Seniors

Shady Bed, early spring Every morning I head out, weeder in hand, to look at my garden and see what's happening out among the plants. I stare fondly at the plants I love and do battle with the endless armies of invaders. There is usually something interesting, especially since this year I have planted a lot of seed. I'm pretty comfortable with things I have grown from seed before, but less so

Dryad's Saddle or Pheasant's Back Mushroom(Polyporus squamosus)One goes off to the forest in May in search of early orchids and encounters these fetching fungi instead. It's always a treat to find such arty structures, and they pop out of the woodwork around the same time as morels do, sometimes growing quite large - well over a foot across. This one was growing out of an elm stump along the trail into the deep woods, and it could be seen from quite a distance because of its tawny ochre coloring.The mushrooms are a species of bracket fungus, and their common name derives from European mythological tradition which held that the fey woodland beings called dryads found the growths comfortable and liked to ride them. Do the saddles develop legs and canter off with their tiny riders when nobody is looking? As for the second name, they do look rather like the mottled feathering on a pheasant's back. Tough in their maturity (rather like me, I suppose), the "saddles" are deliciously edible when young and tender, and they smell somewhat like watermelons, apparently taste like them too when raw. I haven't done it, but apparently one can make a lovely stiff creamy thick paper out of the fibres. Since all the specimens I have located so far are old and stringy, I haven't tried eating them - simply like them for their shape (kind of like the starship Enterprise), their vivid earthy hues, and the fact that they show up like technicolor balloons on stumps and among fallen trees.

Cheerful Monk. Creative Commons license. Last week I mentioned the book, The Path of Least Resistance — Learning to Be a Creative Force in Your Own Life by Robert Fritz. Another book I had read and liked had suggested it, and I was taken by the catchy title, but it didn’t resonate with me. I found it to be wordy, and I disagreed with some of the things Fritz said — for instance that problem solving is not creating. Yeah, sure. Tell that to anyone who has been awed by the Roman aqueducts. But I was willing to give Fritz the benefit of the doubt. When I saw that I could take his program Technologies for Creating at home for a reasonable price, I decided to see how he put his ideas into action. Let’s just say I was surprised. When the gal (during the first of the weekly phone interviews) asked me what my goals were I said, “I want to do some writing, and I want to enjoy the process.” Nope, that was completely unacceptable. Not nearly motivating enough. I was supposed to envision that I’ve written a book, that I’m holding it my hands, that I’m receiving praise and publicity, that I’m holding a check I have received for it, etc. Huh? That’s not the way I work. Also the gal said the conscious mind has to be in charge, that our subconscious should be like a well-trained dog. My approach is just the opposite. I treat my subconscious well by feeding it the information it needs and by giving it plenty of incubation time to come up with the insights and ideas I need. (I agree with the four stages of creativity: preparation, incubation, illumination, and verification.) If I have a project that needs some creative thought I don’t procrastinate but start researching it early. And the key to that is enjoying myself, to do it in the spirit of play. Now that I’m retired I usually get to choose my own projects, and even there I don’t sit down and consciously think about it. I rely on my subconscious to decide. We make a good team. No well-trained dogs there. Okay, so was the course a waste of money? Not at all. It was such a mismatch that it clarified what I do want and believe. I am scratching my head though. I just skimmed through the book to the part where Fritz talks about what he thinks we should be doing — operating from our fundamental life choices rather than being reactive — and it sounds surprisingly like Item 1 of the Traits of Stress-Hardy, Resilient People: They have a sense of meaning, direction, and purpose. They are value-centered rather than reactive and defensive…. So why the gal’s focus on external rewards rather than intrinsic motivation? Who knows. Just another of the mysteries of the universe. What about you? Do you think you’re more reactive to circumstances or more inner-directed? Does the phrase “creative force in your life” resonate with you? Thanks to Mike, Cathy, Evan, tammy, Dixie, bikehikebabe, Ursula and Rummuser for commenting on last week’s post.

,I've had this cloth, a summery linen-cotton blend, for ages but never cut it: today I did. This is an above-the-knee simple tailored skirt with a yoke-type waistband. The sewing project was going really well... until my helper showed up. How do they know? All comfortable. That's OK. I got the skirt cut out and marked and the darts pinned; ready to start sewing next time. (I did take it away from her.) What's not going particularly well is the drawing. It's the weirdest thing; i was all into it, and then, suddenly, it was like a love affair gone bad. I didn't feel like doing it at all. Practically overnight. So odd! So I'm giving it a rest. At this point in my life there's no point in forcing myself. It will come back; I think I needed to release myself from the pressure of the daily drawings. After all, I've been doing it almost every day since the beginning of April. A good time to make a skirt instead. I spent most of the morning at the garden. it's looking pretty nice over there -- lots of things in bloom: late tulips, forget-me-nots, my lilies-of-the-valley are just starting. For the past three years, I've had a bit of a focus on delphinium. Nobody else grows them because they are finicky in this climate, but I always had them in Vermont and decided to try, and so far, they've done well. That is, until this spring, when not one of the Pacific Giants - the tall ones - came up. The small free-flowering ones seem to be OK, and I never grow the mid-size Magic Fountains, because they really aren't reliable here year-to-year. So the other day at the garden center, I bought a bunch of new plants, and today I put them in, after digging out a bunch of anemones that had spread into the area I wanted to use, and then did some other tasks. There's something so satisfying about garden work, even with the inevitable reversals, failures, surprises. I was all grubby and hot and sweaty when I finished, but it felt great.

Apple Blossoms Plum Blossoms Late Tulip

On Monday I'm leaving for a little cabin in the woods.  I'm spending five days at my beloved Donner Lake.   Me.   Solo. I recently realized  that I have not taken a vacation that was not with children, to visit children, or to care for children since 2007 when I went to Stewart Hot Springs. I looked back through my blog posts and found this one from then and laughed because it was also titled Solitude. I reread it and was filled once again with the knowing of who I become when I explore the world alone.  How rich and full up I am with gratitude.  I am so damn excited! So next week.  Hiking and exploring by day.  Reading and relaxing in the hot tub and sauna by night.    I am finally going to be able to step upon the call of my dream I wrote about here: The Pacific Crest Trail.  The main focus of this getaway is to meet my mistress.  So to speak.  Finally.  I have yet to see her. Ever. So I've been devouring books and studying my topographical maps.  Wearing my hiking boots around the house and local trails with and without the insole inserts.  Adding weight gradually to my day pack.  Counting the years, then months, then days until I tread upon her for the first time.    This is actually just an introduction.  I turn 60 in November and will begin the trek the following Spring.  The plan remains to take about a year and a half - two years to complete the hike in segments.  So this little five day adventure? It's just, say, a coffee date.

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.  

It is approaching summer Solstice already and I'm keenly aware I've written little about my word of the year, encouragement. It is not for lack of wanting to. I miss blogging but my journey in starting over has proven to take everything I've got to keep my mind from wandering so I can learn new skills. I was never very focused and disciplined in the first place and now...well, this process is making big demands on me and there you have it. It is not like I have not been paying attention to encouragement, however. I give it when I can and savor every bit of it that comes my way. I write daily in my journals to keep an eye on how the word is wending its way into my life. An actual pattern has emerged over this last three months. I can, at least, share that. I apologize in advance for this long winded, self absorbed narrative with too many "I"s. This is a complicated subject for me and there is a certain amount of writing my way to a better understanding involved. This blog is more a memoir or ethical will than a bold narrative for public consumption, so consider yourself warned.In practical, mundane matters the journey to finding enough work to make my situation sustainable slogs on like a slow divorce. I get frustrated and then I remember that even in my younger years a major change in my life direction generally took up to three years to stabilize. I swear I was carried through each of those changes, however, so completely different is this experience at 60 years of age! I go to my clients with a renewed sense of purpose each day. I do my best and I enjoy my work. I still can't say I'm very good at what I do but I'm hopeful. I feel myself melding into a new self that does not live in a cubicle and slog to the beat of some distant administrator's drum. I have my own sloppy and awkward rhythm that I dance to daily. I feel like I'm floating somewhere between retirement and being independently impoverished. It suits me and I'm settling into it. I feel a little discomforted and scared yet it all somehow feels appropriate for right now.On mental and emotional illness and what happens with encouragement.One of the most profound realizations that I've had this year has been about coping skills and how, if outdated, they can become serious detriments to personal growth. I was always somewhat sensitive as a child and in consequence became wildly insensitive to over-compensate as a teen. Then, after having children, I simply began going flat out around the bend due to unresolved childhood trauma and untreated abuses. I began acting out. Through this wild maze of consequences a few self regulatory coping skills were created. They served their purpose to keep me contained at the time but no longer work well for me. These dysfunctions have surfaced en masse - I assume because the thing about encouragement is, you have to allow it in to use it. Many of the demons that scared the life out of me when I was young have not disappeared but because of time, experience and their tenacious quality, I am in a new relationship with them. I've come to own a few things that chased me unrelentingly through the dark corridors of my mind for decades. Little by little, they have been faced down and tamed or calmed spending all of their terrifying and disagreeable incarnations. They live in me still and it is pretty crowded with all those old grappling hooks and various devises moldering in there. Consequently, encouragement (along with inspiration) is left waiting at my threshold for room to abide.Encouragement gets dicey when there is no trust in sources and so, in working with this word over the past few months, as stated, these access problems have exposed spiritual and relationship obstacles There is no room in me for encouragement as my psychic rooms are all filled with devils designed to keep me safe...mostly from myself and my unsettling and guilty past. They are are maintained by a shear force of will that flies into action at the

During this past week, I have been roaming around the Bay Area visiting friends and family. While in San Francisco, I knew I had to track down one of my favorite style icons, Joy Venturini Bianchi. Joy is not only an international taste maker but also a philanthropist who has made it her life's work to help the developmentally disabled. Joy greeted me in an incredible Ralph Rucci jacket and her signature over sized black glasses. "I love your work," she said to me with a smile, "but honestly, I still feel like I'm 15!" Before heading out on a tour of the incredible vintage designer shop she runs on Fulton Street, Joy shared a bit of her story. She has been working with people with disabilities from a young age, volunteering with nuns at her school for an organization called Helpers of the Holy Innocents. Joy later took over as director, where she worked to house people with developmental disabilities in three homes on Fulton Street over the last four decades. Now, she operates the Helpers House of Couture which is a boutique filled with incredible vintage and designer clothing and accessories. Proceeds from the sales go to Helpers, a registered non-profit supporting grants to groups which assist the mentally disabled. If you are in San Francisco, you must stop by this amazing treasure trove of vintage and designer duds and hopefully meet Joy along the way. If you have any donations or would just like to come in and shop, make sure to make an appointment ahead of time by calling 415-387-3031. If you can't make it into the shop in person check out some of their fantastic pieces on 1st Dibs HERE. Helpers House of Couture 2626 Fulton Street San Francisco, California 94118

Yesterday my older brother took Mike to see his psychiatrist. I always send the notebook with them that I keep documenting the daily observations I have made of Mike and how he is doing. That way the doctor can see any patterns or changes since his last appointment. Butch discussed the changes we have seen in Mike's cognitive abilities. The psychiatrist wants to work with Mike's primary care doctor to get a neurological work up done. I did some research and found that a person must show significant impairment in at least two of the core mental functions to be diagnosed with dementia. Mike is showing impairment in four out of the five. He has deficit in all areas except visual perception. Memory Communication and language Ability to focus and pay attention Reasoning and judgment Visual perceptionWhat we want to figure out is the cause and what treatment if any is available. One thing the doctor agreed with is that it isn't Alzheimers. I think we are embarking on a whole new world of care for my brother. My head is spinning trying to wrap around what comes next. Right now I just want to slow down, get as much information as I can and then take each day one at a time. My goal is for Mike to continue to live in his own home with support. One thing that may be available if he has a clear diagnosis of dementia is additional assistance through Medicare. I don't know if it would qualify him for more in home help or not but I'm sure going to find out. Even if it is just help with his medications that would save me $100.00/month. Maybe later on we might be able to get additional help.So, life goes on as a caregiver. I learn more every day and especially just how much I love my brother. I will do everything I can to make his life as good as I can.