Adventures in Grandmothering

This is what it looks like when your granddaughter gets her head stuck in the cat condo. She was visiting Puck when she realized she couldn't get her head back out of the hole. This is the downside of growing so fast. Surprises. Steve was in town, luckily, or I would have had to call the fire department.  She needed to be pulled upwards, straight out of the opening. I wasn't strong enough to manage the maneuver safely, thus the need for reinforcements. No injuries, just indignation.

Always in motion, unless sound asleep.
(or stuck in the cat condo)

More Freakin' Rain!

I'm pretty shocked to find myself watching a deluge of water coming down, with lots of lightning all around the house. The people living on the evacuated areas must be cursing god right now. 

At 11:00 AM I was getting a sunburn out at the ranch, marveling at the lack of destruction even while hearing the Chinook Helicopters up on the mountains. 

I didn't see this storm coming and it's a doozy.

The Writer Needs to Swim Upstream

I was reading some of Wallace Stegner's thoughts on writing this morning and came across this: "...talent is very common. It's as common as salmon eggs. And for the same reasons that millions of salmon eggs produce only a few salmon, millions of talents, through bad luck, ill health, poverty, bad social conditions, all sorts of causes, simply never come to anything...". From Literary by Accident.

This reminded me of what I find so frustrating in the writing group. I see writers with talent who have the capacity to succeed as writers, and the cause of their failure isn't any of the things that Stegner lists. It's lack of discipline (myself included), laziness (myself included), and poor boundaries (when it comes to putting your own needs first - myself included). I'll oversimplify the matter of motivation by stating that if you are really a writer, you write. If you are a serious writer with aspirations, you write every day, improving your craft and staying in the zone. If writing is a river, you're not a minnow. You need to be cruising the currents as a big, wily trout.

Wallace Stegner also wrote that a writer lives within a cultural matrix. Create your own writing matrix by first placing your ass in your chair. From that vantage point, enter your brain by whatever ritual suits you best, and create something on the page.

Don't end up being like the majority of the salmon.

She's only three but she sits down and types

Weather Event: Day Six

Supposedly, today will be the last major rain for a while. There is a downpour outside of my window right now at 9:55 in the morning. The television news is saying that the last of the heavy rain will be tonight. The news coverage is extensive, to the point of being overwhelming. The aerial videos are fascinating, especially for me. I've always liked weather from the bucolic to the extreme.  As I type, the alarm goes off in the other room as the weather service sends out a warning of flash flooding in the High Park burn area. Go to higher ground. Now. That's where our beleaguered cabin is.

I got a phone call and we were, of course, talking about the flooding. She said a friend saw some kids swimming in the flooded drainage ditch behind their apartment building. Can you say hepatitis?

I try to see some good in most situations and I have to say that our lawn has never looked greener. (Please know that I'm being facetious)

Fun art at our neighbor's house.

Catastrophic Flooding in Colorado 2013

2013 is still careening, wild and crazy, much like a 17-year-old driver in Daddy's SUV. We are watching history being made as Colorado gives itself a makeover with torrential rains, flash floods, and the accompanying destruction. The numerous fire-scarred mountains can't absorb the rain. The debris washes down the drainages and trees are uprooted along the creeks and rivers. Cottonwoods become nature's battering rams.

Longmont has declared a state of emergency. Lyons, next to the mountains, is severely flooded and cut-off. Five dams have been breached outside of Lyons. The National Guard is sending its high-clearance trucks to help out. In Jamestown, some buildings have collapsed as the area tries to absorb over 10 inches of rain, and the list goes on and the rain continues. A wall of water is heading down Four-Mile Canyon and authorities are frantically trying to get people out of harm's way. Boulder is already flooded in many places, filling basements with water, and closing roads. The flash flood watch stretches from Wyoming to New Mexico, and the rain is predicted to continue through Friday, and maybe through the weekend.

At our house, the rain has pretty much stopped for now. We walked down to LaBella Coffee and ran into a pretty lady who turned out to be bonkers. She was very nicely dressed with a smile full of perfect teeth. She seemed to know my daughter but that turned out not to be the case. She said she was a reporter. I asked the owner of LaBella if she had interviewed him and he rolled his eyes. Turns out she has a blog and is very unstable. She is posting on Facebook about every two minutes as she walks around town. A sampling: I'm in the light..The city is being destroyed. Pray that God sends his helicopter to the rescue. And: I will be reporting live from the Bella Vita Coffee House at around 10:00 AM....And: Just met. Man same as Jesus..He believes we can all be saved. He has sent an angel of the lord to deliver this message. Thise (sic) that have ears. Hear the Lord. Fear your fears...Let love prevail.

I kind of think the "Man same as Jesus" was Steve. She posted that as soon as she left the coffee house.

I'm worried about my horse, Cooper, who is boarded right by the foothills. But, despite that, I'm just riding out this weather event, wondering if the cabin will survive one more trauma. When the rain stops, we'll see if there's anything we can do to help out.

As I write this, the skies have darkened again and the trees are stirring in a new breeze. It would seem that another round of rain is about to make its appearance.

We wanted rain. We got it.

Don't ask me....

The Paralyzing To-Do List

I'm a compulsive list-maker, a sure sign that the memory cells have seen better days. Since I've been this way since I left home at 18, I sometimes wonder if the list-making contributed to my poor memory, as in the lack of mental exercise probably resulted in poor muscle-memory. Related to the poor at jokes-syndrome. (and, yes, I know what muscle memory really is)

I've been home with a sick child for the past two days, so I've gotten a lot of work done around the house. (She's not deathly ill, just a bad cold) Of course I'm driving on the road to nowhere known as  "Getting Organized". And it all begins with making a list. Actually, multiple lists. The one that is giving me the most anxiety is the Getting Ready for Winter list. Winter seemed a long way away until Tuesday when Mother Nature flipped the switch and the rains began. Temperatures dropped and summer fled the scene. List-making originates from the amygdala in the "primitive" part of the brain. (as if it all isn't f*ing primitive) Just as this cold spell has caused the leaves on our black walnut tree to yellow, my fingers grip a pen and start the seasonal list. The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on to the next list. (with apologies to Omar Khayyan)

This is the part of the story where I start getting depressed. The list is long and time is short. I need to finish my winter prep obsessing before I can enjoy Halloween. (Can it only be 7 weeks away?) The day after Halloween is when my annual OCD about Thanksgiving begins. Christmas can't be far behind. It's no wonder that New Year's Eve is such a cathartic evening for me. I make my resolutions for the coming year.... just another kind of to-do list.

So I started the summer is over list:

• pruning
• taking the leaves, branches, and debris to the yard waste place
• winterizing the cars
• buying snow tires
• turning on the radiators
• moving all the plants that can only be moved in the fall...
• ...to the new flower bed that hasn't been created yet
• storm windows need to go up
• sprinkler system needs to be blown out 
• snow blower tuned up
• find all those coats and boots
• get the horse moved closer before the snow flies
• paint the new fence

And what else can I think of? Who really gives a damn?

Winter is Coming!

Saturday Doldrums

I tried to do a good thing last night and offered to sleep with the resident three-year-old on the futon. Her mother is pretty sick and looked like she could use a good night's sleep. The result was that the child got about 5 hours sleep, I got less, and her mother said she was awake most of the night anyway.
Sleep deprivation is never good, but I was dragging like I haven't drug in a long time when I had to get up with said child at 5:30 in the A.M. Steve had a fishing date and was leaving early, and I couldn't talk him into taking her with him to enjoy nature and all that. The good part is that I got a lot of pesky little jobs done around the house before I completely wore out. (I'm hoping that moving the suitcases from one room to another counts as a completed job)

I was fussing around the yard today and noticed the spiders are making those little egg nests all over the place. Could this mean an early fall? Our persistent heat wave may finally be broken next week, and there's even a possibility of rain. I can barely water enough to keep the plants alive, much less make any improvements. I was watering this evening and saw a sphinx moth on the Jupiter's Beard. These moths are often mistaken for hummingbirds.

My main accomplishments today were the preparation of dinner and an afternoon nap. I don't think I'll offer to sleep with the kid tonight. (It sounded so easy)

I started reading my new Wallace Stegner book on the American West today while eating lunch. I love his writing.

As the sun sets and the temperature drops a little bit, I find that I feel very much like taking a shower and climbing into bed with my book. I need some of those noise-cancelling headphones to complete my fantasy.

I hope that whoever reads this had a good Saturday that was just to their liking. May Sunday be even better.

Yay, Sleep!

Bring it on.

Reading That Resonates

 I found a wonderful literary magazine titled West Marin Review that is based in Pt. Reyes Station in California. The quality is excellent, but what I was most attracted to was the cross-section of writers and artists who appeared in the journal. All walks of life were represented, from children to the aged.  This publication is created using 99% volunteer effort.

A personal story, What Would Buddha Do? by resident Elizabeth Whitney, immediately captured my attention.

There are things I read because I need the information, and things I read and think, This is good writing. I'm enjoying it. But the best writing is the kind synchs with something already inside. When this happens, I can forget the act of reading and enter the flow of the story. It's a rare union when the writer and reader can connect on this level.

The nonfiction piece What Would Buddha Do? had that effect on me. Whitney is a concise, clear writer, as she should be as a self-proclaimed "lifelong journalist".

The story is about a house-sitter who seems sane and competent when hired. The two women share an interest in many of the same philosophies and books and seem compatible. All is well when Whitney leaves. She returns to find a delusional house-sitter who believes she is going to continue to live in the house. As the woman descends into "full-on psychological disintegration" Whitney writes, "The right question is: What would a psychiatric nurse do?"

I've had similar encounters and always find it difficult to set up boundaries. It can take some time to find out just who you're really dealing with when it comes to mental illness. I err on the side of compassion then, as the turnips start tumbling off the truck, come to regret my decisions. It took me a long time to realize that a big dose of rational thinking is a ridiculous plan for reaching out to someone whose brain is just not set up to work that way. Professional help is almost always beyond the reach of people who are "sliding down society's flagpole". In short, we've created a mess, devastating to those who can't even take care of themselves on even a basic level.

My complaint with the piece (doesn't every writer know this moment is coming?") is that the story doesn't have much of a conclusion. Whitney surprised me by offering the house-sitter a "reprieve" with "rules and an end date". The last two paragraphs are mostly broad generalizations. What interested me was the personal interaction and the conundrum of not arriving at a resolution to the situation. Sometimes there is no happy ending.

We read fiction and nonfiction alike to learn more about life, and how to approach the challenges both positive and negative.  Sometimes all we learn is that the world can be a grey, screwed-up place.

Pull the Weeds, Pay the Bills

There's a good book titled, "After the Ecstasy, the Laundry" by Jack Kornfield. In it, Kornfield quotes Zen Master Katagiri : "The important point of spiritual practice is not to try to escape your life, but to face it - exactly and completely." This sentiment occupied my mind as I began the transition from a visit to a place I hold deep in my heart, back into non-vacation mode at home. The two-day drive was a transition unto itself...a portal of necessity, and an example of just getting it done - a concept that seems to be woven into the fabric of day-to-day life.

The coastal area of Northern California is as beautiful as it is fragile. It's a spiritual place with an overwhelming number of gifts for the person seeking spiritual restoration. The grand sweep of the beach at Pt. Reyes National Seashore would be enough. The mighty Pacific Ocean always makes me feel like an atom within a speck. Feeling insignificant, while still intensely part of the universe, is a relief you can't understand until you've experienced it. For a brief time, watching the waves roll in, I  forgot all of my foibles and mistakes and could simply be present.

I remember going to Kauai once. I loved it there with the trade winds, beaches, and the exotic beauty of the coastline and river banks. But I also remember coming home and being depressed because my life felt mundane and mechanical. It set me to thinking and, over time, changes were made. Now I live in a house I enjoy, in a neighborhood and town that suits me. Colorado is home and I love its rugged beauty and the good people who inhabit my life. No depression these days, even after coming home from my personal Mecca.

In the town of Inverness

So many enticing roads

The clouds were magnificent 

Even the dreaded salt flats look good in the morning

A California resident