall.

Vatican II was three years old by the time I graduated from high school and the Latin Mass was no more. The 60's were a changing time for everyone in our society and its institution. And so it was that the Church was still feeling its way along through its own changes.

The first of the most obvious physical changes was the placement of a small portable altar at the front of the sanctuary. With the placement of this altar, the priest turned around, faced the congregation, and spoke in ENGLISH. I don't know who was more disconcerted - the priest of the congregation.

Fast forward to 1985. I've divorced, I've remarried, I've had two children. I've been away from the Church for about 15 years and the Baha'i Faith just was not speaking to me anymore than any of the more recognisable Christian religions. That phrase "once a Catholic, always a Catholic" was echoing loudly and clearly and insistently. I knew I had to find my way home.

It was in 1985 in San Jose, CA that I saw a billboard on the road not far from my house. It was simply a beautiful portrait of Christ and the word "I'm calling you". I nearly ran off the road. The next day I was at Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. I was taking my first steps to finding my way home.
October 22nd

Fast forward 22 years -

Yesterday I attended a Latin Mass and I felt so at home. I don't think it is any accident that this happened on the same Sunday, a year later, of my mom's death. To me, this is clearly more symbolism of a return, of a completed cycle. Today, October 22nd, is the actual day but during the month of October I will always remember that Sunday around that date as the day I last held her hand. Life is a circle and I think there must be some meaning in returning to the Latin Mass.

My conversation with Fr. Sal was very satisfying in a couple of ways but this discussion of the Mass and its symbols left me disappointed.

Unity is missing
I miss
Bell
Covered heads
Standards of dress
The crucifix
Altar servers on the altar
The Tabernacle (the Lord's place) at eh center
with the symbol of His sacrifice (the crucifix)
nearby.

I miss the changing vestments
our old symbol of the progression of the church year;
The countless little things, one of which was
the Secret in the old Mass -
the prayer of the celebrant during consecration;

The sense of reverence -
that hidden but seen moment of the
conversion of bread and wine to Body and Blood;

The reading on the right,
The gospel on the left;
The sermon at the lectern.

I want and need these symbols. They provide focus and a flow that more and more feels interrupted today. If the focus is supposed to be the altar and the lectern, the places where we hear "The word of the Lord", why don't I know this? Why don't WE know this? DO we know this? Are our children taught this? Mine weren't. Did Catechism skate over this? I have no answer for these questions. All I know for sure is that if the altar and lectern are supposed to be the focus then we have lost something very important.

I always heard the Word - In the midst of our symbols, I never missed the Word. Now I feel like I am experiencing Mass Lite and a series of vocal distractions punctuated by frequently bad music.

I find that I am rambling in these thoughts but it reflects how I feel about where the Mass has gone. We all understood the Latin but then the walls of language appeared. The hearing, seeing, and fragrance of the Mass has disappeared. Senses are not engaged anymore. Like poetry - it needs its richness to retain its beauty and meaning.

Yesterday, some of that richness returned. I felt in a loosely wrapped blanket of symbolism that guided me and held my heart. I felt in complete communion with those who shared the Mass with me. There was a flow and an understanding that ever after 40 years could not be lost. The loosely packed layers of change were only gently tamped down. Like the swipe of a cleansing cloth, I felt the unifying Mass sink back into my heart; into my bones. The distractions were gone; the not knowing where to look was gone; the symbols were there and they drew me back into the Mass in a way that I thought had been lost forever.

So now - today - I wonder a bit where this will take me. I know that Don is entirely happy. He will be there. Krista was with us and I hope she will come again sometime. I feel the pull of my community of many years - All Saints - and for the time being I will be there whenever I'm scheduled to serve at Mass. But, more and more I think that my time there is drawing to a close. Over all these years, I haven't really made connection with the community. I have individuals I care about but I don't need All Saints to maintain and nurture these connections.

I respect Fr. Sal and I like his speaking style. No question - each week his homily is relevant to the readings and the gospel. Fr. Sal gave me some good guidelines for examination of conscience. He will not be a bad confessor. However, that being said, my future with Mass is deeply attached and entrenched in my past and my journey home is now leading me in that direction.

I can't seem to stop saying it but here it is again.

Life is a circle.

Monday, October 22, 2007

The Journey Home - Part I

October 18th

I haven't done much posting or reading of blogs recently and I've noticed that many of you are semi-hibernating too. I've managed a few bits here but not much in the way of poetry has been emerging. It is definitely the Fall seasons and as things slow down, I find myself traveling inward again. But while my fingers here may be slowing down, my mind has been going lickityslip. I've been blogging now for 19 months and I am discovering that writing has its own rhythm just as the seasons do. I've noticed less traffic to my blog but then I have not been visiting as regularly either. My thoughts and activities have been quieter.

I wonder if this quiet has come over me because of my mother's death? Next Monday the 22nd will be the one year anniversary of her passing. October this year has visited us with the news of George's returned melanoma and now Quanah and Erin's decision to pick up their lives and return prematurely to Oregon where Erin can be near her brother and family for the time he may have left. These three things weigh heavily on my heart and all I can do is pray for a good conclusion for all concerned. I pray for healing, new teachers for Bishop Loers School and jobs for Erin and Q.

I am also praying for a peaceful good-bye to my mom from Krista and also for Krista's return to Mass if not necessarily the Sacraments right now. She's like her father in that way. Perhaps if she has a lifetime in her future with Chad, that will change. Don certainly has become more able to articulate his deepest thoughts over these last 29 years. I'm still surprised though when he opens up in a big way. So - back to Kris - I pray she finds some closure and peace with her grandmother's death. I know she has been avoiding thoughts of her passing and the pain she felt. Coming six years after my dad's death, it has been a lot for her to digest. Add to that the death of a high school from by suicide and the death of Aaron, the son of our closest family friend, it has not been easy. All of this happening during her teen years to early young adult years has been a lot to deal with. I never had to endure this sort of pain in my youth.

Interestingly, my mother DID and so now has Kris. Did it skip a generation, this suffering, confusion, and sadness? So it would seem. But for me, my fate seems to be the requirement to be strong for others. I gladly accept that and hope that with maturity, Kris will have the strength and wisdom to eventually do the same when life calls on her to be strong again.

And speaking of deepest thoughts and Don, this turn of season has me reflecting on faith, reverence, and devotion again. Like this seasons, this comes in a cycle for me too and each turn I feel I come a bit closer to being centered and at peace.

I have had two things on my mind lately

1. The Sacrament of Reconciliation and
2. The altar free-for-all that plagues the Church these days.

I am a Catholic of a certain age and can clearly remember the Latin Mass. We lost the Latin Mass in 1962 just as I was entering high school so I an recall the change back to its beginning. Forty-five years later, what seemed like a good idea has actually become a divisive and great disappointment.

October 18th
I remember
The scent of incense
Burning candles reflecting
red and lights embrace.
The hush before Mass
reverence that is missing
Yearning for return.
I remember
Bowed heads, hats removed
Black mantilla covering hair
Modesty, good sense
Faces were well-known
Even those without a name
All met with greetings.
We shared something
in common -
The Mass
I remember
Seasonal vestments
Colors that changed with the
Church calendar.
Or, with mourning
Celebrations, and
Holy Days.
I remember
Confession on Wednesdays and Saturdays
When we had more priest,
Enough priests,
A surplus of priests.

60 Minutes Last Night

If you did not catch 60 Minutes last night, then please follow this link to THE most exciting nutritional news story I've ever heard. I promise - you will not be disappointed.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Booties for Babies

As many of you know, last year I put out a request for woolies for the children of the orphanage in Ghor, Afghanistan. The response was so generous, so overwhelming. I ended up sending NINE big boxes of scarves, mittens, hats and gloves, underwear, soap and personal products to Frida – see Frida’s Notebook.

Last week, I started thinking about the kids again as I was looking at Frida’s Portraits of Afghanistan site and noticed the bare feet of many of the little ones. Granted, they were inside and it’s just starting to get cold, but that little inner voice started whispering to me again. No sooner did I have the thought than I was sending off an email to Frida (again) this time about the need for baby booties and her response was a definite “yes”.

Frida will be confirming an APO address with a U.S. soldier who will receive the booties and hand them off to Frida. The soldier is also in Ghor so there will not be any time delay in getting the booties delivered to her.

Unlike last year, I think the mailing can be done directly to the APO address. A medium size padded envelope will hold a lot of little booties. The expense will not be substantial since it is going to an APO and deliveries will go out more quickly.

So this is a call to all you knitters and crocheters out there who could whip out a few 100% wool and/or washable wool booties. We are asking for wool because they provide the warmth that acrylics just won’t provide.

Also, like last year, I would like to keep track of who is participating so I can send you a thank you and let Frida know. If you would drop me a line and let me know if you plan to participate and then let me know when you are ready to mail out the booties, I will send you the address. I would really appreciate it. I will post when I have the address as soon as I hear back from Frida.

My thanks to all and my wishes for a huge success as was had last year.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Renewal Series - III

III
I am overtaken by time;
Now in a bind.
Late night plans to dine
Might have been fine.
But sight is hind
And my thoughts are not kind.
Migrating birds create a line.
Observe formation. Which spot is mine?


Half past nine,
No need to pine.
Tasting brie’s smooth rhine;
It’s a sign!
Lift the tine
Holding fruit of the vine
And sip the wine
Of freedom’s time.
Remembering George in prayer

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Don says it all

I thought I would let Don have his say here today. Don loves to write trip reports. His memory for detail is phenomenal. There is a reason I take pictures and he writes reports. Between the two of us, we get it all. So, without further ado, The Calabash/Santa Rosa trip report.
According to the Random House College Dictionary, which I have from my military days and has “Property of the U.S. Government” printed on the front of it, the definition of calabash is “any of various gourds, esp. the fruit of the bottle gourd.” Hence the name of an annual display of gourd art in Santa Rosa, which is described on the event program as “a celebration of gourds, art and the garden. For you non-Californians, Santa Rosa is above San Francisco in the hills protected by the coastline mountains.

Once again we visited one of Annie’s blog friends as the friend is an artist and had an entry in the gourd art competition. The event was only on Sunday afternoon, but we decided to go up on Saturday to visit and spend the night.

Leaving at around nine in the morning, Annie began to phone Lea to give her progress reports on our travel as we were to lunch at her home. Travel was good that time of the day through the valley, over the hills, through the flatlands (Did you think I was going to say, “dales”?,) into the east Bay Area, up to the northeast Bay Area, over the Richmond San Rafael Bridge and onto the main artery connecting points of the Bay Area from the south to north of San Francisco. It got touchy at that point, with slow down and speed up traffic due to drivers in the left lane not keeping up with the traffic and vehicles which had a problem maintaining speed over the hills and around curves because of the vehicle itself or the drivers’ lack of ability. Anyway we did arrive in time for lunch.

Upon finding the street address, we looked up at a hundred year old house on a corner lot. Once inside of the white picket fence, Anne immediately began to inspect the labyrinth laid out in the front yard. Lea is a labyrinth designer. I inspected the very old fascinating tree on the other side of the yard. It is twisted and has holes in it. Lea came out to a variety of questions. The tree is home to squirrels. The pet dog also came out. She is a small Belgium breed called a Schipperke that work on the canal barges, with a short and thick coat of hair that sheds water and a face that reminded me of a small wolf.

Following Lea and Nicky into the house, we discovered a work-of-art home. There were not only works of art, but also items from various parts of the world she and her husband have traveled to. This and that wall was painted a bright color, but blended in so as not to be confronting. I hurried into the bathroom, to discover upper walls and ceiling of blue sky and lower walls of stucco over brick design with framed prints to match the theme. One wall had a timeline chart of Shakespeare’s accomplishments posted on it. The rest of the house held antiques, including a very old school house desk complete with the inkwell. It was adult size.

While Lea and Annie were preparing BLTs, (picture compliments of Lea) the husband of the home arrived. Milt is a quiet, thoughtful, analytical person. This serves him well as he is a neuro-psychologist. For example, if a person has received brain damage, Milt will test and scan and interview and pull information from the person’s medical records. Once the research is completed, he gives his report accessing the functional results of the damage and recommendations for treatment. He was busy sending off a report that morning.
During the preparations, Annie discovered that the tomatoes were bright red and smelled good. She tried one. It was delicious by her standards and she does not eat tomatoes. She gives them to me. These were garden fresh organic.
While the ladies worked, Milt and I sat and discussed some points of the War Between the States as he also enjoys history and has many publications concerning Lincoln. He posts the historical charts in the bathroom for study.
Lunch was served at the breakfast nook, under a light fixture as old as the house (and it was really pretty. I wish I had gotten a picture of it) . It was very ornate and beautiful, while the BLTs were good and filling. Lunch discussion concerned local history, including the town rebuilding after the 1996 earthquake. The rebuilding destroyed some old architecture, including the court house. So now the downtown has utilitarian buildings instead of admirable buildings. Lunch was completed by servings of various deserts. Lea enjoyed the way my face came alive at the presentation of one which is like a sugared unleavened bread.

After lunch, Lea and Milt left for an event and we were invited to stay and enjoy the back yard labyrinth. This one was completed with brick laid out in a circular, Oriental design. One may walk the path and mediate on the seven energy points of the body. Annie walked. I took photos. I also observed that the yard included touches of art by way of sculptures and various types of benches. We left through the gate and headed for the Charles M. Schulz Museum. Remember Peanuts, Charlie Brown, Snoopy?

While Schulz started out in life as a Minnesotan, he ended up a Californian. The museum is a biography of both his development and that of the Peanuts cartoon. After serving in WWII in Europe, he taught art for a while. Some of his follow teachers were Charlie Brown and Linus. Articles from his studio office have been set up for display. There are also displays of cartoons with narrative explaining how he happen to come up with the idea for that particular one, i.e. Snoopy’s airplane adventures began after Schulz’s son showed him an airplane model he had made.

Snoopy himself was inspired by the pet black and white dog that Schulz had as a boy. Many of the story lines came from his family and friends and their daily lives. The “little red haired girl” came from a young lady he had dated in his early days. He passed over just before a nation wide tribute was to be paid to him by the country’s cartoon artists. The plan was to have all cartoonists submit a cartoon tribute to him and they all were to be published on the same Sunday. The tribute was still accomplished. They are on display also. Some artists, whose work did not show up in the funny paper, i.e. Disney artists, paid tribute by producing one-of-a-kind pieces of tribute art.

The man brought part of his native state to California. He established a skating rink, at which the annual seniors’ hockey championships are held. He of course was always one of the skating seniors. The rink is open on a daily bases and one may take a refreshment brake in the “Warm Puppy Café”. It is named after one of his cartoons concerning love being a warm puppy, which occurred after he obtained his very own puppy to love. For the grand opening, he invited famous skaters to participate, which they did and the autographs are in sections of concrete in the front grounds of the rink.

Of course there is a gift shop, which also has displays in a loft area: displays such as stuffed Snoopy dolls in various costumes. Peanuts lunch boxes and books may also be viewed. One section is devoted to skating and hockey equipment and clothing. We found a snow globe for our “little red haired girl”, Krista.

Outside of the three buildings; museum and rink and gift shop, are gardens. One of the gardens is in the shape of Snoopy’s head and in a labyrinth design. Guess who the designer is.
For more information go on-line to http://www.schulzmuseum.org/.

I had planned to visit the remains of the Jack London house and museum, out in a range reserve named after the author. However time did not allow for the out-of-town drive and visit as we needed to check into the hotel and freshen up for super at Lea and Milt’s.

We had investigated the possibility of having a bed-and-breakfast room, but they were all booked up as were the Best Western and other hotels. We reserved a room at the Days Inn. Many hotels in town are older buildings, including the Days Inn. The lobby and dining areas have been refurbished and the rooms are neat and clean with standard amenities. Arriving at five, we were there two hours after the start of check-in time and the clerk had to check to make sure the room was available. The other issue was a party taking place in a banquet room, behind the office. Our room was to be one in a separate building, but facing the office area. This meant that the music, from the party, would be bouncing off of the building that our room would be in. Between one clerk checking availability and the other clerk asking me if I had plans to be out until around ten or ten thirty and not explaining about the music, I looked him in the eye and asked, “Are you telling me that you do not have a room ready for me yet?!” He immediately stated that they did indeed have a room and then explained the music situation. Since we would be going out till late, I gave the okay.

Refreshed and rested and after receiving an example of the bass music coming to visit, we left the room and went on our way to supper. Lea had placed a tray of cheese and checkers and had wine ready. I received dark ale. Lea had previously questioned Annie on our likes and dislikes. We gathered around the coffee table and waited for the lamb leg to finish in Milt’s rotisserie.
Soon we were gathered around the dining room table and passing dishes of lamb, mint jelly, little potatoes and salad. At the start of the meal, Milt explained what a neuro-psychologist does. We also found out that they have a son. He is currently in Europe working on an atom colliding project.
A phone call from Quanah began playing music on Annie’s cell phone. He was phoning to give us an update on his brother-in-law, George. Two life events had recently occurred for George; he had just returned from his honeymoon and he discovered that his dormant melanoma, from two years previous, had come back in a ravaging attack. Quanah informed us that George has nine to twelve months left here. Quanah and Erin have made the decision to resign their positions in Fort Wayne and move to Oregon at the end of the year. They will have support from her family and their networks for finding housing and new positions. Preparations have already begun.
Basically everyone agrees that the move is impractical, but it is what they need to do. They were planning on maybe eventually moving to Oregon anyway. They were also planning on purchasing a house in Fort Wayne. Anyway they are just making the move a lot earlier then expected.
The topic of conversation, after the phone call, was that of explanation and feelings. Lea and Annie had a bond before we arrived there. Those two were like old friends. Lea stated that the bond was now stronger due to our family situation entering at their dining table.
We moved on to how Quanah happen to be named such. This lead into a review of my family history and story telling. The story telling included how Lea and Milt found each other. He is from Pennsylvania and she from right there. By that time, we were up to dessert. Berry cobbler! Lea had found out from Annie that I enjoy cobbler. It had the perfect flavor and crunch. The sad part is that I had two helpings of tasty lamb and reached the full mark before I desired to. Cobbler was followed by coffee made in Milt’s espresso machine. Lattes all around.
Coffee was followed by Lea taking Annie through a mental labyrinth of art work and the house, while Milt and I continued to discuss my history and genealogy research. He has not begun his yet. However this was interrupted by Annie wanting to show me something she wants me to make for her. She and Lea took me to the tall spice rack in the hall between the kitchen and the mud room back porch entrance. There is also a fruit cellar. Anyway…Annie wants me to put together such a structure for her nick knacks and place it in the front hallway. So just how big can I make it and get rid of some of those storage boxes. Floor to ceiling and from the front door to the study door. I see a vision. (Annie is thrilled! but we will need to discuss details as the project approaches)
I was beginning to fade. Milt was showing signs of fading. And I think that as much fun as the ladies were having, they were fading too.
The music was no more and the bed comfortable. Enough said.
Morning saw the usual routine of Annie rising first bright eyed and bushy tailed, while I slowly rolled out of bed later. We were scheduled to meet Lea and Milt at a restaurant downtown, but that was late morning. We watched Dirty Jobs just for laughs as I reviewed the Map Quest printout for going out to Forestville that afternoon.

The restaurant, “Worth Our Weight”, was easy to find. Here's a little blurb I found about the place.
Best Unheralded Chef In the early to mid '90s, Evelyn Cheatham operated Tweet's restaurant in Mendocino, and folks still talk about her carrot soup, rosemary scones, potato tarts, and other dishes. Food writer Michele Anna Jordan says Cheatham "has a style that is both robust and delicate, and she could clearly join the ranks of celebrity chefs if she was so inclined." Instead, Cheatham decided to work with troubled youth. She's now chef at Sonoma County Juvenile Hall and is slowly building WOW (Worth Our Weight), a cooking school for young people. For the past 12 years, she has cooked and delivered meals on Christmas day for homeless groups, battered women's groups, children's shelters, and families down on their luck. The meal is not funded by any organization. It's just a labor of love by Cheatham and her friends.--M.W.

Lea came out and greeted us. The food is set up buffet style with a variety of dishes. Some are simple and mainstream, i.e. ham, while others are not, i.e. hominy in a green sauce or a fresh vegetable cake. There is also a variety of desserts and drinks. The restaurant is open only for Sunday brunch and provides a catering service the rest of the week. The owner, Evelyn, not only is a working chef, but also a chef trainer. She gives back to the community by providing a training opportunity for “troubled youth”. The cost for the all-you-can-eat self-serve meal is a flat $15.00 cash per person. The patrons are helping to support the training program. Money well spent. Evelyn herself came around to greet her customers, in her white chef’s uniform. Most of the customers are also friends.

Between bites, Annie stated that she had noticed the Luther Burbank house and gardens as we drove to the restaurant. Lea suggested that we go through the gardens, before leaving town for Forestville. To me, the name was one of those that seem familiar, but not quite enough to know who the person actually was.

Luther Burbank was a late nineteenth and early twentieth century world-famous horticulturist. He worked with both flowers and vegetables developing hybrids. Some believe that he had a special understanding of plant life and nature. Only part of the original acreage, of his property, is left. After he began to develop our Lord’s gardens, much of the property was transferred to a Missouri based research nursery company. What is now left was maintained by his widow, who was forty years younger, until she reached the status of senior citizen. At that point, she donated the property to the Santa Rosa Historical Society. She reserved the right to live in the house, which she did until her passing. The property then transferred to the city of Santa Rosa itself and is maintained today as an educational experience. If one enters http://www.lutherburbank.org/ into a search engine, one will find the web page for the City of Santa Rosa Parks and Recreation with the Luther Burbank Park site window.

The current property takes up half of the block, which appears twice as long then it is wide, on a main street running from the south part of town to the north, after changing street names. It is surrounded by private residences.

The building on the opposite corner looks like a hotel out of a wild, west movie. (Annie is sad that she did not get a picture of this building) It is long, brown building, with wipe-around porches both downstairs and upstairs. An outside stairs connect to two stories. Outside doors provide entry into the rooms or apartments.

One may enter the grounds through the main entrance or one of the side entrances of the white picket fence, which the city asks for volunteers to maintain. The plant life ranges from very tall trees to small flowers. They are various shapes and sizes and colors. Some are arranged in garden areas and some are in long planter boxes close to the greenhouse. I have no idea what is what, except for the roses, only that I enjoyed the beauty of nature. That includes the largest cactus I have ever seen. It was one mother plant with shoots taking up an area of approximately twenty feet by sixty and maybe twelve feet high. Once I had walked over to the other side, I discovered enough open space at ground level to afford a person stepping area while bending over to sit in the shade of the plant. There is also some very tall picky pear cactus as well.

While Annie was photo shooting, I noticed a squirrel scamper across the pathway and into the plant area we were by. The area had small trees, bushes and flowers. The squirrel found a spot behind a tree to have an early afternoon snack. Annie immortalized the squirrel from three different angles. There were also bees and small butterflies with bee like color. Both flew from flower to flower sometimes separately and sometimes together. Some of the areas had arbors constructed in them. Annie began photo compositions utilizing the arbors, including of me.
By that time, we were at the carriage house, which serves as a gift shop. This carriage house was small and simple compared to some. But then the house itself is also small compared to some estates. I am thinking that both met the requirements of the couple and the main interest was not the house, but the gardens and green house.

There was entertaining at times, such as during the Panama-Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco in this month ninety-two years ago. Two of the guests were Thomas Edison and Henry Ford.

After purchasing a booklet on the place, I ended up having a seat. Annie discovered a hat in a bag. The brim of the hat contains a bendable wire just like a vehicle windshield shade that has the wire edge and performs a tri-fold to become a small round shape. She asked if she should buy one and I replied that she did not have a decent shade hat. Next came the selection of fit and colors. That done we returned to the main entrance of the white picket fence.

I drove north and west on the city streets and northwest on county roads. I entered the city limits of Forestville while still out on the county road and drove a ways before finding the town itself. The Calabash was easy enough to find, but by then the parking was not. So we hiked in. At the ticket table, I presented the ones we had received in the mail and was given voting slips in return. This enabled us to vote for Lea’s gourd art entry. We also registered for the silent auction on the gourd art just in case.

Standing in a vacant space, we reviewed the surrounding activities; elbow to elbow people, wine slipping, conversations, tall women in face paint, a tent further back, a building to the side. Finding our way over to the gardens and reading the posted information informed me that the garden was part of the Food for Thought organization.

When Annie asked me about attending an event that her artist blog friend had and entry in, I said that was doable. Upon going to the Calabash web site, I discovered that the event is a fund raiser for the Food for Thought organization. It distributes food throughout the country to those with AIDS. The garden was the first learning step in what Food for Thought is and runs along the length of the organization’s grounds.

Annie found Lea and Milt in the shade of a tent structure made from wood and plant materials. Asking a person to take a photo of us, they took two with Annie’s camera and also with Lea’s.
Milt opted to stay put, in the shade, and the three of us began walking around. Lea was always being approached by a friend or acquaintance. She has spent her life there. We investigated the various plant life as a three piece band played. I noticed that there was a flute, drum and string instrument. The drum and string instruments were made from gourds. Once the plants had been investigated, we headed for the tent.

Inside was the gourd art and we commenced to look for Lea’s art. She was in conversation with someone. After a search, Annie spotted it and we voted with the item’s number. After placing the ballots into the jar, we took a closer look at the art. There were very simple pieces to very elaborate. There were various combinations of both surface and layered craving, painting, attachments, cutting and reassembling, cultural themes, representations of real and surreal and meaningful. It was thought provoking.
It seemed as though the number of people had increased inside of the tent and we required air. Outside Annie found the wine and sparkling water. We both took the water.
Next was the investigation of the building. We found that it is the food supply store and distribution center. They had arranged a produce case of bright colored vegetables; reds, yellows, oranges, greens. Photo Op.

By that time, the event was about to come to a close and we were ready to depart. On our way to find Lea and Milt, Annie came across the two tall women in face paint. I realized that they were both men. Annie later told me that they are members of a San Francisco based organization called something “Sisters”. Okay…. (Annie comment – Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence)

Lea and Milt were found and farewells were given.

The drive home was about the same as going, except for the slow drivers leaving ten to twenty vehicle spaces between each other in the northeast part of the Bay Area.

For me the real event of the trip was meeting Lea and Milt and enjoying their company, interests and food. And for that I will always return.



Please remember George in your prayers

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Writers Island - Renewal

Magnolia pod

The following poems are the first in a series of reflections on the hard turns we encounter in life.


I
Someone wants him back,
Won’t give up without a fight.
Love abounds, gives support,
Mary hugs comfort,
No time to weep.

Wedding joy.
Plans for life.
Denial. Will not be ignored.
Mary hugs comfort
Every thought is a prayer.

Darkness gathers.
Vision fights through.
Door to life swings open.
Mary hugs comfort.
No time to weep.


Isolating distance,
Tears won’t build a bridge.
Rivers flow this instance.
Mary hugs comfort,
Every thought is a prayer.

Remembered pain from long year past.
The climb to light paved with broken glass.
Hole in my heart yawns wide and deep,
Mary hugs comfort,
No time to weep.


II

Compassion beats at our door
Demanding entry, forcing its way in.
Winter approaches,
Fall migration drums,
Backs are turning for our returning.

Four hearts at table, voices sparkling;
Brubeck tunes play, harbinger of sorrow.
Warm hand clasps
Binding two hearts forever.

Familiar hole returns
An emptiness that feels so full.
Crowded emotions.
Mental commotions.
Hiding. Seeking. Exerting their pull.


Remember George in prayer

Monday, October 8, 2007

Truer words . . .

. . . were never spoken.

I had no idea when I posted the bird out on a limb that it would be a foreshadow of something that will be consuming my life for a while. I will be posting about it shortly as well as our beautiful visit with Lea and Milt and the fun of the Calabash Festival. But I'm at work now and have a lot to think about regarding George, friendship, sacrifice, and compassion; not to mention the approaching one year anniversary of the passing of my mother. October is such a beautiful month. After the last few days though, I'm discovering that I will approach next October with a certain degree of dread since trouble always seems to come in threes. In the meantime, here are a few lovely pictures of Santa Rosa, the festival, and a friend.

Beautiful sunshine

Charming Cottages

Nature's Bounty.

Beautiful Lea with friend, Hesperia
A Helping Hand
A Helping Heart
Living brightly in the world
but also in a world apart.




Please remember George.
Every thought is a prayer





Friday, October 5, 2007

Sometimes you just have to go out on a limb.




Please remember George today.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Prayers are Requested

PLEASE REMEMBER GEORGE

I just got a called from Quanah. As you may know, he married this past June. Erin comes from a large family of seven sisters and brothers. They have just learned that her brother George, who has been in remission from melanoma, actively has cancer again. George and his wife Jennifer just married less than a month ago. When they returned from their honeymoon, they had some large bruising on his body checked out. An MRI revealed that the melanoma is back with a vengeance, is very aggressive and has spread to his brain. He is going to start chemo and is on meds to slow the progress but the prognosis is very poor.

I post this here because I have found that you, my dear blogging family, make a very powerful circle of prayer. I believe strongly and completely in the healing power of prayer and ask that you think of George and remember him in your prayers. He and his young wife have the potential for a long and happy life together. God willing, they WILL have that life.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Cooking in the Kitchen with Annie

Like I said a couple of days ago, I have no great culinary gifts but once in a while I feel the big push to follow a recipe, to face off with myself on a creative food challenge, so to speak. Monday evening I took up that challenge. Here are a few things you should know about my cooking and baking skills before reading any further:

1. No matter how clear the recipe is, I get it wrong;
2. Even if I follow the recipe to the "T", I burn whatever I'm baking;
3. Cookies come out too crisp;
4. My children have no joyful holiday memories of seasonal baking.

So, Fall arrived. I had a new oven. The impulse to cook/bake took over and on Monday after work I made a chicken pot pie.

So - this is pretty unbelievable. My brother bakes. He even makes crust from scratch. My sister bakes, cooks, stews, slices and dices. I - well, I open boxes. So - imagine my surprise when I run across this recipe for CPP and not only am I intrigued by the seeming ease of the recipe, but I felt impelled to alter it.

Call me weird if you want but cooking my chicken in Italian dressing is not my idea of a good seasoning base for a pot pie. So, out went the dressing and in came salt/pepper/extra chicken bouillon, etc. I discovered that using pre-made crust from the deli was a snap and cream cheese in the sauce gives it a subtle flavor extra.

The whole prep process took me less than 30 minutes. I even altered the cooking time and temperature, an unheard of thing for me to do. The recipe said 375 for 30 minutes. The pastry box said 475 til brown. I set the oven for 450 and 20 minutes. The idea was to check the pie after 20 minutes to see how it was looking. Amazing results. So - what do you think?



I'm not at my home computer so don't have the recipe with me. Anyone who would like it, just drop me an email. I will cheerful send it.