WALL-STREET-PANDEMONIUM

Waiting for my Knarly Head to arrive, my elbows lean on my hightop, hands clasped in, 'here's the church - here's the steeple' kidplay mode. I stare wondrously at the massive glittering wall in front of me. It is beautiful. Hidden fluorescents illuminate the great expanse of mirror and glass shelves, artistically arranged with hundreds of bottled spirits, and a few brightly colored art-glass artifacts. Only a handful of patrons surround me at T.L. Schmit, a new establshment to me. The music is soft, but spunky. A multitude of glaring screens that portray a variety of sporting events in progress hang suspended in space around the perimeter, volume off. So pleasant. I smile, masking the turmoil alive and well in my gray matter. Closing my eyes, I soak in the calm, but nurturing atmosphere, hoping for clarity to arrive. As my server boldy places the stemware of deep velvet red in front of me, I return to the moment. Lifting the goblet, I swirl briskly, forcing the liquid up in waves close to the rim. Embedded in my cerebral moments my eyes fixate on the rolling of the fruit of the vine. I think - I wonder -things I'm good at. Finally I try out 'the nose' of it. Oh yes....hmmm, nice spice, smoky but fruited - perhaps blackberry and apricot. A smooth palate of flavors. Quite a nice 'Zin' for this evaluating and thoughtful moment..

It is a rather delightful game to engage in - "I wonder what..." - when enjoying an evening's happy-hour, solo. A look around displays a handful of occupied tables. Three suited and neck-tied gents, intense in discussion lean into their conversations, sometimes frowning, and then a gentle 'yes' - shake' of the head - a firm affirmation of their proposed business plan. In the far corner, four 20-something couples laugh, poke at each other, animated in their pleasure moments of friendship. A single finely-aged woman brushes past my table, perching herself confidently barside, her motions lively, a certain flair about her. With lively engagement she places her order with the bartender. From an obscure angle, I subtly read her ambience. I will call her Vanessa - carefully coiffed, white-haired classic boufant-headed Vanessa. Intuition tells me she is in town on business, a briefcase at her feet. Her chardonnay arrives. She reaches purposefully and with a gentle grasp, no swirls, she sips at the buttery spirits. Both she and I peruse our shared-wall view. She wears finer dress on this evening than I, but I wonder how 'fine' are her inner thoughts. Have you ever observed the hand movements of a person, alone, waiting barside for their meal or just speculating in their private world? One can learn plenty from silent observation.. Vanessa sits stoically upright on her stool, hands folded as in prayer, resting on her counter. She stares into space, perhaps evaluating her business of the day. I continue my reading and notetaking of the current book of interest in my life, glancing occasionally at Vanessa. One moment she rests her chin on her cupped hands, ring-bling glaring at me. The next moment her arms fold on the counter edge before her, waiting. My velvet Zin slinks over my palate in microns, warming my spirit, assisting my focus on the decisions I must make in the coming week, evaluating the options to come. Vanessa's meal arrives and she delicately cuts, spears and savours her fish and vegetables. No fine food for me this night, only my Zin and a few almonds from my jean pocket (frugal female that I am). Vanessa makes her graceful exit a few minutes after her meal has disappeared. No eye contact has passed between us. The thoughts of our day, the roadways of our lives held captive and inward.

Turmoil and confusion enter us all at one time or another, uninvited. Some souls live in a virtual state of turmoil, perhaps self-imposed by bad decisions, some as a result of no fault of their own. The confusion that is presently occupying my thoughts is the result of my RV accident of a few weeks ago. It would seem that though the damages were what I considered minor, the repairs required add up to a much larger sum of money than imagined. Amazing how that happens! My dear Pedro is almost 13 years old, and therein lies the problem. Insurance companies that declare vehicles a 'total loss' use current vehicle value as a primary indicator. If the percentage of cost of repair is at a certain level in relation to the vehicle value, the result is: a total loss declaration.  Pedro's damages are riding on a thin line for resurrection or death. This is the reason for the pandemonium in my brain. How to approach the new direction of the pilgrimage I am on is the decision that lies before me.  Options for a new vehicle - RV or otherwise - more stationery art-time in specific locations, or more time in California with family all occupy my thoughts. Prayers for the right doors to open flow freely. Walls have a way of turning us in a '180' oh so quickly.

The urban freeways of many a great city now erect great walls at the perimeter of the multi-stripped concrete roadways. Noise pollution has become a popular discussion in city council chambers nationwide. Environmental design engineers are having a hay-day as they strive to out-do each other in their creative ways of planning these massive functional walls.  Some of these walls I have seen on my travels have scored an A+. Esthetics aside, these dividing barriers have created more than a little confusion in many a driver, myself included!  I would surmise that you may have a story or two for sharing as well!

The imaginary walls that I have begun to contemplate this week as a result of my 'accident diddy' have left me feeling like a critter in one of those fancy Halloween hay-bale mazes created at countryside orchard stands for October kid-entertainment. 'How do I get out of this crazy jigsaw of walls that I'm running into!" You've seen a 5-year-old's temper tantrum when told they can't have that cookie? Well, I'm stampin' my feet, folding my arms over my chest, jutting out my chin and sayin' "Really?,...come on now!!!" (We all revert to kid-dom at times, don't we?!) I'll let you know when my tantrum is over.

By the time I'd drained my glass of Zin at T. L Schmit I had a notecard of options before me. Carefully tucking it into my bag for later reference, I floated out, past a few patron tables, feeling lighter. I'd sent my turmoil packing into never-never land - at least for now. Walking purposefully to my car (well, OK, Michelle's car) I pass the line-up of newpaper dispensers. The Wall Street Journal stared at me. I imagined the pandemonium that is a constant on their trading floor, and I breathed a prayer of thankfulness that I am not one of them. I will delight in the relatively peace-filled retired life I now life - though minor turmoil does show up as an appetizer on occasion. By the time desserts arrive, I will be a happy girl. (Note: try spelling 'desserts' backwards! ...  a bit of humor.  The moral of this:   Eat more dessert!!) 

As I finish this blog, listening to my Pandora selections through my earbuds at my local tea-hangout, the words from Yanni's relaxing music is the encouragement I need for today. "Let your arms enfold me, through the dark of night. Let your angels surround me until I see the light." I will cleave to this prayer as I wait for the apparent walls to be removed and the new doors to be opened.

Intothewind,

Naturegirl

　

　

　

　

A GENTLE TETHER

This partially completed life of mine has seen it's share of greatness and grit. You have, no doubt, learned from my writing that the almighty tree is my favored metaphor in life. When I feel fragile, I see myself hanging on a thin limb -oh so close to breaking- falling into the abyss below. When I am filled with confidence and strength, my core is a great and massive trunk, upholding a million branches of living, breathing organic matter. The wind of life's trials blow - sometimes gently - sometimes with great power. Such a mystery, it is. The great flow of inner strength and alternate disconnect. The connecting cord - the tethering to the Life-Source of renewal for body, mind and spirit can be so fragile - strength, only a dream away.

Riding a wave of forgotten reservation, the young girl's dreams catapulted her into a sphere of brave advance. She was rising, rising - to the stage of no return, captive to her inner strength. Determination and confidence etching her face, she launched her charge down the carpeted runway to the vaulting table whose menace was sure to be defeated. Airborne for the vault, her position perfect, her hands sure she twists and spins midair, sticking the perfect landing. Triumphant in her smile, she exits her stage. A heart throb like no other. But then - bolting upright in her bed, she awakens from her dream of magic. Today was her chance. The dream - was it a sign? Would today be the day she became the confident gymnast of her dreams. Would she break through her ceiling of fragile brokenness?

This naturegirl's days of rolling down the highways and byways of the great U.S. have been interrupted by the great invader - called, 'accident'. Pedro is broken - I am not. Or, am I? I seem to be hanging on a thin limb on this day.

Today is Sunday. I attended church this morning, not far down the carefully manicured boulevard from my temporary home with my dear family in California. Isn't it funny how sermons sometimes have a way of burroughing into the heart and breaking it wide open. I am here today, as a result of today's churchgoing, to be R-E-A-L. My great admission - today's declaration -- for the last 24+ hours, I have been feeling B-R-O-K-E-N, rather defective - at the bottom of my game. There - I said it. I don't like saying it. Why? Because - does anyone ever really reach out and embrace a fractured vessel? Not usually. Humankind gravitates to the 'best of show'. And, who doesn't want to be the winner?!!!

Yes, I AM traveling, cross country - alone - a woman - and, I hear it often.... "Wow! That is brave!" , or, "I could never do that," or, "Seriously, you are joking, right?"  I admit, the commentary pumps-up my inner 'feel-good' monitor. My admission - today's declaration - however, is not about courage or doing the unusual. My declaration is about, liking and accepting the real core of 'who I am' - my daily activity preferences and avoidances, my personality strengths and weaknesses, my caring and my indifferences - the natural flow of how I choose to fill my day when living with little to nonexistent external directives in my current life. Part of this pilgrimage journey of mine is 'inward.'  Finding my way forward in my new single life requires a new awakening to 'the core of me'. Identifying the core is no easy task. Why is it so tempting to observe others who are a source of inspiration, and wanting to 'be like them' - to be someone else. I am pretty sure I am not the only one in this camp, though I am not condoning it. I am beginning (with a capital 'B') to 'know', who I really am. The past few days has enlightened my 'knowing'. I am still chewing and digesting. I am praying for a new freedom of acceptance in 'being me'.

I have loved my days on the road. This past 10 days I have missed the new landscapes that fly by me as I venture into territories unknown. I miss the funny roadside signage, the amazing (and sometimes not so amazing) architecture, the new cultural dialects I hear in the coffeeshops and grocery stores along the way. I miss the movement. I miss the wide open spaces. I am learning just how much of an earth-woman I am. That would explain why I am forever picking up leaves, and twigs and feeling flower petals. Perhaps the change in my daily routines have upset my equilibrium - my rhythm. I am untethered from my mobile living quarters - my dear Pedro - cantankerous mobile home that he is!!

Tethering is all about connectedness. Our connections help us feel grounded - anchored in familiarity. As I have studied the botanical worlds of the many regions of the country, I am most fascinated with the moisture-laden subclimates where greenery flourishes without man's hoses tethered to the faucets of city water systems. The profuse branching of ivy as it climbs the tree trunks and overruns the ground in a covering of lush green. What is unique about all this ferocious fauna is that it's connections can easily be loosened, removed, or altered. Tethering is different from the technique of tying - an element not easily removed. I love the though of being 'gently' tethered - to our loved ones, to our rituals, or to our natural instinctive choices. It is a softer connection, flexible, more readily negotiated. When I contemplate 'who I am', I wish to think in terms of a more flexible being, a bendable connection. I wish to remove the rigid knots that tie me to a 'prison of being'. Knowing that I am movable, but connected to a core gives me comfort, and comfort is something that is easy to live with.

The stuff of dreams and longing, of realtime challenges and hopes, and the regrets of unresolved conflict live in every human soul, at one time or another. We all navigate our days in varying degrees of wanderlust. The timeless question, 'Who Am I' has been queried daily by the masses, looking for the perfect formula of how to live out a life of peace and honesty, while maintaining intimate, equal, and bendable relationships with those we call dear.

Soul work is difficult. Finding balance between one's discipline to become 'more' or making choices for the sake of relationship compromise, and one's choice to rest in the comfort of living with our natural inclinations will forever be the stuff of daily life. This much I know - giving V-O-I-C-E to issues of the heart and soul is a requirement if one is to sift through the jumble of tomorrow's choices and arrive at the coveted prize of inner peace.

Riding on the wind of change, I am comforted in my tethering to the Source of all life, the great I AM - God the Father, Son and Eternal Spirit. Even when I occasionally lose touch with 'Who I am', I am confident of 'Whose I am'.

In this I find today's peace - buoyed by life's sometimes wild, sometimes gentle wind currents - carried to a new place with each new day.

Intothewind -

Naturegirl

LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY

LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY

A Minnesota gal, I am.  Conversation with many a friend of mine, back home, may sound a bit like this - "So, what plans do you have for the weekend?"  -a response - "I think we're headin' up north to the cabin."   In Low Country, the replay is likely to be, "We are goin' down south to our sea place!"   What may be a cabin in MN with a deer and pine tree motif of earthen browns, moss green and brick red would be rewritten in Low Country with white pillared porches and rocking chairs, surrounded by clusters of waving sea grass, bowls of shells and sky blue cushions trimmed in coral or lemon.  The beach hats hang neatly on the porch hooks, beckoning a beachcomber to a stroll in the sand.  

Low Country was something I'd read of in a few previous novels, but really had very little idea what the 'lay of the land' might look like, or even where it was.  A bit of education was called for after seeing a few 'Low Country' road signs as I rolled down a South Carolina highway.  My research told me it is a section of the east cost surrounding Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia.  Sea level is an operative word, when thinking 'Low Country'.  Salt marshes pepper the landscape of this slow-goes-it part of the U.S.  On a sparkling sunny day, the waving marsh grasses move in shades of celery, emerald and toast, outlining the puzzle-shaped patches of crystalline ocean waters.  These saline swamps are teaming with all manner of sea life.  A visit to the local supermarket is testament to this.  The deli cases are lined with bowls of fresh crab cakes, mussels, shrimp and clam chowder. 

The harbors along the fingerling-shaped coastline dock a multitude of shrimp trawling boats and seaworthy vessels loaded with the day's catch.  Having never lived in this culture, my curiosity pushes me to peek around a corner here, a narrow street there, and a drive around the bend in the road reveals a line of pillared historic old south houses.  A seaside bench beckons me for a few contemplative moments.  Sun shining warm on my face, I recall the clip-clop of the horse-drawn carriages of Charleston, and the open door of the centuries old Catholic church within the historic downtown sprawl of ornate iron-gated walls.  Organ music spilled out the doors of the church.  Drawn into the sacred space of the empty sanctuary, I sit a few moments on a pew, listening – music and voices - of yesteryear - of what was - of what is to come.  A wondering – what will a year - or two - or ten bring to my life.  Always within me, the tree-climbing girl that swayed in the wind, wondering about my tomorrows.  A cessation of the music jolted me back to real-time.  Unseating myself, I left the sacred space of my wondering.  And, once more ….I snap back to the present, as I sit on the bench of the dock of the bay.  Rising, I walk to Pedro, and the next Low Country stop.

Octopus arms - that's what they look like!  Giant trees of the costal Low Country frame the road with their magical limbs.  These angel oak trees are like no other oaks I have seen.  A light-strewn roadway tunnel formed by their canopy mesmerized me on the drive to Kiawah Island - one of 20+ Low Country sea islands.  There was a tugging at my heart - "Stop! Go climb them!"  Then good sense took over - no longer am I the 'small fry' on my Iowa farm with nimble knees.  Instead I stop and stare up through the maze, thick with hanging 'beards' of Spanish moss.  The mystery of this moment consumes my being.  Squinting and turning circles, diamonds of light swirl above me.  I breathe in the moist Low Country air, feeling the goosebumps on my arms.  And on I go, to the local Java-Java haven, and my morning tea.

Brookgreen Gardens lies about an hour north of Charleston.  It is 9,000 acres of pristine nature at its best!  As I drive the short distance to Hilton Head on a cloudy misting day, I rehearse the delights of my visit there.  This oasis is home to a multitude of winged creatures, creepy crawlers and of course, an occasional alligator.  The many life-sized bronze sculptures scattered on the grounds awakened plenty of artsy inspiration for me.  Grinning to myself, I recall the humor of the moment as the great blue heron stared at me, lifting and retracting his thick S-shaped cordlike neck, like a child and his slinky.  A stone’s throw away, 2 turtles sit, head-to-head in some turtleland conversation, a seemingly romantic turtle-moment.  The tupelo trees and great palmettos drip on this dewey day and I find shelter for the moment under the angel limbs of a monstrous oak.  The short-lived shower allows me to roam for another hour, listening to many a fountain singing its water-song and walking the secret wooded winding paths to charming green corners and a child’s fairyland of nature’s magic.  I welcome the tsunami of new world images that settle in and fill my soul, floating down ‘the 17’ on my way to the next bridge and island paradise.

Most everyone, at one moment or another in their life, find themselves facing a trial, a trauma – a few seconds can change everything.  My journey has had it’s share of trials – a time here and there where I ‘lost my grounding’, feeling a little low in spirit.  I’ve ridden the wave out and landed on solid ground again, in time.  Sporadic times of ‘the terrific’ have also been a part of this pilgrim journey – euphoric minutes of pure pleasure and joy.  It all comes with the territory.  This, my friend, is life!  Giving and receiving remains central to my purpose as I roll off the miles.  The solitude of letting both God and my heart speak has allowed me to find healing and wholeness. 
On my morning’s drive to the Hilton Head library last week, it was my great misfortune to face one of life’s little traumas.  The stop light hidden around a bend in the road was red – a stationary car in front me.  Squealing brakes and …CRASH… then silence.  I feel only a twinge in my ankle – no other pain.  The car in front drives through the intersection and parks.  9-1-1 – time elapse – emergency squad – police – tears – confusion.  As I pace on the roadside, answering questions for the report, I am filled with regret.  Why, did I choose that moment to glance out my side window.  Everything has changed.  Pedro’s engine will not start.  It is time for Plan B. 

My accident - terrible but not tragic.  Inconvenient, but not the end.  I am amazed that with my dear daughter’s help, I am sitting on an airplane in Savannah 6 hours later bound for California.  Pedro has been towed to a collision center.  From the west coast, I will navigate the repair to my RV on the east coast.  My journey is delayed, but still I will write.  There is always an inner journey – and there will I go.  Perhaps come January I will reunite with Pedro for the remaining 5 months of my pilgrimage. 

A low moment – feeling down, but not out in Low Country.  Through life’s highs and lows I go on, confident of God’s presence, always.

Intothewind,

Naturegirl

ALL HAIL THE HORIZON - THE GREAT DIVIDE
 


The design element of 'line' has always been a big deal to me. As an artist, the importance of line has been drilled home time after time. Fat ones, skinny ones, curved, broken, short and long. Lines are snakey, sleek, interrupted and oft-times solid. These relaxing days on the ocean have, for me, heightened my love of line.



I am presently cocooned in a lovely condo on the edge of the Atlantic ocean - Myrtle Beach style. "Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were living in a micro mobile RV these days", you might say. Well, compliments of a generous brother who owns this 'pad', I am being graced with a week of expansive living. An indulgent pleasure, it is! The fact that I am suspended about 90 feet above ground, but surrounded by every creature comfort a person might expect, does not fully explain the euphoria I have been privy to over the past few days. There's not much in life, more magical than witnessing the sunrise and sunset high above the pounding surf from the balcony that sits on the eastward side of this resort-style living space.



My first evening on the beach graced me with a splendid sunset display, capping off an enjoyable travelers' birthday! Sunsets from my present perch are not the California type. One needs to be facing west to witness the dropping off of the great 'sun-orb' at day's end. However, sunsets when facing east at the Atlantic ocean are more about the horizon's great color divide as seen in the southern sky. Cloud formations have everything to do with the striated display of color as the light of day withers. The peachy slivered dagger of reflected sun that was my birthday sunset was a delight beyond measure. A large cloud cover left only this narrow-arrow of light with a few needle-like clouds casting a shadowed display of blues, oranges, pinks and mineral grays. Oh the glory of it!



As I have lingered over many-a-cup of tea, contemplating the great expanse of water and wave, of foam and seagulls, of the flip-flopping of light and dark at the horizon, I realize the great powers that are held in the atmosphere and movement of the ocean. This is the week that Hurricane Sandy hit the eastern seaboard. Though the outer bands left only a day's worth of rain in this locale, the day before I arrived, good fortune was not to be realized in the states north of here. As I have listened to the media's portrayal of the devastation in the New Jersey and New York areas, I moan in sorrow for the gross loss that lies to my north. How can it be? Somehow, the pleasant view I enjoy today, looking oceanward, brings to mind the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast". How appropriate, the analogy - incomprehensible beauty when admiring a calm sea, and the most ferocious of beasts when 100 mph winds gobble up homes, neighborhoods and business districts, too close to water's edge. 
 

Why is it that the ragged edge of human experience is seen most easily in giant-sized discrepancies -polar opposites. A new love begins for someone, and a long love ends for another. A lucrative new job offer comes to one, and a job termination arrives at the doorstep of another. A new life comes to one family, and a loved one leaves this earthly life for another family. Nature has its vast differences as well. I have witnessed for days now, the light changes where the line draws a horizon - one moment the sky is light, the ocean is dark, and 10 hours later, I behold a darkened sky and a shimmering moonlit ocean. Two nights ago a large hovering cloud-mass hung overhead, long after sunset. I stepped onto the balcony for a last look before I snuggled-in for the night. There I beheld - a grace moment. A small circular 'hole' in the clouds allowed the moon's rays to plunge downward, casting a small circular spotlight on the ocean's surface, halfway to horizon's edge. To me, it spoke of the Almighty, a sign of God's presence. The site held me captive for a good long while before I padded off to bed with the words of Amazing Grace ringing in my soul - a song most poignant with memory for me. I recalled with wonder and warmth a moment in my life when visiting Peter Island - of Sir Francis Drake Channel-Caribbean fame. On that evening, forever etched in my mind, I stood at midnite on a secluded mountaintop with 6 dear ones, listening to a native-of-the-island lift his voice to the heaven in song - the same song - as a full moon sent a million diamonds scattering across the ocean and a gentle wind blew my hair, face lifted to the great Creator. I need say no more.






About 10 weeks ago, I stood at a spot in Wyoming where an invisible line was drawn in the earth. On one side of the line, all water drained eastward, and on the other all water seeped away in a westerly direction. This line is called, 'The Great Divide' on geography maps. It was a rather profound thing to contemplate as i stood there. There was nothing totally captivating in the 'picture' of this area, but the spot held a great significance. The great divide has taken on a new meaning this week as I have gazed relentlessly out my condo window. Asians are well versed in the ying and yang of life. The word 'balance' comes to mind. This concept has fixated me for many a year. Some do the 'balance thing' better than others. Usually there is a consequence to 'out of balance' life issues. This, I will let you ponder on your own. For me, I will declare that this is among the more important of my daily life goals. How successful I am, I must say, fluctuates more than I would wish, but a goal has a boatload of worth! The balance I am most intuned to on this pilgrimage has to do with 'giving and receiving'. Art gift and outward-in hospitality, my common denominators for this traveler.







Tonight I have a fisherman and 'his line' in sight. So carefully he baits the hook, wades into the surf, pauses, pulling back his rod and with a gentle swing, out flies the line, a gesture of intention - a hope to reel in 'the gift - the catch'. Down the line of beach a young gent has reeled in his catch - a warm embrace for the lucky lady. Together they face the horizon, an evening of closeness. Ahhhh. Perhaps the same should be for me, again, some day. For now, the nurture of nature warms my soul - the knowledge of God's embrace is enough.








So slowly the sky grows darker, the horizon fainter. The south sky turns from baby-butt pink to cherry blossom to brandywine. A fading, fading and a return to blueberry skin and pewter until nothingness - a perfect balance - the horizon is lost to blackness. The moon is in hiding, until later, when once more, the reflected light will give birth to the glittered nighttime striation of waves. And God divided the day and the night. And another day.




Intothewind,

Naturegirl