Tag Archive | Wren

Heartbreak

Sep28
Where’s Wren? She’s fine, enjoying the fall colors in the canyon. The title has nothing to do with Wren.

Yesterday I stopped to visit an old friend I had not seen since before the pandemic began. Besides the risk of contagion there were a couple of other reasons I hadn’t seen her for so long, but as soon as I sat down with her I regretted my long absence. “It’s so wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed. “I love you so much!”

“Your face is so beautiful,” she went on. She patted her forehead, “Your head, with the beautiful mind, and your eyes, and your beautiful mouth! To make words!” as she rubbed her fingers around her lips. I laughed and said, “It’s wonderful to see you, too, and I love you so much.”

“We’ve been friends for a very long time,” she said, “since we were just little girls,” and she held her hands child-high above the deck where we sat. “It’s been a long time, for sure,” I said, “maybe not as long as all that.” I reminded her how and when we had met.

“It’s so wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed. “I love you so much!” I echoed her words back to her. “You’re so beautiful,” she said, “your hair, and your earrings look so good on your ears, and your pretty hat.” My heart was breaking. I moved my chair around to sit next to her and held her hand. She had quite the strong grip for someone over ninety, though she had moved ponderously and seemed quite frail when she stepped outside to sit with me.

The propane truck arrived just then to fill the house tank, with its engine and pump cacophony, and so we sat quietly, taking in the fall colors in the trees and shrubs around us, smiling at one another and making occasional hand signs and mouthing “I love you,” until they were done and left. Quiet thundered down.

“God bless us and keep us safe from all harm, in Jesus’ name, Amen,” she said. In thirty years I had never once heard her pray. “It’s so wonderful to see you! You look lovely. We’ve been friends for such a long time, since we were just little girls, and here we still are. We took to each other right away.”

That was true. “Like ducks to water,” I said, and she laughed.

“We’ve been friends for ever so long,” she said, “and look at us now, still friends!”

“Yes,” I said, “two little old ladies sitting on the porch, still friends after all these years,” and she said, “Will we be friends forever?”

“We’ll be friends forever,” I said. “We’ll be friends in the next life too, and I’m sure we were in our past lives.” She laughed again. It felt so good to make her laugh. The Alzheimers that began attacking her beautiful mind so many years ago had advanced dramatically since the last time I’d seen her. Though I’d called every month or so for the past few years, I had not seen the change, and the conversations had followed the same repetitive pattern though with a different theme: How are you, what have you been up to, how are you, what have you been doing, how are you… Her seeing me in person added a new element. Each time she told me how beautiful I am and how much she loves me, my heart cracked open a little bit more.

I sat with her for about half an hour and could tell when she closed one eye that she was beginning to tire, so I tapped on the door and her partner came out to help her back inside. I told them I’ll come back next week. “You promise?” she said. “I promise.”

“God bless us and keep us safe from all harm, in Jesus’ name, Amen,” she said as I left. I’m grateful for the heartbreak that made me softer.

I was grateful for the serene beauty along the road home, and the quiet time it afforded me to metabolize the emotions moving through me. I was grateful to return home and find the internet still out, and grateful it remained out until after I went to bed. None of my usual entertainments (read, ‘distractions’) were available to me, and so I nursed the heartbreak quietly, letting it soften more and more the hard edges of my prolonged voluntary solitude.

Into the softness of the heartbreak I let flow the joy of finishing the puzzle. Another pair of dancers, as my friend had danced the last time before this that I’d seen her. The precious tiny star in the dancer’s hand, and the simple pleasure of spotting the piece that fit it across the board and knowing exactly where it went.

That moment that comes late in almost every puzzle, where you’re sure, you are certain, there’s a piece missing because you’ve looked all over for it — and then, suddenly, it’s right in front of you and has been all along.

And then that sense that there’s not enough room for all the pieces you have left, especially the big groups — where can they possibly fit?

And then you find where they go, and the rest of the pieces flow into place smoothly one right after another…

… and then the puzzle is complete, put back together, and so is your heart.

Canoe of Fate

Sep25

Aren’t we all paddling along in a canoe of fate? I don’t know. But I’m grateful for this puzzle, from a painting by mid-20th century American painter Roy de Forest. I hadn’t heard of him, but was charmed by the image and chose it as my puzzle for this season.

The brick pattern was the easiest to distinguish and assemble, and these were the first few pieces I put together: charming. Using Seymour’s rules I only looked at the lid once (for a long time) before beginning the puzzle, so I knew that this was part of the lower left edge.

Like the image itself, the pieces are extra whimsical. I haven’t found the head of the Yeti in the lower right (above), nor fit in the unicorn, but worked on the canoe which is the centerpiece… and soon had a good start.

Where once the whimsy pieces were all a single cut, the latest Liberty puzzles have evolved so that many, like the faun and the buck above, and the mystery shape below, are comprised of multiple pieces.

I’m grateful for a worthwhile day’s work, followed by a late afternoon starting the puzzle, and an evening stroll with my little pets.

One of my favorite views any time of year, but especially in autumn. Aspens on Mendicant Ridge just started turning this past week. “Who am I,” I still wonder, “and how did I come to be here?”
Topaz blends in beautifully with the autumn colors on the trail.
Where’s Wren?

Back at the house after an evening meeting, I resumed play on the puzzle, finding the missing tails of the dragon and griffon. With the peaceful accompaniment of Radio Swiss Jazz, I puzzled into the night, resting my emotions and thoughts in the meditative attention to the lovely challenge before me. I thought of Favorite Auntie, who introduced me to these wooden jigsaw puzzles a decade ago, and felt myself back in her house in Kilmarnock, and later her apartment in DC, sitting in loving companionship across the green felt on her card table, puzzling. She would have loved this one. Magic.

Finding What I Need

Sep23
Finding a moment of peace down at the pond, before wasp harassment drove us back inside

My little town. My neighborhood. Teaching. Scavenging. I couldn’t decide until I realized the umbrella they all fit under is finding what I need. I’m grateful for finding what I need today.

Feeling on a bit of a rocky plateau in mindfulness practice, I was grateful for finding camaraderie and meaning in a meditation and meeting I led this morning, with some wonderful graduates of the Foundations Course I teach; and then in the afternoon, finding common ground and ease with some wonderful new acquaintances in a course I’ve just started taking. Later, resting in the comfort of a zoom chat with Amy.

Grateful for finding what I need for a delicious sandwich for lunch between zooms

I’m grateful for finding what I needed at the Hitching Post in town, the little store that has one of everything you could almost ever need. I needed a couple more cans of wasp spray. I hate to use it, but we’re not able to spend more than a few minutes outside near the house, or even sit still as far from the house as the pond, without being threatened by an aggressive wasp. I don’t think it’s the same wasp every time (but it could be); I think they have guards stationed all around the yarden to drive me inside. But it’s simply too lovely, in this most beautiful season, to be imprisoned by fear of wasps. They continue to rise from the stump, and I found another huge nest under the deck just outside the east door, and another in a decorative pot on the patio corner.

I’m grateful for finding the time to take the scenic loop to town and home again, driving around the reservoir to enjoy the first fall colors turning up on Mendicant Ridge, and the plenitude of all that community water still behind the dam.

Grateful for finding salad greens to meet the needs of Biko and myself this evening

After dark, I dusted the stump with diatomaceous earth, grateful to find that in my garden supply drawer; unfortunately, that roused the wasps quickly, and I was stung again on the tender skin inside my forearm. It wasn’t as bad as fast as the last one, but continues to swell so I’ve taken another Benadryl: grateful for finding what I need in the medicine drawer.

After all that poisoning, I wanted a hot shower but it was already down to 40℉ outside and all the windows and doors were open. So I shut most of them, and found enough small pieces of wood to kindle a fire in the woodstove. Grateful for finding what I need without having to split kindling, since the kindling cracking pedestal is still out of commission. And I could go on: finding hot water at my fingertips, noticing how dry my hands are and finding lotion on my desk, finding Biko quickly before dark so I could bring him in for another cold night. Extremely grateful for having enough conveniences and luxuries so that I almost always find what I need without having to look too far or hard.

Grateful for finding the canine companion I need just in the nick of time…

Wren’s Fun Day

Sep19
Miss Mary takes the early shift. I left Wren under the covers before sunrise, and Mary stopped by to let her out not long after it came up… [all photos by babysitters]

So much gratitude today! Grateful for Wren’s babysitters who checked in on her throughout the morning while I spent it traveling and undergoing a Mohs surgery. I’m grateful for neighbor-friends who happily supported me and my little family during an anxious time. I’m grateful to my dear chauffeur who drove me there and back even with her own concerns, and for the meaningful conversations both ways.

I’m grateful to the skilled surgeon who explained everything lucidly and managed to get all the basal cell carcinoma off me in one cut. Even after multiple Mohs procedures on my face and head over the past twenty-plus years, I learned a new piece about the process today. Dr. Weber explained how he marks the tissue so he can follow the cancer’s direction, and furthermore that he is the actual pathologist in the process. I knew he was trained to excise the cancer in layers, and to skillfully repair the wound, but I hadn’t realized that he is also the one who dissects the tissue to see where the cancer margins are. He told me, “If someone says they’re doing Mohs but they’re sending the tissue out to a lab and not examining it themselves, they are not doing Mohs!” I found this really reassuring.

Honey Badger takes second shift…

Around the time Honey Badger came by, I was waiting in the chair in the dark with a garish patch over my eye after the first incision, for Dr. Weber to determine if he needed to remove more. The wait was longer than I expected, two hours, but I was so relieved when he came in and said we were done, and he didn’t even have to stitch the wound. They cleaned and cauterized it, and left my eyelid largely unmarred. I’m grateful he has a sense of humor and we could joke about him including an optional blepharoplasty to lift my droopy lid.

…and even though he can’t persuade Wren to get in his lap, Fred manages the near impossible: to pick up Topaz!

By the third neighborly visit, I was almost out of the office with a few less eyelashes and a simple bandaid. I admit I had a hard time going to sleep last night. I’d done all the right things: meditating, breathing, accepting, allowing, surrendering, and still my heart pounded and my mind wrestled with worst-case scenarios. Then I remembered a suggestion I heard recently to think on the best-case scenario instead of catastrophizing. This skill of being able to choose one thought over another comes with meditation and mindfulness practice, cultivating one’s capacity to choose where to place attention and to hold it there.

And so I finally fell asleep after choosing to visualize all the aspects of a best-case scenario: just one small cut, quick in and out, easy repair, Wren safe and cared for, pleasant companionship on the road, and home in time for lunch. I’m grateful for the wisdom that allowed me to rest in that possibility, and for the success and validation of that thought-choice. I’m grateful, too, for the many well-wishes that came to me via texts, emails, and messages from friends around the neighborhood and across the country. I’m grateful for everything about Wren’s fun day.

Tofu

Sep17
Where’s Wren? She’s in the middle of the kitchen floor, where she has dragged both her beds that belong on the periphery so that I don’t step on her as I move around the kitchen. She knows she has to stay on the bed, so she just puts it where she wants it.

In my recent mostly-vegetarianism, I’m grateful for tofu, and specifically for the trick I recently learned of tossing it in cornstarch before frying it to make it extra crispy. This delicious recipe from Bon Appetit for Sesame Tofu with Broccoli made a simple dinner tonight, with leftovers for tomorrow. It was super tasty and filling, and I almost didn’t need a slice of peach pound cake for dessert, but I had one anyway, because why not. I had forgotten to get a scallion from the garden so went without that, and was so eager to eat it that I didn’t notice the toasted sesame seed part of the recipe, and still it was really yummy.

The sauce which included sesame oil, soy sauce, ginger, garlic and more simmered just long enough to thicken before adding the sautéed broccoli and tofu back in and tossing to coat. So simple, so delicious!

A Productive Morning

Sep15

I’m grateful I had a productive morning, because I lost the afternoon to the aftermath of a wasp attack. It was a grilled cheese kind of a day: chilly and grey outside, and cold in the house. Smoked gouda with avocado and garden tomato, yum! It kept getting cooler, so I decided to build a little fire in the freshly-cleaned woodstove. There was no kindling split yet for the season, so we stepped outside to crack a few sticks from a well-dried aspen log set on top of the two stumps I’ve been using as a kindling-cracking pedestal for many years.

Crack! one stick. Crack! two sticks, and a wasp on my wrist cuff, and then another, latched onto the fabric, and suddenly I realized I’d disturbed a nest in one of the stumps and they were streaming out angry and determined. I also noticed poor little Wren running around snapping at her tail end, so I hurried to the other side of the house calling her after me. One stung my right index finger and I pulled out the pumping stinger. I swept my arms gently, not frantically, to keep them away, and they kept following. So we kept hurrying away. By the time I got to the back gate there were only a few left but they were persistent. We went out the gate and I pulled off my sweatshirt and swung it slowly in a circle above my head to keep them at bay, but one had gotten up my loose shirt and bit my belly. I dropped the sweatshirt and we kept hurrying away, Wren spinning to bite her back end and me sweeping my limbs to clear the air.

We walked the whole Breakfast Loop and came around to the front gate, grabbing the can of wasp spray from the back of the Mothership where I’d set it after spraying a nest in the side door the other week. I don’t like to kill them. By and large I let them live as they like, and just avoid areas where they nest, but as I was working on the Mothership and needed access, I had to kill that nest. I didn’t mind that one wasp snuck up my sweater sleeve last week and got my thumb pad when it felt trapped, even though it itched and hurt for days afterward. But I felt inclined toward vengeance after this all-out attack, especially since they hurt Wren.

But first things first. She was still hurting when we got inside, and so was I, so I poured some liquid baby Benadryl into her bowl which she lapped up, and I took the Therapik to my injuries to laser the venom enzymes. Maybe it helped, maybe not. By then my finger had swollen stiff and gone numb, and my whole had was turning red, so I popped a couple Benadryl tablets and squeezed on some cortisone cream. Then I looked out the window and watched where they were entering the stump. I waited until near dark so they’d all return to their nest before spraying the crack. The can quickly emptied, but there seemed enough to do the job, as no wasps flew out.

I’m grateful for Cousin Nurse who suggested a topical anesthetic, which reminded me I have Aspercreme with Lidocaine, so I’ve been slathering that on liberally. Wren calmed down and we both went to sleep for the afternoon. She seems now to have recovered completely, though I have not. I popped another couple Benadryls just now and am trying to type with an ice-pack on my hand which isn’t very effective–kind of like the Benadryl tablets, which are pretty old. Time for lights out, grateful for surviving another day in Paradise.

Contentment

Sep14

A rare moment of peaceful contact in the kingdom this morning, Topaz and Wren together for a few seconds, almost a minute, on the stone bench beside me. Wren was so nervous she jumped down shortly after, and once Topaz had made her point she didn’t need to be up there anymore either. Oh well. I’m grateful for occasional signs that maybe these two will one day get along with sincere friendliness — but I’m not attached to that outcome.

Topaz continues to join me at the patio table during morning coffee. Her contentment with this new time together, while Wren chases grasshoppers or wasps or basks in the sun, seems to give her some reassurance that her place in my heart hasn’t been usurped by what she still thinks of as ‘that interloping puppy.’

Who, by the way, could not be cuter, even when I ask her to please try. I’m grateful for living a quiet life with a fragile truce between cats and dogs, for the opportunities I have daily to give comfort, help, or support to others, and for the occasional feeling of being enough just as I am. Why is this such a challenging equilibrium for so many of us? Our culture conditions us to demand more of ourselves and of each other than is reasonably possible, and so we strive or suffer, robbing ourselves of the simple joy of contentment.

Hide and Seek

Sep12
Where’s Wren?

As though she thinks maybe I can’t see her… I’m reminded of a childhood memory, one of my earliest. Our family traveled through the Smoky Mountains on our way to visit my father’s parents in west Tennessee. It was the only time I met my paternal grandfather and I don’t remember that, I was barely more than two. I’ve seen pictures of me by the pigpen at Unc’s farm so I think that I remember that but I’m not sure. What I know I remember is this:

It’s a dim memory, but once was brighter. My brothers and I are playing Hide and Seek in the woods. I’ve hidden all that I’m aware of, my head and shoulders, behind a big stump in some bushes. Robin, who is not It and is four years older and far wiser, creeps up beside me and whispers, Remember, Rita, just because you can’t see us doesn’t mean we can’t see you. You have to hide all of you. All of you! It is my first awareness of all of me, a radical comprehension. It is the first kindness I recall from anyone in particular. I’m grateful for this memory of Hide and Seek, and the other early memories I retain. I don’t think of them often, but I appreciate the perspective when I do.

Grateful, too, for another yummy tomato sandwich!

Harvest

Sep10
The apparent total of my pickling cucumber crop… what a small jar of pickles this will make! The vine itself isn’t much longer than the border of the picture. I certainly learned something about insufficient nitrogen in the soil this summer.
Where’s Wren, tomato edition. This basket represents the essential end of tomato harvest this summer. A few green tomatoes remain on some vines, but again, the weird cold spring, even with nutritious soil in these beds, resulted in a scarce harvest.
Ah, but the fruit trees! I’ve baked and frozen and given away, and still have a decent batch of peaches to process tomorrow; perhaps the most delicious way to eat them is simply peeled and sliced in a crystal goblet…

I’m grateful for any kind of harvest, and maybe more grateful this summer for a slow and gentle harvest without any urgency to put up the fruits of the garden. Some years I’ve been grateful for a hectic and abundant harvest of tomatoes, or cucumbers, or peppers, or any combination. This year I’m grateful for a tame and easy harvest.

A Day Off

Sep8
Where’s Wren? exercise edition

I am grateful tonight for a day off! After leading a meditation this morning, I had nothing else on my plate, so to speak, except to relax and enjoy the gorgeous fall day, water, read, exercise with Wren and our virtual trainer, and play in the kitchen. No classes, no meetings, no zooms, just a wide-open day of peace and ease. Tomorrow things get busy again for the foreseeable future, so I made the most of relaxing.

Roasting the white beans with olive oil and the cherry tomatoes with a tasty dressing concurrently in separate pans while boiling the pasta. At the end, just mix everything together and grate some parmesan.

I was grateful for a one-hour meditation in the afternoon, after cooking a delicious roasted white bean and tomato pasta, using up all those pesky cherry and pear tomatoes 😉 and baking a batch of peach-cobbler cookies. Both the pasta and the cookies were so simple, so delicious!