HOT

We hit 103 degrees in Seattle today; a record not just for the date but for all of recorded history. Working on the 7th floor of a poorly air conditioned clinic today was misery. I threw off the white coat, dreamed of rounding in a bathing suit, drank tons of water, and ate Popsicles. The wimpy fan on my desk blew hot air, creating a bit of a stir but offering little relief. We were an office of whiners today.

The drive home with the A/C blowing full blast provided interim relief.

Now home, the house feels opressively HOT. We've at least one more day of pain before a bit of relief.

Just as Seattle is ill prepared for a week of snow (remember December 2008?), Seattle is also ill prepared for a week of blistering heat.

Lovely, Dark, and Deep

My last post, written just before our five days away, out there in the woods camping and then relaxing at a remote lodge in the Methow Valley, focused on hope. Hope and relief from the cycle of thinking, doing, being and feeling wildly out of control for lack of surrender. The woods offered the opportunities; as Robert Frost so aptly penned in his poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and they were ever so "lovely, dark and deep"; mesmerizing, tempting, and a metaphor for escape. Ultimate escape.

I'm suffering from a case of extreme ambivalence about blogging. I sold my ticket to the annual Blogher Conference months ago but had a pang of wistfulness knowing that the event took place this past weekend. I've got to reckon with the fact that my ambivalence stems in part from the constant need to edit and clean up what I really want to say. Seems that my mind is in wallow mode where gratitude and optimism evaporate into mist in favor of extreme worry over every aspect of my life. I suffer from lack of faith.

So....what now?

I haven't a clue if there will be a next post or not; probably.

In the meantime, I'll end with a quote (thanks, Queta).........

It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey."

-- Wendell Berry, American farmer, poet, novelist and essayist

Going Camping

Going Camping

Pulling out in a loaded down car,
Tent and sleeping bags stowed
Dreams of a site by the river,
Gurgling, moving, drowning sounds of people
Tasting already that first cup of strong coffee
in the crisp chill of morning.
Out there but still close
Cautious; a toe in the outdoors
Hopeful that the flies, and fire sparks, and camp dust
shake up my city brain
and, set me free.
Hopeful that the whispering pines offer a story
of wonder when darkness of night wipes out
the seen and unseen.
Hopeful that the mountain peaks dipped in snow
teach me surrender.

Respite

Respite

by Jane Hirshfield

Day after quiet day passes.
I speak to no one besides the dog.
To her,
I murmur much I would not otherwise say.

We make plans
then break them on a moment's whim.
She agrees;
though sometimes bringing
to my attention a small blue ball.

Passing the fig tree
I see it is
suddenly huge with green fruit,
which may ripen or not.

Near the gate,
I stop to watch
the sugar ants climb the top bar
and cross at the latch,
as they have now in summer for years.

In this way I study my life.
It is,
I think today,
like a dusty glass vase.

A little water,
a few flowers would be good,
I think;
but do nothing. Love is far away.
Incomprehensible sunlight falls on my hand.

"Respite" by Jane Hirshfield, from The Lives of the Heart. © Harper Perennial, 1997. Reprinted with permission.

Night Bloomer

In the corner of our bedroom on a low table sits a pot bearing a disheveled and wild night blooming cereus plant that we brought from Texas 18 years ago. We finally found the proper location in the house for this exotic specimen to thrive and bloom. Tonight was such a night; a single bud matured slowly over several weeks from a small, barely visible little bump on the side of a leaf into a ripened bud, ready to burst forth at dusk. Over the course of an hour or two this beauty unfolded to our watchful eyes, delighting our senses.

What made tonight special was that Chris and Heather were able to witness this magnificent one-of-a kind show with us tonight; a first for them.

We're in for at least one more show this summer. Nestled down in the wild and crazy tangle of this plant is another bloom, in gestation.

Gorgeous.

Paralysis

"Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"

......by Mary Oliver

These are the last few lines from one of my favorite poems, The Summer Day by Mary Oliver.

The question stirs up the burning issue in my heart: What will I do with my "one wild and precious life"? Seems I haven't figured that out because this life of mine is constructed in stages. Doors are closing, times are changing and I'm waiting for new doors to open. When? Do I need to push on them or will they just open? I sense the former but I feel locked in, paralyzed.

Time is ticking.

Blogging

I've a little timer off on the right hand side of my blog that counts down the days to my "Blogoversary", the anniversary of my blog's inception back in August 2007. There are 43 days until that moment arrives and I'm starting to think about what I'm doing with this blog, where it's going and what (if anything) this adventure in writing is preparing me for. All along I've felt that blogging was a jumping off point to somewhere else. I'll never be one of those big time bloggers whose sites are read widely and whose voice is recognized "out there". Nor will I advertise on my blog and earn money off my postings. What is the purpose, I wonder?

There have been times when I've given up blogging, once for as long as 2 plus weeks, feeling that I was done with it all. Then back at it I'd be, writing regularly about all the usual topics, my mind full of ideas for the next post, pictures at the ready in case the blog would be better for illustrative photographs. I'm starting to have that restless feeling again about blogging. I recognize that other bloggers experience this ambivalence regularly; they muse about where they are going, what's the point?, what does it mean? and the like.

I've given myself the 47 days to ponder this further; 2 years blogging sounds like a nice time to either launch in a new direction or re-commit with passion to more of the same, at least for the foreseeable future. No question that this blog is a chronicle of my life. When I'm losing it mentally, these blog posts, copied off the computer and stored in a 3 ring binder, will spark my memory.

For now, I plan to keep ahead of that daunting wave.