Tag Archive | letting go

Still Breathing…

Jul3

A week ago wildfires started in Colorado. Off and on, the mountains to the east are entirely obscured by smoke from the convergence of wind currents blowing through the Gold Mountain fire to the south the Snyder fire northwest on the border with Utah. Grand Mesa to the north is also occasionally invisible, and the sun is a red disk setting.

At times the smoke is mild, reminiscent of a campfire at a site across the campground, only pervasive and persistent, not wafting and shifting. Other times it’s an acrid stench that stuns my lungs. I’m grateful the fires aren’t closer, grateful I’m still safe at home, still breathing.

The Air Quality Index has been fluctuating between the 50s on the best nights to as high as 185. During the day it’s been hovering around 90 give or take a dozen, depending on how the winds have been blowing the previous hour. I wear a dampened mask to go outside and fill bird feeders, shift hoses in the yarden. The poor little birds! Especially the hummingbirds with their tiny lungs and extravagant heartrates.

Unretouched photo of a sagebrush glowing at sunset.
Smoke billows a few days ago from the Gold Mountain fire roughly 60 crow miles south of us.

This evening the West Elk mountains are under deep chiarascuro. It changes hour by hour, more or less dense, wind dependent. The good news is that the Snyder fire seems to have stalled at 30,000 acres and is now 95% contained per Watch Duty.

Last night’s moonrise

The bad news is, the Gold Mountain fire just north of Ouray has grown to 25,000 acres in six days. The 2500-acre Willow fire in the mountains above Aspen forced evacuation of an Outward Bound base camp where a friend’s son lives. He remains up in the mountains on an extended backpack with a group of teens and may not even know of the fire. Friends of a friend lost everything the other day in the explosive Aspen Acres fire southwest of Pueblo including their pets, and barely escaped alive. More than 11,000 humans have been displaced from that fire alone as of tonight. Hundreds of structures have burned. Fairgrounds around the state are open to house large animals evacuated from the paths of various wildfires.

Current Watch Duty map, at 9:21 pm MT July 3.

And there are a few more wildfires in Colorado. A week ago, there were none. Multiply every human that’s affected by these fires by pick-a-number, and guess how many other sentient beings have been killed or displaced. Most of these fires will be found to have been started by human activity, whether accidental or malicious. All of them are raging as wildly as they are because of human-caused climate chaos. Tomorrow will likely bring more fires across the region from idiots shooting off fireworks despite fire bans. Climate ignorance pervading the political sphere has only and will only exacerbate the threats to all beings.

And even in the midst of smoke and rage I’m doing my best to calm down and eat well. Here’s a creamy potato-cheddar soup I had for lunch the other day.

I’m furious about human stupidity. I’m grateful for the courageous individuals and teams who do their best to mitigate these disastrous consequences, from the local, state, and federal firefighters on the ground to the fired federal employees who got together to resurrect the Strump-shuttered climate.gov with a new website, climate.us, and everyone in between.

I’m gratified to see the desert willow in full gorgeous bloom just a few years after a freeze so hard I thought it was dead.

I’m grateful once again for Alexandra Petri, who writes about MAHA day at the Great American State Fair, an event which I’ve been only peripherally aware of with my limited intake of current events and what passes for news. I giggled all the way through, from her description of the Screamin’ Freedom energy drink to her interaction with a featured ‘legacy’ speaker who urged her to go topless. If you don’t laugh sometimes you’ll just cry.

Even though Amy and I swore off Instagram recipes, we both can’t stop. The other day I tried the rice-waffle with some leftover rice, mixed with a little rice vinegar and sesame oil. I used too much liquid since I fudged the recipe with only enough rice for one cake. It took forever to crisp up and didn’t hold together well, but it was tasty and fun enough that I’ll try it again with proper proportions. They topped theirs with sushi elements, but I just made an Asian tunafish salad based on this recipe with what I had on hand.

Also doing my best to savor the moments I’m able to be outside. The temperature this fiery week has been lovely, it’s just been too smoky to enjoy it except in small sweet snatches.

And when we can’t be outside, we make the most of being inside.

The Simple Art of Being

Jun24

Things I’ve been grateful for recently include discovering that the ‘new’ lens for the husband camera has been the wrong lens all along. It’s just never provided the same quality closeups (or any distance, really) that the original husband camera did with his original equivalent lens. (Imagine sufficient technical jargon here to explain why it was not the right tool for the job and move on.)

After shooting these images the other day, inspired and excited to bring my husband out to play for the first time in a long time, I ended the day feeling the same disillusionment that I have every time I’ve used this lens since I bought it. There was a cascade of reasons I didn’t investigate this sooner, among them the possibility that it was just me, unable to hold the camera quite as steady as I used to.

So I’m grateful to learn that it wasn’t me! And I’m grateful that I can return the whole setup. While this results in a financial hit, at least I’m able to trade in the lens, the camera body, and the other lens I bought six years ago and get back about 25% of what they cost me.

I may or may not get another camera. Except for photographing my favorite things, bugs and birds, the iPhone camera does well enough for what I foresee needing going into this next phase of my life. I’m no longer showing or selling large prints, I’m simply sharing online or creating small-scale projects like books or slideshows that don’t require the fancy components of a husband camera.

I’m grateful that I’m finally feeling motivated to simplify and downsize in a profound way; enough that I can contemplate relinquishing this pleasure and many more elements of this full and busy life. It’s time to release my grasp on things, conditions, relationships, drives, commitments, etc., that have added so much to my life but have become overwhelming.

Buddhism is often distilled into one simple phrase. The exact phrase varies from teacher to elder to practitioner, of course, but the gist is this: “From beginning to end, the path of dharma is about letting go.”

I don’t know if there is such a thing as the simple art of being, but I might be close to discovering it. It’s been a restful couple of weeks spent turning inward, spinning a cocoon, resting into my life as it is moment by moment, making deep inward contact with myself.

I’m grateful to those of you who read this blog regularly and encourage me to continue posting with your supportive comments. I’m grateful for the connections I’ve made and those I’ve deepened through this platform. I’m not walking away from Morning Rounds, but for now I won’t be posting as regularly as I have over the past five years.

Caterpillar of an owlet moth species photographed in the garden some years ago.

I attended an online retreat last weekend in which a dharma talk included a description of the life cycle of the monarch butterfly. It’s a great metaphor for many aspects of the Buddhist path, from faith and resilience and patience to impermanence and transformation.

The monarch butterfly by Joel Sartore, creator of the Photo Ark.

What resonated the most with me in that talk was the idea of imaginal cells. Once any caterpillar spins its chrysalis, it dissolves itself into goo inside the cocoon. It unmakes the caterpillar it was and with the provocation of imaginal cells it creates the butterfly it was destined to become. Right now, I’m the goo. It could be awhile before I know what I’m turning into, but for now I’m content and grateful to rest inside myself and let the imaginal cells determine the course of my transformation. Let me remember to be grateful every living moment of every day.

A Walk in the Woods

Nov30

Today it snowed at least five inches, which gave me a chance to catch up inside, and review photos from the last weeks of this mild and gorgeous autumn. Most days I woke Topaz from her mid-morning nap on the sunroom table to invite her out for a walk. She’s going a little deaf, so a gentle touch on the side of the basket and she startles awake with a little mrrrp!

It takes her awhile to get going once she steps outside. She rolls on the flagstones and stretches, while Wren and I zigzag through the woods close to the yard, noticing details. I call to her occasionally: sometimes she hops through the gate and runs to catch up, but most of the time we’re well on our way before she shows herself.

Some days she doesn’t join us at all. Yesterday I thought was one of those days, so after awhile I gave up on her and we ambled eastward, from one lovely view, one magnificent tree, to another.

I’ve been practicing a meditation instruction I heard a few days ago, to remember, just for a moment now and then, the felt sense of being “without a care in the world.” The woods is the best place to do that. I don’t think of myself as stressed until I realize how that feeling used to be much easier to find.

It’s healthy to now and then shrug off worries about health, mortality, money, the collapse of democracy, and recall that carefree feeling. I was immersed in it. We had wandered on deer trails for half an hour and were pretty far from the house, the canyon in sight. I sat on a log for a short meditation. A quiet mrrrp interrupted my reverie, and Topaz jumped up next to me. I was delighted to see her. She’d been stalking us all along.

Once she had gotten enough appreciation she wandered away and that was my cue to get up and move again. I let her and Wren dictate our route.

There’s an avenue of ancients near the southeast corner that came to my heart to visit, so I steered us in that general direction. The junipers are evenly spaced down a gentle slope to the canyon rim. A couple of them appear to be around the same age, five or six hundred years or older, and some younger, just a couple hundred. The series below shows more than one angle on each of the trees.

I got to the bottom of the avenue and realized there was another tree in the line that I had not once in thirty years understood. It was just below a rocky ledge, at the top of the scree that angles down to Ice Canyon. As I considered the whole slope, I experienced the feeling of this next tree slowly sliding down the edge as rock eroded over centuries. Its powerful roots kept it anchored and it reached upward even as the earth carried it downhill.

I turned, and for the first time followed the sight line uphill from that tree along the avenue…

… and then I turned again and followed it farther downhill, to another tree I had failed to recognize as the last in line, barely hanging on above the drop into Ice Canyon. I wallowed in awe for a long while without a care in the world.

Breathing

Jul2

Fire Season is off to a good start. The watch group dinged this morning with a dark smoke half a mile down the road. Close enough that I climbed the tower ladder with binoculars, and called 911 as soon as I looked out the window. Even as dispatch answered I saw the flashing lights of the volunteers’ pickups. Seemed like a good time to go up the driveway to check the mailbox. On the way downstairs I threw on a couple necklaces I’d hate to lose, then loaded Wren into her car seat. Another neighbor drove down on his ATV and told me that a hay baler had caught fire going up the road. The fire spread into the grass (just steps from dry junipers) and guys were throwing dirt on it until the firetruck arrived with water, putting out the burning baler. I’m sure grateful for the volunteers’ alacrity.

My personal shopper called from the ice cream aisle just as I was getting into the car to check out the fire. Of course I took the time to hear the flavor choices. There weren’t many left because of the great sale, and with no mint chip he wasn’t sure what to get for me. I chose one of each to mix my own Neapolitan. The Colonel once told me my priorities were all screwed up. I think I proved him wrong today.

I’m also grateful that the strong wind that blew up during Bibliofillies this afternoon didn’t happen this morning. And grateful for a thoughtful, intimate book club gathering on Ellie’s terrace, with snacks, and then sour cherry soup. What?! Fresh picked from her cherry tree and chilled in a creamy, spicy dessert soup.

Coming home to an evening cooled by the edge of a storm blowing by, I sat for awhile on the patio. Wren alerted me to the bluebird babies practicing hunting at the edge of the yard, dropping down to the ground then flitting up to the fence. Then Papa Blue visited the birdbath, followed by a baby. I took a deep breath, and let go. Then again. Letting go of everything that wasn’t this moment, savoring everything that was, grateful for breathing.

Cameras

Jun29

I’m perpetually amazed by having a camera in my pocket at all times, which also functions as a phone, a weather station, and an encyclopedia. I’m grateful for my Girlfriend camera who can capture a bee on a blossom this clearly.

I’m grateful for my Husband camera, too. Here he is poised to capture the bluebirds fledging this morning. Sadly, they had already flown, last evening, but we didn’t know that yet. Stay tuned for the two-day adventure of watching them slowly emerge: nothing like I expected.

After watching the nest for a couple hours after sunrise I was confident enough that it was empty that I asked Girlfriend camera if she could squeeze inside and take a look. The only thing we learned for certain was that it was definitely empty. What exactly we’re looking at remains a mystery. Is the actual nest down inside the wall space on one side or the other of the central platform? What various materials did they build it with? How many chicks were there? It’s been a great mindfulness exercise to observe the stories I’ve made up every step of the process, and realize how little I actually know.

Exquisite pastries from the North Fork Boardwalk chef

At noon I took both cameras to Zenzen Gardens in Paonia to document the celebration of life for a precious friend. It was a beautiful venue in a field of mown clover, with tasty snacks, talented musicians, and filled with my found family, and reminiscences from the wonderful community that had grown around our dear departed neighbor and his lovely wife. What happens when we die? Another mystery to consider. The cameras did a good job but, like me, overheated, so we left early.

I was grateful to rest in the cool house for awhile after so many hours outside in the heat of deep summer the past few days; and to then spend some deeply quiet time in the garden this evening.

No Buy New Year

Jan3

No Buy New Year got off to a rough start: I spent $500 at the vet yesterday. But that’s ok, veterinary and human health care is exempt, and so are absolute necessities. The goal of No Buy New Year is not deprivation, but it is a type of renunciation.

Now that I have this fine, manual bread (and other foods) slicer (bought in December), I can finally be happy!

Like many Americans, I have more stuff than I need. I’m getting older, death is certain, time of death uncertain, and I’ve been trying to pare nonessentials from all facets of my life for years with limited success. Why is it so hard to winnow things? Because our American culture (now, tragically exported to most of the world) insists that we need more things, and that having more things will make us happier.

Beautiful uniform slices without the effort or the danger of a dulling bread knife.

I know for certain that this is not true, after five years of dedicated mindfulness practice. If you want to know how you can also know this for certain, you’ll need to take the Mindfulness Foundations Course I teach online. It is so much more than can be summarized in a few paragraphs: but trust me, getting and having more things will not make you happier. Some things have uses, some carry important meaning, and many are not “just things”; but some of the things I have I don’t even remember where they are, and when I run across one I may not even be able to recall why I bought it.

This happened awhile ago with a kitchen tool. I couldn’t figure out what it was for, so I passed it on to another kitcheny friend, assuming she’d make some use of it. Only when I bought a new iteration of a corn cutter did I realize that was the purpose of the tool I had given away. I don’t cut that much corn off the cob, but on the rare occasions I do, I prefer to have the right tool for the job. This new one looks like it will be easier to use, but maybe I should label it anyway, summer corn is a long way off.

Listening to this marvelous podcast with Noelle Oxenhandler on the drive home from the vet added yet another layer of meaning to No Buy New Year. Partly, I just want a more streamlined space to dwell in, but I also want less to clean, less to care for, less to care about. So I’m trying to thin my things, and at the same time let go of attachments. Noelle’s interview gives some insight into the cultural conundrum of continually buying more things while at the same time contending with clutter. You don’t have to believe that everything is Buddha, but her discussion around the true nature of things might help me let go of more of them.

I will, of course, still be buying flour.

Here are my No Buy New Year Rules:

1. Keep a box for things to take to the thrift store, and put something in it every day: clothing, kitchen tools, pantry items I’ll never eat or use, knickknacks frippery and ornaments I can bring myself to part with, anything I can let go of.

2. Letting go also includes cleaning out the three spice locations (turntable, rack, and drawer) and composting everything I haven’t used in two years; same rule applies to the pantry. I’ll check the freezer first before I make a grocery list, and buy groceries only twice a month, making sure to use up or compost as much as possible before buying more groceries.

Tonight’s zoom cooking with Amy is a great example of this strategy: instead of buying new onions or tomatoes, I dug through the freezer to find a bag of frozen roasted homegrown tomatoes and some of last year’s onions, and some pesto. We threw together a simple and delicious puréed tomato soup with white beans.

There was also puff pastry in the freezer, cheese in the fridge, and spices on the shelf. We each created our own version of a pull-apart flower. Mine was filled with pesto, cheddar, and Parmesan cheese, and brushed with egg white which I had in the fridge leftover from a custard I made the other day.

A simple supper with ingredients on hand that will provide several more meals.

3. No new clothes. I have enough clothes. I buy more because I covet a certain color or texture of sweater or pants, or style of shirt. I have enough clothes, enough hats, jackets, coats, gloves. Other people don’t. I have too many clothes. Unless an essential clothing item becomes unwearable from age I won’t replace it; and no succumbing to tactile temptations.

4. No new tools. I have enough tools. Any kitchen, household, or garden tool I ever imagined a use for, I have already. If a new use arises, I will make do with an inventive application of tools I already own.

Full disclosure, I did prepare in advance for No Buy New Year. I bought a couple of high-value items after the election. I don’t think the president-elect will be able to enact all his nefarious plans that will bolster the billionaires and create suffering for the rest of us, but I do think he’ll succeed with some of them. I certainly don’t expect the price of imports (or groceries, or gas, or taxes, or anything else) to go down in the coming year, and I personally prefer not to support whatever economic agenda comes out of the incoming regime.

I think that about covers it. At the moment, I can’t think of anything else I’d be liable to buy this year — oh wait! Plants! Seeds! But I firmly believe that I either have all the seeds and stock of plants to propagate any more plants I could desire or need, or I’ll be able to trade for them. So, I’m ready for No Buy New Year. Wish me luck!

A laugh for the day: the doe is fascinated by Wren pooping. Wren is wearing the donut of comfort to help her recover from an infected scratch.

Green Burials

Jul7

We buried our dear friend this morning, in a hand-dug grave in a beautiful spot on private land. I’m grateful that green burials are legal (if more complicated than they need to be) in our county. I’m grateful (for so many reasons) that dear friends are choosing them. I’m grateful for capable and compassionate friends to carry them out. I’m grateful I could be of service today.

Letting Go

Jun11

I’m grateful that I didn’t hurry up and eat all the frozen apricots from last year. Despite a million tiny fruitlets on the tree long after bloom time, I looked today and saw only a dozen or so. The natural thinning process must have been amped up by the several microbursts we had over the past month. A dozen in sight during this time that they so closely resemble the leaves means maybe three or four dozen, my guess, will come to fruition. Most of those are at the very top, in the birds’ portion of the tree. Oh well. Grateful for learning to let go. In so many ways.

The 93 Fruits & Vegetables a Day challenge is going well. The first week I managed a total of 28, counting spices. I haven’t tallied last week, when I didn’t put as much focus into it, and this week I’m off to a good start with a four-fruit smoothie for breakfast today, Kung Pau Tofu last night, and an overall enthusiasm for the project bodes well.

How many grasshoppers? ARRRGG! They’re turning this catnip into lace and they’re still just tiny. This bodes ill for the entire garden, and my strategy this year is to leave plenty of weeds and grasses in the yard but not near the food garden. Still, I know I’ll have to practice letting go in the garden.
You can’t see them, but I know they’re there. I was taking a picture of the new copper birdbath which has been a long time coming, and noticed fledgeling mountain bluebirds following their papa around on the tree behind the hummingbird feeder. I’m grateful for insectivorous birds this summer, that’s for sure.

And I made myself cook a little bit of chicken tonight, because I’ve tried, and I cannot live on fruits and vegetables alone. I adapted this sheetpan chicken with rhubarb and red onion recipe to a quick skillet dinner, sautéing cut up chicken and sliced red onion with coriander, salt and pepper for awhile, tossing in chopped rhubarb, maple syrup, and some old white wine, and simmering til done. So simple, so delicious.

My dear friend has not let go yet, though her final breath nears. It could be hours, days, even a week. Her care team at home and her virtual support team are in frequent contact, all of us learning over and over again how to let go; how we must let go.

Flowers

May31

Whether it’s the flowers of arugula and broccolini drawing beneficial insects to the raised beds, or subtly fragrant pink honeysuckle flowers on the giant Lonicera korolkowii filled with honeybees, I’m grateful for the complex diverse flowers of the garden, of the world.

I started planting two ‘three sisters’ mounds today, with four corn seeds in each depression. In a couple of weeks when the corn is up, I’ll intersperse a vining bean, and a week or so after that plant two winter squash plants on the outsides of each mound. In the raised bed just above this area, I planted three more squares of four corn kernels interspersed with the salvaged arugula dug up when we turned and amended the bed below. Next to those, bush beans are already sprouting, and zucchini seeds wait for more warmth.

Where’s Wren?

The days have been full with compassion and not much attention to my 42 fruits and vegetables each day, but at least I got some color in my lunch. The cheese sandwich du jour is brie, arugula pesto, avocado and lettuce on herbed focaccia leftover from yesterday. I was grateful for a relatively quiet day in the garden, except for a quick ride to town to pick up my car from the shop where tires were fixed and winter wheels swapped off. Little Wren charmed everywhere from the bank, to Farm and Home, to the shop.

Where’s Wren? I was grateful to find a riot of flowers still at Paonia Farm & Home, and wished GB and I had gone there shopping last week instead of the actual farm where the plants I bought were, frankly, kinda tragic. Oh well, “water off a duck’s back.” Excellent to practice letting go with the small losses, so it’s a habit when the big losses come along, as they inevitably do.

Lemonade

Jan9
It’s taken me a week to finally make time to cook this delicious squash and chickpea stew, but finally I had energy to chop the squash. I only ate a tiny bowl to taste tonight since it got done so late, but I look forward to enjoying it during the coming storm.

Mel texted me “Life is tossing you a few lemons today 😊” after I postponed our exercise call. There was a flurry of phone and text activity this morning as I tried to ascertain when my car would be ready and find a ride to town to pick it up. Honeybadger was happy to take me on her way to radio, but then it appeared the car wouldn’t be ready. Next thing I know, the shop called and said “Ray’s on his way to pick you up.”

What? I didn’t want to ride twenty minutes in a closed car with a guy who works with people all day. I’d have to ask him to mask and that would be awkward. Why was he suddenly breaking protocol and delivering my car, and so soon? Would he be defensive about the problem that got it there? Could I stop him? No. I asked, and they said he wanted to come get me and was on his way. As Honeybadger pointed out, it was kind of him to deliver the car. I’m grateful for mindfulness practice, which allowed me to let go of these and other questions almost as soon as they arose, and surrender to the flow of what was happening.

Speaking of Mel, she sent Wren a little parka! And Wren was happy to put it on.

He arrived and I invited him to look around the winter yarden. We stood outside and visited for awhile as Wren ran around, during which time he apologized for what happened and explained it was a trainee who had done the work. He was rather mortified. He said they had only ever lost one oil plug and that was more than twenty years ago, and it should never have happened. We agreed it was good fortune that he didn’t have to buy me a new engine. We laughed. In the course of conversation, I mentioned the COPD which makes me so protective about getting a respiratory virus. When we got to the car, I invited him to chauffeur me. Then I put on a KN95 mask and offered him a surgical mask. He so kindly said “Sure, no problem.”

(Aside: such a contrast to the last person I asked to wear a mask to be in close proximity with me in a closed space. She asked why, if she wasn’t sick, I wanted her to mask. She asked with curiosity for me to educate her, and finally agreed to mask, but it felt like a challenge nonetheless. And the mask was a loose cloth mask, nothing that offered meaningful protection. But I rolled with that also, however uncomfortably.)

We enjoyed a comfortable conversation on the drive, and exchanged warm hugs as he sent me on my way home. Naturally, being in town already, I had to stop for ice cream. When I got home and saw Mel’s message, you know what I replied: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” I’m grateful for my growing capacity to make lemonade out of the lemons that life hands me.

The little coat arrived just in the nick of time, as winter’s coldest temperatures yet are set to arrive this week. In fact, already arrived, with this morning’s low of 2℉. The coat is a little big, though, and the zipper doesn’t stay closed, so Mel will work on getting her the perfect parka soon. We’re grateful to Auntie Mel!