Are We There Yet?

"If I could have anything...what would I want this new year to bring?"

Table Talk, Olde Town Alexandria, VA

Woke early this morning, before dawn, though at this time of year that isn't too difficult. Sitting in the dining room, I watched the sky wake up in the east. The maples and oaks in the woods were silhouetted by the dawn light. Everything was quiet. No hint of animals or weather, just a stillness. Then, just as the sun crested the low hills in the southeast, the wind began to pick up. It moved first the leaves, making them dance and shimmer with the light glancing of last night's raindrops. Then the smaller branches began to sway, and so on as the wind blew stronger until all the trees were moving together, back and forth as if dancing in praise of the day. Is it always this magical with each beginning. Did I just forget to look and listen. The wind's soft woosh, the leaf skitter across the lawn… It has been so warm that the autumn leaves lie bright yellow against the sturdy green of the grass. Only the bare trees and the dun color of pine duff tell my eyes that this is fal...

Yesterday, August 28th at 2pm, I listened from my window to the water rushing below us along the Whetstone Brook. The dog was aching to get out into the storm, so I pulled on my raincoat and headed for the door. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as we loped down Crosby St. in a veil of steady rain. What we call a brook was now a raging river. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Bear did her business and we hurried back up the hill to the house. There, Stephen and our friend Rita (rescued from her own flooded home in Guilford) both jumped from their chairs to see something "really amazing...you have to come now!" Back we went, down the hill, along with other small groups of curious neighbors. Before you could even see the water, you heard it. The roar of water crashing over the banks up into the steeply wooded embankment was awesome. Halfway down the hill, we stopped and gawked as a large tree was dislodged from its purchase on the bank and thrown like a toy into ...

I have no idea why the mockingbird sings, but I'm going to go out on the limb with that bird and say that I think they're crazy birds. They're going great guns, creating their wacky symphony of sound at 3am...at 6am...at8pm! The small grey bird that has set up a home at the corner of our patch (in the spindly Scotch pine) has determination. And there was a moment...when I thought... yes, I could kill a mockingbird. That's not to say that I don't appreciate their amazing range. His song is so varied that sometimes I am only sure it's him because of the tone of his song. (Can you say tone of voice about a bird?) The song is sure and clear. Enthusiastic is how I can best describe this little guy. But I'm tired! The mockingbird isn't the only creature competing for attention in our little neighborhood. We have the dog next door, a sweet and gentle pup who spends most of her time outside on a chain. Everything makes her excited. Everything. She barks with j...

2:20p The sun has arrived for a short visit. Dark clouds gather over Marlboro and the slender threads of light pierce through atmosphere heavy with moisture. We swim through the woods in this heady oxygen rich landscape. The leaves have grown fingernail sized and pale translucent green to dinner plate sized dark green shade for the lush canopy above me. The woods are spongy with water. Trees are giving up their purchase in the soil, first leaning against their neighbors and then, finally, falling to the ground. Huge and full of life. Not diseased just overwhelmed by water. I get that. I am overwhelmed too. We all are. People have left their rain boots and coats in the back hall. We have given into the wet on our collars and the fine fringe of damp in our hair. What's a little dampness at this point? We are all comrades in this gathering of clouds settled over our heads. The Mountain is obscured. And everywhere there is the noise of rushing water. Water runs racing to the rive...

Someone told me yesterday that the snow in march is only to be expected. She said that March to her was like a sulky adolescent. The days vary from cold damp to moments of blissful warm in the shelter of the south facing terrace pocketed between the porch's el and the two overly large arbor vitae. The is still a considerable amount of snow on the ground, added to yesterday by another few inches. It was a lovely storm. Thick blanket of fine tiny flakes that obscured the mountain entirely. I had an appointment out Guilford way. Along the Weatherhead Hollow I could see little. A few geese were skating low over the pond and the road was covered with snow. So I had to slow down. Take a look at this and that- the funny farm house that rests so to the road- angled so that its front a left side are inches from the curving bend. A mail box is nailed to the side, rusted and looking unused. The clapboards are grey, and the roof slates peaking through the snow are dark and glossy. I love that...

We had another day of winter weather. This was punctuated by power outages, car stuck in the driveway, another car stuck out on the road, and a declining spirit. The day seems to swallow me whole! But its almost over, the cars tucked away where they need to go and all well with all involved. The fire is burning hot. Pasta in my tummy. I'm off to bed.

0 degrees this morning. A long night of no sleep made this moment particularly poignant.  When the brain is deprived of the essentials, everything has a peculiar caste to it. 

It must be 8 weeks now. Back when the Thanksgiving meal was still settling into my belly and the prospect of Christmas was keeping me awake at night. I got a cold. It was nothing, a non-cold, a couple of days inconvenience and then back to the business of life. But this cold left with me a visitor. A little tickle in the throat and a small wheeze in my chest that has kept me company ever since. Each week I watch the light get just a bit brighter, the shadows changing from main event to supporting members and think, this week my cough, this constant ahem in my throat will fade away and the mornings will become moments of silence once again. No more clearing my throat, no more blowing my nose, no more hack and snarf. No more buying kleenex in bulk, no more sneezing three times in a row. This is not fun or entertainment or occupation. Well- perhaps occupation of another sort- my body has been occupied by an invader- unwelcome guest. The strategies to oust the interloper have included ...

I just found an article about a man who has made a world out of action figures. It seems so real. He had his world taken when beaten to the point that he has no memories. He now makes his own world from his imagination. Fantastic thought. Though we may have no past we will create one to occupy what is gone. His world is occupied by violence and stories around WWII. He is too young to have gone through this, but has recreated what he imagines to have happened were he there himself. I am looking forward to seeing this film for myself.

The dawn has not arrived. Dark and chill at 3am. The snow catches all available light and creates an illusion of moonglow, though it is only the reflection of sodium vapor street lamps as they hiss and buzz through each hour of the dark. I am awake at this time more often than not, releasing the half- remembered dreams and regrets of the minutes and hours that have slid past me, unnoticed. I am full of resolve at 3am. The list is created and starred and underscored with firm intention. But then, as the light grows in the east, the day begins and all those things that clutter each day seep into my intention. The meditation is shorter, the dry toast is buttered, the 3rd cup of coffee added and all without more than a passing thought, "Shame on you." I have noticed something about that resolve I mentioned. It was strong and reliable not so long ago. Something changed. As simple as just not caring. I am unsure why this has happened. Procrastination? They call it sloth in five s...