The way things are, and the way things were

I've often said, "There but for the grace..." in terms of where I am in life. I lament that I'm not further along with my career, at my age, that I haven't accomplished the proverbial more, that I haven't done so much of what I say I want.

But the truth is, given where I could be, it's rather miraculous that I made it this far. Growing up, I had no voice. I was taught to be obedient and do the 'right' thing. I learned that girls shouldn't be too smart. Competition wasn't encouraged, but pleasing others, or aquiessing, was.

In my teens, I had no guidance, no parameters. I looked for love and approval in all the wrong places. My best friends were troubled. The path I took was tough. I made bad choices. And while no longer part of my life for more years than not, many of those best friends are no longer living - their road was rougher than mine. There are some barely alive, a few live on and off the streets. No, not everyone I knew traveled that road, and many are doing well, but those closest to me during some very formative years - Shelley, Dorci, Huck, Lauri, Dawn - took a very different path. And that could have been me.

So I count my blessings and feel grateful for where I am when I remember. Somehow, I've traveled to a decent place with just a bare bones road map, some deep seated values unearthed during crisis, and a strong will to survive.

I still lament. I read the Art of Non-Conformity and my soul aches to be brave and do more. But my own realities slow me down. I don't feel smart enough, good enough, experienced enough, whole enough... hence my last post on not striving for perfection.

I say slow, because I'm know I'm moving forward, but the steps sometimes feel miniscule. Compassion helps. When I look back, recognize and accept, I can take those steps forward. I have walked through fears, rewritten stories, undone beliefs that were barriers. It's such a damn process, though, and I wish I just intrinsically knew that I can do whatever I choose. That I have the power to make it work.

I know that I have not settled. I have used sheer will to make my life non-standard in so many ways.

I have come a long way and I have time to go further and create the world I want. I intend to do at least some of the things I say I want to do. Travel, write, advocate. In a bigger, more satisfying way. I would love to do these professionally, but even to do more personally would be a greater step. The big picture is still unclear - in part because I've never let myself dream or trust I can create - but I want boats, water, healthy food, wellness, travel, nature, entertainment, culture, people to all factor in in some way. Flexibility to explore, experience, and learn are essential.

There's a part of me that feels very strongly that I am supposed to be more entrepreneurial. Over a number of years, I have taken classes, workshops, drafted plans, and talked with small business groups. But I guess I want a safety net, and I don't have one.

I want the courage to take more risks and do them more quickly. To let go of that rope, as a friend once suggested, and start something, create something.

Aiming for excellence, not perfection...

... and really, even excellence is subjective, so I'm not sure it's really a worthy goal. The bottom line is that I just want to write more blog posts, focus on things that matter - things I think we should all know about, to some degree care about (like air, water, garbage, food quality, each other, etc.), and maybe make some new connections. And not worry about waiting until I have a perfectly formed idea, or a perfectly written piece, or an original thought (of which really isn't possible anymore, only variations on themes, at least for the vast majority). Or until I'm really clear on where I want this blog to go next...

So what might I write more posts about?

Food and farms are big for me - and how they interconnect with our overall well-being - mentally and emotionally as well as our physical health. Fighting big ag and companies like Monsanto are worthy of effort, and of sharing information about. Supporting local farming businesses - including the newer urban neighborhood farms - is essential to make sure we have land for a nearby food supply.

Toxins are a big one, too. What we put on our skin gets sucked into our tissues, our cells, and every other part of us. And if it's full of toxic chemicals, well, hello. It's like a slow intravenous drip, sending poison into our bodies a drop at a time. I haven't yet read The Toxic Avenger, a book by a neighborhood author, but I'm curious. Prior to writing the book, she already lived a fairly au natural lifestyle, yet toxicity testing still revealed a high level of chemical crud in her blood. These particular additives have only been around the last 50 or 60 years... we don't really know what their long-term impact will be. Marketed as "safe," it's really just a guessing game, or a crap shoot. The FDA is a virtually useless agency, so if you're counting on them for protection through testing, well, don't.

Or maybe I'll write about the little things that piss me off, that I also think we should all be aware of, like the impact stupid drivers have on all the other drivers on the road. Like left hand turns that back up traffic into busy intersections. Did you know that taking a left hand turn over a solid yellow line is NOT allowed? Or at least it didn't use to be and to my knowledge, the law hasn't changed. But obviously it's not enforced. Can you say accident? Or at the very least, the potentially damaging rise in blood pressure of those stuck behind the unconscious or self-serving driver.

These are things I might write about here. But what do these and other similar topics have to do with Growing Things? Maybe growing awareness, or growing responsibility toward others who either benefit or are inadvertently harmed by the choices I make. It's something I believe we all should be thinking more about. The impact we have on the world around us - whether in our own backyards, or in our global community.

We'll see. It's been a very long time since I've posted and writing practice is essential in my world.

'til later.

Time for change

I am so ready for change...

It's time. It's time to look ahead, to create my own future, authentically, with commitment. To let go of what was for what can be. "Once one is committed..."

Gardening, the initial focus of this blog, is something I feel spiritually connected to but don't currently have the physical capacity for. Other priorities have taken hold.

I still have a community garden in my yard, and I am so grateful for those who garden here, and the friends I've made because of it. I love the garden. Being in a garden - this garden - connects me with so much of who I am. Leaving it may be one of the hardest things I'll ever do. But honestly, it's bittersweet, and I'm ready to leave all the history and memories behind. And, beyond its beauty, it's more work that I can manage - even with help. Perhaps its fertile soil can seed something new and wonderful. Ideally, it'll hold its place in the urban agriculture movement.

I love my community, but I'm ready to leave the wet northwest. The city and the neighborhood where I grew up have changed exponentially, as has my second home of Vancouver, and I don't love what any of these once magical places has become. And while there are countless memorable moments - family, friends, sweet pets, neighbors long gone... there are also painful memories - throughout childhood, my teens, and adulthood - that I'm still reminded of as I go from place to place. I'd rather have the fond memories and leave the painful ones in place.

I'm ready to let go of much of my work. I've been working in this field in some capacity or other since my late 20s. I'm now closing in on 50, and still, my career is unsatisfying and unrewarding, and to quote a friend, I've never really had 'traction.' I'm frustrated by the limited professional growth, the corporate structure, being a cog in a wheel, creativity constrained, here to implement and follow protocol. I've yet to find "my place." I now have a much better idea why this has been my experience. So it feels like it's time to let go and try something different.


And I'm finally ready to leave my home. While I feel spiritually connected to the garden, my house will be difficult and complicated for other reasons. I co-own it with my uncle, so I'd like it to be a shared decision. It's also been both my "safe place," and my shackle. It's one of the few constants in my life - always here, a place I could always come "home" to. So many who visit say how wonderful it is, and in many ways, they're right. But it's time to let go. My mother called it a ball and chain. In many ways, she was also right. She said I'd have pictures and memories.

Living here keeps me from fully living the life I want to live. I didn't want to come back to Seattle, and didn't think I would. I never thought I'd live in this house again, and here I am. There's so much of the world to see and experience, and in my deepest core, I feel compelled to see, do, experience, learn, and ultimately, contribute more. In many ways, I feel like a part of me continues to live someone else's life as long as I'm here, under their rules and beliefs, and the stories I created as a result. I'm grateful to this place - my home. But it's time to let go and and live fully on my terms, risks and all, with what I believe to be true for me, and new interpretations. I made my choices, and I own them, but now I know that many were based on incorrect information and assumptions.

These changes won't happen quickly; I have time to make some peace with the parts that will be most difficult, but I know a shift has taken place.

We've also lost one more kitty... We lost Photon earlier this month - so it feels like there are now fewer reasons to stay. Even Nightmare seems different somehow - lonely, discontent. We're talking about taking him out on the boat to try and get him to be a boat kitty so he can come with us when we're out. I hope it works. I hate leaving here without him - even to go to work. He likes to fly - perhaps he'll like to sail...

All this insight - after nearly two years of therapy! Change is coming, and it's good. We've now outlined a plan. It's mostly still a secret... (and no, I'm not worried since no one reads this and I'm really just writing here for me, for now)... putting this out there, really, for the universe and anyone who stumbles on it to see and know; it's a statement of my intention so there can be no doubts. When the time is right, I'll share this with those who need to know. 

I don't yet have the timing for any of this, but I know it must be. I will miss so much, but there is also much to look forward to. An indefinite sailing trip is imminent. Eager now, to make it happen sooner. Life is short, and it's feeling more urgent. 

May 25... and few signs of spring

It's May 25, just a few days before the Memorial Day weekend, and we've had about five days of spring since it began in March. The Memorial Day weekend is typically unpredictable and often, the weather is lousy (having worked a couple of weather-dependent Folklife festivals), but we usually have more sunny days leading up to the long weekend.

I've heard it's not supposed to be nice until July.  Really?  My garden is suffering, but my weeds and unwanted grass are happily growing and spreading. Plants and flowers that typically bloom earlier are about a month behind. I'm still wearing my down coat, and I've had the heat on in my car. This is not normal, even for gray, drizzly Seattle.

One of the new gardeners, Marion, got an early start, planting all things weather-resistent, and his garden is lush and beautiful, already offering up greens for salads.  The rest of us are fair-weathered and have little to show so far.

It's in the 90s in Savannah.  I'm here why???

Nothing says local like...

... Portlandia.  Eating out?  Ordering chicken?  Watch this episode to see just how far - well, relatively speaking - you can go when it comes to local.  

"Garden as if your life depended on it"

I've read this line a number of times recently (but of course I can only find one of the many articles I've noticed). Point being, urban agriculture may play a bigger role in our futures, so doing what we can now, even with our small gardens, is a pretty good step in the right direction. Here's the one article I was able to find.

Garden as if your life depended on it - CounterCurrents, 3/30/11

Gardening season!

Garden season is here. Seed catalogs dropped into the mailbox in January. Inquiries about garden space landed in my inbox in February. The Early Spring Edible Plant Sale is coming up on March 19.

Our first new gardener, Marion, is an enthusiastic one; he's prepped the bed, and already has some seeds and plants in the ground. Our recent freeze doesn't bode well for the pre-planted seeds, but the starts look pretty good. Although a colleague at work said she's already planted peas and carrots - hearty crops that should survive a freeze or two. Clearly, I don't really know much about gardening...

Joining us this year are Marion, Rebecca, and Ross. Jen, Andy, and Yukko are back again (as is Shiv, of course), along with possibly a friend of Andy & Yukko. It's looking like a full crew. In addition to each of the individual plots, we'll have more shared space this year.

In February, we had Forrest's compadre Ascension do some prep work around the yard and in some of the side beds, cleaning out weeds, grass, and other unwanted growth. The berries and herbs now have room to breathe and spread - and hopefully we'll have weather this year to support a lush crop. After the endless, cold winter, I'm ready. Shiv has expanded, yet again; he has cut back and cleared the north hillside under the lilac and rose bushes, and continues his rows a bit up the eastern hillside.

Stay tuned for pictures and stories as we get our unofficial community garden underway for a third season!

At the root

It was 2008 when things really started to unravel, although it wasn't immediately apparent. And no, life wasn't always peachy before that, but it was rolling along well enough that any underlying instability wasn't particularly noticable.

In 2009, the earth moved and my life turned upside down in ways I never would have imagined. So in 2010, I dug deep and at last discovered the root of all that shaped me and got me to where I am.

I may not have taken this route had I an inkling of the pock-filled road ahead. But I had to. What was initially forced upon me became a deliberate process of self-discovery. The past, now blown to bits; what was wouldn't ever be again.

To reach that root, layer-upon-unknown layer had to be stripped away, one painful striation at a time. Gradually, all the heartache, the fear, the winter dive into despair, morphed into awareness, understanding, new tools and perspective, and finally, a healthy vulnerability, compassion, and a new way to be in the world.

Tending to what I've unearthed will be a lifelong process. But the knowing makes it possible to move beyond long-entrenched limits, and create my life on my terms - what I want, what I need, not on familial obligations, debilitating beliefs, or other life-squelching perceptions.

I'm not dramatic by nature, but it's been a dramatic process. I have much to be thankful for - many memorable moments and life experiences. I have lived fully, in large part, but I see many places where I've been stopped, or as one friend put it, "couldn't get traction." I'm not lamenting; I can see where divine guidance has intervened at key points and pushed me along this path, both for better and worse; it's all part of what I now recognize as my "soul work" so I could get to the place I am now.

But I can't help notice the missed leverage points, where something could have changed. The question begs: would I still be right where I am at this point in time? Could I have got here sooner, less painfully? Of course there's no real answer, but I'm coming to believe we land here intentionally to learn something specific, pre-designed, in some way. This is a new leverage point, and I can now choose to move through my life in a very different way.

2011 promises to be another year of growth and change, but this time, consciously self-directed and happily embraced. This year, I give credence to my dreams, listen to my internal self, believe the universe supports my needs and desires, and create from a part of me that wasn't previously available.

Big changes are imminent. To the house, the garden, and my life in so many ways. And yes, with my partner, sailing on parallel paths (cultivating parallel plots?), new tools in hand - for ourselves and each other. It's a new adventure, with a whole lot to look forward to. I expect challenges, and I know practice will take mindful effort because I'm still learning, but I am much more equipped to take them on. I'm ready.

Living and dying: A tribute to Motormouth

Motormouth took his last breath just before 6 a.m. on Friday, December 24 - Christmas Eve day. He hadn't been sick long, and we thought he'd be with us for a long time to come. Just before Thanksgiving, he was diagnosed with renal failure, but he responded well to hydration treatments and a daily pill (followed by his favorite treats).

Then this last week it all changed. He ate a little on Monday night, but on Tuesday, he stopped eating. Several vet trips still suggested he'd be fine with some additional - and fairly minor - treatment. But as I left work on Thursday afternoon for Christmas holidays, Forrest called to say he'd just talked with Dr. Mentzer, that Motor's body was failing, and we had a decision to make. We went straight to the vet and brought Motor home to die. We kept him comfortable, warmed with a heating pad, pain meds to numb, at our feet in a basket full of blankets. I so wanted to snuggle him again, but by then he was too uncomfortable. On Thursday morning, something told me to bring him into bed with us, that this could be his last morning, so I collected him from under a table where he'd begun to hide, and I brought him into bed to snuggle in between us.

That night, we brought blankets and pillows and slept on the floor of the back room, the warmest room in this drafty house, so we could be with him every minute. We set the alarm to make sure he had pain meds before the last wore off.

We buried him deep in the ground later that morning, in the backyard near a place he loved to sit and keep watch. As hard as it was to see his lifeless body, it leaves no questions.

Sweet Motor kitty loved his sunbeams, the back yard, laps, tormenting neighborhood cats and dogs, laps, right shoulders, treats and catnip, dinner time, laps, and his pal Photon. I don't think he ever met a lap he didn't like. He wore a studded black leather collar for most of his kitty life, from which dangled a big red heart-shaped ID tag, hinting at his dual personality - lover and fighter. We're pretty sure he and Nightmare, as well as neighbor cat Buster, had devised some kind of power-sharing agreement, and only pretended to not get along when we were nearby. But when he was mad, he didn't mess around. He had some killer teeth and deadly claws.

I think he also found some kitty pride or maybe humor in being a tough guy. He was known for chasing dogs, and rumor has it that even big dogs (with their owners) would cross the street if Motor was perched near the sidewalk.

Nearly every night we lived together, he'd snuggle next to me at bedtime and all through the night. He'd lay his sweet head on my pillow, stretch out beside me and we'd 'spoon,' and he'd purr and make those sweet little kitty noises. He could be so still; I'd occasionally poke him to make sure he was breathing. Sometimes he'd lay on our heads, or compete for body space with his nemesis, Nightmare.

He was 15 1/2. He started his life in Savannah, Georgia, where Forrest adopted him when he was no bigger than a handful, a wee bundle of grey tabby fluff. He came out to the Olympic Peninsula before he was a year old, and stayed six months - at one time picked up by a bird of prey and dropped from a distance. He had troubled hips from then on, and avoided big jumps and for the most part, climbing trees. He came back to the NW two years later, when Forrest settled into an apartment in West Seattle. He was an indoor kitty then, but because I knew he liked the outdoors, I'd carry him onto the balcony so he could (sort of) be outside.

I met him when he was still on the Olympic Peninsula, just over a year old. We took to one another immediately. His big personality was obvious from the beginning, and I adored him. His voice was unmistakable, and while Forrest was in Savannah and I was still in Vancouver, I'd swear he'd pull Motor's tail so I could hear him on the phone... but no. Motor just talked. He earned his name.

He wasn't shy. He announced himself whenever he'd come in the house, or into a room, or jump on the bed, whatever time of day or night. He introduced himself to guests while the other two would find a place to hide. He early on earned another nickname - Boomakitty - because anytime you'd toss him off your lap, he'd come right back. And he'd always ask for whatever he wanted - the faucet, treats, a lap, outside, more loves.

When we moved back to the house in Ballard, my job became to open and close doors for cats. He was also a smart kitty - after we blocked off the cat door broken by an insistent Photon, he learned to use it as a door knocker. So there could be no question when he wanted to come in...

He had a little tuft of golden fur right behind his ears that was softer than even the softest fur. A sweet little pink nose, set off by white fur above and a white bib below. His paws would spread wide when draped over a shoulder, his happy place - his happy paws. His voice was loud, his purr was big, and he would coo pigeon-like and burble the happiest of sweet kitty sounds.

Weaned too early, he kneaded our bellies to "soften them up." And he was "needy" - he insisted we show him love whenever he wanted it (which was most of the time) and demanded much attention. Because I relate to his need to be loved, I'd give him extra pets, or a treat, or tuck him into a cozy spot if I couldn't make time to give him the attention he requested.

I know some kitties live to be 20 or more now. I thought he'd be with us till at least 18. We thought he'd move with us when we leave this house. But I think burying him here is the right thing - this place has been his home for a long time, and he's had many good years here. What more could a kitty ask for - birds and mice to stalk or watch, grass to chew or hide in, dirt to dig and roll in, trees to crouch or sleep under, room to run at high speeds, leaves to chase...

Sweet and happy cat that he was, he could also be curmudgeonly, and I thought his grouchy self would keep him going for many more years, if nothing else. We knew his kidneys had shown some wear this last year, but other than an illness a few years ago, he's been a pretty healthy cat.

I joked recently that perhaps he was getting a little senile; just before we knew he was sick, he would sit and stare, head down, seemingly "zoning"... Sleep sitting? I didn't realize it was a symptom, and I'm kicking myself for not recognizing that he should visit the vet right then. But soon there were other noticeable but subtle differences in behavior that told me something wasn't right. So we went to the kitty doc.

Yet now I ask the proverbial questions - is there more I could have done, could I have done something sooner, what didn't I notice...? I'm so connected to my cats; I usually have a sense... Now I have enough questions to make me crazy, when I know I did what I knew to do, and did as much for my sweet pal as I possibly could. They're not very good at telling us something's wrong until it's really wrong.

He had more personality than most, and was adored by most people who met him. Diane called him "the big bruiser," an "epic" cat. He had a way about him, of carrying himself. He left a lasting impression on just about everyone. I am missing him more than I thought possible. Motor kitty, King Cat, sweet Motor, precious companion.

Roasted!

Exasperated over unripened tomatoes and our sunless summer, I apparently had no need for concern about green tomatoes (lack of sun is entirely different...).

But because I don't expect to find much when I inspect the vines (those countless gray days), I'm caught with nothing to put the little red flavor containers in (my mouth only holds so many).

So I fill up my stretched-shirt-basket,then drop them haphazardly on the kitchen table for a random sea of red and yellow.

How to consume them before they go bad? There's nothing like fresh tomatoes just picked, and caprese salads are a favorite. But I can't seem to eat them quick enough, and I don't want to lose a single bite, since the season is so short.

I don't can (yet); I don't have a food dehydrator (and I'm not crazy about sundried). Freezing would alter the texture.

But roasting! Oh, I do love roasted vegetables, and what the high heat does to flavor. Add a little olive oil, some sea salt, and place in a hot oven for about 40 minutes.

I think the smell alone (along with a little garlic) could get me through a cold winter. I will enjoy every bite when I add them to sauces when anything resembling fresh is impossible to come by.

I hope the season lasts just a little longer... I could fill my freezer with tomatoes alone!