Tag Archive | equanimity

Both And

Jan6
Mind like the sky

After a mindless moment last night at a zoom meeting and my subsequent apology, the friend I had interrupted kindly forgave me, and said about current events, “What if it all turns out ok?” Bless his heart. My fingers are crossed but I’m not holding my breath. This is a common perspective in a certain branch of Buddhism, pointing out that, due to Impermanence, we never know how things will turn out. We really don’t. A common example is the Chinese invasion of Tibet in the 1950s which forced the young Dalai Lama to flee to India; which was the direct cause of His Holiness’s benevolent influence spreading around the world for the next sixty-five years. So sometimes awful things do have a silver lining.

It’s been awhile since I baked a loaf. I tried to score a rose on this one; the stem just opened wide, but the blossom turned out okay for a first effort.

It’s my fear, however, that even if it does eventually turn out ok, whatever that looks like, there will have been total American Carnage in the meantime. Carnage that the USA will have wrought upon innocent beings of all species worldwide, and carnage that will have been wrought upon many millions, in fact most, Americans, by this despotic imposter government. At least from some angles, this is the end times that those apocalyptic idiots on the evangelical right, who have infiltrated then severed the three branches of government, have been working toward all along. But contrary to their beliefs, there will be no messiah coming to save or rapture anyone. And even if there were, it would certainly not be those agents of planetary destruction that she would be coming to save.

If anyone were to be saved by divine intervention, if there were such a thing, it would be the innocents, the thin orange thread of Buddhist monks weaving through the southern US, the millions of American children this regime has robbed of nourishment and healthcare, the cowering brave citizens of Venezuela and Ukraine, and all the future countries conquered by the new Axis of Evil the US just joined. It would be the untold billions of living beings who would be raptured, from ancient juniper trees and giant redwoods to the tiny, iridescent orchard bees to the zooplankton and the giant whales they nourish, all already sustaining lifetaking assaults by the oligarchy gathering at the top of world society like a giant pus-filled zit. Sorry. Please forgive me.

On a lighter note, I made a fabulous cheese sandwich for lunch today: havarti on mayo with Penzeys sandwich sprinkle, jam, lettuce, and a drizzle of honey mustard dressing. So simple, so delicious.

I had a rough night last night, was still nursing a black eye and bloody nose this morning from a bout with my Inner Critic. Maybe that’s colored my view today. My jaw and bite are still not right from that dental work seven months ago and that has certainly affected my tolerance for the taste of bullshit. Welcome to my rare but inevitable occasional rant on the state of the union, on this laden anniversary. It’s Insurrection Day. The regime wants you to forget it ever happened, and the Criminal in Chief is doing his ignorant best to divert our attention through waging war and threatening more. We, the majority of Americans, are not being properly represented; our tax dollars are soon to be requisitioned for global expansionism by the oligarchs who could well afford to wage any war they wish to by dipping their bloodied hands into their personal petty cash vaults. It’s time for a tax strike.

I’m grateful that due to Impermanence, my mood had improved dramatically by lunchtime and I was able to enjoy my little lunch ritual.

I’m grateful that wise friends offered perspective and insight last night when I was beating myself up, that my friend understood and forgave, grateful that the skills of apology and of forgiving myself come much more quickly to me than they used to, and grateful for the wisdom of the Buddhist perspective. Life is both suffering and joy, both beauty and horrors. Equanimity is holding awareness of both/and. The monks’ message in one of their posts today was Peace in Gratitude. In part, “This is not about ignoring difficulty or pretending that everything is perfect. It is about training our hearts to recognize the countless ways we are supported, nourished, held by life itself–even in the midst of challenges.”

At the End of the Day

Nov4

A tiny delight, the shadow of the little dingo’s head on the page. I balanced my time well today, among work, housework, good works, and some escapist reading, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue.

Another tiny delight, the little bowl Amy made for me some years ago, left on the desk yesterday after a dark chocolate M&M snack, just a tiny bowlful, and today shimmering in the morning sun, catching my eye while I worked.

And yet one more tiny delight, the grapefruit tree started from seed from fruit Kathleen sent last winter. It grew too big for the grow light stand so I ordered special citrus soil which arrived today to pot it up. Now it lives in the sunroom. Someday, grapefruits!

I split some kindling and chose delight rather than frustration in the challenge of knots, which pinned the splits together several times. No need to force them apart, they’ll kindle just as well pinned.

For lunch, I roasted golden potatoes and spooned some onto the last of the Brie which melted deliciously, and topped with leftover bacon.

I could really see this afternoon how my inner state affects my outer state. It’s a foundation of mindfulness, this awareness that in any moment there are many factors that can determine our outlook and behavior, from physical, emotional and mental comfort or discomfort, to cultural norms or biases, to genetics and family of origin characteristics, to the weather. I received an email that made me very uncomfortable, and I struggled with how or whether to respond.

Would I have felt so irritated if I hadn’t earlier listened to this important conversation between two respected legal experts on the ramifications of the regime’s nearly 100 murders on the high seas over the past 61 days? Why is 61 days important? Why is this unconstitutional behavior by the White House not getting more attention? Because the people being murdered are “not American” or “not like me”? Because they are allegedly running drugs? There’s no evidence for that, just the Commander-in-Thief’s proclamation. This is yet another test: if Americans do nothing, they’ll take it as permission to fire upon any boat, eventually, anywhere. Joyce Vance and Steve Vladek unravel the complexities and urgency of the situation in a fascinating discussion.

I took the little pets for a walk and savored the lovely warm afternoon, the beauty in the woods, I cussed at a patch of small dead Russian thistle that escaped my notice and now has gone to seed, walked some more, and came in to chair an Indivisible zoom meeting. While the walk had somewhat restored my equanimity, the weed patch threw it off again, and I was still ruminating about the email when I sat down to lead the meeting.

I felt cranky, but turned my attention to gratitude to open the meeting, thereby managing to quickly switch gears and celebrate the achievements of my colleagues, who rallied in a matter of days to deliver more than $600 worth of groceries and other staples to one of the local food pantries over the weekend: Because of the starvation policy that the Lie-a-Tollah is holding over Americans to coerce surrender on the government shutdown, while he and his billionaire toadies (no offense to toads) feast ironically.

After the meeting, I continued putting up the potato harvest, roasting some for dinner, some to freeze for quick hash browns in some uncertain future. The potatoes I thought were red are indeed purple! And tasty.

While I would very much like to throw a tantrum sometimes, and cuss out people I know or more commonly those in the current regime, (or to use a more vulgar nickname for he who shall not be named), I’m an adult. I try to live according to virtuous values, and acting like a spoiled brat or a mean girl is not an option. This article in the Atlantic, “A Confederacy of Toddlers,” reminds all of us that the only way to beat this regime is to remain the adults in the room, and we each have to do that one at a time in our personal lives. We need to manage our emotions and befriend (or at least tend) our inner demons so that we don’t set them loose on everyone else. But it’s ok to have a sense of humor.

At the end of the day, which is where I am now and grateful to have made it here, especially knowing that so many people did not, and knowing one person who almost didn’t, all the personal irritations fall away, all the global uncontrollables fall away into the vast emptiness of nondual unconditioned reality… Or they at least get absorbed by watching the joyous extravaganza of the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race España, which is ultimately the same thing.

National Abusive Relationship

Oct1

I was just heading out for sunset last night when a friend from Australia called seeking help with a podcast software we both use. After I got her squared away with it, she wanted to chat so I took her out with me. The technical connection was murky, but the personal connection was delightful. We talked about the moral decay of civilization, the polycrises, the lorikeets in her birdbath, and some of our exes, and we laughed a lot. Sometimes it’s all you can do.

Prior to the broken lying man I dated briefly a few years ago, my previous relationship was with — well, another broken man — who, when I said I valued kindness above all, spit out “Kindness? I don’t even know what you mean by kindness.”

From today’s vantage point, I can see that this came from his brokenness. But he hadn’t said it in a sad way, he had dismissed my foremost core value with contempt. I should have dumped him that minute, instead of sticking around for another three years of emotional abuse.

Four decades of research by the Gottman Institute reveals that the primary destructive force in any relationship is contempt; and further, that being the recipient of contempt in a relationship is a good predictor of—this is wild—infectious disease.

Crazy Panela Mexican cheese that you can simply slice and FRY! So I put the last of the beans in a tortilla, added a fried circle of Panela…

Sadly, I’ve been in a number of emotionally abusive relationships. This likely accounts for my now being happily single for so long; and, it also gives me firm ground from which to point out that the American people are in an abusive relationship with their president.

… a fried egg, roasted green chiles…

The lying, meanness, belittling, controlling, gaslighting and contempt I’ve experienced with past partners have parallels in everything this president does. America is in a national abusive relationship with its President. America, he won’t give it up: It’s up to you to extricate yourself from it. It’s not easy to admit how thoroughly you’ve been fooled, how completely you’ve allowed your values to be undermined to the point that you’re willing to hurt yourself and your loved ones just to keep him happy.

… a few corn chips for crunch and a splash of salsa, and fold the whole thing up like a Taco Bell crunchwrap.

I’m retraumatized every time I hear about the president’s performative cruelty, because I see it for what it is. So I’m retraumatized daily, and have to be careful how much of my attention budget I spend on the brilliant satires and shocked screeds that others are writing about his mental collapse, the brittle reports of each bite his regime takes out of the Constitution, the flagrant corruption of the Supreme Court, the complicity of legacy media and the oligarchy, and that’s just the tip of the shitshow.

After years of trying, I’m finally able to feel compassion for those who naively believed his lies, who felt a want, a lack, a need in their lives that they believed he and only he could fulfill. I imagine that some who voted for him weren’t voting based on hatred, mysogyny, and white supremacy, but on their very real needs: economic needs, a sense of security, a feeling of safety or belonging… and so they chose to believe the lies, despite some inner ick that tried to warn them.

I empathize with their longing for someone with seeming strength and certainty to make everything okay, and I understand the sense of betrayal they are starting to experience. I wish that they may find true relief from their suffering. It won’t come from piling more anger, hatred, cruelty and violence on top of what’s already being done in their name. May they come to see reality clearly, forgive themselves for their delusions, and walk away from this abusive relationship before it completely destroys their lives.

Staycation Album

Oct1
Wren helped get the yurt ready for our staycation guest.
Naturally, since it was Captain Amphibian who visited, we spent some time down at the pond to enjoy the big froglets.

It’s mind-boggling to realize that of the thousands of tadpoles who hatched, only about a dozen froglets remain visible around the pond. There could be many more I’m not seeing, deep in the rushes or out in the garden nearby, but most of them have dispersed or been eaten by snakes or birds. We counted three or four tadpoles remaining in the water, which may well overwinter there.

Much good food was enjoyed, including deep dish Dutch oven lasagna, waffles with blueberries, and tomato sandwiches.

We weren’t the only ones who dined well. Much nature was observed in rich and comfortable hours spent outside in the yarden, garden, and woods. As we repaired a garden gate we watched this praying mantis polish off a meal and then rest afterward on an old onion stalk.

One of the more fascinating occurrences was this Cooper’s hawk hunting the house sparrows who spend a lot of time in this fernbush just beyond the patio.

We walked daily, usually to the canyon rim, always with Wren, and often with Topaz along too.

Giving the Ancient One a hug, I spooked a couple of sagebrush lizards.

Two introverts conversing at a small cocktail party at the Black Canyon.
Wren napping on the warm rocks.

I was grateful for one cold, rainy day, so we could build a fire in the wood stove and pull out a puzzle. He chose one of the hardest, “The Hunt,” which kept us occupied off and on throughout the rest of the visit.

That little cold snap started the colors turning in earnest.

Poison Fish accompanied several sunsets on the deck, and some great movie nights. We enjoyed an Australian film fest all week, including “Priscilla Queen of the Desert” and several featuring aboriginal actor David Gulpilil: “Walkabout,” “Rabbit-Proof Fence,” and “The Tracker,” all extraordinary, thought provoking movies.

One afternoon we drove along the Black Canyon south to Blue Mesa Reservoir, the largest body of water in the state. Dramatic scenery all along the way no matter which way we looked, up down left right.

Of the many potential activities I had lined up, we managed to accomplish quite a few, including a stroll along the North Fork of the Gunnison River at the Paonia River Park, and lunch at Nido in town, where he enjoyed chicken quesadillas and I ate the best tacos ever, bubblegum plum carnitas.

We played with the GPS feature in Photos to mark and locate this special tree, so we could return and hide a little treasure inside.

It was a marvelous vacation and a most harmonious visit. I’m grateful that my friend made the trip, and adapted to all my conditions and particularities with ease and good cheer. It did me good to stretch a little. We were both a little melancholy to see it end. However, similar to when you return home from a wonderful vacation away you savor the coming home, after my staycation I am once again savoring the contentment of my routine solitude.

Joy Anyway

Jul21

I’m grateful for ripe tomatoes (not grown here) and Olathe Sweet sweet corn, salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and homemade bread.

I’m grateful for a couple of days of reprieve from the smoke, and that the teams have most of the fires somewhat contained, and that they have stayed safe. Despite the heat, I’ve been able to get some work done in the garden mornings and evenings, including covering the remaining cabbages with screen cubes, and thinning carrots which grew even though their tops got munched.

I’m grateful it was cool and clear enough on Friday to leave the house open overnight, which made it cool enough inside on Saturday to cook. I threw together a potato-pepper-onion-garlic-cabbage-corn-black bean fry with Penzeys Arizona seasoning to use in burritos for the next few days, and dug out a specialty tool I bought last summer to slice the corn off the cob. My first time using it lacked precision but was effective.

It was cool enough to make a batch of apricot jam, but still too hot to process it, so I gave away a few jars and froze a few. I’m grateful to have learned that apricot jam freezes well.

Wren’s been a bit put out that she hasn’t shown up here for awhile, so she took a break from frog hunting to pose nicely this morning. So did a big frog, right by my feet, but then she sensed Wren coming!

It was hot early again today, so when the sweetest neighbor stopped by on her walk to pick up her jam, I invited her to cool off under the sprinkler. Then I went inside for breakfast, two little waffles with the last of the sweet cherries I picked up on Thursday, some yogurt, and of course, real maple syrup.

I’m grateful there have only been a couple of bird strikes against the windows this summer. But today the total doubled with two in a matter of hours. They both hit the south windows, despite the fluttering prayer flags. The first was a young female Bullock’s oriole, whom I set in the shady apricot tree; the second, a young house finch who might have been drunk on apricot mash. I put her in the juniper near the feeder where they all hang out. I’m grateful that both birds recovered.

I don’t live an exciting life. It’s not like I’m wallowing in active joy all day every day: far from it. I spent most of today inside, too hot to do much of anything besides read, meditate, and clean the kitchen. But I do cultivate contentment by practicing gratitude every day. I’m aware of horrors happening the world over: there are at least 35 wars going on which are devastating people, cultures, and the environment. The US government has lost its moral compass and spun off in an inconceivable direction. The planet is burning, flooding, quaking, drying, crying, aching from our species’ misuse of it.

And still life goes on. Everywhere, all the time, life is hatching and dying, growing, playing, eating, aging, changing. I’m aware of this, also, and of my good fortune to live this simple life, this rare and precious human life, immersed in nature. Sometimes it’s pretty hard. It’s been a rough ten days with the heat and the smoke, and the mental poisons that still trouble me despite mindfulness practice. In the midst of all that is naturally tedious or trying in this human life, almost every day I experience moments of joy. Maybe not many, and most of them small, but by remaining receptive and aware, I find them everywhere.

Though the reason for it is harsh, the smoky sunset light is lovely. On our stroll the rescue horses next door thundered up to the fence to greet us. After a mutually curious visit, they moved on and left us in pensive, contented silence, grateful for a weekend enriched by many bright and colorful moments of joy anyway.

Inner Work

Jul12
Remember those waffles I froze awhile ago? One toasted, with organic almond butter and grape jelly, made a terrific breakfast.

There’s a question that’s been bugging me for nearly a decade. How is it that half of America looks at Donald Trump and doesn’t find him morally repellent? He lies, cheats, steals, betrays, and behaves cruelly and corruptly, and more than 70 million Americans find him, at the very least, morally acceptable….

Over the past 30 years, people have tried to fill the hole in their soul by seeking to derive a sense of righteousness through their political identities. And when you do that, politics begins to permeate everything and turns into a holy war in which compromise begins to seem like betrayal.”

David Brooks, The Atlantic

One of the fennel stalks getting ready to flower.

This incisive philosophical exploration of why some people like Drumpf traces the moral collapse of Western Civilization back to The Enlightenment. I’ve been spending too much of my attention budget on this question, but it’s helpful to read others exploring the origins and ramifications of current conditions. I’ve also been spending too much energy on wishful thinking, wishes like this bit of a ‘Prayer for the Resistance’ in Rob Brezny’s newsletter: “May the rich and powerful bullies perpetrating cruel violence be plagued by the consequences of their own actions, as their attempts to undermine empathy and democracy backfire spectacularly….” and other eloquent ill-wishes.

An early variety of cabbage I planted is tiny but ready! The grasshoppers figured it out a day before I did.

Perhaps a complementary article is this reflection from Mark Nepo on the Grateful Living website, about wonder and “finding the wisdom that lives in your heart.” There are two kinds of people in this world… which two kinds are always shifting for me, but there sure do seem to be a lot of aspects of human nature where polar opposites exist. I know, the last thing any of us needs to be doing is polar opposing people. I can’t help that I think about it, though.

A lettuce harvest gets a refreshing rinse from the sprinkler.

In a Saturday morning workshop with dharma teacher Martin Aylward, one of the takeaways was “I’m here to love.” At the end I thanked him for the teachings which validate a lot of the choices I’ve made in recent years, and said, “But I get stuck on ‘here to love,’ because I feel such rage and hatred toward the people making hateful, racist, cruel policies in the US.” I could have seen his answer coming, I know the teachings. He replied, gently, so compassionately, “So that is where you start, right there in your own heart, bringing love to your anger, your hatred which poisons only you, your tendency to demonize others.” A weight shrugged off my shoulders, my hand came involuntarily to my heart, tears to my eyes.

A spatchcock chicken roasted with potato and onion chunks will feed me for weeks.

In other inner work, our Grateful Gathering discussed this video Tuesday evening, which touched all of us deeply. Even more compelling, Ted Leach shared with us the next day some links to give more context on the life of Dot Fisher-Smith, whose wisdom and gratefulness shine through in the video. Talk about a paragon of inner work! And about the power of genuine compassion.

This is the earliest I’ve seen apricots ripen. There aren’t many, and they’re mostly out of reach, but they’re the largest the tree has ever produced.

In grasshopper plague mitigation, I’ve just signed up for this free webinar and recording from PPAN, People and Pollinators Action Network, in hopes of learning once and for all what strategies will work to save my yarden.

And in tadpole development, I remain mesmerized whenever I get a chance to visit the pond. It’s not far away, but with the air quality the past couple of days I haven’t been down there. We’ve only seen a couple of frogs in the past few weeks, and I was glad to catch one on the edge of the rushes the day before the fires. And welcome a lily blossom.

Speaking of the fires, the South Rim fire closed the day at 2500 acres, the Sowbelly at 2240, and the Deer Creek fire near the Utah border which also started yesterday blew up to 7000 acres within 24 hours. This exponential growth is sadly the new normal for wildfires. The smoke wasn’t as thick today due to less wind, and I was grateful for that though I still found it helpful to mask the few times I stepped outside. Grateful living has given me peace beyond the obvious. Where once I may have bemoaned the smoke and worried about its effects or potential duration, now I am simply grateful that it’s not worse: that the closer strikes were spotted and extinguished quickly, that these fires haven’t killed anyone, that the smoke isn’t denser, that my house protects me from most of it, that I’m slowly but surely taming my unruly mind, that every now and then a sliver of true compassion replaces my anger, and so on.

“Living gratefully is not something we aspire to one day. It is what we do. When we practice, this doing shapes who we are, who we are becoming, and the life we lead, transforming our way of being.”

— Joe Primo, grateful.org

Holiday Weekend

Jul7
A few chokecherry clusters are ripening.

I’m under doctor’s orders to swim. I swam recreationally for a few years before Covid, but haven’t been back to a public pool since. I don’t like driving 45 minutes to the indoor pool, especially in winter; I don’t like getting to the community pool early enough for swim lanes in summer; I don’t like the mandatory shower before entering the pool; I don’t like what the chlorine does to my hair and my skin. But I love to feel my body glide through water. The rec center pool in Delta has the Lazy River, a rib-high sinuous flow of warm water. That’s technically what I’ve been ordered to do.

Rocky Mountain beeplant started blooming last week and drawing in all manner of pollinators.

So I bit the bullet and ordered a new swim suit when my Dog World sister mentioned them on deep markdown at Lands End. And the other night I ordered new swim goggles, wax ear plug discs, and a swim cap, all of which succumbed to age even as my swimming tapered off.

chewing side of crown
cement side of crown

This afternoon as I sat under the pleasing influence of nitrous oxide in the dental chair, the dentist was chatting with the tech as she ground down my old cracked tooth. “You know Pat–gonia?” she asked. The tech murmured her answer as I pondered the question. Not that I could reply, but I thought, “I just ordered from them the other day,” because while I was at REI spending my free dividend money on swim gear, I also shopped for some sale items, including Merrell water shoes and a Patagonia jacket. I buy Patagonia whenever I can, because of their integrity.

His Holiness celebrated his 90th birthday this weekend. Millions around the world also celebrated his birth, his life, his remarkable gifts to humanity. That was my holiday.

Even though I thought heard “Pattie Gonia,” my first thought went to the clothing company, but in the next second she clarified to her friend “…the drag queen? I saw her in Denver.” I tipped both my thumbs up, then made the heart sign, and they laughed, so she talked about the amazing Pride show that Pattie Gonia headlined in Denver last month. I’d seen clips and pictures on Instagram.

The resilient desert willow, who almost died of cold a few years ago, has rebounded and bears more blossoms this summer than in many years.

I started following Pattie Gonia a few months ago when she showed up as one of National Geographic’s nine Travelers of the Year 2024. She was also named one of Outside magazine’s Outsiders of the Year in 2022, and a Time Magazine Next Gen Leader in 2023. The reason Wyn Wiley chose this name for his drag queen alter ego is self-explanatory if you know the brand. Learning that my dentist is a fan of Pattie made me all over tingle – though that might have been the nitrous.

Fennel when it’s ready sucks in its bulb and reconstituted the energy in a central stalk that shoots up and flowers then seeds.

My emotions have been very close to the surface this weekend. Tears spring at the least glimpse of beauty or tenderness. This is a welcome counterpoint to the simmering rage that erupts when I encounter another headline or photo, or comment from someone I know, that reflects the hypocrisy of so-called Christians celebrating the BBB that will starve children of food and education, kill thousands by making healthcare costly and/or inaccessible, pillage public lands, expedite the climate catastrophe, kidnap and imprison innocent people, and so on. I don’t claim to know the Bible like they do, those hypocritical politicians, neighbors, at least one cousin, but I do know what it says about the poor. Among a hundred other scripture quotes:

“Therefore I command you, you shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.”

Deuteronomy 15:11

So I tuned them all out this weekend, and turned my attention to the beauty, wonder, and delights of the garden. The fennel was bolting so I pulled the last four bulbs that were still solid, and left the few that were morphing to go to seed.

I couldn’t use it all at once, so I sliced the bulbs a little more thickly than I would have to use fresh, plopped them into ice trays, and froze them. That left four fennels worth of fronds to use or compost. I made a fennel fronds pesto, and froze some of that as well.

Into the food processor I put four cups of coarsely chopped fronds, the zest and juice of one lemon, four garlic cloves, olive oil, a little butter, a couple tablespoons of water — which a recipe called for but I didn’t like what it did to the consistency so I threw in an equal amount of cream cheese to add a little binding. Once that was all pretty smooth I added half a cup of pecans and pulsed a few times. I froze most of it, but kept some out.

Then I boiled some pasta, grated some parmesan, and enjoyed my lunch. One pesto recipe I looked at called for a splash of Dijon mustard, which I forgot to put in, so I added half a teaspoon when I tossed the pasta. Yum!

The next day I made sourdough pizza crust and baked two skillet pizzas. On the small one, fennel frond pesto, parmesan, Kalamata olives, and red onion; on the large one, from the freezer, roasted tomatoes with basil and garlic, grated Havarti, red onion, and chopped pancetta.

Yum! It was too hot to eat outside so I enjoyed my a few slices inside, with a delightful book that a friend passed along to me. Thanks, Chris! Later, when it cooled down a bit, I cooled off with my feet in the pond. This time, I went down and got up very carefully, properly, safely.

The babies are getting so big! Their nibbling tickles now. I thought maybe I saw a few tiny legs starting to emerge but Dr. Amphibian suggested maybe not yet. He said it could be six months before they complete metamorphosis, and that they’ll be fine overwinter in the pond whatever stage they’re in. Whew! It all depends on variable conditions, including water temperature. They change at their own pace.

Image borrowed from Encyclopedia Britannica. The Mirador tadpoles are at the early late stage illustrated in the center.

This evening’s sunset walk delivered the perfect cherry on top of my holiday weekend. It’s been years since I’ve seen a bull snake. This little baby startled me — we startled each other on the path, she was perfectly camouflaged, and she slid gracefully away to an ancient juniper. May you also find moments of beauty and joy in your day.

Cherry Pie

Jun24

That old ditty Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy, can she bake a cherry pie charming Billy? has been running through my head since yesterday morning when I set out to do just that. Turns out yes she can.

I used a new crust recipe that included butter and cream cheese, and chose to par-bake it though the pie recipe didn’t call for that. It was a partly successful choice.

It made the lattice top harder to attach, but with the clever little tool the lattice was a lot easier to make. However, I think I’ll give away the tool. Though the top crust looked pretty, there wasn’t enough of it. Next time I’ll try a handmade lattice or just leave it solid.

The bulk of the cherries came from Deb’s freezer, from a local organic orchard. Those few little brighter red cherries? They’re from my baby tree. It was fun to throw all nine of them in, and the gesture was well-received at the ‘family dinner’ up the hill.

Little Wren had fun with her friends Josie and Oso, though Oso spent most of the evening challenging a ground squirrel under his mama’s car. I’m grateful for having good-hearted, like-minded friends in the neighborhood, and for spending a comfortable evening savoring seeming normalcy despite the rogue president’s unconstitutional bombing the night before.

Wren inspects my work finally planting one of the little willows Garden Buddy gave me last fall.

This week’s value in the Mindful Life Community is Action, and today’s guidance centered on this quote.

“Don’t spend your precious time asking ‘Why isn’t the world a better place?’ It will only be time wasted. The question to ask is ‘How can I make it better?’ To that there is an answer.” Leo Buscaglia

My challenge these days is finding the balance between these two questions. I wish this government’s policies weren’t rooted in the three poisons of Greed, Hatred, and Delusion; but they are. I wish I could do more to make the world a better place, and I suffer from feeling that I don’t do enough. Are my expectations, of myself and of human nature, unrealistic?

If you’re experiencing similar distress or confusion you might want to check out the free Mindful Living Skills webinar on Thursday online: Working with Expectations in a Time of Uncertainty. Click here to register or learn more.

Topaz lounges at the pond while Wren and I work.

Some days I just hate the lessons I learn! This evening I learned not to wear hearing aids to work in the garden. There aren’t a lot of mosquitoes, partly because I make sure there’s no water left standing long enough to breed them, even in the catch dishes under potted plants. But there are a few. One got caught between my ear and the hearing aid, and I couldn’t get it out. The buzz was strikingly loud, of course, but beyond that once I pulled out the hearing aid every effort I made just drove the killer insect deeper. There were no Q-tips downstairs so I had to hurry up the stairs as fast as I could, which still isn’t fast or graceful; the swab didn’t get it, so I hurried back down and grabbed garlic-mullein ear oil from the medicine cabinet and filled the ear to try to float it out; shook out the oil, swabbed inside, and could still feel it. After a hot shower and another Q-tip, my ear still doesn’t feel right. I pray that the damn mosquito didn’t bite my eardrum and send West Nile virus directly into my brain. Sigh. First world problems.

And a first world solution: sour cherries over chocolate chocolate chip ice cream, for a brief moment of forgetfulness. Savor the simple pleasures, while we have them.

Balance

Apr28

It’s been an emotional week. I’m sad the benevolent pope died, adding one more layer of global uncertainty. I learned of the death of a significant ex and through his obituary of the prior deaths of two of his siblings I was fond of. The DOGE disaster continues to wreak havoc on the country. Friends are suffering various losses in ways I can’t ameliorate. The mental/emotional tension before, during and after a couple of fraught conversations with neighbors sapped more of my energy and attention than I would have wished—but certainly far less than it would have before developing mindfulness skills.

There’s a big stew of suffering swirling inside. Finding peace in the yarden has been extra important. Most mornings I’ve sat at the pond for coffee after meditation, and enjoyed the blossoming crabapple, the frogs, and the tiny dingo’s delight in following her nose and her whims around. Sitting quietly for awhile each day with water burbling and leopard frogs gurgling keeps things in perspective. There are at least six fat, happy frogs in the pond. I’m grateful for this sanctuary and all the conditions that allow me to savor moments of peace and joy.

I’m grateful for making time to finally cook this so simple, so delicious chicken florentine that came together in about half an hour.

I made myself eat only one portion last night so I can enjoy leftovers for three more meals, which I did for lunch today: In the next-to-last giant spinach tortilla, I rolled up lettuce, chicken florentine, avocado and mayo for a yummy wrap.

As I wrestle with my personal patriarchal demons, Mother Nature nurtures me. Is there a more feminine shrub than the lovely lilac? I think not. You’d think I’d have learnt by now to be comfortable with aggressively assertive men, having grown up under the Colonel’s temper. But maybe that’s why it’s still so hard. And the National Abusive Relationship we’re all in is a constant low-grade trigger that I keep trying to write about and shying away from. One of these days I’ll find the words…

Other good things that kept me in balance this week included some wonderful connections with old friends, being ready for the first hummingbird who arrived just after noon, and seeing the little cherry tree in full bloom. And satire:

ROME (The Borowitz Report)—A man who fell asleep during Pope Francis’s funeral was “already going to Hell,” God clarified on Sunday.

Although snoozing during the pontiff’s funeral was “beyond rude,” the Almighty said that the man clinched his place in the netherworld “decades ago.”

“If I hadn’t already made up My mind, the last hundred days would have made him a slam dunk for eternal damnation,” He said. “I mean, deporting a two-year-old? Come on.”

The Heavenly Father said the man’s decision to wear a blue suit at the funeral “wasn’t a factor” in his going to Hell, but was nevertheless “incredibly assholic.”

In another observation from the funeral, God noted, “Interestingly, Sleepy Joe Biden managed to stay awake.”

Fortunate One

Apr6

I’m grateful for this beautiful Sunday. I felt cranky most of yesterday. Because I wasn’t able to attend a Hands Off! rally, I planned to watch live coverage throughout the day, but couldn’t find any. I was expecting news networks to have cameras on the crowds in every major city, but the legacy media was suspiciously absent—Sadly, once-realistic expectations are rapidly becoming unrealistic. At least social media provided my crowd quotient.

I was thrilled this morning to read estimates of five million Americans out in the streets, and that good news came on the heels of a vivid adventure dream. Dan Rather offered this link to a CCR classic song, “Fortunate Son,” in his Reasons to Smile column from yesterday. The song is eerily relevant. I couldn’t stop at one CCR song, so I played Creedence tunes while I watered the houseplants.

The day kept getting better. I attended Upaya’s Awareness in Action zoom with Valerie Brown later, and Wren and I walked to the canyon after lunch for the first time this year.

Ice Canyon still has plenty, and a precious little Townsendia all curled up like a globe cactus is already blooming.

While we sat on the bench a golden eagle circled down to check out the possibility of a snack but flew on over us when it realized Wren had protection. I enjoyed a good long talk and a hearty laugh with my cousin, which also helped dispel the gloomy undertone so many Americans are feeling. I mean, Social Security, seriously? “Understaffed agency sent into ‘death spiral’ as employees warn Musk-led cuts will lead to structural collapse” reads the subheading of this Guardian article this morning. Are US media paying attention?

Tonight was a planned Zoom Cooking with Amy, and I’d been looking forward to that. We started with these little—I’m going to call them Doge Deviled Eggs—they’re not eggs, because who can afford eggs anymore, am I right? We saw this idea on Instagram a month ago: boil baby gold potatoes til tender, let them cool, scoop out the middles, mash up with anything you’d use in deviled eggs, and fill ‘em up again. Mel said it sounded like an awful lot of trouble, but it took less than half an hour not counting boiling and cooling. And they were delicious!

Next we crisped some prosciutto in butter, sautéed shallots, and tossed in frozen peas, fresh (store bought) cheese tortellini, along with chicken bouillon and cream, et voila! A marvelous one-skillet pasta eleganza.

It really was so simple, so delicious. After we concluded our lovely dinner, I was thinking about our culinary history together. It goes back to the earliest days of our friendship. In seventh-grade French class we had to perform a skit on stage that neither of us has forgotten. She was the French waitress, and I was the bumbling American tourist at the café. We don’t remember the entire dialog, but I pretended to know how to read the menu and ordered escargots. She questioned me (in French of course), and I insisted Oui, oui… er… (and here’s the punchline) avec syrop! We thought we were so funny, and we still laugh about it. Snails… with syrup!

I’m confident that our spring tortellini was much tastier than that imaginary meal 54 years ago. Wren curled up under my desk in the new bed Garden Buddy made for Topaz. I’m grateful I managed to find my joy throughout this day. I am indeed a fortunate one, but not like in the song.