windthread

Puppy Merced Hill

Puppy's look out.   be sure to double click

Tay and i had  gone back down to the Wall Garden to bring up the wide rake.   As usual,  Puppy  appeared.   As i sat at the picnic table,  i heard an odd sound  and suddenly She lept from her tower to the Wall Garden to the middle of the table,  her gaze riveted  across  the road and up beyond the trees into the far pasture across the way.  The sound again and this time,  close, was a growl...a  guttural growl and Tay lunged down to the  fence line.   After a second i could see movement beyond the trees and then the  what i thought was the Coon Hound that now and then gets loose.  but so far away,  i wasn't sure.    And i realized just how vigilant Puppy is.  how exquisitely aware.   

Her Story...it's been a long time since told ....  It was the last leg of the drive straight though from New Mexico to here.  2 trucks,  a flatbed and a UHaul.  A Goat Boat and horse trailer.  17 Goats.   Merced California.   We were stopped at one of those truckstop gas stations, late at night  and i was out in the farside of the parking lot with Tay on her 12 ft lead.  Tay suddenly lunged and there,  coming out from under the dumpster was a tiny kitten.   Walking directly toward us,  while Tay barked and pulled.   Put Tay back in the Uhaul and walked toward the dumpster...the kitten was just There.  crouched,  exposed,  far from the dumpster or anything,  just there in  the glare of the lights.   I picked it up...the size of one hand...not even ready to be weaned....carried it some distance away and carefully dropped it over a fence into the weeds.  It had no tail.  Jenny came up at this point and i told her and we turned around,  Tay back out and barking... and there it came.  Again.   stopping to just crouch maybe 3 ft from Tay's mouth.   Jenny said      take it.  a short conversation....i don't want to.  I don't want a kitten.   My old cat Tazmeena in a travel crate,   i had no idea where i was going.   Jenny...just take it.  it's a big hill.    I turned to walk away as she scooped it up and took it to her truck where Puppy rode silent and still the rest of the way.   They put her on a towel in the old Toyota with a bowl of water and some softened Tazmeena food.  In the morning,  i looked.  still alive.  still there.   quietly wide eyed.   Left the door open and walked away  telling Tay...No Cat.  They all arrived and we set out to see this Hill.     As we picked our way through the dense brush and poison oak vines,   there she was.   Making her way  just behind but next to us.  I said....she's like a puppy.  And Puppy it was.   and Puppy She is.    That first winter i offered an open door to her,  being unused to cold Rain.   But she would only come in to look around but then go to the door.   She slept in a little bed made in the horse trailer.   Tazmeena died that spring.   But Pup never wanted to be inside.   Sometimes still,  i call her but no.   She belongs to the Hill.  The Hill belongs to her.  She is so the color and pattern of this Place you often can't see her.  But she's always there.   Vigilant.  Claiming.  I admire her.

magic

there it was...a layered sky  blue,  pink,  blue again then  pink again and then a roseorange.  I've never seen this sky before.  and there was the Something Else...that  hazy brightness.   It would be the last day of Sun now for many to come.    I went down to A Garden,  the Wall Garden that i had abandoned.   Yesterday and the day before there had been WIND,  almost like New Mexico Wind...Gusts.   I picked up what had been thrown around,  covered the mower, righted the chairs.  The "sail" roof of the A frame shade house had held.  John Lewis blown over but the Avacado stood.   The cardboard pieces and flattened boxes were strewn about and i collected them,  cut them into shapes and weighted them with rocks in half of the Wall Garden.  We need more and when there's another Sun day,  i'll finish.  Cover them bucket by bucket with Goat manure through Winter.    A small pile of cardboard i left.  There was a Huntsman Spider under the top one... she was startled  and i left her alone.    Then i sat.    Thought about  how what we and then I  had imagined,  had changed.    Noticed how i had no need to  create any story of that.  It simply is what it is.  For Now.   Thought about how that's a real accomplishment,   not needing to make something of what simply is.

on the way back up at B Garden,  the one tomato plant had blown over for the second time.  4 of her green tomatoes fallen off.  The heavy laden yellow cherry tomato  crashed over .    Arms from one of the overly tall  Paul Robeson's  hung down,  on the tomato cage of  fencing i'd made.   Didn't break.  just bent....but may break or pull the whole thing over if there's more Wind.   The food plants People are winding down,  have given their all.   Quiet now.    Still very alive,  but Quietly.  

Alyssia came very late last night with ice.  Both girls in their car seats,  Shiny metallic balloons floating above them,   Emrie is wild of words,  Brinley is full of questions...Where are the Goats,  Why does the Dog do that,  Emrie throwing her words to take up all the space,  to drown out Brinley's questions.   Emrie yells,   "I told her every thing already".    They had left at noon to pick up the vehicle that will replace the stolen catalytic converter truck.  From there,  on down to Sacramento to get more things from The House.  Feed the ducks that are still there,  then meet T's mother at a funeral home to make The Arrangements.   It was 8pm when they brought the ice.  Set inside the door,  then gone.   Less than 5 minutes and i ached for Emrie.    Today on phone,  Alyssia told how Brinley has attached to Emrie.   How Emrie has become attached to Alyssia's whereabouts.  How Fate called his father from his mother's,  wanting to come back for another night.  He did.    

We will make our way.  We know nothing but that.  That we will make our Way.   Today is Julian's 12th Birthday.   i made him a failed cornbread that i sent with Alyssia.   so he'd know i'd tried.  He loves cornbread.   

 

some days

some days drawings are right there,  at the tip of the pen or pencil.  Some days like today,  not.  This kneeling woman,   circling herself with stones.  Maybe tomorrow.   Maybe i will have to wait.     And maybe that thread of Deb's is the RAIN?

it's been 4 years now.   long enough that i now have memory about Rain days.   How you need to be ready at all times....your layers of warm clothes right there,  shoes and socks already on because SUN will burst through the wet gray very suddenly and then be gone just as quickly.  When it opens,  you will want to go OUT for as long as you can.   Waste not a moment.

 

i have tried. 7 times. to post a pic. Each time taking battery juice. To no avail. Typepad is tired i guess.
But just to say here.
It's RAINING. like RAINING. RAIN. An hour now. RAIN.
I think we have made it. I knock on wood again, the old cowboy's Mother's chair here, knock on wood, but i think we have made it through a Fire Season without having to Run. As i write that...the bones in my chest feel imminent....my body, holding my heart. Feel it physically. without having to Run. The forecast for the next 10 days, every day, a chance of Rain. I do not love Rain but i LOVE Rain. I put on the raincoat now, to close the door. To sleep. under Rain.

Journal page Story the Space of an Old Nana

Woke this morning with thoughts already formed,  waiting for me.    About story.  the story of    person.   and specifically,  the story of a child.  of children.    This is going to be difficult to follow.   As i think it in this moment,  it's all over,  moving,  changing.    But if i can just get enough fragments here,  i can come back and back and understand what this morning was so clear.

2 things.   Words.  Story is words.  Words telling.      and then    Story is Lived experience.   as it goes.   I wonder about how we give children a story about themselves,  even if it is our best truth....it is Our story.....Rather than give them the opportunity to create their own lived story....Listen to them tell their own story of themSelves. 

When we tell children the stories we have of them,   we weave our own selves into that.   What i would like to do at this point in time is to watch closely this tendency....with what's happening over there at Virginia Ave.   Where at this moment,  right now, are   6 children.   Two of which i have not written about.    But, 6.

i went back in Deb G's blog...beecreative.typepad.com   to her 9/27 post  #90 Return.   her log cabin square that i just LOVED so much,  so surprisingly much...  and what  i am trying to work with here is like that log cabin square...the seemingly,  to me,  disparate pieces,  NEXT to eachother....their chothers....creating this most joyfull and satisfying Whole...just touching...not going into,  just being and being next to.   And the Story occurs of its self.   

and then.   To Note this distinction at this point in time.                                                                                                                                      I am OLD NANA here.  The great grandmother.   Jenny is New Nana.  The Nana.  the Grandmother.   She steps into her shoes.  Judy Martin....Judys-journal.blogspot  today.                                                                                                                                                          "the island state is a state of remaining within one's own boundries, undisturbed,  by any external influence.  It resembles a kind of narcissism or even autism.  One satisfies all one's needs on one's own.  Only the self seems real.  "                                                       Olga Tokarezuk                                                                                                                                                                                                               it resembles a kind of autism.    This i know.   This is one of the me people that i am.   and yet........

stand back.   weave yourself  NEXT TO....but not into.    Weave yourself into yourself.   But not into.  especially children.  NEXT To them...close and with love.   But leave them the opportunity to live their own story .  and Tell it TO you as they go.

the Cloth.  more Tree body and 3 leaves.   Understanding the meaning of the Blue.

 

 

trying to feel fully. Slow. no hurry. fully the moment. and only that.

on the left side of the Janet Chair,  on the stones.   Enlarge and it will help.  some.   I spent a long time with  Garden this afternoon.  Earlier than usual.   Wanting to give water to the Pomegranate and Fig long.  Seeping deep.     So i sat.  Thinking.  This Titmouse came and bathed.   Much fluttering and splashing then up into the Scrub Oak to fluff and rearrange. Back to bathe.   Back to branch.   3 times.   And then  some very small bird   hummingbird size went about inspecting all the watered plants  touching its beak to stems and leaves,  the metal of the tomato cages.  Their eyes are so bright.    Watching all this it occurred to me how my grief might be so different from Jeff and the childrens.   My world is the same.   The death of T,  the great heartache  for Jeff and the children.....this is in "addition to".   It is now another ummm,  layer of Everything .    For them though,  so much has been torn away,  ripped off,  is Missing.   a Gaping space where she Was.   This...if it is true,   might help in the slow mend.   I will return to it tomorrow.   

 

and just a slow More to the Tree.   Make marks.   Sit.....Look.   wait for more doing.  Just Go,  but slow.  Go slow.

one moment

i am so glad to have this Cloth.   I used the Inktense  Payne's Grey.    Payne's Grey being  "my color",  along with  Mars Violet from way back...using Oils to paint the masks of the fiber figures.   This cloth took it as very blue.  Bluer than i'd  imagined,   but it will be ok.   somehow,  more than ok.    i just can't see that yet.   

I woke this morning to face the grief.   the  LOSS.   i wandered,  wrote in the stenographers notebook all that came to mind and came away with two things.  Both very simple.   the first is that all we can do is the best we can.  One moment to the next.    The best each of us can....best to be defined only by the one doing their best.   Moment to moment.   We will see where this takes us. The second...for me.   Orient.  Each day.  For me....this is early morning as Sun rises.   To turn my face,  literally,   like a SunFlower will do.  To turn my face and orient toward  Goodness. Toward what Helps.  Toward the Well Being of the Whole.  That's it.   Simple things.   We will somehow make it through.

there is one Point of Bright Light.    Neither Emrie or Brin have ever had a friend.   Friend  as Emrie describes it,  "a real child".  it's been something like 18 months?  of Covid isolation for both of them.   at 4 years,  that being all either of them know.   But she watches things on her Kindle.   She knows,  has known that there is a different way.   Now....the result of Circumstance,  they suddenly each have a real child.   They have each other.  Or,  as my daughter Jenny and her cousin Sarah used to say....

theirchothers.   for Emrie,  it's a dream come true.  For Brin,  it might  soften the Edge.  

they Play.     I say....T....we will do the best we can.   We will.

 

 

irrevocable

Emrie came at 3:30 am. All she knew is that Uncle Jeff needed help.

There is Death in our family. 

Our Beauty Full,  Loving,  Steadfast    T.        A young woman.    32 years.    Wife of my grandson,  stepmother of Fate,  Mother of Brin who becomes 4 years old this month.  

i have turned  off the comments.   In this moment,  there is just nothing.   Nothing to say.

change unfolds

the Other meditation swing.   It's needing reorientation?   faces Away....but there also is a sense that there is some thing/one there,  sitting.  Shy.  or, ummm,  hoping to cause Wonder?    I DO watch it for movement and in these last few days,  watch SUN mark movement by shadow.  There is the shift of Light,  but it's the shift of temperature,  from HEAT in high 90's,  sometimes 100's to now 60's....    It's as if there is a pervasive Exhale.   a slow continuing Exhale.   The green leaves appearing green again.  Vital.  Lingering.    The trunks and boughs of the Trees revived from still survival to reaching UP.   One of the birds has begun singing again...not one single bird, but kind of bird.  It's the sweetest melodious song imaginable.  In the mornings and at sunset.  All this.  as Cynthia says...gentle day.   gentle day.  We are here.

 

thread said

there will be a tree.    

 

i guess  i imagined something like Jude's Redbud.   But no....it immediately was an Oak.  Of course.   So i just began.    It's around 3:30   and i looked at what is left on the first  "spool" and thought to look in the bag for more,  similar enough....2,  but stopped to think.  Split back stitch uses a lot of thread.    

This Cloth is for me and the Hill.   It's Our dream.   I can do anything.   so i thought....this is  6B graphite.   What if?   And then,  maybe...Liz....Inktense. 

at the top,  maybes for Leaves 

NOAA NWS Climate Prediction Center    A high risk for heavy precipitation is forecast on Oct 20 through Oct 22nd.  across much of Northern California.   Several inches of rainfall could yield burn scar flooding concerns , but also help to replenish reservoir levels.

then....Karla K Larsen   Butte County Fires Accidents and Crimes  on Face Book....tells us of the Mooseheart Crew of firefighters "that will make the 3,000 mile journey home to Alaska.  A 20 person Crew,  a hand crew that worked mainly night shift doing grid searches for hot spots.   On Friday they filled in dozer line  constructed  during fire suppression and created water bars to help divert water,  preventing erosion.  The members of this Bureau of Land Management contract crew  are among the thousands of firefighting personnel who have traveled great distances to help the communities impacted by the Dixie Fire.

The crew is mostly made up of firefighters from several remote Alaskan  villages surrounded by much different terrain with much smaller trees than the majestic Ponderosa Pine.

Today,  designated Indigenous People's Day to celebrate the cultures and history of Indigenous and Native Communities across the nation including Alaska Natives is the crew's last full day of work on the Dixie Fire."  

i read this.  Sit.  read this.  Again.  and again.    20 men traveling 3,000 miles to work the night crew.

human beings