Astrological Mid-wifery

Astrology has become a trusted mid-wife to the late births and labor pains of this old dear. Recently I have heard or seen this sign over and over again "Aging is not for wimps." Yowza! The challenges and births Pete and I have faced and experienced in our years together started when neither of us was young. Our partnership began later and here we are in Everett refueling ourselves, shoring up the four corners of our aging journey. It helps me to get a big picture on the now. I began using Astro.com for free horoscopes/charts to complement the blog world astrology communities. The link below will get you there is you're interested in a free chart or a brief report. I appreciate the services.

Here's part of what I read this morning to give me a boost to the moodling I've been feeling. This Neptune Mars opposition coincides with the time period when we left O'ahu for Seattle to build VardoForTwo, and the now. It's been a nearly two year cycle of swimming against the currents. Landing in Everett is a bit of resting up. In the company of old friends again, like those who offered the Ledge to us for the summer, we pace ourselves for the next good flowing tide.

Neptune opposition Mars: Dubious opportunities End of March 2008 until mid January 2010

During this time, be careful not to get yourself involved, wittingly or unwittingly, in any kind of bogus enterprise. This influence can mean "deceitful actions," and it may involve you in such acts either as the victim or as the perpetrator of some swindle. To avoid becoming a victim, you should scrutinize with great care all seeming "opportunities" that come up now and stay away altogether from any speculative or high-risk ventures. With regard to the second danger, you should avoid perpetrating any kind of swindle, not only because it is unethical, but because you are not likely to succeed. Schemes do not usually work out as anticipated during this time. You should not plan to launch new activities during this period. Because your energy level is low, you can't put the necessary energy into a new project to make it work out as you want. This influence can produce a crisis of self-confidence, resulting either from personal defeats by others or from a totally unpredictable and irrational spell of depression. Consequently you will find it hard to continue with projects that require great exertion. It would be best to avoid starting any new projects at this time, and you should try to maneuver yourself into a position in which you don't have to do anything critical. But above all, don't take these feelings of defeat too seriously; you are just going through a period of low energy. There is no reason to contemplate giving up, because very soon you will be back to your old level of competence. The only permanent effect of this influence is that you may learn to have a more realistic understanding of your limitations and to be more conservative with your energies.

Blessings for a Swedish Mother

Our friend Sigrid passed from her physical body this morning. We have known her for nearly forty years, known her as mother to our friend Lois, and during the years while she lived as integral part of this three people-multiple doggies family we have come to know Sigie as a constant. Sigrid lived life on this earth for 89 years during the depression of the thirties, the second world war and the social changes of the 50's and 60's to the present. She experienced the world changing and through it all she maintained her essential nature and kept her focus on her family: her husband Wes and her daughters Diane and Lois. To compare us, my family -- my Hawaiian-Chinese mother, my Filipino father and the network of our predispositions and personalities with that of our friend Lois and her Swedish momma and US Army Lt. Colonel father, we are as different as could be imagined. Through the decades of our friendship the differences have grown less and less important as the soul and nature of our friendship grew in strength.

Lois, Doug, and I stood in the bright light of the Grand Ave kitchen just after Lois received the call from the hospital telling her that Sigrid had passed. Pete sat at the breakfast bar with a cup of coffee. I had my mask on, hair tucked under my floppy cotton hat and a scarf wrapped around my neck. "I won't hug you, I've got hairspray in my hair," Lois said. I knew that. Instead we held hands and stroked and patted the comfort one to the other and all sorrow seemed to exchange itself. "I think of Helen, too." Lois and my mom (Helen) share the Pisces sun and are both an example of service in ways only those who know them can understand.

Throughout the two weeks since Sigrid has been in the hospital, my own thoughts about end of life circled around the experiences of my own parents passing. I was here in the Northwest when both Ma and Dad passed. Lois had such a different relationship with her mother; the two women and Doug spent the past seventeen years together and caring for Sigrid has been Lois' primary commitment. In the last two weeks Lois was there with her mom in that critical care room just as she had been for the rest of those seventeen years. Available and fully present she was there to honor her mother. "And, I'd do it again," Lois said, and I know she would. Without doubt that is the lesson I have learned living here with our friends again. From the teeny wheeled home outside the front windows of the big Grand Ave home, I see what service to LIFE is about, and witnessed a living example of "Honor thy mother." Pete and I have watched, listened and been privy to a lesson of commitment that is the uncommon value of kind-spirit and fulfillment of promises. This tribute is to mothers and to the daughters who commit to them throughout a lifetime.

I count this friendship and the reality of their challenges, changes, and the grandness of their hearts as blessings. Just after we showed up in our vardo, still road-worn but ready to share the evening meal. The round dinner table was filled to capacity. Two terriers parked beneath the glass table scouting for a dropped nibble. Conversation was easy, funny and loud. Out of the blue a Southern drawl amplified and added to the conversation about farmers in Eastern Washington. "Why is it always the turnip truck, why not the beet truck?" Between bites of carrot, a toothy grin filled her face. I laughed and pointed at her. "Sigrid! You crack me up." She was a constant: ducks-in-a-row, do the right thing kind of gal who rarely missed what was happening (unless she wanted to miss it) and could show up with a bit of humor or commentary that accounted for the Southern Belle's unexpected wit. I heard she made the best sardine sandwiches and took the time to remove those tiny bones from their little bodies before serving. Who would do such a thing? One Swedish mother.

A few days ago while Pete and I raked and pruned the limbs from the flowering cherry tree in the front yard, I saved out four limbs and wove a simple wreath. It was a ritual of simply recalling the times when all our limbs were supple. I handed that wreath to Lois tonight. "It's a Sigie wreath,"I said. Lois was already back into her routine of unloading the dishwasher and emptying the clean laundry. Simple routines to keep a household going are things her mom would appreciate. I'm sure one Swedish mother shines on her with pride knowing she had indeed raised a daughter of undeniable quality.

Moodles

It feels like being in the middle, but who can tell for sure.

My mood is a brew of stewing and moping. Never mind those moods like the weather moves on and then there's something else.

We weathered the winds that came early in the morning just after my birthday. The strapping was stout and held us fast. Pete slept through the gusts. I remained on gale watch, chanting prayers without worry beads I just called on 'em all and finally slept around daybreak.

Pete is sawing up old fir boards for the decking that will be the foundation for our 'Porch Pods' (the mini rooms that will become our cooking area/JOTS apartment and privy/closet). There's a break between the November storms and the energy of the ozone-rich air is nice to be in. The last of the willow leaves sprinkled the front yard and gave me a good bit of old-fashioned raking exercise. A good metal rack and my well-washed and de-stinked winter ware kept me good and warm until the simple back and forth movement stirred the juices within. JOTS is happy to be re-positioned in her carrier aka JOTS Apartment on the Porch. Though she loves the insideness of the basement, she like us, gets restless for the wildness of open air.

Moods of darkness do come. If we wander too far from the tether of our now, the journey seems too long, too far, too much. It's an illusion, I know. Yet as human as I am, I get caught in that too, too and I am moodled. The leaves are beautifully piled beneath the willow with her arched limbs it looks to be an umbie lost it's cover. Like me when I get moodled. And then I think of the young woman I saw the other day with a smile that just went on for the ever. For what ever reason she wore that smile in the middle of the day and lit me good, I see her plain.

I am breathing easier today, moodled or not.
I am warm, loved and part of it all.
Raking leaves and a crock pot cooking with chicken and black eyed peas makes me smile. It's not Hollywood, it's Everett and we're living here.

New Moon, New Year

It's my birthday. I've had a cup of birthday brew with a spoonful of "Naked Coconut" Coconut Bliss to begin the day, a beautiful hot shower, a fresh lemon shampoo and toast with sunflower butter. The tropical storm that has drenched my isles of Birth (the Hawaiian Isles) with up to 17 inches of rain on the island of Kauai, is coming this way. Pete has lashed down the porch of the vardo with heavy strapping and drove stakes in the ground to secure our wee home as best he can. A few prayers to the gods will top off our preparation and then we're off on a car ride to pick up a re-fill of glutathione to support my dear lungs and immune system.

When I stepped from the little bathroom with my hair wrapped in my towel turban I found a plain brown envelope tucked beside my coffee cup. Inside a photo of my favorite pirate of the screens stood boldly on a birthday card for me. The card read:

PIRATES tell an ancient Legend of such immeasurable age, that it makes the seas themselves seem Y O u N g. In the story, YOUR NAME comes up quite a bit. Happy BirTHdaY.

iT was my vardo partner Pete, of course.

My keyboard partner has joined me to complete the birthday post. She's purring in for the perfect position (a new one facing me and looking me up and down).

My birthday comes with a new moon this year and a new moon is always filled the potency of possibilities. With a kitty in my lap, coconut bliss in my belly, my home battened down against the storm and a partner who loves me I would say this birthday is off to a very, very good start.

New Normal

JOTS is calmly stretched across my lap with her front paws pushed gently on the inside of my left elbow. She watches as I press the keys on L's keyboard. This is a big and important new normal for the kitty and me: she is inside a house (the basement) and that is a step from being wild and always on the outside looking in. Daisy one of the resident terriers is scratching at the door wanting in ... it's not to happen right now. Kitty in the basement means terriers stay upstairs. What a landmark ocassion for our feline pal, the warmth and inclusion of a settled time within walls!

I was talking with a trusted guide the other day, getting her the latest chapter in our life from the vardo. Somehow the notion of 'normal' came up and in the string of conversation her comment went something like this: "We have to let go of normal with this illness." Yes, if I compare our lives with others the possibility of being like them will fall short. The energy of expecting that normal to be mine just wastes precious joy in the reality of my life as it is. Ah, if I could post a picture of this moment it would save attempting to describe it.

JOTS has moved not an inch, a post grows and the activity of our friends engaged in their business happens. The warmth of her calm breathing and gentle energy soothes both of us. She's helping inspire my calm and that is a norm of great value. Cat energy, animal energy. We did tame her a year ago and are responsible for her for the ever. What a small price to pay, ha.

November Time

You don't have to live on a farm very long before you come to terms with
life and death, with the Novembers when you kill the lambs from last spring and
start the lambs for next spring. It's not that you become hard or unfeeling;
rather you become accepting. You know that birth and death are not separable and
that deaths are necessary for the balance of the farm, so that the ratios of
rams and ewes and sheep and pastures will be right, and so there will be
beautiful meat to feed people. On a farm every stage of the cycle -- breeding,
birth, growth, maturity, death -- has beauty and dignity.


The fall isn't the exciting high of spring when the lambs are born and
the daffodils bloom. It's the time of preparation for spring. The dead-looking
daffodil bulbs go into the ground, and the ram goes in with the ewes. The fall
is the time to remember that all nature turns death into new life. The garden
takes last year's cornstalks and fallen leaves and sheep manure and turns them
into next year's tomatoes and broccoli. The sheep are out in the barnyard right
now turning last year's hay into next year's wool and lambs. And who knows what
tasks and achievements, joys and sorrows, our customers will produce out of the
energy from that lamb meat?


It was Gandhi who pointed out that in spite of all the death in the
world, life is what persists.

Donella Meadows, "A time of death, A time of life"

We pulled into Everett two weeks ago tomorrow. The long drive wore us out, and arriving at our old friends' urban home was a welcome destination. So much happens in fourteen days. The crash of trains coupling outside is one reminder that we are no longer on the Ledge in the Olympics, nor in the juniper lined field with the Rescue Ponies "Fancy" and "Dusty." We are in Everett and the voice and cycle of nature unlit and alive is different here in a city. Our internal clocks and my ability to hear NATURE in her unaltered state are shaken. The lights, sounds of industry and the adulterated air are tough on NATURE. All three of us ... JOTS, Pete and I would love to be where nights are dark, stars the brightest lights and air oxygen-rich from the breathing of tall trees. We know the benefit of life with fresh air and recognize the way NATURE can write her story through a mortal life.

Yet it was our decision to pack ourselves and our wheeled home and come to this spot. What is fashioning us now is the follow-up to this decision: the discipline. I was out driving the old Snohomish River Road yesterday, seeking cleaner air and a croissant from the Snohomish Bakery. Scanning the radio dial a snip of a voice was lecturing his captive audience. He sounded a preacher, though I never listened long enough to know who he was. Instead I heard him describe the process of moving from deciding to the next step of discipline. Without the discipline any decision is dreaming. No goal is ever reached without discipline. Now, I am a proud and professed 'dreamer' and for good or ill I invest in the value of dreams. Still the radio preacher had given me something yesterday on my way to a croissant.

Here in Everett, Pete and I are in the process of the discipline. November in the vardo presents us with nature in her cycle of life giving and taking. Fall is set, winter approaches and NATURE moves through a city just as it does on a farm or on the Ledge out on the Olympic Peninsula. Birthing a tiny chemically safe haven for us in the form of VardoForTwo is a very new creature ... a kind of hybrid life that is not yet fully formed. We huddle into the curved roof space at night and enjoy the safety and celebrate our hard work of dreaming it up and with discipline we have a home mostly ready for all-seasons. Winter approaches and we know 'mostly ready' is not enough. November is my birth month, I have a 62nd birthday coming up on Monday. So this season of fall has been a time of reassessment and accounting for a good long time.

When we lived on the Ledge those seven months NATURE was present all the time. It was my greatest gift. I watched the power of her character and saw how quickly her life-giving turned to death. Things, critters, animals lived and died and human intervention was a dillusional activity. Any who moved were feeding on other things that moved. Life and death were visible and we were part of it, too. We learned to be primal and prepared or a 'bliss ninny' and food for the critters.

Life and death comes to all that live and here in the city at this place, the reality of life in its final stages is here for one of our long-time friends. We didn't know this was a November of endings for our old friend. She has aged as we have aged; she is just decades ahead of us. Illness and age or accident and destiny are part the unavoidable season of Fall for us humans. Feelings of sadness and loss accompany Fall and perhaps if I were a farmer or shepard the acceptance of death would be gently. Maybe.

missing the old hunting ground

The day is just getting into gear here in Everett. Sounds from the friends upstairs tell us the dogs are going to be walked; a woman's voice at this time of the morning means someone new is upstairs (a sister is in town for a family need); revelry has sounded at the base. It is after 8 am.

Across the room Pete and JOTS are getting a chunk of quality stroking time. "She seems a little melancolic. Dreaming about the old hunting grounds are you?" Yup, there's not much for a wild young feline to do here in residential Everett. JOTS questions the sense of a place without a lot of big old Tall Ones (trees) or at least a field with tasty mousies. Her days and nights are spent mostly in the little carrier that is her home. Nestled on familiar towels, sweaters or shirts atop a string of old Christmas tree lights to warm there is that for our kitty. The coos and loving voiced conversation is what I hear. What I can't hear from this desk is the purring replies.

There is a wisdom to our kitty's acceptance of what is. Like I've said before, lucky us.