Approaching Winter Solstice

daily haiku

solstice dawn rising

golden mornings and evenings

spiritual feasting

Such a beautiful time of the winter, it never fails to lift my heart in awe of the beauty in this place. I was so lucky to have seen an "ad" in the newspaper in England so long ago (1964) and come to these gorgeous surroundings.

I was thinking this morning that one of the reasons I wanted to stay, besides meeting my first husband Bob, was because of the sunshine and huge expanse of blue sky. Looking back I might have suffered from SAD in the UK; the winters were long, dark and wet. Last winter was the worst of my life, hardly seeing the sun during long periods of time really exacerbated my grief.

Just lately I walk in Birney in the morning and then down the driveway and back in the afternoon just taking in the hills with their rifts hilighted by snow. I can see animal prints everywhere and know that, whatever I feel, I am not alone on the hill. Mouse tracks from under bushes, deer hoofprints everywhere, tiny prints on the patio from birds and chipmunks, pheasants peck under the fenceline and as I drive in lately I disturb a flock of Hungarian Partridge - now called Grey Partridge I think.

In 2003 I had an essay (prose poem?) published in Hard Ground IV: Writing the Rockies called At The Solstice. I think it shows my happiness at this time of year so I am posting it below. Happy Solstice time readers!

At the Solstice

Approaching winter solstice, I draw back the curtains in the morning light. I see long shadows from the rising sun, that highlights deer tracks in the snow, and touches trees, weeds, and hillsides, with pale gold light.

Later in the day, working at my computer, the low light shines through the window reflecting in my computer screen and I reluctantly lower the blinds. The cat loves the winter sunshine; seeks out puddles of sunbeams. She moves around the house, following the rays of light, and bathing her rheumatic joints in their warmth.

Later, when I put her outside, she acts as if she is going to her doom; one step and she’s face to face with the firing squad. It makes no difference that I tell her calmly, it is her work to chase the Pine Crows from the bird feeder so the little birds can fly in to feed; her baleful glance and switching tale tell me she thinks, “So – what?”

As low clouds gather in the late afternoon, the sun hides behind them, the light turning thin, but still casting salmon-colored rays around each fold of vapor. The sun slowly lowers to the south and west, and long shadows form once more, this time from trees, fence posts, and the side of our house. The cat mews pitifully outside the door trying to tell me it’s cold out, there aren’t any more Pine Crows, and besides, it’s time for her afternoon snack.

I watch the evening rays slowly sink below the horizon, spreading their glow across the Buttes, the colors reflecting in the partially frozen river, in one last moment of glory. The cat is now inside gorging on Ocean Fish Dinner, and my husband lights the fire, ready to warm us in the long solstice evening ahead. I am content.

Morning Thoughts At Minus Eleven

daily haiku

minus eleven

a pink dawn through icicles
treacherous beauty

I am sitting here at my computer, room at 62°, which in summer would be most welcome. This morning I have to run a heater to stop what Peter called "the radiative effect" of the cold from pulling all the heat away from my feet and legs. I finished my energy news research and got the urge to write in my blog when, as yet, I haven't had any coffee to stimulate my brain. Must be early cabin fever!

The extreme cold weather is unseasonable this side of Thanksgiving, it blew down from a bad front which brought cold, snow and high winds to Alaska a week ago. At least we have been spared their 100 mph winds - I simply can't imagine that chill factor.

As long as the promised warmer temperatures arrive as forecast, I plan to spend Thanksgiving day with our friends the Peterson family in Sheridan. Adrian and Thelma had an antique store in Dayton, WY. at the foot of the Big Horns and having a Connecticut background in common we became good friends. Adrian and Peter shared a wickedly dry sense of humor and we shared many of the same past-times. We were invited to have Thanksgiving with them around 1983 and it has continued to this day. Adrian died in 2008, Peter in 2010. This year saw the sudden death of their son David, and of Thelma's mother, "Gramms" Isakson at 103 years old. So our numbers are dwindling. There will be some sadness missing all the good times we had together, the laughter and stories.

Along the way we graduated to having dinner at Thelma's son's house Bob Peterson - which is in a lovely spot that looks towards the Big Horns. Lyn cooks a turkey for us even though she doesn't like turkey very much, and I bring candied cranberries from a recipe I found in Gourmet magazine in 1967. Thelma makes an awesome pumpkin pie and Bob a sour cream raisin pie and sometimes maybe a couple of others as well . Yes we all suffer from desert mania!

This year we'll be giving thanks for having Gramms with us for so many years; for David's life and his sobriety, which although cut short, helped him to reach out and heal many others through his work in addiction; for still having Joe and Pauline - Lyn's Mum and Dad - with us, and for just having each other to lean on through our grieving process for these great family members who will share with us in spirit but no longer in body.

The Brits Must Have Their Tea In Bed

daily haiku

tea awakens me

golden taste of india

jump starts feeble brain

In the UK having tea in bed is a luxury that people indulge in quite a lot. They even make a machine to make tea automatically in your bedroom called the Teasmade - here is a link to a video that is fun to watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkDu0kZkjFw

Yearning to treat myself to this pleasure again, before I went to bed last night I set up a tray in the bedroom with electric kettle, cup and saucer, milk jug and sugar bowl and a 1-cup teapot with a teabag in it. This morning I woke at 6.00 and decided to go back to sleep then suddenly I remembered - ah - tea in bed! So I got up, turned on the kettle put on my bed jacket and got back into bed. The kettle boiled. I got out, poured the hot water over the teabag and stood there slightly chilly while it "mashed" then poured the final cup and got into bed again. Ahhh - delightful! I leaned back against the pillows, read, and drank tea before getting up.

But then what could I do without my first cup of tea as I read the newspaper at my computer? My day was totally discombobulated! So what did I do? Made a second cup of course!

I don't think tea in bed will be a part of my life on a regular basis but it was a fun exercise in getting chilled while going back and forth between the bed and the teapot. Of course, there's always a Teasmade!

daily haiku

first snow of the fall

cleans away dust of summer

reveals nature's truth

The dire forecasts did not come to pass, since I woke up to 1/2 inch this morning instead of the anticipated 5". I was lazy and left the sun to sweep it away instead of rushing out with the broom!

I am hoping that the cold discourages or kills some of the bugs that have been a plague as usual this fall. The flies, moths and box elder bugs are ever present but we have developed a penchant towards centipedes and stink bugs the last few years. In years past we occasionally saw a horrifying centipede or two in the house, about 3-4" long and moving like lightning with all those gruesome legs a-wiggling. Most of them were caught under an ashtray in Peter's smoking days, or a water glass in later years, then thrown outside well away from the house.

About 3 years ago, everyone in Birney started complaining about centipedes in the house in the fall, but these are different. About an inch and a half, brown and moving fairly slowly, I frankly wonder if they are a true centipede; they have lots of legs but quite short. Snowy loves them. If I see her staring at the floor I usually know what has caught her attention. She "bats" them with her paw and they oblige her curiosity by rolling up into a ball! Then "mom" interferes and they are flushed down the toilet spoiling all the fun.

This year I've had an invasion of stink-bugs of the type known as shield bug. I have seen them before but left them alone thinking they were a beetle, their shield is quite beatuiful. This year they are plentiful and more aggressive. I'll spare the details but one of them excreted on me in bed one night and I had no idea what it was until I killed another that was invading a roll of toilet paper and the same odd smell emanated from it. At first the smell is gagging but underneath it there is an interesting perfume, which makes me think that their smell is not only a deterrent but could be an attractant to lady stink bugs. I have found a wonderful weapon for disposing of all these invaders and that is a Dustbuster. I usually tour the windows at least once a day and vacuum up the flies, moths, box elders and stink bugs. No mess!

This morning when I was paying bills I looked up to see a stink bug ready to help guide my pen across the check - now that is a useful task. Maybe they have a use after all for paying the stinking monthly bills!

Louise Valentine Pattison

Cary Valentine; Louise Valentine Pattison; Gerri Pattison

daily haiku

who can measure worth

she was far above rubies

her love will endure

My sister-in-law died last week. A wonderful and loving person much like her brother Peter. I will miss her greatly. Although we saw each other rarely, we always wrote and talked on the phone and she understood my grief as only another widow can.

Peter and Louise grew up together with parents and grandparents in a brownstone in Brooklyn, New York. A Quaker family who embraced the traditions of peace and love towards one another and the rest of the world. Even though both Peter and Louise left the Quaker faith in later life, they too carried with them the same principles and I inherit them now from Peter and in the lives of my step-children. What a wonderful bequest to receive. I hope I can leave the same to my friends and family when I die.

Proverbs - 31

10 A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.
11 Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.

12 She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.

13 She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.

14 She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar.

15 She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants.

16 She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.

17 She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.

18 She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.

19 In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers.

20 She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.

21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.

22 She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple.

23 Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.

24 She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.

25 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.

26 She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

27 She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.

28 Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:

29 “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.”

30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,

and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Finding The Right Wavelength

daily haiku

light frost does not kill

petunias bravely bloom on

floral veterans

The petunias still color my world outdoors, such a treat, but they are now getting pale and leggy; not as bright as in the middle of the summer months. I still walk each day but I am feeling a bit pale and leggy myself, since using the weedeater this summer triggered arthritis that I knew was there but have not felt until now. Trudging along the gravel surface I am finding that I think of Peter a lot and yearn for the days when we used 2-way radios. A gift from son Sam. He thought it was a good idea to have a way to communicate when I was out walking.

I think it was Sam that gave us our "handles." Peter, at the house on the hill, was TOWER, and I was WANDERER. Peter often washed the dishes while I was walking and inevitably I called just at the time he had his hands in the sink full of water and there was a long pause before he answered sounding a bit testy! But it was fun. I stopped at the Post Office to mail letters first and often picked up the local news and radio'd him a few tidbits. If I received a phone call he would set up a 3-way conversation.

This morning I was thinking that it is unfair that we cannot communicate with our loved-ones after they die. How come God doesn't give us a wavelength on the 2-way radio so we can keep in touch?

"Wanderer to Tower - how is it up there?"

Tower to Wanderer, "Oh, a bit cloudy this morning. The moisture's been affecting my wing feathers."

That sort of thing - very comforting. But until I find that wavelength, I'll have to enjoy talking to all my family and friends, not a bad deal if you ask me!
Cheers mates!

Beauty of color, glory of death

daily haiku

beauty of color
leaves of plum, lime, bronze and gold
the glory in death

It is a whole month since I wrote in this blog. My excuse is busyness, but also I am aware of what I wrote last fall, and I am wary of repetition.

It is now fifteen months since I lost Peter and a year since his lovely memorial service. I feel so much stronger and able to cope, but there is sadness too. In feeling better I leave behind the sharp memories of him that brought so much pain of loss. I find myself wanting the sharp pain back and the sharp memories with it. I am torn between wanting to feel better and wanting go back to capture that wonderful feeling of closeness to him that was enrobed in all the pain. I can’t have it both ways and in the end there certainly is no choice!

Peter left me the gift of his children and their love makes my life brighter. Each of them is a living testament to the good, intelligent and kind man that he was. Just looking at the haiku above , I think the glory in death is in the new lives we create, the fostering of it in loving parenting, and in the strength of the human example we leave behind.