we have been spending a lot of time near home these days. with the uncertainty of our sweet old dogga, it is nearly impossible to make any plans to go away. we need to be here with him – through all the challenges his senior roller coaster presents.
and so, our hikes-for-miles are exchanged for walks-for-miles and are from our backdoor.
we take them at different times of day and in different weather. it is truly gobsmacking what is right nearby and, on these days close-to-home, we are taking care to notice that and appreciate it.
late on a stunning late-september afternoon – delaying dinner prep for a couple hours – we took off from home.
walking east along the marina we could see the smallest softest-pink half circle rising out of the lake. as we got closer, the pastel palette of sky continued to change hue – and the harvest moon began to make its way into the horizon.
we did absolutely nothing to help this moonrise – we simply stood in awe, staring at its stellar performance, soaking in the sheer beauty, the predictability of a moonrise, the comfort of something so normal yet so entirely gorgeous.
after a bit we noticed that many people had gathered on the rocks to watch, also obviously enchanted by it, also photographing it.
a sailboat was heading north and passed directly in front of the moon. as it continued to sail, people were comparing notes about their videos and photos of this moment in time – a moment we had all shared.
it was as if everyone was – for these minutes – on the same page. we could all agree that this soft-pink harvest moonrise was glorious.
if only all the rest of life-these-days were as aligned.
just a block or so east, around the bend and a bit further south is the southport beach house. built during the years 1936-1941, the united states department of the interior has since declared that it is on the national register of historic places. a bit up the shoreline is simmons island beach house, built around the same time, also a designated historical site. both are stunning eclectic examples of tudor revival buildings on the shoreline, architecturally beautiful.
we are deeply connected to “our” beach house for many reasons, including that it is in our ‘hood. it was the site of our wedding reception – so it is filled with memories of people we love, toasts, a food truck, music, a bonfire, hula hoops and daisy cupcakes. we will forever feel connected to that art deco place and love that it has undergone renovation and preservation work, just as the simmons beach house has as well.
it isn’t all that complicated. protecting history and historic sites for this-land-is-your-land-this-land-is-my-land seems pretty basic.
but we live in a country with an administration that struggles to embrace truth – the truth of history, the truth of how historic sites inform us. instead of telling an honest story, they are choosing to whitewash anything that gets in the way of their extremist-male-dominated-white-supremacist narrative.
instead of preserving all of which has made this nation both beautiful and ugly, both stunning and stunned, both rich with hope and deeply wounded by the lack of this-land-was-made-for-you-and-me civil rights for all, this administration chooses to move forward with dumping history, banning books, paving and mining our national parklands, decimating the peoples’ house, rescinding the endangered species act, tossing environmental and wildlife protection management, eliminating mention of slavery and climate change… the list is expansive – all brought to you by this gluttonous administration and its wildly-bowing – and – wildly-profiteering sycophants.
the same department that listed southport beach house on the historic register: the department of the interior – whose mission statement is: “the u.s. department of the interior protects and manages the nation’s natural resources and cultural heritage; provides scientific and other information about those resources; and honors its trust responsibilities or special commitments to american indians, alaska natives, native hawaiians, and affiliated island communities.”
littlebabyscion has almost 287,000 miles on it. this little xb has traveled far and wide with me – always keeping me (and then, us) safe. the rocker panel skirt on the passenger side is now held on by a black zip tie (black so as not to draw attention to itself), but LBS has continued to proudly zip us around town, even with its unglamorous wheel rims.
we hadn’t driven it in a bit – there is no longer a/c in it and the humid summer days made it hot-as-heck without a/c – but we were weary of spending $100 to fill up big red in the current days of this country’s dysfunction. so, as it cooled down, we decided to switch the two in our one-car driveway and zip around in LBS again. (plus, big red was making a few strange noises and needed an appointment with steve.)
it felt like freedom driving LBS again – to move around in a much smaller vehicle that is not drinking up a gallon of gas just to go to and return from the grocery store.
and there it was – that sound. undeniable. LBS needed yet another new “lifetime” muffler and exhaust system. this little vehicle left no room for debate as this attention-getting sound got louder and louder and as the fumes in the vehicle necessitated wide open windows. asphyxiation was not a part of the equation, so wide open windows it was.
the signs were there. so was the list of other issues that the mechanic presented us with…oy! we made an appointment and the “lifetime” exhaust system was replaced. even though it was a “lifetime” warranty, i’ll just point out that doesn’t include labor, of course. but LBS wasn’t going to function properly without it. and it was warning us that we could be inundated by the fumes. it would be on us – and our own willful stupidity – if we asphyxiated after LBS clearly warned us.
breck – our aspen out back – is in stress mode. whether the high heat of the summer, or a water (too much/too little) issue or some sort of disease, some of its leaves have some dark spots and curled edges. we will likely go to the local tree nursery and ask a few questions; we want to be sure to help breck prevail. and – much like LBS – it is telling us it is stressed.
how anything in this world could be anything but stressed right now is beyond me.
we are trying – with an exercise regimen, with long daily walks, with some deliberate meditation – to mediate this stress. i can’t say it is entirely helping, but i also must say that it is not hurting. staying grounded and steady, moving forward with goodness and truth, caring about our democracy and the virtue of its ideals and laws as they impact the whole populace – these require a constancy that rides stress like a bucking bronco and holds on.
in less than twenty days, it will be time to vote. there are dark spots and curling edges freaking everywhere now – in every dark and morally vacuous corner of the current administration’s intentions.
while the whole entire tree is not yet entirely and grossly affected, we need to take action and do whatever needs to be done to eradicate that which is stressing breck, that which could snuff its very life.
most of the people we know – or hang around with – have like 40 or more. 11 is way different than 40. in some ways, it is like we are still newlyweds, not quite catching up to the tenure our friends have had in their relationships or marriages.
i wonder – sometimes – if we will have 40 someday. we’d be well into our nineties. considerably different than 40 in your sixties. i guess we’ll find out. i hope so.
in the meanwhile, we will be rambling on – traveling what is now the daisy path – trying to attend to the littlest details of this thing that is love, trying not to miss stuff, trying not to be lax or in any way aloof. because – no matter what – we will have less. less time, less experiences, less of a life arc together. so every thing counts.
we had different plans for this 11th anniversary. plans to be away on this day, plans to hike under high mountain sun, plans to renew our vows. but you know the story. our dogga needs us to stick around here right now. and so here we are. cause that’s what love is.
the daisy path is not etched in stone. this tender path is fluid and the dirt under our feet creates stardust as we walk along it.
when i dip, he raises me up. when he dips, i lift him. when my frustration gets the best of me, he helps reorganize how i am thinking. when his frustration gets the best of him, i help him cut to the core of what’s actually important. when a tear falls on my face, he can feel it. when a tear falls on his face, i weep along with him.
it’s the same with laughter and simple stuff and beauty and anticipation and moments of adventure and moments of glory.
we don’t have as much time as our friends. so the time we have seems amplified. and every day is liminal space between where we have been together and where we are going.
everything was already changing. we were on our way from seattle in a budget truck – david’s stuff loaded in the back – moving him to wisconsin. everything was in flux for both of us and we were riding on trusting the universe, a 20′ truck and love. it was no small deal.
as you have already read before, the sign “aussie pups” caught my attention and we turned around to drive up the hill at the farm. with only one puppy left – in sore need of adoption – we followed farmer don to see it.
d told me that australian shepherds are usually multicolored, merle, browns and whites and auburns with a bit of black, but never all black – which was good since we had decided that sooooomeday we would get a puppy – a black one so fur wouldn’t show up on our decidedly black wardrobe.
the only thing was – farmer don told us that the reason his only puppy was not being adopted was…wait for it…because he was all black.
cue life change.
we fell for his amber eyes the moment we saw him and he bounded over to us, curious about who he obviously knew was his new family.
even though we left a deposit and drove across the state, debating dog/no-dog/dog/no-dog for the next couple days, we figure dogga knew that whole time.
and then we drove back.
we picked him up. and our hearts and our family grew.
and now – as we watch him aging before our very eyes – as we pass through days when we are so, so worried about him – like this past weekend – we know our time is limited.
“this is nothing new,” you are thinking, “you’ve been writing about this.”
and yes…you are right…we have both been writing about this.
but today – today is that day – the day we met the aussie-angel who has walked with us. and that is a big deal.
he now has tiny grey hairs scattered across his face, not just around his muzzle. and every now and then he looks a little confused when he wakes up. there are other issues and concerns and we deal with each and have many workarounds. we stay home or close to home. there is nothing we can do to change it. we are in this with him just like he has been in life with us, through it all.
as 20 wrote the other day, “no matter how much love and sacrifice we give, we just can’t change the outcome.”
exactly.
what we can do is celebrate the moment that all that black fur came bounding at us – a full-throttled expression of exuberance, a full-throttled expression of i-am-who-you-need, a full-throttled expression of love that has carried us for thirteen glorious years of time spent together.
there are many things we are not doing these days, simply so that we are here for dogga. no matter.
we can hardly remember the before. we cannot think about the after. these days are the important ones.
in every way we are grateful that thirteen years ago our dogga – tripper – chose us and the universe gave us the wisdom to drive back.
i don’t know who – in our town’s parks department – is responsible for plotting what will be planted in the big urn planters around the city or in the hanging pots or in the gardens…but my hat is off to that person. their grasp of color and texture and how they all juxtapose with each other is exquisite. and it shows in each and every planter and garden.
regardless of who it is – precisely, who is the designer – there are many, many others on crews who spend all their working hours tending these gardens, watering and weeding and deadheading – the zillion little tasks that make a garden look effortlessly stunning.
our city has taken inordinate care of these gardens and planting vessels all through the years, preserving the zen people feel while walking in and amongst the yield of this hard work. we are both proud of these gardens and grateful for them, walking through practically every day, noticing the tiny nuances of change as the seasons move – the late spring planting into summer into fall. the smell of cocoa mulch permeates the garden down by the lake and – between the scent of flowers and cocoa – it is enchanting and heavenly.
eric hanson’s video speaks to the current administration’s shrinking of national monuments bears’ ears and grand staircase-escalante national monuments. no small reduction, these federally protected lands lost 90% of their acreage. this reduction opens these lands up to private exploitation, ignoring the native spiritual and conservation environmental regulations that kept them safe and not accessible to road-building or the deployment of heavy machinery for resource mining. these vulnerable lands are gorgeous, part of the history of these United States, enchanting and inviting, a piece of heaven not only for native peoples but for the entire populace of this nation – which – as the video pointed out – are literally owned by we-the-people.
why it is that the administration would work to eliminate protecting the natural beauty of our country is truly beyond the scope of my imagination. so is the rest of what this administration is doing – i simply cannot comprehend the vile, heinous stuff they are – ruthlessly – enacting.
each day our at-least-3.5-mile walk takes us past our city’s gardens and planters along the harbor channel and inland around the marina. each day we are grateful for the careful attention paid to these places of beauty.
the times i have been in utah’s canyonlands or near any of its wild have spoken to my soul. there is a deep root connection to the earth there, a glorious sense of the freedom that is supposedly the law of this land, and sheer enchantment and wonder at how anything could possibly be so stunning.
again, i say, they-in-this-administration have no reverence. for anything.
and as a person with a finite life – just like all of them – i cannot begin to grok the shortsightedness of that.
two saturdays ago – on the 26th – we noticed on our weather app that the total daylight – for that very day – was 11 hours 59 minutes. the sun rose at 6:43 am and set at 6:42 pm. almost exactly half and half. we missed the actual half and half day, but we were still astounded by these numbers and nodded our heads, honoring the equinox.
i’m not sure we are really ready for the aftermath of the equinox. not yet. as these days get shorter – and the nights get longer – my wistful grows. so we change the timers on the garden lights, the living room lights, lamps in the bedrooms upstairs. we turn on the happy lights sooner and light candles. we mitigate the darker season that will arrive, anticipating and alleviating the impact earlier darkness has on us.
we are getting closer and closer to the midterms. the halfway point between big presidential election cycles. where time that came before is what is to come. so much in the before. what will be the after? it literally makes me sick to my stomach.
so much is riding on this election. our country is being destroyed, brick by brick by brick. it is blatant. it is mindbogglingly breathtaking. thinking about what could come is both paralyzing and numbing. it is not as simple as the amount of daylight decreasing. it is the amount of LIGHT decreasing.
at this point – on this day – there are precisely 29 days left.
my sweet poppo – a man who dedicated part of his life to the united states army air force, who was missing in action and then taken prisoner of war in world war II, who earned a purple heart and has his story told in the records of the smithsonian – this man is freaking the hell out as our democracy teeters…even from the other plane in which he exists. and with him are all the others who have fought for this country’s freedoms, rights, constitution. all the others who have resisted, protested, died for this country and its republic. all the others who have pushed back against all manner of authoritarianism.
and i am with him. my pompoms are solidly in the stop-this-takeover camp. i no longer have any tolerance for anyone who is cheering on the madness of the current administration. they have clearly not anticipated the impact that kind of darkness will have on us.
the tidbit server is an etched clear glass tray – vintage fostoria from the 30s or maybe a tad closer to mid-century – with a fleur-de-lis finial in the center. though difficult to store, it is a lovely piece passed down to me and i keep it at hand so that i might use it from time to time. i thought about this tray the instant we passed by the canna lily on the sidewalk by the art center. the brilliant orange-red petals – aglow with noon sun – curled back from the center, revealing nature’s fleur-de-lis, right there, just waiting for us.
we walked home and i looked in the corner cabinet built into our dining room – just to say hello to this piece, remembering my sweet momma using it on special occasions and recommitting to using it any old time.
we were at old navy browsing. they were having big sales and plain black sweatshirts were a part of the sale: $20! – less than half price! it’s been a long time since we each got a new sweatshirt – years, really – so we looked for a couple in big, cozy oversizes, and splurged. just the idea of a new sweatshirt for the fall days and nights rapidly approaching made us excited. we know there is a low bar for eliciting our excitement, but, heck, new yummy sweatshirts would make anyone pretty gleeful.
we imagined walking in all our favorite places with these new sweatshirts. and, though we are not traveling these days – instead, staying at home with our aging dogga – we could well imagine wearing these in the mountains, on the coast, up north, in canyonlands, out in the desert after sunset.
it also means, maybe, that some of our ancient sweatshirts may move on. well, except for the north face clearance ones that are falling apart from close to a dozen years of wear and tear. or the old zip-up that d uses when he paints in his studio. or the cropped zip-up i wore on every single solo roadtrip i took for years – like a reassuring, protective guardian – my support hoodie – now at least 25 years old – with no cuffs left to be found and a paper clip as a zipper pull. yeah, these will not go – no one else would want them, nor would we even give away such shoddy shirts with so much meaning.
but there are others – sweatshirts i collected over the years touting places or universities or organizations. some of those are in very good condition and still have lots of wearing to be done.
it’s a funny thing about old stuff. a few years back i thought that this fleur-de-lis glass tray might be a good thing to move on – to sell to someone who might really relish its vintage beauty, who might use it in regular rotation.
and then i realized that person is me.
the etched glass tray and the tattered papercliphoodie are in different classes entirely. but they are both expressions of who i am, where i have come from, where i might be going.
as soon as the beakyrule has run its course – and i can wear the brand new thing – i’ll be wearing that new black sweatshirt, being all cozy-like. hopefully it will feel just right, right away.
in the meanwhile, it’ll just have to wait for its wings, sitting patiently on the cedar chest in our room, on top of the old quilt and under my sunhat.
the next time we passed the canna lily, it was no longer in fleur-de-lis position, a ballerina in positions of grace. it had withered a bit, its petals less reaching-for-the-sun, more cuff-less and zipperpull-less, but, i noted, no less of a blossom.
after all the rain – followed by some big dashes of cold – i thought that the potting stand would be done-in. i figured that any tiny cherry tomatoes would have fallen off the vine, that the basil would be drowning, that the mint would have given up, that the jalapeños would stop being-a-pepper. i was concerned about the rest too…the sweet potato vine, the fern, the licorice plant, the tiny purple flowers in planters. i wasn’t sure i was ready for what that would mean – the end of summer – even though we are now past the official date for the start of fall.
i haven’t really been a mum person. truth be told, i’m not sure what a mum-person is, but i just know I haven’t gravitated toward mums. despite their unrelenting determination to bloom and to flourish in the roller coaster of autumn, i think it might be how structured a mum tends to look….a tight little ball of green with lots and lots of buds just waiting to burst into color. now, i don’t know if there could be anything at all wrong with such a plant – we all need that kind of steadfastness, that kind of dogged dedication to blooming. there was just always something stopping me from mumming.
until this year.
our friends have a black cherry mum on their front steps – its blooms the color of deeply ripe bings in the summer, the color of the name of one of my favorite “sodas” growing up, the only color of choir robe i ever thought was aesthetically appropriate for everyone in a choir (should robes be necessary at all). their mum…stunning.
i commented on this mum and they promptly told me they had gotten it at the local grocery store, which has a plethora of them out front – all different colors.
the next day they texted that the price had been reduced – to $12. now, this is a really big plant. and full of potential blossoming mum-flowers. and so…
we went to the grocery store that morning and chose our new mum-plant to come home with us, gently placing it in the back seat of big red.
it has exploded with gorgeous blooms and has been absolutely steady and unperturbed all through the torrential rains we had after its homecoming. like it is…carefree.
now, “carefree” is not a word i would have used to describe a mum – unlike the wildly growing ornamental grasses in our yard, it seems to have more framework, more parameters for its growth, a tad bit more structure. hmmm.
we have recently discovered that – in lieu of doing chores as needed – there are some things that work better within a charlie’s-plan kind of plan. certain days or dates for certain things – a tad bit more structure – it takes away the spontaneity yet – surprisingly – frees up space.
in essence, we have found that it can be effective to be a little more mum.
and so, our little black cherry plant sits on our deck and giggles, “and they thought they weren’t mum-people.”
