Tamarika

When all is said and done

• Wow
• In two weeks time it will be a year
• Climbing out of the abyss
• Bending to exit the low, narrow cave opening
• Straightening up
• Standing outside
• Looking out
• Stretching arms upward
• Sunshine
• Bathed in light
• Breathe deeply
• Exhale
• Have I made it through?

One for the bone chewers

Home is home. Driving out of the snow and into the sun the further South we traveled. We were quiet. Sad to say goodbye from dear, dear friends. Molly and Ada seemed pleased to see us. The mail sorted in neat piles. Thanks, Leanne.

Laundry churning, coffee brewing, watering plants and birds feeding. Did we go anywhere at all? Back to normal so fast.

But memories are vivid. Dear friends, good food, laughter, Sasha the snowy white cat, shoveling snow, slipping and sliding, lights twinkle through the white-out. In the end we decided that a commune would work for us. In the mountains or by the sea - perhaps in Australia one day. The only problem might be that Bob and I both like to chew the bones clean and then how would Cheryl and Tom make soup stock? Cheryl said we would prepare two birds. One for the bone-chewers and the other for soup. How we enjoyed spending time with Anya and Dylan! Youthful, gentle, intellectual, sensitive.

Our Thanksgiving dinner tables full of 25 people from everywhere. Singapore, Japan, Australia, Philadelphia, Buffalo. Do I count as a Rhodesian, Zimbabwean, Israeli, American? I especially enjoyed Shuzo as we talked about spirituality and interconnectedness. His eyes flashed and gleamed as he accepted Charlie into our conversation and spoke of relationships, a beloved wife, Buddhism, animism with depth and passion.

In Buffalo, familiar streets and fond memories. We drive by our old house to see that it has been painted yellow and green. It does not feel like home any longer. And yet as we drove home into Philadelphia I started to weep uncontrollably. Waves of grief and longing rose up to greet me, surprising me from somewhere in my brain hidden from view all the seven hours of travel. Marion said, "Tam, it takes two years." Perhaps she is right. It is almost one year since the move.

Gulping back the tears, I return to myself ... here and now ...

The old oak tree outside my living room window is quite bare and winter on its way.

Giving thanks (update)

Time off. Time to go. To Buffalo. I hear there's snow! Going to Buffalo to see old friends and give thanks together over turkey and wondrous other such tasties.

Participating in my first Thanksgiving dinner over 17 years ago, I could not believe the beautiful autumn colors of foods that were presented at the table. It was such a different sort of dinner for me and I especially loved how everyone gave thanks, personally, intimately. Oh my and the pies! Oh, the pies! One summer Sally taught me how to make strawberry-rhubarb pies and I almost became expert at making them ... just for that summer.

T. and I will drive up through the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania to New York State and our old home-town that was home for 17 years. We have not been back together since December. Winter creeps in today with gray, cold, windy, snowy weather ... candles lit, music blaring, nag champa wafting through the house as I pack our bags for the trip and prepare cats for Leanne's kind, careful companionship these coming days ...

And I give thanks for ...

... Family and Friends old and new, far and near, real and virtual ...

... J.R.'s new job ...

... Bob the therapist who opened doors and gave me options ...

... a year of openings: my heart, new journeys and adventures, challenges, caves, the lotus flower petal by petal, butterfly wings ...

... opossum, fox, little dying chipmunk, deer in the headlights surviving ... surviving the semester ...

... my blog, your blogs, blogging ...

Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate. Be back Sunday.

Until then, I carry you with me ...

Update:

Jack sent me this (he knew I would appreciate it and probably thinks some of you will too). It is not an easy-read but I think it a must-read even as we are in the throes of giving thanks. Thank you, Jack.

Dot, dot, dot ...

Hey, Frank! Don't tell me Don't ... really ...

Gilad Barkan

A while back I learned a Yiddish term from pod-mate Richard. It's "kvelling."

Well, folks, I'm kvelling. My son is appearing in 2006 First Night Boston as an opener for Odetta.

Just scroll down to page 28 and see them both

Hm ... yummy ... kvelling ...

We're going ...

pray, momma. pray

(what do you do with this seeing? this knowing?)
(slow. deliberate.)
what do i do? i see it. and then i remember i’m coming home. (Pro)Claiming Age

There is more ... here ...

Between the shadow and the soul

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
                                                   
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
                                                   
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
                                                   
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

  ~ Pablo Neruda

Found at A Goddess' Journey.

I do not love you as if you were the salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
                                                   
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
                                                   
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
                                                   
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

  ~ Pablo Neruda

You've had your chance

Yesterday I went with a friend to see Pride and Prejudice. As we were setting out I joked that I will probably come out of the movie feeling depressed because I am no longer as young or beautiful as the lead actor. My friend, who is a young woman not quite thirty, burst out,

"Oh Tamar! You've had your chance. Be fair. Let someone else have it now ..."

It is almost 24 hours since my friend said that to me and I am still smiling. It is true, so true. Indeed, I have had my chance, and now it is time for me to be an elder and leave the young and beautiful for someone else.

I not only feel relieved.

I was able to relax, enjoy the movie, and marvel at Keira's beauty even as one would look at an awesome painting.

Take a walk ... or a hike ...

Michael Moore responds:

But hey, why not cut out the name-calling and the smearing and just do the obvious thing: Come join the majority! Be one of us, your fellow Americans! Is it really that hard? Is there really any other choice? George, take a walk on the wild side!

Thanks Kalilily Time for the link.

And thanks to Sandhill Trek and YBLOG ZA for this:

What characterizes a conscientious objector is their willingness to face adversity and uphold their values at any cost. We do this not because it is easy or popular, but because we are unable to do otherwise. Sandhill Trek

Here and now is in the making

Quote of the day:

So for me, it is important that I understand that to move forward means just that; live the moment and don't look back.  luz