Sunday, November 29, 2009


It is a gray and misty 48 degree day... so far. Snow has fallen over the Crystal. The sheet of white can be deceptive but one can see dark puddles of thin ice. Many deer have pressed their hoof prints into the sandy shore. I haven't seen any deer this time but the last time I was here Dar and I saw two drinking from the Crystal. Ann saw three right outside this window one day and has photos to prove it. Yesterday Karen S, Ann and I saw a beaver under Marlys' dock and when Karen moved toward him the little fellow dived to resurface under Katie's dock. Karen pursued it and the beaver disappeared.
Today Ann and I got up to find that John Dobbins and son Andrew had left on their 12-hour drive to Culver, IN. Ann and Roberto are leaving, too. So I must pack and be ready to flee.
Jean Whitney's 15-month-old grandson Heath learned to walk yesterday on his mother Sarah's 31st birthday. Another lovely T-day weekend memory. John had brought birthday cupcakes from Madison. They were supremely delicious. The food shelf produce showed up in our breakfast fruit salad. I found three wine cork s for Annie's herbal medicine bottles.
"How could she resist the moon's pull, blooming each month with a scarred and broken face." Freya Manfred.
"Many women have loved the moon. On dark nights we hold our cold hands in her glow and she sends warmth so intense that tears drip from our frozen fingers tips. Do you know.... do you believe? It happens to me all the time." A Dunn.
Yes, it's true the sudden traumatic death of Brandon murdered at age 17 has reshaped many lives, including mine. I know Jean continues to struggle with personal grief and loss, too. As does friend Flo Hedeen who lost her son to a devastating illness. Holidays are especially difficult because these are times to gather with dear ones. The place they vacated does not simply disappear. In fact, there are times when the emptiness looms large and formidable. It claws away at our defenses until we feel very small, emotionally naked, vulnerable, devastated and lonely for that one who has gone on.
The expanded feeling of the cabin-house has changed as friends depart to resume lives in other spheres. But I think a residual presence continues to warm the walls with long gone laughter even after the door is closed behind the last to leave.

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