we knew it was true

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/09/29/sunday-review/ill-have-what-shes-thinking.html?smid=pl-share


And Mavis Staples hobbled on stage five weeks away from knee surgery. She's wide as she is tall, she spent some time sitting on a stool and she laughed. A lot. The woman is 74 and she growled and barked and hollered and rocked. She had us on our feet clapping and shouting.

How I'm spending the day:

after the guys came to wash the windows (I was still in my pajamas, of course) at 8 AM and the phone rang with someone in labor and the dog was barking his fool head off. Deb was remarkably composed. She just thought I was overreacting a bit. After all haven't I been called to births for years anyway? 

I'm better now. I've arranged myself, as you can see, in my 'do and silky peach gown. Although my bodice still heaves a bit. 

And we're gonna go see Mavis Staples tonight. Should be splendid.

Last weekend's activity:

Hugo the cat has decided to return to the fold because the weather is turning and the cat food down the street is inferior. He's full of mats, he's filthy dirty and he's appropriated Deb's brand new chair. He is, of course, the king of the house. Just now, he's gone upstairs to lie on the comforter so he can shed and get grit and bits of flora everywhere.

The beautiful rain has restored green to the land. I walk all over with the dog. Geese are calling to one another as they fly overhead. Time to visit the children in California.

Went dancing this morning and heard this: 

I don't know who the dude is, ignore him. Just close your eyes and listen.

Lawd, His Purple One can sing.

I went out to gather grapes for the annual jelly making extravaganza and ended up out there for three hours chopping and pulling weeds, making a huge mess. I was in my pajamas, no underwear. Really. And many neighbors cam by to chat while I was bent over, still feeling nauseous and feverish. Now I'm lying on my bed to quell the skittery stomach. No desire to eat. At all. Hell of a diet. And I do love food.

I still have to take the dog to the park and head over to the big box store for sugar, pectin and jars. And clean out the chicken coop. Or maybe I'll be indolent and watch old movies all day. Many times in my life, getting sick was the only vacation I ever got. That is pathetic.

I've been painting. The big canvas is gesso'd and ready for something. Not sure what. Yellow maybe.

I'm still in bed after I got clobbered yesterday with a 24 hour bug-the works, shitting, barfy, nausea and a wicked headache. After 10 days of retreat and dancing, flung right back into work until collapse. The blue Honda is back from the hospital. The dog is flopped over on his bed and the cat is right here beside me.

The day is gorgeous so I'm getting up and behaving like a normal person.

Half the house is now painted and looks lovely. The other half next year after I've paid for this half.

My brain feels like an overripe melon. The kind you give to the chickens.

Just back from Vader, WA and the woods, forest retreat place and it's FUCKING HOT here? What have we done, people, to be living in this humid hell? We live here because we like rain and salmon and herons and (join hands here and begin a wee chorus of Kumbaya, swaying slightly) not this blistering heat.

I'm going down to the lake and get in. My neck and back are marginally better and tomorrow begins the dance workshop til Sunday. How, you ask, can I dance with an effed up spine? I have no idea. I may lie on the floor the whole time. The very idea makes me tired.

No one is cooking any dinner. Whaaaaa. (spoiled baby noises, etc.) Retreat is not exactly heavenly but you can disconnect from electronics, be fed and consider your deepest fears and anxieties. Hard to explain but I am compelled. Besides, the teacher tells a story every night about the Buddha and the search for the end of suffering. And as I demonstrated so ably at the beginning of this post, it's working out just fine.

Love and kisses,

Beth, the post-dharma retreat harpy

My dears, I leave for silence tomorrow and will be back in a week. But today I took in my car for repairs (3 thousand, ouch) and got the rental. I have to tell you, I once had a ginormous rental Buick that I was trying vainly to park while the lady in the house I was in front of was HAVING HER BABY. My student was standing in the road yelling for me to hurry up. That was a few years ago.

Yesterday I begged them to give me a small car, a cute car, not a mini-van or a monstro car so what do I get today? A Chrysler for pete's sake. A black one. It looks like a gangster car. It just needs a few bullet holes in the door. I didn't even think Chrysler was still in business. And the steering wheel is a bit sticky and smells like aftershave. Ew. It barely fit in the garage. And this to them is a small car.

So I have wheels to get me to the retreat center and back when my wee Honda Fit will be all better and drivable. And park-able.

Later in the day I got pulverized by Merlin, the nice massage therapist. I think he actually rearranged my back and neck muscles by removing them, throwing them on the floor, stomping on them and then putting them back in. Then my chiropractor did the crack/crick neck vertebra dance and she kindly helped me off the table so I could wobble to my, er, the rental behemoth.

O and no smoking or pets in the car. Sorry, Felix.

I woke to THUNDER and more THUNDER and rain on the skylights. Fan blades spinning from the wind. Chickens making quite a racket because they wanted to be let out of their coop to be in the rain, the cooling, delicious, wet o wet rain all around. There's another big clap-the cool front smacking into the warm front. Where I'm from, we had thunder storms so violent and wild, they would ignite the bedrooms at night with their hot white light and great crashes. Close. Streaks of lightening forking across the sky. Smell of ozone.

A midwife I hired from the East Coast recently gave notice. It was a relief. She needed to be working by herself. But. She has poached clients from the practice. Four so far. I've written a letter of outrage which sits on my counter, unsent. I'm doing my best to be a big girl about this but I woke this morning with an idea that I could write a card encouraging her to behave in a professional and kind way. An ethical way.

 I expect the best from people. I do my best to practice kindness and generosity. And forgiveness. Well, I'm going into silence on Friday for a week. Let's see what that practice reveals.

Yesterday, I read-ended someone while driving to work. Argg. Sudden stop, wet pavement, I couldn't stop in time. The cop just told us to move along. His car was fine, mine, uh, crunched but drivable. This is the 4th time this car has been in an accident. Usually not my fault. All but the right side has been hit. Sheesh. Is my car too small, too blue, too optimistic? Little Honda Fit, I always think my car is chuckling as she drives along, perky and peppy. So now it's back to the collision place again and o joy, a rental Buick or some such horror car. All I'm gonna do is drive to the retreat center on Friday, park it and come home again the following Thursday. When hopefully, my car will be ready.

I now appeal to the car/driving gods for surcease. I think that's the right word. In other words, quit it.

My old girlfriend called her beat-up Datsun Dottie. Dottie the Datsun. Maybe I need to give my car a name for protection. Atilla? Gandolf? Warrior Princess?

Now I feel all weird too, body-wise. Neck and lower back. Plus the creeping fall gloom is coming. Depression land, Fall is hard, folded back in on myself.

I'm taking everyone to the spa today to celebrate the end of our record-breaking August. All the babies are born (one from September-thank you) so we're off the hook and can go soak, steam and massage. I even made a vegan cashew cheesecake that is yum with fresh blue berries on top. For after.

Did I ever say how happy it makes me to be generous, because I can be generous? Not for a tax write-off or because I'm a gazillionaire but because I have a little extra and I can give it away. And because I lived for years on welfare like food stamps and medicaid and was terrified my children and I would end up on the streets. So now I can give back in gratitude. But I never forget. Never.