Dear friends-

I have a new tenant. Her name is Emily and she is a partner in the midwifery practice. She's young and bright and full of energy. She remembers way more than I ever will. Or could. Our 'boss' Sara has left for Texas to disconnect her mother from life support. We are scrambling to figure out the call schedule and the patient shuffle. Poor Sara. Such a heavy burden. Her mother was her guiding light. Her mother and I are the same age. It's so interesting to contemplate, our demise. When? And how? 

Dealing with some aches and pains which have not kept me from the swimming pool, thank the baby Jesus. I have visited a nice young PT who has me doing exercises with stretchy things. Humbling. The aging body and mind. 

I'm wondering if there is a person or persons who could advise me about heating this old house. The gas furnace is looking geriatric and only heats the front of the house, the living room and kitchen. The back of the house has electric wall heaters that are mostly inadequate. I have solar panels and could have some monstrous healing system back there because my electric bill is nominal. I wear my coat in the house and heat my bed with a mattress warmer (yummy). Still I feel very 17th century with bundling up in the house. Judith lives on a houseboat and that's cold! She's always got her down coat on. 

I'm grateful for the cold. Especially when I think about the dreadful heat we had last year and will again.

My children and grandchild are visiting for my birthday in February. I am beyond happy about that. I have traveled back and forth to California numerous times and now it's their turn to visit me. The only thing I want to do besides cook and eat and hang out is go to the Korean spa for a few hours to get scrubbed and massaged and soaked. And eat Korean waffles roll-ups (divine). 

This might be an appalling post but such is my life. 

Last week:

 

 Dear friends-

Thich Nhat Hanh died on the 22nd, in his home temple in Vietnam where he became a monk at 16. He was 95 and had had a stroke in 2014. Photos of him being greeted at the entrance to the temple, a small old man in a wheelchair who could no longer speak, were beautiful and bright. I'm sure he was tended to around the clock as a revered and beloved teacher. His nickname, Thuy, meant teacher. 

I have been crying a lot. It surprised me, the depth of my grief. And then I recall what my life looked like when I stumbled into a small dark room where people were meditating. I was so sad and vulnerable and fragile. It was 1995 and I was involved in a lawsuit a family had brought against me and my partner for a baby who was damaged. It doesn't matter the details now. We were released from the suit after two horrible years of lawyers and depositions and endless paperwork. But my/our world collapsed. Every day was full of dread and fear. Would I lose my falling-down house I had just bought? Would I ever work again? As they say in Buddhism, the eight worldly winds were blowing from every direction, knocking me down over and over. 

The small dark room held a community of people who were following the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk who had opposed the Vietnam war and had been expelled from his country. He was a friend to Dr King. He established centers all over the world to teach mindfulness and meditation,  to bring peace and happiness to others. His message was one of engaged Buddhism. 

In that dark room, I finally breathed fully for the first time in what felt like months. I didn't have to tell my story, I could just be. I went week after week, involving myself in the community. We eventually bought a house that we turned into a Dharma hall. Our teacher, trained by Thuy, came from her rural home to offer retreats and Dharma talks. 

I remember how silly I was, how I wince at the ways I misbehaved, not fully understanding the gift I had been given, to begin to comprehend my tangled thinking, my reactivity and the ways that I was contributing to my own suffering. 

Almost 27 years later, I can fully grieve for the little monk who worked tirelessly to bring gentleness and love to all of us, to teach us to love ourselves without reservation. 

"Even when the cloud is not there, it continues as snow or rain. It is impossible for the cloud to die. It can become rain or ice, but it cannot become nothing. The cloud cannot become nothing. The cloud does not need to have a soul in order to continue. There's no beginning and no end. I will never die. There will be a dissolution of this body, but that does not mean my death.

I will continue, always."

May all beings be at peace. May all beings be free from their suffering.

Calm - Ease | Guided Meditation by Thich Nhat Hanh Born 10/11/1926--Died 1/22/2022

Rest easy, dear Thuy.

Free write with Betsy

 The question was, "What is worth saving?"

Compassion is worth saving, for myself, for others, for the small and large lives all around. When I think of the exhortation to preserve life, not to kill, I am confronted daily with what that means. Does that mean the ants that are already appearing by the back door, making their trails to the kitchen where there are crumbs, drips of honey, errant bits of onion and broccoli from dinner. They like honey best, always looking for sugar. I am too, always seeking sweetness among the troubles of a life.

Ants have a queen somewhere. I envision her on a tiny antish throne, her loyal, inexhaustible subjects working tirelessly and selflessly to bring her the fruits of their industry. Do ants have a soul? The theological pundits would probably say not. But what do they know. The engine of an ant, the spark that animates them also animates us. I'm not sure about the soul thing? Does having a soul put us on a hierarchy of importance? To whom?I recently heard a talk about the father, son and holy ghost. The holy ghost mystifies me, always has. Then there's the triple goddess, the three faces of women, the triple jewel and so on. 

But back to the recommendation to not take life. This winter my house has hosted a plethora of tiny winged bugs. I couldn't figure out their generation. What was the point of origination? Not the compost bucket. Not a dead critter the cat brought in. (Reminds me of the dead robin under my bed but that's a story for another time.) These wee beings were on the window sills, on the bathroom mirror, by the stove. And they were fragile. I could take out a legion of them with one swipe of my sponge. 

Here's the dilemma. I am taking life, their life. They may have families, a culture (music, literature?), a purpose in the grand wed of life. And are they less important than polar bears, or orcas, or trees? Do I let them be, to live and die as we all do, as we all must?  

 This morning very early I awoke and baked a little squash, made two breakfast burritos with egg and beans and cheese and spinach, threw in some yogurts and a loaf of homemade bread and a jar of apple butter and went down to the public market and saw the monk standing with his begging bowl. I bowed to him and gave him all the food and he sang a prayer of gratitude and wonder. 

I told him when I am cooking for him,  I do it as mindfully as I can. I remember I am cooking and serving the Buddha, as the example for us all to fully awaken from our dream of life. He is the stand-in for our purest desire to be better people, to help and serve and be kind whenever we can. I told him all that. He reminded me that there are bad monks and I'm sure there are because we're all human and we are capable of terrible things. It takes courage to show up every day and be a good person, not an asshole person. I have some ways to go because of anger and sadness and disappointment but it's always good to make an effort. 

It is very early in the morning to go meet the little monk. It's almost like this secret and weird thing I am doing. It's part of my spiritual practice. 

I was very happy to see he was wearing actual shoes in the rain. He reminded me that in Asia, the monks go for alms in their bare feet. Quite impractical in the PNW, indeed. 

Much love.

 

Felix and I visited Kubota's garden yesterday, 20 acres of gorgeous Japanese landscaping that is 100 years old. 

Happy New Year everyone. 

Like ants we are happy

As long as we carry a load bigger than ourselves.

                                                              -Rumi

 We have 6? 7? inches of snow here. Yes we do. And freezing temperatures. On Friday I had a sore throat and so I went on the hunt for a covid test. Ha! You try it, the day before xmas. I went from one site to another, to no avail. I finally found a test (for $250!!) by the airport. All the other cars in the parking lot were Mercedes and Teslas. And me in the Honda. 

Now I just have a wicked cold but no covid. Kenny is positive for covid but he's holding up. We check in each morning. I went to the store yesterday bundled up to the eyes because I was out of everything and a couple was standing outside the store laden with bags. They asked if I'd lend them my phone as Uber wasn't picking up. I declined then thought what the heck and asked where they needed to go. Not far away at all. So I drove them home to their kids. They gave me a twenty which I refused but they insisted. Insisted. 

I've lost touch with reality, honestly. I'm all snotty and fuzzy-headed. I let the dog out and he tracks snow through the entire house. I'm trying to work but it seems impossible. I've canceled Teen Feed for this Friday. Too many cancellations and covid is raging and it's 23 degrees here. No one should be driving anywhere. The TF staff was very gracious. We're on again for April. Kellie already bought 3 hams and she thinks she'll just drop them off at the church. I can't even think about kids outside in this weather. It's criminal. Unconscionable. While I sit here in my warm house. 

The hummingbird feeders froze and one broke in two. I bring them in at night so they can thaw out and then hang them out again in the morning. I'm gonna spread more bird seed outside for the chickadees and juncos and crows. Heck, whoever needs some food. 

It's supposed to snow again on Thursday. By then I will be well enough to get my skis out so I can tour the neighborhood. 

I might be losing my mind a little bit. Hopefully only the parts I no longer need. 

 Charles Dickens describes Scrooge as "a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint,... secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster."

I so love this description of Scrooge as I ready myself for the umpteenth viewing of the glorious black and white version of A Christmas Carol with Alistair Sim in the lead role. His delight in finding that he's not dead (yet) is such a transcendent scene. 

Have I ever been a Scrooge? Surely I have as a human on this earth. We all have. And some of us have had the great good fortune to be able to serve and care for others. It is in giving and receiving that our hearts open and expand. 

My neighbor told me today how much money she makes. It was rather a lot and I instantly thought that money can certainly ease life. But more and more money is just...numbers as an old girlfriend used to say. 

I have a house to live in, a furnace that works, warm clothes and plenty of food. Lucky. I am lucky.

I met Ajahn Kovilo, a young monk, down at the market yesterday morning very early. He walks there during the week with his begging bowl, a big metal bowl covered with a brown cloth. I brought warm rice and veggies and chocolate to give him. He eats once a day before noon. This is part of his practice. I parked my car and walked along in the dark and cold morning. I had knitted him a hat to keep his bald head warm. (Temps here are going down below freezing). As I walked along, I saw folks under sleeping bags on the sidewalk. There were few people out. As I hit the corner of the market, the smells of cinnamon, smoked meats, coffee and spices filled the air. I waited for him to appear and down the sidewalk he came, in his cedar colored robes. He was unhurried, socks and flip flops on his feet. Seeing him there was almost like an apparition. In Asia, monks and nuns are everywhere. Here in the US, not so much. Cultures, worlds, centuries collided. 

I'll go again next week. 

Over my desk is a photo of my cousin and her young son. They are both gone, to homelessness, mental illness and suicide. My brother is next to them. He too is gone. Then there is Allison Streeter, a block of a woman who swam the English Channel to France and back THREE  times. My grandson is there, as a baby and a high school grad. 

Where am I going with all this? Not sure. 

Why are we here? To love Keith Richard, to make art, to care for our loved ones. To be kind. In spite of or because of. To be kind. To wake up, like Scrooge, on any morning, and realize we're finite and what we do, how we live, matters. 

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

 Dear Friends-

The rain is raining all around. 

It falls on fields and trees.

It's raining on umbrellas here.

And on the ships at sea.

                                Robert Lewis Stevenson

For days and days and days and filling the mountains with snow. Yesterday was sunny and we all went out dazzled by the brightness and the blue sky. Last night just off a full moon inside a wide ring. So much crazy weather and loss of life everywhere but here the gray and wet so familiar. The old Seattle with puddles and streams and rivers of water over the roadways.

As the year ends, ready for a few more busy clinic days. Before work, I will be going down to Pike Market, a busy market on the edge of Puget Sound to offer alms to a young monk I have met a few times. He travels to Seattle by ferry very early to stand in the market with his bowl and his robes. He and another monk are offering weekly Dharma talks to the community and their aspiration is to find land on which to provide a Thai forest refuge for themselves, other monastics (including women) and the lay community. I have sat with them twice. They are both Westerners who trained in Thailand and returned here to build a community in the PNW.Very exciting. 

Oh, offering alms means I will bring a lot of prepared food as he eats once a day...I remember well the daily meal we had when I was in Burma. 

After feeling purposeless for so long and with the winding down of my health care life, I am energized by the thought of starting my chaplaincy studies and engaging with this new community. The monks are so sweet. One if them graduated from college in 2012! so he's what? 30? Beyond their teaching, their earnestness has really touched me. Their desire to live the way the Buddha did but in the West is so touching and so...crazy. In the East, monks and nuns are everywhere and the community takes care of them, feeding and clothing them. In exchange, they offer the teachings freely. I guess most faiths have this component. Buddhist monastics are not able to handle money, drive, cook, etc. They rely on the community for everything. Transplant that to the West. I can only imagine a lone monk in ocher robes standing in the market with the tourists and the regulars swirling around them. 

Just had a dinner with a few friends and it was so joyful. We laughed so much we cried. As the virus may shut us away again, it was delightful to spend an evening with beloved people. 

What, you may ask, is this? Eden is in S Africa supporting a group of women who are walking a labyrinth for seven hours for seven days chanting a mantra, oh and painted red. On seven continents. It's an art/environmental/justice piece and Eden is cooking and supporting the project. And she's not my hippie child. The other one is. 

I continue to be amazed by my children.

Love to you all in the dark and rainy season. 

Dears-

I've been accepted into the chaplaincy program and I mistakenly paid for the entire first year. Oops. I fortunately had enough money in my account to cover it. In March I'll be attending the first retreat and meeting my fellow classmates. 

In the meantime, I better take in all the movies and read all the fiction books and go for all the hikes and see all the friends that I won't see for two years. 

Still.

I got a rejection letter from The Sun today. And you know what. The short story I sent them was just fine and well written. My old writing teacher would always say, "Believe in your work, love your work." She's right. 

Carry on, dear friends. Make your art. Make your beautiful art. I'll go learn how to be a chaplain. 

Ha!

 Dear friends-

Well, I've applied the the Buddhist chaplaincy program and waiting to hear if I get in...talked with my friend Rachel about one of the questions and now I have doubts about how I answered. 

This is called....*anxiety from being inside for two years*.  It is not mindfulness or calm or peace or any of those words. Jeezus. 

Another friend and I met for lunch and we went to a cathedral nearby to look at the stained glass and the Mary statues. Both were beautiful. Yes, it was a Catholic church and boy they have some pretty real estate. I reminded myself that the church ripped off pre-christian cultures and appropriated seasonal change festivals and Earth mother images to get the peasants to come along. Oh, and they burned a bunch of people, mostly women, for being witches. There's that. We won't even mention pedophile priests. 

I have been thinking about organized religion in general these days. The creation of false divisions among people has caused unimaginable suffering. Depending on what we believe, we are either friend or foe. And therefore worthy of clobbering. Listening to a news report about Northern Ireland and the new rise of Sinn Fein, I'm reminded of the conflict between the Catholics and the Protestants in that part of the world. 

Even Buddhists. All religion is populated with human beings. And we are fallible, especially the ones who claim to have inside information or direct lines to some supernatural being. So many charlatans over so many years. And we follow them, hoping for redemption or an answer to our sorrow or some kind of certainty. 

What is it about us, that we long for a belief system so we don't have to think for ourselves. We don't have to face our own aging, sickness and death. I don't mean to be morbid here, just realistic. When I met the boy in the boat on Ganges across from the burning ghats, I understood that we humans can have vastly different ideas about our own mortality. For some of us, it's the promise of heaven. For others it's reincarnation that keeps us going. Sin, unskillful actions, commandments or precepts, all are exhortations to behave, in one way or another. 

There is also the opportunity to be kind, respectful and loving. Because it is who we are. We are the worst and we're the best. Just as we can understand how others can kill and revile and do hateful things, we can also choose a different way. Eden and I were talking about the show, "Call the Midwife", running for many seasons on BBC. She asked why we love it so. We have watched it together, tears leaking from our eyes. I realized it's because the characters; the young midwives and the nuns, are kind. They are working with poor women and their babies and they get entangled in the families and the community. They show up, caring beyond their duties as medical folks. We can all think of people like them. We are people like them, maybe not all the time, but we know what it means to be kind to others, just because it is the right thing to do.

Ok, I put a coat on the dog. He was shivering on the back porch and it's time for a long walk. He feels humiliated wearing a plaid blanket on his back. Silly Felix. 

May all be warm and safe.

 I'll say it here:

If Kyle Rittenhouse were Black, he'd be doing time.

And he's still a child and he took two lives and he has to live with that. And somehow it was ok that he was carrying an AK 47 or some horrible war weapon. 

Sweet baby Jeezus.

Milo turned 19 today. He has no notions of carrying or learning to use a gun. We, his family, would NEVER allow it. Never. 

Round 3 of my "silent" retreat. It started last weekend while my daughter and grandson were here. Then the clinic needed me to do visits, then there was a birth, today there may be another birth AND there is a concrete cutter in my basement with a giant saw cutting a huge hole in the foundation in preparation for the new window. Directly under my little sitting bench. It's very loud, of course it is. 

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha etc.

That's it. I'm going swimming in the pool (85 degrees), taking the dog for his walk and coming back to meditate in the midst of all of it. 

It's all perfect. It's all a mess. 

As Maude would say (in Harold and Maude) "Ah, life."

Don't forget to eat your vegetables. 

Love you..

Some babies I have caught, one yesterday while I was supposed to be on a silent retreat (ha!)

Milo and Eden last weekend. We had so much fun. I love them to the moon and back

Me and baby Maya on 48th and 10th in Hell's Kitchen, NYC, 1973. I was 23 and Maya was a few months old. I love that girl so much all over again.

 Dear friends-

I am going to apply for a Buddhist chaplaincy program and I hope I get in. I haven't been this excited in a long while. I have had an ongoing interest in secondary trauma with the childbearing year and this will give me the opportunity to write/finish my book/thesis/whatever this is with the help and support of a program that advocates for social justice in many areas-environmental, social, racial, women's issues etc. Chaplains go into prisons and jails, work with the homeless, all the disenfranchised and wounded in our world. This particular program serves in many underserved areas as volunteers. 

No proselytizing btw. Anyway, not a thing Buddhists do. We don't go door to door. We don't picket in front of abortion clinics. We're hopefully not obnoxious. I loved school and I want to be in school again. Yes!!

Anyway, I'll let you know if I get in. It's 2 years and a whole lotta work. Oh, and money. Not too much but hey it will be there if it's the right thing to do. I know of the director. She's rad. 

I love you all. 

 Went to a birth a few nights ago. Saw them today for a check up. This momma had a c/section the first time around and a vaginal birth two mornings ago. She is so happy, so content. I swear, helping a woman heal from a surgery she didn't want is so powerful for her. C/sections are important and useful and when properly utilized, lifesaving. However, there are way too many in our modern world and women often feel ripped off and traumatized. Until the day I die (and maybe beyond!), this midwifery work has been about honoring and respecting women and their bodies and their knowing. A woman who feels ok about her birth, however it went, is a woman who hopefully felt listened to by all who went on the journey of birth with her. And that means medical folks, family members, her partner and the family dog. When women are discounted and disrespected when laboring and birthing, the hurt and pain go deep. 

This mother felt triumphant. She got to feel everything. She got to push her baby out. And for her, that was important. Her first baby was breech so she never even had contractions. Boy howdy, she felt contractions this time. The walls of her room were covered with affirmations of love and support. 

This baby was a whopper, by the way. Almost 2 pounds bigger than her first child. 

In other news, Clark and I went swimming this morning and we froze our tootsies off. Rain, wind and water 54 degrees. We stayed near the shore and called it pretty soon after we got in. Took me more time to get my booties, gloves, cap and wetsuit off that I spent in the water. I'm still shivering. Then the sun comes out, then it starts pouring again. 

I guess I should turn on the heat, huh.

Made a yogurt, egg, almond flour cake that was so boring, I almost threw it away. It sounded good but yuck. It needs more sweetener and lemon juice and zest. I'll try again. 

I have to make granola for my beloved Milo who will be here next Thursday. And homemade bread. What do teenage boys like to eat besides junk? I think they eat about everything. I started a quilt for Eden and I will be working on it right in front of her. She won't know it's for her. There is a knitting project I started last winter that so intimidated me I put it on the shelf. Might be time to get it out and cry a little. 

Ok, I'm getting into the hot tub. It's not raining at the moment. In the winter working on quilts is a wise move cuz you're sitting under them. Pretty cozy. 

Got my booster yesterday. Yuck. I feel terrible (and lucky, of course). Tired, headache, sore arm, all signs my immune system is firing up. 

Should I tell the story of a new chiropractor I went to (twice)? I'm sure he's a Trump guy. He went on and on about his knowledge of pregnancy and his wife and their births and no, none of their kids are vaccinated for anything. He did wear a mask for my visit. The second time I saw him a few days later, he mentioned the 'mess' Biden is leaving the country in. I responded 'mmm' but mostly kept quiet. Oh, and he played barbershop quartet music including a rendition of our national anthem. 

And his treatment was really good. He took a thorough history, his adjustments were spot on and so, well, shit.  Oh yeah, he takes medicare. I made my way through a long list of providers on the official Kaiser page and all of them, except him, refused me. I mean, Medicare is a government program, right? Cognitive dissonance is a thing, isn't it?

Anyway, I have to find someone else. 

Sheesh. 

The hole in the yard I mentioned earlier. We ran into a large concrete pipe. Of course we did. Now I'm entertaining plumbers who will route it further from the foundation for $$ or $$$ or $$$$. I'm waiting for another company to show up right now. I also got a bid for replacing the crummy shower in the MIL-the most basic, lowest price and that came in a $6000. 

Whaaaaaaa.

I could forget the whole thing...but I can't. Not ethical. I need to make the unit safer and more functional. 

It's only money. As an old girlfriend used to say, 'it's only numbers.' 

Friday is Teen Feed-this month weird menu; mac and cheese, corn muffins, hot dogs with all the stuff, tacos and James cookies. Milk. Apples. Raw carrots. Baked potatoes. Whatever we can do. 

John Prine - Boundless Love - The Tree of Forgiveness

 Dear friends-

Milo and his auntie Eden are coming here to look at schools from the 11th to the 15th. To say I am excited would be an understatement. 

Fully dark here. Wild and stormy. 

Thinking about the last few years of my mother's life. She was 'no trouble', according to the nursing home staff. She smiled a lot. She said 'thank you' a lot. She was undemanding. Dignified, as she had hoped. Tonight, my thoughts of her are soft. And that is an improvement. 

There is a large hole in my front yard. There were hordes of ants under the hot cover. My beloved grandson is coming here, all tall and skinny of him. And Eden!! How did I get to be so lucky. 

Camila Cabello - Havana (Official Video) ft. Young Thug

 My sister married her 75 year old Steve yesterday. We were all virtual and I missed the whole thing. Funky wifi, couldn't access my password, you know, the usual. So this morning I called her and we told stories and laughed and laughed. Stories about getting lost, making mistakes, going in the wrong direction. Her wedding story, so beautiful and too much food and sweet wedding bands and her 6'4" husband who has to lean way over to kiss her. She comes up to his chest. 

I cried too. For all that we have lost, collectively. All the weddings and funerals and birthdays and graduations and new babies. All the events that make a life. When we are together again a common refrain. I've never even met Steve although he has made my troublesome wonderful sister so happy. So happy. 

Right now, the dog and cat are just not enough. Annie has a video on her FB feed of a woman in France in a town square standing with a blindfold and arms outstretched to give hugs to random strangers who pass by. So many people approach and they hug. Left me a puddle. 

It is Indigenous People's Day or whatever. One day, huh? Wow. 

If the pool is open, I'll swim there. If not, will I go to the lake? It's mighty cold and I don't like to swim alone. 

My tenant is gone and Jim just dropped off a new window for the basement apartment. Yes, friends, a wee remodel. You know I love those. But the basement with have light! and a window the tenant can crawl out of if the unimaginable happens. It will be splendid. In the meantime, dig a giant hole! Obliterate the interior wall! Don't run into the gas main! Cut a square in the foundation with a concrete cutter! Mess! Dust! Noise! Yeah!

Can't wait. 

Now to roll down the hill to see if the pool is actually open. 

May you all be well and safe and hugging the ones you love. Be kind, always be kind.