- Black Water: Family, Legacy, and Blood Memory by David Alexander Robertson
- Conversations With Trees by Stephanie Kaza
- Sisters by Daisy Johnson
- Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica
- Yesterday by Juan Emar
- Poetry: The Hurting Kind by Ada Limón; Headless John the Baptist Hitchhiking by C.T. Salazar; One Hundred Crows by The Peregrine Writers; need nezu (Good Medicine) by Tenille K. Campbell.
low
10.18.2022
doe's dawn
8.06.2022
My beloved mom died last month. She had a big, generous, complicated heart that positively impacted so many lives, and I feel so lucky to have been a tiny star that she chose to be in her orbit. I have so many feelings that I seem unable to express right now. Perhaps with time I will, but for now I will keep most of them, and her, close to my (broken) heart.
A few nights after she died, I dreamt that I was in the living room at my childhood home. It was dawn. I stood in front of the multiple tall windows that looked out over the back yard, the pasture, barn, and chicken house beyond. I noticed that a doe was in the rhododendrons just outside, two spotted fawns at her side; she nuzzled them and looked into my eyes. Just then I heard a rushing sound, looked up, and saw a huge flock of white birds descending. They swooped and swirled, flying right up to the windows, emanating a warmth and love that wrapped around me like one of her hugs. I woke up and smiled for the first time in days.
Mom always walked. (Dad still does every morning, at age 90 now pushing a walker along for stability.) We did several Volkswalks together here in the Pacific Northwest, but for years she did them wherever she traveled. She joined walking clubs and kept pins and badges from various organized walks she completed. She just loved walking, plain and simple, organized or not. My parents' influence has had me walking for years, but early last year I committed to getting outside to walk first thing in the morning. There were a few days last summer I didn't make it due to unforeseen health issues, but I did more often than not until it became a sacred practice, even through winter (which I find more enjoyable than summer). Mom wasn't really able to walk much the last few years of her life, and she often lamented that fact and how she wished she could get out and walk like she used to. I've been feeling her with me in the mornings these last few weeks, and I know now that when I need to feel close to her all I have to do is get out and walk. Every walk I take now is with her.
slow notes:
A few books I've read and liked recently:
- When I Sing, Mountains Dance, by Irene Sola.
- A Wild Love for the World: Joanna Macy and the Work of Our Time, by Stephanie Kaza and Joanna Macy.
- Embrace Fearlessly the Burning World: Essays, by Barry Lopez.
- A Thousand Ways to Pay Attention, by Rebecca Schiller.
- Phosphorescence, by Julia Baird.
- Windswept: Walking the Paths of Trailblazing Women, by Annabel Abbs. I'm just finishing this up. I read Wanderers: A History of Women Walking by Kerri Andrews last year and it's similar in concept, but Abbs walks in the steps of the women she writes about and shares her own personal thoughts and stories along the way. I loved it.
relief
6.30.2022
Minto Brown Island Park, a favorite place to walk.
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Written 6.22.2022.
Here we are in June already, and June has felt a lot like March. I actually found myself wishing for a fire in the wood stove a few evenings, so damp and chilly it's been. It has rained so much in the last couple of months I have feared that our garden will never get going, but a week ago I planted my tomatoes and marigolds, along with a few nasturtium seedings I nurtured by the big window in the small hall. My calendula patch has been blooming for at least two months now, the California poppies as well, and the herbs planted last year have all done well despite having very little sunshine this spring.
Yesterday was Summer Solstice and, after a walk in the morning, I spent it working in the yard most of the day. My husband and I took Pip for a walk at the park downtown in the evening, and it seemed the whole town was there, joyously picnicking, playing ball, playing music, everyone unabashedly reveling in warmth and light we haven't had for so long. Summer weather arrived on the first day of summer, and temperatures are supposed to hit the 90s this weekend.
The boy got his driver's license in April. School's out for the summer and he'll be a senior when it starts again in the fall. I'm having a bit of a hard time with the fact that we are at this point, and I'm going to make the most of every single day we have him at home still.
I've been craving quiet so I'm going off social media, perhaps for the rest of summer, perhaps longer. My mind needs to declutter. Some things have been deactivated (Instagram, Pinterest), some permanently deleted (Twitter, Goodreads). I've been trying out The StoryGraph for several months now and I'm keeping my account there, but private and solo for now. It's different and may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I love that it is black-woman-created/owned, it links to Bookshop, not Amazon, and it feels much less like a social media account. I'm starting to feel free of the noise that builds up in my head from too much of everything. I'm feeling relief.
I'll try to be here more often, the one place I might feel like sharing a little bit, but for the most part I hope to be spending a lot more time sitting outside on the deck reading, tending the garden, going on long walks, learning to play my violin (!), or otherwise getting creative. But first, a trip! What are you up to?
Until next time ~
☽
why not?
5.13.2022
- My friend Tonia has a wonderful story in the latest issue (21) of Dark Mountain.
- We watched Eating Our Way To Extinction recently.
- I've been making my way through all the Commune podcasts on my walks.
- For an evidence-based take on the power of plants for our health, read The Proof Is In The Plants by Simon Hill.
stormclouds
3.10.2022
po(em)path
2.24.2022
- Shift, from Sim Warren.
- Ten Love Letters to the Earth, by Thich Nhat Hanh.
- One Long River of Song, by Brian Doyle. Favorite book of the year so far. This collection of essays is sweet and sad and funny and absolutely beautiful.