Sunday, January 31, 2010


Emma Goldman, "...the lives, blood and money of the American people (taxes) were used to protect the interests of American capitalists." Joe Hill, "Work and pray, live on hay. You'll get pie in the sky when you die." Helen Keller, "Our democracy is but a name. We vote? What does it mean? We choose between Tweedledum and Tweedledee." Eugene Debs, "The master class has always declared the wars; the subject class has always fought the battles." Trudell, "Economies war citizen whores political pimps." Considering Gandhi Sarton wrote of "the kind of courage that nonviolence demands when pitted against physical assault." Embedded in her consciousness was the fact "that one man can change the world, a single man of vision."
Several years ago I had two gracious friends, Bernard and Lucille. They were great white geese. Bernie and Lu were two of the most intelligent, sensitive and loyal friends that have ever blessed my journey. What we lacked in language was compensated for by the ability to express in body the voice of the soul. Mary O, "The earth is full of interest, artistry and generosity."
It happened one day when I was still a teen that I'd wandered into the forest and after walking far I sat down to rest. It was a cold day in the fall and soon there would be snow. I've always loved to lie against the earth so I was soon sprawled beneath a dark pine. Tired as I was... I went to sleep. When I opened my eyes huge, lazy snowflakes were floating out of the heavy sky. I saw a small movement which materialized into a rabbit. More small movements became rabbits. Soon I was lying in the new snow surrounded by wild rabbits! They nibbled leisurely at the last of the good greens around me. When I moved, they moved and suddenly I was alone. I walked home in my tattered coat more regal than a queen and more rich than Joe Kennedy.

Saturday, January 30, 2010


John Trudell, "Look at us, we are earth and water." Dwight D Eisenhower, "Avoid the impulse to live only for today plundering for our own needs of today the precious resources of tomorrow." Vivekanand Jha, "It (intolerance) can lead to violence in its most extreme form, genocide." Wendell Berry, "Healing is impossible in loneliness." Hickman, "We need to resume our place in the human family." Li-Young Lee, "In writing poetry, all of one's attention is focused on some inner voice." More from Lee, "Sad is the man who is asked for a story and can't come up with one."
One day I told Norma that the older I get the larger my nose becomes. My mother's nose and ears grew so much in her old age that she began to look like a little gnome woman. Norma must have given this a lot of thought. Last night she put me before the mirror and told me to smile. I did as she told me. "Look! When you smile it broadens your nose." As she smiled her nose grew, too. I was amazed! "I'll never smile again," I promised. She replied, "Oh! No! You must never stop smiling."!
It happened one dark night as I drove home from Crystal Lake near Akeley that something crossed the road. It was upright, very tall and incredibly long-legged. It crossed the road with 2 or 3 steps. I slowed down but it had been swallowed up by the night. I opened the window but heard nothing. For several minutes I searched my mind, "Tell me what you saw!" I had seen a Big Foot. No one can convince me otherwise. The question is, "Why?" They are not seen unless they choose to disclose themselves.

Friday, January 29, 2010


"Thank you Howard Zinn for urging us to 'renounce nationalism and all its symbols: its flags, its pledges of allegiance, its anthems, its insistence in songs that God must single out America to be blessed'." Matthew Rothschild.
Today I went to school with Ann to help chaperone her second graders. We walked to Orchestra Hall and heard a lovely concert. The children were well-behaved and seemed to appreciate this truly splendid opportunity. The performance opened with the theme from "Star Wars". In an instant I was slammed into a memory. Emotionally I'd been assaulted and flung against a stone wall. Suddenly I was in the Blackduck Theater with Brandon at my side. Sitting there in Orchestra Hall with the victorious music swelling around me I could smell the popcorn on his warm breath. Perhaps he was in the second grade at that time. John had taken us out for supper and a movie. Of course, we'd a wonderful time. I pulled myself back to the present and enjoyed the concert. Later we walked back to school in the cold but no one complained. The children gave me a name. Abuelita Anita. How great is that!
Ann and I then went to Gail Dahlstrom's funeral services at the Hennepin United Methodist Church. Many good words were spoken of her but what I remember is "she practiced the presence of God". How spiritually enriching such a life would be. We stayed for repast.
I learned on Yahoo that we were under a Wolf Moon. The first full moon of 2010. The moon was closer than it would be for the rest of the year. I hurried to the roof and saw the enormous moon rising pale and blue over the buildings. I returned to 107 to tell Ann. On my way back to the roof I stopped to tell Norma. Soon we three stood on the roof marveling at the greatness of the moon. Norma invited us for tea and soon had laid a good party luncheon before us.
Mae Sarton had begun to read a biography of Isak Dineson, 1982.
Mary O, "In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind bird with its white eyes shoves and pushes among the branches."

Thursday, January 28, 2010


Howard Zinn, the people's historian, academic, hero, national treasure, acclaimed author, political activist and world warrior is dead at 87. "When action has been called for, one could always be confident that he would be on the front lines, an example and trustworthy guide." Noam Chomsky. Zinn urged his students to "relinquish the safety of silence, (be) more prepared to speak up, to act against injustice..."
"In a recent Bill Moyers interview Zinn said, "Democracy doesn't come from the top. It comes from the bottom. Democracy is not what governments do. It's what people do." More from Zinn, "I wish Obama would listen to MLK Jr." Susan B Anthony, "Resistance to tyranny is obedience to God."
Today I was invited to join some old friends and some new friends for a tour of "From Our Ancestors; Art of the White Clay People", an exhibit at the Mpls Institute of Arts. It was a wonderful journey into another time and another culture. Then we gathered at the Uptown Diner to meet Beth W and Cash L for lunch. In honor of Robert Burns we all sang "Happy Birthday". Then I read "The Winter of Life"; Beth read "A Man's a Man"; Patty K sang a verse and a chorus of "Annie Laurie". After much good food and fantastic conversation and the departure of half of our group the remaining 6 stood and sang "Auld Lang Syne". It was a supremely lovely day.
Mary O, "As the world changes from the long winter into spring and everything takes on a freshness and a spiritual meaning, just so poetry can quicken, enliven the interior of the listener."
Dear Howard, we will miss you on the march toward a better world for all but I salute your steadfastness and your courage in the struggle for peace, truth, justice and dignity.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


Today is the 65th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz by the Red Army. The complex included a concentration camp, an extermination camp and a forced-labor camp. "And can it be that in a world so full and busy, the loss of one weak creature makes a void in any heart, so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it up!" Charles Dickens.
It happened in the Dominican Republic, 1937, that 20,000 Haitians were executed because they did not pronounce the Spanish word for parsley correctly. Or should we say they failed to roll the R. This occurred under the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo.
Elizabeth Crook, "He talked about the railroad's bribery of politicians and corrupt subsidizing of newspapers and all the unethical retaliations on the poor." From "The Night Journal".
I watched "Ghosts of Mississippi". It is a portrayal of how the murderer of Medgar Evers was tried three times before being sentenced.
We went to Colleen's for supper and bowled on the Wii. My arm actually feels stiff now.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Pernell Roberts, 81, died yesterday. He was the last of the three Cartwright brothers from "Bonanza". Mae Sarton, "I keep trying to put together, in harness, the fact that I feel so young but I am not." I think we all reach that point on this journey. In Jan 1885 Louisa Mae Alcott attended "an old-fashioned party in at old-time house. All in antique costume. Country kitchen and country fare; spinning and weaving; old songs and dances." Now that's a great way to warm up in Jan. I smell the muffins. I hear the music. I feel the laughter.
I once wrote a play where one of the characters was called "The Beast of Atrocities". The lad who played the part brought the beast to life before my eyes. I had not known the beast was also the beauty. Yes, he was a vile assassin, a cruel murderer, but he was portrayed with such fierce grace that I stood ready to forgive all his sins.
Stephen Crane, author of "The Red Badge of courage", had expressed to Willa Cather how frustrated he was as a writer. It took so long to take an idea for a story into the process of actually writing it down. He said, "The details of a thing had to filter through his blood and then it came out like a native product."
Cather had read A.E. Houseman's "A Shropshire Lad" and "loved his magical lyrics." Even her most loyal readers agree that her poems "April Twilight" fall far short of her prose. She had confessed, "I do not take myself seriously as a poet." Her advice to other writers is a treasure. "Unless you have something in you so fierce that it simply pours itself out in a torrent, heedless of rules or bounds - then do not bother to write anything at all. Why should you? The time for revision is after a thing is on paper - not before."

Monday, January 25, 2010


Happy birthday to Robert Burns!
The Chilean poet and politician Pablo Neruda was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1971. The Swedish Academy had awarded the prize for a lifetime's work. Did you know that Victor Jara was executed because he criticized the government in his songs? Some of his lyrics were from Neruda's poems.
Virginia Woolf wrote, "This insatiable desire to write something before I die, this ravaging sense of the shortness and feverishness of life, makes me cling like a limpet to a rock, to my anchor." Mae Sarton said, "The agonizing self-doubt is always there, of course, and I have to remember that this novel is like all the others, a continual effort to surmount it and spur myself on like a rider through a thicket." Mary O declared, "...we long to be - that happy in the heaven of earth - that wild, that loving."
Will Cather was not considered a political activist but was certainly referring to the political climate of her day when she quoted a plank in the Populist platform. " The fruits and toils of millions are boldly stolen to build up colossal fortunes for a few..." What would she think of the US class system and government injustices of 2010? That would depend on her own bank account for as one's fortunes are enhanced the more likely one is to negate poverty.
It has taken 30 pages but at last I'm interested enough to read "The Night Journal" by Elizabeth Crooks without dragging myself from page to page.
Several years ago Annie and I were traveling through NM. As I watched the Sandia Mts. rise up out of the horizon I felt my heart stand on tip toe and lean in that direction. Memories came spilling forward and floated me along. Then we were passing and soon we would turn west and leave them behind. To Annie I declared, "It was here in the shadow of Sandia that my salvation was assured." She began asking questions. I tasted the answers with extreme pleasure and found them very sweet. There is no bitterness at Sandia. No, not for me. It was there that I saw other possibilities for my life. I would not follow the course that had been laid before me. I would map my own way to destiny. For me... this was salvation.
Several years later Annie, Justice, Geezis, baby Cedar, Laura and I would visit the Pecos Ruins where Crook takes me in her novel. I see the high red walls. I lay my hand against them and feel ancient grass stubble in my palm.

Sunday, January 24, 2010


Last night Verna and Mauricio had supper here. Verna brought the salad. Everything was delicious. Then we went to The Ancient Trader Gallery to see the art and meet some artists. After that to Merlin's Rest where Dino was playing with Papa John and the Hot Club. There were six musicians celebrating the 100th birthday of D'Jangle Reinhardt the French Gypsy Jazz guitarist. When I got home I checked for him on YouTube and there he was!
"Sister Kenny's Children" is being staged at the History Theater. My grandmother Vanoss took me to see the Sister Kenny Institute where the Australian nurse cared for children who had had polio. My old friend Hillary Jeunesse was one of them. My grandmother was a great admirer of Kenny, the pioneer genius of physical therapy.
While in meditation today I saw a green door trimmed with intricate tiny gold designs. It was soft to the touch. I pushed it open and a white-robed man stood with an open hand held toward me. In his hand was a highly polished stone with swirls of red and creamy white. I didn't try to take it but put my finger on it. I felt the smooth cool surface and then it all disappeared.
Mae Sarton wrote, "I think one learns by absorbing poems by a poet one loves and getting the beat and the form into the subconscious." Randall Silvis urges us to write to "present the reader a piece of the world and to do so with honesty, clarity and gratitude." Dylan Thomas also assigns great responsibility to the writer. In his opinion what is written must be "the light of the mind, the heat of the heart." My life has been enlightened by writers I've met on pages along my way and, yes, they did add a certain warmth to my days.

Saturday, January 23, 2010


"As we face the end of one way of life and the re-connection with a sustainable way that is the true heritage of human beings on the earth, how long can we live or when we pass on is not as relevant. The real question is how will we live! When we commit ourselves to a life of service, sustainability, and love, rather than selfishness, greed, and fear, we have already made all the difference in the world! It's nice to be walking this path together." Jed Diamond.
Thomas Jefferson urged the new republic, "crush in its birth the aristocracy of our moneyed corporations." But a five member majority of the Supreme Court has handed the country over to wealthy corporations.
"In a time when the public has been making clear its disdain for corporate avarice, arrogance and abuse... and in its desire to rein in the ferocious power" of these vulgar giants the court drags all of us in the wrong direction. But the mothers of America will not kiss this nation goodbye. They will fight for the future. How? We shall see. Our elders have said, "If the hearts of the women have not fallen into the ground, the people are not yet conquered."
Ann thought I could be admitted into the YMCA as a guest today. But I was denied entry for lack of adequate identification. So I walked to the library, sat down, opened my borrowed jacket and discovered I'd dripped four small spots of toothpaste spittle on the front of my hand painted Elvis shirt. However, even in this unsightly condition I was mistaken for someone who knew her way around the shelves. A lost woman approached me for assistance. I did my best but I was no help. She was looking for a biography of Nelson Mandela. I came home with biographies, too. Willa Cather and Pablo Neruda.
Verna and Mauricio joined us for an excellent dinner then we all went to the Ancient Traders Gallery for a look at some really exciting work. Verna, Ann and I each got one of the free books. I had some of my pages autographed. Since Norma could not attend I got her a couple of free bookmarks.

Friday, January 22, 2010


"Your legs are your friends." Geronimo. So are your feet! The Yoga says, "See what you are becoming." I am becoming less active and must make an effort to keep moving. It's part of the process... learning to live in a new country here on the fourth hill. I can do as Hickman suggests and have confidence "in the mystery of living."
From Keats we learn, "I am certain of nothing but of the holiness of the heart's affection and the truth of imagination." A fan wrote to Mae Sarton, "I am forever indebted to the great gift you hold... that ability to communicate in a straightforward manner, tools that one may use in his own unique life, to become." I have become what I am and shall become what I will be. Of this I am certain.
We had 4 guests for supper then went to the Groveland Gallery. Norma was my special guest. Verna met us the gallery and came back with us. We are going to another gallery tomorrow so I said, "We must be the Gallery Gals!"
Ann is working on a baby quilt. I am going to wash the fabric before I begin work on my dream dress. I dreamed the fabric and found it at Mill Ends Monday on our return from Crosby.

Thursday, January 21, 2010


A fan wrote to Mae Sarton: "Reading your works for the first time was like going out into the morning garden in spring after too many days indoors, exulting in the sunlit roses and fresh air. I felt resurrected!" What high praise from a devotee. "Ulysses and Joanna" is my favorite MS novel.
On his 79th birthday Stanley Kunitz wrote a celebratory poem. In it he said, "Maybe it's time for me to practice growing old." Although he believed his name to be a personal possession, of his flesh he wrote, "I only borrowed this dust." Of poetry he declared, it is "the most difficult, the most solitary, the most life-enhancing thing that one can do in the world." A true wise man! Poets, we are in grand society. Amen.
In the short story "Eric Hermannson's Soul" Willa Cather refers to Eric's violin as "his only bridge into the kingdom of the soul". Now there's a thought daughter Annie would appreciate. Music/art has been her bridge and now she is helping troubled youth build bridges into the kingdoms of their souls, too.
Norma has invited me to her apt (404) for soup, coffee and cake at 2:30. How exciting! I have a new friend in the building.
When I peeked into the Ely bear den via camera on I noticed Lily was breathing hard. While I watched, she raised her head and looked about. When she put her head down her visible eye did not close but blinked repeatedly. Perhaps she is in labor!
Yesterday I went out to the foyer for mail and found the postman was still stuffing boxes. When he got to the 3rd class stuff I decided to try a conversation. He is a man of few words but I managed to learn a thing or two. Then I told him a funny little story about my cousin Wayne. His big face lit up and his smile came unglued. He laughed out loud and bid me 'good day'. He was still smiling as he trudged back to his vehicle. I guess I got the punch line in the right place... this time.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Haiti was the first country in which 400,000 Africans enslaved and trafficked by Europeans rose up against 30,000 white slave masters on the sugar and coffee plantations, thus "undertaking the first great social revolution in our hemisphere...", Fidel Castro. What does Haiti need now? Ben Dengl writes, "...doctors not soldiers, grants not loans, a stronger public sector rather than wholesale privatization, and critical solidarity with grassroots organizations and people to support self-determination of the country."
The people of Haiti have the historic legacy of resisting foreign domination but when we see US military personnel on the ground I wonder if this is another takeover leading to occupation and exploitation or genuine humanitarian aide in camouflage.
Edith Hamilton wrote, "to suffer is to be alone." We suffer one by one like a woman in travail. A world of children born one by one. So, in Haiti they suffer alone in a house of grief. "At times I almost wanted to believe you When you implied the times of Sorrow were buried in the past", John Trudell. The US and other "white-ruled countries, would not accept a nation run by ex-slaves who had risen up in a bloody rebellion." Nick Coleman.
They say that the distance between the heart of an adult to the brain is 14 inches, but that can be the greatest distance we ever confront. I've heard that some people are as far from their spirit as a hawk is from the moon.
My friend Mary H has been studying Mandarin and learning to make Chinese words on paper. She sent me my name, Anna. It is so gracefully expressed. Like a flower that blooms under the full moon, calm and bright in the night. She also sent love, hearts that hold hands and walk slowly together. She also shared an Alaskan proverb concerning men. "The odds are good, but the goods are odd."
MLK Jr, "Of all forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane."

Tuesday, January 19, 2010


Hickman suggests in "Healing After Loss" that we take up the threads of our lives and begin weaving again. One might say, take up the colors of your life and begin painting again. Or take up the page of your life and begin writing again. Move on with purpose and meaning.
Mae Sarton's elderly neighbor Eleanor Blair had survived being stranded in a four day storm. No heat, no lights, no hot food. She said she'd gone to bed fully dressed, wearing two sweaters. Her cat had helped keep her warm. Mae wrote, "It must be wonderful to do the impossible, as she has done, to surmount the ordeal." Eleanor had a small fireplace in the parlor and kept that room at 50 the rest of the house was at 40. So her water pipes didn't freeze.
"The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" is a very good read. Under grossly inhumane conditions some people retain their humanity. In fact, it is magnified and multiplied. some people evolve upward where others degenerate. I think that's why the elders said not all two-leggeds are human.
Concerning human views of truth Arthur Schopenahuer (1788-1860) stated there are three stages: first it is ridiculed, then violently opposed and finally accepted as self-evident.
My friend Mike M reminded me today that a relative of Haiti's former Pres. Jean-Bertrand Aristide had come to the reunion of Camp Justice White Earth in the mid 1990s. I recall his bright red shirt, expressive hands, excited voice... but not a word did I understand. Although Aristide was deposed and forced into exile amid allegations of gross misconduct and abuse of his office, in Dec 2009 protesters marched in support of his return from exile in South Africa. On Jan 12, 2010 he sent condolences to earthquake victims and said he wanted to return to help rebuild the country.
I have been making regular visits to to see if Lily has had her cubs yet. I feel that I'm waiting for new grandchildren to be born. I might have to pay them a visit this coming summer. Cedar would like that. UPDATE On Jan 21 Lily had one cub and named it Peace.
Today I walked to the underground library and back 6262 steps..

Monday, January 18, 2010


"The poems walked through my day with me, around the house,watering the plants, feeding the cows, seeing my life." Words from an admirer in a letter to Mae Sarton. Of her fan mail Mae wrote, "All are precious, each in a different way. But all distract the mind and make it hard to concentrate. To create." And this is true. No matter how we love it, our mail does require an effort to respond to the specifics of each.
Mae was on a diet and had lost 4 pounds. She spent a lot of time wishing for brownies. "Never mind! In 6 weeks I shall fly up the stairs as light as air, so it is worth the deprivation." I hope this encourages all of us sedentary writers.
Emily Dickenson writes, "Dying is a wild night and a new road." I do remember how horrible it was to watch the world go by while I was plunged into the deepest grief I've ever known. How can it be? I wondered, that some people are still smiling and having fun when all I could do was weep. But it was a new road and I learned to walk it. Mitch Walking Elk sang, "This ain't no easy thing." We had entered a new country.
Before leaving Crosby I stood looking out over Cuyuna Lake. A rabbit was nibbling twigs in the brush and 2 squirrels were playing in the trees.
MLK JR DAY. Julian Bond, "...we do not honor the critic of capitalism, or the pacifist who declared all wars evil, or the man of God who argued that a nation that chose guns over butter would starve its people and kill itself. We honor an antiseptic hero." The Good Samaritan is the one who helps those who need help. When MLK JR was shot on April 4, 1968 he may have been singing, "Precious Lord Take my Hand".
Witness' tell us Brandon's last words, spoken minutes before he was shot to death, were for Lamaya. He had named her before she was born. I was asleep at Ball Club when I was awakened by a loud explosion. I hurried to the window expecting to see two cars smashed together. The night was dark and quiet. I believe I heard the shot that killed him. I think that he did not.

Sunday, January 17, 2010


I've been awake for awhile but quiet... not bothering anyone. I went down to open front door and stood on the step inhaling the morning sky. Now I'm in the bay window seat waiting for sunrise. The clouds are full of fire. Last night from the 3rd floor window I enjoyed a beautiful starry sky. Some of the stars were enormous. At this time 7:45 AM it is 24 degrees outside.
Mae Sarton didn't write today but Hickman quoted her. "We are real friends now because we have been able to share some painful experiences in our private lives." She had found a "companion in sorrow" and a friend with whom to tread the water of deep grief.
Now I am sitting in the bay window seat again watching the sun setting in the west. A blaze is fading from the cloud sky. No stars for me tonight. But I walked to hwy 6 and back 1.2 miles, took pictures, enjoyed the snow, the trees, the sky. Today we saw an ebony squirrel and a pillypecker, as Cedar calls the piliated woodpecker.
Nancy used healing touch on my left foot. The bone feels like it's coming through the bottom of my foot. So walking can be a challenge.

Saturday, January 16, 2010


We went to Uptown for breakfast. Karen and her beautiful family met us there. After a big breakfast we all went back to the apt for more conversation. When the visitors left Ann and I were soon on the road to Crosby, MN. We drove right past Mooer's Agate Lake Resort. It felt strange that I was not coming to visit Elsie. My dear friend is gone to the other side but just the sight of that sign stirred me deeply. She was a beautiful, delightful person, a kind and gracious friend. I used to stay in cabin 6 and we would sit and talk or walk the paths. She was so proud of all the stonework done by her father. Soon I had grown to love the stones, too. I could almost see him working them into walls, tables and benches.
On this day in 1982 Mae Sarton was in the jaws of a wild white winter storm. She shoveled through a four foot drift for her dog and wanted to fill the feeders for the hungry birds. Even though the fierce wind was pushing the birds away from the feeders. But the feeder was 30 feet from the door. She was too exhausted to push her way through all the snow between her and the feeders. It's smart to recognize your limitations... especially in a storm and life is full of storms.
"Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be must tell the story. That is his duty." Elie Wiesel. I'd love to tell the story of Brandon's brief life. Perhaps it would help prepare others for their time of crisis, loss and grief. I believe I will write that story one day.
Wallis called today and I talked to great-granddaughter Lamaya. She is in nursery school and was excited about that. I was excited to hear her voice. "I love you, Grandma. Goodbye! Goodbye!"
Perhaps I could write that book to her and she would know her Daddy better. She'd know what I know and in that knowledge she would love and respect the one who is her father. She would find him real, as we are real. Not one gone to heaven or asleep in the cemetery.

Friday, January 15, 2010


Pete Singer says it's time to expand the circle of ethics to all nations/species. Mary O declares that nothing will alter her love of friends, family, beloved ghosts or "blue sky of a summer morning, that makes me roll in a barrel of gratitude down hills..." Can we then expand our circle of ethics to the sky, the summer and the morning? Willa Cather wrote of her friend Sarah Orne Jewett that she had "learned to love her country as she saw it" and she saw it as it was.
Mae Sarton said that order "does compose the mind". I haven't been here long enough to make are really big mess but my corner of the room could use a bit of tidiness. When I achieve order what shall I compose?
Today I thought of Harvey M, a young man I knew when I was 19. He worked in a garage and carried the smell of it with him. He knew cars and he knew poetry. Late one night I was awakened by a "tapping at my chamber door." No, it wasn't Poe. It was Harvey tossing pebbles against my bedroom window on the third floor. I quickly dressed and, clutching my book of verse to my bosom, slipped out of the apartment and down the stairs. He wanted to show me something I'd never seen before. Well, at 19 I hadn't seen much, so it could be anything. He'd parked his car in the alley several doors away. It was deliciously clandestine. We whispered in the dark as we hurried to the car. He drove me to the secret destination and just before we arrived he asked me to close my eyes. Then he parked, covered my hand with his and whispered, "Look".
I saw before me a great lighted fountain. The water rose and fell in a rainbow of colors. Then he reached under the seat , produced his book of poems and read several pages while I stared spellbound by the splendor of the fountain.
Later I read some poems to him. Then we walked around the fountain and met on the other side. We exchanged coins, made our unspoken vows and in unison pitched the coins into the magic fountain. Even today his memory is such a presence that I smell the gas/oil flavor of him here in this room on Emerson Ave. Dear Harvey, are you well? Are you happy?

Thursday, January 14, 2010


Pablo Neruda, "Poetry arrived in search of me. I don't know where it came from, from winter or a river."
I spent a very pleasant 2 hours at the MN Humanities Center telling the stories that wanted to be told. When I told the story of "The Star Maiden" 2 people said they had seen white hawks. How wonderful! I felt blessed to be in the same room with them.
The plans to visit France are falling into place. There will be a detour to Florida via Atlanta.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010


Today we hear from Isak Dinesen that "...these difficult times have helped me to understand better than before how infinitely rich and beautiful life is in every way..." This is what Hickman calls "a costly wisdom". It's even more costly if we waste it. How many do you know who allowed grief to embitter them? Did pain drive them apart and create a recluse?
Mae Sarton had received a call and been told Vincent had had a brain hemorrhage and another friend had heart trouble. She journaled, "How fragile we all are! How lucky to be alive at all!" I think she was speaking as an elder to an elder. I certainly recognize my growing limitations . I also realize I'm closer to the end of this earth journey than most people around the planet. Yes, nearly everyone in the world is younger than I am but I still have dreams, ambitious plans and great adventures before me.
Willa Cather penned, "So I recall our day of passion yet, With sighs of tenderness, but no regret." Mary O, " the laws of their faith not logic, they (egrets) opened their wings softly and stepped over every dark thing." Today I will be an egret and step over obstacles.
According to Clay Jenkinson, Jeffereson had a friend who was "willing to die because he'd grown tired of putting his stockings on in the morning." It's difficult to imagine anything so ridiculous! He could have given up his stockings and enjoyed his limited time on this fabulous earth. He could have given up his shoes as well. He could have run barefoot through Boston or Williamsburg screaming, "Freedom! Beauty! Love!"
I have a small sturdy notebook that I carry with me to jot down titles and authors of books and movies. I imagine myself at a banquet where I feast from a vast cornucopia of ideas. This is not my first such notebook, several have been filled and discarded. Do not think me morbid but I wonder if this will be my last. Yesterday I counted 225 entries and added one more, "Coconut Cures" by Fife. Of course many (118) have been crossed out. I have either read, viewed or lost interest in them. Some are not easily found in local libraries as they are too old, too new or too obscure.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010


During that horrendous influenza outbreak in 1918 or there about, children sang this little song when they jumped rope. "I had a little bird, her name was Enza. I opened up the window and in flew Enza." There was so much death all around the world. Even on Leech Lake people died. Whole families were taken by the virus. Emma Bear used to talk about that awful time of suffering and despair.
Mae Sarton wrote that she had been impressed with Max Kolbe's "motherliness". She had also been in contact with a woman who told her that poetry had kept her alive. I have no doubt that the power of a poem can generate enough hope to sustain many lives. Mae had watched "the sun rise brilliant orange from a purple haze at the horizon and a slightly ruffled, pale blue ocean." Whatever else happens in our day we can know the sun goes on rising and setting.
Virginia Woolf wrote, "It is true that I only want to show off to women. Women alone stir my imagination." Mary O never fails to stir me. "After the rain I went back into the field of sunflowers... and I listened to the crazy roots, in the drenched earth, laughing and growing."
I plan to walk to Walgreen's today so Jim Lenfesty spoke to me. "Today, dark and barren at some dumb failure, I prowl the angry sidewalk fearing ice." Now I wonder how old he is. Surely a young man does not fear the ice.
I have returned from the angry streets of ice. Hah! It did not take me down... I slipped and dipped a bit but did not fall. The sun is warm but the wind bites. I returned with small gifts for Annie and kids. You must know what a thrill it is to receive an unexpected gift in the mail.

Monday, January 11, 2010


Mae Sarton wrote 25 letters on the weekend and still had a box on the floor full of unanswered mail. Although people urged her to give it up she insisted that all letters written to her would be honored with a reply. I have only 7 letters to write today but I feel as she did... those who care enough to send a real letter must receive a real letter in return. On 1-11-82 she wrote 4 pages of ms for her novel and a journal entry. The journal consisted of a long note on the biography of Maximillian Kolbe entitled "A Man for Others". Kolbe had survived a Nazi concentration camp. She also wrote of Reagan, "who refuses to imagine the suffering of 12 million unemployed and the degradation of men and women deprived of work and treated in this country like pariahs."
Naomi Shihab Nye wrote a poem about a Palestinian master broom maker in Jerusalem and it said, "Older now, you find holiness in anything that continues, dream after dream." So he continued to weave straw into brooms that swept local courtyards, steps and interiors. "Thumb over thumb... it is a little song." Where did the song begin? Certainly before the straw was gathered. Was it where the seed fell from the old straw? Who can know? Who can hear the little song the broom maker heard? A fellow broom maker, of course.
It has been my good fortune to receive a hand made broom from friend Virgil. Not only does this broom sing it also dances. But it is unable to tell me where the song originated and how the dance began. But I respectfully recognize the holiness of the broom, the song and the dance.
When Louisa was too sick to work on her novel she promised that she would "never be too tired or too old to remember to be grateful (for her blessings)." She also vowed to complete a certain novel as soon as possible and perhaps a series, "if Alcott is not forgotten by that time." She could not know that she would never be among the forgotten and that her stories would rise from the page to be enacted on stage and screen.
I have just returned from posting 7 letters!

Sunday, January 10, 2010


"The earth is my sister. I love her daily grace, her silent daring and how I am loved." Susan Griffith.
Before tucking myself in for the night I read several poems by John Trudell. Now, I told myself, you will dream of industrial dragons loosed upon the world by tech-no-logic demons in 3-piece suits spun from fibers of nuclear waste material. But I did not.
In Jan 1883 Louisa was caring for her father who'd had a stroke. She wrote, "Too busy to keep a diary. Can only jot down a fact now and then." Yes, life can get between the writer and her pen.
My Grandfather Vanoss wore a straw hat in summer. It was a flat affair. The crown wrapped with a wide grosgrain ribbon. How dapper as he stepped along the avenue. I always wanted to step out with him. One day he took me on the electric street car that stopped at the corner of Portland and Franklin. We stood in the half round room at the back with windows all around. There were other men and they took turns spitting into the brass spittoon. I asked if I might spit in it as well. Grandpa allowed it and so I spit but found it a dismal event. I suppose the men laughed at me. I know I never spit in the brass spittoon again.

Saturday, January 9, 2010


Today the Yoga wrote, "We are always together in God." From Hickman we hear, "Perhaps relinquishing of our most intense grief makes a space into which a new relationship with the loved one can move." We are always changing and the things that change most slowly seem more intense during the process. CS Lewis wrote, "...the lifting of the sorrow removed a barrier."
On Jan 1, 1880, Louisa Mae Alcott was mourning the death of her sister May. May had been unconscious for several days and seemed not to have suffered. Of her own pain she wrote, "...the wave of sorrow kept rolling over me and I could only weep and wait till the tide ebbed again." In a letter to her aunt she penned, "In all the troubles of my life I never had one so hard to bear." She ended, "Sorrow has its lonely side, and sympathy is so sweet it takes half its bitterness away."
Last night we went to the Scottish pub L'Ecosse to hear Dino and the jazz trio. We ate fish 'n' chips and onion rings with beverages. We celebrated Verna's b-day of the previous day and also the 75th b-day of Elvis. Then we went to Verna and Mauricio's to hear a few new songs, one was written by Ann's husband Roberto. We also watched a series of Elvis' acts from Las Vegas. Then back to Kenwood to see "Jailhouse Rock".
Today we went to the library and met a sudden bumper buster. The young man in the Olds had his first auto accident. Ann and I have had several. No injuries. Onward to the underground Walker Library. I got one book, "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society" by Shaffer and Barrows. I requested three more. Now I am an official member of the local reading community. Do our hearts beat in unison?
Ann and I prepared a good brunch and I put Edith Piaf on the stereo. So it was like sitting at a sidewalk cafe on a Paris boulevard. I danced from the sink to the table several times to honor Edith for giving us such pleasure.
"Education for Extinction" is a painful read and I have added a margin comment about Thomas Jefferson: He had a narrow view of culture and a limited grasp on earth-based societies.

Friday, January 8, 2010


Happy 75th birthday, Elvis! Although he died in August 1977 at age 42 he is still making money. In 2009 his estate reported an income of $55 million. Fans around the world gather today to celebrate the king. In fact, I got a card yesterday in honor of his b-day. It was from a dear friend who recognized me as a loyal fellow fan and longtime admirer of the art of Elvis. In DC the Smithsonian is showcasing EP with an exhibit called "One Life: Echoes of Elvis". Of course fans are gathering at Graceland and the impersonators are having a big day. There are also pilgrims appearing at his birthplace in Tupelo, Mississippi. Cirque du Soleil is celebrating the year with a lavish production entitled "Viva Elvis". A new cd of 25 hits has been released (why not 75?).
Mae Sarton was already thinking SPRING! In her journal she wrote of a friend. "Now she will have her gardens in the spring and be able to watch a pair of bluebirds nesting perhaps and, of course, entertain her usual dinner party of raccoons and skunks."
"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all." Emily Dickenson.
I began the morning by reading a few pages from Mike McNally's "Ojibwe Singers". In July 1991 White Earth Camp Justice was a rag-tag encampment in front of the old tribal headquarters building. A new monstrosity that recalls a European castle, has now been constructed on the hill beyond the clinic without the courtesy of a referendum. Old Camp Justice was formed in protest of just such abuses by the tribal government of that era.
When my mother and I went to support the movement I was taken aside by three male leaders. As we stood in front of the refrigerator near the outside dining area one of the men removed a paper from his pocket and gave it to me. It was a news clipping of something I'd had published in Bill Lawrence's Ojibwe News. I was asked to explain a certain point. I did not feel threatened or intimidated as the discussion was quiet and cordial. After hearing my explanation one of the men nodded, smiled and took my hand. The others did the same and I was invited to eat. While we ate the police and security arrived, walked through the parking area and wrote down license plate numbers . No one challenged them. We went on talking, laughing and eating. Before they left a young boy asked the officers to join us and they declined.
You know... I can still hear the soft rustle of the tents and tipi's, smell the smoke from the sacred fire and feel the presence of many respected elders that have now gone to the other side. Look! They are hailing me. Listen! They urge me onward - upward.

Thursday, January 7, 2010


Last night we enjoyed a traditional Rosca which is a part of the Christmas celebration. A circle of friends gathered to share sweetbread and hot chocolate. The bread came in a beautiful box and if you write to me by snail-mail you will receive a small portion of the box. Since it is Verna's birthday today, I gave her a card and two bags of Campion tea last night.
Aina called this morning to tell me that one of the rabbits seems to have disappeared and she saw a white squirrel in the lilac bushes. The surviving rabbit is Perky. Well, Gurki was a bit slow and perhaps was overtaken by a coyote or a fox.
The recession hit Broadway in 1982 and Mae Sarton was sympathetic toward all those who worked so hard to stage good plays. "I see Broadway as a dragon that devours the innocent and the truly sophisticated, devours the pure in heart, and no knight to ride up at the eleventh hour to make a rescue!"
But today the Yoga said, "I am awake in joy."
When Willa Cather was asked about 'art as escapism' she replied, "...the world has a habit of being in a bad way from time to time, and art has never contributed anything to help matters - except escape." When I was a child living with my grandparents on e Franklin Ave, Mpls, I often accompanied my Grandmother Vanoss to the movie hall. There were at least three within walking distance. I didn't know it then but we were escaping from the simple scripts and familiar drama of our own lives to see how other lives were lived.
Today I have begun to read "Education for Extinction" by David Wallace Adams, American Indians and the boarding school experience (1875-1928). According to the preface these schools were "established for the sole purpose of severing the child's cultural and psychological connection to his native heritage, this unique institution figured prominently in the federal government's desire to find a solution to the 'Indian problem,' a method of saving Indians by destroying them."

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


On this shining morning Yogananda speaks of "the opal pool of iridescent joy Where my Father distributes... liquid peace." Hickman spoke of "the geometry of love" and quoted Van Gogh. "The best way to know God is to love many things." From Issa we hear, "In this world/ we walk on the roof of hell,/ gazing at flowers."
When I read the words of "Lines from a Mined Mind" I heard John Trudell speaking, "Fighting for peace see how they die." My own voice became deep and graveled in my throat. I felt my arms slip into his black coat and I shrugged my shoulders toward a more comfortable fit. Louise Erdrich called John someone "who has dropped the postures of ego and destroyed the social filters that keep us at a safe distance." On the second day of our unprovoked undeclared war of aggression against the unarmed citizens of Iraq I began to cut and sew. Soon I had created a small wall hanging entitled "Bombs over Baghdad". On the back was a field of roses drenched in blood. It was also a reflection of John's poem found on page 72 of his book.
In Jan 1872 Louisa Mae Alcott was inundated with mysterious bouquets. "Day after day the lovely great nose gays were handed in by the servant of the unknown." Oh, flowers in January are a rare and wondrous gift! Even now after years of Bush's unjustified war for oil and the death of so many, we love what is lovely. We can't help it, we just do. It's a hunger in the soul.
Mae Sarton had undone the Christmas tree yesterday with friend Edythe and today the library seemed suddenly desolate. She was too sick to work but wrote in her journal. "Every new book is like a pilgrimage, a long long walk where faith in the eventual destination has to be renewed again and again." These good words encourage me, too.
Today, before 10 AM, I have been in the company of Paramahansa Yogananda, Issa, Martha Hickman, John Trudell, Vincent Van Gogh, Louise Erdrich, Louisa Mae Alcott, Mae Sarton and last but not least, Mary Oliver who said, "Whenever I get home - whenever - somebody loves me there." All this splendid fellowship over a cup of tea and me still in my robe and pajamas!

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


Today is Yogananda's birthday.
I didn't go out yesterday because I thought it was too cold. Today I opened the shades to find the window coated with thick frost. I know my knees will complain but I must get out today. That will be after the TV repair person comes and goes.
In the midst of poems, short stories, manuscripts of novels and letters Mae Sarton's refrigerator broke down! A repair man was called and she apparently couldn't leave him alone with his work but "talked with him". So her day was seriously interrupted again. But the writer interrupted does not necessarily dead-end. Perhaps to be interrupted is to be invited to detour. Perhaps such a deviation from our plans will enrich our day with an unscheduled adventure.
"A small child within you remembers: so these, these were the 'golden mountains'." Marilyn Chin. How many have arrived at their Eden, their promised land of milk and honey, only to realize they'd been betrayed? There they hunger in sorrow and die spiritually starved.
Today I will walk with a poem. Standing close we will commune and conceive a bundle of words. I will carry the poem until it ripens. It will burst upon the page. It's tiny spark will add itself to the great blaze of poems being birthed around the world today. Poets will nurture the new creations. They will grow strong together and stumble into the public arena. They will present themselves for ridicule or praise. Perhaps among the sour fruit one perfect rose will be found. We will carry the flower home, tear the petals free and feed ourselves to write again.
Mary O. "Understand, I am always trying to figure out what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape."

Monday, January 4, 2010


Last night we watched "Iron Jawed Angels" and saw something of what the leading suffragettes suffered to bring Pres. W. Wilson to his knees on the question of the women's vote. The scenes that depicted episodes of forced feedings dredged up some of my earliest memories.
When I was 8 years old a routine school screening for TB identified me as a public threat. My Mantoux had proven positive and an x-ray found lesions in the LLQ (left lower quadrant) of my right lung. I was removed from my home and confined to the Glen Lake Sanatorium at Oak Terrace MN. During my isolation period I was subjected to a horrific procedure called the GAS (gastric analysis series). Five fearsome adults dressed in isolation masks, caps and gowns entered my chamber and pinned me to the bed while a sixth attempted to shove a tube into my mouth. Of course I clamped my mouth shut, so my nose was pinched until I opened my mouth to breath. The tube was quickly thrust into my mouth. I closed my teeth on the tube and continued fighting for my life. Since my cooperation could not be attained the tube was withdrawn from my mouth and stuck into my right nostril! I writhed and twisted so violently that the tube could not go down my throat but reemerged from my mouth. A pan of ice was brought in and the tube was placed in the pan to harden. Then it was forced into my nostril and down my throat. A loud motor was turned on to pump my stomach. I endured this terrifying abuse on 3 consecutive mornings. The specimens were examined in the lab and tubercle baccilli were discovered. After a period of confinement to the TB San I would be released. But not until I was subjected to another GAS to prove that I was "clean" enough for society. I know something of the suffragettes suffering as I have endured similar torture six times.
Mae Sarton shared thoughts concerning her muse. "It has been wonderful to be able to write these poems, such a sense of liberation, of using my best gifts again." Yes, when we liberate a poem we set our Self free, too. Yogananda's advice for today is also familiar. "A spiritually thirsty person... should go to the best well and drink daily of its living waters."
Louisa Mae Alcott wrote in her journal Jan. 1857 when she was 24 years old. "Why don't rich people who enjoy his (father's) talks pay for it? Philosophers are always poor, and too modest to pass around their own hats." On Jan 1, 1855 Louisa wrote, "The principal event of the winter is the appearance of my book Flower Fables. An edition of 1600. It sold very well." What a delight for a writer to find her efforts financially rewarding and enjoyed by the reading public.
How I long for grace and space to write a memoir of Brandon. Even if only for my own friends and family. But the emotional pain of exploring all those precious memories seems too formidable to face for the duration of such an undertaking. Mary O tells us, "To live in this world you must be able do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and when the time comes to let it go."

Sunday, January 3, 2010


"The literary radicals tell us there must be a new kind of poetry. There will be, whenever there is a new poet." Willa Cather. "I think I would like to have wings, blue ones, ribbons of flame." Mary O.
Mae Sarton laments another "interrupted morning." She wanted to re-read her 200+ page manuscript... then the cat wanted to go out! She regards life and finds it "so much more complex at any given moment. How is one to gather it in?"
Yogananda offers his good advice for the New Year, "Resolve to give more time to God... control your appetites and emotions. Be a master!" Hickman write, "isolate wonderful moments from the stream of memory." Corita Kent has written, "Love the moment."
As I sit in winter light filtered through 2 sheets of glass I see the blue January sky beyond a tangle of dark trees and rising into the sky vapors of exhaust from the heating systems of other buildings. I think I would be tempted to go home if I had a very large woodpile waiting for me. But when I left there was wood for one week. When I return in April I must seek energy assistance and request that wood be delivered. I know I will not write because the complexities of life and the struggle to survive in a cold land will climb to the top of my list of priorities.
When I went to MSP terminal to pick up Annie and kids I had a few minutes to talk with Justice. One of the things he said was, "Grandma, we all want you to come home but I know how hard it is for you to live in such a hard way." I thanked him for his understanding but marveled inwardly that he'd considered my position and put it into a few good words.
On Christmas Day I suggested to Cedar that I might get an apartment in Deer River where life would be less challenging for me. She would not accept it. I explained that I'd visit often and she could visit me. The Redd Shedd would be my summer place. But she flung her arms around me and pressed her face against me. "No, Grandma," she moaned, "no." When we talked on New Year she asked me to come home. We've spoken of this so often that it has become a script. I say, "I miss you, too. But I can't live in that cold house." She says, "But you're coming home in the spring." "Yes," I promise, "I'll arrive with the robins."

Saturday, January 2, 2010


I started watching "Wild China, Heart of the Dragon" on Netflix but decided to watch it on the big screen when Ann returns. It's so beautiful that it runs off the small screen of the computer, spills across the floor and crawls up the walls until I become a panda bear and want to pull leaves from the trees to feed my hunger. I always think of China as crowded with people. But, in fact, they have much wilderness.
Mark Twain wrote, "It will take the mind and memory (a long time) to gather the details and thus learn and know the extent of loss." I'm not afraid of the process. I have learned to be patient with my grief. How can I bear to rush past a dear memory. How could I sweep away a vision of one sweet smile?
Mae Sarton saw her day "disintegrate" because she was unable to accomplish her set goals. They say, "When you fail to plan, you plan to fail." I may need to make more short range plans, too. I have been busy all day but feel very little has been accomplished. I won't beat myself up for it but be more realistic with the rest of my day.
"Anything worth saying can be said in less than 500 words," Mike Jacobs. I, too, appreciate brevity. I love the short story and am enriched by a few lines of a poem. Even when I draw I try to eliminate as many lines as possible.
Mary O urges us to be prepared for certain things. "The way days go by, never to return. The way somebody comes back, but only in a dream."

Friday, January 1, 2010

12 grapes

We went to a New Year party last night. It was hosted by Juanco who prepared a large piella. I met several lovely people. Bonita was a particular delight. After supper she accompanied the three guitar players on her accordion. Maria and Aina sang. I was amazed to hear Aina sing in Swedish, Spanish, German and French! I joined in the few English songs I knew. At midnight we each ate 12 grapes, one at each chime of the clock. In the end I had 5 grapes left. Almost no one ate all their grapes so we are expecting a certain amount of bad luck to follow us into 2010.
Mae Sarton awoke to "a perfect morning on which to start fresh." She also confessed "the edge of my mind is not as sharp as it should be." Yesterday she had gone to a movie with friend Annella to see Dustin Hoffman in "Tootsie".
Hickman urges us to "honor and trust the processes of grief and healing." Perhaps we can all acknowledge ourselves part of "the sisterhood of loss... where everything brushes against the raw wound of grief... as beads on a necklace of loss transmutes... into a thread of treasured memories." Such treasures are so uniquely our own.
Perhaps in 2010 we will "wander off the grid and be liberated" as Jenkinson along the Little Missouri River when he camped with his mother Mil.
Mary O tells us, "What I know I could put into a pack as if it were bread and cheese and carry it on one shoulder, important and honorable, but so small."
At 9:30 AM I saw a narrow-chested sun dog sitting in the south just above the dark bare trees.


Dec. 31, 2009. I think this is the last full moon of 2009 and a blue moon, too. I wanted some kind of inventory on this last day of the old year. So I decided to consider the high and low watermarks. The best thing about 2009 was spending so much time with Cedar. The worst has been this long separation.
"Let us renew our lives, our good habits and our successes." Yogananda. "One of the glories of human beings is their ability to venture." Hickman. "Little by little the good memories begin to flow back and the (name) I loved begins to live again." M Sarton."
"To be a philosopher (lover of Sophia) is not merely to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity and trust." Thoreau.
"I enter the ecstatic Round dance of the fox and field mouse on the scarred, warring Hills." Thomas McGrath. "Those endless calamities of the personal past. Bah! I disown them from the rest of my life.."Mary O. On this day I have written 2 mediocre poems. But I will rewrite them and raise them to the stars.


Dec. 30, 2009. "...and when my soul quest fails I have never concluded that the cosmos is inert, only that I am a toxic (wo)man with a bent antennae." Jenkinson.
Our much loved Lamaya tells us she has a daddy in heaven. She is like a precious gift he packed and wrapped and left behind. We see Brandon in her but we don't expect her tiny feet to fill his large shoes. She is on her own journey... but sometimes we walk together.
Yogananda repeats my grandmother who urged me "sit quietly and listen." There is so much to be heard in the silence. Mae Sarton wrote, "... this year I am starved for solitude and silence." Yes, it can happen that life bustles with what is nonessential and the heart hungers for a quiet place.


Dec. 29, 2009. Mae Sarton wrote of her friend Lottie Jacobi that "she was glowing with life." Together they were certain that "love is always possible, that special kind of love that always brings poetry with it." Then Lottie would admit "that disillusion sometimes follows... but... everything is good that brings more life, that makes life sparkle if only for a month or two." They are two wise women! Today I failed to achieve the glow of life. I seem rather less than perky. Even my hair hangs listless and dull around my sallow face.
When Aina went out to feed the birds the rabbits and the squirrels we saw that Perky rabbit did not flee in fear. She has named the smaller rabbit Perky because s/he bounces along and the other rabbit is Gurki because s/he bumps along. How I enjoy this winter window. Because the apartment is low the 2 windows are at ground level and provides a fantastic view of wildlife.
Mary O wrote that she'd been at your window and overheard you "talking about God as if he were an idea instead of the grass, instead of the stars." in my dreamtime I heard a voice say, "Know me now as I know you."
Aina and I went to see "Sherlock". He's sort of a grown up Harry Potter. I hear the voice of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in their dialogue but the new actors just don't bring Sherlock and Watson to life for me. Entrenched with the old deducer, the Downey sleuth doth deeply disappoint me.


Unable to blog due to technical failure. Aina's pc got a virus. I'm back at Ann's and will patch the blog together from journal notes. Dec. 28, 2009. "Become acquainted with your imperishable soul, hidden in your perishable earth-body." Yogananda. "Behind life's mysteries and dilemmas there is a Creator who knows what is going on and wishes us well." Hickman. That's right! If we can't trust Creator we can't trust anyone or anything.
Jenkinson says "We struggle to wake up... when we finally lift the veil and see life in it's magnificent starkness the pain can be excruciating." From that day of revelation we cannot endure mediocrity within the self. Mary O knew something wonderful about life and she saw it all in birds and bees, stars and sunflowers. If you possess vol. 2 of her New and selected Poems read page 66. Then wake up, lift the veil and rise above personal mediocrity. Let us leave the middle ground and seek the high ground of blissful beauty.