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Gina & Clarissa 2013

Chitwan Nepal – 2010

I wish I was Maya.

I’ve spent my whole life looking ahead, towards the future. Always gunning it, working as hard as I can, going as fast as I can, piling on more, committing to more, expecting more. Always expecting more. Of myself, of others, of my life. THIS wasn’t it..IT was ahead of me, just around the corner and I better get there fast before it’s dark and I can’t see it any more.

Guess what?

The scenic view is right here.

Everything I’ve been or done or seen or said or wished for but is now past is in the rear view mirror. All the gunning has just gotten me closer to what? What is it? Because I don’t feel closer to anything. At all. In fact, now it feels like maybe I accidentally passed it all, and accidentally ran over some people in my desperate flight for that thing ahead that I thought I had an idea about. It is so rare for me to be pleased in the moment. Why? Sometimes when I’m conscious and accepting of the moment, which in itself has been a rare thing, though it does get easier the older I get, but when I actually am conscious of that moment, I often feel awkward and that consciousness becomes SELF consciouness real quickly. And that’s no good. So what’s the problem? Why is it so hard to be here now? Whats wrong with now? What’s wrong with what this moment holds? What’s wrong with where you are now? What’s wrong with the people you love? What’s wrong with slowing down and realizing what you have and how little control you actually have in life?

Nothing. So, self, do it. Relax. This IS the scenic view.

What do you do when you realize you’ve just been waiting for no reason. And that waiting, did more than just rob you of time, but also robbed you of purpose. That waiting, allowed everything to be temporary, when that temporary was in fact exactly the now and after that, the then. A long trail of then. A long trail of then that now circles around and shows you that there wasn’t anything to be waiting for. And the now, now feels very, very hollow, and pointless. The now feels like looking into a deep black void asking in a very low voice, “what’s the point.?” All that stuff that was being done while one was waiting, was stuff for certain, and was maybe contributing towards what one was waiting for. But maybe not stuff that would have been done had one not been waiting. So now what? Seems waiting was tied up real tightly to hope. So if you realize the waiting was for naught, does the hope go too..or does that somehow shift to an achievable future once one realizes that one shouldn’t wait any longer. But what if you don’t know what future you want? Or, you know, but you know it’s not a future that can be had alone. Or if you don’t know, how to find out?  Then what? What’s left in the place of the hope and the waiting and the now and the then? Seems like nothing at the moment.

Photo taken in Chitwan National Park, Nepal – 2010, then.

Halle in a sweatshirt.

Rusty the amazing bike.

Old wood floors.

Sunshine.

This is the picture I took just a few minutes before. When I was marveling at the microcosm of life happening right before my eyes. Brilliant red springtime poppies petals open exposing all their bits for these bees to take from and sustain and create more life. The petal-less blooms standing quitely behind full pod filled with hundreds of seeds to create more life. I felt so lucky to see this and understand and try and apply it to my own part in this ever spinning world.

Then we turned the corner.

A shady spot, overgrown with weeds and optimistic tree shoots. Halle stopped in her tracks, rose her paw in a full point.

“Really? Where?”

I saw nothing.

Until I got down on my knees to her level and saw a tiny baby bird. Fresh out of the nest. Not quite ready to lift off apparently.

I considered a photo of this miraculous finding and pointing by my old girl. Decided instead to best leave it be and hope that its spot hidden from my eye, would be good enough to hide from cats eyes. I stood up and started to walk and ….she pounced. In a split second she had that little new life between her teeth, shaking, blood splattering the sandstone sidewalk.

“No!” I yelled. Capturing the attention of a neighbor. Middleaged gentleman in a logoed polo. Maybe he was a contractor, or a repairman.

She dropped the bird. It’s eye bulging, blood ringing it’s neck.

“Can I help you?, every thing ok?”

We examined the situation. Halle standing guard over her winnings. My heart breaking.

“Your bird dog caught a bird.” He looked at my face. “It’s surprising what they can come back from.”

“Probably not this.”

“No. Probably not this. Instinct. It’s a powerful thing.”

Yeah. It is. We are pretty hardwired when it comes down to it. Good job Halle. You were a good girl, just doing your job.

I’m sorry little bird. I’m really sorry.

I might have a reincarnated Buddhist squirrel in my neighborhood. Don’t laugh. Perhaps he is a lama of the bushy tailed species. Though, I did catch him stealing, which maybe isn’t very Buddhist at all. Little scamp made off with 4 of my prayer flags. I watched him, red handed, pulling those flags along the top of the fence, stopping to wad them up in his mouth so he could more easily make off with the multicolored trail that snagged on the tops of the fence inconveniently. He left with them, about 8:30 am. At 8:45 I went out to the alley, just to see…and found them here, stuffed in a gap in the fence. I brought them back to my yard and hung them back up, partially just to see if he would come back to steal them once again.

“Hey, did you see that squirrel on the top of the fence walking with alternate strides like a dog or a human? So strange.”

Must be that Buddhist squirrel, looking for his Tibetan Buddhist Prayer Flags.

After my {failed} cookies I decided to take a step back and return to my roots, get my cooking mojo back. So I pulled out the family heirloom Romertopf clay pot cooker straight from “West Germany” that my own Gramma Lu baked plenty a meal in before handing over to my dad who continued to keep up the tradition of both cooking chicken in..then giving it to another family member for Christmas. (see last entry..I’m really not kidding)

So..it’s hard to fail at this. Put a chicken in a pot with some potatoes, some carrots, some mushrooms, some onions, some water and some spices, put it in the oven and come back in a couple of hours. Dinner.

I got a cookbook for Christmas. One that I remember on the shelves as a kid. It’s the same one. That happens in my family. Christmas is when you start getting stuff from around the house that other people don’t want any more. It’s ok. I’m thrilled. I so happen to like old stuff from around the house. But this gift coincided with my realization that I miss cooking. A lot. So I got busy.

Turns out that lady on the cover reading some bible passage is a vegan. So I gave Orange Molasses Cookies a shot. “Good flavor – soft” was exactly what I wanted.

Here they are..good flavor and soft indeed. UNTIL they cooled off then they turned hard as rocks. I mean seriously hard as rocks. So I put them in a jar to look at them on the counter at least, maybe believe the illusion that I haven’t totally forgotten how to bake. And I left them there for 1 week. And would you believe..they are soft with good flavor now? Is this one of the talents? Patience?