Back again

Hello there, I'm back. It's been a while, and some stuff has happened, but I'm here now, and glad to be back, writing in my blog. There are some important things on my immediate horizon, and I want to reflect on them and write about them. I frequently pick up my journal when unexpected challenges or event happen in my life. I've done this since high school, maybe even earlier. So, while this post will be short, it's a gateway to an ongoing exploration of the amazing, consequential, challenging, wonderful things happening now and very soon. First, my daughter is two weeks away from her due date, her first child and my first biologic grandchild. Amazing, mysterious, beautiful, exciting, full of love and wonder. Second, I'm starting radiation treatment on Monday for breast cancer. I had surgery on April 26th of this year to remove 2 invasive ductal carcinoma tumors and 4 lymph nodes from my right breast. I'm doing the treatment (every day, Monday through Friday) at the University of Maine Medical Center in Portland, instead of in Providence. I want to be close to Portland when Laura goes into labor. Third, my husband intends to retire, officially and permanently, before the year is out. There's more, but these are the big 3. You can see, cant you, why it's going to be important and therapeutic and healthy for me to reflect on and write about these happenings? I'm excited to share this part of my long extended journey with anyone who finds this blog and wants to read. Life is mysterious and unpredictable and wonderful and fleeting. From the poem "Sometimes," by Mary Oliver: Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

In the library again

They're doing construction on the Boulder Library, so every now and then a huge BOOM comes from the ceiling. Just another thing trying to distract me from my writing. I am writing about my protagonist's cool older aunt, who lives in Mendocino on a neglected vineyard that she and her husband bought for a song back in the 70's when much of the wine crop was wiped out from phylloxera. The aunt is going to be Sarah's mentor and guide in her journey back to herself. It's fun to imagine what this old woman is like. She's an old hippie: irreverent, obstinate, light-hearted, spiritual. She's a crone coming to terms with her mortality and limited time left on the earth.

Well, not to give too much away...

My phone interview yesterday went pretty well I think. I'm cautiously optimistic that I'll get another call for a second interview. If I do, I'll feel better about sharing details in my blog. Until then, well, just keep fingers crossed. I think I'd really like to work here, even if I harbor ambivalence about the commitment. First things first.

It looks like we have 2 more beautiful fall days in this amazing streak of weather, then the cold will be upon us. Last night we all (Mark, Pete, Anna Kate and I) went for a walk on the mesa under a waning moon. As we came back home we were treated to the sight and sound of a mating pair of Great Horned owls. The female was sitting on the telephone pole near our house, and the male was perched on a vent chimney on our roof. They hooted back and forth while we watched. With binoculars we could see the white markings on the male's chest...spectacular.

Catharsis

I was wondering whether writing a semi-autobiographical novel would be cathartic. I think I knew that it would be, but the reason I didn't write yesterday was that I was triggered right back to a fairly dark place in my life, just through writing the words. My novel is about a young woman who emerges from a 5-year stint in a religious cult to find that she doesn't know who she is, what she wants from life or what she can offer the world. It's a dark, deep void of unknowing from which she spends the rest of the novel clawing her way back.

Kind of like someone you know, right?

Well, it put me in a tailspin for a bit. My protagonist, Sarah, is just beginning to realize what happened to her, and she's pretty depressed at the moment. I actually thought about stopping the book because it's so painful to look back and write about what I lived through.

Then I had a thought that maybe, by writing Sarah's eventual and successful healing process, I could vicariously enjoy that as well. Sarah's not going to be 53 when the book ends, but she will be in a much better place than she is now. And I get to say how that goes. That's the very cool thing about writing a story; I get to play God and make stuff happen to my characters just the way I want it to happen.

So I'm off to work, another very early day (leaving the house at 5:40) so I can get breakfast on early for the guests of the inn. It's a corporate group and they have early meetings, so I've been going in early these past few days. Hearing them talk and laugh at their in-house meetings makes me so jealous for being part of a team that's working toward common goals. I miss my professional life, albeit my "from-a-distance," rosy professional life, not the one I used to bitch about constantly. I guess what I mean is that I long for a healthy, productive professional life where I can share day to day life challenges and successes with like-minded people. To that end, I finally have an interview this Thursday with a place that potentially can give me that. More on this later.

In the library

There's something organic and edgy about sitting at a public library computer to write. A stong odor of humanity in various stages of cleanliness permeates the area, and there's a sense of being exposed to lives and germs that you never have to deal with if only use your computer at home. Tinny music seeps out of earbuds from the guy next to you, and more than a few other patrons try to suppress hacking coughs.

I'm uncomfortable and yet there's part of me that is more motivated to write here. Possibly because I don't have access to my refrigerator or sofa, my chores and my dog. Fewer material comforts to distract me, and a feeling that I'm here to work. I also feel strangely comforted by being just one more of the anonymous library patrons, who for one reason or another is here rather than in my cozy house using my own personal computer. I'm no one special here, and that seems to take some pressure off me to write anything of any brilliance or significance.

I'm fighting the feeling of being a fraud, of thinking that I have any right to write a novel, much less write one in a month. The fighting looks like me finding any other thing to do besides write. I'm comforted by remembering an essay by E.B. White in which he writes about finding countless trivial things to do rather than write: straighten the area rugs and pictures on the wall, for example.

Writing is hard. Channeling my imagination onto the page is hard. Keeping my inner critic at bay is hard. I appreciate the words of encouragement I've gotten from my blog posts, the confidence that others have expressed in my ability to do this. I'm not sure why people are confident in my, but I'm going to draw on that when I feel lacking in that department myself.

Fall Back

Our computers and hand helds went ahead and turned the clocks back on their own last night. If only we could do that at will whenever we wanted to add another hour to our day or have a do-over for an hour squandered. Or to relive a spectacular hour. Nope, we only get to relive the hour that the clock managers want us to relive, which always happens to be midnight on a Saturday. So we get to relive the crap on Saturday Night Live...?

I am constantly relieved that my novel-in-a-month is unfettered by any requirement of quality. I am writing words that are loosely connected by time and action, but that might be it. And I find that I'm writing almost autobiographically, which is interesting. I've always been comfortable with journaling, so maybe it makes sense that my attempts at fiction would initially read like an adolescent journal. Introspective, narcissistic, trite. Oh well, quantity marches on.

It's another beautiful day in Boulder County. We (Mark and I and our houseguests, nephew Pete and his girlfriend Anna Kate) are planning to hike to a place where we can see the snow-capped mountains of the Continental Divide then descend to a brewery for the Broncos/Patriots game. I took the afternoon off from work just for the occasion.

The leaves are mostly off the trees now, but with the brilliant radiant sun beating down you'd never know it was early November. The sunshine is by far one of the best things about Boulder.

November 1, 2014

So far today I wrote 1763 words, 96 more than my target! I think it's total shit, but the freeing thing is that for NaNoWriMo it's about quantity over quality. It's about the act of writing, about sitting one's butt in a chair for long enough to write 1667 words a day for 30 days. I don't know anything about character development, plot, symbolism, theme, or even the process of writing. I don't know anything about voice or style and that's perfectly ok.

I told my inner critic and editor to take a vacation, and I haven't seen her today except early on when she peeked her head around the corner to where I was sitting staring at the blank screen to tell me it would be ok if I decided not to do this. I told her to get the fuck out and I started writing.

I am aware that I'm going to have to work on my schedule so I have time to write every day. I'm a morning person, and so if I've been responsible the night before (not too much wine) I can get up at 5 and write for an hour and a half on days when I work in the afternoons or on days when I don't have to go to work. This is not going to work if I leave my writing schedule to chance. It's soooo much easier to not write than it is to write.

I'm lucky to have a loving husband who wants to support my desire to do this crazy thing, and I thank him for this.

1763 words shows me that this is going to be a challenge. Let's go.

Halloween

Happy Halloween everyone! This year I'm dressing up as a novelist.

I'm excited for November 1st to come, tomorrow, actually, dreading it a little, completely clueless about how it will feel and how it will all unfold. Yesterday I hung out at a computer station in the Louisville library, researching some back story details for my book. The library is an interesting place to spend any length of time as it draws folks to it who for one reason or another don't have a computer of their own to use. So why was I there? Well, for the time being I don't have a computer of my own to use. I'm actually blogging on my husband's computer (shhhh, don't tell the IT folks at his company). And his computer is particularly nice because it works. My computer is a dinosaur laptop from the 08's. The M key sticks and it still runs (tries to run) Windows XP. I took it to a PC shop here in Boulder that turned out to be the scuzziest, scariest private apartment in the whole town. I'm not sure I've ever been in a filthier, less-cared-about living space, and that says a lot because I've been in a whole bunch of scary, weird, ramshackle living spaces while visiting my out-of-state kid. Regardless of the state of his living quarters, I have a calm confidence in the PC guy to make my laptop work better. He works in a tiny back room in this apartment while his roommate (?) sits in a legal-weed stupor in front of the TV. PC guy was friendly enough, but very noticeably lacking in basic social skills, likely a side effect of 18 years of doing PC business in the tiny back room of a disgusting apartment.

Luckily he said I'd have my computer back today, in time for November 1st's start date. Whew.

I have a basic plot outline, some character development, a crisis, a back story, a potential love interest and even some names. While sipping a pinot noir from Mendocino last night at the bar at Leaf restaurant as I was waiting for my employer's staff meeting to start I looked up popular names from the 20's and 60's. There wasn't a Hunter or an Apple among them.

Must give this lovely working computer back to my husband.

Back with a mission

Hi there,
It's been a while since my last post, almost a year actually. It's good timing for my return post since I've decided...yes, decided...to participate in NaNoWriMo starting on Saturday. And what that means is that I will write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Yup, that's right. Yes, kind of random, kind of crazy but I've known or felt for a while now that there's a story inside me, maybe a few stories inside me, and if November is National Novel Writers Month, then why the hell not?

So what I'm going to do is blog about my experience as a virgin novelist, hoping that by going public with my intentions I'll be on the hook with my one blog reader, thus providing me with the motivation to slog through this project.

The truth is, I know absolutely nothing about writing a novel. I like to read novels and I live with ideas in my head that really should come out on paper, if for no other reason than as catharsis. But as I've been learning about NaNoWriMo it seems that one doesn't need any particular talent or experience in order to "win (which in NaNoWriMo land means finishing)," just a burning desire to write a novel and a deadline to up the chances that I'll actually do it.

So, dear reader, welcome to my little experiment. Can I do this? I believe I can, and I'd like you to be along for the ride. I have about 40 hours to prepare to begin to write, then I'll take off and see where it takes me. I got a copy of "No Plot, No Problem" from the library, a little guidebook written by the founder of NaNoWriMo. It's got tips, exercises and inspiration from former winners. So, armed with my guidebook, an account at NaNoWriMo and a pocketful of hubris' little sister, I will begin.

Oh, and this month I'm also volunteering at the "Veterans Speak" program at our local arts center, working at the inn, traveling to Texas to see our newborn grandbaby and then to Virginia for Thanksgiving. And I turn 53. As good a month as any to write my first novel.

The ptarmigan and the fawn

I had a dream last night. I found a tiny fawn in the grass near our house, and I slowly approached her, stroked her back and watched as she struggled onto her toothpick legs.

Then I was inside, alarmed because the fawn was being attacked and killed by a ptarmigan. It was inevitable, the fawn was going to die. In my dream I felt shocked and sad by this turn of events. Mark got a big net and started going outside to move the carnage away from the front porch. I was irritated with him, thinking that he was putting himself in harm's way (because the ptarmigan wasn't really a ptarmigan, was it?) for a lost cause. Sometimes, well, only one other time, when I was irritated with Mark I called him by my first husband's name. That usually goes over quite well.

The interesting thing about this dream is that ptarmigan are rather small, grouse-like birds that are well-adapted to high alpine environments. And (according to Wikipedia so I know it's accurate) ptarmigan are vegetarians so it's unlikely that they would attack and kill a mammal. Curious. I'm fascinated by the workings of my own subconscious mind.

One of the things I'm working on these days is being mindful, fully awake and aware during my waking hours. That way, hopefully my curious subconscious mind won't make decisions based on faulty inputs. Does that make sense? If I'm not fully aware and mindful, it's likely that my actions, thoughts and feelings will emanate from someplace below the surface that I can't readily access or refute or counter.

This is a big subject, but the homework from my women's group is to be more mindful this week, to watch and really see what happens as I move through the world. So it's worth diving right in, ptarmigans and all.

Bruce

I don't recall whether I ever mentioned that I've named the prairie dogs that live on the mesa with us, but I have. And just to simplify things I named every single prairie dog Bruce. So whenever I walk on the mesa I greet my chubby little neighbors with an enthusiastic "'ello Bruce!", which curiously always comes out with an Australian accent like the addicted shark in the Disney classic, Finding Nemo. They chatter back to me in prairie dog, much of which I don't understand, but I smile encouragingly anyway.

It's blustery out today and there are actual tumbleweeds rolling across the open space. There's nothing like a tumbleweed to remind you that you're not in New England anymore. Almost all the leaves are down so the space around us feels wider, more open. I finally convinced Mark ("I'm not gonna pay anybody to do anything...")to let a lawn company come and do a fall clean-up for us, this after spending many hours last weekend with a new blower/sucker thing, a rake and a dozen leaf bags. Even though there isn't too much lawn there is a huge perimeter of river stones that trap the fallen leaves; left to winter over I'm sure they would crumble down into the stones and form a nice layer of organic matter for weeds to grow in. I think it's worth the expense to have 4 guys come for a couple hours and get it done. I actually don't like the sucker/blower thing and think I'll return it to Home Depot and apply the money to the 4 guys.

I transplanted my garden sage plant to a pot on the back porch near my other potted herbs. I'm hoping I can keep them all alive until Thanksgiving so I can use fresh herbs in the stuffing. Still have to plant bulbs, maybe this coming weekend.

I appreciate the comments I got on my last blog, the one about the guys who came to my door. Most of the comments were about the efficacy of trusting one's gut instinct, to not worry about possibly offending someone when you're not comfortable in a situation. Also, to err on the side of caution for one's own safety. Not to answer the doorbell at night when I'm alone. Thanks friends, thanks mom. xoxo

The doorbell rang last night

The doorbell rang around 6 last night as I was starting to prepare dinner. This isn't typical, as someone has come to the door only 5 or 6 times in the 6 months we've lived here. Mostly the UPS guy, once a neighborhood kid selling coupon books to fund a school trip to California. Enzo reacted to the sound with his usual crazed high-intensity alarm; I picked him up and went to the door.

Two guys were there; one seemed rather young and was wearing a grey sweatshirt with the hood up. The other was a little older, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was better dressed, with a tie, I think, and a fleece vest. No hat. The older one did all the talking. He started saying things like, "I just talked to your neighbor Bill..." and "you might remember two young ladies who came here last year..." Well, no I really don't because we're new here, and my neighbor's name is not Bill. He must have interpreted my nonverbal cues as a willingness to listen because he came up onto the front porch and stood near me by the door.

He was talking fast, it seemed to me, and I didn't quite grasp the nature of his visit. My first thought was that they were Jehovah's witnesses come to try to save me. But there was a clipboard and something about needing to gain job skills, and didn't I remember what it was like, just starting out? Something about a mentor, something about customer service skills. He held the clipboard in front of me, showing me some writing on a page, meant to impart legitimacy.

I was uncomfortable. I was home alone, it was dark and this guy was talking fast. What did he want from me? The young guy just stood there and smiled.

So I said, I'm not comfortable talking with you. I'm just not comfortable.

The older guy actually scoffed, threw up his hands and snickered as he turned and left the porch. He probably thought (my projection) that I was uncomfortable because both of the guys were black and they were not from around here. It made me uncomfortable to think that they would think that. Rich white lady in a big house in a fancy white neighborhood doesn't want to give the time of day to 2 young black kids trying to make their way in the world. Ummmm, no, not really.

Mark was more matter-of-fact about it. People don't come to your door at night just to spend time with you. They either want to save your soul or sell you something. Or worse, case your house.

When I was talking to Mark about the visit, I felt small and old and vulnerable. I felt out of practice being savvy and street-smart like I was when I lived back east near hard-hittin' New Britain. I felt unnerved at 3:30 this morning when I woke up with this on my mind. I connected this event to the horrific murders of Dr. Petit's wife and daughters in Cheshire in 2007. That time it was 2 white guys who cased the house and came back to rip a family apart. That was an event that left a permanent scar on the psyche of every person who heard about it, watched it unfold on the news, read about it day after day in the papers. It reminded us all about how vulnerable we are all of the time.

If it had been 2 young white guys last night, one standing silently wearing a hoodie, the other one a smooth-fast-talker standing a foot away from me in the thin yellow pool of the porch light, I believe I would have felt just as uncomfortable and would have tried to get them to go away just as quickly. I suppose I wouldn't have had that instantaneous internal white-oriented conflict of wanting them to leave while hoping they wouldn't think I was sending them away because they're black. But I would have wanted them to go away, of that I'm sure.

walking thankful

On my walk a couple of days ago, out on the mesa, I felt a powerful rush of gratefulness come over me. I was walking briskly in the cool, late October morning, thinking about my first Hospice patient, whom I was to meet the next day. She is a woman about my age who's dying of metastatic cancer. I am to be her companion, to provide companionship.

On this morning, here I was, walking, free, able, unencumbered. I chose to walk and I walked. Under the bluebird sky, a harvest breeze around my face, a quiet nod to others on the path, I chose to walk and I walked. And for that, I felt really, really grateful. I haven't even met this person and she's already had a profound impact on my life. I hope I can have a gentle, comforting impact on her life as well.

So as November, the month of thanksgiving begins, I'm ever so thankful for my life and for my healthy body that I can take walking whenever I choose. What a gift.

Today

It's chilly this morning after a hard frost. The mesa is starting to close up, contract. There was a flurry of bird activity a few days ago; I may have even seen a small flock of bluebirds resting on the yucca branches before continuing their migration. Just a fleeting flash of blue in the corner of my eyes, then faded into the grassland again. And the meadowlarks were full of song a few days ago. Mark thinks that they never left but it seems to me that they disappeared during the hot summer months and came back only a few days ago, also on their migratory path to somewhere else. It's always a surprise to be walking along the path and hear the clear trill of the meadowlark coming from what sounds like only a couple of feet from where you are. But they're clever ventriloquists and if you look hard into the grasses you can usually spot them sitting high on a stem, 100 feet away. When I was a new mesa-dweller I would stop walking and peer into the grass near the path, convinced that the bird was right there. Now I know better and it still thrills me.

Yesterday I took part in a 2-hour meditation practice at Naropa, one in a series of happenings during Community Practice Day. All regular university business stops and people come together to experience various types of contemplative practice. The meditation happened in a big room with about 100 mats and cushions arranged on the floor. People were called to the room by a gong and found their seat. The 10-15 minute seated meditation sessions were interspersed with walking meditations, led by a soft-spoken woman who sounded like an NPR commentator. Once I discovered how to arrange my legs so as not to develop cramps I was able to sit still for the duration. But my mind...how my mind loves to go into overdrive when it's quiet. I know this is common among new meditators so I tried hard to not go to a judgmental place. Breathe in, breathe out. Sooooo....hummmm.

During the walking meditation we walked slowly and deliberately, hands at waist, eyes softly down. Let the thoughts go, just be here now. Two circles of walkers snaked around the room, passing each other in the middle. I kept thinking about the security lines at Denver International, where you walk slowly and deliberately back and forth in the corrals, gaze diverted. You pass the same people again and again but you rarely acknowledge them or even make eye contact. Maybe I'll try to meditate in line next time I'm there.

I should be

I should be running right now. Loping, really...lumbering is more like it. I think I want to be a runner, you know, one of those people who glide along across a surface, light-footed, breeze in their hair...they say that running relieves their stress. "I'm going to go for a run." I think I want to run the Hartford half marathon in October with Jodi, Mark and some other Harris folks. But. But. I put myself on the C25K program (couch to 5K, which isn't really accurate because I'm not really a couch potato, but fine, it's the couch to 5k program) which is supposed to get me in shape to run a slow 5k in 6 weeks or so. And I'm on week 3, which has me alternating jogging with walking for about half an hour 3 times a week. So a couple days ago I was out there on the mesa path, walking and jogging, feeling not quite as miserable as I had in the near past and I decided to speed it up just a teeny bit during the final 90 second jog. I mean, I probably went from 4.5 miles an hour to 5 miles an hour. Nothing drastic, nothing fancy. And about a minute in I felt this sharp twinge on the inside of my left knee. Really? I slowed to a walk, fighting the impulse to validate that this is why I'm not a runner. Runners have pain, right? And now, two days later I'm confused about whether it would be better for me to buck up, grit my teeth and get back out there for my 2nd run/walk of the week, or just fuck it, take some ibuprofen and rest my tweeky knee. And then what? This seems to regularly happen, so I'm not entirely sure what to do. I'm not intrinsically opposed to experiencing pain, but I don't want to do anything stupid to my almost 52-year old body.

But the upside is that I'm writing a blog post. I took the part-time job at Naropa as assistant to the dean of graduate education. I start on Monday. I also had an offer from the molecular biology department of CU, a full-time gig supporting the brainy faculty. In the quest for life-balance, the Naropa job is the way to go. Remember, I went from flat-out, exhausted, stressed, way too engaged in my job at Odyssey to having too little to engage in here in Boulder. It took me a few months of down-time to get here, but I had begun to long for meaningful work, for a means of engagement with a wider community. Taking the job at Naropa is part of my path toward a balanced life, for the first time in...forever? It will put my in the company of other seekers, students of the university and of life, people who seem to be open, gentle.

And tonight's my last training session with Hospice, and then I can begin to volunteer with a family that's going through the dying process with a loved one. I'm a little trepidatious about jumping in, but also feel that I will be ok with just being there, just being a loving, caring presence for others. I've been thinking that my work with Hospice will afford me a more acute awareness of the beauty of now, the fleeting present. I'll have to revisit that notion down the road and see how it's going.

The last thing I'll share today is that I decided that I'll spend my first few hundred bucks earned at my new job on a 3-day intensive writing course given by a local author in Boulder. It's called The Heroine's Journey, about writing memoir. I already sent my deposit in. Mid-November and I get to spend this time in the company of other writer-seekers. It will be my birthday present to myself. I'm gonna go take a run.

Late September

...and a month went by, whoosh. In between moments of stillness, the rush of time, the rush of flood water. Mom was here to witness the 1000 year flood in and around Boulder. It was surreal to be here in our warm, dry house up on the mesa while destruction flowed down from the canyons and onto the plains. We watched it on TV, removed but still feeling the sense of loss for our new community. Even now, a week later there isn't much to see when I drive around; a barrier here, sandbags there, debris forced into the rails of an overpass. There are opportunities to help and I intend to. Then a rather whirlwind trip back east to give and get some hugs, share some laughs and wine with friends, check in with a few of those we love. We drove through the verdant tree-tunnels of Rhode Island and Connecticut roads feeling the remarkable distinction between there and Colorado where very little comes between your eyes and the jagged horizon. So green, so close, so damp with life. So many trees. We got into the Atlantic for a couple of minutes, baptised once again in the salty coolness. Its never a mistake to get into the ocean...you can always warm up. I feel compelled to get in whenever I can now...who knows how long it will be until the next time? Oysters, clam cakes, lobster rolls, chowdah, butter & sugar corn, September sun. Mmmm, east coast living. And now all of a sudden I have 4 interviews on the horizon. Today is with Hospice to become a volunteer. Friday is with Colorado University to see about becoming a program assistant. To be scheduled is one with Naropa University, assistant to the dean of graduate admissions; one with Walden University, supervisor for principal candidates doing their internship in schools; one with an agency in Boulder that provides subs to private schools. The job with CU is full time, the others are part time or per diem. I am going to go through with any interview that comes my way, if only for the practice of using my professional voice in an articulate manner. It's not the everyday voice I use when I talk to the dog so I'm a little out of practice. Through it all I'm keenly aware of my mandate to slow down, stay present. I admit, it feels really good to have someone--anyone--validate my resume and want to talk with me. But that can't be enough to compel me into a job. I have some work to do on being good with just being...being me, just being. It would be soooo easy (assuming I got an offer) to jump into something because it would necessitate shifting my attention from now/here/the present to "what's next." Busy, busy. I'm good at busy. I've made progress in being here in Boulder without schedule, without direction. I think a happy medium is what I'm longing for. A professional life involving interesting, happy and thoughtful colleagues, meaningful work to do, a sense of accomplishment and values...plus a social life involving a few good friends who like to climb to high places and eat good food... plus a home live involving a loving partner, peaceful togetherness, fun & laughter, good food and great wine...plus a family life involving those who have loved us longest and best (this includes old friends who are not physically near us but so close in our hearts)...plus a spiritual life involving worship in nature's cathedral and opportunities to collectively work to make the world a better place...plus health, wealth and wisdom...wait, does this mean I want it all? I'm gonna start by taking a run. 46 degrees, abundant sunshine, let's go.

Whoa, I'm here.

I put myself on a train. For the past 5 months I've been on a metaphorical train, more like a thought train really. There's a lifetime of momentum behind this train, driving it, pushing it onward. I had this realization today in yoga, at the very end. I actually started to cry a little because of the rush of emotions that hit me when I said the word "surrender." In my head of course, this was savasana after all. See, there are a couple forces at work right now. First is that it's late August and for the first time in a very long time I'm not at school preparing for the new school year. I'm not greeting teachers as they cart in their new supplies and dust of their rooms, full of stories of summertime bliss. I'm not setting goals, crossing T's and dotting i's. I'm not in charge of anything and that is...scary. Because if I'm not in charge of anything, what's my purpose? And the second force at work inside me is that I'm nearly 9 months into my sabbatical and I feel like I might just be beginning to understand what it's all about. Like a gestational period for my psyche. Maybe I'll give birth to reason and rationality. That's why this blog...writing in general...is good for me, because in order to do it I need to articulate the swirl of thought clouds in my head, and in order to do that I need to sit quietly and be. So I've been putting a lot of pressure on myself about Getting A Job. Ask Mark, it's been fun for him. I really think it has to do with the school year starting and me being here, just being here. On the train again, I've been obsessing about what I can do...what I should do. I've spent hours applying to the University of Colorado in Boulder for jobs that I'm either overqualified for or don't meet a minimum requirement which is actually kind of funny considering all the various skills I have after decades of challenging and varied work in the education field. I've spent additional hours applying to the Boulder Valley School District and simultaneously navigating the glorious bureaucracy of the Colorado Department of Education to apply for reciprocity for my Connecticut administrator license. And underlying all of this flurry of effort is a panicked sense of unknowing which is uncomfortably familiar to me. My challenge is to live with this unknowing and trust that when the time is right I'll know what it is I should do next with my time, my energy and skills. Not just to live with it, but to look right at it, to be with it without trying to run away or mask it. As you know, my modus operandi is to DO, take action, git 'er done. Which is also rather funny because I'm not averse to being alone in solitude. I spent the months of January, February, March and April looking for a new home and enjoying down time in our new town. I spent the months of May, June, July and August getting settled in our new home, three weeks of which were shared with good friends and family who came to visit. Doing, doing. Lots of doing. All good. But somehow I feel as though the real work of my time off is just starting and I could easily sabatoge it by jumping too quickly into another job that demands my time, energy and lifeforce. What an extraordinary problem to have. Anyway, it's good to be back.

Extraordinary love

A couple weeks back, in the midst of putting an offer on our new home in Boulder I looked out of our living room window on a scene of extraordinary tenderness and love. A young man, maybe 30 years old was walking up our street toward the mountains with his black lab. Suddenly the lab stumbled, her back feet and legs collapsed under her and she listed sideways toward the gutter. I got up and stood at the edge of the window. The man caught the dog and steadied her with his knees. After a few minutes they started walking but before long she faltered again. This time she went down all the way to the sidewalk. The man stood over her then squatted beside her, stroking her as she lay on the cold concrete. A woman who lives nearby came out and bent down to stroke the dog too. They stayed like that for a while, exchanging soft words between them, gently caressing the lab as she lay so still. The two people seemed to be peaceful, not in distress, maybe just acutely aware that there was nothing they could do now but provide some comfort. The woman went back to her house after a time and the man coaxed his dog back to her feet. She took one or two halting steps...fewer than a dozen and she went down again. I held my breath as he tried to get her to walk. He was gentle and patient and I could see that he wasn't ready to accept that she simply could not walk any more. At last the dog just fell and lay down on the sidewalk, head down, very still. The young man walked around to her feet side and tenderly, carefully put his hands under her body to lift her up. He scooped the dog into his arms and turned to walk down the street, pain and disbelief in his expression, knowing that this day had finally come. I think--I hope-- he was going to bring her home and lay her down on a warm bed and talk with her about the hundreds of hikes they took together, the games of frisbee catch, the years of devoted friendship. He loved her very much, and she, him.

On coyotes

We saw our first coyote yesterday. We were walking with our little dog Enzo in the hills above Wonderland Lake in north Boulder. It was a blue sky day, blustery but not cold and we had just begun to climb when Mark noticed the animal loping across the path 100 feet from where we were. We drew back the retractable leash to keep Enzo close to us (recalling every trail head warning sign) and for a few minutes became hypervigilant in case the coyote was the lead dog in a hungry pack. It was a thrilling sensation--we're really in the wild west!--and also scary to feel so vulnerable and tender in the wilderness. We're new to these western mountains and are still getting our footing, still getting oriented to the vast wildness of the place. The coyote was solo, it turned out, in fact it disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, dissolving into the grey-green landscape. We climbed on, reflecting on the probability that any time we walk in the mountains we're being monitored by wary wild animals that tend to keep tabs on humans in their territory. Three months into my Colorado life I have a healthy respect for the mountains and a hyperbolic fear of the creatures that live in them; I hope that with enough time spent in the western woods my fear of the animals will evolve into a healthy respect for them as well. I believe that they could easily kill or hurt me but I also believe that if I'm aware of their habits and habitat and give them a wide berth that the odds are in my favor. The end result of being respectful but not afraid of the woods and its inhabitants is that I get to be out there, up high, breathing the thin, cool air, feeling the radiant heat that comes from being a mile closer to the sun, feeling at peace in the world.

The weight

It's a feather-weight anxiety and anticipation concerning whether we will in fact live in this house we wish to buy. As my friend Lesley referenced in a recent blog, it's an embarrassment of riches, not just the material kind, but for me, right now, it's also the wealth of time. I feel like an ordinary citizen who is suddenly wealthy after striking it big in Powerball. I've been handed an enormous (literally and value-wise) check and am now deep into spending my riches. What shall I do today? The sun is out, my belly is full from breakfast and the day stretches in front of me. Today I'll reach out to old friends to let them know how much I value their presence in my life. An exercise class to keep my body strong, a walk outside with the dog, a trip for provisions and gratitude that this is my life today.

The offer

We put an offer on a house! I know, you're asking where the hell have I been and now suddenly I'm writing about putting an offer on a house? Well yes, and it's really ok. This--this writing/not writing seems to be all part of the process for me right now. The house is really, really nice. Not "McMansion" nice, not pretentious, but just really nice. It's the kind of house you might look at every morning when you get up and think how did i get so lucky to be able to live here? The outside of the house belies the inside. The outside is big and dramatic, like its made to evoke a wow response from people. And then there's the power line that presides over the property, a crackling sentinel. You can't miss it as you approach the house. My research on the safety of living near lines reassured me. The house is on a Mesa and backs onto open space that will always be open. We'd have our own prairie dog Calvary. Inside it has a southwestern feel with thick walls and arched doorways. Lots of windows, lots of wood and lots & lots of room for out-of-town visitors. More to come as we know more.